#that random clone

Aran @ermakeys

CT-Chad @puirell @chadism-101

CT-Chad and That Random Clone (upper right and left) belong to @chadism-101 and @puirell (shared? communal?)

Kit Fisto is Kit Fisto. Aran (bottom right//they/them) is mine.

Aran had a headache.

They had endured many kinds of headaches before. The ache when they didn’t sleep for several days or when they didn’t drink enough. The throbbing ache when they got into a fight that they could barely take care of themselves and their opponents managed to smack them around a bit. The sharp pain when they had to endure the idiocy of fools for too long or see Purse’s dumb face. The sudden flare whenever they saw Yaddle’s speeder and felt a moment of panic that she would run it into them. Again.

No, this headache was different.

This one made Aran want to tear the swaffle house apart piece by piece. The knowledge that not only would Wolffe hunt him down for destroying one of his sources of income but also that it would make Chad sad, ensured that Aran kept a tight leash on their violent impulse. Their hands were curled into tight fists under the table where they sat with Chad, Purse and Kit and their leg was bouncing up and down with all the pent up energy Aran was trying to contain.

The doors of the swaffle house opened and Aran twitched. They scowled underneath their beskar helmet. A group coming in to order their cafs. Not the one Aran was looking for. They didn’t know how much longer they could keep waiting.

“Aran would you pay attention for five seconds and help us?”

Almost reluctantly, they turned their visor away from the door and focused on their friends sitting in the booth with them. Aran sneered at the clone with the purple streak in his hair and they snapped, “What? Already tired of blackmailing the chancellor candidate?”

Purse bristled at the open hostility in Aran’s voice until Chad raised his hands next to his clone brother.

“Easy there, bro,” Chad laughed with an easy smile. “How about another round of waffles and caf?”

Usually, the blonde clones smile and silly square shades could calm Aran down. Chad had the ability to worm himself through their beskar and unravel any tension usually festering inside them. Today though, Aran felt their hackles rise.

They felt their temper flare even more brightly. Easy? How were they supposed to rest easy? Stay calm? Impossible.

Aran didn’t get a chance to snarl at Chad. Beside them, Kit pressed his large green hand against their vambrace. The beskar pressed down against their arm, creaing a familiar pressure that brought their attention to the smiling jedi.

“Peace, Aran. We’re not your enemies,” Kit murmured and slowly eased up on the pressure he had exerted on Aran’s arm. They felt some of the tension bleed out of them as the pressure eased and Aran scowled when they wanted to reach out and push Kit’s hand back down on their vambrace. Keep the pressure there and help them focus. “What is troubling you?”

Aran felt a flash of shame race through them. These were their friends. How did Aran expect them to understand and put up with their temper if they didn’t explain themselves? The shame was quickly replaced by embarrassment and unease. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust these three. They had proven themselves trustworthy many times over. Aran just… couldn’t speak about the majority of their life. Habit and precaution. It was hard to let anyone that close again.

Still, they had to risk that first step if they wanted to keep these three fools close.

They leaned back in their seat with a small shake of their head and muttered, “I hired someone to check on a comm buoy I had placed years ago. My messages weren’t being answered and since it wasn’t on my end, it had to be the buoy.”

“Happens all the time, bucket-head,” Purse grumbled and Aran sneered behind their helmet. Purse had his own underground organization or information network. If one could even describe it as that. Aran didn’t know how he did it, but they knew he managed to blackmail what felt like half of Coruscant while the other half provided Purse with information.

“I don’t hire toadying thugs like you do,” Aran growled and smirked when Purse lurched to his feet, reaching for them. Only for Chad to yank Purse back into his seat. “Don’t confuse my courier with your gallivanting goons.”

Before Chad or Kit could stop him, Purse had picked up the salt shaker and hurled it across the table at Aran. The shaker shattered against their helmet and their head jerked back at the impact. There was a quiet hiss as salt trickled down along the beskar and fell to the floor. The swaffle house had fallen silent as the other occupants watched their booth warily. Aran slowly raised their hands to brush the salt off of themself.

“That could have hurt someone.”

“Your head is too big for me to miss and your beskar is too high grade for anything to seriously hurt you,” Purse snapped back and Aran lunged forward to grab the annoying man. This time Kit and Chad managed to grab both of them and wrestle them back into their seats. Purse glared across the table and Aran curled their hands so tightly, their leather gloves creaked and it hurt.

“Alright, come on guys,” Chad said and he kept a firm grip on Purse’s shoulder. “You’ll get us thrown out of swaffle house again and where else am I going to plan my campaign with you three?”

“Anywhere else except here.”

The four of them looked up to see Wolffe standing next to their booth with a datapad in his hand. Compared to the last time Aran had seen Wolffe, he looked a little more well-rested. Probably helped that the senate was actually starting to improve their treatment of the clones. Aran flinched when Wolffe turned his gray and brown gaze onto them with a raised brow.

“Are you done terrifying my customers now?” he drawled in such a done-with-your-bullshit tone that Aran couldn’t help but think of Fox. They wanted to sink into their seat and disappear. Instead, they gave a silent nod and Wolffe declared, “Good because apparently this little display was bad enough that some dude asked me to give you this.”

Wolffe held out the datapad and Aran stared at it wordlessly. He… Their pilot had… Aran ripped the datapad out of Wolffe’s hand and snarled, “I am going to hunt him down later.”

Wolffe shrugged and walked away as Aran quickly scrolled through the information on the datapad. Kit leaned closer to take a peek over their shoulder and asked, “So, did he fix the buoy?”

Aran stared at the words and numbers on the datapad screen. Their headache throbbed painfully in their temples. That couldn’t be right. It was impossible. Aran’s grip tightened on the pad and they hissed, “The buoy isn’t broken. It’s in perfect working order.”

Across from them, Chad tilted their head with a confused frown.

“Then your messages are getting through, but no one is answering?”

Aran gave a sharp nod as their eyes skimmed the message again and again. Trying to find one mistake. Anything wrong. Anything to prove that the fault lay on Aran’s end or with the buoy. They finally raised their gaze when Purse let out a derisive snort.

“So, someone is leaving you on read. What’s the big deal? Never had someone ghost you before?” Purse mocked them. The three of them jumped when the datapad cracked in Aran’s grip. They dropped it onto the table and tried to ignore the sight of their hand shaking slightly.

Aran’s commlink was working fine. The buoy was working fine. That only left one possible end that might be broken and Aran couldn’t think of a good reason why it would be left broken for so long.

That only left bad reasons.

Bad reasons that Aran wasn’t sure they could face alone.

“Aran? Bro, you alright there?”

They slowly focused on the three sitting around them. All three of them were staring at him in concern. Even Purse’s antagonistic manner had morphed into one of confusion and worry. Aran wasn’t alone anymore. They had friends and allies they could call on.

“Can I ask for your help?”

They almost didn’t recognize their own voice. It sounded so quiet and unsure of itself. So breathy and pained.

Aran hated it.

At the same time all three of them straightened in their seats. Kit reached out and placed his hand on Aran’s vambrace again. They leaned into that touch and Kit declared, “Of course! What can we do for you, bro?”

Chad and Purse let our their own exclamations of support and Aran felt their shoulders slump with relief. They turned their visor onto Chad and asked, “What about your campaign?”

Chad scoffed, waving a hand at them.

“Anything I can’t handle over comms can be taken care of by our awesome support team back here,” he said with a grin and a wink. “I have a lot of brothers I can delegate tasks too.”

Purse let out a bark of laughter.

“Cody and Fives are going to be so upset with you!”

The two bickered lightheartedly while Aran leaned back in their seat. The headache was still there. It just didn’t feel as painful anymore now that they knew they wouldn’t have to shoulder it alone.

The firespray was silent.

Aran sat on the floor of the passenger area, arms resting on their knees and staring straight ahead. They felt so… empty. And full at the same time. So, they sat here. Hoping that it would all go away. That the storm would pass.

Just like when they were little.

They didn’t acknowledged the quiet footsteps of someone approaching. They didn’t react when someone sat down next to them, their shoulder touching Aran’s. They just sat there.

The silence stretched on.

Like the quiet before the storm.

Aran shuddered at that thought. Reminded them too much of the time before their ba’buir. The time before Kaert.

“I don’t want to go back to Mandalore,” they whispered and whoever sat beside them made a humming noise. Aran swallowed, trying to get the words out. They felt like they were choking on them, but they had to come out or they would suffocate under the pressure. “There are too many memories from… from before my ba’buir adopted me. I can’t, but I need-.”

Aran made a strangled noise, bowing their head and resting their helmeted head in their hands. An arm was carefully placed around their shoulders and Aran shuddered under the touch. They didn’t know if they wanted to lean in or rip themself away.

“The New Mandalorians won’t let me into their city,” they rasped and tried to curl up even smaller. “They’ll think I’m Death Watch because I refuse to take off my helmet. And it doesn’t matter how I feel about the karking planet, they won’t let me enter because I’m a True Mandalorian.”

They squeezed their eyes shut.

Their ba’buir had raised them in the fashion of the True Mandalorians. Keeping the helmet on wasn’t one of the tenants of the Super Commando Codex. It was something Aran had chosen for themself. A shield against the world. A shield to protect themself against anything and anyone. They just couldn’t.

“I can try making a few calls. I’m sure the rulers of Mandalore would like to be on the good side of a potential chancellor.”

Chad.

Aran scoffed and their hands curled into fists. The ‘New Mandalorians’ wouldn’t allow it. They were too pleased with themselves and their new form of government that they didn’t even see their own flaws or how rigid and uncompromising they were. No wonder they had problems like Death Watch breathing down their necks.

“Hey, we’ll find a way, Aran,” Chad murmured, giving a light tug. Slowly, Aran slumped into Chad’s side and allowed their friend to wrap both arms around them. “We’ll talk with Purse and Kit when we get close and think of something.”

Chad laughed and shook both of them with the force of his laughter.

“I mean, look at us, bro! Together we helped defeat a sith lord from taking over the galaxy! How hard can it be to enter Sundari?”

Aran couldn’t laugh. They would have before, but with their ba’buir gone now… It felt like all laughter had been sucked out of their chest.

“Why do you think he didn’t tell me?”

They felt Chad take a deep breath beside them.

“I don’t know, bro. You’d know your ba’buir better than I would, but maybe he didn’t want to worry you? Fett said that your ba’buir was missing home.”

Aran snarled, pushing Chad away. They scrambled to their feet and growled, “If he didn’t want me to worry, he shouldn’t have just disappeared! I need him! He can’t just-! I can’t-!”

Aran roared and clutched at their helmeted head, panting and trembling. Keep it together. They had to keep it together. Control. They had to be in control.

“How can he just choose to enter my life and then leave?” Aran demanded and began to stalk back and forth as Chad stood up as well. They pounded a fist against their chest as their voice rose in volume. “He saved me from a father who beat me and a mother who manipulated me! He and Jango were the only ones I had after ba’buir took me away! He named me his child! Helped me choose my name and gave me this karking armor! He taught me everything!”

Aran spotted the pair of pale green canes and grabbed them in one hand before hurling them to the floor and roared, “I fought and bled for him! I would die for him! I love him as my true ba’buir!”

The canes clattered against the durasteel floor and Aran stood over them as they howled, “Did it mean nothing!? Why would he abandon me now? I need him!”

Their chest heaved as they sucked in air. Their entire form shook as they stared down at the pair of green canes. Hidden spears. A gift for helping a village that had been terrorized by a cruel bounty hunter. Aran had hunted down the bounty hunter themself with minimal help from their ba’buir. Kaert had been so proud.

“I need him…” Aran whispered and wrapped their arms around themself. Anything to try and stop the tremors as sobs tried to force their way out. They squeezed their eyes shut in attempt to stop the tears, but they wouldn’t stop. They leaned into Chad when they felt his arms come around them again. “I need my ba’buir, Chad. I’m afraid to face the world without him.”

“We’re here for you, Aran,” Chad mumbled and Aran tightened their grip on him. If they could, they would burrow into him. Hide somewhere where the galaxy couldn’t hurt them again.

“We’re approaching Mandalore,” Kit called from the cockpit and Aran flinched in Chad’s arms. Slowly, they pulled themself away from Chad until the only thing connecting them was Aran’s hand curled in his. They reached for a handle and held on as the ship exited hyperspace with a shudder.

“I’ll find a way for you to be able to enter Sundari, Aran,” Chad promised, tightening his grasp on Aran’s hand. He smiled brightly when Aran scoffed weakly. “Trust me, bro!”

—

Aran thought they were going to pass out when the ramp lowered and they stepped out of their firespray. The glaring sun of Sundari and the arid air made them shudder and they stared at the sight of the Mandalorian city in front of them. Despite being under a dome to shelter the inhabitants from the desert and sun, it was warm.

The sight was revolting.

“Not as hot as Tatooine,” Purse commented as he followed down the ramp, looking around curiously. Chad and Purse had forgone their helmets and Kit followed without his billowing jedi cloak. “Looks nice enough.”

Aran let out a mirthless chuckle.

“Don’t let the pretty veneer fool you,” Aran drawled and narrowed their eyes when they saw their welcoming committee enter the dock they had landed in. “The New Mandalorians may preach peace, but they are just as corrupt and easily twisted as anyone else.”

Kit tilted his head in honest curiosity and asked, “Didn’t the New Mandalorians advocate for peace? Isn’t peace preferable over constant bloodshed?”

“Death Watch was too violent. The New Mandalorians claim they only want peace,” Aran muttered as the welcoming committee came closer. They stepped back to stand behind Kit and slightly to his right. “Yet the True Mandalorians won the Great Clan Wars. All while preaching peace.”

“Welcome to Sundari,” the official leading the welcoming committee declared with a nervous smile. He was flanked by two guards, but despite that protection, he fiddled nervously with his hands. “Duchess Satine could not great Kenobi’s envoys herself, but wishes you have a pleasant stay here.”

Kit folded his hands in the sleeves of his robes and smiled pleasantly.

“Thank you for the warm welcome. It is appreciated.”

The two smiled at each other. And waited. Aran would have been amused by how nervous the official became as Kit simply smiled patiently. Kit had the patience of a sarlacc and could probably outlast all of them if he put his mind to it.

“My apologies, master jedi,” the official stammered with a stuttering laugh. “What is your destination? My orders were to guide you within the city.”

Kit waved one hand and said, “There is no need. I have a guide with me.”

Aran stiffened when the official’s eyes flicked over to them. His expression soured a little as he frowned and he argued, “I don’t think our people would feel easy letting a member of Death Watch-.”

“They’re not Kyr’tsad,” Purse interrupted the official with a sneer. The official’s eyes widened when Purse stalked closer and jabbed a finger at his chest with each following word. “Just. Because. Someone. Wears. Beskar. Doesn’t. Mean. They’re. Kyr’tsad.”

The guards started to move and Purse glared up at them as if daring them to touch him. Until Chad pulled him back and the two began to bicker in hushed whispers. Kit reached back to place a hand on Aran’s shoulder and declared, “Thank you for your kind offer, but as you see we have everything covered.”

The official opened his mouth to say something, but Kit breezed past him, tugging lightly at Aran to follow. They stuck close to Kit’s side as Chad and Purse walked after them and Aran glanced back in time to see Purse make a rude gesture at the official who let out an indignant squeak. That made the frown under their helmet lighten a little and a small smile twitch into place.

“So, where are we headed?” Chad asked as they exited the dock. Aran stared into the busy streets of Sundari around them. The architecture of Sundari was tall and square with sharp edges. Many of the designs evoked old Mandalorian patterns and imagery, but at the same time the shielded dome made Aran want to curl in on themself. It felt suffocating.

“Jango said to take a speeder to these coordinates within the city,” Aran said and led their friends to the closest speeder taxi. Aran gave the address to the driver while the rest of them piled in. It had to be a rather strange sight for him, but he stared a moment and then filtered into traffic.

“I still can’t believe you’re on a first name basis with Fett,” Purse grumbled from where he was squeezed between Kit and Chad. He leaned forward to peer around Kit and glared at Aran. “You’d think that might be something you’d tell us. I never saw you even twitch or react in any way to us clones.”

Aran shrugged and drawled, “Why should I have? Yes, you might look like Jango, but you’re all different individuals.”

Chad laughed from his seat and asked, “How did you get to know him?”

“My ba’buir introduced us,” Aran slowly admitted, hands curling into fists. Thinking of that time made their heartrate pick up. There were good memories, but mostly bad ones of that time. Kit seemed to sense their tension and wrapped one of their hands in his. “Helped me with my training and then helped Kaert… ‘adopt’ me.”

Purse frowned at Aran’s tone.

“Why does ‘adopt’ sound like Kaert and Fett kidnapped you?”

“I was willing to, but my guardians were not willing to let me go,” Aran explained with a sneer under their helmet. “Ba’buir and Jango didn’t give them a choice.”

The speeder taxi slowed and Aran and their friends peered outside. And stared.

“Is this the right place?” Chad asked, leaning across Purse and Kit to look out Aran’s window.

“Excuse me,” Kit called to the driver. “What is this place?”

The driver gave them a confused look before he said, “The Sundari archives. These are the coordinates you gave me.”

Aran opened the door and stepped out, staring up at the large building. It reminded them of the entrance of the jedi temple with the steps leading up except instead of the banner of the jedi hanging in front there was a mural of Mandalorian history along the sides of the entrance and the top. Unlike the jedi temple, there were no guards at the entrance of the archives. Instead, to Aran’s surprise, they spotted a pair of strill lounging at the top of the steps.

“Alright, why did your ba’buir come to a library?” Chad asked and Aran shrugged. His guess was just as good as theirs. They’d never learned everything about their ba’buir. This was turning into one of those mysteries for them to solve.

Aran climbed the steps with their friends and kept a careful eye on the two strill at the front. Behind them, they could hear Purse and Chad make gagging noises and they glanced back to see them covering their noses with their hands. Purse gagged and demanded, “How can you stand the smell of those?”

They passed the two strill that barely acknowledged them with anymore than a slow blink of their drowsy eyes and Aran drawled, “I lived with one for a long time, but usually human men tend to find the smell of them very unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant is such an understatement, bro.”

They stepped through the great open doors of the archives and looked around. Rows and rows of archive shelves filled a great hall with tables scattered throughout and people browsing the archives. At the front, a circular reception table was manned by two archivists and Aran stepped up to them. The two glanced up from their work and did a double-take at the sight of the four of them.

A Mandalorian in full armor which hadn’t been seen in Sundari since the Great Clan Wars, two clones and a jedi. Somewhere that was probably the beginning of a joke.

“I am looking for Rovhoss,” Aran stated and the two archivists wary expressions shifted to surprise. They glanced at each other and Aran tensed. What did that look mean? Why had their wary looks changed?

“Of course,” the female receptionist said with a small smile. She at least still looked a little nervous looking up at them. “And you are a friend? Relative?”

Aran blinked a few times, staring silently.

“Child.”

Why did that answer seem to make the receptionists even more nervous? The female receptionist jumped to her feet, bowing and exclaimed, “Oh! We’ll let Archivist Rovhoss know you’re here right away. Until then, my colleague here will take you to one of our conference rooms.”

Said colleague paled at her words as she made a shooing gesture at him and he hurried to step out from behind the circular reception desk. His hand shook as he gestured ahead of himself and squeaked, “If you don’t mind following me!”

Aran glanced back at confused looking Chad, Purse and Kit. What the kark was going on? They followed the receptionist through the archives as he babbled, “The Sundari archives are relatively new in the grand scheme of things as you can probably tell. The city itself was rebuilt multiple times in the last few generations as the wars tore not only our society but also our homes apart.”

He glanced back at Aran with a nervous smile and added, “It is thanks to House Rovhoss that we even have an archive that dates back as far back as it does. The Duchess is always most grateful for the support House Rovhoss provides her and the people of Sundari by granting them free access.”

Aran followed silently and Kit lengthened his stride to walk beside them. They leaned close as the receptionist continued about the state of the archives and whispered, “Did you know about House Rovhoss?”

They shook their head and muttered, “Ba’buir gave me his house name. We never talked about any other family members. It brought back… painful memories.”

Kit opened his mouth to answer when the receptionists comm chimed and he listened to it for a moment. The receptionist turned into a new direction and said, “My apologies, Archivist Rovhoss said she would receive you immediately.”

She? Aran glanced at Kit who frowned as well. Finally, Aran gave a small shrug. They would get answers from this archivist.

The receptionist took them through a locked door after typing in a key, leaving the great hall and they walked through a smaller hall with fewer people. Aran blinked in surprise when they spotted a few strill lounging in the smaller hall at the feet of archivists working or sprawled across the floor. The door the receptionist took them too even had a strill painted on with sharp eyes watching over a tome.

Somebody liked strill a lot.

The painted door opened after the receptionist pressed a button and Aran followed him into a large office. They stopped just inside to take a moment to take in the busy room. Books, scrolls, datapads and artifacts littered any surface in the office filled with shelves on each wall.

The large desk was no exception where an older woman looked up from a datapad she had been looking at. Her graying hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that draped over her shoulder onto her magenta robes. Her stern frown lightened a little when she spotted Aran and their companions before she scowled again and said, “You may leave, Orn. Thank you.”

Orn the receptionist looked relieved and fled the office and the door slid shut behind him. The room fell silent. The woman stared at them and Aran stared right back. They didn’t know how to react. They’d asked for Rovhoss, but who was she? They twitched when she demanded, “Judging by your appearance and companions, I can assume you are Aran, correct?”

Aran inclined their head slowly and said, “I am. I had asked for Rovhoss at the reception, but I do not know who you are.”

She wrinkled her nose at their words and scoffed, muttering something under her breath. She stepped around her desk and waving at the four of them to find a seat on the two couches and chair that were littered with books and datapads, declared, “It does not surprise me. Kaert always was tight-lipped. For good reason, but sometimes it made me want to beat the information out of him.”

Aran who had been halfway to sitting down on a couch with Chad, froze at the mention of their ba’buir’s name. She had moved a book from her cushioned chair to her desk and sat down, crossing a leg and folding her hands in her lap with an expectant look. Aran sat down as Kit and Purse occupied the other couch and asked, “How do you know Kaert?”

The woman raised a brow and drawled, “Manners, ad’ika. I believe introductions are in order first.”

Aran sneered under their helmet at her words, but Kit leaned forward with a smile.

“My name is Kit Fisto,” he introduced himself and her sharp gaze moved from Aran to the Nautolan jedi. “These are our friends, Chad and Purse. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance…”

He trailed off with a small gesture towards her. She considered him with a haughty expression and answered, “I am Shevla Rovhoss, director of the Sundari archives.”

Her gaze returned to settle on Aran and they tensed under her scrutiny.

“And to answer your question: I am Kaert’s daughter.”

It felt like the floor disappeared beneath Aran’s feet. Their heart lurched and it felt like their armor was pressing down on them. They struggled to hold their composure.

“He… daughter?” Aran managed to choke out. A daughter. Kaert had a daughter. A family beyond Aran that they hadn’t known about. That Kaert had never talked about.

They felt small and fearful like a child. Like the child they had left behind all those years ago when Kaert had taken Aran away. Had Kaert not… trusted them? Why would he hide this from them? Why…?

“I can tell he told you nothing. The old fool could never let old habits go,” Shevla grumbled with a dark scowl. She shook her head with a heavy sigh. “During the war, our house held a neutral position, but my buir believed in the Jester Mereel of the True Mandalorians. It was arranged that my buir would become a double agent.”

Her fingers began to drum across her knee as her eyes took on a distant look.

“The New Mandalorians believed he was their spy when he was fleecing them for every piece of intel they had. When the True Mandalorians were broken…”

Shevla’s voice trailed off and he hands curled into fists. Aran felt their own insides turn cold with anger. They could remember the story. Their ba’buir had told it often enough as a cautionary tale. They had seen the sorrow in Kaert’s eyes. Shevla’s identical eyes turned hard with her own anger and she snarled, “Kaert wasn’t there when the True Mandalorians were destroyed. He blamed himself and decided to leave and grieve for the fallen. We decided it was better not to be in touch in case the New Mandalorians decided he was a traitor after all.”

“And then he found me,” Aran breathed and Shevla nodded. They felt like they were shaking. It made sense. Kaert not saying anything made sense and yet they could still feel their chest aching with a mixture of hurt and betrayal. “Where is he?”

Shevla flinched and Aran straightened, alarmed. She took a deep breath and murmured, “He came here to ask me for a favor. Buir wanted to surprise you once it was done, but…”

Her words faltered as her expression twisted into one of grief and for the second time in the conversation Aran felt like the floor vanished under their feet.

“Kaert won’t wake up anymore.”

—

The med droid fled the room the moment Aran appeared in the doorway with Shevla and their friends. Shevla stepped inside to look over the monitor and ran a hand over the strill’s head that lay at the foot of the hospital bed. The ancient strill didn’t even lift her head. Just whined and her tail flopped a few times.

Aran couldn’t take their eyes off of Kaert.

Their ba’buir.

He lay in his hospital bed, connected to a machine that breathed for him. Aran remembered him being larger than life with an easy smirk and loud laugh. Now he was silent and so… small.

Tiny. Fragile.

“Aran.”

They flinched at the quiet murmur beside them and glanced to the side to see Kit take their hand and give it a squeeze. They were shaking within their armor. They couldn’t speak. Something clogged their throat and no sound could come out. Kit squeezed Aran’s hand again and asked, “How can we help?”

How could they help?

Aran wanted their ba’buir back. They wanted him to wake up and explain why he hadn’t said anything. They wanted to get him up out of that bed and hug him and…

“Don’t…” Aran started in a weak whisper and swallowed when their voice broke. “Don’t let anyone else in.”

Kit nodded and released Aran’s hand as they took a small step further into the room. The door slid shut behind them and Aran tapped the controls of the room, so the windows darkened and no one could look in or out.

They took another small step forward and stopped at the foot of the bed. Hands shaking, they pulled off one glove and held it up to the strill’s nose. Her nose twitched and Aran whispered, “Hey Vaar’ika.”

Vaar’ika raised her head and gave Aran’s head a lick with a quiet whine, tail trying to wag. She had already been old when Kaert and Aran had met. Now she was ancient.

Just like Kaert.

“Father inherited Vaar’ika when his grandfather passed,” Shevla said in a quiet tone, switching to Mando’a now that they were alone. She trailed a hand over Vaar’ika’s pelt as the strill settled down again, already exhausted from greeting Aran.

They swallowed, trying to remove the lump in their throat and moved further up the bed to stand beside Kaert. Their bare hand took Kaert’s and their knees almost gave out when they felt how cold and bony Kaert’s hand was. They tightened their grip on him and gasped, “Why did he just disappear? Why didn’t he say anything?”

“He wanted to surprise you.”

Aran whipped their visor up to Shevla and snarled, “What could have been so important that he couldn’t tell me?”

Shevla didn’t even flinch at Aran’s harsh tone. Just like Kaert. He hadn’t ever been intimidated by any of Aran’s bluster either. She took Kaert’s free hand and said, “Father came to me three weeks ago and told me about you. Told me all these stories about a child he had saved and how much joy you had brought him after losing nearly all of his friends to the war.”

Aran nearly buckled at her words, but Shevla didn’t notice. She was looking down at Kaert, tears filling her eyes.

“He wanted to officially register you as part of house Rovhoss,” she explained with a watery smile and Aran inhaled sharply at her words. “He asked me to adopt you, so you would be registered as a direct descendant of his. To gain all the rights of a citizen of Mandalore. A true foundling after the old traditions.”

Kaert had claimed them as his foundling. Had always said they were his grandchild. They had avoided Mandalore though and Aran had never thought about or known that they could be registered as a member of house Rovhoss.

Aran shook their head and whispered, “I don’t need that. I just want my grandfather.”

“He’s not going to wake up, ad’ika.”

They flinched at Shevla’s words and slowly curled themself up over Kaert’s hand, resting their forehead against Kaert’s shoulder. They knew that. Shevla had explained the attack Kaert had a few days after he had arrived on Mandalore. They could see it now as they hovered over Kaert, silent tears rolling down their face as they clung to his hand.

They knew Kaert wasn’t waking up.

“I can’t let go,” Aran choked out and felt their entire form shudder. “Without him, I can’t… I can’t…”

They jumped when they felt a hand land on the back of their neck and Shevla declared, “You are not alone. Kaert made sure of that. You have an entire Mandalorian house at your back. You have Kaert’s old friends that survived the war and even I can tell that you have three wonderful friends standing outside that would do anything for you.”

Aran bit their lip to keep from sobbing loudly.

Shevla removed her hand and Aran heard her step away as she said, “I’ll give you some time alone with father. I will wait outside with your friends, ad’ika.”

The door opened and closed and except for the machines keeping Kaert alive, it was silent for several long minutes. Aran straightened and ripped off their helmet, dropping it on the floor. They pressed Kaert’s hand to their face and sobbed, “You fucking bastard. You should have said something.”

They cried, clinging to Kaert’s hand and wishing things were different.

“I wanted to introduce you to my friends,” Aran gasped, trying to wipe some of the tears away from their face. “Kit is sharp like you and Chad is too kind for his own good. Purse is a dumbass, but would do anything for his friends.”

They gulped in a breath as the words tumbled from them.

“Cody is like a big brother and Fox terrifies me like you and Jango did when I got into mischief. I also met Fives, Tup, Sister, Omega and some more jedi though I’m not sure how fond of them you’d be.”

Aran raised their gaze to look at Kaert’s still form and feeling their chest constrict at the sight, whispered, “I helped defeat a sith that was trying to ruin the galaxy. Not much time to hunt monsters since, but I’m helping my friends choose a chancellor for the Republic. They mean so much to me.”

Their face twisted with guilt and they bowed their head.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” they wept and heard Vaar’ika whine. They raised their head to see the strill had raised her head and plopped it closer to them. Large brown eyes stared back up at them and a fresh wave of tears rolled down their face as they placed a hand on her head. “Both of you.”

Vaar’ika blinked slowly at Aran before lifting her head again and turning to look at the closed door. She glanced back at Aran before looking back at the door.

Where their friends waited.

Their friends.

Chad, Purse and Kit. The friends they trusted the most. The ones they would lay down their own life for. Do anything for.

Beyond that lay Coruscant. Where many of their other friends waited for them to return to. Aran wanted to finish helping Cody and Fox dismantle the system that oppressed clones. Ensure Omega got to enjoy her childhood. Let Fives and Tup recover from their ordeal at the hands of the sith.

On Tatooine Aran also had Jango. A friend to reminisce with about the many adventures they had gone on with Kaert. To share stories and their grief.

And here on Mandalore.

Aran couldn’t help but flinch. Mandalore held many dark memories and at the same time… It was where they met Kaert. Met Vaar’ika. Trained with Jango.

It was now also the home of their house. The home of Shevla Rovhoss who had welcomed them with open arms because she loved and trusted her father. Trust did not come easily to Aran anymore, but the people Kaert had brought into their life had been true.

This entire trip. Kit, Purse and Chad had all proven over and over again that they weren’t alone. That Aran didn’t have to face their fears on their own.

Something clever Vaar’ika had instantly picked up on as tired and weak as she was.

Aran shot Vaar’ika a watery smile and rubbed the top of her head with their hand.

“You’re always so karking smart, Vaar’ika,” they grumbled and turned back to look at Kaert. Seeing him like this hurt unbelievably, but they leaned forward to press their forehead to Kaert’s. “There is nothing I can say to express my gratitude or devotion to you.”

They straightened and smiled even as tears rolled down their cheeks.

“You saved me. Taught me everything I know. It is thanks to you that I get to live the life I choose. A life devoted to bettering the lives of others. Just like you.”

Aran reached down and picked up their helmet before slipping it and their glove back on. They pressed Kaert’s hand to their forehead and whispered, “I swear to keep fighting. To keep protecting others, like you named me. A life in service to others.”

They rubbed their gloved hand over Vaar’ika’s head one last time before stepping away from the hospital bed. They swallowed thickly and said, “I won’t be strong enough to come back here, but I think if you trusted Shevla enough to come here, you’ll be in good hands with her.”

Aran tried to swallow down the lump in their throat.