Impulse
A/N: Sorry about the delay. It needed...something. Just wasn't happy with it. Sorry. Enjoy.
The list is filled with names.
Well-known, respected names of capable Jedi. Some are the silver-tongued ones like Obiwan Kenobi, able to talk their way in or out of many tight spaces. Others the stern, commanding figures who had mastered the delicate art of the most demanding lightsaber forms, the Mace Windus of the Order. Renoun healers such as Barriss Offee.
All friends, ones she would've -had- trusted with her life.
Every single name is crossed out.
Even Yoda's.
The trouble, Aayla Secura mentally grumbles, with being a Jedi Knight and current General of the Republic's clone Army is you don't socialize much outside the Order.
At least no one she'd gotten close to enough to discuss this mess with.
Which is why she was sitting in her tent cradling her pounding head, remembering how she'd gotten here in the first place.
The shed was empty, dim, and passably clean. Whatever animal had been kept here was gone but hay was still piled neatly in stalls. She shoved him against the wall with enough force to crack a board.
It had been a stupid, stupid spur-of-the-moment thing to do. Sure, it'd been building in the back of her mind for awhile. A fantasy never to be acted upon, kept in the back of her mind with all the other wants and emotions a Jedi wasn't supposed to have.
Plus, her brain piped in, even if he did look like a male in the prime of life clone Commander Bly wasn't even ten years old. He probably didn't even realize certain portions of his anatomy could function like that.
It was a throwback from her intensely physical Twi'lek heritage. Something to be ignored.
Until it happened.
His first reaction had been to reach for his weapon, scan the area for anything hostile. In a different situation she might've laughed at the utterly confused expression on his face after she'd ripped his helmet off and tossed his gun into a hay pile with her lightsaber.
A barn. They'd been in a barn, with a dirt floor. Classy, Secura.
At least it hadn't been a cheap motel.
Thinking, Aayla reflectes wryly, hadn't been included. He'd been the one with the presence of mind to sweep the place. She couldn't even remember if the door had been closed.
Clone training. Blessed and cursed in the same breath. Half the reason she had a headache the size of the Grand Army of the Republic.
It was probably Bly's first kiss and there was nothing romantic about it. Both of them were covered in mud, blood, oil, and sweat. In a less frenzied moment she might've stopped, taken his utter stillness for discomfort or disinterest. Instead she took advantage of his passive stillness to dominate him.
Normally it wouldn't even be an issue. Plenty of men would jump at the chance to bed her. But this was...different. Hundreds of clones had been in her service. Not once had any leered in her direction.
Definitely different. Slightly unnerving.
He's a clone. She's his commanding officer. Asking had not been involved.
Aayla Secura does not like thatimplication. It mades her queasy, even the vaguest notion of it.
Lekku twitching in irritation, she goes over the list again. Someone has to understand clone psychology, know how clones viewed sex. This couldn't be the first clone to ever get laid.
Right?
It doesn't matter, she realizes. She's broken the Code. Even if she could go to Master Yoda and announce 'I just kinda had sex with, maybe raped, my clone Commander and I'm not really sure how he took it or how it'll effect our working relationship. Got any words of wisdom for me?' it would get her into some very hot water.
Without answers.
Still, to see the look on Yoda's face...No. Even for that it wouldn't be worth it.
Tossing the crumpled list onto her bed roll with a curse, Aayla begins to pace.
Bly made a half-hearted attempt to stop her once she started pulling at his armor, dark eyes wild and worried. She cut him off before he could get a word out, the hand sliding up his inner thigh and the bruising kiss convincing him resistance was futile.
In hindsight she should've seen it coming. Well, something like it coming. Hadn't the Council been herding her away from "attachments" for years?
First she'd been "too close" to Quinlan Vos. Then Kit Fisto.
Hindsight, she reflected ruefully, was so much better than foresight. Maybe the Council expected this from her. That thought leaves a bad taste in her mouth and she swallows reluctantly.
She doesn't even love Bly. Love...
"Kit...How will I tell him?" she askes the empty air.
When she thinks of roses, of children, and romance Kit Fisto comes to mind. If it wasn't for the Order they would probably have a pack of brats already.
Bly is...not a friend exactly. Close, a comrade, a war buddy, but barely a friend. She trusted him to have her back in combat, but she has...philosophical issues. Its-against-my-religion type philosophical issues. The slavish devotion to orders, the lack of empathy, far too much of his admittedly sparse personality are things she has problems with.
Things she can't change.
Nope, not in love with Bly's sparkling personality.
She uncrumples the list.
Clone armor was harder to get off then she'd anticipated, the buckles unfamiliar and clumsy in her impatient hands. Bly made no move to help or hinder her. His hands were flat against the wall he'd been thrown against, making no move to touch her. Those hands buried themselves in dirt when she finally pushed both of them to the ground.
It wasn't really physical either though. It's immensely cheering to note she isn't out to screw as many random clones as she could. Jango Fett might be a great mercenary but he wouldn't win any beauty pageants. He isn't ugly but far handsomer men wander the galaxy.
At least, she thinks with a wry chuckle, she's escaped shallowness in her own mind.
Picking him out of a crowd of clones, even without the distinctive armor, is second nature by now. An amazingly unique individual he might not be but none of the other clones are quite him.
Good reason the Council doesn't need to know. Bly is her trusty right hand. Breaking in a new clone - she wasn't stupid enough to think they'd let her keep working with an "attachment" - would waste time and energy better put toward winning her campaigns.
Putting aside how oddly fond she is of the bastard.
It wasn't like he was pining away for her either. "Love" is a foreign concept she tried explaining to him once.
Only once. The total lack of comprehension was so disturbing she'd had nightmares.
Now that very lack is a bit of a relief. Less of a tangle to work out. She hopes. Pain pounds in her skull enough as it is.
It was messy. The fine soil stuck to their sweaty skin, creating a thin layer of silt over both of them. The cuts from the newly finished battle bled fresh blood to join the dried black crust already there. The sex was fast and hard, no lingering caresses or whispered promises. The bites hard enough to mark his skin for days after.
The Order, the Code, and the Council would have to wait. A war is going on, regardless of who fucked who. The Army needed alert officers, not distracted ones.
Now was probably a good time to stop avoiding Bly as if this whole mess was his fault. She snorts. Force only knows what he thinks of her.
Of what had happened.
They have to talk sometime. It makes her skin crawl, but ignoring it isn't an option.
Its three days too late to act like it isn't a big deal. Bly isn't dumb enough to believe three days avoidance is nothing. Normal Jedi behavior this is not.
If he talks to one of the other commanders...Word'll get back to someone. Clones are worse than old women when it comes to gossip.
And rumors about the two of them aren't new.
She fell asleep almost as soon as she was finished, the adrenalin high finally wearing off. Neither of them had moved when she woke sometime later, disoriented and half-convinced it had been a dream. He didn't wake when she left, something Aayla viewed with relief and surprise. She needed time to gather herself and realize what she'd done.
Barriss is her best bet for help. Sensitive, with a healer's delicate touch, and a good friend too. Barriss might keep her secret. It's a last resort.
Pieces of the list fall in tatters to the ground.
Tomorrow she'll talk to Bly. Then go from there.
Before sleep takes her Aayla wonders why she doesn't just mention an "attachment" to the Council. She'd be half the galaxy away, no questions asked. Problem solved.
She's out before the uncomfortable questions start rearing their ugly heads.
A/N: So was it an improvement? Or did I make it worse?