#shereel

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Pairing: Sheres/Mereel

Rating: T for war themes

Warning: PTSD and its symptoms, gore, cloneshipping

Summary: Because beneath the jokes, beneath the brush-offs, there are two men who have seen and done so many things that will forever weigh on their very soul. And those who have never done or seen those things will never understand on the same level as they understand each other. 

Notes: Tagging @izzyovercoffee for reasons that should be obvious. It may be my birthday month but izzy gets the gift. I hope u enjoy it! I did my best to subvert the trope of ‘triggered person goes on rampage against people who don’t deserve it’ while also avoiding any kind of fight with a loved one. Please don’t feel obligated to read if your own mental state isn’t secure but neither is it TOO detailed. 

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An ARC was supposed to be fearless. That was what everyone said. But Jango had been very clear that a man must know fear. That any man who said he did not fear anything was a fool. Jango had been afraid of so many things. Afraid that the training wouldn’t be enough, afraid that they would all wind up dead, afraid they would blame everyone else but him for what was their life (especially that last one while also hoping they could forgive him in time). 

Sheres hated whenever he could feel the slight up tick in pulse when a mission started to feel like the one he had lost Cyclo and Nas on. Luckily his hands always stayed steady. He had spent so long learning to put a cap on things, to work through everything outside of a mission instead. But he still could not stop the physiological symptoms. But he knew Jango wouldn’t be disappointed with him about it. So long as he knew the where and when for dealing with it. 

He couldn’t really remember how he had arrived at the rendezvous point. All he could remember was the mission environment resembling the one he had lost his vode in. At least he knew he had gone after the right person. He was in civilian clothes so he didn’t have gloves to hide the cracked skin of his knuckles, his blood mingling with the blood of his target. His training had been thorough enough that even in a semi-blackout state his body had gotten him out of the vicinity and to friendly territory. A more ignorant person may have bandied about the explanation of the Force. But their training had made so many things second nature, augmented with good old fashioned experience in the field. 

His head jerked up from his study of his bloodied and cracked hands when the door in front of him hissed open and he was met with a face that strongly resembled his own but bore different lines, different scars,  slightly different shade of iris, and sometimes a different bulkhead stare. He was still too concerned about his own situation to be too thrown by the fact his counterpart had also decided on different hair.

“Hey, I was starting to wor–” the teasing smirk that had been forming fell away in an instant as he took in the sight before him. Sheres was slouched over, holding his hands limply in front of him as if unable to figure out where they should go. Within another fraction of a second, Mereel quickly yet gingerly pulled Sheres into the building by the lapel and upper torso of his shirt, a gently whispered ‘C’mere, I got you’ heard at the same time. Sheres didn’t struggle and mutely allowed himself to be led, his feet on autopilot to let Mereel guide him over to a couch that was barely holding together like a metaphor for Sheres’s own mental state. 

Mereel couldn’t remember the last time Sheres had returned looking the way he was. Regardless, he didn’t bother asking what had happened, it was neither important nor unknown to him what the look and nonverbal state meant. 

Instead he removed the shirt that was also covered in blood. He carefully checked over Sheres’s torso just to be sure he only needed to worry about the sniper’s hands. Once he was certain, he brought over a bowl of water, bacta spray, bandages, and a small length of cloth. With expert precision, Mereel wiped off all the blood starting to cake around Sheres’s knuckles and in the creases of his palms. 

Mereel was extra careful drying the skin with the cloth, his own hands showing tiny scars from his own missions. He then carefully wrapped Sheres’s palms with the bandaging that was sprayed by bacta. Once finished, he offered a calming smile to Sheres who stared blankly back.

Another person may have been annoyed by Sheres not even saying thank you, but Mereel was experienced enough to know Sheres was incapable of saying it at the moment, not even a greeting would pass his lips for a while. All that mattered to Mereel was that Sheres had made it back relatively safely. 

With another reassuring smile, Mereel got up and went about cleaning the area of the supplies and getting rid of the evidence that was the bloody shirt. He was far more used to their roles being reversed, but didn’t mind the chance of paying the Alpha back. 

By the time the Null got back from tossing the shirt far away from both the safe house and the scene of the somewhat botched assassination, Sheres had managed to finally stand up but was still in a bit of a daze as he raided the conservator for something, anything, that his stomach wouldn’t disagree with. Mereel hovered by the door as it hissed closed behind him to give Sheres time to look over and not be startled too badly, which he did barely a second after the door closed.

Sheres was still silent but gave a nod of thanks. Mereel nodded back before walking closer. He gently touched Sheres’s lower back and dipped his head to lightly contact with Sheres’s temple. The side Keldabe kiss brought a smile to the Alpha’s face for the first time that standard day.

Even though only one of them was actually mute for the time being, Mereel didn’t say anything if only because this wasn’t the first time this had happened and so it was just easier to be together in silence rather than Mereel awkwardly filling the room with his voice. He lightly tapped a short rhythm on Sheres’s lower back and the Alpha stepped away from the conservator. 

In no time, Mereel had gathered up some of the meager foodstuffs he had stocked for the duration of their mission. Not long after, the smell of food filled the small apartment. Sheres watched nearby; it was calming seeing Mereel practically dance through the kitchen like  master chef.

Sheres was halfway through his meal when something of a trauma aftershock darted through his mind. Before Mereel could ask what was wrong, Sheres was almost all the way down the hallway to the tiny bedroom. The Null caught up with the Alpha quickly, though, but made sure to keep a respectful distance. Forcing Sheres to talk through it at this stage would have been a terrible idea. But he hated just watching.

The sniper paced restlessly, mouth moving but no words actually coming out. His hands opened and closed, but any pain the action caused was ignored. Eventually he sat on the foot of the bed, though it looked more like he collapsed on it.

Mereel waited a few aching heartbeats. He then stepped closer, slowly, watching Sheres for a sign that he didn’t want company. But instead Sheres just sat, staring at the floor and cradling his hands together.

The Null crouched down in front of Sheres and reached out with both hands to cup Sheres’s slightly larger ones. The touch startled Sheres slightly, but that in itself was a good thing.

They sat like that for what felt like hours but was actually minutes, but in a good way. The touch, the quiet, gave Sheres time to put his mind back in order.

Again, Sheres’s mouth moved but no words came out. Even so, Mereel whispered soothing words and insisted Sheres not force anything. Sheres gave a look of frustration. Now that he was out of danger, out of his violent visit down memory lane, he needed to debrief Mereel.

Mereel felt guilty, though. They both knew that regardless of the fact Sheres had the training for it, close quarters stuff was not in his wheelhouse. Mereel should have been the one to do it. But the Alpha had insisted since Mereel had just come back from another mission that had not involved Sheres. Missions together were sadly quite rare, despite the reasons being rather ridiculous.

“Blood,” Sheres rasped suddenly, the word automatically coming out in Mando'a rather than Basic. He had, after all, grown up with Mando'a first with Basic ironically second.

“Gone. No trace.” The response was in the same language. Mereel did not entirely mean the blood itself, but all that it had splattered on.

“Hands,” the word came out with an almost forlorn look.

“Will heal fine.”

The short phrases were often a hallmark of recovery from “episodes” as they were known. Neither was doing it to be condescending.

“Ambush,” Sheres finally ‘explained’ why he had come back in the state he had. Mereel could not hide his surprise at the word. They had been so sure the target was unaware of the so-called price on his head. “Seemed clear. Explosive. Distraction.”

“You don’t have to debrief me right this second, cyar,” Mereel reassured.

In response, Sheres lightly squeezed Mereel’s hands as if to say “I must”. It wasn’t the first time he had been ambushed, but too many variables had lined up to dredge up the memories of the worst one of his life. In fact, he was usually triggered by smells instead of action or sight.

Sheres was about to continue when a soft kind of chime interrupted him. His gaze turned to the datapad nearby that had been programmed to let them know whenever a news report mentioned certain words. Mereel begrudgingly untangled his hands from Sheres’s so he could get up and pick it up. He angled it so his partner couldn’t see the screen, making Sheres frown.

“–it will take some time to piece together the events here today. As you can see, barely any part of this room is bloodless. For some time it was assumed the victim had been ripped apart so badly there were no solid parts left to piece back together.”

Mereel almost muted the datapad until Sheres gave him a look that stopped him. He needed to know.

“And indeed, it seems he is one step away from being mere pulp. At this time there are no suspects and basically zero leads. Whoever did this knew what they were doing, even if they seem to have gone a little out of control. In this next room we found the very few remains of a weapons dealer that the Republic has been after for some time. We found traces of a second person but no indication that they were also brought to an almost pulp. While they may be the cause, the investigators will not be treating it as a manhunt but rather a rescue effort.”

Sheres looked away and down to his hands. While Alpha 17 was the most proficient of the Alphas in close quarters, Sheres was no slouch in rendering his opponent to being mush. The explosive had helped though, in ways the target had not expected.

Even though it was sanctioned, the two ARCs were quite used to their missions being swept under the rug, the paperwork filed under ‘highly classified until further notice’. So neither were surprised at the prospect that the local law enforcement would investigate. They knew that if the local LEOs got too close to figuring it out though, that Republic spook overseers would take the necessary action.

If only Sheres had managed to take the target out in the way they had planned it. They had leeway for mission success that many other clones didn’t but that also did not mean Sheres would shrug over how it had truly gone down.

“Sorry,” Sheres mumbled as Mereel turned the datapad off.

“No. Not your fault. You got the job done and came home. That is what matters.”

Sheres clenched his eyes shut before slowly burying his face into Mereel’s shoulder. I want to be better, echoed in his head. Mereel sighed and rested his cheek on Sheres’s head. 

“Vor’e.”

———————–

Sheres wasn’t sure when he had last had a real shower, with recycled water much less proper fresh water. Kamino was covered in salt water but the Kaminoans had learned a long time ago how to desalinate water. And Triple Zero sometimes claimed their tap water was triple filtered (some made the joke about only seeing it filtered twice).

Sheres honestly didn’t care so long as he came out of the fresher cleaner than he had gone in.

He was heading towards the bed in a room that definitely put the temporary in temporary housing when he felt a familiar presence. Some might call it a connection to the Force, but ARCs lived by being one step ahead of the competition and knowing their surroundings and thus when something changed they could pick it up in an instant. If it had been anyone else he probably would have dove over the bed for his sidearm. As it was…

“Su'cuy, ner ka'rta.”

He could practically hear the elder clone smile. It was an old game, but one he didn’t tire of in the least.

“I was hoping you would keep the beard a bit longer this time,” Mereel said with a sigh, as if it was a big loss. Like everything else when it came to their ilk, the facial hair grew in quick to the point it was common to find hair growth blockers in their kit especially if they expected the mission to take a while. He knew he didn’t have to point it out but…

In all honesty, Sheres was nervous that his ability to get his joke understood through text would fall flat. Humor was, after all, not quite something you could just study in a manual and then wham you’re a comedian. Sheres had however heard himself described as someone with a bone dry humor. He supposed that was correct, though he had no real comparison to anything. 

To: M. Skirata From: S. Fett Subject: New Mission Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find the box hidden underneath the tree on the outer wall of the Arca Barracks. Within the box will be further instructions. This message will auto-delete 30 seconds after opening.

The cold weather kit was bulky and sat poorly no matter the size of the wearer. It was supposed to clamp down much like an EV suit, offering warmth and keeping it close to the body instead of leaking out through appendages. It did not necessarily generate heat itself, but rather redistributed it throughout the ‘shell’.

That was the theory anyways. One thing you learned very quick in the field was that equipment didn’t always come through on its theoretical promises. It hadn’t necessarily failed it just did not live up to all the expectations. But then, it was better than the normal ops armor ARCs found themselves in.

But the cold still seeped in and would have made Hoth feel like Tatooine in comparison.

They hadn’t wanted to risk any smoke giving them away but eventually Sheres pointed out it would be far better to be attacked than to die from cold, which would be a meaningless death for them both. The map of the terrain was outdated, a number of freezes and thaws had come about since the last survey which had changed the layout quite a bit. But still the sniper managed to find something of a cave mostly buried under the snow and was more like a burrow than anything. He of course made sure there was nothing taking refuge inside before he had backtracked to find Mereel half a click away where he had left the older of the two while he scouted ahead.

(Hyran, Sheres, and Mereel are all sleeping in the same apartment. It’s about time for lights out.)

Mereel: *from the main room, in a bored tone* “Mwa ha.”

Sheres: “Got it.”

Hyran: “Um, what?”

Sheres: “Oh, that’s us-speak for ‘I’m locking the door and turning off the lights.’ You know, like ‘Mwa ha ha, now I have you in my evil power!’ Only it’s routine, so it’s just kind of…” *shrugs* “‘Mwa ha.'”

Hyran: “You two are weird.”

Sheres: “This is not news.”

Characters:  Sheres, Mereel Skirata

Warning: C-C-C-Cloneshippin’

Genre: General, hurt/comfort

Summary: Sheres has a breakdown of sorts, and Mereel cuts a job short to be there in the aftermath. 

Notes: still no definite timeline~ Basically some more thoughts on scars and what they might mean to ARCs. As well as failure and losing.

Tagging: @izzyovercoffee for obvious reasons B) 

He was just flesh. It was a mere fact. He was flesh, and nothing could harm the actual him. That was the rhetoric. Flesh healed. Even flesh like his that was costly and well trained. 

But it healed and traces of injury remained and sometimes he felt he couldn’t abide by it. Expedient bacta treatments weren’t always possible. Even then, it was practically a point of pride, in a way, to have scars. It showed you survived and most likely the one who gave it to you had not. 

It wasn’t often Sheres fell into a thought-loop of self-deprecation. Normally he didn’t even have the time. But he was recovering from a new wound, a near-mortal wound. It had been called a ‘through and through’ and was not from a firearm but rather a thrust from a pike. He hadn’t expected it. He should have. He failed. 

He failed. It took a lot for Sheres to recognize a failure and treat it as one. Jango used to talk about failures being a lesson in doing that much better later. But not even thinking of what Jango used to tell him after ‘failed’ training sessions helped shake him. 

So instead he was wallowing in self-pity, he could hear Seventeen chiding. It wasn’t hard. It was similar to what had been said to Tavo, and Sull point of fact. ‘At least Spar had acted on his malaise’, might have been brought up too if anyone had brought up Spar beyond saying the small number didn’t mean anything for the rest of them, about how they would act. 

Alphas weren’t immune to human action and emotion like failure and the subsequent self pity. 

He didn't bother wondering how someone had found him. He even kept his back to the door, as if inviting someone to finish him off. The wounds were bandaged, sloppily for someone who filled a medic position next to sniper and programmer. Jack of all trades, master of many. Like a good Alpha ARC. He was aware of the irony.

He actually coughed a little laugh when his visitor walked nearer and he knew exactly who had found him at one of his lowest points of his last decade of sentience.

"I would say you should have gone to the hospital, but we all know the policy on clones seeking medical help outside of their own trained medics."

Sheres wondered if the unspoken sentence was similar to "such as yourself".

"If I didn't want my own batcher to see me like this--" the most words he had spoken since the incident caused his voice to catch in his throat with a slight rasp of disuse. The tone was sharper than was normal from him. But then, everything about what was happening lately to him was not normal. He knew a sharp word wasn't going to stick with the recipient much.

Mereel wasn't wearing boots (Sheres thought it was probably a pair of shoes made of bantha hide) but that didn't mean Sheres could not pick up the specific gait the Null had. He knew Mereel could easily change his gait to fool people for whatever reason but two clones with their level of relationship didn't find a reason for masking movement.

Just like when Mereel had been introduced to the vivisection scars on Sheres's torso, the Alpha felt a warm hand on a spot just west of the healing wound on his back, a touch that was gentle beyond anything one might expect possible from a man trained for war from birth.

"You Alphas are as bull headed as they say."

Mereel was dodging actually asking what had happened much less the mental state of the younger clone. His hand remained where it was as he lowered himself to sit next to Sheres on the bed he had not left for days.

"Says the Null who was supposed to be radio silent and off the grid and thus had to be especially determined to find me."

"There is a difference between not transmitting and not receiving, cyar'ika."

It was easy to banter, and it was an anesthetic of sorts to focus on talking instead of the throbbing, aching pain in his torso.

"Come back with me. You being here does nothing useful. And you can't keep up this shoddy bandaging job."

"I screwed up, Mer'ika. I nearly let my target go free. It was an easy job."

The hand moved down his spine to a spot near his kidney, a common spot Mereel's hand would often occupy while they were together.

"We can't win every battle. We can't be perfect. We can only try again. You know this. I will not allow your so-called failure to be a black mark, unofficial though it might be, on your dossier any more than you should."

Sheres enjoyed how wordy Mereel could get when he was passionate about something. Though he couldn’t help thinking how interesting it was to be having someone who waxed poetic about being perfect and imperfect for being Null telling him they can’t be perfect. Not that they aren’t. That they can’t be. 

“You nearly let them get free. You were hit in a place that would incapacitate other people but you finished the job.” A reminder he didn’t need, as he accepted both points. Still...

The pressure on his back lifted. Mereel turned and picked up the discarded undershirt that held the twin holes and blood. 

“And you weren’t even wearing armor. Tsk, you did do a shoddy job didn’t you?”

He knew what Mereel was trying to do. He was no stranger to psychology. It was a good effort. 

“Mereel--” 

The older of the two turned back around and tilted his head curiously. 

“I was already going to leave tomorrow. It just saves me a lot of effort--”

“--If you decide to listen to cooler heads and come back with me.”

Sheres stared quietly at the other a moment before snorting softly. He got to his feet, slowly. 

“On the condition that it doesn’t get around about my condition.” Not necessarily out of embarrassment but rather he didn’t feel like getting a lecture. 

“Cyar, I’d sooner let myself get exposed to Rakghoul Plague.”