Commander Mettle and the First One Hundred were sweeping the arena after the Battle of Geonosis. They were searching for survivors. Many Jedi, and more than a few clones had been grievously injured during the battle. Now that the enemy had been subdued it was time to clean up.
Bodies were strewn everywhere. Jedi, clone, droid and beast alike. Their corpses like so many hillocks scattered around the arena in the gloaming light. A slight movement nearby caught his eye. Mettle tensed and raised his blaster in case it was a half dead droid using the last of its strength to fulfill its prime directive. When no laser fire followed in the next few seconds Mettle cautiously moved forward.
As he drew nigh, he saw the movement came from near an armored body. With a jolt, he recognized the body as that of the clone template, Jango Fett. They had called him Stencil, he had worked closely with Mettle and the other troopers of the First One Hundred over the last ten years.
It was a bit of shock to see him dead. He had been such a great warrior, teaching them everything they knew about being a soldier. He had almost seemed indestructible. Mettle noted that Jango had been killed by a Jedi. A small sense of relief twinged in Mettle when he realized that. Mettle didn't like the thought of Jango Fett being killed by a clone, or the disgrace of being killed by a droid. It was curious, though, that the Jedi would kill the man they hired to be the clone template. They must have been pretty confident that they wouldn't need any more clones.
Another small movement alerted him to a presence on the other side of Jango's body. Circling the fallen man he he knelt down next to the boy. Boba was laying on the ground near Jango's side. He didn't seem to be hurt, physically. He wasn't asleep, he just lay there, his eyes not really taking in his surroundings.
Mettle had no idea what to do. Stencil had taken his kid everywhere. Mettle felt completely at a loss. The child hadn't even reacted to his presence. Mettle couldn't imagine what it was like to lose a parent, but seeing a tough kid like Boba laying there so unresponsive told him more than enough.
Reaching out, he gingerly touched Boba's shoulder. "Hey there, Lucky." It was a name the clones had given him on Kamino. He had been the 'lucky' one chosen to be the clone template's son. Boba didn't respond. "Are you hurt?" Mettle tried again.
Boba's eyes flicked to look at him, but he still didn't move. Mettle took the boy by the arm and lifted him into a sitting position. Boba didn't resist. Mettle wanted to say something to make the kid feel better, but he couldn't think of anything. Removing his helmet he began checking the boy over for injuries.
"No broken bones, don't see any blood." Mettle tried to keep his voice light. Grief was something he knew about, but not something he'd ever personally experienced. The First One Hundred had come through the day with no losses, other units hadn't been so fortunate. "Just a little dirt, and nasty touch of sunburn." Boba automatically raised a hand to touch his burned cheek, he hardly registered the discomfort.
Mettle finished looking him over. "Lucky, it's starting to get dark." he said softly. "It's not safe to stay out here."
Boba kept his eyes downcast. He mumbled under his breath, barely audible, "I don't want to go."
Mettle swallowed. He'd never seen someone look so hurt before. In the most gentle tone he could manage, he said, "There's nothing you can do for him. You need to look out for yourself now."
Boba still kept his eyes down. All he could think about was all of the things he would never be able to do with his father again. He would never sit on his father's lap and read. They would never play pretend, or wrestle. He'd never steal food off his dad's plate, food that tasted better just because it was dad's. He'd never laugh at the silly jokes his dad told, or hear the Mandalorian lullabies his dad would sing. His dad would never hug him again, or whisper "I love you" as he drifted to sleep.
Boba sat there, stone-faced. He had nowhere else to go, and no one else to go too. His dad had been all he had. His chest and throat felt tight. No physical pain could hurt like this. He tried to speak, to tell the clone that he couldn't leave. He had to stay here. He had nowhere else. Words failed him. All he wanted was to wake up and find out this day had never happened.
Boba raised his eyes to look at Mettle. Even in the twilight, his features were still clearly visible. The sight of the clone's face, his father's face, it was just too much. Feeling like a fool, but not caring, he began to cry.
Mettle didn't know what he was supposed to do. Clone were usually discouraged from such displays of emotion, but this case was different. He put an arm around Boba's shoulder. That was all he could think to do. Boba responded, feeling like the stupidest being in the universe, putting his arms around the clone's neck and clinging to him as he wept.
Boba felt his cheeks flush with shame. He felt stupid and weak. If he hadn't been such a dumb little kid maybe he could have helped his father. If they had been fighting side by side maybe the Jedi would be dead and his father alive. Boba knew he shouldn't have just sat in the cave where his father left him, he should have been out there with his dad. His dad had told him, "Stay here, don't move," but this one time, Boba knew he should have disobeyed.
Boba tried to stem his tears. His dad would have wanted him to be strong. Despite his best efforts, the tears continued.
Mettle let the child cling to him. He had never seen a person so hurt. He was a little bewildered by it all. The darkness continued to draw in on them, the shadows on the arena lengthened.
Through the gathering dusk, Jedi Master Adi Gallia walked across the arena. Her pace was slow, she was so tired. Today had been the worst day of her life. So many Jedi had been cut down today, and by mindless droids, no less. Her heart hurt. So much was lost here today. Echos of pain rand in her ears; from Jedi, clones, and many others. There had been no victory today, they had merely managed to stave off defeat.
She spotted one of the clones, clones she hadn't known existed just a short time ago, kneeling, holding someone. The other clones in the area were doing triage, collecting the bodies and the wounded to be dealt with as appropriate.
Adi didn't want to be callous, but the clone needed to keep with his task. They had no time to waste. The mission had to come first. The Separatists couldn't be allowed the slightest advantage. "Clone." she said. She realized she had no idea what his name was, or if clones even had names. The clone looked over at her, and she noticed he was holding a child. She didn't know why there was a child in the arena, or even where the boy had come from. "Is the boy injured."
The boy released the clone and stood, taking a step back and keeping his eyes averted. The clone stood as well, and replacing his helmet he stood at attention. "No, sir." he answered only the question asked.
When no further information was forthcoming, Adi asked a follow up question, "Why is he here? Where are his parents?" Adi tried to keep her voice even, but there was an edge to her words all the same.
"He's here because he was with his father when the battle began. His father was killed during the battle, sir."
Adi saw the boy turn his head to look at the body of the bounty hunter that had started all of this. "Doesn't he have a mother, or anyone else, another friend or relative?" Adi was exhausted, and this needed to be settled. Only after the living had been taken care of could the Jedi finally see to their dead. She could feel that the boy was hurt, but his pain only blended into all the other pain that saturated the Force on this day.
Mettle glanced at Boba, the kid hadn't even tried to wipe the tears off his face. "He's got no one else, sir."
Adi sighed. "It'll have to be an orphanage then." Adi gazed over the field, her heart ached as she spotted one of the fallen Jedi, a dear friend of hers. "Gather him up and find out where the nearest Republic orphanage is." Her voice trembled slightly as she said those words. After receiving an affirmative response, she moved on, more than a little distracted by her own grief.
Mettle turned back to Boba. Boba turned his eyes on Mettle, his gaze unflinching. Even though the light was waning, Mettle could still make out the expression of those dark eyes. He saw that behind all the pain there was a spark, an ember of anger that was sure to serve him well. Mettle placed a hand on Boba's shoulder. "You've got the blood of a warrior. You will make it through."