The overhead viewing platform of the Tipoca City military complex always had a strange, cold breeze despite it being inside. You stood at the edge of the platform, your hands resting lightly on the safety railing as you looked down into the massive open floor of the Citadel challenge. Beside you stood your Jedi Master, Shaak Ti. Her relaxed presence seemed to counter the aggressive energy radiating from the bounty hunter trainers, El-Les and Bric, also standing on the platform with you.

Down on the simulated battlefield, Bravo Squad was putting on a show.

They moved in perfect harmony. As a trio of training droids popped up from behind a barricade, the lead cadet slid flawlessly into cover, laying down a perfectly timed charge. Simultaneously, his squadmates flanked the perimeter, clearing the high ground with textbook precision. There was no hesitation. No crossed signals. Every movement had a purpose with sharp efficiency.

"Flawless rotation," El-Les murmured, his eyes tracking the cadets with genuine pride, "Their spacing is immaculate. They don't just mimic the drills, they understand them."

"Hmph. They're doing what they were bred to do," Bric grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were squinted, scanning the field for a mistake that simply wasn’t there to find. "Don't throw them a parade just yet."

"Credit where it is due, Bric," Shaak Ti retorted. She turned her head slightly, her warm eyes focusing entirely on you. A small, proud smile spread across her face. "You have done exceptional work mentoring Bravo Squad, my Padawan. They adapted your teachings so fluidly. It is no exaggeration to say they are among the highest performing cadets Kamino has ever produced. You should be deeply proud of yourself."

A surge of pride bloomed in your chest, warming you against the chill of the observation deck. You offered your Master a respectful bow of your head. "Thank you, Master. They've put in the hours. I merely gave them direction."

Below, the final training droid clattered to the floor, its systems shutting down as a bright green light flashed across the top of the Citadel tower. Bravo Squad had completed the course. Not only had they passed, but the digital readout on the main terminal confirmed they had done so with a record breaking time.

From above, you watched the cadets lower their weapons. Before they turned to clear the floor, a few of the boys glanced up toward the overhead platform. You were high up enough that you knew they couldn't actually make you out from the others.

Still, you couldn't resist. Catching the eye of the squad leader, you raised a hand and gave them a swift, playful mock salute.

El-Les tapped a sequence into his datapad, resetting the simulation. "An exemplary run. Truly. Which squad is next?"

"The Domino Squad," Shaak Ti answered.

The name hit the air, and you instantly inhaled a deep breath. Your posture stiffened.

"Oh, brilliant. The defectives," Bric groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I’ve been complaining about this group since the day they dragged their asses into the final stage of training. They’re sloppy, they’re deaf to orders, and they have absolutely no sense of discipline. Mark my words, they are a lost cause. It’s offensive that they are even wearing training armor.”

You kept your face entirely expressionless, hiding the of annoyance Bric always managed to ignite in you. Instead of engaging with him, you drew your datapad from your belt. Your thumb immediately swiped away from the training rosters and tapped into the Tipoca City arrivals log.

You stared at the blinking cursor on the screen. The transport was late.

According to the scheduled rotation, the ARC Troopers tasked with overseeing and evaluating the Citadel challenge were supposed to have touched down on the southern landing platforms over an hour ago. And that meant he was late.

Commander Colt.

Just looking at his designation number on the manifest sent a rush through your veins, pulling your mind entirely away from the training course and dropping you into the comfort of your memories.

At the very beginning of the war, when the Senate had first deployed you and Master Shaak Ti to Kamino to oversee the production and training of the Grand Army, Colt had been part of the very first batch of troopers assigned to your care. You had been younger then, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the war and the daunting task of shaping lives meant for the front lines. Throughout all of it, Colt had been your rock.

Initially, your bond had been strictly professional. It was built on mutual respect and long hours of training. But Kamino was an isolating place, wrapped in endless storms and sterile white walls. Slowly, the boundaries had begun to blur. Late night gym sessions in the dark and empty training rooms turned into quiet conversations that lingered far past the end of day’s schedule.

Eventually, those nights stopped ending in the training center. They ended behind the locked doors of your quarters, the two of you curled up together on your small couch, finding a desperate, quiet solace in each other's arms.

You knew the risks. If your Master ever discovered that her Padawan was harboring a secret, deeply intimate relationship with a clone, she would be utterly livid. The Jedi Code left no room for the kind of affection you felt for Colt. But in a galaxy rapidly tearing itself apart, it was a small, beautiful luxury you refused to deny yourself.

When Colt was finally shipped out to the front lines, it had been one of the most agonizing, bittersweet days of your life. You had watched his transport disappear into the gray Kaminoan rain, wondering if the war would steal him before you ever got to hold him again.

Fortunately, the Force - or perhaps a bit of selfish luck - had intervened. Not long after his deployment, your master asked you for recommendations on which veteran ARC Troopers should be brought back to Kamino to evaluate the final cadet trials. You hadn't hesitated. You had selfishly put Colt’s name at the very top of the list, praising his mindset and success on the battlefield. Master Ti agreed without a second thought.

Because of that, you got him back. About once every few standard weeks, his duties brought him back to Tipoca City. And for one night, the war vanished. For both of you, those hours together were everything.

"Padawan?"

The voice was soft, but it shattered through your daydream like a detonation.

You blinked, the glow of your datapad snapping back into focus. You realized that you were staring blankly at the arrivals log for far too long.

"Padawan," Shaak Ti repeated, her voice laced with a gentle, questioning amusement. You looked up to find her studying you, her head tilted slightly. "That must be the third or fourth time I have called your name. What is it that has you so distracted?"

"I- my apologies, Master," you stammered quickly, your thumb flying across the screen to switch the display back to the active training roster before she could catch a glimpse of the arrival logs. You cleared your throat, offering an apologetic smile. "I was just reviewing the upcoming weather forecast for tomorrow. I lost my train of thought."

Shaak Ti hummed, before turning her attention back to the simulator.

"Keep your focus here," she instructed gently, nodding toward the training floor. "The exercise is about to begin."

Down below, the heavy blast doors slid open, and the five members of Domino Squad walked out onto the floor.

Down on the floor, Domino Squad looked fractured before the simulation even kicked into gear. They didn’t stand in a unified, tight perimeter like Bravo Squad. Instead, they practically vibrated with energy. Even from a distance, their body language screamed frustration.

"Look at them," Bric muttered, his teeth visibly grinding. "They're already falling apart, and the droids haven't even started firing yet."

The crimson warning lights flashed across the arena, signaling the start of the exercise. Immediately, a wave of automated training droids came to life.

What followed was a total catastrophe.

The squad dispersed as soon as blaster fire broke out. One trooper broke away from the designated defensive line without warning, abandoning his position to make a reckless, solitary dash toward a group of droids. This left a blind spot on the left flank, which another trooper immediately tried to compensate for by shouting repeated orders into his comm, his posture rigid as he tried to figure out what textbook regulation he could use now.

Meanwhile, a different trooper completely bypassed his squadmates, charging directly down the center of the battlefield with his heavy repeating blaster roaring. He didn't check his perimeter, nor did he look back to see if anyone was covering his rear. He simply tried to push through the entire droid battalion by sheer force of will, treating the other men like obstacles rather than a team. This left a trooper scrambling in the wake of the other’s aggressive advance, desperately trying to close the massive gap left in the center line. Meanwhile the last trooper was forced into a frantic retreat just to keep from being pinned down. They were all exceptionally skilled individual combatants. You could see the raw talent in the way one trooper ducked a high blast, or how another precisely picked off a target while on the move. But they were completely blind to one another. This wasn’t a group effort. This was five distinct wars being fought in the exact same room.

It was painful to watch. 

Then, the inevitable happened.

A blue stun bolt caught a trooper squarely in the center of his chest. The energy slammed into him, his limbs losing their strength instantly as the electrical current surged through him. He collapsed hard against the floor, his blaster clattering at his side. 

On the platform, Bric let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. "Ha! Look at that. Can you believe these guys? Lives up to his name, doesn't he? That’s the one they call Droidbait. He’s out there doing exactly what he does best."

You didn't break your attention from the men below, keeping your expression as still and unreadable as dry stone. A hot spark of anger flared in your chest at Bric’s cruel humor. These boys weren't just toys, and they certainly weren't punchlines. They were living, breathing soldiers under your care, and treating their failures like a comedy routine was exactly why they were struggling to find their footing.

Down below, the dominoes fully began to fall. With Droidbait down, the remaining four cadets completely lost their rhythm. One was surrounded and overwhelmed by a concentrated crossfire. Another  was clipped while trying to drag his brother back into cover. Two other two were picked off seconds later, their bodies hitting the floor in a messy, uncoordinated pile.

Before the training droids could even reset, Master Ti raised her hand, tapping the override on the console. The harsh red alarms stopped, replaced by the sterile hum of the quiet room.

"That is enough," she sighed softly, a rare hint of disappointment in her voice. She activated the facility's localized intercom. "99, please send a unit to clear the droids from the training ground."

While Bric continued to mutter strings of curses under his breath and El-Les quietly began logging the abysmal failure into the database, you subtly slipped your datapad out one more time. You glanced at the arrivals log.

Still nothing. The transport carrying Colt was officially severely delayed, likely held up by a hyperspace delay or the raging storm outside.

If Colt wasn’t going to be here for hours, your evening was completely wide open. You didn't have to sit in your quarters waiting for a knock that wasn't coming anytime soon. Instead, you looked down at the battered, defeated boys of Domino Squad as they slowly pushed themselves up from the floor, entirely ignored by their lead trainer - Bric.

You had the time. And right now, they desperately needed someone who actually saw them.

"Master," you chimed in quietly, stepping away from the observation deck as your master began to exit.

You fell into step beside her as you walked out into the blindingly white corridors of Tipoca City. El-Les and Bric had split off toward the armory, leaving just you and your Master to walk the quiet hallways alone.

"Yes, my Padawan?" she asked, her long, elegant robes brushing against the floor as she kept a slow pace.

"I would like to make an unusual request," you began, choosing your next words carefully. "I want your permission to run a personal training session with Domino Squad. Tonight. Before their final test tomorrow."

Master Ti paused her walk, turning to face you fully. Her hands tucked neatly into her wide sleeves as she looked down at you gently, "That’s a highly irregular proposition, especially so close to their official evaluation. I suspect I know your reasons, but I would like to hear them from you."

You took a deep breath. "Bric's training method is abrasive, Master. It’s built entirely on an individual, survival of the fittest mindset. That works for some clones, but I don’t think that’s best for the Domino Squad. They are constantly fighting each other because they've been taught that survival is an individual burden. They need a completely different approach. A unified one, perhaps. The exact same methods that allowed Bravo Squad to thrive."

Your master hummed, "And you believe a single evening can undo weeks of abrasive conditioning?"

"I believe they deserve the chance to try," you replied earnestly. "I worry about Bric’s influence on them. If they go into that Citadel tomorrow with the mindset they have right now, they will fail. And we both know what happens to squads that fail to pass the final trial. Those men deserve better."

Master Ti's expression softened as she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I understand your concerns, and I give you credit for looking out for them. They are under Bric’s direct instruction, but ultimately, I am the Master in charge of this facility, and you are the Padawan assigned to assist. You are allowed to step in and take command of a situation if you deem it truly necessary."

She paused, her eyes meeting yours with clarity. "Tell me, Padawan. Do you believe it is necessary?"

You took a breath, "Yes, Master. I do."

Master Ti smiled, giving you an approving nod, “Then that is your answer.”

As you began making your way to the clone barracks, you stopped suddenly in your tracks. When a Jedi walked into a room  full of soldiers, the air filled with the sharp, synchronized snap of boots hitting the floor as the men flung themselves into rigid attention. You didn't want that tonight - besides, it always felt strange to you. If you walked into Domino Squad's bay as an authoritative figure, especially with how Bric has been treating them, the walls of willpower would go up instantly.

Instead, you slipped down a different hall, towards a service lift and took the rear maintenance entrance. Once in the barracks, you quietly made your way towards the boys you were looking for. You paused just shy of the Domino Squad’s barracks bay, pressing your back against the wall. You closed your eyes, letting your senses take in their stress, but mostly, you just listened.

"So I says to her," Cutup’s voice echoed out of the bay, laced with characteristic charm, "'Baby, you and me could really-'"

"You've never even met a girl," Fives’ voice cut in flatly, his tone dripping with exhaustion and dry amusement.

A heavy, echoing clang shattered the conversation as a trooper slammed his training helmet onto the polished floor in a violent burst of pent up rage. You tightened your jaw, your hand hovering over your lightsaber. You considered stepping in right then, but the shuffling, dragging steps made their way over to the chaos. It was 99.

"You know, you shouldn't worry, because most clones pass," 99 offered, his voice quiet, carrying a gentle kindness that always made your heart ache.

"Yeah, but not all of us. Right, shortie?" the clone snapped back.

"Guys, we've got to follow orders. Come on," the one they called Echo chimed in like he’s said the line hundreds of times. 

"I don't know. I think it went rather well," Cutup joked weakly, trying to inject humor into a room that was rapidly drowning under their own failure.

"Quit joking around!" Fives barked.

"Can we please stop arguing?" Droidbait pleaded.

"Can you stop being droid bait out there?" the clone that threw his helmet turned his frustrations directly onto his squadmate, his voice rising. "You're getting in my way!"

"Actually, our way," Fives added, backing his brother up with a sharp edge.

"Well, if you want to be the best, then you got to think like it," the clone retorted, "And I'm thinking like an ARC Trooper."

"ARC Troopers follow orders," Echo countered instantly.

"Care to repeat that, Echo?" 

"Cut it out!" Bric's booming, raspy voice sliced through the barracks. You froze against the wall, instinctually closing your eyes. 

"If you two would focus on fighting droids as much as you do fighting each other, you might stand a chance out there," Bric growled, approaching the center of the bay.

"Sorry, Master Chief," Echo muttered automatically.

"Well," Heavy challenged, "I'd rather be taught by a Jedi than some mercenary bounty hunter."

A tense silence stretched over the room. You could practically feel Bric's temper flaring through the Force.

"Jedi don't have the time to train grunts like you," Bric complained in a mocking sneer that made your blood boil. "That's why they hired me. Listen, boys, when you were assigned to me, I had high hopes for you. Now we're approaching the end of your training, and you haven't advanced nearly enough. Even this bad batcher, 99, has more sense than you guys do, and he's a maintenance clone."

"You don't give them enough credit," 99 whispered defensively, his voice cracking slightly.

"You're all a waste of my time," Bric spat.

He turned on his heel, marching rapidly toward the main exit. You subtly pulled yourself deeper into the shadow of the maintenance alcove, watching him storm past, completely oblivious to your presence.

Inside the bay, the cadets of Domino Squad stood frozen, completely demoralized. This was your moment.

As soon as Bric's footsteps faded completely from the corridor, the men broke formation, their shoulders slumping. You stepped out from the darkness of the maintenance entrance, slipping into the bright light of the bay, and calmly sat down on a utility bench positioned directly between their rows of lockers.

The sudden movement caught Fives' eye first. He gasped, his eyes widening as he stumbled back half a step. Within a second, all five cadets froze, staring at you in absolute, wide eyed shock.

"Well, for starters," you said smoothly, crossing one leg over the other and resting your hands on your knee, pointing between Cutup and Fives, "now you've all officially met a girl. So there's absolutely no need to banter about that anymore."

Cutup’s jaw dropped slightly, but a slow, irrepressible smirk spread across his face as he darted a sideways glance at Fives, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. Fives just stared at you, his ears turning a distinct shade of red.

"And also," you continued, making eye contact with each of them, "Bric did just lie to you. Jedi absolutely have the time to train. Just none were assigned to your specific squad. It’s nice to meet you, boys. I'm the trainer for Bravo Squad."

You stood up and extended a hand toward the first cadet line. But none of them moved. Their gazes were completely locked onto the gleaming silver hilt of the lightsaber clipped securely to your belt.

"You're a Jedi," Droidbait stammered, his eyes darting from the weapon to your face.

You let your face fall entirely flat, "No, I just carry this around for fun."

The cadet blinked, completely missing the sarcasm, his expression remaining entirely confused. Behind him, Echo let out a sharp groan, reaching forward to smack him on the back of his head. "Idiot," Echo muttered under his breath.

You exhaled, shaking your head. "Alright, let's assume your name isn't actually 'Idiot'. What do your boys call each other?"

The first cadet straightened up, clearing his throat. "CT-"

"No," you cut him off firmly, "Not your numbers. Your names."

The cadet stuttered for a fraction of a second, “Hevy”

"Droidbait," the second one said, offering a stiff, nervous salute.

"Echo," the third announced, his posture perfectly rigid.

"Cutup, sir," the fourth said, giving you a quick, roguish wink.

"And Fives," the last one finished, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intense, curious scrutiny.

You huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. "Fives, well, that's going to be incredibly easy to remember."

"With all due respect, sir," Cutup chimed in, "why exactly are you here?"

"Because I want to help you," you nodded, pacing slowly in front of them. "My Master has granted me permission to give you one training session tonight, before your final evaluation tomorrow."

Hevy grunted bitterly, crossing his thick arms. "So they wait until the absolute day before our final test to give us a Jedi. Typical."

Echo shot him an absolute look of horror, his eyes screaming dude, what the hell, that's a Jedi you're talking to, but you didn't let it phase you. You walked right over to Hevy, stopping directly in his personal space. 

"This wasn't a standard deployment, soldier," you told him, ensuring the rest of the squad could hear you, "This was my own personal request. I watched your trial run from the observation deck today. I know Bric can be a little rough. And I think you boys just need a completely different approach to the problem."

You didn't give them a single second to debate or question you. You turned, heading back toward the rear door. "Follow me."

The boys who weren't fully suited up immediately reached into their lockers, grabbing for their training armor.

"Actually," you called out over your shoulder, pausing at the doorway, "you won't be needing your gear for this." You pointed directly at Hevy and Echo who were still wearing their armor. "You two, strip out of your armor and get into your standard sweat set. I'll meet you all right outside the corridor."

You stepped out into the hallway, letting the barracks door hiss shut behind you.

Inside the bay, Hevy let out a low, irritated grunt, tossing a piece of his gear into his locker. "How is going completely gearless supposed to help us with the simulations? It doesn't make any sense."

"Just keep an open mind, Hevy," Echo muttered, quickly peeling off his own regulatory straps. "She's the trainer for Bravo Squad. Look at how they ran the course today."

Hevy rolled his eyes, adjusting his shirt, "Yeah, well, Bravo isn't us." He slapped the locker door shut and followed his brothers out into the hall.

Once the five cadets filed out into the corridor, you turned and began navigating the halls of Tipoca City. The boys marched behind you in a disorganized clump, their steps clicking softly against the pristine white floors.

They expected to be led to one of the secondary simulation chambers or perhaps a briefing room. Instead, you bypassed the entire training wing entirely, guiding them deeper into the quiet, residential sectors of the complex.

"Sir?" Droidbait asked, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet hallway as you bypassed yet another reinforced blast door leading to the combat ranges, "Where exactly are we going? We passed the simulation rooms three corridors ago."

"We're going to your training," you answered smoothly, emphasizing the word ‘your’ without looking back.

Behind you, Fives and Hevy exchanged a deeply skeptical look. You kept walking until you reached the quarters wing. It was a restricted zone where the Jedi, Kaminoan officials, and specialized bounty hunter trainers were offered small, apartment style residences.

Stopping in front of a sleek, unadorned door, you reached out and keyed your personal entry code into the wall panel. The door hissed open, revealing the warm, subtly lit interior of your private living space. You stepped inside and swept your arm outward in an open invitation. "Welcome. Come on in."

They hesitated at the threshold, freezing like uniform statues. Clones, especially cadets, were strictly forbidden from entering the private quarters of their superiors, let alone a Jedi's personal sanctuary. Cutup was the first to find his voice, peering nervously at your home.

"Sir," Cutup muttered, "Apologizes if I sound rude, but why exactly are we in your personal quarters?"

"Because what we need is here," you brushed it off casually, gesturing toward the large cushioned couch that dominated the center of the main room. "Take a seat. All of you."

They scrambled to comply, though their movements were awkward as five identical, broad shouldered men squeezed themselves onto the sofa, sitting shoulder to shoulder with textbook posture. They looked terrified to even lean back against the cushions.

You turned your back to them, stepping over to a sleek storage drawer near your desk. Reaching inside, you pulled out a single object. It was a simple, lightweight, half meter long rounded wooden stick. It was perfectly smooth and completely ordinary. And seemingly completely out of place.

Turning back around, you faced the couch. The boys stared at the stick as if it were an active thermal detonator. You walked over, sitting on the edge of the low table directly across from them. Without a word, you extended the index finger of your right hand, carefully placing the exact center of the wooden stick upon it.

You let go. The stick remained perfectly balanced, hovering horizontally in the air, supported only by the tip of your finger.

You locked eyes with Hevy. Giving him a firm, authoritative nod, you said, "Come here, soldier."

Hevy let out a subtle, silent sigh, rolling his shoulders. He gave his brothers a quick, 'what is this absolute garbage?' look before placing his hands on his knees and rising from the couch. He stepped forward, standing at your side.

"Watch closely," you instructed.

Still balancing the stick on your single index finger, you began to bend your knees. Slowly, you lowered your body toward the floor. Your eyes never left the wood, tracking its subtle shifts, adjusting your posture by slightly to compensate for the slightest off balancing force. You went down, until your knuckles literally brushed the floorplates. The stick never tilted. It never wobbled.

With the same fluid grace, you slowly rose back up, returning to your original standing position. With a quick flick of your wrist, you popped the stick into the air, caught it cleanly in your palm, and thrust it directly into Hevy’s chest.

"Your turn," you commanded.

Hevy caught it automatically, frowning down at the wood. "Sir? What does a piece of wood have to do with-"

"You boys asked for a Jedi to help with your training," you cut him off, "That is exactly what I am doing. Balance the stick, lower it to the floor, and bring it back up. Go."

Hevy grumbled under his breath, but he extended his index finger and placed the stick upon it. His hand was a rock. He balanced it perfectly, dropped his weight fluidly until his knuckles hit the floor, and rose right back up without a single tremor.

When he finished, he caught the stick and held it obnoxiously in front of your face, a smug, arrogant grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "What, am I an ARC Trooper now or something?"

You closed your eyes, slowly shaking your head at his stubbornness. "Sit down, cadet." Hevy’s grin faded slightly, and he trudged back to the couch, slumping into his seat. You pointed a finger at the next clone. "Droidbait, you're up."

Droidbait stepped forward, nervous but determined. Just like Hevy, his execution was flawless. He lowered the stick, raised it, and passed it along. You went straight down the line. Echo executed the task with precision. Cutup did it with a bit of dramatic flair, catching it with a theatrical spin before handing it over. Every single one of them passed the individual test easily. It felt like a joke to them.

Finally, Fives completed the exercise. He rose from his crouch, the stick perfectly level on his finger, a confident smirk on his face. As he caught the wood and turned to hand it back to you so he could resume his seat, you stepped forward.

You caught his shoulder, your grip firm. "I never told you to sit down, Fives."

He paused, his hand still gripping one end of the stick, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden spark of curiosity.

"Hold out your finger again," you instructed softly.

Fives complied, extending his index finger like he had done for the solo exercise. But this time, you didn't let him find the center of gravity. Instead, you grabbed the stick and placed one end of it brutally off center onto his finger. Then, you placed your own index finger under the opposite, longer end.

"We are going to lower and raise the stick together," you told him, "No talking. Just move."

Fives raised an eyebrow, letting out a breathy, "Alright."

You both began to bend your knees, attempting to lower your hands in tandem. Immediately, Fives’ expression changed. His brow furrowed. "Weird," he muttered, breaking the silence. "It feels heavier."

You let out a half laugh, your eyes tracking the wood. "Strange, isn't it? And look at it."

Despite being supported at two points instead of one, the stick was wildly off balance. Fives tried to overcompensate by jerking his hand upward, but the sudden movement completely destroyed the equilibrium.

Fives dropped his finger fast, and the stick clattered loudly against the floor.

He stared down at the fallen piece of wood, a look of genuine shock and frustration flashing across his face. He looked up at you, expecting a scolding. Instead, you were just smiling.

You leaned down, picked up the stick, and turned to face the couch. "Everyone stand up," you ordered. "All five of you. Put one finger under this stick. You are going to lower it to the floor and raise it back up. Together."

The boys groaned, grumbling complaints under their breaths as they crowded around the small table. They stood in a cramped line, each extending a single index finger until the wooden stick was resting across all five of their hands.

"Begin," you instructed, stepping back, crossing your arms to observe.

It was an absolute disaster.

The moment they tried to lower it, Hevy dropped his hand too fast. "Whoa, watch it!" Echo snapped, thrusting his hand upward to catch it, which sent the opposite end flying off Fives' finger. The stick clattered to the floor within three seconds.

"Again," you ordered.

They set it up again. "Alright, let's do a countdown," Cutup suggested. "Three, two, one, go!"

On "go," Droidbait dropped his hand, but Echo didn't move until a fraction of a second later, arguing that they were supposed to move on one, not after one. The stick flipped into the air and hit the floor again.

"Again," you repeated.

What felt like forever passed. The initial amusement the Domino Squad felt had completely evaporated, replaced by grinding frustration. They tried counting down in different cadences. They tried going as slow as humanly possible. But every single time, someone would feel the stick slipping, jerk their hand up out of panic, and ruin the alignment for everyone else.

"Stop lifting your side, Hevy!" Fives yelled, "You're pushing it off my finger!"

"I wouldn't have to lift it if you guys weren't dropping like a rock!" Hevy fired back, slamming his hands onto his hips. "This is impossible! It’s a stupid trick!"

"It's not a trick, you're just not listening!" Echo shouted, gesturing wildly. "If we follow standard regulatory pacing-"

"Quiet!" your voice rang out, not loud, but carrying an unmistakable authority that instantly slammed the room into a dead silence. The five clones froze, panting slightly, staring at you with varying degrees of exhaustion and anger.

You walked over to them, taking the stick from the floor where it had fallen for the seemingly hundredth time. 

"You're failing because you're all trying to lead, and you're all trying to survive on your own," you informed them gently. "You're treating your brothers' movements like obstacles to fight against, rather than something to adapt to. You are going to change the strategy, based on who you actually are."

You looked at Echo. "Echo, you have a mind for structure and timing. You like to be the one that speaks. You will handle the countdown. No one else makes a sound."

You turned to Fives and Hevy. "You two are the anchors. You're standing at the absolute ends of the line. If you feel the stick tilting even a millimeter from your side, you do not try to fix it by jerking your hand up. You simply say one word: Halt. When they say halt, everyone freezes in place until the line levels out."

Finally, you looked at Cutup and Droidbait. "You two are the center. You are the bridge. I want you to completely ignore the stick. Do not look at the wood. I want you to lock your eyes entirely onto each other's hands. Keep your fingers perfectly level with one another, matching each other's height exactly."

The boys looked at each other, reviewing your instructions in their heads. The chaos of their individual panic was suddenly replaced by clear structure tailored specifically to their strengths.

"Set it up," you instructed

They stepped forward, placing their fingers under the stick once more. The room was deathly quiet.

"Three, two, one,  descend," Echo counted down, clearly. 

Slowly, the five men began to bend their knees. Halfway down, the stick began to drift toward Hevy's side.

"Halt," Hevy said firmly.

Instantly, all five of them froze. Cutup and Droidbait kept their eyes locked on each other's hands, adjusting their fingers until wood flattened out.

They continued down. Their breathing was deep and unified. Slowly, all of their knuckles touched the ground. The stick was perfectly, beautifully level. Without a word, guided entirely by Echo they rose back up to their full height.

When the stick reached its original starting position, completely steady, a collective breath escaped the group.

Instantly, the boys erupted into absolute chaos. They were cheering, laughing, and slamming their hands against each other's hands in ecstatic high fives. 

You stepped back, with a smile on your face. "See?" you said over the noise.

The boys stopped cheering, turning to look at you, blinking in confusion. "See what, sir?" Cutup asked.

"When you completed this exercise by yourselves earlier, it was easy, wasn't it?" you asked, "But when you were finished, there was no one to celebrate with. For starters, it felt like too simple of a task to even care about. And second, you were entirely alone. You were only worried about your own performance, and your individual success didn't mean a damn thing to anyone else in this room."

The smiles slowly faded from their faces as your words settled over them. They listened to you with intense focus.

"Now look at you," you continued, gesturing to the way they were standing together. "You just spent entirely too long failing at a task that should be simple, but because you conquered it together, you're celebrating. Blasting droids out on that simulation floor is not about who can shoot the most down. It is not about who can reach the citadel first. It is about conquering the battlefield together."

You stepped closer, looking at each of them. "It is about learning the strengths and weaknesses of every single man in your unit. You are brothers. You were born together, you train together, and you will fight together."

You reached out, gently tapping the wooden stick still resting in Echo's hand.

"The Citadel tomorrow is not a mountain of blasters and droids," you finished, your voice burning with an absolute, unwavering belief in them. "The Citadel is just a stick. A stick you all need to work together to raise. Now, do you think you can do that?"

The silence that followed your speech was thick with determination, the intensity of the boys' gazes proving that your lesson stuck its mark.

Then, the sudden hiss of your quarters’ door shattered the quiet.

"Babe. The hyperdrive went out again. What is it? The third time now? When are they ever-"

His voice cut off abruptly. Commander Colt marched into your quarters, his head buried deep into his datapad, his thumbs flying furiously across the screen. He took three aggressive steps into your living room, fully entangled in his own rant, before the stillness of the room made him halt.

Slowly, Colt lowered the datapad.

Five identical pairs of wide clone eyes stared up at him. The Domino Squad stood frozen, their bodies locked into attention at the sudden intrusion of an ARC Commander unceremoniously entering a Jedi’s private quarters.

For a second, nobody breathed. Colt blinked at the boys in their training sweats, then finally snapped his gaze to you.

Without saying a word, you subtly tilted your head toward the closed door of your adjoining bedroom. "Commander, help yourself," you said smoothly, your voice carrying a nonchalant edge that implied his sudden arrival was entirely expected.

Colt stared at you, his brain visibly buffering as he tried to process the scene.

"Right," Colt cleared his throat, his authoritative tone snapping back into place.

Quickly, he crossed the room, opened your bedroom door, slipped inside, allowing the door to close behind him. 

The moment the door shut, the atmosphere shifted from stunned silence to burning intrigue. Five heads snapped back to you. Cutup’s mouth was practically hanging open, and Echo looked as though he was having an aneurysm trying to understand the various regulation infractions that just occurred.

But it was Fives who caught your attention most. He was leaning back slightly, his eyes fixed entirely on you, scanning your face with an incredibly seductive look. A fire danced in his gaze as he bit his lower lip, his mind clearly piecing together why there could be an unannounced, late night arrival of an ARC Trooper to your quarters.

You didn't give him the chance to voice a single theory.

Extending your hand, you sharply snapped your fingers, the sound instantly breaking their focus. “Boys!" you commanded.

The Domino Squad snapped to attention. 

"You have the tools. You have the strategy," you told them, stepping into their space and letting your gaze lock onto each of them one last time. "Tomorrow, you don't fight for Bric. You don't fight for the Kaminoans. You fight for each other. Raise the stick, Dominos. Get some rest."

You walked them to the main door, the blast panel hissing open into the quiet, dim corridor of the quarters wing. They filed out in an orderly line, a completely different energy radiating from them than the broken mess you had found in the barracks prior.

"Brothers," Fives blinked in astonishment, "we need to pass tomorrow."

The second you were alone, your composure evaporated. You turned, marching towards your bedroom.

"You know, Colt, a knock would have been fantastic!" you chided sharply, stepping into the room.

Colt was already out of his gear. His armor already neatly stacked in a pile right beside your bed. He was in the middle of pulling the lower hem of his upper blacks, stretching the fabric as he yanked the tight material completely over his head.

His voice was muffled from beneath the top. "And how, exactly, was I supposed to know you’d be hosting a meeting for a squad of cadets in your living room this late at night?"

He tossed the top onto the pile with his armor, his chest falling as he let out a long, exhausted sigh. His overgrown hair was messy from his helmet - you found it cute. 

You opened your mouth to fire back a snarky retort, but the words completely died in your throat.

Your eyes snapped to his bicep, where a new wound took presence. Its edges were raw and stained with dried blood. Your irritation vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a sudden, protective urge to fix his arm. "What happened?" you asked, making your way to his side. 

You reached out, carefully, as you wrapped your fingers around his forearm, gently turning his arm over to examine the injury. The wound was deep enough to cause a permanent scar. The skin around it was angry and inflamed.

Colt didn't pull away, but he let out a dismissive scoff, looking down at your hands. "It's nothing. Just a stray graze from a small blast. It’s fine."

"This is not a graze, Colt," you countered, your thumb lightly brushing the uninjured skin just above the wound, feeling the heat radiating from the inflammation. "You should have gone to the med bay the second you touched down."

Colt reached across his body with his left arm, his hand wrapping completely over yours. He squeezed gently, slowly pulling your hand away from the wound, though he didn't let go of your fingers. 

"I was waiting to put the bacta patch on until after I took a shower and got the grime off," he shrugged, "I wanted to see you first. I promise, I'm fixing it." He gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go, stepping back toward the entrance of your attached refresher. "I'm going to take a shower."

You stood by the edge of the bed, a small, playful smile finally breaking through your worry. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at his back. "Is that an announcement, Commander, or an invitation?"

Colt paused in the doorway. He stopped, looking back at you over his broad, bare shoulder. A comforting smirk tugged at his lips, and he playfully rolled his eyes with a quiet chuckle.

"Is that ever a question with you?" 

Your smile widened. Without another word, you reached for the fabric of your robes, loosening the belt and letting the fabric fall in a soft heap straight to the floor, right alongside his discarded armor.

The steam from your shared shower lingered in the bedroom air, carrying faint moisture that was somehow comforting. 

Colt sat leaning against the headboard of your bed, a fresh, bacta patch sealed securely over the gash on his inner bicep. The redness around the wound was already beginning to soothe under the gel. He was dressed in a pair of soft, dark blue civilian pajama bottoms and a grey sleep shirt. You were able to get yourself a matching set. It was a small luxury you two picked up together during a rare opportunity to spend the day together on Coruscant; hidden from the eyes of the Jedi Council or the Republic.

You crawled onto the mattress beside him. The moment you sank into the blankets, Colt reached out, his arm sweeping around your waist to pull you flush against his side. You let out a long, contented sigh, melting into him as you rested your head perfectly against his uninjured shoulder. You placed your hand flush against the steady rise and fall of his chest.

With a soft click of a remote, the small holoscreen on the opposite wall hummed to life, projecting a late night bolo ball match. Colt’s fingers began to move in slow, soothing circles against your arm, his thumb tracking upwards to trace the curve of your shoulder.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the quiet commentary from the holoscreen.

"Alright," Colt broke the silence, his mouth pressed directly against your cheek as he kissed the crown of your head. "What exactly were those cadets doing in your quarters so late at night? They looked like they saw a ghost when I walked in."

You let out a soft sigh, "That was Domino Squad. And they are a disaster, Colt." You shifted slightly, nesting closer into his side as you explained their predicament. "Individually, they are excellent. Their raw combat skills, their reflexes, their ability to hit a target. They have everything it takes to be excellent soldiers. But they lack any form of cohesion."

Colt hummed, his hand continuing its slow, mesmerizing caress down your spine. "Let me guess. Bric?"

"Exactly," you groaned, a trace of your earlier frustration bleeding back into your voice, "Bric's training style is brutal. They spend more time bickering and fighting each other during simulations than they do facing the droids. They completely bombed their trial run today."

You paused, the weight of the war pressed on your mind. "If they don't learn how to work as a team and if they don't learn how to look out for one another's blind spots, the Republic is just going to ship them out to the front lines. They’ll be nothing but human targets out there. I couldn't just sit back and watch them fail without trying to break through to them."

Colt let out a low, deeply affectionate chuckle that vibrated into the mattress. He stopped his hand on your waist, squeezing you tightly against him. "Let me guess again. You brought them in here, sat them on that couch, and made them do the stick exercise?"

You blinked, letting out a soft laugh as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. "How did you know?"

"Because I will never forget the day you did the exact same thing to my squadron," Colt smiled. He turned his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "None of us would be ARC Troopers today if you hadn't forced us to look at each other instead of just looking at the battlefield. You taught us how to breathe as one unit. We owe everything to that lesson. We wouldn't have survived our first year on the field without it."

“And I saw the stick on the table,” he added, giving the top of your head a quick peck.

His gaze drifted to the holoscreen for a moment, his expression reflecting fond remembrance. "Speaking of the old squad. I got a transmission from the front lines today before we hit hyperspace. Hammer just got his official promotion to ARC Trooper."

A genuine smile bloomed on your face. "Hammer? Really? That's amazing." You shifted up onto your knees, straddling over him so you could look directly into his eyes. "That means your entire original training squad are ARC Troopers now, aren't they?"

"Every single one of them," Colt beamed. He reached up towards you, his hand gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tenderness that always felt like home. He leaned forward, catching your lips in a short, but slow, deep, kiss.

When he pulled away, he gave you an affectionate nudge, "See? I told you. You train the absolute best. That's why I'm looking forward to seeing your Bravo Squad in action during the final trial tomorrow. From what El-Les logged, they're incredible. Honestly, I'd love nothing more than to have them assigned directly to my battalion when they deploy."

Your smile faltered. You let out a soft, quiet laugh that caused Colt’s brow to instantly furrow with worry.

"What is it?" he asked, "What's wrong?"

You sunk into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as if you could physically hold him away from the war. 

"If they join your battalion," your voice was muffled against his skin, "I'm just incredibly jealous of them."

Colt was holding you so close there was no space left between you. "Jealous? Of a bunch of shinies?"

You lifted your face out of his neck, settling back down on his lap so that you could see him, "Because if they are assigned to your battalion, they'll get to see you every single day. And yet here I am, having to spend every day wondering if you're going to make it back."

Touched by your words, Colt sighed. His hand left your face, tracing a slow path down to your waist where he pulled you into him again, tightening his embrace.

"You don't want to be out there," he assured you softly, his chin resting on your shoulder, "Trust me. Despite what you feel right now, you do not want to be on the front lines."

"Why?" you whispered, "I'm a Jedi, Colt. I can handle it."

Colt let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as he confronted the brutal reality he faced every single day.

"Because out there, it’s a graveyard," he admitted bluntly, "It doesn't matter how brilliant your strategy is or how advanced your training is. The front lines are a nightmare. Call me selfish, but I like knowing that you are here, safe on Kamino. I like knowing that when I close my eyes in a trench when I feel alone out there, I know you’re away from it all.”

He went quiet for a moment, his chest expanding against yours.

"I've seen things that would change how you look at the galaxy," Colt continued, "I’ve watched Jedi fall in seconds due to the sheer numbers, stray shrapnel, and overwhelming blaster fire. It is terrifying to see the galaxy’s best warriors drop into the dirt just like any other soldier."

He turned his head, pushing you away from him so his eyes could meet yours. 

"If anything were to happen to you out there," Colt’s voice cracked slightly, “whatever is left of me would be obliterated. I can't afford that when my brothers are counting on me to lead them."

A look of disappointment spread across your face, but Colt refused to let the darkness of the conversation steal the fact that tonight, you had each other. Shaking off the thoughts, he shifted your bodies together, sliding onto his back, then wrapping both of his arms completely around you like he was trying to cocoon you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"But let's not waste our precious time worrying about the war right now," he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck as he pulled the soft blankets higher over both of you. "Right now, we are together. That's the only thing that matters."

You relaxed completely against him, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as you nestled into his chest, letting the comforting feeling of him sink in.

"And tomorrow's success matters too," you added softly. "You know, my Bravo boys and the Dominos passing their final test."

Colt squeezed you tightly in response. "I expect Domino Squad to pull through, if they actually paid attention to your stick game."

You let out a quiet, contented sigh, your eyelids growing heavy as the absolute security of his embrace finally pulled you toward sleep. "Yeah," you concurred sleepily, your hand resting over his heart. "I think they did"

With the ambient, flickering glow of the holoscreen fading into the background, the two of you comfortably drifted off to sleep, locked tightly in each other's arms. 

The silence in the barracks was broken not by bickering, but by the Domino Squad assembling their gear - together. They weren't acting like five individual cadets trying to beat each other to the refresher. The chaotic tension that usually defined them had burned away, replaced by a newfound energy.

Fives was already fully suited up, except for his helmet, which rested under his arm. He was practically vibrating with anticipation as he watched his brothers secure their gear.

Strutting over to Hevy’s bunk, a smirk played on Fives' lips. He leaned in and delivered a playful punch directly to Hevy's shoulder plate. "Alright," Fives grinned, "You ready, or are we going to let a piece of wood be the only thing we successfully lifted this week?"

Hevy snorted behind his teeth, pulling his chest plate tight and locking the side straps with a satisfying click. He didn't fire back with his usual defensive anger. Instead, a confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That stick gave me a headache, Fives. I’m ready to blast something that actually shoots back. Just make sure you don't drop your side of the line today."

"Not a chance," Echo chimed in from across the aisle, "As long as we work as a unit, we aren't dropping anything."

"Hear that?" Cutup laughed, "The reg book finally works in our favor."

"Alright, enough," Droidbait said, picking up his helmet and tucking it under his arm, "Let's go show them how our squad actually moves."

Fully armored, the Domino Squad marched out of the barracks and into the massive, echoing staging hangar. The polished white floor plates reflected the harsh overhead lights, but the boys didn't look down. Their shoulders were squared, their heads held high.

Waiting for them at the center of the hangar, was Commander Colt. Domino Squad, along with the others completing their final trial that day, halted in perfect lines in front of him, snapping into a flawless, textbook formation.

Colt took a slow step forward, his voice loudly against the hangar walls, “I want you troopers to Remember, we're shoulder to shoulder on those front lines. Brothers. And sometimes we may quarrel, but no matter what, we are united. Rule one: We fight together. So who’s ready to step up first?”

He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, as he scanned the room. His helmeted glance stopped at the Bravo Squad.

“Let's start with the unit that ran the practice test in record time,” Colt paused, “ARC Trooper time.”

“Bravo unit, step up,” Colt ordered, stepping towards them, “Show an ARC Trooper how it's done.”

As the Bravo Squad saluted to attention, saluting Commander Colt.

Fives leaned over to Cutup, dropping his voice, “Well, Bravo to his girlfriend’s squad.”

Cutup choked back a sudden, violent bit of laughter, rapidly converting it into a rough cough as Echo shot them both a brutal, wide eyed glare.

"Move out, boys," Hevy muttered from the front of their formation, his jaw set as he ignored his brothers' antics, "Let's give them something else to talk about."

Once again, you were on the observation deck for the training grounds, confused as to why that breeze was up there. To your left stood your master. El-Les monitored his datapad with a quiet focus, while Bric paced back and forth, his arms crossed over his chest like he was practically praying for a failure to validate his skepticism.

The door at the rear of the observation deck hissed open. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Colt entered the observation desk and made his way right next to you.

A betraying wave of heat rushed up your neck, blooming into a faint blush across your cheeks. Seeing him now, all geared up, shook your composure to its core. He looked attractive - very attractive. To keep from giving yourself away, you forced your eyes straight ahead, staring down at the arena floor.

Colt didn't give you so much as a casual glance, seamlessly carrying professionalism the moment he entered the observation desk.

"Master Jedi," Colt greeted, as he offered your master a small nod. He reached out, taking the digital logs El-Les eagerly provided, his thumbs scrolling through the logs, "I was reviewing the preliminary performance files on the transport."

"I have to say, I am thoroughly impressed with Bravo Squad's metrics. They seem exceptional. You’ve outdone yourself," he added, signaling towards you with his chin, "Your training methods are producing some of the finest soldiers I’ve seen."

Beside you, Master Ti bowed her head slightly toward you, acknowledging your undeniable success. "She has dedicated herself completely to their development, Commander. I am glad the results speak for themselves."

"Let's see how they handle live ordnance before we start handing out medals," Bric muttered under his breath as the final trial for the Bravo Squad began.

Bravo Squad marched onto the arena floor in a pristine line. The moment the simulation began, they moved like a whirlwind. It was a display of flawless, textbook precision. Every maneuver was covered, every energy detonator was thrown with accuracy and every blast found its target. They scaled the column of the Citadel without dropping any of their momentum, finishing the course in, again, record time.

"Immaculate," El-Les released a massive sigh of awe, "An absolutely perfect run."

"Agreed," Colt stated, stepping up to stand directly shoulder to shoulder with you at the edge of the railing. He looked down at the boys below, "Outstanding execution. A testament to their instructor."

Colt reached over and placed a firm, affirming celebratory pat on your shoulder. It was a standard gesture of military camaraderie meant to look entirely platonic to the trainers and Master Ti.

But the moment his hand pressed against your shoulder, the physical touch sent an electric, jolt straight down your spine. The professional barrier between you dissolved instantly. You could perfectly sense the deep, warm, and intensely proud secret smile hidden behind his stern expression.

The contact lasted only a second before he pulled his hand away. Standing mere inches from the man you loved, you felt the reality flooded your mind again. You could share a bed in the dead of night, but right here, you were completely unable to do something as simple as reaching out to hold his hand in front of the others. 

Colt cleared his throat, "Excellent work." He looked over at El-Les, "Who is next on the roster?"

"The Domino Squad," El-Les answered, tapping the interface to reset the course.

"The final unit," El-Les answered, his long fingers tapping the interface to reset the Citadel's automated defenses. "Domino Squad."

Bric immediately scoffed, letting out a harsh, derisive grunt, "A waste of everyone’s time. Those defects are just going to embarrass us. They shouldn't even be on the field.”

Down below, the heavy blast doors ground open, and Domino Squad stepped onto the arena floor.

From the absolute first second the simulation kicked into active status, they were a completely transformed unit. The bickering that had plagued their past runs was entirely gone. Instead, they moved gracefully across the terrain, adapting to one another’s movements with ease. When Hevy charged forward to draw the automated laser fire, Droidbait was already sliding into position to cover his blind spot. Echo provided knowledge of what the next orders would be, and Fives and Cutup moved along the flanks, protecting the squad’s rear. They were communicating flawlessly, running the course better than they ever had in their lives.

Up on the viewing platform, El-Les stared at the monitors in utter awe, while Bric’s jaw tightened in silent frustration. You leaned against the railing, pride swelling in your chest. They were doing it. They were doing it.

The squad successfully reached the pillar, preparing to scale the steep summit to claim the graduation beacon. Fives took the lead, reaching back to his utility belt to pull his ascension cable.

He froze. His hands clawed at his side, then his back. One by one, the other four clones reached for their belts, their heads snapping toward each other in a sudden wave of panic. Their ascension cables were completely missing from their gear packs.

On the platform you let out an audible gasp, your hands gripping the metal railing until your knuckles turned white. It felt like sabotage.

Bric immediately let out a cruel chuckle, a smug, satisfied grin stretching across his face. He crossed his arms tightly and gestured toward the training grounds. "Well, look at that," Bric declared dismissively, "Must have gotten lost.”

"What did you do?!" El-Les stepped forward aggressively, his voice cracking with defensive anger as he glared at Bric.

“I thought you had faith They'd be the best, right? Well, the best pass, No matter what,” Bric spat back, not denying his role in the missing ascension cables.

While the two trainers erupted into a fierce, escalating argument behind you, you completely tuned out their voices. You spotted movement; a spark of brilliance.

Without looking back at the arguing trainers, you sharply raised your right hand, the gesture instantly interrupting the shouting match behind you. "Look," you nodded. You pointed your finger directly down into the arena trenches.

Colt immediately turned his head, tracking the line of your finger as he stepped one step closer to you.

Down below, Domino Squad wasn't giving up. They weren't panicking. Inspired by the lesson of the stick from the night before, they had quickly analyzed the situation, recognized their strengths, and found an entirely new way to conquer the obstacle together.

Working in perfect, breathtaking unison, the boys began using the disarmed cannons to hoist themselves up the pillar. 

Bric’s voice was thick with forced amusement, “Well, I'll be. Creative little clones, aren't they?”

An triumphant smile broke across your face as you watched the Domino Squad successfully reached the top of the pillar, pulling the beacon from its post. 

You looked up at Colt, who was standing right at your side. Even though his helmet obscured his eyes, the slightly cocked angle of his helmeted head told you absolutely everything. 

Master Ti stepped closer to the railing, her serene expression softening into a look of genuine satisfaction. She watched the boys for a long moment before turning her gaze to you, "It appears," she hummed softly, "that their additional training session paid off beautifully."

Beside her, El-Les was practically glowing. Even Bric was forced into stunned silence.

Though you were high up on the observation deck, you could hear the Domino Squad cheering, laughing, and high fiving in pure relief. They had done it. 

The remaining units on deck completed their trials quickly, however, none of the subsequent squads managed to capture the energy that Domino Squad had just left on the training grounds.

Once the final performances were complete, you took a step back from the railing. You quietly bowed to Master Ti, inclining your head respectfully to the trainers. "If you will excuse me, Master," you announced, "I will dismiss myself to prepare the medals for the graduation presentation."

Master Ti offered a gentle, approving nod. "Go ahead, young one."

You turned and walked toward the exit, standing in the open doorway for a lingering second. A desperate part of your heart secretly hoped that Colt would make an excuse to slip away and follow you immediately. But as you glanced back, you saw him deeply locked in a formal, professional debrief with Master Ti. 

The supply room for the medals was tucked deep within the clone barracks. You stood alone over a metallic workspace. Meticulously, you began arranging the polished graduation medals into orderly rows.

The sharp hiss of the automated door suddenly shattered the silence.

You turned around quickly, expecting a Kaminoan administrator or a maintenance droid coming to check on your progress. Instead, Colt stepped into the room. He didn't say a word as the door slid shut behind him.

Colt didn't waste a single moment. He walked straight across the small room, and placed his helmet on the workbench. Reaching out, his fingers gently pried a medal right out of your hands, setting it down on the table.

Before you could even utter his name, Colt reached forward and pulled you firmly into his arms. This was nothing like the brief, platonic pat on the shoulder he had given you on the viewing deck. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist to lift you slightly off your feet, pressing flush against the plates of his gear. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck..

"That one cadet, Fives I think. He was right, you know," Colt confessed with a low laugh, "I didn’t acknowledge it but I heard an interesting whisper from him this morning on the hangar deck. Bravo really is my girlfriend's squad. They were absolutely perfect out there. Kinda like you."

A sudden blush spread across your cheeks, and you let out a soft laugh, playfully swatting at his shoulder. But as the laughter died down, your gaze drifted over past his body, landing on a tray of polished medals resting on the counter.

"Bravo was textbook," you admitted as you looked back up at him, "But those Domino boys have my heart, Colt. They fought so incredibly hard just to get past each other, let alone the course."

"After the ceremony today, they don't belong to the training bays anymore," you whispered, the bitter reality of the galactic conflict coming to light, "They belong to the front lines."

Colt’s expression shifted, the amusement melting away into something deeply protective. "They won't be alone out there," Colt delivered the words like a sacred promise. "I'm going to pull a few strings to make sure they get a quiet first assignment together. Your boys are going to make it."

Colt looked down at you, his thumb lightly tracing your jawline before he leaned in, lacing his fingers perfectly through yours right over the trays of graduation medals. He pressed his lips to yours in one last, deep, and lingering kiss.

Yet somehow, you were still frowning. 

“Hey,” Colt smiles, trying to get a smile on your face as well. 

“The galaxy is going to try to keep tilting us, completely off balance - every single day we're apart," he continued, admiring the brief look of confusion on your face, “But we take a moment and level ourselves out together.”

This got a pure genuine smile out of you. 

Colt gave you one last, firm squeeze, his forehead lingering against yours for a moment before he reluctantly stepped back, “Someone told me you’re really good at that.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a soft, breathless laugh, "Whoever told you that must be a genius," you whispered back, your heart full despite him standing apart from you.

"An absolute expert," Colt winked as he reached for his helmet on the counter. He reached out, his finger lightly tracing the edge of the tray holding the medals for Domino Squad. "You know, when I was tracking them down after their run, I caught them crowded around the lift. They were practically shouting over one another, but Fives managed to quiet them down for a second."

He looked back up at you, a proud, warmth in his dark eyes. "He told the rest of the unit that they never would have made it up that pillar if they hadn't taken your lesson to heart. He said they owed their entire graduation to you." Colt's smile widened slightly, "The whole squad agreed. Every single one of them."

A profound wave of relief and pride swelled in your chest. They had truly understood.

"They did the hard work," you shrugged, though you couldn't stop the smile from brightening your face. "They just needed to learn how to figure it out together."

"And you showed them how," Colt added softly. He slid his helmet over his head and lifted one of the prepared medal trays, “C’mon. Let’s go congratulate some shinies.”

You picked up the remaining metallic trays, your eyes catching the reflection of the polished medals as you walked beside him. Out in the grand hallway of the barracks, the echoing, proud voices of Domino Squad made you smile just a little more.

The galaxy outside Kamino was chaotic, violent, and entirely unpredictable. It was going to pull friends, brothers and lovers to opposite ends of the stars and demand everything you had to give. But as you marched down the hallway side by side with Colt, you felt entirely unshakeable. The war could tilt the universe all it wanted, you needed to find your balance.