WINGMAN
The Meshkad Abode, 40 Klicks Outside of Keldabe, Mandalore, Present
Amyr made sure the guests were comfortable in the living room while Rem finished cooking dinner. Jatne and Tracyn helped pass out bowls of stew and glasses for drinks, as well as bread with oil and herbs for dipping. Jatne lowered himself into a chair next to his father, who sat on a small loveseat with his mother. Across from Jatne sat the clone with Tracyn beside him on the couch, then Verda and her Mirialan in separate chairs. They all were halfway through the meal before anyone spoke.
"So how'd you get here?" Jatne asked the clone.
The clone looked at Amyr, then at her son. "I defected. Wound up on a transport to Kyrimorut, then Sergeant Meshkad picked me up."
"It's just Amyr now," she corrected him gently.
"Right," he said, flushed.
"An AWOL clone parading around the galaxy with my name. That's good for my reputation," Jatne remarked, only half-joking.
The clone stared at him without knowing whether or not to joke with him or jump him. Amyr spoke instead. "You don't have to keep that name, ad'ika. You can pick your own."
"I'll think about it," the clone said, growing pensive.
Rem gave his son a disapproving stare, knowing full well that he was being rude to their guest. He looked over at his sister in-law and her Mirialan companion. "I don't think you properly introduced your friend here."
"He's my son," Verda replied without looking up from her bowl.
The Mirialan's head shot up. He looked around at the others in the room before his eyes turned to Verda. "W-What?"
"Remember when you were sick and delirious and I stood over you and said something in Mandalorian and you got all weepy and fell asleep?"
"Vaguely."
"Yeah. I adopted you. Now you're my son." Verda kept eating.
The Mirialan turned pale. "Oh."
"Yep. Batholdemus Jatekara." Verda looked over at him and grinned. "That's kind of a mouthful, isn't it? Amyr, can I reverse an adoption?"
"Only if he disowns you," Amyr said as she sipped some tea.
Dinner commenced with sparse conversation and more eating than eye contact until Verda announced that she and Demus had places to go. The Meshkads said their farewells and found themselves together as a family for the first time in nearly six months, though this time their was a clone amongst their ranks. Jatne stood over his gear on the staging table near the front door and busied himself with looking over one of the discarded daggers.
Amyr looked from her aloof son to the clone and gently placed her hand on the young man's shoulder. "Why don't we get you settled, then have Jatne take you to Keldabe?"
Jatne glared at her and knew she meant to get him and the clone liking each other at any cost. He was too blasted polite to say no. "Sure."
Hayc'jag, Keldabe, Mandalore
The Hayc'jag was a tiny bar. Jatne liked it for that reason. It was out of the way, the drinks were decent, and nobody bothered each other. It was a place for quiet drinking, the kind of night you wanted to have after coming back from a fight.
Jatne sat in the speeder with his hands on the controls. "Ever been a wingman, Jatne?"
"No, Jatne, I haven't."
"Well, Jatne, it's quite simple."
"Is it going to be like this all night, Jatne?" the clone asked.
"Yes, Jatne, it is. This is my first night home after breaking up with a smokin' Twi'lek Senator. I know you were in a war or what-have-you, but you do owe me one since I rescued you from being a prisoner of war."
The clone sighed. "I suppose I do."
"When approaching two girls, the wingman engages the ugly one, letting his friend converse with the target. It's really easy."
"What if the ugly friend doesn't take interest in me?"
Jatne stared at the clone, envious of his massive, athletic frame and charmingly grizzled face. "Trust me. These aren't Coruscantii girls. They're going to love you. Tell 'em about your ear, and you'll be a star."
Jatne got out of the speeder, followed by his clone companion. They squeezed through the door and settled down to a table that was hardly wide enough to fit one drink for each of them. Jatne put in their orders and gave the bar a once over.
"Two girls over in that booth. See them?"
"They're Imperials."
"What? No they're not." Jatne squinted. They were both wearing white coats, and he hadn't seen them at first, but there were small Imperial insignias on them. "Damn."
"They look young. I bet they don't know what a clone looks like."
"Right. And especially not after a few drinks." Jatne called the waiter over again and sent two drinks over for the girls.
"I knew we should have worn armor," the clone lamented.
Jatne waved his hand dismissively and kept an eye on the table. Luckily for his wingman, the blonde girl that Jatne wasn't eyeing was rather pretty. Jatne preferred the brunette, who had slightly crooked teeth and a hearty laugh.
"I get the blonde, then?"
"Yep."
The girls looked over at Jatne and Jatne as the waiter delivered their free drinks. The blonde started laughing and the brunette's forehead wrinkled. They both shook their heads and stood up from their booth, then they left the bar. The waiter returned with an unsympathetic shrug and set the drinks down.
"Is that supposed to happen?" the clone asked with a smirk.
"Not at all," Jatne grumbled. He took a drink and downed it.
The clone leaned back in his chair and managed to look everywhere but at the Mandalorian across from him. Finally, he said, "I never got to thank you."
"Thank me?"
"For saving me when I was captured."
"You don't have to thank me for something like that. It was a job." Insensitive prick. "Besides, you're practically my brother."
"But you risked your life infiltrating that base. There was a dark Jedi and everything," said the clone.
"I'm just sorry we didn't kill that bastard when we had the chance. I heard--what he did. I'm sorry." Jatne hadn't struggled so hard to have a conversation since the first time he met the Twi'lek Senator.
The clone took a long gulp of his drink and didn't speak right away. The dark Jedi had tortured him and later killed his squad leader. But none of that was this Mandalorian's fault. "Thanks all the same."
"You'd be surprised how much easier a mission gets when a Jedi and an ARC Trooper come along," Jatne remarked.
"I don't think I'd be that surprised."
"Right. You wouldn't," Jatne said with a slouch. "You were in the war and all."
The clone grinned and so did the Mandalorian. They tipped their drinks to each other and sat in a comfortable silence until the bartender kicked them out well passed the bar's closing time.
The Meshkad Abode, 40 Klicks Outside of Keldabe, Mandalore
Amyr wasn't bothered when the two sons named Jatne returned home in the wee hours of the morning with a bit of a ruckus. She got up and settled the clone in the basement with a surplus of blankets, a glass of water, and a small light on the staircase in case he needed to get up. She came up from the basement to find Jatne standing near the door where his gear had been laid out, sorting it to be put away.
She came up behind him and gently put an arm around his shoulders. He flinched and she withdrew. "Sorry. No, it's okay. Sorry." He smiled half-heartedly and she patted him on the back.
"Thank you for taking him out. You don't have to look after him anymore. I will."
Jatne shook his head. "It wasn't a problem."
"That was very kind of you to do. He's been through a lot."
"I know."
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm all right."
"Are you?"
Jatne grappled with the twist in his gut that came about when he thought about the clone and his parentless childhood. He shook his head.
"What is it?" she asked gently.
"I missed you. That's all. I know you and Dad had a job to do, but that doesn't make me feel better."
Amyr took her son into her arms, and he smushed his face into her neck. "Sorry," he said miserably. She shushed him. "I'm okay now," he added.
They stayed there for a few minutes, standing in the silver light pouring in from the open window until Jatne pulled away and rubbed his eye with his palm.
"Better?"
"Yeah. Verda never hugged me. I just needed one."
"Good," Amyr said, patting him on the cheek. "One last thing: Senator Venadi. You're going to have to explain yourself tomorrow."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. This is my last chance to patronize you before you move out." Amyr grinned and turned to go back to bed. "Good night, Jat'ika."
In the middle of the night, a shadow crept up from the basement and moved through the house. It exited through the back door and found the shed. The door was unlocked, and the shadow found a small shovel. It found a spot in the red dirt and began to dig.
The next morning, Jatne rolled over on the circular day bed under his sister's bunk. The room was empty and it was early morning. He dragged himself out of the room he was sharing with Tracyn and found his mom standing with a mug of tea at the kitchen window. He saw his father headed toward the back door with a bowl of hot wheat meal.
"What's up?" Jatne asked.
"It's--Jatne," Amyr murmured. "He's outside and won't come back in."
Jatne went to the window and watched as his father approached the clone, who was digging a hole in the ground. Rem tried talking to him, but only received a stare and a nod from the clone. With a helpless shrug, Rem left the bowl next to the hole and came back inside.
"He's messed up. I don't know. You tried talking to him?" Rem asked Amyr.
"I stayed with him since the sun rose. He kept saying there was something he wanted to bury. It's unsettling."
"Maybe he needs a doctor," Jatne speculated.
The three had a collective sigh. Tracyn walked into the kitchen with such a purpose that she appeared to be on a mission, and she immediately went to the backyard to talk to Jatne. He looked at her but couldn't seem to find anything to say, so he continued digging, but then he paused. He mumbled something, then Tracyn plopped down on the ground and watched him as he stabbed the tip of the shovel back into the soil.
"I'll go into the city and see if anyone can help him," Jatne said.
"You don't have to," said Amyr.
"Too late, I'm going to put pants on," Jatne called over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.
Jahaal Hospital, Keldabe, Mandalore
There was a steady rain falling, and Jatne was glad he had decided to wear his armor to go into the city. He watched the raindrops skim off the front of his helmet and fall past his visor as he loitered beside a gathering crowd of Mandalorians. A doctor was shouting and trying to organize a line outside of the entrance. Jatne had never seen the hospital so busy, and he was beginning to think there was some sort of an emergency. He found a Mandalorian woman lingering aside from the crowd and he went over to her.
"What's going on? Was there an attack?" Jatne asked.
"There's some sort of sickness going around," a woman replied. "It's spreading from livestock."
Jatne sighed. "I just need some medicine."
"Go to the Imperial clinic. Five blocks that way," the woman suggested, pointing.
"Imperial clinic?"
"Yes. Hardly anyone goes there. I doubt there will be a line."
Jatne took one last look at the line forming outside of the hospital and turned on his heels to find the Imperial clinic. The rain began pouring harder, and his boots splashed up water from the uneven pavement with every step. He tried to recall the last time he bathed (not that it mattered when he was suited up), and he was almost proud to admit it hadn't been for two days. The last shower he had was in Senator Venadi's apartment before he left. He simply hadn't had time.
As expected, there were no Mandalorians seeking the assistance of Imperial doctors. Jatne found a pick-up window for the pharmacy and peered inside of it. A young woman popped up from behind the counter with a start, causing him to jump.
"I'm sorry! May I help you?"
Jatne took a moment to register that this was the brunette from the bar last night. He cleared his throat. "Uhh, yeah. I have a problem. Well, my--brother has a problem."
"All right," she said, blinking twice.
"I think he has post-traumatic stress disorder."
A concerned look crept across her forehead. "I see. He needs psychological counseling. Is he with you?"
"No. I can't get him to leave the house." Jatne nervously hooked his thumbs on his belt. Would an Imperial recruit recognize a clone? "Do you have a sedative or something that I could give him? That might help."
"Yes. I can't give you a full bottle unless you have a prescription, but I can give you a sample to help him until he can see a doctor. We have psychiatrists who would be happy to come and see him."
"I'll call if we need one," Jatne said. "I'll take the sedative for now."
"One moment," the pharmacist said with a smile. Jatne watched her as she walked back into the clinic and began typing on a console. "Could I get your name?"
"Jatne Meshkad."
She paused and blushed. "Could you spell that for me?"
Jatne spelled it and gave her his address and com number as she asked for them. Part of him wanted to mention that they had met the previous night, but that hadn't gone so well. It was better to remain a faceless Mandalorian for now.
The pharmacist returned with a small paper bag and hesitated before handing it to him. "Would you like a vaccination? It's free."
"Vaccination?"
"There's a virus spreading from livestock, and while it's not deadly, we're trying to control it. The symptoms are severe enough to debilitate a person for five days."
Jatne almost wanted to jump at the notion of doing nothing for five days, but he would rather enjoy the rest than be in pain. "Sure."
"Come around to the door."
Jatne followed where she was pointing and waited for her to open the door. The pharmacy was separated into a small waiting room and the pharmacy area by a long counter, and there was a door leading to the rest of the clinic to Jatne's right. She motioned for him to follow her through the door, and she led him up a corridor and invited him to sit in a room. She flipped on the lights and walked out. Jatne tapped his finger on his knee while he waited, and in a few minutes, she returned.
"Could you remove your helmet, Mr Meshkad?"
Jatne did as he was told.
The pharmacist tilted her head at him. "I'm sorry. You look familiar. Have we met?"
"We were at the same bar last night."
The pharmacist covered her mouth to conceal a smile. "That's right." She hesitated, then moved closer to him, and Jatne went rigid. "Sorry," she said again, showing him a small device in her hand. "Just put this in your mouth. Like that, yes."
Jatne put the inhaler in his mouth and she pressed a button and told him to breathe in.
"All done," she announced, disposing of the device. "You may experience a low fever and a runny nose. Let us know if you get really sick. Oh! And my name is Nola Tanostell."
"Thanks, Dr Tanostell."
"I'm not a doctor yet, just an intern," she said with a laugh. "Nola is fine, Mr Meshkad."
"You can call me Jatne."
Nola turned red and nodded, and Jatne regretted the statement. "Call me if your brother doesn't get better."
"All right. Thanks." Jatne grinned at her as he stood, and he didn't put his helmet back on until she led him back to the street.
"Have a good day!" she called after him as he left.
Jatne spent the trip home having a philosophical conundrum over whether his social ineptitude stemmed from Verda's brazen teachings or his inability to balance male desires with pre-conceived social limitations.
