Keepsakes

"So, what do you think?" Dia asks, rubbing his arms, clad only in the thin cadet uniform, for warmth as he and Boba walk back to their barracks. "Are they sending us to Coruscant?"

Boba scrunches his nose. "You really want to go back there?"

"Our only other option is prison," Dia reminds him.

In the glass-walled hallways, they pass dozens of patrols – of cadets and of older clones, soon to be shipped out.

Back on Coruscant, Boba was the eye-catcher, the prodigal son returned. Here on Kamino, Dia is the subject of the stares.

The only non-clones are the Kaminoans, General Shaak Ti, and the Cuy'val Dar – Mandalorian trainers. Unfortunately, Dia can't even pass as a mutated clone, and so those who haven't heard about him often do double-takes or stare at him suspiciously.

Not that the news of Boba's return hasn't spread like wildfire. But he's harder to pick out from the swarms of red- and blue-shirted clone children – the only give-away is that he's almost constantly with Dia. Clones and Cuy'val Dar alike accost both of them in the hallways, to gawk and question them.

 With all that, the pair tend to take quieter hallways between their lesson rooms and barracks.

"Ah, kriff," Boba mutters, stopping in his tracks.

Dia scans the hallway and spots them – three Mandalorians, brightly-painted helmets tucked under their arms as they chat and gesture wildly.

"Cover for me," Boba mutters, diving to join a group of clone cadets passing in the opposite direction.

"No! Boba!" Dia whisper-shouts, panicking. "Get back here!"

"Hey, adiik!"

Too late. Dia turns back around, plastering a grin to his face as the three Mandalorians approach him. Each one wears weathered beskar armour, much like the set that Boba's father owned, painted in a multitude of colours.

"You're that verd'ika, right?" one of the Mandalorians, with a jagged cut across their nose, asks Dia. "Always trailing around Boba?"

Dia has picked up a few Mandalorian words and phrases during his time on Kamino. He's pretty sure verd'ika means something like 'little soldier'. Accurate, he supposes.

"That's me," he confirms, hoping someone will show up to call the Mandalorians away.

"Where is Boba?" another Mandalorian asks, stepping forward. They tower over Dia, bulkier than a mountain.

 "Uhm… he's, uh, training." Dia nods, his continued grin starting to hurt his cheeks. "Yep. Super busy right now."

The Mandalorian frowns, and the third slaps their shoulder with a scolding glare. "Back off, you're scaring the adiik."

"If that's all, then I really have to be going." Dia gives a small wave and darts past the Mandalorians before they can stop him. "Bye!"

Boba rejoins him a few minutes later. "Sorry."

"It's fine. They really want to talk to you," Dia tells him lightly. "Don't you think you should hear them out?"

"They're just gonna be sad. They'll talk about buir, and memories, and all sorts of osik." Boba scowls. "I don't want any of that."

"Alright. But no matter what the captain and general decide, we don't have much time left on Kamino," Dia reminds him.

"I know." Boba casts a glance around the deserted hallway, then grabs Dia's hand. "Come with me."

Dia follows after Boba down a side hallway, up a ramp and down another, then through a passageway. Boba never falters in his steps, and finally they reach a doorway in a secluded hallway. Dia's certain they shouldn't be here, but Boba's focus is singular – whatever this place is, it must be important.

Boba presses a button beside the door, and it hisses open. Without hesitating, Boba steps inside. Dia follows on his heels, and nearly runs into his friend as the latter freezes in his tracks.

"No," Boba whispers, eyes wide.

The room is an office of sorts, with a neatly-organized shelves lining the walls and a desk holding only a stack of datapads. A few doors lead off to different rooms. Fluorescent lights, as painful as those all throughout Tipoca City, flicker on as they step further into the room.

"What is this place, Boba?" Dia asks quietly, frowning.

Boba opens his mouth, but only a strangled sound comes out. "It… no. No, they can't have…"

"Boba." Dia takes his hand, trying to ground him. "Where are we?"

"It's… my old home." Boba's breathing quickens. "Me and buir, we used to live here. And they just… stripped everything away."

"Oh, stars," Dia whispers. The room is almost glowing white, sanitized and without a hint of life or character.

"All of our stuff, it's- it's gone," Boba whispers.  

The door hisses open again, revealing a Kaminoan scientist. They blink large eyes in surprise as they see Dia and Boba.

"You are not authorized to be here," they say slowly, reaching for the comm on their belt.

Dia scrambles for an explanation. "We were just – "

"What did you do to this room?" Boba demands furiously. "Where is all the stuff that was here?"

"This room was repurposed after the previous occupant's demise," the Kaminoan explains. "There was no need for any of the items to be kept."

 A snarl wrenches its way out of Boba's mouth, and he steps forward threateningly.

"You are Alpha," the Kaminoan realizes, their large eyes widening. "The unaltered clone."

"I'm not a – !"

"We're leaving now," Dia says firmly, grabbing Boba's arm and hauling him from the room before he can strangle the Kaminoan.

Boba lets himself be marched away, but Dia can almost hear his teeth grinding, and his glare is fierce enough to melt durasteel.

Dia manages to find a door out to a balcony overlooking the ocean, and brings Boba outside. The wind tugs at their clothes and the ocean roils around them. Aiwahs screech as they dive through the waves. Wrenching his arm away from Dia, Boba stomps over to the railing.

Raindrops patter softly from the overcast sky onto the balcony and Dia's face. He sighs quietly, wishing he knew how to help his friend with his grief, but all he can do is walk over to stand beside Boba, leaning his arms on the railing. Boba says nothing, doesn't even glance his way.

"It's okay to cry," Dia says.

"I'm not crying." Water drips down Boba's face, and his shoulders tremble.

"Ah." Dia nods. "Just raindrops."

Boba leans against Dia's shoulder, and moisture soaks into the fabric of Dia's shirt. He doesn't mind, rubbing a gentle hand over Boba's back. Gradually, Boba relaxes, but he stays with his head leaning on Dia's shoulder. Out here with no one watching, Dia muses, maybe Boba doesn't care so much about seeming vulnerable.

The door behind them hisses open, and both spin around, startled. Two clones – their grey armour marking them as part of the Kamino Security Force – step out onto the balcony. One takes off their helmet, revealing a sympathetic expression.

"Boba," they greet him. "We heard you were in Jango's old quarters."

Boba's eyes narrow, but before he can say anything, the other clone steps forward. "There's something we need to show you."

The clones are Ammy and Catch, and they bring Dia and Boba with them back through the hallways, all the way to Dia and Boba's private quarters, near the cadets' barracks. The tiny room, with barely enough room for the bunkbed, is as they left it – neat and organized, as required – except for a small crate on the floor.

"What's that?" Boba asks, frowning.

Ammy places a gentle hand on Boba's shoulder and gestures towards the crate. "Go look inside."

Hesitantly, Boba kneels beside the crate and pries open the lid. He peers inside, then goes rigid, his eyes widening. 

"Boba?" Dia exclaims, starting forward. "Are you okay?" He sees the crate is carefully packed with photographs, small ship models, and an assortment of household items.

"Y-you saved all of this?" Boba whispers, lifting his teary gaze to Ammy and Catch.

"We couldn't salvage everything," Catch says, rubbing the back of their neck, "but…"

Boba shakes his head, lifting a photograph delicately out of the crate. "It's enough. Thank you."

"Of course." Ammy smiles sadly. "We'll leave you to it."

Dia follows after Ammy and Catch, pausing to look back at his friend, relieved he has some closure. Boba's eyes are glued to the photograph of a young boy and his father, embracing and smiling in the rare sunlight.