A/N: Hello, fellow Clone Wars fans!

A large majority of the credit for the inspiration of this story goes to my awesome sister, Eregnar (don't tell her I called her that – she'll never stop teasing me about it), who came up with her own OC clone battalions that brought about the creation of my own… and whose main OC Jedi, Teneil Ura, is the apprentice of Pong Krell and has suffered major anxiety problems due to that.

The two clones that are the focus of this fic are also my two main OCs (aside from my own Jedi general, Rens Phalco), so if I decide to dig further into these characters you will be seeing quite a lot from these two. If you've read my Clone Wars/Rebels crossover, Remnants, you should recognize one of them :)

Enjoy!

Uncontrollable sobbing was not a common sound onboard General Pong Krell's flagship. So where were those cries – so heartbroken and, honestly, borderline hysterical – coming from?

Baron turned into another hall, looking around wildly for the source of the noise. It echoed worse than ever in here, so the young pilot knew that whoever it was had to be hiding behind one of the adjacent doors. The only question was which one.

Gritting his teeth, Baron ran a shaking hand through his close-cropped black hair, his bright brown eyes flicking from one door to the next, struggling to pinpoint the sound's origin. It was driving him mad, and he knew that there was no way that he'd be able to get a decent night's sleep with the knowledge that one of his own brothers had locked himself up somewhere and was now crying his heart out. Everyone needed consolation right now (except for that shabuir that they were all forced to refer to as "general"), especially in the light of their legion's most recent battle. There'd been over two hundred casualties, three-quarters of which were fatalities. There were a lot of brothers who needed reassurance.

Another round of sobs echoed down the hall, and this time, Baron was able to locate the source. His eyes settled on the entrance to one of the many storage rooms to be found on the vessel, on his left, three doors up.

There.

Baron wasted no time. In five seconds flat he had crossed over to the door and was typing in the entry code. It opened with a hiss, and he entered.

The sight he beheld stopped him cold.

Sandwiched between two crates, huddled into a ball with his back to him, was one of the most pitiful-looking figures that Baron had seen in his entire life. Though he couldn't see the man's face, he knew immediately that he was a brother – he had the same tall frame, dark skin and broad shoulders of every other clone trooper had ever met, though his longish hair was a vibrant red instead of the normal black (he'd most likely dyed it). His previously white armor was a mess, dented in multiple places and covered in dirt spots, scorch marks, and blood. His shoulders shook violently as he cried; loud, hacking, wheezing sobs that filled the room and made the pilot want to plug his ears.

Baron's heart gave a wrenching twist. The poor kid hadn't even bothered to clean up after the return to the ship. He'd probably been in here for hours, all alone with the dust and the memories. Judging by the clone's slighter build and the convulsive nature of his tears, he guessed he was one of the new shinies that had entered in just last week. Baron was willing to guess that all or almost all of the man's yearmates had been slaughtered down on the planet's surface. That was the story of almost every veteran clone in the legion (which, by the standards of Krell's soldiers, meant that they'd been there over three months. No one really lasted any longer than that… except for Baron, of course, who had somehow, miraculously lasted a good seven).

"Hey."

The man jumped, whipping around to stare at the person who had violated his privacy. Baron was shocked, to say the least, by his… unusual appearance. Upon closer inspection, the man's bright red eyebrows revealed that, shockingly, his hair was not dyed – it was naturally that color. And his eyes, far from the typical golden or caf brown, were ice blue. Currently, they were also tinged with red, bloodshot as they were from his crying fit.

Baron stepped out of the shadow of the doorway, allowing the younger one to see him clearly. Suddenly nervous, the man snapped to attention upon seeing the blue paint decorating the pilot's armor, designating him as a lieutenant. Baron smiled to himself at the nervous energy that the shiny was displaying. He's as twitchy as a feral Lothcat, he thought vaguely.

"Sorry," the trooper said quickly, with barely a tremble in his voice despite his previous breakdown. "I was just… taking stock of the dust bunnies." He flashed a weak smirk, though his watery eyes greatly downplayed the effect.

Ah. A joker, Baron thought grimly. Joker's never lasted long in Krell's legion. He always sent them out to be killed first. It was impressive that this one had even survived.

He purposefully ignored the shiny's casual greeting, even though it was a blatant breach of protocol. No doubt the man had heard enough of it from the general already, and anyway, it was neither the time nor the place to bring it up. The kid needed comfort, not a lecture.

Taking another purposeful step forward, he gestured to the empty spot directly in front of the shiny. "Mind if I join you?"

There was only a slight widening of the man's eyes at the prospect of sitting and being forced to converse with a higher-ranking trooper. He shrugged, muttered "sure", and sat again, the perfect picture of nonchalant composure. He watched silently as the lieutenant took a seat.

"This is an odd place for R and R," Baron remarked mildly, glancing around the storage closet with feigned interest. The shiny smirked slightly, just enough for Baron to know that that was what he was doing. He smirked back.

"What's your name, kid?" he asked quietly.

The shiny glanced down. "CT-5241," he muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably under his superior's scrutinizing gaze. Baron raised an eyebrow. Rolling his eyes, he clarified, "Sharp."

"And why do they call you that?" the pilot asked mildly. Sharp eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm a sniper," was all he said.

"A sniper. Huh." Baron nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense, I guess."

Sharp stared hard at him, sizing him up, obviously attempting to figure out whatever ulterior motive the man had for coming in and addressing him. Typical uptight shiny, Baron thought wryly, allowing a small smile to creep across his face. When's he gonna learn that we don't all have an agenda?

Sharp turned away slightly, just enough that Baron could no longer make sense of whatever facial expression he happened to be sporting at that moment. The kid had gone completely stiff, every aspect of his posture guarded and withdrawn, like he was afraid of Baron seeing something there that he didn't want him to know. The lieutenant had worked with shinies like this before – traumatized, confused and broken young men who wanted nothing more than to fade into the background in hopes that it might permit them to live just a few more weeks. How long ago had it been since he was one of them?

Seven months, actually.

"This your first time on the battlefield?" Baron asked gently. Sharp stiffened. He shook his head.

"Second," he replied, a little curtly.

"Ah."

Both fell silent, neither looking each other in the face as they lost themselves within their own minds. Baron couldn't help but wonder what exactly had happened to Sharp. This edgy, withdrawn, somewhat blunt specimen of a man was a sharp contrast to the crying boy that Baron had seen only minutes before. Sharp certainly wasn't crying now, instead tapping an odd rhythm on the floor next to him. The sniper's eyes held a glazed look to them as he stared at a point somewhere to his left, expertly ignoring Baron. The lieutenant wasn't sure what to think, let alone say.

Luckily, he didn't have to.

"Why does the general hate us so much?" Sharp asked bitterly. His hands clenched into fists on his lap. The anger in his eyes was so palpable that Baron felt a twinge of nervousness in his gut.

"All we ever do is follow his orders," Sharp continued bitterly. "So why in haran does he treat us like this?!"

Baron sighed heavily. "I don't know." Sharp turned to look at him, the anger fading from his expression. Baron shrugged helplessly. "I just don't know."

A brief, tense silence stretched between them.

"I hate him," Sharp muttered finally, glaring at the floor. "He sent my entire squad out ahead as cannon fodder, like they didn't even matter. It was like… like he didn't even consider them human!" His voice trembled with suppressed fury. Baron reached forward and clasped the man's shoulder.

Sharp met his gaze, his ice blue eyes burning with mixed anger, hatred and grief. Baron understood what he was going through all too well. How many times had he had those same thoughts about the General? But it wasn't like there was anything that either of them could do about it. It was their duty to stand and fight for Krell, no matter how horribly he treated them, no matter how much they despised them, and no matter what their thoughts on the morality (or lack thereof) of his actions happened to be.

Duty. Oh, how Baron hated that word.

"I understand," he told him quietly. Sharp looked at him questioningly. "When I first got here, he sent all of the fighters at his disposal up against one of the Sep's most heavily-armed battle cruisers. I was one of only five men to come out of that attack alive."

Sharp was silent for a moment. Then: "Did you win?"

Baron snorted. "Technically yes, thought I'd hardly call it a victory when we had more casualties than the seps did," he remarked sourly. "But I guess that's just war for you. Nothing ever makes any sense."

Sharp shrugged. He probably hadn't seen enough of the war yet to either agree or disagree with that statement.

"But listen," Baron continued gently. "Do you know that one old Mandolorian saying? The one that they use at funerals?" Sharp shook his head. Smiling, the lieutenant continued. "None of the brothers that we lose are gone. They're just marching far away."

Sharp's face was filled with skepticism. "Watch it, sir," he remarked dryly. "You almost sound like a Jedi, there."

Baron grinned. "Well, maybe the Jedi are onto something," he replied. "Anyway… thinking that always helps me after a battle. Just something to consider." He slapped Sharp amiably on the shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a briefing to attend in a few hours. It's probably best not to miss it."

He stood up and turned to go. But before he could so much as open the door, Sharp's voice stopped him.

"You never told me your name, sir," he remarked.

The pilot glanced back. "It's Baron."

Sharp hesitated, gnawing on his lip. Baron turned away again.

"Do you think it'll ever be over for us, Baron?" he asked quietly. Sighing, the officer rested his hand on the cold durasteel surface of the storage room door.

"I wish I knew, Sharp," he said tiredly. "I wish I knew…"

"Not gone – just marching far away." – Mandolorian saying.

Reviews are appreciated.