Rila: So I'm determined not to let this setback of my computer wiping out some of my files prevent me from updating. I'm going to start triple saving my stuff to prevent this from happening again, however. Note: The next chapter is anachronological. Meaning it takes place prior to this chapter - and thus explains some gaps (i.e: Blast's behavior).
Disclaim: I don't own Star Wars: The Clone Wars. I do, however, own a great many of the characters below.
Word Count: 1,333
"We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial—I believe we are lost." — Erich Maria Remarque, All's Quiet on the Western Front
Scene Two [Sons of War]
His chest burned. Pain licked across the network of scar tissue like wildfire. It was nothing new, however, and Zero stayed quiet.
"Any pain?"
Zero closed his eyes, counted to ten, then answered. "No." Opening them, he stared back when the medic fixed him with a probing look, fingers pressing across his chest. He'd been lucky, he'd been told upon waking, that he was still here and not just another unfortunate casualty. Depending on the day, Zero was either inclined to agree or disagree.
"I want you to come back in a couple of days," the medic told him, "and to come find me if anything changes."
"Right," Zero answered, tugging his shirt over his head. It pulled at puckered skin, fabric brushing over the tender area. "See you." The medic simply nodded, and Zero left. Part of him wanted to head back to the barracks to grab his armor, but the grumbling of his stomach had him moving towards the mess hall instead.
There were plenty of brothers already there, though Zero found himself looking for an empty table to sit at. There was no such thing as an unfamiliar face when everyone looked the same, but he wasn't in the mood for company. And so, with food in hand, Zero settled at an empty table to the far left, tension easing from his shoulders.
Despite not wanting company, Zero found no reason to keep his eyes from wandering, sliding from table to table. There were brothers laughing and joking with each other, and Zero found himself watching for longer than he had intended. Here, he mused, one would never think that they were bred to fight and die in battle, to mow down enemy lines without batting an eye. Here, they laughed with each other and cracked bad jokes. Here, they were normal.
Zero snorted, ignoring the fresh twinge of pain that skittered across his chest. That, he thought bitterly, taking a swig of his caf and enjoying the way it burned all the way down his throat, is something that we're not. But...
"May I sit with you?" The voice of a fellow brother tore Zero from his thoughts and he looked up, finding a familiar face staring down at him. Not waiting for him to respond, the clone settled himself across from him, helmet tossed onto the table with a thud. "You're Zero, right?"
Zero nodded, watching him warily. Go on, ask. Ask how I survived when the rest of my squad didn't. The clone grinned and stabbed at his food, shovelling it into his mouth with zeal.
"I'm Blast," he managed around a mouthful of food, "Spartan Company's token demolitions expert. If you need something blown up, just come find me."
"I'll keep that in mind," Zero murmured, and Blast swallowed.
"Are you liking Spartan Company so far?"
Blinking, Zero stared for a moment and then looked down at his food, pushing around the last few pieces. "It isn't anything like my squad was," he began, and instead of pushing him to say something else, Blast offered a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders.
"Of course it wouldn't be," he answered, "Each company has its own way of operating. But I think we've got it pretty good. General Muir's good to us."
"But she's a Jedi," Zero said before he could stop himself, and Blast stilled in his enthusiastic eating to look at him. Zero's cheeks began to warm, and Blast looked down at his plate.
"That's true," he answered, "but she doesn't treat us like she's better than us. When General Muir says she won't leave someone behind, she means it." It wasn't blind admiration for the Jedi General, but a steadfast conviction that came from experiencing combat with her. Zero's shoulders relaxed, and something like guilt pooled in his stomach.
"I didn't-"
"It's alright, vod. You're still getting the hang of things around here." Blast smiled before continuing. "There are those who treat us like canon fodder, but General Muir isn't one of them." He lapsed into silence for a moment, watching Zero. "Do you know where we go when we die?"
Zero was silent, uncertain of how to respond and confused as to the sudden change in topic. Blast continued, the humor replaced with an eerie indifference. He stared down at his helmet and reached for it, fingers brushing over the dents and scrapes. "It doesn't matter, I guess. Wherever I end up, I'm just going to tell them one thing."
Zero wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but curiosity had him asking anyway. "And what's that, vod?"
Blast stared down at his helmet a moment longer before putting it on. "Just another soldier reporting, sir," he answered at last, voice modulated by the helmet. "I've served my time in Hell."
Scene Three [Art of Survival]
Blue and green clashed with a flare of sparks and humming blades before breaking away and rejoining again. Eyes narrowed in concentration, Alyss Muir swung her blade with a practiced ease, searching for an opening that would give her the victory she was looking for.
Koria Adeck smiled at her former Padawan, blocking the younger Jedi's strikes with her own. Age and experience had tempered Alyss's movements; they were no longer the quick, hard strikes she had thought would guarantee her success. Her Padawan had grown up, and it showed. "I believe this is enough for today," she said, and Alyss blinked before falling back a couple of steps.
"Afraid of losing, my Master?" Teasing in tone, Alyss's eyes glimmered with laughter as she spoke, and Koria's smile widened.
"Not quite, young one. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"That's a feeble excuse, Master."
"Even so," Koria countered, thumbing the button of her lightsaber and clipping it to her belt. Alyss did the same and fell into step with her as she moved away from the training area. "It's good to see you again, my former apprentice. It's been quite some time since I've seen you."
"Likewise, Master."
"Have you thought about teaching a Padawan yet?" Koria watched her, waiting for her to respond. Alyss picked a few fraying strands from the cuff of her left sleeve and sighed.
"I'm not sure if I'm ready for that responsibility yet, Master."
"The fact that you're willing to admit it says that you are," Koria answered. Alyss's mouth curled into a small smile and then faded.
"This war isn't something I want to bring a Padawan into." Her brows furrowed, head lowering as her steps slowed. "I'm afraid we're losing this war, Master."
With her shoulders hunched, it was too easy to see her as the little Padawan she had once been, and Koria stepped forward to place a hand on the younger Jedi's shoulder. "Have faith, my former apprentice. We will not lose this war."
Unconvinced, Alyss's green eyes met Koria's blue. "How, Master? How can you be so certain?"
