#iliac

Garbled chatter made Shell's eyes flutter open. It always took a moment to take in the world around him, sense by sense.

Touch came first—softness embraced his whole left side. He must have rolled over in his sleep. It was a fuzzy texture, with a layer of dust and lint; sheets and pillows he stole from one of many abandoned buildings. For how many nobles contaminated Christophsis, you'd think they would at least have nice possessions…

Shell scrunched his face, just to stretch a little. Smell kicked in soon after: m: mildew, with an earthy aspect. It made sense for ruins of crystalline buildings and broken pipes. In turn, the air felt thicker, and colder.

Then came sound. Wind whistled through his—their shelter's many cracks. Part of him wanted to knock on wood each night, hoping the desecrated building wouldn't collapse in their sleep.

But perhaps he was just catastrophizing, and besides, General Nu would never allow such exclusive privacy to clones. His brothers had their own hideouts, too, but Shell shared his with another.

If he focused hard enough, could he hear him breathing?

He nudged the notion aside after a moment of silence; Iliac always slept like a corpse. He couldn't feel him, though. No warm, familiar arms wrapped around his chest, riddled with scars, with history. That made him turn—was his vod awake? If he was, he would've b-

He turned his head, and caught a blue glow in the corner of the room, with a sharp cutoff. That's when he noticed quiet, crunchy audio of his own voice.

"I-I-I miss yo-u-u. I got-ot-ot-otta go."

Shell rolled onto his back. The sting of fresh scars almost made him wince, but something more…sympathetic, appeared on his face.

On the other end of their narrow bed, was Iliac, hunched over on its edge. The holotape flickered, uttering the same words over and over again at the lowest possible volume.

"Vod…" Shell mumbled. To him, it was the perfect word: grander than "brother", but not synonymous with "lover", at least in his eyes. Nothing else properly described the comfort they felt in each other's presence. Shell couldn't just call him a brother, at least in private; it didn't feel right, not after saving each other's lives so many times, not after so many tender nights.

Iliac didn't respond. He only turned his head after a finger grazed his scar-ridden back.

Shell's furrowed gaze met the medic's soulless eyes. Well, soulless was how any other clone would've described it, but the ARC trooper saw something deeper: desensitized dread.

He lifted, sweat sticking his skin to the bed. He cringed at the sickening sensation, but that didn't stop him from crawling up to his vod.

"Somethin' on your mind?" Shell whispered and swung his legs over the bed's edge. The frame groaned at the sudden weight, with both of them making a dent in the mattress. Still better than any Republic bunk, though.

Iliac couldn't look away from the hologram, and replied with a grunt.

Shell grimaced—stubborn bastard. He placed a hand on the back of his vod's bald head, dragging down his back. Both of them enjoyed the sensation of callouses against scars, perhaps that would pry an answer out of the medic?

"Talk to me, vod."

"…I'm preparing," Iliac said. His tone was casual, yet…surgical—sharp.

"Preparing for what?"

"For when you leave."

The ARC's frown softened into understanding.

"I've got a couple days lef-"

"Two. You have two days left." Iliac corrected.

Shell glowered again, "Yeah, yeah, you don't gotta be a smartass about it. But still, I've got time before I head to Ryloth. You're supposed to use this once I'm already off." he tried to smirk.

"It'll hurt less, when I see your name on the list."

The ARC trooper's heart sank. Not if—when. The realization hit like a blaster to the heart. He'd only been an ARC for a few months, Ryloth was his first major mission off Christophsis! This was something to celebrate! They both knew of Ryloth's brutality, but Shell thought he was ready, he knew he was ready.

Iliac, though, had obvious grief in his gaze, in how he shakily held the holotape…

In how he looked like a man who'd already lost everything.

Shell knew of the medic's history with commandos; he'd seen so many die in his arms on Geonosis, treated like fodder by generals who didn't know what they were doing.

But they both escaped death, more times than they could count—that had to have been worth something.

"You're not giving up on me now, are you?" the ARC wrapped his arm around Iliac. He tried to maintain humor in his voice, but his vod's grieving certainly dimmed it. "I'm ready for it, I promise."

"The commandos said that, too. So did their instructors. I…I could at least hold them, I could at least put them somewhere safe before they died. But you? On a standard Republic hyperdrive, you'll be forty-eight hours away. Your body would be disposed of by the time I got there, if I could even find an excuse to go off-world." the medic turned to Shell, not a tear in sight; just a hitch in his throat and a flat, dead voice. That was almost worse than sobbing.

Shell pursed his lips, and placed his hand over the holotape. His hologram was cut off, but the audio continued to loop.

"Why mourn me now? 'M still here, aren't I?"

"But you won't be here in two days." Iliac stared at his vid.

"And I'll come back!"

"You don't know tha-"

"Iliac." Shell said, firm, and commanding. He'd been practicing such a tone since he got promoted—and it payed off; the medic froze, though not without subtly frowning.

The ARC's fingers curled around the holotape's crude form. In reality, it was just a hunk of scrap metal and circuitry he cobbled together, spending all his favors in the process. It was supposed to assure Iliac, not hurt him, not send him in a spiral of grief before Shell had even left.

He pulled up, only for the medic to maintain his strong, yet trembling grip. They stared at each other for a moment, one that dragged on like an hour. Shell's eyes were sympathetic, yet steadfast. Iliac's were hollow with morbid acceptance.

"It's ok, vod. I'll be ok." Shell whispered. That brought brightness to the medic's solemn face, and his hand loosened enough for the holotape to escape him

Darkness devoured the once-grand bedroom, now littered with rubble after constant warfare. The ARC placed the holotape on the floor with a gentle dink sound. He straightened, and, after spotting his vod's outline in the dark, planted a kiss on his cheek, the one with a Geonosian claw mark.

"You can start missin' me once I'm gone. But right now, I just want you resting, with me." He pressed his forehead against the side of his vod's skull. Iliac replied with a sharp exhale, a clear confession of defeat. Shell smirked at that, and wasted no time getting them both back in bed.

The air remained thick—warm. Still, it wasn't cold enough for blankets, so instead of cycling between the two in misery, they wrapped their arms around each other.

A naked body against a naked body—just the right temperature.

Iliac leaned on Shell's chest. With that pressure, the ARC could feel his heartbeat, clear, and hard, like a slow drum.

"Anythin' you feel like doing tomorrow?" he said.

The medic hesitated for a second, but ultimately relented. "There's a market, somewhere in the east district. I heard that some troopers sneak in while they're off-duty."

Shell snickered, "Feelin' disobedient, eh?"

Iliac grunted; the ARC detected a frown, what with the shifting sensation against his chest. One hand sensed it, too, whilst cradling his vod's head.

"It'll hur…" the medic paused, "…It'll be enjoyable, to do it before you leave."

With a grin, Shell pecked the top of Iliac's head.

"Yeah. I'd like that."