#alpha-17

Less than a minute after the call disconnected, Fox's comm lit up with a message.

CC-5869: If you would rather, we can meet in a conference room so we don't risk waking the Commander.

Seventeen looked over Fox's face, his gaze lingering this time on the deep bags beneath his cadet's eyes. Something in his heart tugged, almost imperceptibly. He remained very aware of Fox'ika in his peripheral vision as he typed his reply: 'Sounds good.'

CC-5869: I will come meet you at the barracks and bring you to the conference room. Thire will meet us there.

Seventeen judged it unnecessary to respond to that. Instead, he combed his fingers through Fox'ika's silvered curls and carefully collected the datapad he'd been given off of the floor. He'd noticed in his quick glance over of the datapad's files that one of the included documents was on cardiovascular health, and he navigated to it now, determined to learn as much as he could while he had the time to do it. With the part of his mind that wasn't currently absorbing that information, he started to mentally rifle through everything he knew about hunting Sith. There had to be somewhere on Coruscant he could obtain beskar…

Eventually, crash-course in cardiovascular medicine and preliminary Sith hunting plans alike were disturbed by another gentle ping from Fox's comm. Seventeen barely glanced at it to confirm it was from Stone, already moving to extract himself from the bunk. Gratifyingly, Alpha-17's hard fought ability to disengage from cuddling a cadet without waking them had not atrophied despite long disuse. Skill born of years of practice allowed Seventeen to stand and shift Fox's head from his lap and onto the pillows in one smooth, continuous motion that provided the absolute minimum of jostling. He checked to make sure that Fox didn't show any signs of stirring as he tucked the datapad underneath the bunk, then kitted up with swift, brutal efficiency, hooked his bucket onto his belt, and answered the door.

Commander Stone was waiting outside, as promised, with Fox's bucket tucked under one arm. He nodded in greeting, stepping aside for Seventeen to exit, unaware of the invisible war in his mind. Everything in Alpha-17 didn't want to leave his cadet—not ever again, not after what he'd seen. Not after holding him while he shattered like that. But he'd made him a promise to fix it. If Fox'ika was going to safe, the Sith needed to die.

Head held high, Seventeen stepped out, and let the door hiss shut behind him.

There was another vod waiting in the halls, not directly visible from the doorway. He was leaned up against the wall with his nose buried in a datapad, rapidly tapping away, and while he didn't lift his head, Seventeen didn't miss the brief upward flick of his eyes in his direction, even as his typing never faltered. And though he wasn't an ARF, at least not by the armor, there was a mastiff near his feet, sitting in the canine version of attention. Seventeen didn't say anything verbally, but as he very deliberately looked at Stone, he did allow his eyebrows to ask the question for him.

"Korar will be there if the Commander needs anything, but he still needs to work, so Tooka is here to be a second pair of eyes. She's trained to alert for medical distress. And she can afford to cuddle while on the job."

It was well thought out, and Seventeen tipped his head a bit in wordless approval. Something in Stone's stance relaxed the tiniest bit, but his overall posture, while regulation perfect attention aside from the bucket he was carrying, still thrummed with an anxious tension. It was that tension, and the way that Stone had tried to subtly peer over Seventeen's shoulder when he'd left the bunkroom, that had him pretending to misread Stone's intent when he made to step forward, shifting the helmet like he was going to hand it off to Seventeen.

Instead of moving to meet him and taking Fox's bucket, Seventeen stepped aside, gesturing for Stone to go in. He kept his face and posture neutral, but he was still observing carefully as Stone froze in his tracks. There was a different kind of tension in him, then, the sort of perfect stillness that a prey animal adopted when it sensed a predator around. It was brief, short enough that most likely would not have registered anything at all, but Seventeen didn't doubt that he'd seen it. He did not like it.

Stone's bucket was on, so Seventeen couldn't see his face, but he still caught the minute turn of his head, back and forth between Seventeen and the door. His weight shifted, and then all at once he surged forward, reaching the door in one stride and not-quite dancing impatiently as the door hissed open. He slipped in sideways the very instant the gap was wide enough for an armored clone to pass through, turning his head and shifting the bucket under his arm in order to make it. Once Stone was in, he hit the button on the other side, and the door ground to a halt before sliding shut again.

It didn't take as long for Stone to reemerge as Seventeen might have expected. He'd positioned himself against the opposite wall and settled in to examine the chipping paint job on the door—a bright, multicolored riot of messy but joyful swipes and splatters mixed in with more methodical strokes and swoops that contained every hue except, somewhat notably, red—when it opened back up, interrupting Seventeen's appraisal. He'd picked out 501st blue, Wolfpack grey, 212th gold, 327th yellow, the 91st's brown, and a shade of dull green he was relatively certain belonged to the 889th, and by extension, Stone's batchmate Rock. It all flew out of his head when the door opened.

The other Guard—Korar—skirted around Stone and into the bunkroom. His head stayed pointed towards his pad, but from his angle, Seventeen was able to spot the brief upward flick of his eyes, right to where Fox would be in the now darkened room, and the subsequent slight release of tension in his shoulders. He noted it all only absently, more arrested by the expression on Stone's now unhelmeted face.

It had been years since he'd seen that look, but there was no mistaking it. It was the exact same look of mingled peace, fondness, and worry he'd used to see on Dral's face when he'd come back to the Alpha-class barracks after checking on his cadets in the middle of the night, from the tiny, fond creases in the outer corners of his eyes to the particular set of his mouth. If he hadn't already known full well that Stone was one of Dral's cadets, there would have been no doubting it then.

Seventeen briskly shook off the fleeting, bittersweet nostalgia as Stone gave the mastiff a command and gestured to the still open door. The mastiff chuffed in acknowledgment and breezed solemnly into the bunkroom after Korar, and then Stone hit the external keypad and the door slid shut.

"This way, sir. It's a bit of a walk," Stone said. 

"Cadet. Do you think I mind walking?" Seventeen tipped his head in challenge.

Stone grinned, suddenly, weak but genuine. When he tipped his head in return, the faint clouding over his right cornea caught the light oddly. "No, sir, Alpha-17."

"Then lead on, Commander."

There was a moment of hesitation before Stone started walking, a second where his head twitched to the side slightly like he wanted to look back at the bunkroom door, but he didn't. Seventeen had no qualms about looking at the door one more time before following him.

As they walked, Seventeen observed. Without his cadet in his arms to focus on, he was able to take in the halls he had hardly even noticed before. He'd seen peripherally as the lighting changed and color had begun to appear, but as Stone led him further into the base, the changes became even more extensive. Harsh fluorescents were replaced by lamps, strings of little lights, and even candles, creating a dimmer and more welcoming atmosphere. Some of the candles glowed underneath coverings made of mirror fragments and colored glass, reflecting and magnifying the firelight and turning the entire hallway into a dazzling, flickering display. Bunkroom doors were painted in bright colors, as were the walls and even the floors. Strands of worn-smooth chips of glass and woven streamers of bright fabric scraps dangled from the ceiling, and hangings and homemade tapestries sporadically dotted the walls. Seventeen was not a vod prone to fancy, but he could admit it was beautiful, in its way.

He also wasn't oblivious. Of the original fluorescent lights, some were damaged, and others visibly cannibalized with wires hanging out and components removed. The few that still operated this far into the base flickered badly. Brushing aside one of the tapestries revealed a gaping hole in the duracrete walls, and Seventeen didn't doubt that all of the others hid similar damage, especially considering some of the very odd placement choices. There were waterstains on the ceiling tiles, and patches of mold, outright holes in the ceiling and missing tiles. The floors were scuffed and scraped and had the occasional pothole. All of the doors looked to have been installed before the time of Mand'alor the Reformer at the absolute most recent, and the few he saw in motion as vode came and went moved as slowly as the door to Fox's bunkroom, if not more so, sometimes accompanied by odd noises of mechanical strain. One particular door threw out the occasional spark from an open corner that looked as though it had been chewed through. Despite all that had been done to add warmth both visual and literal, there was a lingering chill in the base's air. The outer, unmodified portions of the base had barely been in better repair.

The room that Stone brought him to boasted a table, four chairs, and nothing else. The only bit of color in the room was a single mural on the wall, creating a false window. The table and three of the chairs were of the cheap folding kind that would break if you breathed on them too hard, and the remaining chair was slightly nicer, apart from the snapped off armrest and the piece of rebar taped on in place of one of the legs. 

Seventeen didn't sit. Neither did Stone, taking up a post on the other side of the room, stiff and tense again. 'Tense and anxious' seems to be the default of the Guard, Seventeen thought, with the same sort of idle consideration as a nexu contemplating its next meal.

For his part, Seventeen pretended like he was fully focused on taking in the mural on the wall, and not equally taking in the vod in the room. He didn't miss the fact that Stone was completely aware he was being studied, and pretending not to be, either. The mural really was well done—well enough that someone might be fooled into thinking it was one of those expensive holoview windows before they noticed the image was perfectly still. The 'window' displayed a view of a vibrant magenta ocean lapping against a pure white beach, both carrying a slight iridescent glimmer where the light from the great sun blazing low in the sky hit the strongest.