Lyrics: "Hello," by Tristan Prettyman, from Hello...X.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Hello.

My god, you're beautiful,

It's true.

Every day I stumble,

Gettin' caught up on you.

The next morning...

Weave stood within arm's reach of Milo and held up his fist. "Alright, vod. Try to grab this."

Milo's face was a study in concentration as he lifted his left hand – slowly – and reached for Weave's. Mi's fingers closed about Weave's knuckles, but his grip was too loose and he grimaced as if he were in pain.

At last Milo dropped his arm and sighed, flexing his hand as he poked at his palm with the fingers of his right hand. "That's a negative."

Bacta and the Force had healed the worst of the wound, but the nerve damage would take some time to correct. Weave made a notation on Mi's chart about the failed attempt but kept his voice warm and encouraging. "How bad does it hurt?"

"Not too much." Milo shifted his shoulder. "The tingly feeling is pretty strange, but the numbness is the weirdest part."

Weave nodded and entered that data as well. They were in the makeshift medbay, where Weave had spent most of his time on this world – actually, Milo had, too – and it was just after breakfast. Well; for Weave and Milo, anyway. Trax and Crest had taken most of The Dregs clones out for more exercises, with promises of food once they returned. Levy was with them, and the Jedi were meditating in their quarters. With Mi out of bacta and the guys from The Dregs in relatively decent shape, most of Upala's staff had left by now; only Tejaal, one of the Arunai doctors, remained, seated in one corner of the medbay as she worked on a datapad.

"My legs are fine, though," Milo added hopefully, swinging them over the edge of the exam table on which he was seated.

Weave met his brother's eyes. "You just got out of bacta yesterday. You need to wait another couple of days before you jump back into training."

"But it's just so boring, sitting around! That was all we did at The Dregs; I know I can't really spar with a bum arm, but maybe I can jog or something?"

Due to their rapid-aging and intense, physical conditioning, most clones had an abundance of energy and so desired a great deal of exercise, as much to keep their bodies in working order as to give all that energy somewhere to go. In Weave's experience, this had always manifested itself particularly strong in Milo. After what Mi had been through on Kamino, Weave didn't blame his brother for wanting to go back to "normal."

But his first duty was to Mi's physical health. Weave steeled himself so that even his brother's pleading gaze would not sway his decision. "Let's give it two more days, alright? In the meantime, you can work on PT here."

Milo heaved a sigh, but nodded. "You're the medic."

"And don't you forget it," Weave said, lightly cuffing his brother's good shoulder in hopes of making Mi smile. Emotional health was important too.

Happily, his attempt worked. Beaming, Milo straightened and balled his right hand into a fist, which he waved in Weave's direction. "Try me! I can spar one-handed any day."

Weave smiled. This was the Milo he'd missed. "That you can. You certainly left Commander Fox with quite a memorable bruise."

Milo's eyes widened and he lowered his fist. "Commander Fox? Really? That's the guy I punched?"

Nodding, Weave couldn't help but chuckle. "You don't do anything halfway, do you vod?"

"I guess not. Wow." Milo went quiet as Weave entered some more information on his 'pad. He didn't think much of it until he glanced up again. Milo's gaze was fixed on the medbay's doorway, where the three Jedi entering the area, speaking among themselves. Milo's eyes trailed after Tallis, who walked beside Kali.

Weave looked back down at his datapad but didn't do more than idly scroll through his notes. He was not certain what to make of the annoyance trickling through him at the sight of Milo watching Honi – General Tallis – so intently, any more than he knew what to do about the flush of embarrassment when he recalled his sharp words to the copper-haired Jedi yesterday.

No, he realized as the Force-users approached. Not annoyance. Jealousy. But why would he feel jealousy if Milo showed an interest in...

Kriff.

There was nothing unusual in being attracted to a woman, of course, and in the past, Weave found himself oddly drawn to Force-users, though he'd never quite been able to figure out why. He shot another glance between Tallis and Milo. Jealousy. It was a useless emotion, wasn't it? And Milo had barely talked to Honi – Tallis – and she to him. There was no logical reason to feel jealous. Besides, Weave had watched enough holovids to recognize how jealousy could drive a wedge between people. He didn't care for that outcome. But there was no denying the feeling that had taken root within his heart.

He'd never had to compete with any of his brothers for female attention. Naturally, his and Trax's tastes veered wildly away from each other, as did his and Crest's, albeit to a lesser extent. He'd long since stopped thinking of Kali as anything other than a sister-type figure in his life; even in Shadow Squad's early days, he'd recognized Stonewall's attraction to the dark-haired Jedi, and had turned his attention elsewhere.

Milo's preferences had always been a little more difficult to suss out, not because the other man didn't have them, but because Weave always thought of him as so much younger, a kid in a lot of ways, barely playing at flirtation and women. But, as he surreptitiously observed Mi's mannerisms, Weave realized the flaw in his own perspective. Mi wasn't really that much younger than any of Shadow Squad. Weave's perception of him as being so was a fallacy.

"Morning, guys," Kali said as the Jedi approached both men. "Mi, how's the arm?"

"I can almost make a fist," Milo replied, demonstrating. "It hurts a little, but it's not bad."

Kalinda patted his good shoulder. "Glad to hear it. I want you to let someone know if it does hurt too much, alright? There's no point in playing stoic hero, not with Jedi around, at any rate."

"Will do," Milo said with a nod. "Weave says I need to stick around here a few more days before I can train with the others, though."

"A few days, at the very least," Tallis broke in. "Must I keep reminding everyone that you have only recently come out of bacta?"

As she spoke, she placed her hands over the site of Mi's wound – without asking – and closed her eyes as was her custom when using the Force. At first, Milo froze, hardly even seeming to breathe, though after a few moments he visibly relaxed and sat up, studying the Jedi. The "shiny" that Weave remembered used to flush and stammer in the presence of a pretty fem, but the man who sat before him regarded Tallis with calm interest.

Everything Milo had been through on Kamino had matured him in more ways than one.

When Tallis' eyes opened again, she seemed a little startled upon realizing she had an audience, but Milo only gave her a curious look. "Is everything okay? With the injury, I mean."

"You're healing very well," she replied, dropping her hands. "Weave mentioned that your bodies are designed to heal at a rapid rate."

Milo smiled at her. "I've always liked that part about being a clone."

"I imagine it has been rather convenient at times," Tallis said, all business as she glanced at Weave. "You have his chart?"

Weave handed it over without a word. At the Jedi's entrance, Tejaal had risen and moved to approach them; she stood with Kalinda and the two began to speak quietly. Zara stood nearby, watching her Master at work as she toyed with the hem of her beige tunic.

Before he could say anything, however, Tallis glanced at him, and he was startled to see agitation on her face. "May I have a private word?"

"Of course." They stepped away from the others and he tried not to notice that his heart rate had picked up speed, or how the morning light filtering in through the windows illuminated her freckles and cast her hair in a fiery glow.

She didn't speak at first, instead examining the datapad with what he recognized as an effort to buy some time. It was apparent, because her eyes weren't moving as if she was reading. Was she nervous, too? Strangely enough, the idea set him a bit more at ease.

"Is everything alright with Milo's chart?" he asked, hoping to urge her to speak. "I've only just started his therapy today, mostly to get a sense of how much he'll need before–"

"I never meant to imply that the work you do isn't valuable," she broke in, meeting his eyes at last. "My intent was to," she flushed, "compliment your abilities and indicate my gratitude for your presence on this mission. But I bungled it, and I'm sorry."

His own face was pretty kriffing warm, too, but he tried not to let it affect his judgment. "You didn't bungle anything. I was tired and stressed, and I jumped down your throat for no reason."

"You had every right to defend yourself. I should have been able to better relate to your perspective, but I was..." She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Overwhelmed. You have affected me in ways I was unprepared for."

Later, Weave would examine the moment over and over in his memory, searching for some clue as to why he reached for her chin and brushed his fingertips against her smooth skin to draw her gaze back up to his. No amount of analysis would ever reveal an answer.

In that moment her breath caught but she did not resist his touch. Weave did not let his hand linger, but dropped it to his side immediately, and savored the way her pupils dilated when she regarded him with those blue eyes of hers.

"I know the feeling." He risked a small, careful smile.

She searched his gaze. Perhaps she was also testing him with the Force. Well, he had nothing to hide from her or anyone. "You do," she murmured after a moment, looking at him in bewilderment. "Don't you?"

His shabla face heated further, but he kept his eyes on hers and nodded once. "Yes, Honi."

To his delight, she flushed again and ducked her head, but he caught the trace of a smile, which both pleased and startled him, and pushed any feelings of jealously firmly out of his mind. He did manage to glance at Milo, and was relieved to see his brother was engrossed in conversation with Tejaal.

"Master Tallis?"

Weave glanced at the little Padawan, who now stood a few arm's lengths away, watching her Master with uncertainty. "Sorry to interrupt," Zara went on as Honi faced her. "Did you need me for anything? I wanted to work on the nanogene droids a bit more, before Levy gets back from training."

Honi shook her head. "Thank you, Zara, but I don't require your assistance."

Nodding, Zara slipped off, and Honi looked back at Weave, but he still watched the Padawan. "She's a good kid," he said to Honi once Zara was out of earshot. "And I know you weren't pleased she came along, but I think it's beneficial for Levy to have someone more or less his own age around. She's good with him."

"So I have seen."

Her tone was cool again, but Weave was inured at this point. Still, though, he tried to keep his voice steady and free of reprimand or judgment, because this really wasn't his place, for all that he couldn't help taking an interest. "From what I can tell she likes Levy a lot, but I think she would rather spend time with her Master."

Honi exhaled and crossed her arms before her, tucking the datapad under her shoulder. "Kalinda has said much the same thing."

"She would know better than me," Weave replied. "I've never had a Padawan."

He hadn't meant it as a joke, but she smiled anyway. It wasn't a broad smile, but it changed the shape of her face and made his heart pick up tempo again, more so when she directed it his way. It was an expression he thought he would like to see again.

A few minutes earlier...

Milo didn't understand what he was looking at until Weave touched her chin. That was when he marked the look in his brother's eyes and understood what was passing – or going to pass – between his vod and Honi Tallis. Weave wore an expression that Milo recognized; he'd seen it on Stonewall's face often enough. Honi had the look of a woman who wanted a man. This, too, was something Milo was familiar with, albeit indirectly.

One of the many side-effects of sharing another man's memories.

Maybe a different sort of man would have been annoyed with Weave, but Milo knew his brother too well. Weave was not one to take a step without first testing the stability of the ground beneath his boots. No doubt Weave's attraction to the Jedi was something that had formed while Milo had been absent.

So he released any lingering hope he might have had for the copper-haired Jedi. Yeah, she was pretty, but his vod deserved every bit of happiness.

Still, he thought with a sigh. I wouldn't mind some happiness, too.

The understanding of what love felt like was another, unanticipated side-effect of carrying Stonewall's memories. It was very strange to have felt romantic love without actually having experienced it for himself; sort of like being able to sing along with a song without knowing the words.

He flexed his left hand again and tried to ignore the prickling pain. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought it got a little easier to move his fingers with each attempt, which was heartening.

"You're sure it's not too bad?"

Kali's voice made him look up, and he watched her watching his hand. This, too, was strange; to carry a feeling for someone else that you had not formed yourself. "It's not great," he admitted, because she would not relent until he did. "But it really isn't terrible. Not like your knee."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and her eyes widened. "What...?"

Milo sighed again and looked back at his hand. "There's not one big memory," he said quietly, opening and closing his fingers. "Just a lot of smaller ones."

She placed her hand over his. "Are they..." She frowned. "Too much? Too disorientating? I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you must feel."

"It's weird," he admitted. "And yeah, sometimes it's kind of overwhelming. Sometimes I have to make sure it's really me feeling a feeling, and not one of his memories popping up."

"Do you think you could...transfer them to me?" she asked slowly. "Would that help?"

"I don't know how," he said, shaking his head. "And even if I did..." He paused, considering how to say what he wanted without offending her. "I'm afraid to lose them, and then, when we find him, he'd have to start almost from scratch. Kali, he gave these memories to me for safekeeping. I have no idea what would happen if I tried to...I dunno...give them to you, or someone else. All I know is I made a promise."

She squeezed his hand; he didn't feel it, but saw how her fingers moved. "It's alright, Mi. I understand. I'm not sure I could ever thank you enough for trying to help him like this."

Looking at her, Milo was reminded of all of Stonewall's fears for her and their child, but again...he didn't know what was okay to mention. "A lot of his memories were about him worrying that your knee hurt too much."

"He did that a lot." The warmth in her voice made him look up in surprise. It was a small smile that met him, but it still counted. "But it won't trouble me much longer," she went on, nodding to her knee. "I'm going to have it replaced, like I should have done years ago."

But she hadn't, because it was the only thing she had of...

Shab. Her dad was her Master. He hadn't known before, nor put the pieces together until now. There was so much he hadn't known; it felt a bit like he was cheating, now. Rather than reveal any of this knowledge, he nodded once. "I think that's a good plan. I think Stonewall will be glad when he learns of it."

He spoke in the present tense deliberately, and she seemed to approve, as evidenced by the way her eyes crinkled even though her mouth was quiet. "I'll be off my feet for a while," she went on, leaning beside him on the exam table, "and have a month or so of physical therapy, but I think it'll be worth it. It's best to get it over with soon, before the baby gets much farther along."

"We can do PT together. Well," he amended, "maybe not. You'll only have one good leg and I'll only have one good arm."

"Just for a little while."

That was true. He smiled. "Yeah. Soon we'll both be good as new."

"Better, in your case, Master Jedi," a new voice said. A young Arunai woman had approached, datapad in hand, pale blue eyes resting upon the Jedi. Like the other medical staff, she wore an emerald green lab coat. White hair, woven into dozens of slender braids, was coiled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and her skin was the rich color of cinnamon.

It took Milo a moment to recall her name: Tejaal. She was the lead physician when Upala wasn't around. When she smiled, her cheeks bunched up, making her face seem round and soft, a trend that was continued along the rest of her form.

"Everything has been arranged," Tejaal went on, still addressing Kali. "Your surgery is scheduled for three days from now. Do you have any questions?"

"Not at the moment." Kali's lips quirked. "Honi's done a thorough job of informing me of what to expect."

Tejaal's eyes closed briefly, but her tone was polite. "Knight Tallis has been rather...involved in the planning process. Though, I must admit, I am curious to see exactly how her Force-abilities will come into play. It's difficult for me to imagine such a thing."

"What do you mean?" Milo heard himself ask.

Both women turned to him, but Tejaal answered. "To mitigate any danger from the anesthesia, Knight Tallis is planning on using morichro to keep Kalinda unconscious during the procedure."

"It's what she did to keep you stable on the way here from Kamino," Kali added.

At this, Tejaal regarded Milo with furrowed, pale brows. "I didn't realize that. So it does work."

Milo chuckled. "You can say that again. I have no memory of that journey, or pretty much anything until I woke up here."

She pursed her lips as if in consideration, and he couldn't help but notice that they, too, looked full and soft, especially covered in something pink and shiny. "Do you remember getting injured?"

He glanced down at his almost useless left hand and rubbed at the base of his fingers. "I wish I didn't."

In so many more ways than one. Suddenly the room held no warmth; even the intriguing color of Tejaal's mouth wasn't enough to keep his attention. Stonewall was out there, somewhere. Was he angry? Scared? Was he alone? Did he know how much he was missed?

He was shaken out of these thoughts when Tejaal placed a cinnamon-colored hand on his upper-arm. "You'll be good as new soon," she said, offering him a smile. "And all of this will just be another unpleasant memory."

Her hand was warm and soft, but so small compared to his. What would it be like to cup it between his palms? He met her eyes and found he was able to return the smile. "I'll have some nice memories, too."

The faint, dark flush that appeared on her cheeks startled him at first, but it was a fleeting feeling when he noticed how her hand did not lift from his arm until after a few seconds too long.

One of Stonewall's memories bubbled to the surface of his mind. He was seated with Kali beside a campfire, somewhere. She'd taken Stonewall's hand, and although the touch itself had not been familiar, Stonewall had recognized the intent behind it, startling him. He'd wanted to touch her, too, but had not been sure of her reaction. Being close to a woman had still been strange in many ways.

But no longer.

Milo thought back to Coraux and his own memories of Beryl, the girl he'd danced with. His vode had said liked him. Did Tejaal like him too?

To test his theory, he decided to take a chance. "What is that on your lips? It's a neat color."

"Oh." She flushed again, but she also smiled. "It's just some gloss I picked up. I'm not sure if it works with my skin tone."

"It does. At least, I like it on you. I doubt it'd look as pretty on me."

He had no fardling clue what "gloss" was, other than some kind of cosmetic, but he didn't much care, because her resulting laugh told him he'd said exactly the right thing. An odd mixture of satisfaction, amusement, and anticipation coiled within him, and he grinned.

Something chirruped. Milo had been so focused on Tejaal, he'd nearly forgotten Kali was there, too. She withdrew her comlink, glanced at it, then met Milo's eyes. "Sita has a free moment, and there are a couple things I'd like to speak to her about. Will you be okay here?"

There was concern in her voice, but there was also a trace of teasing, though he could not fathom why. He was fine. More or less.

He kept his reply equally light. "I'm good, Kali. Thanks."

Before she rushed off, she placed a swift kiss against his cheek. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything."

Milo didn't need to ask what she meant. She moved toward Weave and Honi, who were still speaking a few paces away, then hurried from the room. When Milo glanced back at Tejaal, she gave him another, thoughtful look, though her next words were neutral.

"I should get back to work. Please let me know if you need anything else."

Nodding, he held up his left hand. "Will do. Maybe we can have a bout of arm wrestling later, after some one-handed pushups?"

"Now, that I'd like to see." She lifted a pale brow. "Once you're all healed, of course."

He couldn't help but grin again. "Of course."

Although Tejaal gave him a chiding look, her laughter rang out brightly around him. It was answer, enough.

Later...

That evening, Crest found himself in Sita's garden. He hadn't intended on heading here; he'd been hoping to find Kali and speak to her about The Dregs clones, but she'd not been in the makeshift medbay like he'd anticipated. According to Weave and Tallis, she'd gone to meet with Sita, and according to the stoic guard captain, Her Majesty was in her private garden. This was emphasized by a severe, narrow-eyed look from beneath the captain's helmet, though he did not stop Crest from entering said garden through a wrought-duranium gate.

True dark had not yet fallen. Twilight hung over the rhododendrons and climbing jasmine, bathing every tree, flower and shrub in soft blue light, though the air was still thick from the heat of the day. The buzzing song of aphrens overrode the infrequent chirrup of birds, and something citrusy and sweet bloomed nearby.

It would be easy to get lost in the winding pathways between trees and bushes, so Crest stood at the garden's entrance and peered through the myriad plants, hoping to spot Kali or Sita right away. He couldn't see either, so took a few steps further into the garden until he was surrounded by green, growing things.

"Who's there?"

It was not his Jedi's voice, and Crest's stomach did the uncomfortable, flipping dance it did when he was in Sita's presence. It had nothing to do with her being royalty. "It's Crest," he called, turning toward the sound of the voice. "I'm looking for Kali."

"She just left." Sita's reply was immediate, but there was an unusual tremble to her lilting words. He took another step and peered through a trio of shadderjee trees, and saw the queen of Aruna seated upon a stone bench, toying with the hem of her blue and lavender shimmersilk dress. She was still, and seemed to blend in with the twilight falling swiftly around them. Her hair, though, glowed like moonstone; a beacon in the darkness.

Snap out of it, di'kut, Crest scolded himself as he approached her. "Do you know where she went? I feel like I've been chasing her through the whole palace."

"I believe she was returning to the," Sita's brow creased, "makeshift medbay? Is that what you have named it?"

Crest chuckled. "Yeah." His stupid, shabla heart leaped when she smiled at him, but it was a fleeting expression, and she looked back at her dress.

He didn't have to be a Jedi to know something was wrong, but he should leave it be. She wasn't for him. She had never been, and pretending otherwise would only bring trouble for the both of them. Yes, both. He'd seen how she looked at him yesterday at the training-ground. He didn't know much, but he'd made a point to recognize the admiring gaze of a fem when it was directed his way.

But that didn't matter. Couldn't. He needed to leave. He should bid her goodnight, turn, and put more distance between them. There was already an entire galaxy's worth, all things considered. A few more steps would hardly make a difference.

Instead he asked, "Are you alright?"

Perhaps she'd not been aware of how stricken she looked, for she straightened and was suddenly Queen Hari again. "I am well, thank you."

Crest took another step forward, studying her. There; the way her breath caught, the way her pulse quickened. Something wasn't right. "Don't take this the wrong way, Sita, but you're full of bantha shit."

Immediately upon the words leaving his mouth, he wanted to disappear into the growing shadows. Fek, had he really just said that to the kriffing queen of this planet? Fekking hell, he was an effing di'kut. A huge one. Heat washed through his whole body and he tensed, half-expecting Captain Overprotective to pop out of the shrubbery and throw him in cuffs.

But she only looked at him again, then, to his astonishment – and relief – she chuckled. "I suppose I am." She scooted over on the bench and patted the empty space. "Will you sit with me a moment?"

Leave now, his better sense urged. Turn and walk the kriff away. If you stay, it will only end badly.

He sat. Neither spoke at first as they listened to the coming night noises that filtered through the surrounding trees. The wind teased his scalp and the fluttering edges of her dress, and the air was redolent with jasmine.

Finally she exhaled. "Kali told me of her plans for knee-replacement surgery."

"Yeah, she's weirdly excited about it," Crest replied, shaking his head. "I guess I can understand she's pleased about how it'll be after, but all I can think about is going under the knife." He shuddered.

"It sounds as if she's taken every precaution. Upala has recommended an excellent surgeon, and I have been assured that Knight Tallis is capable of keeping any pain at a minimum while the operation takes place. Kalinda said she wanted to avoid anesthesia if at all possible." Sita was silent a moment, then glanced down at her hands. "I hadn't known she was pregnant."

Oh. Oh, shab. The idea had not occurred to him to mention it, or, fek, even think of it. Crest suffered a small bout of internal debate before sighing and leaning forward, bracing his hands at his sides while he dug the toe of his left boot into the grass.

"I'm sorry." Hopefully that was the right thing to say.

Sita toyed with the thin, gold bracelets at her wrists and did not look his way. "I am glad for her, truly, but at the same time I am reminded of my own shortcomings."

"You're not–"

But she halted his words with a hand on his knee, effectively shutting off all logical train of thought as well. "I know what you would say, and you are kind to say it, but the reality is I am not enough; to rule, or to live this life that I chose. I should be grateful the gods have presented me with a solution, but..."

She squeezed her hands into fists, tucked them into her lap, and looked away from him. Crest tried, fek, he tried to steel himself against the quiet sniffing sounds, but he was a weak and foolish man – especially in her presence.

It was so easy to wrap his arm around her slender shoulders and hug her to his side. So easy to lean his head against hers – ignoring the press of her golden headdress – and kiss her temple. Kriff, she was warm and soft in all the right places, and his stupid, shabla heart ached when she leaned into him. "It's okay," he murmured into her moonstone-colored hair. "Or at least it will be."

She tilted her head and inhaled; he savored the rise and fall of her body. When she looked up, she was close enough for him to feel the breath from her lips as she spoke. "I've missed you."

"Kriff, Sita, you have no idea."

The urge to kiss her was unrelenting. This time he surrendered.

Almost a year had passed since they'd shared a few kisses in this garden. It was a memory that had sustained Crest through many long days – and lonely nights – so he thought he would have perfectly recalled the taste of her, the scent of her skin and the way her body molded itself to his.

He was wrong.

Soft and sweet, yes, but there was a fire within her, and it spread through his body, through his spirit, and pushed away all other thoughts. Her lips parted and he delved deep, unable to stop himself; a starving man before a spreading feast. She moaned; this, too, he consumed. His hands tangled at the nape of her neck and her headdress toppled to the ground.

The gentle thunk and jingling of metal pulled him out of his haze and he drew back, blinking in the fading light, half-drunk with desire. Her pale blue eyes fixed upon his, her pupils were blown wide and dark. Her breath was short.

"Crest..."

What the fek is wrong with me? "Sita."

She reached for his hands and he allowed her to take them, though his heart slammed against his ribcage and his stomach roiled; he would have to break this bond soon enough. But his traitor-heart pleaded, just a moment more.

"I've often thought of you," she murmured. "When I would hear something that made me laugh, or while I was just sitting here. Or..." Her cheeks darkened and she trailed off.

Crest took a deep, steadying breath and slipped his left hand free of hers, though he could not stop himself from touching her flushing cheek. "I've thought of you, too."

A smile broke over her face. "Have you?"

"Once or twice – a day. An hour, sometimes." He sighed again and dropped his hand. "Look, I know it's hard to believe, but I'm a pretty practical guy. I know that it was – it is – a fantasy."

"It's not a fantasy if it is taking place." She reached for his hand, but he drew it away. "There is something here," she said, meeting his eyes. "I'm not imagining it, am I?"

"No." He skimmed his hand over his head. Kriff. Why was it so shabla hard to say what he needed to say? "I'm just a clone–"

"I don't care–"

"It's not something I could forget, even if the galaxy would ever let me," he went on, ignoring her interruption. "If anything, this last week has shown me just how nothing the Republic considers me and my brothers. But Sita," he met her gaze, "I have never been more aware of what I am than when I'm with you. You talked about a breach between castes...well, between you and me, there's a kriffing galaxy."

The smile that had appeared – because of him – died. Also because of him. Fek, he was a karking moron. But he was still right.

Her voice was a whisper. "Crest..."

"For the record, I wouldn't change a thing about you, and only a couple about myself," he added. "But I can't, and you can't, and it's just not supposed to be."

He set her hands aside and got to his feet, and stepped away from her. "I'm sorry, Sita."

She said his name again. He should not have paused, nor looked back at her, seated in the twilight, surrounded by shadows, but he did. And he regretted it more when he saw how her eyes were wet.

"I want to change things here." She stood up, ignoring her fallen headdress and approaching him. The queen of this world took his hand, and Force help him, he let her, if only so that her warmth would surround him just a moment more. "It won't always be this way. We could make it work."

"Did Badal say that to you?"

Crest had not meant the words to wound, but they struck true anyway. The evidence was in the widening of her pale blue eyes and the parted "o" of her lips. Cool air brushed against his hand, for she'd let go.

No battle, no mission had been as difficult as this. He steeled himself for her anger, shoring up his mental armor before speaking again. "If you let yourself be with me, you'll be making the same mistake he did. I can't let you do that. I'm sorry."

There. He'd said what needed to be said. Crest knew when his part was done, and it was easier to leave if she was silent, anyway. Without waiting for a response, he turned away and hurried down the nearest path. It was the way he'd come. He didn't think he would return.

Later...

It was full dark by the time Traxis found a moment alone. This day, like the others before it, had been spent "training" – he used the word loosely – the clones they'd rescued from The Dregs. It could have been worse. Aside from a few shabuire they weren't a bad lot. Besides, he liked being busy, liked having his attention and energy diverted toward a goal he could work toward, rather than something – someone – he would never see again.

Two someones, maybe. They might never find Stonewall. Apparently Kali had contacted one of her Jedi friends to help track him down, but Trax was not about to cling to hope.

He climbed the final steps to the rooftop training-ground, anticipating the view and the cool kiss of wind. The others, including the rest of his vode, were happily ensconced in the clones' quarters, but it'd been a long couple of days and he'd been craving solitude.

So he was not sure what to think when he heard the familiar snap-hiss of an igniting lightsaber. No, two sabers. Trax quickened his steps.

He saw the weapons' glow before the woman wielding them; brilliant blue, shining yellow, both arcing in perfect circles against the glittering backdrop of the city. Their humming song was one he'd not heard in a while, or at least it felt that way. Thinking back, he realized it hadn't been longer than just over a week, though it felt like more time had passed. He stood just beyond the stairwell and leaned against the wall, and watched his Jedi-vod.

It was the nature of many of Shadow Squad's missions to serve with all sorts of folk, many of them Force-users. Traxis had worked with a fair number of Jedi, more than most clones serving on the front lines. He knew Kali was not a skilled fighter, at least not like General Kenobi or General Windu. Bum knee notwithstanding, she simply wasn't very talented. She stumbled over her feet, she had no mind for strategy in battle, her movements were often sloppy.

He knew all of these things, but when she swept both blades in a crescent around her body, he forgot them and his breath caught. She turned, leaped forward in one controlled motion, landed, and turned again. Blue and yellow tracers swam in his vision. The glow caught in flashes on her hair, in her dark eyes, in the gleaming hem of her silk tunic. Now Kali's steps were slow and deliberate, evidence that she was fighting through the pain of her knee, but she was a Jedi, and even at her worst, she was more graceful than Traxis could ever hope to be. She was barefoot, thus silent. Only the blades' hum reached to him through the night air, calling him closer.

When he was about ten paces away, she paused and faced him, the sabers hanging at her sides, her chest heaving. Her hair had begun to drift free of its braid, and perspiration gleamed on her forehead.

"Trax? Is everything alright?" The blue blade tilted and moved upward as she swiped sweat off her face with the back of her hand.

He folded his arms across his chest. "You're going to decapitate yourself."

She laughed. "If I had a credit for every time I heard that..." Still, she deactivated both blades and clipped them to her belt, which was an odd sight against the Arunai tunic and pants she'd taken to wearing. "What's up?"

He shrugged and looked at the city. The lightsabers' glow had stolen his night-vision, but it was already starting to return. "Just wanted a minute away from Misfit Squad."

"I wouldn't mind a break, either," she replied, fluttering the hem of her tunic to let in the night air. She tilted her head in silent invitation, and they moved to the balcony of the training-ground to better see the view. Rudral lay before them, lit by thousands of lightpoles and civilians' homes; the palace sat on a fairly high hill, so there wasn't much in the way of sound. Just a quietly illuminated city and the mountains beyond. There was no moon tonight.

Neither spoke at first. Traxis leaned his forearms against the wall, considering. Yeah, he'd wanted to be alone, but he found his gaze drawn to her again and again, a question on the tip of his tongue. Don't effing bother, he told himself. Even if you could get a hold of him, it won't make a difference. He left.

But he should have known better. She was a Jedi. "Trax...why did Ares return my sabers?"

Like his, her gaze was fixed elsewhere, the tilt of her chin indicating it was upon the stars. Traxis sighed and glanced at his folded hands, high, high above the city. "It was the right choice."

"He said that?"

"Not in so many words," Traxis admitted.

Kali turned to him, sweeping over him with her dark eyes in a way that made him think she could peer right through his head, into the darkest corners of his mind. Fek, she was Human, of course, and he'd seen her broken before, but now there was a...bigness to her, an otherness he could not quantify. When she looked at him, he had no idea what she saw. Sometimes it was unnerving. Had it been like that for Stonewall?

"Did you pay him in some other way?" she asked quietly.

He scowled at her. "What the fek–"

"Because he made it very clear that he would not help us for free," she went on, interrupting him. "And he was involved with Cad Bane. I don't know what that means, but I'd wager it's not good. And he left without saying goodbye."

"Not to me." Traxis ground his teeth the moment the words escaped. He hadn't meant for them to. Fek.

"Ares refused any kind of payment," he added after a beat, silently cursing the flush creeping across his face and thankful it was dark and she – hopefully – couldn't see. "Though I think he'll regret giving back those kriffing sabers when Bane catches up with him."

Her forehead creased and she touched one of the sabers at her belt. "I hope not. I liked him."

"You and me both, vod."

It may have been a trick of his eyes, but he thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch like she was about to smile. But she began digging through her belt, withdrawing her comlink a few moments later and handing it to him. "Sita gave me another one I've been using," she said as he accepted. "This still has Ares' comm-code. If anyone were to, say, drop him a message, just to check on him, I'd be grateful. He did us a good service, after all."

Traxis shoved the device in the pocket of his fatigues without looking. "Copy that."

She rested her chin upon her folded arms, leaning on the wall before them. "My surgery is the day after tomorrow. Hopefully Quin will arrive soon after; he's in the middle of a mission and couldn't give me an exact date."

"Quin... Is that your Jedi pal?"

Kali nodded. "He's psychometric." At Trax's frown she elaborated. "He can...sense people's thoughts and emotions by touching objects they've touched."

More Force-weirdness. But it would have to do. As far as Traxis could see, there weren't many other options. "Think it'll work?"

"I've known Quinlan Vos a long time – almost as long as Obi-Wan. If anyone will be able to give us some clues about where Stonewall has gone, it's him."

Traxis was silent a moment, studying the distant mountains. "It's a big galaxy."

"Sometimes." She sighed and patted his arm as she turned to go. "I'm going to call it a night."

He didn't offer any parting words, just watched her cross the training-ground, ensuring she made it safely to the exit. Jedi or not, she was still someone he needed to protect. By now his night-vision had returned fully, so he was able to make out her dark hair up until she descended the stairs.

Only when she disappeared completely did he pull out the comlink. It took him a few minutes of searching to call up Ares' code, and another few more before he activated the link, voice-only. He waited.

And waited.

No response. Frowning, Traxis studied the comlink, but as far as he could see, the device was working properly on his end. Which meant...

Shab.

Sure, Ares could be sleeping, or in the 'fresher, or simply uninterested in answering. But Trax's mind went to the dozen worst-case-scenarios, and fear tightened in his heart.