#repcomm writing

Insight is rarely one of those brilliant aha moments where you're suddenly confronted with a completely new perspective. Only in exceptional cases do you facepalm and, depending on the nature of the insight, let out a sound of triumph or shame. No. More often than not, it's a rather gradual process that begins in a seemingly insignificant situation. A situation in which you're unaware that it will turn your life upside down. And even if you can't quite remember that one moment later... the subconscious keeps working. Relentlessly. And at the end of the process, you inevitably ask yourself how, in hindsight, you could ever have felt, thought, or considered anything different than what you now believe. And how the heck you actually got from there to this point right now.

For IC-1262, Clone Commander Scorch, that process started in 18 BBY, on a sleazy space station in the Ojoster Sector, while he was running errands.

“And why should I accommodate you in this matter, clone?” The down-and-out Corellian gave Scorch a crooked smile across the table, revealing a row of yellow, rotten teeth. His bodyguard beside him, a grumpy-looking Devaronian, remained impassive, staring blankly at the wall behind Scorch.

‘Because I’m a fucking commando, you jerky dumbshit, and all I’d have to do is flicker my finger to blast you and your buddy into orbit. And if it weren’t just a waste of ammo, you’d put on quite a show. Scum!’

But since he had been raised to be polite in a certain sense, and certainly obedient, Scorch only swallowed his answer. He was on a mission. Even though it was an illicit one. The blue glow in his visor still flickered dangerously in the dimly lit room as he tilted his head slightly and replied in a calm voice: “I understand from your answer that you intend to refuse service to the Empire?”

That hit home! Thank Katarn. Scorch didn't even have to straighten up to add another inch or two to his already imposing stature. Without another word, the scumbag slumped down behind the table and slid a small package wrapped in brown flimsi towards him. Pathetic.

“On the house, sir!” he stammered. “It's always an honor to do business with you!”

His expression betrayed his hope that Scorch wouldn't be showing up again anytime soon. And Scorch shared that hope, albeit for a different reason. It felt so much longer than four years since he'd left Kamino as a fully trained elite commando with Delta Squad and successfully completed his first mission on Geonosis. Delta Squad. What…? He immediately pushed the thought aside. Instead, he accepted the package, discreetly put it into one of his belt pouches, and gave a short nod to signal the conversation had ended, before turning and heading towards his shuttle.

That's when it happened. Scorch was almost at the airlock when he saw a mirage in a scratched Transparistel window. Just for a moment. It was the reflection of a face, half-hidden beneath a hooded cloak, a face he'd seen a million times before. Every day it stared back at him from his mirror before he hid it beneath his white-gray helmet, concealing it from the galaxy, and Scorch became "Commander Nameless." And even though he shared that face with a million others, for him… for all of them… each one was unique. And this face here… No, it just COULDN'T be! He stopped and whirled around. But there was no one there. At least no one who could have been a clone in civilian clothes. No one who bore the name… Perhaps his imagination had played tricks on him, he pondered about half an hour later, as he sat in the cockpit on approach to Wayland, gripping the controls a little tighter than necessary.

And even more so, about twelve standard hours later, when he was back in the shuttle on his way to the space station again. This time, however, not on some stupid mission. Not to procure another dose of glitterstim for the head of the Advanced Science Division, like some shady henchman. This time, because he wanted it himself. Because he needed to know.

He was a fucking commando. Back then, four years ago, that still meant something. He and his brothers had been through hell for ten years to receive the best training an elite trooper could get. He had survived Vau and his whims—and Geonosis. He was outstanding! Even better than the already magnificent clones of the Grand Army of the Republic. Excellent, enhanced genetic material, bred for battle, drilled to succeed. To… what the hell?! Since when did he think of himself and his brothers in derogatory terms like “genetic material”? Fierfek! Ever since he was assigned as Royce Hemlock's personal lurca hound, that perverse sadist in the name of science. If Scorch was still able to cry, a tear or two would probably have trickled down his cheek. Visible to everyone, if anyone had been there, as his helmet lay unattended on the co-pilot's seat.

Some time later, when Scorch re-entered the space station through the airlock, he noticed for the first time how different this place was from his current living space. Tantiss, like Kamino before, was cold and sterile. New and shiny. In a way, frightening. Up here, everything was old and dilapidated, teeming with shady characters lurking in the shadows. In every corner someone was talking or laughing. There was shouting and bargaining, and in the canteen, the dulcet voice of a Twi'lek singer wafted through the air like wisps of smoke. He strutted slowly through the corridors, and it was as if the scum around him held their breath as soon as he approached, even before he had his DC at the ready. He didn't belong here, they made sure he knew it, and suspicion hit him like a blast of icy surf. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Corellian, who was still frantically trying to take cover behind a wall panel the moment Scorch entered the room. The "prime" stuff he'd given him earlier was probably laced... again. Scorch couldn't care less, and that wasn't why he was here anyway. He was here to gain certainty. He was here to... well, to do what exactly? Step by step, he felt himself gripped by trepidation. What had he been thinking, coming here to hunt down a delusion? What did he actually intend to do if his instinct proved correct? And what if he'd been wrong? Then he'd return to Tantiss empty-handed and pick up where he'd left off, as if nothing had happened. The mere thought of this possibility tightened around his throat like an icy claw, threatening to choke him.

The minutes passed by and nothing happened. No matter how closely he looked and scanned his surroundings, he couldn't find the face he'd come for. Not a single clone... even though he'd expected none, the fact still stung. He'd do one more round, head towards the storage areas, checking if anyone was hiding in there. Just then, a red dot flashed on his HUD. Unauthorized access to the shuttle. Scorch turned on his heel and ran towards the docking bays. The shuttle was there, amidst other vessels, and it looked like it had been a false alarm. He still thought there was something in the wind.

And rightly so.

“I thought I’d have to engage the weapon systems and light this thing up like a tree on Life Day before you realize something is off.”

A cloaked figure sat in the pilot’s seat with folded arms across the chest, turning toward the hatch just as Scorch jumped into the shuttle and targeted the intruder in the DC’s crosshair.

“You used to be better than Six-Two,” the figure said mockingly, before adding, “and more talkative.”

Scorch tilted his head and considered for a split second. Was this…? Of course he was. Who else would be this level of crazy, or arrogant, to sneak onto an Imperial shuttle undetected, only to then deliberately set off the silent alarm? For the first time in a long time, a smile played on Scorch’s lips, and no one could see it.

“I had nothing useful to say, Fixer.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the figure stood up and pulled the hood off his head. And there, in the dark cockpit, illuminated by the concealed neon light of the landing platform, stood Fixer. Dressed in civilian clothes, unarmed, his golden-brown eyes fixed intently on Scorch. And perhaps for the first time in his life, Scorch was speechless, as the icy claw around his neck was tightening mercilessly.

“I was afraid you hadn’t seen me this morning.”

No answer.

“I… Boss sent me to get you outta here.”

No answer.

“Scorch?” To an outsider, his voice might have sounded uncertain, but Fixer was more likely alarmed. And, to be honest, Scorch couldn’t even blame him.

It had been almost a year since the initial commando units were disbanded on Vice Admiral Rampart's orders. With the list of deserters and insubordinate troopers growing ever longer, especially since the newly formed Empire had begun replacing clones with recruited stormtroopers, this was considered a justified measure to prevent further defections. However, it met with little success. Scorch had just been transferred to his new assignment on Daro to train stormtroopers when he received news that IC-1140 and IC-1138 had deserted. The loss of his brothers, no, that fact that they left without him, was such a blow that he threw himself into his work from that moment on, regardless of the consequences. Not even the weekly electroshock sessions bothered him anymore; afterwards, he always felt "set on the path of righteousness." Good soldiers follow orders…

If there were clones who were deserting one by one, then it was up to him to take care of those who had stayed behind like him. He had to make sure they survived. He had to…

He had to arrest Fixer right here and now and hand him over to the Imperial courts. He had to make sure he got what he deserved. Good soldiers follow orders… and not just the ones they like.

“Scorch? Fierfek, if you don’t say something soon, I’m going to assume you’ve had a stroke.” Fixer pointed his index finger at Scorch’s visor.

No answer.

But if he did watch over his brothers, as he had sworn in his despair… Images flashed before his mind's eye. Hundreds of captured clones, all currently in solitary confinement at the base on Wayland, undergoing daily blood tests for scientific purposes. To… well, what exactly for? Scorch closed his eyes, but more and more images surfaced. Brothers, emaciated and hopeless. Brothers who were still here one day and gone the next. But not like they’ve vanished on the battlefields all over the galaxy. Piles of corpses… the cadets, the… the children… in the basement… the…

Good soldiers follow orders… not just the ones… the…

“Scorch!”

He saw himself patrolling on the other side of the cells. He saw himself shadowing Royce Hemlock, the cursed monster with the gentle voice and the icy face, ready to obey any order he received. He saw himself wipe out an entire village on Silla, simply because of the fact that the civilians witnessed the Science Corps attempting to capture a Zillo Beast for their own purposes. He saw his face disappear behind the unfathomable facade of his helmet, carrying out unspeakable tasks in the name of the Empire…

“Are you going to arrest me now? You know, I won’t make it easy for you, Six-Two.”

He came face to face with the insight. Then he removed the helmet, and his own golden-brown eyes filled with tears gazed upon his long-lost brother.

“I think I’ve screwed up.”

Wishes were always a tricky thing. You were sure you knew what you wanted, only to find out when you finally have it fulfilled that the grass isn't greener on the other side. Or in this case: that there was a stark difference between seclusion and isolation.

Sev sat on a makeshift stool, his gaze wandering across the desolate landscape. Swamps. Nothing but swamps, a little withered undergrowth and the occasional boulder. No trees. Nothing that could really serve as cover in combat. Then he remembered that he didn't need that anyway. Not anymore.

He hadn't had his armor for a long time. The clothes he wore now were those of a servant. A tunic made of brown, holey linen and tattered pants. Only his boots were new and, fortunately, quite comfortable. A touch of luxury. It had probably been months since... Shab, he had lost count. Sev swallowed and absent-mindedly rubbed his left thigh. It still hurt, both the injury and the loss.

“Boss, I have a problem.”

“Sev, where are you?”

“Sector… multiple hostile…”

The words of his last conversation still echoed in his head. The voice of the person he had trusted most in his life. He could still see himself sitting on the turbolaser turret, firing one spurt after another into the ranks of the approaching droids. There were many… more and more. Too many in the end. But it was the hand of a Trandoshan that finally grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him to the ground. Sev had fought until the last second, then the tip of a vibroblade had discovered the chink in the Katarn armor - the gap between the thigh plate and the abdominal plating - and injured his artery. He had lain on the ground and felt an icy cold gripping on him while Fixer's voice had called out to him several more times and finally cut off with white noise. The last thing he remembered was the sneer of a Trandoshan leaning over him and saying something profane. But Sev had already lost the ability to understand him. He had hoped to see a well-placed blaster shot from a DC-17m blowing the shabuir's head off. But nothing of the sort had happened... and then the world around him went black.

Throughout his whole youth on Kamino, the forced closeness between clone brothers, and later the unbearable noise during the war, had him always struggling with sensory overload. Of course, he had never even mentioned it, his fear of being either decommissioned by the Aiwha-baits or being “straightened out” by Sergeant Vau was too great. Scorch, Boss and Fixer had an idea, though. If he had always gone one step further, always wanted to be a little better than perfect, it has only been to hide his demerit... and to distract from the insignificant but nonetheless existing flaws of his brothers. It has been his way of caring. Many of his fellow commandos thought he was an introverted psychopath. It was somehow his own fault, the walls of silence and sarcasm he had built around himself to protect himself had simply been too insurmountable. At least for most people, except for his three squad members. It wasn't a lack of empathy with other beings that was his problem, if anything it was just too much of it. The only way he had endured all the torture he and his brothers had to suffer during training, only to see so many of them pointlessly slaughtered during their first mission on Geonosis, was to convince himself that he would be better off without human relations. At least that's what he had tried to convince himself. 4,982 times.

How often over the past years he had wished that he could just be alone for once. No one there to force a conversation on him, no one he had to adjust to. No one he had to watch die and leave an unfillable void. All he wanted and needed was a moment to take a breath. R and R. Just some peace and quiet. Now he had more of that than he bargained for. And he painfully longed for his brothers more than he ever thought possible. At first he was angry that Delta hadn't come back for him. Then disappointed...

Now all that was left was desolation.

“What the…?”

“Hey, Birdie, are you flying like crap, or can Navi suddenly no longer do the math?” Scribe, whose real name was actually Tricia, clung to the holotable she was working on.

“Very funny! How about you just fly next time?”

“Or do the math,” Navi, or actually Stina, agreed.

Something was definitely wrong. A few days ago, you and your little crew had set off on what you thought would be an ordinary mission on behalf of the Bureau of Ships and Service. The area between the Mid Rim and the nearby Mandalorian sector in the Outer Rim had actually already been extensively explored, but since the currently steadily increasing ship traffic to and from Wayland had made a new survey of the sector necessary, you had ended up in this rather unusual and boring place for scouts. Sure, there were a few asteroid fields, but they had already been precisely mapped, nothing that would have caused concern... until the moment when you suddenly found yourself in the middle of one of them and the rocks hit your HWK-290 like projectiles.

"Thanks, but no thanks. At least not if you two don't want to do the charting for me afterwards in return." Definitely not.

You, Stina and Tricia were a well tuned team. Freelance pilot, navigator and cartographer for the BoSS. What was initially a strictly professional collaboration had developed over the years into one of the profoundest friendships you could wish for. Of course, when you had to live together in the same ship for weeks and months, and share a very limited space with little room for personal space, you better got along or you needed to apply for a new job. But you wouldn't have traded your life for anything in the galaxy and the other two felt the same.

"Looks like an average to me."

As soon as the initial shock had passed and the ship had stabilized, you put the engines into idle to get a better picture of the situation. Through the cockpit window, you could see debris from a crashed ship.

“Maybe they also dropped out of hyperspace and collided with the asteroid field like we did.” Scribe had risen up and now stood behind your pilot's seat. Her hands were resting on your shoulders as she watched the extent of the devastation along with you.

Life as a scout was dangerous in itself, especially when you were traveling in Wild Space or the Unknown Regions to bring a little light into the darkness of the universe. The job basically consisted of performing several short hyperspace jumps in quick succession to find out whether safe hyperspace travel was possible at that point. The resulting data was then fed into the grid of the galaxy, uploaded on holo maps of the sectors and regions, and provided for download at the nearest spaceport for all pilots, civilian or military. There was always the possibility for something to go wrong. But whenever you saw a ship crash and imagined the last seconds of the crew and passengers combusting in a huge fireball from one second to the next, you became eerily aware of how lucky you had been so far. And once again you sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Force.

“Hey... are those pieces of armor over there?” Your gaze followed her finger.

“Dank farrik! I'll initiate a recovery operation.”

The scanners, however, did not show any large organic particles in the immediate vicinity. Strange. A short time later, you were standing in the airlock and inspecting some of the pieces. As far as you could tell, it was an Imperial ship. There was not much left to be determined. Your thumb slowly brushed across the damaged piece of armor in your hand while you considered whether you should report your discovery at the next stopover. But the less interaction with the Empire, the better.

"You know what really startles me?" Navi suddenly asked. Her tone indicated that she was really worried. "The asteroids aren't where they are supposed to be. Well, they are. But just almost."

Almost. Your first impulse was to tell her not to worry. Neither you nor Scribe would blame her for making a miscalculation. After all, it was also her own life that was at stake, and you didn't know anyone who worked more meticulously than Stina. But then you realized something that your subconscious had been trying to tell you all along...

"The dispersion was wrong... Am I right?" Suddenly you were wide awake and ran back to the cockpit to look outside again. If the ship had left hyperspace and collided with one of the larger asteroids, then...

"I think someone blasted this whole thing."

“Yes, maybe. That would also explain why the range is shifted by about 0.5 clicks.”

Knowingly endangering transit traffic...reckless. Who would do something like that? Your gaze wandered down to the pauldron in your hand. Maybe it was a targeted attack on an Imperial transport shuttle? Pirates were not a coincidence in this area, nor were bounty hunters. As far as you knew, there was a branch of the guild on Nevarro. Or...

If you had arrived about a standard hour later, the debris would have been spread out over a much wider area. Nothing that the shields of any operating vessel wouldn’t handle. No one would have ever taken notice of what had happened. You were either in the wrong place at the wrong time, or exactly where fate had wanted you to be.

"The radar shows two slowly removing vessels. 150 klicks, two degrees rimwards," Navi spoke up again. "But they're hanging strangely close to each other. I almost thought they were just one ship."

"Do you think they're responsible for the havoc?"

“I would be surprised if they didn’t. If not, they must at least have seen something.”

“Should I comm them?” Scribe asked.

“Let’s have a try, but I don’t think they’ll answer.” And so it was. All of your attempts to contact the ships remained unanswered.

“Can you say where they’re heading?” Without waiting for an answer, because you already had an idea, you sat in the pilot’s seat, ready to resume your journey in visual flight. Something different for a change.

“Mandalore.”

“I thought so.”

It was probably the craziest idea you could ever have had to follow one or probably even several Mandalorians who had just booby-trapped the Empire. But you almost lost your lives in the process, as collateral damage, so to speak. And that made the whole thing personal. For you, at least. And your two friends didn’t object either when you set the new course.

“What kind of osik does the boy think he's pulling?”

Like the literal strill in a cage, Kal Skirata paced restlessly up and down the kitchen, while Mird, in turn, curled up under the table, chewing boredly on a bone, was unfazed by the edgy mood.

Ever since he woke up in his chair before the first light of dawn, Kal knew something was wrong. Very wrong. It was too quiet, a different kind of quiet than usual. And his fears were confirmed when he couldn't find not only Ordo, but the whole lot of the Nulls. The ship had also disappeared. Much to his regret, he had accidentally woken Besany in his search for Ordo and then it had only taken a few minutes for Laseema to be up and join the two of them in the kitchen.

"Sit down, Kal'buir! I'll make you tea," Laseema offered in a soothing voice. Before he could say anything, she had already started boiling water.

"Do I look like someone who wants to drink tea?"

"You look like someone who should be drinking tea right now. You upset the nunas."

Besany gave him a stern look, and for a brief, painful moment he felt like he had back then when he was with Ilippi... But Bes'ika was not Ilippi. Not at all. The thought vanished as quickly as it had occured and Kal surrendered to his fate. But now that the restless up and down of his steps had come to an end, his tension sought another outlet and his teeth began to click quietly out of habit.

"See, much better now." He acknowledged her not entirely serious encouragement with a quiet, contemptuous snort. She sighed.

For the fifth time that morning he made use of his comlink - and for the fifth time the call went unanswered. Slowly his irritation gave way to genuine concern. Ordo was one of the most loyal people he knew and there was no limit to his commitment and devotion to the clan Skirata. As far as Kal knew, Ordo had only once before failed to confide in him, and he had endured the agony of keeping a secret from his buir. The memory of it still hurt both of them, even if neither of them would ever bring it up again.

Time passed and one after the other came and joined them in the kitchen, the Omegas, Bard'ika, Gilamar, Vau... The atmosphere remained tense and a heated discussion flared up about the mysterious disappearance of six brothers at once. Kad sat alternately on Atin's or Fi's lap, playing with the spoons on the table with childlike concentration. Whenever one of them fell to the floor, he frowned and was only contented when Jusik let it float back onto the table with a wipe of his hand. Even he seemed to be seized by an intangible nervousness and Skirata would have given anything to know what was going on in the little one's mind.

“Haar’chak, Kal!” Vau cursed. “You act as if the boy can’t make his own decisions! He’s old enough to know what he’s doing.”

Hearing this remark from Vau of all people almost bordered on scorn. Involuntarily, his gaze drifted over to Atin and the faded scar on his face. Skirata’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists so tightly to stop himself from yelling out loud, or better yet, going for Vau’s jugular with a knife. But they had finally moved on from that part of their relationship.

"Do you really think Ordo wouldn't have told you if he had detected a threat to Kyrimorut?" Mij asked, somewhat confused by Kal's anger. He probably apprehended that their hiding place might have been discovered and the Death Watch might have begun their vendetta against the clan, which admittedly wasn't unlikely.

"Of course he would have," Skirata replied gruffly. "I'm just wondering..."

Well. What was it that he was wondering? What was it that Ordo wouldn't tell him? The answer was as simple as it was inconvenient: something that would sadden, upset, or worry him, Kal Skirata, unnecessarily. And that again could be summed up in just one word: the aliit.

For weeks, Ordo had been struggling with the fact that part of the clan had not yet returned home. He took it as his personal failure that Niner and Darman were still with the Empire on Coruscant instead of starting their new life among them here on Mandalore. And the fact that he had decided to give shelter to a group of down and out Jedi until the moment he could use them to his advantage, and had thus practically painted a conspicuous target on their beskar'gam in more than one way, repeatedly led to more or less objective arguments, including allegations and accusations. It was as was always the case: He had decided what would be best, and the clan had deferred to the decision. He remembered all too well his recent conversation with Ordo at the robas shed about hypocrisy and double standards. What if Ordo had now decided to put an end to the lingering rift? But he wouldn't hand over the Jedi over his head, would he?

Finally, through the closed window, he could hear the Aay'han's familiar sound. Each ship had its own distinctive sound. But, and his body was already reacting before his mind could properly process the information, there was also another noise.

"Bard'ika, Mij! You stay here with the women and defend the Jedi if necessary! The rest come with me! Oya!"

One by one, they took up arms and pushed outside. Only half a minute later, he and the lads were crouched in natural cover, blasters at the ready, and five thumbs up to show that they were ready to defend their home, no matter what it took. Just like in the old days, when they were still in the training room on Kamino, learning to be a team... and competing against their own brothers from other units. Skirata felt the familiar shiver of adrenaline rushing through his aging body, putting him in a state of high tension and alertness. He couldn't afford to make a mistake, not now. None of them were wearing armor due to the early hour. If they had, Skirata was sure he would have heard Fi's voice over the internal comlink, making one of his infamous 'morale boosting' lines, as he always called it.

One of the pearls of wisdom he always taught his boys was, "First and foremost, you have to trust your own senses. Equipment can go back on you, no matter how good it is." But right now he wondered if he could really trust his eyes. Because the next thing he saw was the Aay'han's silhouette, and in tow - an Imperial shuttle! All possible - and impossible - scenarios flashed through his mind, and Skirata clung fiercely to the hope that there was a good explanation for this, and not one that ended with them facing a squad of Imperial troopers.

The beeping sound of an incoming com message tore him from his thoughts. It was Ordo.

“Ord’ika! What the…?” His son interrupted the tirade even before it could start.

“Well, that’s a pretty hostile welcome. You can lay down your arms, everything’s fine.”

Skirata raised his outstretched hand and pointed his palm towards the ground twice in quick succession. The lads understood immediately and eased. No imminent danger.

“Before you start ranting, we’ve brought a surprise with us.”

That's a way you can call an Imperial shuttle. He swallowed his answer. Basically, Ordo was right and he was about to rant in typical Skirata fashion, yet without any concrete reason. Vague apprehensions were no justification. And besides, not fair at all.

When the two ships eventually touched down a safe distance from the building, Skirata, Vau and the three Omegas stood in a line and watched as the ramp lowered and cleared the hatch. After what seemed like an eternity and still was just one moment, Ordo's shape appeared in the hatch. With his helmet tucked under one arm, he strutted slowly towards them with an expressionless face, holding the typical formidable demeanor of an ARC. Skirata had never been so happy to see him before.

“If you ask me,” Fi leaned over to Atin, whispering with a broad grin on his face, “Ord’ika spends too much time with Mereel these days. He 'd be more the type for dramatic appearances.”

“Seems like something you would do.” Atin didn’t bat an eye.

Fi took it as a compliment. “Di’kut.”

Just a moment later, Jaing, Komr’k and Prudii followed... and then...

Skirata’s heart skipped a beat, and he heard Fi gasping for air next to him...

Niner and Darman.

In all the years since the first battle on Geonosis, he had learned to deal with the fact that not all of his boys would return. Joy and sorrow laid always close together in this case. As much as it hurt him to never see familiar faces again but instead was forced to add new names to the long list of those he cherished the memory of every day, he was relieved to welcome those who had made it back with a fatherly pat on the pauldron alike. But that was nothing compared to the sheer relief and discomposure he felt right now. His boys... his sons... had finally found their way home. Kad would finally be able to be held in his buir's arms. Etain would finally being laid to rest.

Fi had already sprinted off to throw himself at Dar with relief - when he all of a sudden stopped dead in his tracks.

And for the second time that morning, Kal felt as if he were losing the ground under his feet. Automatically, he covered his mouth with one hand, a vacuous gesture to face the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him in his silent helplessness.

Boss was the first to appear in the hatch, his facial expression somewhat awkward. Scorch and Fixer followed him just a step behind. It almost seemed as if the squad was striding down the ramp with their eyes downcast, in such blatant contrast to the air of arrogance they usually held. And pulled by an invisible bond, they approached their sergeant, in a wild mixture of defeat, shame and, despite everything, relief.

Vau, on the other hand, stood there, ramrod straight and as pale as Skirata had ever seen him before. He didn't blink, and he didn't breathe. He just did... nothing.

'You worry too much.'

'I know.'

Memories of a conversation from far too long ago echoed through his mind, and he suddenly realized what a downright hypocrite Vau was.

The Deltas lined up and saluted dutifully. Boss's voice only seemed steady at first glance.

"Delta reporting for duty, sir."

For three long seconds nothing happened, and Skirata wondered...

"About time, three-eight!" Vau nodded briefly and then turned away to go back into the house. Boss was left speechless.

At any other time, Skirata would have sworn that it was the inherent coldness of the Vaus that spoke, or in this case did not speak, from his long-time comrade. But at this point, he, who was inclined to give in to his own outbursts of emotion, knew that Walon was simply out of his depth in this matter. He could deal with it later. All that mattered now was that Omega was entirely reunited. That Deltas' boots had hit the homelike grass of Kyrimorut.

"Welcome home, adike."

Since the moment they have left the ARCA barracks, neither of them had said a word. Darman walked at a hurried pace towards the hangar, the attack shuttle with which they would leave the planet already waiting for them. Niner did his best to keep up with him. Rede followed in their wake, just as silent but probably for a different reason.

It had only been a few hours since Darman and himself had left Roly Melusar’s office. A few hours since the final plan to go AWOL was now decided. He probably should have been sleeping, but Niner hadn't gotten a wink of sleep all night. Rede, blissfully unaware of what's going on, had been snoring like a vibrosaw for hours. Dar had been lying motionless in his bunk, probably awake too. However, Niner hadn't dared to talk to him. Prying eyes and ears could be anywhere. At dawn, while the other two were packing, he took advantage of a favorable moment and retreated to the 'fresher to use the secure channel in his helmet and contacted Ordo.

“We're on our way to you, vod,” he had said, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible.

“About time,” Ordo had replied. "It wouldn't be long before I would have grabbed Dar by his gett’se and dragged him out of there myself!" It had been one of Ordo's usually harsh answers, and yet Niner had clearly heard the joy and relief in his brother’s tone.

“I am going to report back to you when we’ve left Coruscant’s orbit. If you don’t hear from me during the next three hours, something has gone wrong.” With one click he had ended the connection.

With every step Niner took, he more and more felt like his pulse rate was going to hit the roof. Everything was as usual. Commandos exercising on the parade ground, droids carrying out cleaning and repair work. And yet he had the feeling that all eyes were on them. He resisted the urge to turn his head and look around.

And what's next? The moment they are going to take off with the shuttle, life as he had known it would end. No army, no training, not even a structured daily routine. All he would have left would be his brothers. At least that would be the way it has always been. Dar, in his black Katarn armor next to him, gave him a sense of certainty. And finally, after so long, he would see Fi again! A thought he found some solace in. Rede, however... What would happen to him? Dar called him a blank slate - Niner thought he was an incalculable risk. To avoid the inevitable predicament and to control the oppressive feeling that was almost suffocating him, he tried to forge plans. He didn't get very far...

Because as soon as the shuttle came into view, he saw the colorfully painted Katarn armors of Delta Squad, as well as the featureless, dull gray one of their new squad member, in its shadow. His heart sank and he heard Dar curse under his breath. Were the boys ordered as reinforcements? Or as snitches? Or had they already got busted even before they left the Imperial compound?

“You’re already out and about?” Boss greeted him as they were within earshot.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Niner replied as both men eventually placed their right hand on each other’s left shoulder in greeting. Even though everyone was wearing their helmets, Niner could tell there was something else just by the tone of their voices. Something unspoken.

“It has come to our attention that you have been assigned to a special ops.”

“Oh yeah?” Darman sounded noncommittal. “Where did you get that from?”

“Holy Roly. We had a briefing this morning about our deployment on Ossos.” When Niner heard that Delta was assigned to another planet, he relaxed a little, at least for his standards. Still, the fact that anyone else was informed about their operation at all gave him an overtone.

"Where are you heading to?" Scorch, who had remained conspicuously calm until now, asked a short time later.

“Well, he didn’t trust you that far, did he?” Darman teased.

“Not everyone can be as buddy-buddy with him as Squad 40,” Scorch sneered.

Then it was quiet. None of the men moved, and Niner wondered if he and Dar were about to end up having to shoot their way into the shuttle. The odds were against them. All of them.

“Anyway, we wanted to bid goodbye to you,” Boss said. “Nah osik… I forgot your farewell present in the quarters.” He turned to Fixer in a conspicuously theatrical manner and tilted his head towards the barracks. “Go back and get it!”

“Why me?” Fixer grumbled in response. “Can’t Levin go? He’s the new kid on the block.”

Farewell present? Niner tensed imperceptibly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Darman subtly reach for the vibroblade in his vembrace.

"You're right! Levin, there's a little box in my locker with a fancy red bow on it. Can you please go and get it quickly? Afterwards we’ll head off to Ossos.” Niner couldn't shake off the feeling that something was indeed very wrong. Since their joint black ops on Coruscant, the relationship between the two squads had improved a lot, but he wouldn’t go to the point where they’d give each other gifts. So what did Boss aim at? Call for reinforcements?

Levin grumbled like Fixer had before, although a little quieter and more reserved. The fact that he was the new guy left him little room for negotiations with his sergeant. He turned to leave... a blue glowing circle of a shot sent him stunned to the ground. A split second later, a second one followed and Rede collapsed next to him to the ground, unconscious. Dar and Niner both simultaneously drew their deezes. Win-or-bust. Was it pure coincidence, fate or the subconscious that stopped them from firing straight away? Whatever, Niner sent a silent prayer to the Force.

Scorch shrugged and jumped down from the ammunition box he had been sitting on until just now.

“Are you planning to strike roots over there or are you going to give me a helping hand?” He nudged Darman with his shoulder before grabbing the immobile commando by the wrist and dragging him toward the ramp. “Come on, we can’t take forever before someone notices!”

As if in a trance, Darman and Niner grabbed Rede to haul him aboard the shuttle.

However, as soon as the hatch was closed, Scorch found himself being pushed against the nearest wall panel and the visor of a very agitated Darman was just millimeters away from his own. Two unconscious bodies on the ground nearby.

“Keep your shirt on, Dar!” It wasn't Niner who tried to calm the situation but Boss. Niner meanwhile had his blaster pointed at Fixer, who in turn raised his hands in surrender to indicate that he had no intention of fighting back.

"You’re quite nervous, boys."

"What are you doing here?" Niner growled. “Spill it, or Fixer can get himself a new face anytime soon.”

The fact that it had come to this, and that he had to threaten one of his clone brothers with a blaster at all, weighed on him more than anything else in his life. No anti-terror ops, no torture training had ever hurt so much. Would he pull the trigger? No...no he wouldn't. Would he? All he wanted was to leave the osik’la Imperial army behind and finally come home to Mandalore. Manda’yaim. Home, even if he's never been there before. But his brothers were there, his buir. A place where he could finally be himself and find his true nature. Since that day on Gaftikar, he had thought time and again about what life had offered him so far... and what it might offer him in the future. So much more… A’den was right. Deserting and neglecting his duty, the very idea was abhorrent to him, but losing his family would be so much worse.

For the third time within a short period he was at the point where everything would change, and for the third time fate was putting him to the test. But his heart would shatter if he had to stay behind once again. No... Darman had a son, a responsibility, and he would be damned if he wouldn't get him to accept it. Even at the cost of his honor, his happiness and probably his sanity for the rest of his life. If he had to choose between Dar and Delta... There was only one possible answer. Manda, please please don't let things get to this point!

Boss put his DC aside and Scorch followed suit at the same moment, careful to avoid any rushed movements. The tension inside the shuttle vibrated in the air like high voltage.

“You're on your way to Mandalore, right? Just like the rest of Omega and the Nulls. Just like Fi.”

“Fi is dead,” Darman gritted out, emphasizing the last word.

“Sure, and it never rains on Kamino,” Scorch replied.

Niner considered activating the secure channel in his helmet so that Ordo, or whoever was listening, could follow the conversation and take action if necessary. He decided against it. The risk of the transmission being intercepted and falling into the wrong hands was too imminent.

“How did you get that idea?”

“You must think us pretty stupid, don’t you? Atin and Corr are on the list of deserters, as are the Nulls. It was only a matter of time before you too would disappear into thin air. We were just hoping to catch you in time.”

The fact was now outspoken and lingering in the air and Niner was still considering what he should answer next. Scorch beat him to it.

“Take us with you!”

"Excuse me?"

“You heard right! We want you to take us with you. Sev is still out there somewhere and as long as we’re stuck here we don’t have the slightest chance of looking for him.”

For an endless moment, it was dead silent inside the shuttle.

"Please."

“We are on special ops for Holy Roly to track down any surviving Jedi. Nothing more, nothing less,” Darman said, still unwilling to move even an inch away from Scorch.

“Do what you have to do,” Scorch replied bitterly. "But I would have expected you of all people to understand what this is about."

Qiilura... Without actually mentioning the name, Scorch had conjured up memories of their first mission together. Niner, sergeant of the newly formed Omega squad, had refused to accept Dar as missing in action and, together with Fi and Atin, had stalled as much time as possible to save their brother. Sev, however, was denied this help and only the Force knew whether he was still alive. But he was a brother... and they owed to him to do everything in their power to get him out of whatever osik he was stuck in. Tion'ad hukaat'kama? Who has your back? Who if not the clone brother standing next to you?

It had only been a few months since they had run Delta down during the Separatists' attack on Coruscant, because they hadn’t ignored Yoda's orders to leave Kashyyyk, and yet it seemed an eternity ago.

“We don't expect you to join us in our rescue mission,” Scorch added after a moment, not knowing how Omega had thought about volunteering for exactly that very task. “Drop us off somewhere nice and we’ll move on. And you will have the misfortune of never being able to see our gorgeous faces again.” He sounded almost like Fi…

Darman thought of Atin. It was him who had initially voted against the decision to go and look for Dar, just as Vau had punched the attitude into him. Yet he had changed his mind. Darman could still hear the echo of his words: 'What if I had to look at your empty place every day? I wouldn’t have much happiness left in life.’ Delta had been through the same tough school. Was ist possible that they changed as Atin had? Or was Scorch just saying what he thought Darman and Niner wanted to hear? After all, until Sev's disappearance, they were in the fortunate position of still working in their original squad formation, which made them self-confident at best and conceited at worst. What if they were simply obeying another command and trying to stand between him and what he wanted most - a life with his son?

It was this very dilemma that was running circles inside his head, and Darman could feel it seething inside his guts. All the ups and downs of the last few months. The pain of Etain's death that he wanted to keep away until he finally would see Kad again. One wrong word and he would probably have blown up the whole ship. Luckily no thermal detonator was within reach.

But the longer they remained on the ground, the more conspicuous they all became. Niner, unknowingly sharing Darman's thoughts, decided to act.

“Dar! Easy!" He engaged the safety of his deeze and took a step back from Fixer.

It was still a few hours flight to Mandalore and as soon as they were clear of Coruscant and before they were about to enter hyperspace he would contact Ordo anyway. In the event Delta had planned an ambush, there was still enough time to take countermeasures.

Niner nodded to Boss and then rushed to the cockpit and Darman was finally able to break free of his paralysis and followed him suit. He collapsed into the copilot's seat while Niner already caused the shuttle's ion engines to coast. Boss, Fixer and Scorch buckled themselves in the rear jump seats. Rede and Levin were still unconscious and handcuffed to crates.

“Ground control, this is Shuttle IAF-024. Request take-off clearance.” He forced his voice to stay calm.

“IAF-024, all clear for take-off!”

The vibrations echoed through the hull as Niner lifted the ship off the ground and launched into the sky above Imperial City. The whole shabla planet could call itself whatever it wanted, it would be the last time that the five commandos watched as the millions of lights of the city blurred beneath them anyway and the atmosphere around them grew darker and darker. Nobody said a word. And with every click they gained altitude, Niner could feel his heart beating faster and faster. He half expected to hear the disembodied voice of ground control telling him to turn back or to see the TIE fighters outside the transparisteel screen shooting them down.

The minutes passed… and nothing happened.

Finally he dared to open the comlink in his helmet again.

“Ordo? Come in please!"

“Ordo, Ordo… It’s always just Ordo. Why doesn’t anyone ever ask about me, huh?” a voice spoke up just a split second later. Obviously its owner had already been waiting for the status report.

“Jaing! It's good to hear you. We’re clear of Coruscant and ready to jump.”

“All right, vod. Your beds are set up. Send you coordinates right away.”

Niner blinked to show the incoming data transmission on his HUD. Figures began to materialize before his eyes. “This isn’t Mandalore.”

"Of course not! We can’t let you come in right here on an Imperial shuttle and risk the transponder signal being traced.” Jaing chuckled softly. “Besides, if you and Dar are suddenly off the grid just like that, we wouldn’t want anyone to come looking for you anywhere near our place, would we?”

Of course not.

“Mereel and myself will come and pick you up. We are going to override the shuttle’s transponder signal and come up with a suitable plan for your disappearance.”

Niner wasn't surprised that the Nulls had already thought so far. Nothing was left to chance. There were already more than enough deserters from Kal Skirata's ranks on the Empire's long list; two more designation numbers could be the final straw. Strictly speaking….

“Jaing? There’s something else.”

“Doesn’t sound good, vod. What's up? Don’t tell me Dar was willfully obstructive once again and his fiery temper was showing. Ordo’s going to kill him.”

Ohhhh… There was still the matter of the agitated Darman and the Jedi to be dealt with. Niner had thought about their last conversation again and again and wondered what he could have meant when he said Melusar is going to get all the Jedi he wants. Granted, he had an inkling. But with all the unforeseen commotion with Delta, the matter had actually slipped his mind. Until now. Well, that was a problem he could take care of once they arrived on Mandalore. First there were other matters of urgency.

“We have passengers on board.”

Niner could practically hear Jaing’s smirk. “You haven’t picked up a few stray Jedi to join our distinguished, little commune?”

He snorted a restrained laugh. “Just over Dar’s dead body. No… we have two unconscious Sparti clones… and Delta.”

For a moment Jaing was seemingly speechless, then he blurted out: “You’re kidding!”

“Am I Fi or what?”

“Can we trust them?”

Niner knew what he was getting at. Kal'buir had more or less openly admitted that he wanted to provide a retreat for clones who, let's say, wanted to consider an alternative career to the army. Yayax Squad had answered his call, as had several others. Delta, however, had never given any indication that this would be an option for them at all. Even when the circumstances became obvious.

"I think so. I am not sure though."

"Affirmative. Hold on a second!” The line went dead and Niner took the opportunity to enter the coordinates into the navcomp and caught a breath. It was a relief to know that no matter what, he wouldn't have to handle it alone anymore.

“Niner?”

"Yes."

“The six of us are going to pick you up, just in case there is any trouble. Kal'buir and Vau don't know. We don’t want to spoil their joy of reunion in advance.”

"Copy that." The navcomp's calculation was complete. Four hours to the LZ. “We jump. See you then. K'oyacy, Jaing.”

“K'oyacy, Nin'ika!”

Niner levered and activated the hyperspace drive. Outside, the stars blurred into a blue swirl.

“You do know what black ops are, right?” Skirata didn't shout. But he was about to snap. Niner could feel it, see it. He clutched the backrest of a chair to keep his hands from doing something he might regret. His opponent wasn’t impressed in the slightest and only raised a brow.

“We keep what we do here secret for a reason, from the public, the GAR or the CSF... that means the fewer people in the know, the better. I don’t need another security risk or a possible leak,” he elaborated, his eyes switching between Obrim and you. “I am sorry ma’am, it’s nothing personal.”

You only nodded wordlessly in response and gave him a thumbs up. And Niner, just as the other men from Omega and Delta squad, attended the argument in silence. All he could see was you. He just didn’t know if it was shock, curiosity or something else that held him captive in your presence.

“Knock it off, Kal!” Captain Obrim eventually said and moved a step closer towards Skirata. Niner felt Ordo immediately tense, ready to jump in if things got out of hand. “I already told you that I suffer from temporary deafness and my blindness even spread from one eye to two eyes by now. But,” he made a short pause to inhale, Niner wasn’t sure if it was for dramatic effect or if he just needed to calm himself, “even I can’t pretend it’s nothing out of the ordinary for a jedi and two Republic Commandos to go haywire and have a speeder chase through the lower levels. I am no warlock who can let the debris and a few corpses vanish in plain view.”

Skirata didn’t answer this time, Fi’s and Sev’s expressions spoke volumes. A sense of guilt hung in the air. He didn’t need to be Bardan to perceive it.

“I am still willing to try, Kal. Because I like you and I know it’s for a good thing. I don’t want any more of your men getting killed by terrorist attacks. And that’s why she’s here. She’s one of my most capable officers, and whenever you or your boys will get into shit, she’ll be there to make sure that I am the first to know the news and get you out of it. Understood?”

Even Skirata couldn’t oppose this logic, and that’s how you stayed.

It’s been three days since then.

Three long days… and nights… in which he tried to perform at his best and dissemble his nervousness. Back on Qiilura a few months ago, he had a similar feeling when he met Etain for the first time. But this due to the fact that she was the first woman ever he had to work with and there was this unmistakable effect she had on Dar, still has, and he didn’t know what to expect. The nervousness he holds around you is of a different kind, very unfamiliar. And uncertainty he finds unpleasant to say the least.

At first he thought it was banthashit. His trepidation only because he’s not used to operating on Coruscant among civilians and without his armor to protect him. Too many vague factors for him to feel safe and confident. Yet as the sergeant of an elite squad he soon adapted to the circumstances… with one exception. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t act normal around you. Each time you entered the room, he held his breath. At mealtimes he found himself staring at you from the corner of his eyes. Whenever he came back from his sentry duty and would find you in conversation with one of the other boys, smiling and laughing, he frowned and wondered where this tight feeling in his chest came from. But did he sit down and join the conversation? No. He remained mostly silent and went for a hot shower. Except this morning. Sergeant Kal was there too and asked him to stay. And Niner listened to him as he told you about Mandalorian culture, training on Kamino and his efforts to bring out the best in his sons by all available means.

“I made clear to them that their squad is the only beacon they can and have to rely on, anytime - anywhere. It's my fault that they have a hard time socializing. But they are good boys.” Atin huffed, Darman grinned and Niner felt strangely called out, but then flushed brightly as you looked straight at him with an enticing smile.

"Socialising wasn’t part of our job description,” Fi quipped, and again Niner was amazed about his skills to take the tension out of almost every situation.

“Without a doubt.”

Hm? Were you responding to Fi's comment… or Kal's? It was getting hot in here.

Atin huffed again, Niner glared at him and Etain’s mouth escaped a silent ‘Oh’.

A few hours later, he’s now in his room. Alone. A pencil in his hand and a sheet of flimsi on his knees. He had a hot shower before. And while the droplets trickled down on his body, calming and lulling him, he couldn’t stop thinking about you… the white tunic you wore… water…

- knock knock -

The sound startles him, so much he almost drops the pencil.

“Knock, knock,” Fi repeats his knocking verbally. “Open up, dear sergeant, your favorite brother is here and has brought gifts for you!”

“I’m sleeping,” Niner replies.

“Nice try.” Fi all of a sudden appears in the room. Clones aren’t used to the term ‘privacy’ very much.

“That’d only be true if you were Dar.” He smirks. And then raises his brow quizzically as Niner lets the flimsi disappear behind his back. “What are you doin’?”

“Where’s my gift?” He counters, without deferring to his question at all. And he feels more annoyed about the disturbance than he’d like to admit. The sooner Fi leaves him, the sooner he can go back on doing what he’s doing.

“Kal skipped your watch. He and Jusik take over the next shift. You can take a rest - for brooding.”

Niner grows stiff as Fi walks over and sits down on the bed next to him. It’s probably not fair to feel this way, as under normal circumstances, Niner is the happiest when he’s surrounded by his brothers. How should Fi know he’s considered a disturbance right now? He offers him a chocolate bar with nuts and Niner’s fast to tear it from his hand. There’s always time for candy.

“Are you okay, ner vod?” Fi asks and scrutinizes him. At his nod he gives an incredulous snort.

“Who are you trying to fool, Niner?”

And with reversed roles, the two clones then sit side by side, Fi convincing him that there’s nothing he would need to hide from his brothers and they’ll be here for him and having his back in whatever situation. And it is Niner who’s trying to shake it off as if it's nothing. He can’t tell. Not to Fi. As he’s already the one who suffers most of being denied a normal life and desires they were unable to pursue. Then again, it probably makes him the one to understand him best.

“Want to see what I was trying to hide?”

“Bet your shebs on it!” Fi says and nudges his shoulder with his own.

"Please don’t tell anyone. Okay?”

His brother’s eyebrows rise and he gives him a mock offended look. Truth to be told, he’s not even sure why he wants to keep this a secret at all. Because… there’s the chance for the wrong people to find out. Now.. if they were on a mission somewhere on a backwater planet… he wouldn’t hesitate for even a second to tell his squad mates. Then again… if they were on a backwater planet, he wouldn’t be in this misery. He brings out the flimsi and wordlessly hands it over to Fi.

A drawing… of a woman’s shape. From her jawline, across her neck and collarbone, down to her waist. A white tunic has slid off her shoulder and sticks wet to her skin, revealing her curves. A hardened nipple peeking through the sheer fabric. No face. No features to give indications about who she is. Just a few freckles covered with droplets of water.

“Wow. You really studied her carefully, didn't you?”

Niner catches his breath. “How do you…?” He’s scared. Embarrassed. Something in between. He thought the picture would be vague enough to not give a hint on who’s the one in it. Now he might as well have written a name on it. Your name.

“It’s the curve of her jawline,” Fi answers. “And those little marks.”

Unintentionally, Niner gnashes his teeth. He always does when he gets upset. But why does the fact that Fi recognizes your silhouette even makes him uncomfortable? Fi was about to point at the spot concerned but as soon as he senses his distress, he pulls back and just keeps looking at the picture. They don’t need words to understand each other.

“Why don’t you just ask her out on a date? Have some drinks in Quibbu’s bar during your downtime.”

“No.”

“Just no?”

“No. As in: No I can’t, because we are on a mission and I need to concentrate on the task and keep an eye on you all. And when we’re done here, we will…”

“Blah, blah, blah…. Any other excuses?” Fi won’t take it.

Excuse is the right word. Or not? There are probably a million reasons why it would be a bad idea to delve into something that isn’t supposed to last. He’s not supposed to last. And he can’t afford to be distracted. Darman already is with Etain around. And he’s seen the tender bonds blooming between Atin and Laseema. He sees the effects their excursions to a romantic attachment have on Fi, the one left without a love interest. The pain he’s going through whenever he watches the couples in the streets and thinks that no one would notice. But Niner does notice. Anytime. And he won’t leave his brother alone with his suffering.

“It’s a long shot.” Still it hurts to say it out loud. “We are probably already dead by tomorrow.”

Fi inhales deeply. “Even more reason to take the chance when it presents itself to you, di’kut.”

“Then why don’t you take the chance?”

“Because… it’s not me she observes when she thinks no one’s looking.”

Force, it’s already late again!

After all those years in the CSF, you’re used to working shifts. Your sleeping routine would allow you to fall asleep almost anywhere at any time. A habit you obviously share with Darman as you found out during the last days. But ever since you joined Kal Skirata’s little undercover anti-terror unit at Jaller’s request, sleep just won’t come to you. And it’s definitely not because of the stress coming with the task, or the awareness that you practically sleep on top of explosives. So many that you could blast half of the district into the next galaxy. No, you’re used to the danger and they seem to know what they are doing. Ordo, the captain, eludes a confidence second to none, and the eight clone commandos are able to work together like the well-oiled gearbox of a podracer. Even though you heard that Delta and Omega weren’t too fond of each other recently. Whatever the reason is, it obviously has no effect on their commitment.

But it’s not the clones that keep you awake either. At least not all of them. Although you had admittedly trouble maintaining your composure when you first saw them. They almost do look alike. The same thick black hair with the crewcut, the same beautiful golden-brown eyes, the same handsome faces and charming smiles. Maybe except Sev, but you’re sure he’d be just as charming if none of the others would witness. The same broad and tall frames, imposing stances. And then there are the things that make them special… unique. Like the little quirks they all have. Each their own. The little scars and marks. The different ways they carry themselves… and it’s those little differences that make you hold your breath everytime you see him: Niner. RC-1309.

Who the fuck thought, that giving them numbers and designations instead of names would be a smart move? And why the fuck do some of them chose a name still connected to that number? Loyalty maybe? Or just because they didn’t know better? It still is telling, you think.

Nevertheless, it suits him. Niner. You catch yourself whispering his name when you’re alone in the fresher, enjoying how it falls off your tongue. Niner. He seems to be a little more tense than the rest but his tension falls off the moment you all gather around the table at mealtimes and he’s surrounded by his brothers and he sees that everyone’s safe. When he smiles, actually he does it quite often but unconsciously, he has those little wrinkles around his eyes and looks much younger than he gives himself. He makes fun of Ordo for refusing to eat the so-called meat at Quibbu’s and he keeps Omega Squad back on track each new day. He’s diligent and dutiful, serious… but with that peculiar, subtle charme. And yet, he also holds that touch of authority that gives you shivers… in the best of ways. Niner. Trooper to the core. But it also keeps you from flirting with him… much to your regret. And that’s why you can’t sleep anymore. Because he refuses to leave your thoughts for even a second, all those ‘what ifs’ and ‘why not’.

You had a pretty good day today. At first you joined Fi and Sev during their sentry duty, Kal thought it best if they wouldn’t team up with Jusik again. Mereel showed up, one of Ordo’s Null-ARC brothers, and his mere presence somehow lifted the spirits of the whole motley crew: Clones, Jedi, Mandos and you. Then you had dinner with most of them at Quibbu's, fighting side by side against the threats of indefinable food. After that you met Jaller to report to him. He told you some news from the headquarters and your department which he thought would be useful for Skirata to know. He asked you how you feel in your temporary companionship and as you blushed, he gave you a knowing smile. “I thought so,” he said. In the evening you sat down in the common space with Etain, Bardan and Kal and time flew by as you were talking. Kal talked about Kamino, the Jedi about their duty in the order and you about your life in the CSF. Each of you learned something new that evening. Etain was the first to pretend to go sleeping as soon as Darman was back at the accommodation. Mh-hmmm. Bardan left shortly after.

As only Kal and you remained, he then said that he’s going to sleep too. You watched as he didn’t get up but made himself comfortable in an armchair and you asked him why he wouldn’t go to his room.

“Ad’ika, the day I met those incredible boys I made a vow to protect them whatever may come. And that I would not rest until I can provide them a normal life. These men have only half of our lifetime - at best. And as long as this injustice isn’t set right, the least I can do is to abstain from convenience to remind myself each day that my work isn’t done yet.”

You took his hand in yours and fought tears. And then you remained seated on the couch to keep him company, saying it was the least you could do to show your appreciation for him and his sons. He winked at you and said that there would be something else you could do, but he didn’t elaborate further and you didn’t ask.

As night fell and the top floor went dark and quiet, you allowed your tears to run down your cheeks. The realization that the clones, Niner, age twice as fast took you off-guard. Only half a life. And the lifetime they have is filled with clashes, devastation, pain and grief. It’s making their smiles even more special.

When your tears have dried and your silent sobs subsided, you lose yourself in daydreams about him once more. All those things you could do to him to make him happy and feel good. You dream about him seducing you, whispering sweet praise in your ear as he savors his time with you. You know it won’t happen. For one thing because he never even showed a sign that he’d be interested in such things at all or you in particular, and for another you don’t know if you’d make his life even more unbearable for him. He might suffer with the thought of what life could hold for him while he’s jammed in a shithole somewhere in the galaxy, his DC at the ready and some seppies in its crosshair.

Still, you want him. You want all of him, and not only your fantasies about him. Forever and not just in those few days left until their mission on Coruscant is accomplished. You want to fill his emptiness in return. You know it won’t happen…

‘Stay with me,’ your mind speaks. You won’t ever voice these words.

Suddenly you hear a door opening, followed by a soft footfall. And not a moment later Niner of all people is standing in the rec room. Somehow you feel caught red-handed, you just have no idea why. It’s not that he’s Jusik and can sense your emotional state let alone your thoughts.

“Hi,” you mouth, not catching the way he subtly tenses when he sees you sitting there.

“You’re still awake?” His voice is barely more than a whisper but in the silence of the top floor you hear him as if he’d breathe the words right next to your ear. For a split second a mental picture flashes up in front of your eyes. It almost makes you gasp.

“I could ask you the same question - if it was one.”

Even while you are talking, he walks over to the armchair Skirata chose as his sleeping place and then covers his sergeant with a warm blanket. The older man doesn’t wake up or maybe he just feigns sleep to not fuel Niner’s obvious concern. This small and yet so significant gesture in the middle of the night tells you so much about this particular clone’s nature who usually hides behind a wall of silence in the daytime.

“Insomnia. I got used to it by now,” he eventually answers and runs one hand through the dark hair, mussing up the black strands. He’s wearing his red fatigues and even in darkness the way the smooth fabric emphasizes his toned body makes your cheeks prickle with heat. You doubt that he even has a clue of how flustered and thrilled he leaves you, every time he comes your way. If only your expression doesn’t betray your thoughts. But then again it’s dark.

“Just because you are used to it doesn’t make it less serious.”

He only smiles. You watch as Niner walks back to his room. But before he vanishes from sight he stops dead in his tracks, turns around, and leans against the wall with one shoulder. As he crosses his arms in front of his chest, his shirt rucks up just a little and… Ohhhh… damn! That elastic waistband sits low on his hips.

“You didn’t tell me why you are still awake yet,” he chides you, but his voice is still so incredibly soft.

‘It’s because of you.’ But you are not brave enough to tell him the truth. Instead you hear yourself say with a chuckle: “I am not used to situations like that. Trapped in a hotel amidst strangers and not knowing how this is going to turn out for me.”

“Fair enough,” he answers and if you thought that he would leave you now, he surprises you again.

“Is… there anything I can do to make you feel better?” There’s a short pause in his speaking.

You know he doesn’t mean it in that way. He probably is just kind and his sergeant nature shines through like it did moments ago when he cared about the sleeping Skirata. But you are so surprised by his question that you don’t know what to answer and so you just shrug and shake your head awkwardly. It makes him smile defeatedly.

“Okay. Let me know if there’s something I can do. I don’t want you to consider us strangers.” He pushes away from the wall, ready to turn around.

“Niner?”

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if I stay awake with you?”

In the following silence you hear him swallow and your fast beating heart. You didn’t mean it that way. Just… You don’t know what you meant when you said it. Well, you do. You do know that you don’t want to miss the chance of finally talking to him more than just a few words and without so many of his brothers and commanding officers being around and listening. It takes some seconds until he finds his voice.

“Not at all!” He sounds breathless. “But we shouldn’t stay here.”

You try to ignore the burst of warmth in your chest as he invites you to come with him with a tilt of his head - and what it implies. Instead, you nod, slowly allowing yourself to raise and as he guides you to his room, you follow on wobbly legs.

For someone usually so reasonable and considerate, Niner is pretty surprised about himself and that he had this haphazard plan to take you to his room. It wasn’t even a plan, he just followed an intuition. He turns on the light on the nightstand, bathing the apartment in warm, dim light. Now he’s confronted with the fact that there’s just his bed as a sitting accommodation because the only chair is occupied with the neatly piled-up parts of his armor. The black undersuit, freshly laundered, hung out in front of the window to dry. His deece rests on the desk, ready for action. At least the meaningful flimsi with the drawing is stored safely in the desk drawer. It's one thing that Fi knows about his secret, but if it were you… that’s another story.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he suggests, pointing almost embarrassedly at his bed. Oh great, there couldn’t be a more intimate spot to invite you and then.. uhm.. join you. He should probably find another place for his armor and then take a seat on the chair. Just to be safe.

Even before he starts to rearrange the plating you already sit down at the edge of the lower end of his bed, leaving him enough room to join you without being too close.

“Don’t you dare sit on that chair, Niner. It’s your room and you should make yourself comfortable. If it has to be one of us sitting on the chair it would be me… not you.”

He tilts his head and then a lovely smile graces his face, one that you haven’t seen on him yet. Much more amused, confident and mystified than ever. Much more enticing…

“Did you just threaten me, mesh’la?”

His smile doesn't fail to have its effect on you, his voice even less. “Uhmm.. of course not. I wouldn’t be dreaming of,” you smile sheepishly back at him.

“Of course not. You would have to sleep for that,” Niner says and makes your pulse almost hitting the ceiling with just one sentence. You only hope he can’t hear it as he eventually sits down on the bed next to you. Your dreams would be far from threatening him anyway. Does he even guess?

For a moment it’s silent as there’s nothing clever to say. And like two spellbound idiots, neither of you seems to be able to look away from the other. Your mouth feels dry like the desert on Tatooine, and when you wet your lips with your tongue, his gaze drops for a split second. It’s just so brief that you wonder if you just imagined it.

This isn’t supposed to feel like this! He shouldn’t feel the way he does right now… but just because he knows what he’s made for or what he’s clearly not made for, he can’t detain his body from reacting the way it does to your presence. And once again he misses his armor, though this time for another reason. However, there’s this sense of guilt he can’t get rid of. No matter what Fi says. His squads - both squads - Lambda during the training on Kamino was his family for years, and he still loves them dearly, misses them since the day on Geonosis. Has it been his fault that they are gone? Omega squad - Fi, Dar and Atin - hell, he does belong with them, wholeheartedly. He won’t let anything happen to them. Not again. They depend on him like he depends on them. But there’s this urge to be with you right now. To tie bonds… Would it be a betrayal to his brothers?

“Well, what shall we do now?” He asks, words coming out deeper in his throat than he actually intends to. It surprises him. “I am not used to…” he pauses, as he tries to phrase his thoughts. “Actually, I have never been that close to a woman before. As long as you don’t count the Kaminoans.”

“I figured as much.” Another awkward seconds of silence before you add: “Hm.. what do you usually do when you’re up at night?”

Ohhh… that… he definitely can’t tell you. A picture of himself flashes up in front of his mind’s eye and he blushes against his will. How many times have your name fallen from his lips in an inaudible moan? “Ugh… that’s classified,” he coughs, bewildered how fast that white lie slips off his tongue, angry at himself that he didn’t handle the situation more aloof. What would Fi have said instead? At least you grant him the favor by not giving any suggestive remarks. Only the sweetest smile.

“How about we just talk a while then, hm?” You ask, chewing on your bottom lip. All he can think of for a second is what if it would be him nibbling on your bottom lip. Get ahold of yourself!

“Sounds good.”

And then the two of you talk for almost an hour. The hushed conversation flows so easily, despite the awkwardness at its very beginnings. Despite the graveness of your topics. You learn about the physical pain in the growth tanks and the mental strain of flash training. But you also learn about ties between clone brothers, stronger than anything you ever could think of. And it’s making you laugh as loud as you dare in the middle of the night. Niner learns about ludicrous laws and regulations on Coruscant, your daily work and about the nightmare that is the lower levels. But also what it means to enjoy life with friends in one of the pavement cafés or to just a day off in a spa or the botanic garden under the skydome. It’s making him wish…

And all the while during the convo, both of you get closer and closer, to the point that he’s stretched out on his bed, leaning against the propped up cushion on the wall and you next to him. Shoulders touching, legs brushing against one another. Having him this close feels so good, so natural… until you get aware of it. The warmth he radiates seeps into your every cell. His scent - the blend of soap, sweat and pure Niner - appeals to your senses. Stars you need to calm down.

Eventually the conversation approaches this mission, the surveillance and the constraint to kill time as a consequence thereof.

“Actually it’s not much different from our usual strategy,” he responds to your question if it’s not boring for him to be trapped in that accommodation with not much to do besides analyzing dynamic data. “Only the parameters vary.”

“I thought you do extractions or sabotage missions?”

“Oh we do. But we still can’t just run headlong behind enemy’s lines or attack the CIS’s positions without first getting a comprehensive picture of the situation.”

“Isn’t that the job for clone intelligence?”

“Pfft…” Niner gives a dismissive sound, rolling his eyes. “If I’d rely on their information, we’d be already dead by now.”

Your gaze involuntarily flickers to the wall, towards the direction Ordo and Mereel are presumably sleeping, and he hastily adds that he doesn’t talk about them. The Nulls are outstanding in what they do, but they can’t be all-pervasive. Even though Ordo tries.

“Sometimes, when we locate our target, we spend hours motionless on a look-out til it's the apt moment to strike.”

At least it’s certainly safer than being in the line of fire, still it sounds less exciting as you thought a commando’s life would be. You don’t complain though… katarn or not. You don’t like the thought of Niner being trapped in heavy clashes. When you question if they don’t get bored, he chuckles.

“Usually not. There’s always plenty to discuss with my brothers.” Gossip. Fears… Desires. “But nine times out of ten my back is killing me.”

An extremely trained soldier, and still he has to suffer the most ordinary ailment due to all the strains of war. You wonder how ‘ordinary’ people would deal with the circumstances. People who would have been given the opportunity to decide whether they want to fight or not.

“Poor boy,” you appease him with a smile, and curse yourself for making it sound possibly gleeful. You mean it. You do feel sorry for him and you hope he knows. His expression tells you that much. But then he resumes speaking, thus stealing the air from your lungs.

“Sometimes I wish the kaminiise had left out most of the sensory perception altogether. Given all the things they coded out of our DNA, that wouldn’t have made things worse.”

His words are downright agonizing. All the injustices cast to the clones: the denial of any individuality, a future, Force knows even hope itself… all the years in which they never had the choice of what they wanted to do with their lives. And they were programmed to be loyal and diligent, drilled to obedience and ultimately influenced by the war to the point that they now even deny themselves these rights, or even basic instincts.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Your smile falters slightly as you look at him, but at least you manage not to stare open-mouthed at him. While you wait for him to speak, you listen to his heartbeat, steady but rapid. Something’s changing. Hanging in the air between you.

He turns to look at you, so that he’s lying on his right side, your faces only inches apart. And there it is again, the spellbound gaze, challenging, laced with confidence, full of contrasts. Just as Niner.

“I am.”

“But you would miss out on all the soothing aspects of perception.”

Are you… implying what he thinks you do? Fierfek, indulgence has never been more tempting, seduction never took such a gorgeous shape. It's awing. Ohhh Niner, hold strong… and yet he needs you to be with him right now.

“There’s not much. Isn’t it?” He rasps, exactly aware of what he’s about to conjure.

The warmth of your expression causes a strange, soft feeling in his chest. He is smitten. No. He has fallen for you since the moment he saw you and his emotions got more and more profound with every day in your orbit. The more he denies, the more he’s going to hurt himself. Now he knows what Dar was afraid of on Quiilura.

Your body betrays you, melting with just his proximity and the warm, husky cadence of his voice. And, stars, there’s no denying the tingling sensation down deep in your core.

“What about touch?”

Niner swallows thickly, a gasp caught in his throat. His experiences in terms of touch are basically narrowed down to Fi examining him for injuries on the battlefield, Kal’buir ruffling his hair, and himself… uhm… There’s this long moment of silence in which he considers his words. Niner needs to know how far he can go until his heart races. Until desire becomes so strong it’s almost painful. You have this effect on him… he knows that and he doesn’t want to change a thing.

“There are not many occasions for me to be touched anyway,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you. Again, the truth he leaves out is what he hopes you’ll still understand. It feels like he’s on fire at that point, blazing under your closeness.

As you speak, your voice sounds almost innocent. And yet the question isn’t at all. “Would you want me to touch you?”

Your words are too much for him to handle any longer. Fierfek, he’s so turned on, reached the point of no return. And he looks at you with darkening eyes, ever so slowly drags his pleading gaze down your body to where your hand rests in your lap. You blush and blink softly at him, shattering the tension and doubts that Niner has felt on his shoulders.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again they shimmer with certainty. “Yes. Please. If you want to,” he confesses, letting out a breathy laugh.

“I do.”

You carefully reach out your hand, letting your fingertips ghost over his neckline, not touching him just yet but he can already feel the warmth of your hand, the anticipation prickling on his skin. His heart skips in his chest, both of you trying to maintain composure. And then… finally… you touch him.

A strangled sound gets caught in his throat as you slowly brush over the ridge of his collarbone, the particularly sensitive spot just above. He shudders under the caress long craved for, and exhales the breath he was holding.

“So… Do you like it?” You whisper, the tips of your fingers softly dragging along the curve of his neck and across the edge of his jawline. The soft grating noise as you stoke across his five o’clock shadow, the only sound to be heard in the room. You trace his cheek bones and brush over his lips, leaving a trail of fire wherever you touch.

Hmmm…. It feels so, so good. It’s almost overwhelming, the spark of heat that singes his nerves, and he can’t find his voice underneath all the flames engulfing him. Instead he’s nodding, his eyes glazed with lust and his mind clouded with need, he’s catching your hand with his, ever so slowly leading it down his torso to the hem of his shirt. He wants so much more of that gorgeous sensation. ‘Give me more,’ his silence pleads.

Tuning your head, you watch him intently as your fingers grab the smooth fabric hugging his waist to push it up, up and further up. You don't miss the way his breath hitches as you bare his lower abdomen and your fingertips skim over the feverishly hot skin, but his eyes burn with fervor. Suddenly, you become aware of the dampness that has pooled between your legs by now. All he had to do was to breathe a few words. And oh the thrill that you’re about to do what you longed for since you met him. Then you gently splay your fingers and rest your hand on his firm abs. It’s not only him sighing quietly and your fingers tremble as you gradually slide your hand higher, trace the ridges on his stomach and the crevice leading up his torso, spread out across the sturdy curve of his chest and feel his heart beat in a frenzy beneath your palm. He shudders as you butterfly his pecs. His red tunic is rucked up so much that his upper body is practically exposed. Your gaze drops to the tan skin.

“Stars, Niner! The dreams I had about this… they didn’t even come close.”

The words leave your mouth before you even consider them properly, but they are enough to dissolve any shred of self-composure he thought he had. He grasps your face, digging his fingers in your hair at your nape, and pulling you flush against him. Niner kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for a lifetime, like you’re the air he breathes. You gasp at the sensation as your clothed body presses against his only covered by a thin layer of fabric. In the heat of the moment, your thigh brushes against the bulge that has tented his pants and it's making him moan, the sound getting lost in your opened mouth. Your hands scrabble to find purchase in his tunic, struggling to anchor yourself.

Whenever you daydreamed about kissing him, you imagined it to be kind of soft and tentative. Testing the waters. But this… this is desperate. And better than any imagination could ever be. His hands start to travel across your shape, your neck, your arms, the curve of your ribcage. Curious and eager, but never too brazen. Hands that are used to handle a DC and take out any menace in an instant, are so soft and so gentle on you. Desperate and tender alike. Inexperienced, but passionate and loving. And so is his kiss. The contrast is making you dizzy.

After what feels like eternity, Niner eventually pulls his mouth away to look at you. For a split second he is afraid that he went too far and now needs to apologize. And about the same amount of time he curses himself for giving in to his desires and getting weak. Losing control. But both thoughts dissolve the moment he feels you chasing after his lips. He chuckles and nibbles at your bottom lip as you whimper in regret.

“Can I ask you something… selfish?” He wants to know. His brown eyes flick over to look at you through his lashes. Still breathless and not trusting your voice right now you only nod in response, prompting him to ask whatever he wants to know.

“May I take off your tunic?” Osik! Why does he suddenly feel shy after kissing you so fiercely? “I promise it won’t be more. I… I just need to look at you and… feel you… c-closer.”

“Yes, Niner. Yes you may,” you whisper quietly after a moment, stroking his cheek. His eyelids flutter.

“Thank you,” he responds, feeling his own body subtly tensing at your answer, and ever so gently closes his teeth around your bottom lip once more. Then he rolls you on your back and hovers over you.

Both his hands slip beneath your tunic, the white, gauzy linen he already drew, going around your waist. He lets his fingers sink against your skin, squeezing gently. And you shiver as his hands slide further up, revealing you inch by inch, his thumbs curling around to skirt the underneath of your breast. He can't remember ever touching something so soft. Then, finally, he pulls off the tunic and sends it flying towards the floor.

He could have watched you forever… but it’s you who dips your finger under the straps of your bra, undressing it. As he laid down to not-sleep this evening, he never thought he’d be graced with such a breathtaking view tonight. Smiling silently to himself, he lets his gaze linger on you for a moment, admiring every inch of your exposed chest. Maybe someday he’s going to ask you if he could draw you again, wearing nothing more than his lovebites on your skin.

Niner lowers his face to yours, mouthing against your lips: “You have no idea what you do to me, cyar’ika.”

No you have no idea… Not only are you shattering his worries, his constraints and convictions, things he took for granted and lived after. You’re revealing dreams he never was allowed to have and sate desires he denied himself for so long. You chuckle in response, your hands falling into the tufts of his black hair, pulling him down on you to seal your lips with his in a loving kiss. And your bodies meet. It’s such a foreign, overwhelming feeling, warm skin against warm skin on such a usually shielded part of him. No katarn to save him. No katarn to detain him.

Niner watches, enraptured, as you lay beneath him. Such a beautiful sight: your pupils blown wide, mouth agape, your chest heaving as you try to ease the ache by grinding against him. He’s lost in the way your eyes sparkle, and his own reflection within them.

Everything becomes blurry. For hours, at least that’s how it feels like, his half-naked body is pressed tight to yours. His mouth is always slightly opened, kissing, licking and tasting wherever you would let him, wherever he dares to explore. He drowns in your scent, buries his face in your hair, breathes against your ear to whisper sweet praise and never, not even for a single second, lets you forget that he’s bare and hot… and vulnerable just for you. And, wayii, your hands venture on him, feeling everything he’s offering you in return. He never wants it to end.

You feel like you’re floating in sensations. Absolutely amazing how turned on but equally satisfied you are, just by touching and teasing. Kissing and caressing. Your hands roam his body shamelessly, the strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself up over you. They flex beneath your palms. With every touch you make him shiver, and he coaxes soft moans and goosebumps from you by rocking against you. Your fingers play with the soft hair at his nape, and run up and down the length of his spine that’s shielding you from the small room. You grind against him a little more insistently, desperate to give him the friction he needs. The intimacy you both chase after. He feels so incredibly good, his arousal, under his pants. So alive.

Your quiet sighs fill the room, needy sounds and pleads of Niner’s name as he follows his instinct and sends delicious surges of pleasure throughout your body. And he’s unbelievably gentle about it, dexterous, even though you know he never did anything like this before. You hold on to his shoulder blades and you both gradually get tired while he savors you in that precious moment, easing you both to relax and surrender to the rest each of you so desperately need.

At some point during the night, when your kisses get more and more lazy, he eventually lays down next to you and catches you in his arms to pull you close, not leaving an inch between you like he can’t bear to lose the contact of your skin for even a second. With your eyes closed, you rest your head on his chest and listen to his breathing, rough and shallow and loud against the quietness of the hotel room. Again, it feels so natural and familiar.

Both of you lie there, a lingering calm in the air as the minutes drip by. You don't require anything beyond his hands on you and the protection he provides as you are dozing off in his arms.

“So… You were dreaming about me, hm?” he murmurs, dragging his hand over your back.

“Mh-hmm,” you hum. Even though you are barely awake anymore, the way he asks stirs something in your consciousness.

“I was dreaming about you too,” he confesses, mouthing at your temple. He pulls you tighter against him, starts rocking ever so gently against your hip. And as you make a soft sound, nuzzling his chest, he quietly adds: “Was dreaming of having you in my bed. Of how I’d fuck you through my sheets.”

You stop breathing, and your fingers, wrapped around his waist, grip him tighter. Are you already asleep and in dreams? No.. you can feel him, so warm and strong pressing into you. Feel his heart beating rapidly under your cheek. Is he…?

“But I won’t, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the delicate skin on your temple.

You whine softly, making him smile in response. Niner reaches out and tilts your chin up towards him, making you meet his eyes. Most of the time during the last days he averted his gaze, though for an entirely different reason than you expected, and you only threw him stolen glances in return, but tonight you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, the meaning behind.

“Not yet… Not when I haven’t been out on a date with you,” he says.

Your cheeks burn at the awareness of him staring at you so closely, of asking you…

His brothers always thought he’s not into women or relationships at all. He gave them the expression that all that counts is the bond they have among clones and their duty to the republic. And most of the time that was exactly what he believed. They were wrong.

“When it comes to you, cyar’ika, I want to do it right. You deserve to be treated right.” He pauses, letting his fingers brush over your chin, while you watch him with glassy eyes. Being responsible and patient has never been so difficult

“So… Do you want to go out on a date with me?”

He doesn’t even know when he’ll have the time to go out with you. But Kal’buir always finds a way for his sons. And if nothing else works… he’ll take Fi’s advice and have dinner with you at Quibbu’s, making it a date. Period.

“Yes,” you say, slowly following his movement as he tilts your chin up, and bump noses with him. “I want to go on a date with you.”

Not only one. And what’s about to follow.

He smiles and bends down to kiss you. “Sweet dreams.”

And for the first time in a while, you both fall into a deep slumber.

“Has anyone seen Niner this morning?” Atin asks as they prepare to go down to the bar and have breakfast.

The concern is written on his face. Niner is usually the first to be up and actuating his squad mates. The fact that he’s absent is so out of the ordinary that it’s almost frightening.

“I'd better check on him in his room.”

But Skirata smiles knowingly and that again induces Fi to grin. “You’d better knock before you enter.”

However, Atin doesn’t. Just as the door slides open he remembers something that his subconsciousness tried to tell him - you haven’t been there either this morning. Only a split second later his eyes fall on a view he never expected to see. Niner is still fast asleep. And so are you. Snuggled up close to each other, your limbs are entangled under the duvet. Your clothes scattered on the floor. The room is filled with quiet breathing.

While he still stands rooted to the spot and open-mouthed watches the scene, Dar and Fi appear next to him. “Told you so,” the latter whispers and Dar smirks suggestively. Niner stirs slightly in his sleep.

Atin feels Fi’s hand on his shoulder, turning him around and prompting to leave the room with a tilt of his head.

“We should leave them alone and have breakfast brought to their rooms,” Fi says.

“We should bring the food up for them ourselves later, “ Dar answers. “The service droid has a habit of showing up at the most inopportune moment.”

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Still nothing could be seen through the transparisteel cockpit window except dark space and the shadowy outline of Nevarro in the distance. Ordo resisted the urge to stare at his chrono again, not that he really needed to, and drummed his fingers on the console instead. Almost ten standard minutes had passed since they had reached the LZ and were now waiting for the shuttle to arrive. 576 seconds to be exact. 577... Ordo always knew when and where he was. Much to his chagrin, he did not always know exactly where others were. Especially those he cared about.

“What’s wrong, Ord’ika?”

Mereel, who was sprawled in the co-pilot’s seat next to him, boots resting on top of the console, wasn’t at all affected by the tension. A quality that Ordo secretly admired in him.

“Four hours are almost up. They better be dead on time.” Ordo’s shoulders were tense, the exact opposite of his brother, both in terms of posture and attitude. But maybe that was exactly what made the two of them work so well together, right from the start.

“I don’t know anyone who is more punctual than Niner,” Mereel reassured him.

“Apart from yourself, Ord’ika,” A’den chimed in. He was busy calibrating the HUD in his helmet in the rear of the ship. “I always wondered how you managed that.”

“He probably has a built-in chrono chip somewhere,” teased Kom’rk, who was passing the time with Prudii playing a game of Dejarik.

Ordo decided to ignore his brothers' chatter and stay focused. In fact, he was glad that he could finally be on the go with all of them again. Since they had left Kamino, that had happened far too rarely. And even now on Mandalore, where there was nothing to do except getting used to their new life in freedom, they were usually scattered in all directions, or the whole aliit was gathered in the same place. It was never just the six of them.

"It's not Niner I'm worried about."

Mereel laughed. "Dar will behave."

"He better does." It was only a half-serious threat. But coming from a Null-ARC, it was still dangerous enough for the recipient.

It wasn't long ago that he, Jaing and Mereel had flown to Coruscant on board the Cornucopia to extract the two remaining Omegas and bring them to the clan. They had been so close to finally being reunited. Niner had already boarded the freighter... And then everything had gone wrong and he had to return home empty-handed and with the shame of failure and confess to Kad'ika that he hadn't been able to bring his dad home, because this suddenly had decided to act stubborn. He couldn't go through that again. But it wasn't Darman he was worried about this time either.

"When we go in, Jaing will take care of the transponder signal. A'den will take care of the two Spaartis, the rest of us will concentrate on Delta. Make sure your lasers are set to PEP. We don't know why the two are unconscious or what their current status is."

Ignorance. A word that Ordo would have preferred to remove from his vocabulary. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. Once the shuttle arrived, they wouldn't have enough time to request a detailed report from Niner. Once they got there, time was already running against them.

"Copy that."

Mereel could sense his brother's current emotional state, as if he had a sixth sense for it. And to show him that they were all serious about this mission and that failure was out of the question, he sat up straight and gave Ordo a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

"Relax. We know exactly what to do."

In fact, this small gesture helped Ordo being a little less worried.

"I'm receiving a signature. Theta-shuttle," said Jaing, who had been sitting silently at the navcomp and checking flight data. "They should be exiting hyperspace any time now."

Now Ordo did look at his chrono. 30 seconds to the LZ. Niner was dead on time.

"All clear! Pressure up your buy'cese. Get ready to board!"

While he himself remained seated to maneuver the Aay'han, the rest of the Nulls were already standing up like one man. And with their blasters drawn, they gathered around the ladder inside the airlock, ready to meet their brothers who had finally returned home.

“Fierfek!”

Niner could only curse as they left the Hydian trade way and suddenly found themselves in an asteroid field. And in the midst of it was what at first glance looked like a submarine gone astray, but ultimately turned out to be a Mon-Cal deep-sea-class freighter. The shields withstood, but still they were all jarred a bit.

“There's nothing better than starting the day with little turbulence ,” Scorch joked. “Really gets me going.”

“Don’t you dare throw up!” Niner, who thought for a moment about what it would be like to have Fi around right now, warned. That would be anything but to his liking. Sicko, if you’re watching me from somewhere… A little help would be nice. The TIV pilot had become their mascot over the years, an unofficial honorary member of Omega Squad, so to speak, because Fi never got tired of reminding them of him and his daredevil aerial maneuvers. Somehow he was always with them.

“What kind of banthashit are they pulling?” Darman was anything but enthusiastic about the circumstances of the meeting. “I hope they know what they’re doing.”

“Bonkers squad is living up to its name again,” Fixer noted.

Niner really wanted to punch him, but he had his hands full stabilizing the T-2c shuttle while the freighter was already lowering its altitude and sliding underneath the shuttle. "Unconventional. You still should be able to handle that."

"Hold on, lads, I'm deactivating the shield generator." Darman tapped a few buttons in the cockpit and then the whole ship jolted as the air bridge docked with the floor hatch and a hiss indicated the successful sealing. Niner released the lower airlock.

"What the...?"

It was one of the rare moments in which Scorch was actually speechless when, instead of the expected ARC troopers, six Mandalorians in beskar'gam entered the shuttle. Blasters drawn, they streamed in silently, immediately surrounded them in the hull and prevented them from reaching for their deeces. Not that they had even intended to do so. Boss, Fixer and Scorch remained in their seats with their hands slightly raised, making it clear that they posed no danger. Still, it was strange to suddenly find themselves on the other side of a blaster barrel.

One of the Mandos, his armor was gray, tapped two fingers to his helmet in greeting and then immediately disappeared into the cockpit. A second, in green armor, kept his eyes on Delta Squad as he walked sideways to the jump seats to inspect the two unconscious clones. Scorch could see him feeling for their pulse with one hand, probably also having a scan of their bodies done at the same time.

“Clear!”

Three more Mandalorians, two in blue and one in black armor, secured the Deltas' weapons and helmets that had been put aside and made sure that none of the three commandos made any indication of wanting to defend themselves or flee.

“Clear!”

The sixth man in red armor, who had come in last, was already holstering his blaster while he was still watching the spectacle. Scorch would have recognized this attitude anytime and anywhere.

“Captain Ordo!”

Despite the joy of reunion, he was meticulous about not moving his hands and staying as still as possible. You never know with the Nulls. One moment you were still alive while withstanding a scowl and only the next you had taken your last breath. It all depends on whether they were in the right mood or not. Bonkers. And yet Scorch had hoped that he would see them again. Ever since the mission on Triple Zero, when the disembodied legends that were told among the young commandos on Kamino had suddenly become brothers of flesh and blood.

“All this fuss just because of us? I'll take that as a compliment.” A Null ARC was either a friend or an enemy. There was nothing in between. And since they were still alive, they were obviously on the lucky side of the winners. But Scorch didn't want to go as far as Fi and make jokes about the Kamas.

How many loudmouths had he actually dealt with in his life? Ordo had thought that Fi was the end of the line. Far from it. But... He had learned and even developed, as Mereel called it, a sense of humor.

"Do me a favor and release the safety catches on your weapons," he told his brothers over the secure intercom channel, inaudible to the rest of the men. A very special sense of humor.

While the quiet fourfold click of safety catches could be heard and Scorch had obviously stopped breathing, he pulled his helmet off his head. Keeping a straight face, he took a step, then another, toward the astonished Commando, his right hand hovering above the holster.

"Enjoy. It will be the last thing to be bestowed on you."

For a moment, the shuttle was so quiet that a falling feather would have caused a deafening noise. Another step. And finally he was so close to Scorch that their noses almost touched. Ordo slowly raised his hand... and then punched the chest plate at collarbone level with his fist. Hard.

"Get outta here! Ordo... was that a joke?" It was Kom'rk who finally broke the tension. Scorch grunted with a mixture of relief and pain, to make sure he didn't make a sound, he had bitten his cheek.

One by one, the Nulls finally took off their helmets, holstered their weapons and put their hands on Delta Squad's shoulders in greeting. On his way to the cockpit, Ordo leaned over to Boss, making it clear to him very quietly, but also in Ordo's way, very unambiguously that the men shouldn't bargain away the trust they had just been given.

"One wrong move from you guys and we need to wipe up the floor afterwards." There was that quiet X-factor in his voice, the equivalent of a Gurlanin right before the assault.

“As far as death threats go, you have to get in line. Niner claimed first,” Boss whispered back. The corners of the Null ARC's mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. Of course he did. Good man!

“I'm not sure if your behavior ‘s meant to offend me or not,” Boss continued. “What's so unlikely about us wanting to bunk as your lot did?”

“Nothing.”

Ordo took a step back and Boss couldn't shake off the uncomfortable feeling that he was being scrutinized. He was instantly relegated to a sterile training room on Kamino. To the expressionless, appraising gaze his sergeant had given him, usually followed by a literally painful verdict.

“I'm just wondering what's kept you from making even the slightest suggestion that you want to... retrain for so long.”

Well. There was basically only one answer to that: Sergeant Vau.

While the average adolescent in the galaxy was busy finding their place in life and purpose through trial and error and growing from their decisions, the young commandos' purpose was already predetermined with the induction of the cloning process. Instead of social interaction with friends and... er... girls... their interaction was limited to blaster fire and the anguished cries or cheers of their brothers over comlink. And since they have been firing with live ammunition, failure hasn’t been an option. While other cuy'val dar, like Kal Skirata, have pampered their boys and allowed them a certain amount of individuality and initiative, which was later unfortunately reflected in Geonosis' death toll statistics, Vau had left no doubt about who they were... and what they have been made for. The Grand Army came first and only. You were one of the best... or you were nothing. It also made no difference whether it was the Republic or Imperial Army that one served in. Desertion would have been a sign of weakness, of failure, in Sergeant Vau's eyes, and none of them could have endured that disgrace. Painful years of apprenticeship or not, they could not disappoint him... no, they did not want to disappoint him. They already had irrevocably… with the loss of Sev, and it almost broke them. The fact that they did renegade now was due solely to the fact that, after carefully weighing the odds, Sev's life simply seemed more valuable than that of a man who had not contacted them for months. Vau was not a Skirata who called after every mission to ask how they were doing, although Boss sometimes secretly wished he had.

"Sense of duty."

Ordo snorted a mirthless laugh, but then nodded briefly before turning to leave. He understood.

“How touching,” Mereel now joined in the conversation. “And now - take it off!” He tapped Fixer's green crested Katarn armor with his knuckle and received a blank look from its owner in response.

“You come off pretty strong for a first date,” joked Scorch. “I've heard... What?!” He fell silent, however, as Mereel's ominous look about the bad joke boded ill.

“It's our second date already.”

“What’s the point?” Fixer wanted to know.

“It’s just for security reasons, turning off the electronics in the armor and any possible traceability. We don’t want anyone to track us down, do we?” Mereel winked at Fixer and then picked up one of the neglected helmets to work on it.

“But… we’ll get them back, right?” Fixer asked, somewhat unhappily, noticing once again the lack of the distinctive clone trooper armor. “I think it suits me so well.”

That was only half the truth. Sure, which clone hasn't stood in front of a mirror in full gear over the course of their life, confident in themselves and amazed by their formidable vibes? The Mark III Commando armor was even more impressive and awe-inspiring than the average ground forces trooper armor. But more importantly, over the last few years the armor had become like a second skin. Life insurance number one. Taking it off was... unnatural.

Mereel laughed and Fixer had no idea that the boys had had the same conversation almost word for word when they first settled on Kyrimorut. And none of them had the heart to discard the beloved shell. They just wore it less often now.

"Sure. If it makes you feel better, come here and help me with the adjustments. I heard you like tinkering."

Fixer finally gave in and decided to just take it as an order that he had to follow. And that's basically what it was. Then he sat down next to Mereel, wearing only his black bodysuit, and both of them worked on the circuits in the helmets while the others also stripped off and brought their armor pieces in for revision. They quickly fell into a routine: Mereel explained and Fixer followed the instructions. Actually, same as it ever was... Maybe deserting wouldn't be so bad if he saw it as a kind of permanent mission.

“How boring. I was hoping to get some new technology to have a fling with,” Jaing lamented as he was busy removing the console cover in the cockpit to attach a circuit breaker to a few wires.

“You cheered too soon,” Niner replied when he returned to him in just his bodysuit and boots. “The only thing new about this craft is the color they used to repaint the Republican crest for it to shine in this fancy uniform gray.” He frowned at the many exposed wires and cables, but said nothing more.

“It’s no different than you lads…” Jaing grinned, interrupting the shuttle’s transponder signal. Then he began to reprogram it. “Just put a new coat of paint on you and then send you on missions until you will disintegrate.”

Niner, who was watching him in silence, remembered his argument with A'den on Gaftikar. He gave him a fleeting glance. A'den, still more tanned than his brothers, with laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, was helping Darman undress the unconscious Rede. Both went about it very carefully. Levin received a much rougher treatment, while Darman brought A'den up to speed on what had happened in the last few hours. Hindsight is always 20/20, and yet he wished he had known some of the things he knew now. So much could have been different. It might seem cruel, but Jaing was right. There was no difference between him and the T-2c, at least as far as the Republic or the Empire was concerned. You could accept the fact and carry on until you die... or, like him and his brothers, do something about it.

“What about Dar? Is he still on his personal campaign against the jetiise?” The Null had handed the commando a memory card, leaned a little closer and lowered his voice so that no one present could overhear, least of all Darman. From a distance it must have looked as if they were collaborating in the cockpit.

“Give him a moment. To be honest, I have no idea what is going on in his head right now. Don’t get me wrong, but he has every right to be upset. Kal’buir wasn’t exactly honest with him and you weren’t very communicative either.” Absent-mindedly, he fidgeted with the memory card in his hand. If it hadn’t been for Fi who had let slip the news about Zey, he and Dar would still be oblivious to what exactly was going on in Kyrimorut. On the other hand, they might not be on their way there yet. Cause and effect. Maybe there was such a thing as predetermination in the Force after all.

“You're right, of course. I'll keep an eye on him anyway.” Jaing hesitated for a moment. “Kal'buir met with Altis on neutral ground. In about a week we'll be rid of the glow stick wielders from the mythical mob once and for all. That will put him at ease.”

Neither of them could really understand how Dar must feel. Sure, for them the Jedi were an occult sect that took Force-sensitive toddlers away from their parents, but neither of them had a child that fit that description. Darman did. His dislike of the Jedi was much more substantial. But even that was just an assumption. Since Etain's death, Darman had been withdrawn, and even though there had hardly been a minute since that day that Dar and Niner hadn't spent together, he felt more alien to him than he had back then on Ord Mantell when they first met. The invisible distance hurt him more than anything else ever could. He wanted to look after his brothers, be a support to them... but he needed their consent to do that. He didn't have that consent from Dar at the moment.

Jaing had now started manipulating the shuttle's memory. To Niner it looked as if he was overriding dynamic data and then copying it to a second, identical memory chip, but he wasn't entirely sure. Jaing called himself the best slicer in the galaxy. Not exactly very modest or humble, but he was right. Even if Mereel probably would oppose that. Niner had to grin at the thought of how such a conversation between these two might go. There was a good chance that he would be able to witness it in the foreseeable future. What would they all do when they sat together on their premises? He imagined that it would basically be akin to the mess hall, although Kal would probably stop the occasional food fight. The warm feeling in his guts continued to spread. The certainty that he would soon be safe and sound at home. Time to recover. Home is where your aliit is. And finally the whole clan would be together, if everything went well with a few new members. Who’d have ever thought that from Delta? On the other hand, he had not even thought that of himself.

“How much longer do you need?” Ordo stood next to Jaing, checking in on them.

“Explosive charges are in place,” Prudii replied. “Just waiting for your command.” Niner gazed in astonishment to the side from which the voice came. The man was called shadow for a reason. How had he managed to get into the narrow cockpit unnoticed?

“You tell the slowpoke,” Ordo retorted.

“Patience is a virtue, ner vode. One that would suit you well,” Jaing remained unimpressed. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t go any faster. The upload rate of this pile of junk leaves a lot to be desired.”

“How long?”

“About two minutes.”

Ordo sighed in annoyance. Gridlock always meant making yourself vulnerable.

What did Prudii mean by explosives? “Sergeant Worryguts,” as he was called by the other Commandos, almost didn’t recognize himself anymore. During his entire career as a commando sergeant, he had always planned everything down to the last detail. He was pretty good at playing it by ear, as were all of the clones, but he preferred avoiding it. Better safe than sorry. And yet here he was, more clueless than ever, relying on others to sort it out. Shab!

“What exactly are you planning to blow up, Prudii?”

“Nice of you to ask.” Prudii grinned and then nodded meaningfully toward the cockpit window and the asteroid fragments flying around. “Part of the shuttle and the surrounding landscape.”

Niner stared at him in disbelief. Then Jaing and then Ordo. His teeth clicked, as they always did when he was upset. Maybe Fixer hadn't been so wrong about the 'bonkers squad' after all.

"Part of?" He asked, frowning, while at the same time wanting to know which part of the ship he would be on when the explosion took place. An unpleasant memory of his deployment in Teklet on top of a mining droid riddled with explosives flashed before his mind's eye. "Why not scoot and then blast the whole thing into the next orbit?" That's what Darman would have done if he'd been given free rein. The shuttle and the asteroid fragments would have been pulverized in no time.

“And give up the opportunity to get an Imperial vessel into our possession? You never know for whatever it’s worth.” Jaing didn't even look up from his work as he answered. Prudii agreed.

“Melusar knows where you are intended to go. So if we want to let you disappear, we'll do it once and for all. Officially, your shuttle collided with an asteroid field when dropped from hyperspace and crashed. Unfortunately, you were beyond human help.”

Niner thought about the plan that seemed somehow unnecessarily complicated. They could have just blown up the Theta shuttle, disguised it as a random collision, and left the debris behind. Okay, the missing bodies on board would raise questions. Or they could have faked an attack. But it was unlikely that a squadron of Imperial commandos would be taken out like that without being able to send a distress signal, unless they were ambushed by Mandalorians. And then the wrong people would probably come to look for them. Exactly what they wanted to avoid by all means. There was still the stored data from the black box. The one Jaing was currently tampering with. He had to admit, the plan, complicated or not, made sense.

“Ready!” Jaing cheered.

“Everyone gets their shebse to the Aay’han!” Ordo ordered. “Mereel will remain to pilot the wrecked shuttle while I tow it.”

One by one, the clones set off to change ships through the airlock, while Mereel, with a satisfied grin on his face, put on his helmet and buckled himself up in the pilot’s seat. The wild ride that would inevitably follow was probably just to his liking. If Kal’buir found out about it later, it would already be too late for him to change anything about the daring action.

“Cockpit sealed.”

A'den positioned the helmet and some more parts of Rede's armor just behind the cockpit hatch. They took all other armor that still needed to be modified, as well as the blasters, with them from the ship. However, when A’den strapped Levin and Rede into the jump seats with emergency breathing masks strapped over their faces, Darman stood rooted to the spot and glared at him furiously.

"What's the point? Aren't we taking Rede with us?"

"We are. Right here in the shuttle. Mer'ika is looking after them."

"You open the doors to a handful of presumptuous Jedi, but can't treat one of us with the necessary decency?"

"He's not one of us!"

"Oh! That's where you draw the line?"

What followed was the inevitable heated discussion about the careless treatment of brothers. A'den maintained his opinion that they should be treated equally as potential risks, while Dar insisted that Rede should be treated better. A'den assured him that nothing would happen to him, and Darman doubled down on the idea that he would also remain in the shuttle if that were the case. Ordo intervened before the situation became violent and out of control.

"Any of you di'kula spitfires will go exactly where I tell you to! And nowhere else," he growled. "That includes you, Dar!"

Ordo shoved Darman forcefully towards the airlock and Niner was sure that if it hadn't been the captain, Darman would have been only too happy to show him what he thought of it. Instead, he resentfully accepted his fate. Niner stayed close to him for moral support. A'den followed suit. But a queasy feeling remained.

"What will happen to them?" Niner asked over his shoulder, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

"Vau can take care of them on our arrival," Ordo said, his patience slowly running out.

“What…? Do you mean by Vau?”

This time it was Boss who spoke up, and much to Ordo’s annoyance, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Unlike Maze, he was never one to support carrying out orders without question, but right now he was wondering whether it might be better to just shout the whole bunch down, encouraging them to be a little more obedient. If Ordo hadn’t known better, he would have thought he heard panic in Boss’s voice. Instead, he just looked at him in incomprehension and rephrased his statement.

“Sergeant Vau. When we’re on Kyrimorut, he can suss their motives out with his special interrogation tactics. We can always consider terminating them later.” To the others, it might seem as if he was callous and scheming. But just the thought of having to kill one of his brothers - in a way, the spaarti were also part of the huge Jango Fett clone family - made him feel sick. But life was neither particularly fair nor picky about who it would bestow its whims on. Ordo tried to cope in his own way, sometimes that meant using unconventional methods. He couldn't afford to take risks at the expense of his clan's safety. There was a hierarchy of those he cared about, and he had to follow it, at all costs.

"He's... there too?"

"Well, where did you think he was?"

To be honest, Boss hadn't given too much thought to where Sergeant Vau might have disappeared to after the war was over. Somehow he had assumed he would never see the old chakaar again. That was simplest. The unwavering vision he had of him had been shattered on Mygeeto, but Boss still couldn't imagine him as a 'family man'. And certainly not alongside Kal Skirata. The two of them had been at each other's throats at every given opportunity, and the idea that they would now spend their retirement together just seemed ridiculous.

Since he had left the army, Sergeant Vau was no longer their superior, but Boss was still afraid of disappointing him. What would happen if the three... three, and not four... commandos debarked the ship and had to face him? Boss turned his head and could see the same shocked expression on Scorch's and Fixer's faces. The latter's even more so. The unspoken question: And now what? But there was no turning back. And they still had about an hour until the get-together. Enough time to come up with an appropriate strategy. This trip was getting worse by the minute, and if it hadn't been for Sev... Boss sighed and eventually shrugged.

For a moment, Ordo considered telling Delta that Vau had been on Kashyyyk for weeks searching for Sev, but had eventually returned, broken and dejected. But telling them would still not change the fact that the men would meet each other in the near future, nor the course of events during the remaining flight. It would only unnecessarily waste more of their time. Time that they did not have. So he remained silent.

“If you have the time, gents,.” Jaing smirked at Ordo as this finally sealed the entry hatch, precious minutes late. Knowing his brother, Ordo was sure Jaing could hardly contain his complacency. Well-deserved. But was it his fault that the delay had occurred? Perhaps it was. Perhaps he should have built up more pressure on them. Still frowning, he finally reclined in the pilot's seat.

“Buckle up!”

Ordo's mind went through the next steps one last time, while his hands were already moving into action, pressing various switches and buttons on the console. Airlock sealed, air bridge retracted, shields activated. He slowly got some distance between the freighter and the Imperial shuttle. Far enough to be out of the immediate danger zone, close enough to be able to provide quick help. Then he made a U-turn and the stars blurred before his eyes for a brief moment before the T-2c appeared inmidst the asteroid field opposite to them. His brother's blue helmet was vaguely visible. Engine idling. Emergency measures on standby. Com channel to Mereel kept open.

"How's it looking?"

"All set! You can get started."

Unfortunately, he couldn't be co-resident, no matter how hard he tried. A trait he shared with Kal'buir. And he hated knowing his brother was in a ship that was about to be seriously damaged. He would have preferred to be over there himself. But if he trusted anyone to maneuver a damaged ship, it was Mereel. The man would have been an exceptional racer in another life.

"K'oyacyi, Mer'ika!"

"K'oyacyi, Ord'ika!"

Ordo gave Prudii the signal…

For a moment, time stood still... and then the bright light of several explosions in rapid succession shone, illuminating the dark void around them. The detonations sent the Aay'han spinning, and Ordo kept his eyes on the scanners as rocks and metal fragments from the Theta shuttle rained down on them.

"Woaah..."

Not exactly what he wanted to hear, but at least he heard Mereel.

"Sitrep!"

"It's been a wild ride!"

"Seriously?"

"Sealant sprayed and hull sealed. Pressure loss is stabilizing. Shields failed as expected, but the shuttle is maneuverable. Life support systems are running in emergency mode. Passengers show signs of life."

Ordo launched the ion thrusters and slapped the button that deployed the grappling hooks with the palm of his hand. A metallic crunch indicated he had captured the shuttle.

"Got you!"

"Never doubted it!"

Ordo smiled under his helmet. Behind him in the freighter, it was quiet, but he knew without a doubt that everyone else was equally relieved that the operation had gone well.

“It is with great regret that I must inform you that IC-1136, IC-1309 and TK-70558 were killed in the line of duty. We will always remember them as loyal soldiers of the Empire. Or at least until next breakfast.” Mereel’s voice came monotonously over the ship’s speakers.

“Di’kut.”

“And what about the heroic, charismatic IC-1138, IC-1140 and IC-1262?” asked Scorch.

“Trans…mi…ssion s-interrupted,”

“I repeat.” For his standards, Ordo sounded extremely cheerful.

The display on the radar started to blink, beeping softly. The signal of a single ship emerging from hyperspace. Unidentified. He also received the fifth unanswered comlink call from Kal'buir. Papa was sure as hell already going crazy because he didn't know what was going on. Ordo felt guilty that he left without a word. But soon the suffering would come to an end and he would definitely be happy about the ultimate family reunion. It was what he always wanted for them. That it didn't go according to his plan... well. Ordo carefully accelerated the combined vessels.

"Let’s get us home!"

Unfortunately, the helmets' biggest advantage was also a disadvantage. At least at this moment. If you remained motionless and crossed your arms over your chest, it was virtually impossible for onlookers to see what was going on inside. You could maintain the appearance of calmness, solicitude or indifference, depending on what’s been required, while the internal audio circuit might blast you at the same time with Glimmik music. Or you might have a heated discussion with your brothers that no one should overhear. You could make fun of your CO along with the vode, or you could simply be asleep. Or you were planning an ambush...

Therin lay the problem. Each clone had perfected this outside/inside differentiation over the past few years to the point that sometimes even his closest brothers had no idea what he was up to. So what was Delta Squad actually doing as they waited seemingly impassively in the shuttle's jump seats? Deciding to find out once and for all, Niner forwent the opportunity to speak with Darman in private by removing his helmet, switching off the electronic devices, and placing it on the control console. Then he turned around with his seat and gave the three commandos an appraising look.

A split moment later, Boss followed suit. As did Scorch and Fixer. Only Dar chose to keep his bucket on, at least until Niner, gently clearing his throat, convinced him otherwise.

He actually wanted to repeat his question about what the lads true intentions were, yet what he saw in the three faces almost left him speechless. Since his days as a cadet on Kamino, Niner had witnessed every level of exhaustion, pain, and dejection. But this... this was the display of utter defeat the likes of which he had only seen in the hours following the Battle of Geonosis.

“So you’re sure?” Niner asked the obvious.

Fixer snorted. Boss, glancing at him first, then at Scorch, answered. “As sure as one can be.”

Haar'chak! It had been less than four years since he and Boss had clashed with each other about the Deltas’ arrogance, who gave the feeling of being infallible or even invincible, just because they were one of the few squads still operating within their original batch. Times have changed. And yet he couldn't gloat; the reason was too serious and way too sad. He nodded in response.

If anyone would understand him, it was Niner. Boss was absolutely sure of that. Among the commandos, “Sergeant Worryguts” was notorious for his adherence to the regulations, but also for his caring for his men. Both traits even outweigh his pessimism. So he would understand the many sleepless nights he had endured since their withdrawal from Kashyyyk. Unconditional obedience was what they were bred for, what they’ve been trained for - what their sergeant had beaten into them. Literally. Unconditional loyalty to the brothers was what kept them alive. And on that doomed day on Kashyyyk, both principles had collided so tremendously, leaving marks on their souls like thermal explosives on hard rock.

“We should have ignored General Yoda’s orders and never left like that.”

“We would all be dead now!” Fixer rarely spoke up, but when he did, it was out of conviction. “We were overrun!”

"Still that would have been better than having to deal with the guilt of leaving him behind every day since then, you shabla..." Scorch snapped, but couldn't finish his sentence because Boss interrupted him before the two opponents could jump out of their seats and go for the jugular.

"Stop it!! It doesn’t help if you tear each other apart, least of all Sev!”

Scorch was fuming!

“What if he was still alive? What... if he was waiting for us to come and get him out of there, but all he got were the Seppies torturing him?"

How many times had Boss asked himself the same question over and over again and tormented himself with the answer! Dying wasn't really a bad thing if it was a well-placed blaster shot that took you down and you were sent to Manda before your body even fully hit the ground. But the Separatists weren't known for their humanity, and getting their hands on a commando to pump him for intel might have been just the opportunity they'd been waiting for. In any case, Sev couldn't count on mercy, and with every second they wasted, they had only made things worse for him. Boss didn't sleep very often since then... and when he did, he was haunted by nightmares. Sev, who is lying on the ground and slowly bleeding out. The red markings on his armor are now his own blood. Brown eyes, wide open, staring at him reproachfully, blankly and empty through a broken visor in the damaged helmet, the blue light of the HUD flickering out. And he always woke up with his heart racing and tears streaming down his face. Even now… even when he’s just thinking about it.

“There was nothing you could have done.” Niner's gentle words jolt him out of his thoughts.

Boss gazed up into a face that looked exactly like his own. In eyes that were the same as his own. And yet... Niner was nothing like himself. He had saved Darman on Quiilura. He had bent the rules in their favor. And Darman had stayed when Niner had needed him most.

“You wouldn’t have left if you were in my place.”

“No. I wouldn't.”

Even though he had expected this answer, he still was touched to the quick. Those few words… almost as painful as the deafening silence that Sergeant Vau had given him when he had told him about Sev's fate via comlink. And what was worse, since then he had the feeling that the squad was slowly falling apart because of his decision. Scorch had initially been open about his anger. He had screamed and raged and had come up every shabla day with a new idea of what they could do to search for their lost brother. Fixer had repeatedly reminded him that their loyalty was to the government - Republic or Empire - and that there was no doubt what their own fate would be if they would defect. However, just because he may have a different approach to things than his brother, Fixer was no less plagued by the guilt of being the one still alive. And Boss had tried to move on, to stick them together and guide them from day to day while the sense of guilt slowly threatened to eat all three of them alive. Then Levin was assigned to the Squad. The open conflicts became less… the shame remained.

“We…,” Darman said, “were considering offering to join a search and rescue op for Sev when we received the news on Coruscant.” He swallowed. “But then things turned out differently.”

There was once again silence in the ship for a moment and only then did Dar realize that the lads who were sitting across from him were the very ones who had attended Etain's last day together with her. They knew what she had done, how she had felt. They - not him. And once again he was almost torn apart by grief and anger. But no matter how hard he tried to deny it... eventually he would have to face the fact that Etain was dead and all he had, all that was left of her, would be stories. And so he heard himself begging them to tell what had happened on Kashyyyk.

His knuckles turned white from how tight his fingers clutched to the armrest as he listened to Scorch recount how they had made their way through the canopy towards the turbolaser battery complex. He learned that Sev was angry about losing track of his kill rate. He almost smiled when he heard that Etain was challenging Delta to take the complex faster than Omega would have done. And he almost screamed out the unbearable pain when Boss reported how Enacca had finally brought the crying Etain to safety and the latter had tried again and again to return to Sev to get him out of there, against Yoda's orders. She would have given her life to save one of his brothers. No… She had given her life to save one of his brothers. Karking Jedi Order! These traitors didn't deserve to call Etain one of them. She was more than just empty words and consequential doctrines. She had a conscience. And she was willing to die for her convictions, not just sending others off to their deaths.

And all of a sudden, he realized how much of a close call it had been for her back then on Kashyyyk. How lucky he actually was that she was given enough time to receive and return his marriage vows. Darman could hardly breathe so tight was the painful coil in his chest. He almost didn't notice Niner's hand that had rested on top of his for comfort. Maybe what had happened was inevitable... but it still wasn't fair.

The reason may have been different when Scorch raised his teary gaze and looked into Darman's equally wet eyes, the torment reflected in them was the same. Why hadn't they done anything to beat the odds? All they had done was wasting valuable time. Time that a clone didn't have.

“Etain… She told us.”

"What?"

“That she has a child.” Silence. Scorch waited to see whether Darman's short-tempered nature would show or not. Strangely, he remained quiet.

Scorch would never forget how Etain came to his aid after the craven act of violence on Haurgab and used the Force to calm his raging mind. He would be forever grateful to her for the gift she gave him: a sense of security and compassion. Something he had never received before, aside from his brothers. Somehow this made him an ally with Dar and at the same time gave him the right to speak up about things that others were better off keeping to themselves. At least in his opinion.

“Why didn’t you go to Mandalore beforehand? The boy is yours, isn’t he?”

Both Niner and Boss tensed up, ready to intervene if the thin thread of patience finally snapped. Fire and gasoline... These two things had always been within reach for some time, and everyone seemed to be just waiting for the detonation.

“For the same reason you haven’t been to Kashyyyk yet.”

Fear. Fear of facing finality. As long as he didn't know for sure, Sev could still be alive. The possibility that he was dead was just that… a possibility. For Darman, it was the finality of accepting that Etain was dead and he had to deal with being a single father. A task that was certainly more difficult than any he had ever faced before. And then there were the vode. Darman couldn't leave Niner behind any more than himself could leave Fixer and Boss behind. They were nothing if they didn't look out for each other, like they always had from the start. Who’s having your back?

“His name is Kad.”

A quiet moan suddenly disrupted the silence. Inside the hull, Rede and Levin began to stir.

“Fierfek! What should we do with them?” Boss wanted to know.

“I could stun them again,” Fixer suggested pragmatically. “Procrastinate the problem.”

“Just don’t show too much empathy,” Boss deadpanned. “That’s Sev’s job when he gets back.” When and not if, everyone took note benevolently. They had reached a silent agreement.

Niner raised from his seat and made his way over to the two Spaarti clones. Since he had been in command of this squadron and the shuttle at the time they had left Coruscant forever, everyone seemed to have agreed that he was still in charge... even if the chain of command was now obsolete.

“We should put them in the jump seats and then handcuff them again.”

“Oh yeah, as if that makes any difference to the transport boxes,” Fixer replied. “Tied is still tied.”

You bet it made a difference! It was the absolute minimum of kindness they could bestow on the two of them. Niner felt it was already bad enough that he just couldn't see them as his brothers. Centax-2 just wasn't Kamino, even if it was a ridiculous difference after all. The training and the shared past were another matter. They had no shared past.

“Ask yourself where you would rather wake up.”

He crouched down to uncuff Rede. Behind him he heard the soft click of a Deeze's safety. The mistrust was palpable and it was probably not just him wondering whether they would ever have the opportunity to build a future together if the past separated them. What if that wasn't the case? He lifted the limp body and Darman finally joined him. Together they manhandled Rede into one of the empty seats and then tied his wrists to the safety bar. Boss and Scorch did the same for Levin. Then it was time for the worst to come. Niner had to remove their helmets to prevent the commandos from contacting the Imperial Forces. Although they currently had no means of transmission while they were in hyperspace, he still couldn't risk the two of them sending an encrypted message as soon as a connection was possible. As he expected, two brown eyes looked at him questioningly.

“It’s for your own good, Rede.” Niner almost choked on his own words. Why did Darman have to insist on taking him with them? Maybe it would have been better to just disappear in the middle of the night.

“I… don’t understand,” Rede stated as he insistently tugged at his bonds. The metallic sound echoed through the ship and sounded somehow pretty accusatory.

Levin wasn't as reticent.

“What’s not to understand?” he sneered. “These lads are relics of the Republic and are about to commit treason against the Empire.”

"I'll give you a relic, instant trooper!" Boss snapped.

“Told you so TK-70558! For them we are nothing more than instant troopers. No ‘ner vod’.”

“My… name is Rede.” As he answered, Niner could see him searching his face for an answer. An answer Niner would have been more than happy to give.

“You’re lucky if they don’t accept you as one of their own. We are soldiers of the Empire, not Mandalorian scum.” Then he did the stupidest thing he could think of - he spit on Boss.

Niner didn't manage to turn around and intervene in time, and Boss had already placed a powerful punch in Levin’s face. Blood spurted as his lip split open, but the Spaarti clone didn't make a sound and took the pain like a man. He had to give him credit for that.

“Never. Insult. Our. Origins. Again. You. Shab'la. Shabuir.”

Boss’s face was only half an inch from Levin’s, his eyes flashing with anger. Levin remained unimpressed. Actually, Niner would have expected such a reaction from Scorch, but not from Boss, who seemed to be the most level-headed of the Deltas. Yet at some point, even the most patient person has passed the point.

“Pah… Origins! You hatched from a darn fish tank, just like us. No matter where that thing was located. And your purpose is to serve the Empire and not a bunch of savages who believe that rules only apply to others.”

Well, what he said was really quite astonishing... and equally frightening. In the few weeks that Omega Squad had operated with Rede, Niner had always felt that only fragments of a memory had been implanted to the Spaarti clone’s mind and that he was convinced that Centax-2 was Kamino. However, he had never really cared where he came from. He wanted to fulfill his role inside the squad and absorbed the behavior or linguistic peculiarities of Niner and Dar like a sponge. He couldn't say whether it was inbred behavior or just the desire to be recognized and a feeling of cohesion. He hoped for the latter, because then the kid would still have a chance. Levin, however... Where did the di'kut get all the information about his origins or Mandalorians? What purpose did he have it for? The only thing he could think of was the fact that Levin had been sent by Melusar or whoever to spy on the squadron and one day to snitch on them and send them to their doom. Niner's heart was bleeding. Right now he could understand all too well how Dar must have felt when he terminated the two assassins in Sull's lair. Them or him… There was nothing in between.

“Ne'johaa! Let me show you right away what rules apply to me!” Before Boss could strike a second time, Niner intervened and caught Boss's fist in the air.

"Stop it!" Niner snapped, gritting his teeth like he always did when he was upset or nervous. A habit he picked up from Kal Skirata. In essence, he had done what Rede was now repeating.

Levin snorted contemptuously. “Flex your muscles as much as you want, you can't keep us on this ship forever and once we drop out of hyperspace... the Empire will get their hands on you..."

Pew... a single stunning shot took him out. “Problem procrastinated,” Fixer reported. Another shot, a red plasma beam, destroyed the circuitry in Levin's helmet.

“Did you di’kut just fire live ammunition inside the shuttle?” Scorch looked reproachfully at his brother, who in turn just shrugged before turning to Rede, his DC-17 still at the ready. “And you consider me reckless?”

“What about him, Sarge?”

"Negative. Let…"

“We shouldn’t risk…”

Niner and Boss had both begun to speak simultaneously, Fixer decided to give Niner advantage and lowered his weapon. Boss frowned.

“Do you have something to say, too?”

“I'm sure you have your reasons for what you're doing. Stun me if it makes you feel better, but you have nothing to fear from me, ner vode.”

Niner grabbed Rede's helmet and handed it to Fixer. If only Atin had been here, there was no one he would have trusted more to render the thing harmless. But Atin wasn't here. Soon... soon he would see him again. Just like Fi and then the squadron would finally be complete again. Just the thought of it was like sweet syrup, coating him with a pleasant feeling of contentment. And he wouldn't let anything or anyone put a crimp in their reunion.

“Render the bucket harmless, Fixer. And then…"

He swallowed hard. Somehow the whole thing felt like a betrayal of Rede, but once the Nulls got here, it would be safer for him to be unconscious and have as little information as possible that could cause his downfall later on. Procrastinating might not have been the worst tactic at the moment. Still, he couldn't watch as Rede sank unconscious into the seat a moment later. And Darman couldn't do it either.

Delta acts, Omega deliberates... He looked down at his chrono. Another hour left to the LZ.

Another thirty minutes until the Redeemer will dock on Coruscant and Omega Squad will be back at - Fi decides to call it ‘home’ in lack of a better word - after almost two months of absence. He never cared where he was before as long as his brothers are with him. As long as they have their backs. But this time he feels kind of restless. On one hand he can’t be back soon enough, on the other hand being lightyears away would save him from making a decision.

“Shower, food, sleep,” Dar eventually says like he usually does, sequencing his basic needs, while they sit in the hangar and enjoy the confines of their helmets to isolate themselves from the fuss of the surrounding area. A casual observer would have thought they’d take a nap, with their arms crossed in front of their chests and their legs casually propped up on the hutches. Internal comms are a blessing.

“Food, shower, sleep,” Atin answers as always and of course both men don’t list the obvious: namely how to spend the time before sleep in the arms of their girlfriends.

“Sleep. Sleep. And then more sleep,” Niner adds his own desires.

The whole conversation is a habit that somehow became a tradition when they were shipped in. Clones don’t need much… Right? He misses his entry. It would be his turn to answer that Niner would sleep much better and would have much sweeter dreams if only he’d have a woman beside him in bed to make a mess on the sheets. Niner would answer that the day he can stop worrying about his di’kutla brothers will be the day he’ll give in to the pleasure.

“Fi? Are you okay, ner vod?” It takes him a moment to realize that Atin addresses him.

“Huh? Ah… naas.”

“It’s not nothing when you are quiet like that.”

Fi isn’t sure if he wants to discuss his train of thoughts with his brothers, but then again there’s no point in keeping them out of something they already know. The night he came back to the ARCA barracks after escorting you home and taking a looong detour, he found his brothers waiting for him, curious and excited. He still remembers the silent moans when he told them about your kiss… and the baffled faces as he said that you turned away and left him without an inkling of how this thing should go on. They spent each and every spare minute on their last mission to discuss the matter. He spent hours dreaming about you. Of how your lips felt on his skin.

“Will you go and visit her?” Dar asks, but something in his voice tells that it’s not a question rather a gentle prompt.

“I don’t know,” Fi answers truthfully. “She didn’t say that she wanted me to come and pay her a visit.”

“But she didn’t say that she doesn’t want you to come either.” Mir’sheb. Fi can practically see Dar wiggling his eyebrows behind his visor. Still, it doesn’t help.

“No, she didn’t say anything at all.” Except your eyes. Your eyes that told him to… Fi groans quietly and closes his own eyes for the nth time in agony, trying to remember the moment and what you wanted him to do.

“What if… she already has a boyfriend?” He remarks hesitantly. It almost sounds like an excuse.

“I don’t think Jaller Obrim would have asked his local hero to guide his sister-in-law home the way he did if he knew there’s someone else for her,” Niner says. “But just to be sure - Do you want me to contact Ordo and ask him for a background check?”

“What? No!”

Ordo still did a background check. Firstly because Niner is and will ever be a naysayer to the core and secondly - Fi suddenly remembered that he didn’t know your surname and in an apartment complex with about one thousand inhabitants it would have taken him some time to ascertain behind which door you’d be. It’s not that he wouldn’t have knocked on each single door just to find you. He would have… even if it would have taken him a lifetime. But other than your name he refused to get any information. It just didn’t seem right. The fact that Ordo didn’t comm Fi himself to dissuade him from seeing you can only mean he has nothing to worry about. And yet his heart’s in his mouth as Fi rings your apartment doorbell. His other hand clutches at his helmet.

Seconds pass, and he is amazed at how time passes just as slowly as if he were in combat. He even has the same trepidation. No, truth to be told, if he were in combat and waited for a plasma charge to hit him, he’d act more brave and confident. That’s what he’s been trained for. But this very moment… Even if there's no detonation awaiting him behind your closed door - your reaction could be just as devastating. What if he read your signals all wrong and the only reason you flirted with him was because you were tipsy or horny or both and all you wanted was an adventure for the night? A night long gone. What if you were interested in him… and then he forfeited the chance because he just stood there and went away? You probably moved on. It’s not that he’s special… well he is… he knows and his brothers do, but there are hardly any civvies who’d be able to distinguish two clones. That’s what he learned on their black ops on Coruscant. He was a ghost among the living.

But you are you. Not these other girls. And no he didn’t imagine the smile you gave him, the way you looked at him, the way… you kissed him. There was a meaning behind it. He’s not the one to chicken out. He’s a commando. One of the best actually, no matter what the shabla Deltas say. Chin up, chest out, Fi inhales deeply… and then your door slides open.

“Fi?”

Your eyes meet. One. Two. Three..

“Fi!”

His helmet hits the ground with clatter as you fling your arms around him and he follows his instinct and holds you. The sound of his name on your lips lifts a burden from his shoulders, your reaction even more, and Fi - the witty, talkative Fi who usually graces his brothers with his pearls of wisdom of human nature - shines through.

“Just Fi? No: ‘I am glad that you are back home, darlin’?”

He chuckles at the cute sound you make. “Must have left you quite speechless then, cyar’ika.” But he falls silent as you crane your neck to look him straight in his eyes. There it is again, that unfamiliar, tingling sensation inside his belly from nervousness and excitement.

“I am glad that you are back with me safely… Fi,” you eventually answer after you watched him for a few wonderful moments and he felt as if you looked straight into his soul.

And then you stand on tiptoes as you did the last time he saw you and gently peck the corner of his mouth. Too close to his lips to be considered a slip… too far away for him to catch your mouth in the desperate kiss he longs to give. Then the moment is gone. All he can do is to look down on you with regret as you let go of him, stoop and pick up his helmet.

“Do you want to come inside, Fi? I wonder when the neighbors will get nosy.”

He follows. All insecure.

Your apartment is small and cozy, the furniture white and the walls painted in a color that reminds him of the ocean on Kamino. Something between blue and gray. It suits you.

“I hope I am not too much of a bother,” he says carefully while his gaze travels along the walls to check the decorations and photographs. No pictures of a boyfriend, only you with Obrim and probably your sister. Some friends. Pictures from past vacation on a tropical planet.

“No, not at all. I was just… uhm… writing,” you reply and put away a datapad that laid on your couch. He could swear that you blush.

“Writing? What writing?” He wants to know and concentrates his attention on you.

“I… uhm… try myself at writing… stories. Uhmm… adventure and love stories.” Your voice dies down more and more, the last word barely more than whispered. Although he’s curious what it is you don’t say, he’s also polite enough not to pressure you. You relax, the embarrassment fading from your face. He watches the corners of your mouth twitch with a smile, the soft expression you have.

“Do you want to come and sit down with me, Fi, or do you want to stay rooted to the spot and just keep staring at me?”

Now it’s his time to turn red, at least a little. He wasn’t aware of staring at you. Fierfek, he even managed to forget that he’s in the middle of your apartment at all. But now there’s another problem he has to face… As soon as the Redeemer docked, he made his way over to your place. He didn’t even think about making a detour to the barracks, not wanting to waste a second, afraid he’d lose his confidence again once he made his decision.

“I can’t.“ He gestures down his shape.

“My armor is quite dirty. And I doubt the GAR will pay if you send them an invoice for chemical purification of your furnishing.”

Why does it feel so different to joke around you instead of his squad? He’s been making mistakes when it comes to you ever since he first saw you. Maybe coming over without a plan was another. And just like that he suddenly understands what Niner goes through right before a mission. Every. Single. Time. “Besides, I am smelly. So… I better head back to the barracks and take a shower. Join the boys at dinner… and… yeah… I just wanted to say ‘hi’ anyway…”He pauses a second and points at your door, then swallows before he resumes speaking. “I better leave now, mesh’la.”

Except… he can’t move. Cause you reached out and took a hold of his wrist.

“Or… you take your shower here in my bathroom and then we’ll eat out? Unless you would rather order some food instead.”

Did you just beg him to stay? Or is he just fantasizing? Either way he’s too stunned to process the next thing he says and words tumble from his mouth: “Sounds good. Want to join me?” Fierfek! What the…?

Your eyes focus instantly and Fi’s heart skips a beat… and another… and he’s utterly enthralled by the look that crosses your face as you walk a step closer to him. The tiny smile that grazes on your lips, just before you catch your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Of course I’ll join you…” Ohhhhh… “...at dinner, Fi.” Oh.

You take another step towards him, and now your curves almost brush his chest plate as his hands come up to lightly grasp the curve of your hip. Fi desperately hopes it is the right thing to do. Smiling at him, you stand on tiptoes.

If you’d ask the commandos, the true benefit of Mark II Katarn-class commando armor in comparison to the previous Mark I is its accuracy of fit. Not the EMP resistance. But osi’kyr, it never felt so tight at his private parts as it does now. Comfort or not. But at least the shell saves him right now from touching you very indecently on accident.

“As for the shower...” you whisper softly against his cheek, before you brush your lips along his jawline.

Ohh. Ohhhh….

“... maybe next time.”

Maybe next time. He just has to make it out alive in the next battle. Easy.

As he nods silently in agreement you tell him that he should enjoy his time in the shower. How can he enjoy it when he’s so aware of your presence in the room next to him? How can he feel the droplets trickle down on him and not wish it would be your fingertips instead. Again there’s this discrepancy between his desires and reality. Separated by invisible barriers. And still he doesn’t dare to make a move and just keeps watching you as your fingers dance over the dull black katarn.

“I heard someone say that they are easy to take off,” you say with that lovely, barely lascivious smile as you wrap your hands around the straps of his chest plate and wait for him to loosen the clasps.

“So you remember that, huh?”

“How could I forget?”

Clink. Did he open it? Fi can’t remember, but he all of a sudden feels the air cooler against his sweaty undersuit. Clink. The left vembrace is off, then the right. Persistence takes him much more self-control than he’s actually able to muster, and as soon as he’s left in only his black bodysuit he’s in a rush to lock himself up in the bathroom. Fierfek. He’s going to need lots of cold water.

Coruscant is an amazing place to live. The countless different species and ethnic groups and how they somehow all get along, more or less. The illumination at night and the music: tender timbres in the opera house and the loud beat of the glimmik music in the clubs. Even the blatant contrast between upper and lower levels involves some sort of fascination. The game of light and shadows and the everlasting, pulsating life. You love it.

And yet you hardly notice these things as you walk beside Fi, once again, to your favorite cantina. It's almost like that night when he walked you home, and yet somehow entirely different. Last time he had an assignment to escort you. To protect you. Even though you would have made it perfectly alone, not that you would complain about Jaller’s gentle intervention. Now he’s here, just because he wants to spend his little downtime with you, a truth that’s making your heart beat faster. Week in, week out you wondered if he would come back to see you. When you kissed him, he didn’t catch you in his arms to kiss you back desperately. He didn’t follow you into your apartment and he didn’t take you against the next available surface. You didn’t expect him to anyway. Fi never occurred to you as that type of man in the stories you heard about him - in the little time you shared with him.

But as days passed by you lost yourself in daydreams. You found asking yourself how he’d kiss you if… if.. he only dared. Wherever you were, whatever you did, the mental picture of him in his black armor looking down on you flared up in your mind. You worried about him, hoped that he would be safe and doing well. Time and again you kept catching yourself calling Jaller if there was any news about Omega squad’s whereabouts. You ended each call even before it started. If only he would come home even if he chose to never see you again. And you wondered if he was thinking about you the way you thought about him. Maker, you wished!

There’s no word in Basic to describe the way you felt as he finally turned up at your door about an hour ago. Even though he took the chance to hold you, he still joked to ease the trepidation, and you decided it would be best if he found out for himself how far he wants to go. Your self-restraint almost faltered the moment he asked you to join him in the shower. But you don’t want this tender bond to burn down like a sparkler in fleeting beauty and much too fast. Not as long as he’s not even sure what it is that he wants.

The commando matches his long strides to yours and tries his best to keep up the conversation however he seems a little distracted by the city. Or at least that’s what you think. The whole entertainment district is filled with chatter and music. His hand occasionally brushes against yours in the crush of people and it’s sending sparks down your spine with each touch. Midway between your home and the cantina you stop to enjoy the view from one of the pedestrian bridges into the abyss of the urban canyon.

“Come on, Fi! You have to admit this view is worth more than just one star in the travel guide for clones,” you chuckle as you side-eye him and see how he’s fascinated by the scene.

“Okay, I admit, mesh’la. But you should see how different the city looks if you watch it from the inside of a Laaty. Feels like you are diving headlong into a sea of lights. Right now it just seems like I survey a fish tank from the outside.”

Fi doesn’t avert his gaze from the colorful chasm, some kind of seriousness laying on his young and handsome face that doesn’t fit. It’s the same expression you saw on him in the CSF club. His words shock you nevertheless, the ones he says and those he keeps to himself. Words to let him seethe with hopelessness and ever so slowly will get him lost.

“Is that how you feel? As an outsider?” You ask with a lump in your throat.

He smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he eventually turns towards you. He wears his armor but without the helmet and the gloves, it somehow makes him look vulnerable despite his remarkable size and buff physique. “It’s not that many citizens take notice of us clones. And if they do… they treat us like assets. You’d be surprised if you see the disbelief on their faces when we take off our helmets and they realize we’re not droids. Being an outsider isn’t the worst.”

No you didn’t notice. On your walk here you’ve been captivated by his presence. The world around could go down in flames - if he’s with you, you wouldn’t care. Now you feel guilty.

“I… I’m so sorry for that,” you mumble an apology, not sure what to say otherwise.

“Don’t be. It’s not up to you to take responsibility for other people’s ignorance.”

“I still want to.” It makes him chuckle.

“You know, it’s not just their fault. On Kamino, when we never had contact with the real world outside and only datapads to gather information, our training sergeants sometimes told us about the life of ordinary people and how dreary and bleak their lives are. I felt truly sorry for them, for their day-to-day existence without purpose like me and my brothers had. Can you believe?”

He chuckles again and shakes his head. You think it makes him look adorable. “Then we were assigned to the anti-terror op on Coruscant and I was pretty excited to see what life is like. To go out, make some friends, eat candy and drink ale. Took me off guard to see that for one thing ordinary life isn’t boring at all, and for another that I would never be a part of it or have any of these things, no matter how hard I try. I should have known it was a flat out lie of Kal’buir to tell us relationships are overrated.” After a moment he adds: “Dar and Atin already proved him wrong.”

Again it is what he doesn’t say that makes you ache for him. ‘I wasn’t lucky enough to find a woman calling me hers.’ Again you wonder why he doesn’t see.

Slowly, you reach out your hand and after a moment of hesitation he takes it. Both of you gaze down at your hands, joined across the handrail, mesmerized at how your small hand seems to be dwarfed between his rough fingers. You brush your thumb gently over the little scars on his knuckles, he tentatively caresses your wrist in return.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Spill it out, mesh’la.”

“What are you doing here, Fi?”

Tilting his head, he freezes. And you hope he doesn’t think you are going to blame him for touching you. After that, suddenly, he frowns and you wonder what thought crosses his mind. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell with Fi. But then he glances up at you with his dark brown eyes, full of longing, almost too shy to look you straight in the face. Does he finally understand?

After a few floundering moments, he seemingly found the answer he was looking for… and starts to lift your hand up in his.

“I spend my time with a mesh’la dala… and act like a di’kut,” he whispers softly.

Your eyes flutter, struggling to remain open, as his lips graze your fingers light as a feather and he kisses your skin.

“Fi…”

His name.. it sounds like a plea. He's never heard it like that before. Never felt the soft sound of his name prickling on his skin like a summer’s breeze. Would you want…? Should he dare…? Fi wants to let go of your hand, to catch you in his arms and pull you close, to sweep you off your feet. It’s a silly romantic fantasy he doesn’t even know where he got the idea from. Maybe from a holovid or one of his vode mentioned. But howsoever the fantasy has been going around in circles in his head for weeks. Part of him figures that kissing you might be a terrible mistake. Cause then he would break down these invisible barriers that kept him from a life outside his existence as a Republic Commando. But they also kept him safe inside. He would make himself vulnerable… something Kal taught them to avoid at all costs. But Kal also said they are dead men. All of them were aware he only said it to disguise the fact how much it hurt him. Well, right now he feels more alive than he’s ever been.

Fi decides it is worth every risk…

Breaking the delicate contact, he lowers your hand and lets it slide out of his only to gingerly clasp your waist as you gaze at him with baited breath. Nervous, Fi leans forward and meets your lips with a sigh. It’s a sweet, tentative kiss, and he hopes he’s doing it right. But you slowly run your hands up his chest to wrap them around his neck and you melt into his body. He takes it as a good sign… and curses the armor as he closes his eyes in time with yours. Tipping your head back to give him more room, you shudder in his arms as he chases after you with a smile. It feels so incredibly good… blithe. Desperate to get you closer, he pulls you tighter against him, softly brushes his lips against yours. He wonders where this patience is coming from. Sniper’s habit.

And then you let him in, let him lazily dip his tongue inside your warm mouth and taste you. Not able to hold back now, Fi makes a noise low in his throat, the sound getting lost deep inside you… and Fi isn’t sure if he’s about to pass out. Among all the sensations you give him, he can feel his heart beating rapidly against his chest plate. He conquers your mouth, his fingers tunneling into your hair and holding on to you as if his life depends on it as he teases your tongue with his own. And with every gentle lick, with every exhale he breathes his love for you into your lungs and the city of lights disappears around the two of you.

At last Fi breaks the kiss. In the delicate moment he opens his eyes to look at you. Waiting… Hoping…

Almost his entire life, and long before he knew that he’d be kissing you… Fi dreamed that maybe one day he would lose himself in a woman. Longing turned into desire, growing stronger with every day, suffocating him… until he was about to lose his mind.

“Fi. I… thank you”, you mouth silently so that he’s barely able to hear your words above the surrounding sounds of traffic and crowd. But he does and he can feel it. Sense what you don’t say. And suddenly the words fall from his lips, the simple truth that he’s impossible to hide from the galaxy any longer.

“I love you,” he says so softly, finally confessing his feelings and tracing his thumb across your cheek.

“I love you too.”

Four words. Four words to turn his world upside down and finally give his life a meaning.

Since the moment they have left the ARCA barracks, neither of them had said a word. Darman walked at a hurried pace towards the hangar where the attack shuttle with which would leave the planet was already waiting for them. Niner did his best to keep up with him. Rede followed in their wake, just as silent but probably for a different reason.

It had only been a few hours since Darman and himself had left Roly Melusar’s office. A few hours since the final plan to desert was now decided. He probably should have been sleeping, but Niner hadn't gotten a wink of sleep all night. Rede, blissfully unaware of what's going on, had been snoring like a vibrosaw for hours. Dar had been lying motionless in his bunk, probably awake too. However, Niner hadn't dared to talk to him. Prying eyes and ears could be anywhere. At dawn, while the other two were packing, he took advantage of a favorable moment and retreated to the 'fresher to use the secure channel in his helmet and contacted Ordo.

“We're on our way to you, vod,” he had said, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible.

“About time,” Ordo had replied. "It wouldn't be long before I would have grabbed Dar by his gett’se and dragged him out of there myself!" It had been one of Ordo's usually harsh answers, and yet Niner had clearly heard the joy and relief in his brother’s tone.

“I’ll report back to you when we’ve left Coruscant’s orbit. If you don’t hear from me in the next three hours, something has gone wrong.” With one click he had ended the connection.

With every step Niner took, he more and more felt like his pulse rate was going to hit the roof. Everything was as usual. Commandos who practiced on the parade ground, droids who carried out cleaning and repair work. And yet he had the feeling that all eyes were on them. He resisted the urge to turn his head and look around.

And what's next? The moment they are going to take off with the shuttle, life as he had known it would end. No army, no training, not even a structured daily routine. All he would have left would be his brothers. At least that would be the way it has always been. Dar, in his black Katarn armor next to him, gave him a sense of certainty. And finally, after so long, he would see Fi again! A thought he found some solace in. Rede, however... What would happen to him? Dar called him a blank slate - Niner thought he was an incalculable risk. To avoid the inevitable and to control the oppressive feeling that was almost suffocating him, he tried to make plans. He didn't get very far...

Because as soon as the shuttle came into view, he saw the colorfully painted Katarn armors of Delta Squad, as well as the featureless, dull gray one of their new squad member, in its shadow. His heart sank and he heard Dar curse under his breath. Were the boys here as reinforcements? Or as snitches? Or had they already been busted before they even left the Imperial compound?

“You’re already out and about?” Boss greeted him as they were within earshot.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Niner replied as both men eventually placed their right hand on each other’s left shoulder in greeting. Even though everyone was wearing their helmets, Niner could tell there was something else just by the tone of their voices. Something unspoken.

“It has come to our attention that you have been assigned to a special mission.”

“Oh yeah?” Darman sounded noncommittal. “Where did you get that from?”

“Holy Roly. We had a briefing this morning about our deployment on Ossos.” When Niner heard that Delta was assigned to another planet, he relaxed a little, at least for his standards. Still, the fact that anyone else was informed about their operation at all gave him an overtone.

"Where are you heading to?" Scorch, who had remained conspicuously calm until now, asked a short time later.

“Well, he didn’t trust you that far, did he?” Darman teased.

“Not everyone can be as buddy-buddy with him as Squad 40,” Scorch sneered.

Then it was quiet. None of the men moved, and Niner wondered if he and Dar were about to end up having to shoot their way into the shuttle. The odds were against them. All of them.

“Anyway, we wanted to say goodbye to you,” Boss said. “Oh osik… I forgot the farewell present for you in the quarters.” He turned to Fixer in a conspicuously theatrical manner and tilted his head towards the barracks. “Go back and get it!”

“Why me?” Fixer grumbled in response. “Can’t Levin go? He’s the new kid on the block.”

Farewell present? Niner tensed imperceptibly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Darmansubtly reach for his vibroblade in his vembrace.

"You're right! Levin, there's a little box in my locker with a fancy red bow on it. Can you please go and get it quickly? Then we’ll head off to Ossos.” Niner couldn't shake off the feeling that something was indeed very wrong. Since their joint special mission on Coruscant, the relationship between the two squads had improved a lot, but he wouldn’t go to the point where they’d give each other gifts. So what did Boss aim at? Call for reinforcements?

Levin growled like Fixer had before, although a little quieter and more reserved. The fact that he was the new guy left him little room for negotiations with his sergeant. He turned to leave... a blue glowing circle of a shot sent him stunned to the ground. A split second later, a second one followed and Rede collapsed next to him to the ground, unconscious. Dar and Niner both simultaneously drew their dezees. Win-or-bust. Was it pure coincidence, fate or the subconscious that stopped them from firing straight away? Whatever, Niner sent a silent prayer to the Force.

Scorch shrugged his shoulders and jumped down from the ammunition box he had been sitting on until just now.

“Are you planning to strike roots over there or are you going to give me a helping hand?” He nudged Darman with his shoulder before grabbing the immobile commando by the wrist and dragging him toward the ramp. “Come on, we can’t take forever before someone notices!”

As if in a trance, Darman and Niner grabbed Rede to haul him aboard the shuttle.