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“I don’t wanna go to sleep,” Tamlin whines, kicking at his covers.
Bacta sighs and pulls the blanket back up to Tamlin’s chin, tucking him in next to the small collection of lizards he’s brought to bed with him tonight.
“Meeting’s over, buddy,” he says, resting one hand lightly on Tamlin’s chest. “That means it’s bedtime.”
“You’re not going to bed,” Tamlin points out, all big eyes and pouty lips.
Bacta laughs gently. “That’s true,” he says. “But everyone else is going to bed soon, too. I promise.”
Tamlin’s lower lip juts out further. “Can we play bedsabers first?”
Bacta grits his teeth slightly. Of all the many reasons why he regrets co-parenting a child with Tryst Valentine, bedsabers is definitely pretty high on the list.
“No, buddy, we put a hold on bedsabers after what happened last time, remember?”
“Uncle Leenik’s head was only bleeding for, like, twenty minutes,” Tamlin says huffily.
“No bedsabers,” Bacta repeats, trying to use his best Firm Parental Figure Voice. Having never had a real parental figure himself, he finds himself constantly balancing on the edge between being a pushover and being a drill sergeant. He just wants to be Tamlin's family, not his commanding officer.
“Fiiiiine,” Tamlin concedes, letting out a sigh so long and miserable that Bacta nearly caves. But almost instantly, Tamlin’s eyes light up again and he says, “Can we play question time, then?”
“What’s question time?” Bacta asks, shifting on his knees. He’s kneeling in front of the little hammock they’ve slung up for Tamlin in Leenik and Tryst’s bunk. They really need to get the kid his own space. Bacta mentally adds that to the long, long list of things that they Really Need To Do.
“I play it with Uncle Tryst and Uncle Leenik at night when I can’t sleep,” Tamlin says. He hugs one of his lizards against his side. “I get to ask each of them a question, and they have to answer me, and then I have to be quiet and let them sleep.”
Bacta is almost impressed that those two came up with such an elegant system, although he shudders to think what kind of questions Tamlin’s been asking them, and what kind of answers they’ve been giving him.
“Okay, buddy,” Bacta says. He shifts from his knees into a cross-legged position, getting more comfortable. He still has one hand resting on Tamlin’s chest, rubbing gentle circles almost instinctively.
“Hmm,” Tamlin muses. The longer Tamlin takes to come up with his question, the more Bacta’s dread grows. He wants to answer Tamlin honestly, but if the kid starts asking him about sex or about drugs—please not about drugs—he’s not sure what he’ll do.
“Do you have a last name, Uncle Bacta?” Tamlin finally asks.
It’s such an innocuous question that Bacta almost forgets that they’re playing a game. He has no idea where that question came from, but at least it’s not about drugs.
“No, I don’t,” Bacta answers honestly. “Technically, I don’t even have a first name. Bacta is just a nickname my brothers gave me. Legally, I’m just CT-1776.”
Tamlin seems to mull that over for a moment. Then he rolls over onto his side so that he’s looking at Bacta face-on as he says, “But you’re a criminal, right?”
“Whoa, whoa, where is this coming from?” Bacta asks. “I am… not on the Empire’s good side, but criminal is a complicated word. If you ask me, the Empire is criminal.”
“But you don’t follow the law,” Tamlin says, rolling his eyes as if his meaning is obvious. “So it doesn’t matter what your name is legally, right?”
Bacta blinks for a moment, and then smiles. “I guess you’re right, buddy.”
“I think you should have a last name,” Tamlin says decisively. He gives a little nod, as if finalizing the matter.
“Yeah?” Bacta asks. “What do you think my last name should be? I suppose it could be Fett. I’m a clone of Jango Fett, after all, so I guess he’s sort of like my dad?”
Tamlin hums for a moment, considering this, and then shakes his head.
“I think it should be Jorun,” he says.
For a second, Bacta could swear that he feels his heart stop. An emotion he doesn’t dare to name wells up in his throat. “Jorun?” he repeats, like maybe he didn’t hear right.
“Yeah,” Tamlin says. “My last name is Jorun, and you’re like my dad, so I think you should be a Jorun, too.”
Bacta has to fight to hold back the tears that are starting to pool against his eyelashes. He doesn’t want Tamlin to think he’s upset. He isn’t upset. He’s never been further from upset.
“You really think so, buddy?”
“Yeah,” Tamlin says, nodding.
Bacta swallows hard. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
Tamlin’s face splits into a brilliant grin. He pushes aside his lizard and leans forward to wrap his arms around Bacta’s neck, and Bacta doesn’t even care that he’s thrown off his covers again. He hugs Tamlin back tightly, rubbing his back.
“Tamlin Jorun and Bacta Jorun,” Tamlin says happily, his face pressed against Bacta’s neck. “We match. I like it when we match, Uncle Bacta.”
“Me, too, buddy,” Bacta says. “Me, too.”