Ridge is Yousa's new best friend. They're attached at the hip, eating and training together, and walking about the ship when they're bored.
Ridg, a spunky young clone of ambiguous age and origins, is still a mystery in terms of backstory to Yousa. Despite all that, he's managed to come between her and her squad. Cutter, whenever figuring out a second too late that she wouldn't be spending her free time training with them, would attempt to entice Yousa back into her own squad with promises of "fun things!":
"We could try grappling, if you like-"
"I hate wrestling. You know that."
Then Cutter would purse his lips, knowing there was a problem but not knowing of a solution to said problem. Not knowing makes him frustrated-and when he gets frustrated, he takes his anger out on her.
"You never want to spend time with your own brothers!" he would yell at her, as if volume would make her change her mind. "You have a duty to your squad, Yousa-not just some random clone who's on bad terms with the Commander to begin with!"
In their culture, Yousa is toeing the line of two major aspects of clone identity: being a clone, and having brother. Cutter doesn't want to keep her from hanging out with Ridge just because he can be a hooligan. To him, she is abandoning her brothers, which is the worst thing a clone can do besides abandoning their duty to the Republic.
I'm not so sure about that one...
Her apathy to anything they have to say to her and her absence from activities that would help her grow closer to her squad do nothing to alleviate the tension between them. Each day, each hour that she willingly chooses not to be true ir with her brothers is a step closer to reaching full-blown squad collapse.
Yousa knows what she is doing. She can see that taboo just beyond the horizon, when she would officially throw herself into the worst thing a clone could become and never return.
Ap'resh.
There are days when Yousa is able to slink by her squad's simmering anger, hovering just around the edges so as to be present but not seen-that is until a particularly bad battle pushes everything up to the surface.
Yousa sits on her now barely-used bunk, tying her her hair back and doing her best to ignore the awkwardness in the air. Her presence in their quarters is like that of a stranger's; she's meant ot be there, but no one knows what to do with her.
Next thing she knows, she's staring at Cutter's codpiece.
"Yousa," he says, grave, "we need to talk."
He doesn't move her anywhere private, doesn't try to make this a conversation that she doesn't feel threatened in. Her sergeant simply plants himself across from her on the opposite bunk, staring her in the eye. In her peripheral vision, Yousa can see that Ro almost makes a move to move to his place behind cutter; he thinks better of it.
"I'm forbidding you from hanging out with Ridge."
Like that would stop her. "Why?" she demands, curious anyways. Her fingers don't stop their actions in her hair.
Cutter's face-his entire body-twitches. He's only barely holding back his rage, a poor effort to get Yousa to listen to him instead of fighting him. "Because," he bites out, "he's a bad influence."
She scoffs, braiding her hair. "'Bad influence'," she repeats.
"You really don't see how he's changing you, Yousa?" Cutter snaps, leaning forward. "You're even more disobedient than ever before. You don't train with us, don't eat with us-hell, you don't even sleep with us, Yousa!" he barks. "You don't spend time with your brothers."
She can't help it; her mouth sets into a fierce scowl.
"It's not a word to be ashamed of."
Yousa doesn't want this. It's not a conversation she wants to have again and again, over and over until one or both of them dies in battle. "You don't make it easy to spend time with you."
"What is it? Is it the teasing? We've stopped that by now, Yousa," Cutter says. To his credit, he tries to be more conciliatory. "You know that if we ever say something that bothers you-"
"Don't," Yousa interrupts. "Don't pretend like that's actually a promise you'll keep."
"What am I doing wrong, then?" he yells, back to the anger. She knew it wouldn't have lasted.
"For starters, you're trying to prevent me from seeing Ridge."
The whole squad is watching. They always do. Cutter and Ro will lead the charge, Jukebox and Oric will tag in right behind them when they think they can benefit from torturing Yousa-Fortaj is always last, and he never seems to agree with or take joy in Cutter's words.
That doesn't always push him into doing the right thing and protecting Yousa. Most times he'll just turn his back and pretend nothing is happening.
"I already-" Cutter swears. "He is not a member of this squad, dammit!" he yells, finally snapping.
"I can be friends with who I want, Sarge," Yousa says. "You've never done anything for me or my safety, not since we left Kamino."
"And what's he doing for you, hm?" Cutter rises; her whole body tenses. "You're insubordinate, you're disobedient-I'm scared you might not even actually care about your own brothers, Yousa!"
She's shaking now, so filled with rage she instantly jumps up to match his height. "You really know why you're upset," she damn near growls at him. "You're mad that you can't control me, that I'm not the perfect little solder you've been trying to shove me into since-"
"I can see how he's influencing you, Yousa," Cutter says, cutting her off.
A pit forms in her stomach. She knows the destination; she doesn't want this conversation to go there.
"You pierced your ears, Yousa," he continues. "You've-you're changing so much of yourself and we-" he motions to the whole squad "-can't find a way to bring you back to us. You're our brother, don't-"
"Don't call me that-"
"It's not something to fucking be ashamed of, Yousa!"
"I'm not-I'm not-" She gags. She can't get it out because she knows it's a lie. Yousa is ashamed, she's disgusted, she is feels emotion that a clone shouldn't feel when being called "brother".
"Do you see how far into this 'woman' thing you've gone, Yousa?" he says, making air quotes around the word "woman". The actions cut her life a knife. "You won't even use the showers at the same time as everyone else, for kriff's sake."
This is true, at least; her changing body is noticeable enough now that she can't risk using the communal showers. Yousa either goes in the off hours when others would be too tired to notice even a gundark in the stall next to them, or she uses the shower in the medbay.
Over the months since she's started taking hormones, Yousa has slowly become more and more physically distant from her squad. It started with not always accepting hugs to not even undressing in the same room as anyone. Her bizarre shyness is already common knowledge in the 686th.
Even now, Yousa starts to curl in on herself, feeling open and exposed with Cutter's words.
Her sergeant steps up to her, chest-to-chest, so close she can smell his breath. "I'm thinking this might just be the start, Yousa," he says, his voice low. "You're eating more-packing on all that extra weight. Refusing to exercise." He narrows his eyes at her. "You hide and sneak around and do your nails, thinking people won't notice." His eyes change, a mix of disgust and sadistic pleasure tinging his irises. "You've pierced your ears. Makes me think what else you're doing to your body."
Yousa's intestines curl, tying themselves into knots. She wants to throw up; her skin is ablaze with rage, fear, and probably even sweat. She braces her hands on the bed's edge, fighting to control her breathing.
Cutter leans back, satisfied by her reaction. He looks down on her, every inch of superiority reigning on his face. "You're sticking by us from now on. You're not going anywhere without one of us nearby."
If she opens her mouth to say anything, she'll hit him-she's confident of it. Instead, Yousa storms out of her squad's quarters.
Next thing, she's back in the closet. Ridge isn't there, but he doesn't need to be. Yousa sits-thens she stands, then she sits again. She's too angry to think, too angry to do anything but pace frantically around the small space.
Cutter's finally catching onto all of her symptoms. Her heart seizes in her chest.
Yousa sits, plants herself firmly on the edge of her cot. Bracing her hands on her knees, she sucks in large amounts of air, releasing it slowly in small puffs. Her severely frayed nerves make her arms weak, twisting and churning her stomach so that nausea creeps up the back of her throat, threatening to spill out through her barely parted lips.
Breathe.
Cutter's about to find out everything-your transition, the hormones you're taking, how far you've really gone-
Breathe!
There's a flash of light to her left-someone opens the door, striding fully into the closet before noticing its occupant. Then the footsteps thud mroe heavily as the person rushes to her side. It's Ridge. "Yousa? Yousa, what's wrong?"
She wants to talk, she really does, but all that comes out of her mouth is labored, thin breathing. She can barely muster the strength to turn her head toward him, her body locked in its tense position on the cot. Keeping still is the only way to prevent herself from throwing up.
Yousa's vision starts to go dark around the edges. Her throat shrivels to the width of a pin, her stomach contorting itself into such a tight knot she might double over from the pain of it.
Ridge's voice grows more panicked when she doesn't answer. "Yousa! Tell me what's wrong-hey, hey…" Ridge kneels down in front of her almost between her knees, his armor scuffing on the durasteel floor. The proximity is uncomfortable for him, she can tell.
He doesn't quite touch her, letting his gloved hands hover over her shoulders instead of settling them they way he should have. "Everything's okay, Yousa," Ridge says, unsure of himself. "U-Uh-kriff can you just tell me what happened?"
With great difficulty, she gives a stuttering shake of the head. Her breathing's worse now, sweat breaking out on her brow. Her anxiety-riddled mind explores every worst-case scenario, weaves through every chilling path that could result from Cutter's piecing together of all the changes she's gone through over the months.
Womanhood isn't something attainable to clones. Their culture is barely cognizant of gender in the same way civilians are, but...that's exactly the thing. Clones aren't civilians. The entire army was born and bred to fight, their bodies carved and honed into peak physical form for males in order to complete the mission and dedicate their lives to the Republic.
Civilians don't have to do that. Civilian, to them, means any myriad of things-just not clone. The clones, by the laws of the entire galaxy, are men.
And women, by the laws of the clones, aren't clones-they're civilians, Jedi, drill masters on Kamino, but never clones.
Odd that a more or less genderless culture would draw that distinction. Then again, men fall under the same distinguishing lines-most men are civilians, Jedi, drill masters, and therefore not clones.
If you asked a clone what he was, he would say "clone". Their language uses pronouns based on rank, not gender. A man is a man, a woman a woman-and a clone is a clone.
By being a woman, Cutter sees Yousa as rejecting her clone identity, and that's what enrages him. She's turning into a woman. She's abandoning being a clone. In their culture, it's the highest form of taboo possible, besides abandoning a brother.
Legally, it's treason.
Socially, Yousa would be cast out by her brothers-by the whole battalion, the whole army if the GAR collectively caught wind of it. They'd still save her life in battle, but in the privacy of their culture? Nothing more than dust. It's a fate worse than death itself.
Yousa's chest cramps, her lungs shrinking to the size of marbles in her ribs.
Breathe.
I can't-
Breathe!
The panic attack forces her imagination down a new road, one where Cutter tells someone with enough authority that she's been illegally altering her body. Against her protests, her mind races ahead; only a blood test would be needed to show that her estrogen levels are through the roof with almost no testosterone left in her body.
She would be sent to Kamino. Tested. Studied. Cut open. Killed.
Yousa gasps-no, she cries out with the reality of her potential fate. She huddles forward, everything breathing exercise now lost on her as her body descends into a full-blown panic attack. Her arms and legs are locked with terror, her stomach refusing to give up the severe cramping storm they've started.
Ridge starts to panic too. From his position below her, he grabs her face, shielding both sides of her head. "Hey, you-you don't have to talk about it, Yousa. I'm sorry for mentioning it-"
He does something she doesn't expect. One moment, he's kneeling down in front of her, the next he's on the cot next to her-and his arms wrap around her, bringing her head close to his chest.
It's a hug. An awkward one. Ridge has clearly neither done this before, nor had anyone done it to him.
"I'm sure that, whatever it is, it'll get better," he said, his voice low and smooth. "At least as long as you're with me, you're safe. Nothing's going to hurt you." The words aren't original. They've been said to him before, clearly.
Yousa lets herself go slack, burying her face in the fabric at the neck of his undersuit. He makes a small noise at the back of his throat. He might be uncomfortable; she hadn't considered that, and is in the middle of mustering up the strength to pull away when he leans back against the wall, one palm resting on the back of her head while the fingers of his other hand undo the braid in her hair.
She can feel his lips against the top of her head. "You're safe with me, Yousa," he mutters, repeating this and other variations. "You're gonna be fine. Everything's alright." His fingers run themselves through her loose, wavy hair. With her armor on, there's no way to engage in physical contact that actually means something.
"Shh…."
Yousa hiccups. Her breath drops from wheezing to small, soft puffs, barely brushing past her lips. She's dizzy with oxygen deprivation, her arms and legs weak and stomach trembling from the adrenaline rush.
"Just keep breathing like that."
She takes a deep breath, then a deeper one until her hazy vision is cleared and Ridge's armor with all its intricate designs comes into sharp view. Yousa lays against his shoulder for a few moments, tracing the pattern with her eyes. Ridge isn't stroking her hair so much as patting it and the side of her face now.
In due time, Yousa is able to calm herself down. She sighs, calm enough to fully relax against Ridge's body.
She can't remember the last time she was held like this, cradled after something stressful and assured that everything would be fine.
This is what having a brother is meant to be like. Probably back in their Kamino days when Yousa didn't hate her squad, they would have all found a space and leaned against each other, just breathing and taking in one another's warmth. The fact that now she can't touch her own squad, and they only touch her to pull her hair shows just how far apart they are.
In a twisted way, Yousa understands why Cutter sees their current tension as disgraceful. A clone's job is to protect their brothers-always.
Yousa's introspection is cut off by Ridge's sudden movement-he backs away quickly enough to startle her, putting a good amount of distance between their bodies. He shutters himself up, knees together and arms close at his sides, hands folded in his lap.
So, he had a time limit for physical contact.
Yousa is genuinely too groggy to care. She corrects her position to lean her head against the bulkhead, glad for the cool metal on her temple. With her heart at a normal rate, she will eventually have the strength to leave the closet.
"How are you feeling?" Ridge asks, his voice small in the still, dark quiet.
Yousa shrugs, nods. She knows that doesn't mean anything.
"Are you able to talk about what happened? Will that help?" he asks, still remaining in his stiff position beside her. At least his voice has lost the frantic edge it'd had two minutes before. It's easier for her to think when others around her aren't panicking as well.
When she finally answers his question, her words sound rough and hoarse. "Don't think talking will help…" she mumbles, eyes still closed.
"Okay."
Silence.
OoOoOoO
She doesn't remember leaving the closet. She just knows that she ends up in the mess hall, a cup of steaming caf and some food on a plate in front of her. Jukebox sits across from her, then Fortaj joins her at her left side. Soon enough, she's surrounded by her squad.
"We should come up with a squad name," one of them suggests, Yousa doesn't know who exactly. "You know-unify us, and everything."
Subtle.
"That new shiny squad's got a name." There have since been "new shiny squads", but they all know who Ro's talking about. Around a mouth of food, he says, "They call themselves RAPTOR Squad."
"I hear they're all colorful, just the Sarge that's a stick up the ass," Jukebox contributes. A stiff silence settles on the table as everyone waits for Yousa to say something.
"Hm." She lazily stabs her food, uninterested in the conversation.
Ro starts speaking without thinking, as he usually does. "What if we called ourselves-what if we were-" When no idea comes to him and nobody interrupts him to come up with something, he falls silent.
"Where've you been, Yousa?" Cutter asks from the opposite extreme of the table. Yousa wonders if maybe Fortaj placed himself in the only open seat near her to keep Cutter from getting too close.
"On the ship." Where the fuck else?
"Right after I told you that one of us was going to be by your side at all times-" He takes a sip of his caf, feigning a casual air. "You disappeared."
Yousa gets sarcastic. "That order was effective immediately? I didn't know, sir. Apologies."
"Yousa," Cutter warns, already an edge to his voice. He pauses, moving to the left of the subject. "We should do this more, eating at the same time. Like a squad." He looks directly at Yousa. "Like brothers."
She stabs her food again, harder this time. They can all see that she's not up for talking-she knows they know. It's part of the reason why none of them have spoken directly to her. The other part of the reason is that Cutter's monologue is making everyone feel awkward, and filling in the gaps between his sentences would make things worse.
He takes another sip of his caf. He hasn't touched his food yet. "This will be fixed," he blurts, suddenly hopeful. "Will be as close as we were back on Kamino, right, Yousa?" Again with that pointed look.
She offers two words this time. "I guess."
He seems satisfied enough. "And we'll start with lato'ir."
All four heads look up at him with surprised. Now is when Cutter takes the time to start eating. Ro looks around, bewildered at the call to something so drastic.
Lato'ir. Translated literally, it means "brother-sleep". To civilians, it would be co-sleeping. Normally only practiced after a rough battle, a squad would either take in the sole surviving member of another squad, or band up together on their own. They would push all the bunks together and huddle together under piles of blankets, comforted more by each other's presence and warmth than by words. Clones are rarely afforded that kind of closeness.
It was done to let a clone know that they weren't alone, that they always had someone by them even if their squad was gone.
Problem is, it only means something if someone's dead. Otherwise, it's just a slumber party. Cutter think he can force cultural significance on anything he does, as if he even has that kind of power.
Yousa appreciates the gesture-she really does-but she is nowhere near comfortable enough to be so close to anyone in her squad. This disregards the obvious fact that hiding her breasts would be difficult in such tight spaces.
Ro still looks confused as hell. "Um, sir-"
"Is there a problem?" Cutter bites out, giving Ro a brief but sharp glare. Ro knows his place; he stays quiet.
Yousa could point out how unnatural it is to force something as important as lato'ir-like forcing strangers to get married. It could get awkward very quickly without the weight of death and dead brothers' souls weighing down the situation. She also remains silent.
The table chews quietly until they're interrupted by a forced chipper voice. "Hey!" Ridge says to only Yousa, smiling brightly. The piercings under his lips shift with the expression.
Cutter's face goes from neutral to a cold, stormy kind of angry. Ridge certainly notices this-looks directly at him-and acts like it's nothing of note. Tray in hand, he turns his attention back to Yousa, again ignoring the rest of the squad. "I was wondering if we could-"
"He can't," Cutter interrupts, looking the kid dead in the eye. "He has things he needs to do."
Ridge's smile twitches; his patience is already wearing thin, and he's only been here for forty seconds. "All due respect, sir-I wasn't talking to you."
The whole table chokes, each member trying to busy themselves with the food in front of them. Except for Cutter, of course, who's voice instantly reaches a near-yelling level. "Watch who you're speaking to, trooper," he growls, half-rising out of his seat. "Superior ranking officers are due a certain amount of respect."
A few curious heads have swiveled to look at the drama. Yousa stabs her vegan meat more viciously, embarrassed for all of them. Ridge just looks bored. "I was wondering if you wanted to head to the weight room with me after you're done here." That charming smile is back, not quite as bright as it had been earlier.
"He has things to do," Cutter repeats, still as vicious sounding as before. Could he not maintain at least one minute of decorum? More clones are starting to stare at them. Yousa sinks into her seat.
Ridge defers to her; he looks at her, tilting his head, waiting for an answer regardless of what her Sergeant says.
Reluctantly, Yousa shakes her head. "No, Ridge-maybe next time."
He gives Cutter a piercing glare before nodding at her. The speed at which he switches moods is terrifying. "Next time, then."
Cutter bores daggers into Ridge's retreating back. "Krav yi a'tir, ho'a." Fuck you, piece of shit.
Whirling, not even missing a beat, Ridge answers. "Krav yi a'tir o'lala." Same thing, same demoting rank-and he added bitch at the end.
Yousa foolishly hopes that Cutter is so humiliated that he'll be too busy filing an insubordination report against Ridge to remember the lato'ir.
It doesn't work. Later that night, she finds herself in the middle of five bodies lined up left to right. Cutter and Fortaj on the outside (he knew better than to try to sleep next to her, then), Ro on her right and Jukebox on her left. Every inch of her is pressed against every inch of them.
It's stressful, to say the least.
They've given her the most important position: the middle. There's nothing honorable about it-it's not meant to be, because this is where the brother that lost a their tua'ir or their entire squad.
But nobody's dead. Her squad is frayed but intact-and yet they had all made the conscious decision to place her in the center and surround her on all sides.
This isn't to comfort her. With Yousa surrounded on all sides, there is no way to move without someone knowing. They don't care about her comfort or emotional safety in something as intimate as this.
They don't care; she's already dead to them.
To the commenter who wondered where a chapter went-that was a rant/notice chapter that I had added and deleted since it was really just a little message.
-AAx