2/16/19: Deleted and reposted this fic due to 900+ spam reviews.

It's not as if he intended to collect them, but they're very functional articles of clothing, and Sumeragi Lee Noriega and Christina Sierra insist on buying several for him every time they travel to earth.

Tieria stands before his closet, a mere six months before their armed interventions are meant to start, and realizes that he may have let this get out of hand.

He has them organized by material, and then by color—after all, it wouldn't do to wear a summer sweater in the middle of winter, or a enormous wool sweater about the Ptolemaios. The women have been considerate enough, he supposes, to choose colors that don't look awful with his hair—though he didn't pay much attention to such things until he realized it made him stand out on field missions—but the fact of the matter is, he has over four dozen cardigans in his closet, and no real need for that large of a collection.

Setsuna F. Seiei—the insufferable, barely pubescent child chosen to pilot their most important Gundam—had smiled a little bit, when Tieria walked into the hangar today. He had been wearing a pink sweater—something loose enough to allow freedom of movement, but fitted enough that it would not become a liability in the low gravity. It was serviceable, fit him well, and was rather comfortable.

Tieria is fairly certain Setsuna had not smiled because he approved of his clothing choices.

Allelujah Haptism, to his credit, seems not to care what Tieria wears to the hangar, so long as he is wearing something. Tieria disapproves of Kyrios' pilot greatly—has read the fine details of his file in Veda, and knows exactly how much of a liability he may be—but he must admit that he is the only other Meister with any sense about clothing regulations while working near enormous machines designed to kill. Allelujah's outfits always include close-fitting shirts, long pants, and work boots, and—though Tieria does not understand the function of his limiting hairstyle—he is leagues ahead of Lockon and Setsuna.

Lockon's functionless vest gapes open at the front, flaps all about when he pushes around the hangar, and the wool around the neck is liable to shed and get everywhere. Setsuna is even worse, with that damned scarf going everywhere with him. Tieria has half-thought about shoving it in one of Exia's joints so he is caught, just to see what he would do.

The only reason he doesn't is the thought that, if he accidentally kills Exia's pilot, Sumeragi Lee Noriega may recruit someone even worse.

.

.

He would throw some of the sweaters away, if the idea of wasted resources didn't make his stomach turn in distaste. He even considers giving some of them to other people on the Ptolemaios or Krung Thep, if only to get them out of his closet. Linda is about his height, and the other women on base would probably jump at the possibility of free clothing.

He opens his closet the next morning, prepared to empty it, and realizes that he really has no true reason to do so.

There's plenty of space, even when accounting for his shirts and pants; he'll simply ask Christina and Sumeragi to stop buying him more sweaters. He'll give them an itemized list of the ones he already owns, and demonstrate that all weather conditions and all clothing requirements have been thoroughly met. After all, it would be imprudent to spend money on even more redundant clothing when they could buy more practical things when they traveled to Earth.

The pink one that Setsuna laughed at is particularly soft and warm; a turquoise one that Feldt bought him last year is thicker, suitable for winter temperatures. A dark brown one at the end of the line is particularly appropriate for more formal functions, due to its more structured build, while a Christmas-themed pullover a few sizes too big is optimal for sleeping during cold nights on Earth.

Each sweater has its own distinct functions and advantages, and Tieria thinks he will not be parted with any of them.

Lockon and Lasse snort, and Christina grins widely at him as he walks into the mess hall this morning. He frowns and ignores them, stepping toward the packaged food. This sweater is the latest to be added to his collection, a light green color with multicolored roses skillfully embroidered at the wrist and waist. He needs to break it in on his days off before he will be comfortable wearing it all day in the hangar.

"I like it," Lockon calls, loudly, and Tieria turns his head slightly as Lasse grins from the table. "Is that a new one?"

"Yes," Tieria says, a little stiffly; he chooses the meal he can eat the fastest, and hesitates before sitting down with the three of them. He knows, from experience, that if he sits elsewhere, they will simply move to join him. "Linda and Mileina brought it back from New York, and insisted I take it."

"I see," Lockon says, his grin growing wider as he glances to Lasse. "You've probably got a couple hundred by now, right? I mean, the girls keep buying them, and I hardly see you wear the same one twice!"

"I have fifty-four sweaters, all with their own uses," Tieria says sharply, opening his meal, and then turns to Christina. "After a thorough inventory this morning, I have determined that I will not require any more. Stop buying them for me, because I will not accept them."

Christina looks at him skeptically, her eyebrows raised high. "You can never have too many clothes," she insists, and Tieria mourns the thought of what her private quarters must look like. "What if something happens to your luggage on the trip up the elevator and two weeks' worth of sweaters are just gone?"

"I wear approximately four different sweaters each week," he says, frowning at her. "Losing eight would leave me with forty-six—which is more than anyone else on this base owns."

"I mean, she's got a point, Tieria," Lasse says, and Tieria takes a deep breath through his nose. Lasse has always been the combat specialist Tieria favors—if only because his other options are impossibly incompetent—but he has regular irrational, very human moments that Tieria despises. "I mean, what if you lose your favorite one? Maybe you should have two of each, just in case."

"I do not have a favorite sweater," he says as Lockon ducks his head momentarily, one hand going to his mouth. "As I said, each one has its own optimal use. I do not favor one over any other."

"Awww," Chris says, drawing out the word in a way that makes Tieria want to slap her. "Not even that pink one Miss Sumeragi and I bought you last month? I saw you wearing it yesterday, it looks really good with your hair!"

Lockon coughs in a way that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, ducking his head again. Tieria ignores him. "That sweater is particularly serviceable," he allows, "but my operations would not be inhibited should I lose it."

"But would you be upset if you lost it?" Lockon presses.

Tieria frowns at him, standing and depositing his empty carton in the recycler before allowing him an answer. "Sweaters are inanimate objects," he settles on, crossing his arms and staring severely between the three of them. "I would not mourn their loss any more than I would mourn yours."

Lockon whistles, his own brows rising, as Chris busts out laughing. "Sick burn," Lasse calls, loudly, but Tieria is already out the door.