Chapter Thirty-Six

Three weeks prior to Order 66...

Bren: This has to be a short one, I'm afraid. We're being deployed almost as I write this, and it looks to be a long haul. There's talk of Torrent heading to the Core at some point, but it might just be a rumor.

I'm still going to speak to Ahsoka; she might be able to put in a good word for your transfer back to the Resolute. I know it's a long shot, but it's worth a try.

I miss you more than I can say, but it helps to know that you and Iri are safe. I'll comm again as soon as I can. All my love, Rex.

Also, thank Iri for the "feather." It made my day.

For once, the Resolute was at peace.

Having just finished a bloody campaign on an unnamed, Outer-Rim moon, the Venator-class ship was between missions for the moment, making its way through hyperspace towards the next destination: Naboo. By all accounts it was supposed to be a blue-milk run, something about transferring supplies...in all honesty Rex wasn't really concerned with the matter, as his mind was too occupied with the health of his men and the persistent ache of loss that he wished could be filled with Bren's presence.

Of course it was a selfish desire, that of wanting her to be with him when it was so much better for her to be with her daughter, but there it was.

Luckily, this late in the Resolute's cycle, no one else was about, and he had the mess-hall to himself, so there was no one to see him push around the "food" on his plate with a grimace. Rex wasn't hungry, particularly not for the unappetizing moray of food-supplements that the mess contained, but he thought it wise to eat something; if Kix or Coric thought that the captain was neglecting his own health, the medics would likely shove some ration cubes down his throat anyway, so in a sense Rex figured he was practicing a kind of conflict-avoidance tactic.

"Cred for your thoughts?"

Ahsoka's voice slipped into his attention gently, prying between his sorrow and his loneliness and making him turn towards her as she sat beside him at the empty table. As she did so, she slid a cup of fresh caf his way, a mug of tea resting before her. "I know I just got back, but you seem...sad," she added, her eyes flickering to his full plate then back up to his face. "Is everything okay with Brenna?"

Perhaps in the past he would have said "fine" and tried to shrug away her concern; it was, after all, an intensely personal matter that had nothing to do with his role in the GAR. But Ahsoka was his friend, and it wasn't in quite the same way as Fives was. And – he realized – she had been busy with her own affairs recently, and had likely not heard his most recent news.

So he exhaled and looked her way. "Bren had to return to her homeworld for a time – family emergency. We're not sure when she'll be back. Or," he added with a grimace. "If she'll be able to come back to the Resolute, at all."

At the words, Ahsoka's blue eyes widened, and her lips parted in surprise, the expression conveying sympathy. "I'm sorry, Rex...that's..."

"Yeah," he replied with a slow nod. "It is. Thanks." He paused, then took a sip of the caf she'd brought: hot, sharp, but could've used a bit more sugar.

The Padawan was quiet for a moment, fingering the handle of her mug, then she shot him a careful look. "I've never seen you this way."

The words were unexpected. Rex blinked at her, then looked down at his mug, studying the contents as he spoke. "I miss her...it gets worse each day."

When she nodded he looked back up, and could see the concern still evident in her expression; it was concern, but it was not yet understanding. With a sigh, Rex held her eyes and spoke with deliberation. "I love her, kid."

Ahsoka held perfectly still for a heartbeat, then crossed her arms before her on the table and tilted her head upwards as if daydreaming. "Captain Rex in love," she said after a moment, the words holding a faint, teasing edge that was her way when she was trying to make him smile. "I never thought I'd see the day. Who knew you had a soft, mushy side under all that armor?"

She knew him well and Rex couldn't help but chuckle at her tone, though he could have done without the imagery. A look of relief crossed her face as she noted his reaction, and she smiled back. After a moment, he exhaled again and considered her. "I have a favor, Ahsoka."

"Name it and it's yours," she replied, sitting up and giving him that overly serious look that reminded him of the kid he'd met at the start of the Wars.

He smiled, both at her insistence and the memory. "Would you please put in a good word for Brenna? Maybe if the GAR has a Jedi's recommendation, they'd be more inclined to speed up her application – even assign her back here."

When her face fell he tried not to feel the sting of disappointment. Seeing his reaction, she sat up and slid her mug out of the way so that she could set a hand on his gauntlet. "Of course I will, Rex," she said with a warm look that was edged with sorrow. "It's just...I don't know how much good it'd do. We don't have much say in the civilian contractors that come through, and besides...I'm only a lowly Padawan."

"You're a Jedi," he responded in a firm voice. "They'll listen to you, I'm certain." I hope.

Ahsoka didn't look convinced, but she nodded anyway. After a moment she took a deep breath and cast another glance his way. In a direct contrast to how she'd seemed before, there was a maturity in her eyes that he'd noticed more and more every time he saw her. As surely as he'd been changed by recent events, she'd grown up as well, and it was moments like these where he thought he knew her better than anyone else. "I know it's hard being parted from the one you love, Rex. Trust me...I wish I didn't."

Startled, Rex sat up and leveled his gaze on her. He remembered her saying that she'd been able to find snatches of time with Bonteri, especially when the Resolute made its way to Coruscant, but he'd never thought that it would amount to something so serious. "You...and him? Love?"

A dark flush swept through her montrals and she gave a graceful shrug. "Yeah. Kind of took me by surprise...I mean, I know he's an idiot sometimes, but his heart's in the right place. But don't ask me about the Jedi Code," she added with knitted brow-lines. "I'm still figuring all that out."

Recalling his conversation with Skywalker, Rex shook his head. "If it's any consolation, I don't think you're the only one."

At this, she cast him a curious look; after a beat he elaborated. "He admitted as much to me about two months ago. We were right about Senator Amidala, after all."

"Padmé?" Ahsoka frowned, then gave a deep exhale. "I wonder if that's why he's been so...distracted lately?"

"I don't know," Rex replied. "But it's...unsettling, sometimes. Did you hear about Ojom?" She shook her head and he related the battle to her; when he mentioned how Skywalker had tossed the Spaarti clones aside as well as the droids, Ahsoka's face darkened.

Once he'd finished, she shook her head again, out of disbelief. "I'll talk to him," she said at once. "I know it won't bring those men back, Rex, but I have to say something."

Rex nodded and sipped his caf. The conversation had been something of a diversion, but Brenna's absence gnawed at him constantly, and he wished again that they were together. However, it was also nice – in a different way, of course – to sit here with Ahsoka and speak so frankly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then he sighed and scowled down at his mug. Ahsoka gave him a look. "What is it, Rexter?"

"We're a fine pair."

She grinned, then lifted her mug to him; Rex raised his cup of caf and they clicked them together. "To love," Ahsoka said right before she took a sip. "Hopefully it won't always suck so badly."

Again, he had to laugh at her words and her jovial tone. "Hear, hear."

Two weeks prior to Order 66...

Rex: Thank your friend for me, but I don't know how much good even a Jedi can do right now; still no new news on my application, and when I comm'd the placement office yesterday I was told that the Supreme Chancellor has put a freeze on all new GAR personnel assignments "until further notice." However, since I'm technically a re-hire and not a brand-new hire, I was told that there is still some hope for my placement.

Of course, they said that it will take time.

Anyway, Iri and I are doing well. We're supposed to visit my mother tomorrow and I'm a bit nervous; I haven't been home since I left over seven years ago, and we only recently started talking again.

I miss you, Rex. I think about you constantly, and I hope that this blasted war will end soon; if it does, maybe we can figure something out. Alderaan's lovely...I think you'd like it, here.

Stay safe. I love you.

The house where Brenna and Caith had grown up rested in the shadow of Zephyr Mountain, a place well-suited to its name. The moment that she stepped out of the speeder she'd borrowed from her brother and sister-in-law, Brenna was assaulted by a series of gusts that threatened to rip her hair from its holder and toss it above her head. Luckily, it was a brief burst of wind and it quieted as she unbuckled Iri from the speeder-seat.

"Mama?" The question in her daughter's voice made Brenna turn; Iri's chubby finger was outstretched and pointing towards a series of low barns to the left. Beyond the barn, there was a grassy pasture where she could make out the quagga as they grazed. Iri cast her a curious look. "Mama...see pony?"

"Quagga," she replied, hefting Iri on her hip as she began to walk towards her mother's front door. "They're like ponies, but they're not as nice," she added with a grimace, thinking of the copious kicks and bites she'd received as she'd grown up around the equines.

"Cwag...cwag-gah," Iri said, frowning over the word as she turned her head to watch the creatures; a moment later she sighed. "Pretty."

"They are very pretty," Brenna agreed with a smile. "As long as you look and don't touch, like we talked about. Remember?"

She felt her daughter nod, but missed the soft reply. The gravel that led to her mother's house was loud under her shoes, and again Brenna debated turning around and leaving, because this was really the last place in the galaxy she wanted to be right now. But, she reasoned with herself, it was necessary to come here, to make peace with her mother and to let Iri meet her grandmother. Family was important.

Situated at the top of a gently sloping hill, her mother's house was of an older make, wooden but very solid, and had withstood the test of about seventy years' worth of winter winds and summer heat; although it wasn't as large as some of the other ranch homes in this area, Brenna had always felt that this place would be around forever, even after the mountain crumbled to dust and the persistent winds finally died down.

As she climbed the steps, Brenna glanced around. Nothing had changed: there was the rickety old swing that she'd broken a number of times during her youth – not by being careless, certainly, because it really was old and rickety; there was that hole that Caith had made one summer when he'd been searching for his pet field-fox who'd run away and hidden beneath the porch; there was the faded "welcome" plaque at her mother's door, the one that Brenna had always hated because the "c" was crooked and the lettering as a whole was ugly and hardly legible. Apparently her mother still refused to get a new one.

She stood before the door, hand unmoving even as it was poised to knock.

"Mama...see ponies? Please?" In her arms, Iri cast her another curious look that was also filled with hope; coupled with chubby cheeks and wide, honey-brown eyes, the expression was almost too adorable to resist, and had they been anywhere but her mother's house, Brenna probably have complied.

"Soon, sweetheart," she replied as she rapped three times against the door. Maybe Mom got the days confused and she'd not in...

No such luck. The door opened immediately, revealing the form of Jensine Damaris. Shorter than Bren by several handspans, the blonde woman had the look of someone who could go from cooking a dinner for thirty to skinning a nerf without batting an eyelash; she was petite but there was a solid look to her, like she could slam her fist into a durasteel wall and the wall would be the thing that yelped in pain. "Hello, Brenna."

"Hi, Mom."

Jensine's eyes, a surprisingly mild blue, fixed onto Iri, who'd twisted around to observe her grandmother. When she spoke, there was a softer tone to her voice than Brenna had heard in a long time. "Hello, Irini. Do you know who I am?"

Iri was quiet for a moment, her fingers tightening on Brenna's shirt as she nodded but didn't speak. Jensine shot Brenna an unreadable look, then placed a tan, weathered hand on her own chest. "I'm your grandmother, Jensine. I'm your mother's mother."

"We talked about Nana, remember?" Brenna added, glancing down at her daughter, who met her gaze with uncertainty.

As Brenna was about to apologize, Iri looked at Jensine and gave a hopeful smile. "Nana...see ponies?"

Those damn quagga, Brenna thought with a sigh. She'll never be satisfied until we visit them. "She means the quagga, Mom. She's been dying to see them."

Jensine straightened, clearly pleased. "Well, then we'll have to accommodate her in a little while, won't we?" She stepped aside, allowing Brenna entry, and the younger woman was struck at once by how everything was the same.

Just like the outside, the interior of the house refused to succumb to the passage of time; save for a few new prize ribbons lined up along the mantle of the massive, brick fireplace, everything was as it had been the last time Brenna had been inside her mother's home.

It was cluttered without seeming to be, as much of the clutter was the useful sort that could be found on a ranch like this: bits of tack – saddles, bridles, the odd stirrup strap or two – were scattered about the space, filling the living room with the scent of leather and soap; pics – stills and holos – clung to every available surface, walls and end-tables, and Brenna could see her own face at various ages looking back at her as she and Iri stepped into the living room, as if she was staring into the past.

Of course, Iri was instantly fascinated by everything, and began squirming in Brenna's arms, anxious to touch all of the newness. But all Brenna could see were heavy things that could fall and delicate things that could break, and since she had no desire to chase after the toddler, she held her with an iron grip.

Iri was not pleased. "Mama! Down?"

"No, Iri..."

"Mama, please?"

Jensine watched the struggle for a moment, then cleared her throat. "There's almost nothing here that she can harm, Brenna. Just let her take a look around."

"Yes!" Iri added in agreement, adding another hopeful look and a very deliberate, "Please, Mama?"

"Mom...she's two," Brenna replied with a shake of her head, struggling to contain her daughter's flailing limbs. "I know she's little, but she can be very destructive..."

At this, Jensine snorted and crossed her arms. "I remember what two-year olds are like, Brenna. You weren't exactly serene yourself."

"Mama! Down!"

Experience had taught that it was useless to argue with Jensine Damaris for any length of time. Suppressing a frown, Brenna bent and set Iri on the slat-wood floor and gave her daughter a meaningful look. "I want your word that you'll be very careful, Iri," she said in a stern voice, trying to inflect some of Rex's more commanding tones that always got results – with his men, anyway.

She wondered how he'd fare against a toddler. "Say 'I promise I'll be careful Mama.'"

The little girl's face was solemn as she nodded. "Care-ful, Mama. Pro-mise."

With a sigh, Brenna stood up; for several moments, she and Jensine watched the toddler make her way around the room, inspecting everything at her eye-level, above and below. As she was crouching on her hands and knees, peering beneath the sofa, Jensine shot Brenna an amused glance. "You've done a good job with her."

Brenna thought of all the time she'd spent away from Iri's side. "It doesn't feel that way, sometimes."

"You were a regular terror at her age," Jensine replied with a shake of her head. "A new tantrum practically every hour. She's quite well-behaved...I imagine she gets it from-"

Abruptly, Jensine's mouth snapped shut, and she knelt down and called softly to the toddler, who approached her after a moment. As she watched her mother and her daughter, Brenna pushed away the flare of indignation she'd felt from the words in lieu of speculation.

How much of Tucker was in Iri? How many of the "altered genetics" had made their way into her daughter? She was a handful, as most young children were, but she did listen rather well, considering the horror stories that Brenna had heard from other parents through time. There were no children of clones elsewhere – that she knew of, anyway – so Brenna had no way of knowing if Iri's behavior was a result of Kaminoan meddling, or if she was just...

"No, Irini!" Jensine's voice rose above a shattering sound; looking up, Brenna bit back a chuckle as Iri stood amidst the glittering remains of a crystal thranta statue, one of the only decorative pieces that had been in the room. Immediately, Brenna's mother swept the little girl in her arms and frowned at Brenna, who gave her an innocent smile.

"Perhaps we should visit the quagga, now," Jensine said with a sigh.

Iri brightened. Brenna's smile widened as she looked from her daughter to her mother. "Want me to clean that up, Mom?"

"No, thank you," Jensine replied, setting Iri back on the ground well-away from the broken crystal. "I'll get one of the kids to do it, later."

Before the little girl could protest at being taken away, Brenna took her hand and mentioned the quagga to her; as she'd hoped, Iri's attention shifted from the shiny, pretty new things in the living room to the "ponies," and she eagerly nodded. As they slipped out the front door and began to walk around the house, towards the stables, Brenna cast her mother a look. "The kids? Do you mean the station-hands?"

Iri tugged at her hand as if to draw them closer to the quagga, but the adults kept their pace steady. Jensine shook her head. Once they'd left the house, she'd placed a wide-brimmed hat over her head to shield her face from the sun, which was burning in the clear sky. "No station-hands this season," she said with a shrug. "I've been paying the neighbors' kids to stop by and take care of some of the chores."

The gravel driveway that led to the main stable yard took them down a sloping hill; on either side was thick, pale grass that swayed beneath the ubiquitous wind. The clips that had held Iri's fair hair in place had mysteriously vanished, and the toddler's baby-curls were being tossed by the breeze as she tugged her mother's hand again as they approached the stables.

Brenna surveyed the area: two low buildings outfitted for forty quagga each, twenty stalls on either side of an open walkway, with rooms for tack and other equipment, as well as rooms upstairs for any hired hands. Additionally, there was a storage barn for the hay, feed and other items, kept safe from rodents and pests by a humming energy shield at its base.

"The neighbors have their own stock to worry about," Brenna replied after a moment, after urging Iri to slow down. "They can't possibly be that much of a help. Why don't you just hire-"

"I don't need any more help," her mother interrupted with a scowl. "I can manage just fine on my own. I've kept this place running smoothly ever since your father died, and I'll continue to do so."

Brenna took a deep breath. "Mom, you're one person. You can't run a business and take care of all the stock on your own...it's just too much."

"Times are...different," Jensine replied, lifting her hand as if to wave Brenna's words away. "Those blasted Wars make everyone skittish as foals; if they're not running off to join one side or another, they're too scared that the fighting will find its way here to do much else but stick their heads in the ground. Good help is hard to come by. If you'd stuck around, you would remember that."

There was bitterness in her voice, old and stale, but it stung nonetheless. "I didn't leave to spite you, Mom. I left because I didn't want to live here for the rest of my life. I wanted to do...more."

Jensine narrowed her eyes in the manner of someone fighting back her words; indeed, she didn't say anything for a few minutes as they approached the main pasture. A swift count revealed that there were at least two dozen quagga grazing on the thick grass, with a handful of knobby-legged foals cavorting between the more stately adults.

Iri nearly lunged out of Brenna's grasp in an effort to be closer to the animals, all while calling, "Pretty! Pretty! See, Mama?"

"I see them, Iri."

The glossy, russet coats of the equines stood out among the grass; their manes were short, bristling up along curving necks to end in a tuft between the quaggas' large ears. Slender tails with swatches of white and black hair that peppered the ends flicked across flanks and fetlocks, chasing away any insects who approached. Brenna's favorite part of the quagga, however, were the rows of wavy stripes that started at their noses and moved down through their shoulders, fading once they reached about mid-torso.

In her opinion, they weren't the friendliest creatures, but they were pretty. At the humans' approach, several of the closest quagga lifted their heads and cast inquiring looks towards the two-legged interlopers; moments later, when Jensine led her daughter and granddaughter towards the fence, they began to walk over, ears tilted forward and nostrils flaring.

Jensine pulled out a handful of small carrots from her pocket and glanced at Brenna, who shook her head. "They're perfectly gentle, Brenna," Jensine said with a roll of her eyes. "You just don't like them, and they pick up on your feelings."

"It's hard to like something that's given you as many bruises as they have," Brenna replied. Before her, Iri was staring open-mouthed at the nearest quagga, a juvenile with a particularly vibrant array of stripes.

"Pretty..." the toddler whispered, reaching her hand out. As Brenna bent to pull her daughter back, the juvenile quagga stuck its head through the slats of the fence – which wasn't, Brenna noted with annoyance, supplemented with energy shields like it should have been – and lipped at Iri's hair. In response, Iri let out a shriek of joy that sent some of the quagga back a few steps; the juvenile, however, didn't seem fazed, instead whickering softly and moving its nostrils down to nose the small Human.

Brenna swallowed, then looked at her mother, who wore a rather pleased expression. "Here," the older woman said, handing Brenna a carrot. "Let Iri feed her this. Nova's fine, Brenna," she added with another eye-roll as Brenna frowned. "One of the most gentle quagga I've ever seen. She'll make a fine mount, one day."

The quagga's ears were flexed forward as she tracked the carrot's movements with great interest; with a sigh, Brenna knelt beside Iri and held up the carrot. "Do you want to feed her, Iri?"

At the little girl's nod, Brenna took another breath. "Hold out your palm flat," she said, demonstrating with her free hand. "Keep very still and don't shout at her, okay?"

Iri did so; her tiny hand was about as still as it could be, the palm facing skyward. Brenna placed the carrot on Iri's palm, and the quagga called Nova shifted her head forward through the fence slats again to reach the treat. As Brenna watched with trepidation, the creature used her mouth – not her teeth – to gently lip up the carrot; sounds of satisfied crunching were evident a moment later. Around her, the others had returned, eager for a handout.

For one moment, Iri was frozen, her eyes fixed on the quagga with wonder, then she turned to Brenna, beaming. "Mama! Nice pony!"

"She is, Iri," Jensine replied with a chuckle. "Want to feed her again?" Nodding, Iri held out her hand; as they watched her feed the quagga, Jensine shot Brenna a glance. "See? Nothing to worry about."

Brenna made noncommittal noise and kept her eyes on her daughter, while also keeping tabs on the creatures themselves. After a moment, she looked back at her mother, briefly. "She's really having fun. Thanks, Mom."

"Of course she is," Jensine replied with a nod. She paused, ran her hand along the edge of her hat, then looked at the horizon. "Thank you for bringing her here. I was worried..."

"Mom..."

Jensine sighed and looked back at her. "I meant what I said before; I want things to be different. I want to know my granddaughter and...my daughter. I know that there's...a lot between us, but I want to move past it."

The wind lifted Brenna's hair, finally dragging it free of the elastic that had been holding it in place. "Me too."

Nodding, Jensine glanced at Iri, who was tentatively stroking the velvety nose of the juvenile quagga, whose eyes were half-closed as if in pleasure. "Family is important," she said in a quiet voice as Brenna worked to gather her hair up. "The most important thing, I think. And even when you go back to the GAR, I want you to know that you have a place here, Brenna. Always."

No immediate response came to her at this, so Brenna only nodded.

Quagga are actually "real" animals; well, they were real, though they are extinct, now. I needed an equine-like creature and didn't care for the ones on Wookieepedia, so I took a bit of creative liberty. ;)

Endless thanks to SerendipityAEY for her "toddler" feedback for this chapter!

Thank you all for reading!

Next time: Countdown's over.