"More Than Just A Clone"
Chapter 37

Bly shifted in his sleep, moaning softly. His toes curled and shifted restlessly, consumed with pent-up tension.

This same dream had consumed him since the day he'd taken command of the 327th Star Corps.

'Commander Bly, a moment of your time?'

They were in the hangar bay, recently returned from a mission. Another campaign that dragged on three times as long as projected. The General beckoned to him and led the way toward the ancillary conference room. He followed her down the hallway, staying a few respectful steps back. He tried not to admire the sway of her hips.

Fek. He was trying... and failing miserably.

It was not only her hips. The slope of her back was so different from that of a clone. The curve was... perfect. The General turned around and cast him a sharp glance. He grimaced under his helmet, cursing himself. He normally was better at shielding his thoughts, but he was so overtired it was all he could do to keep from stumbling over his boots. Fekkin' great. The general had caught him ogglin' her shebs. They reached the conference room, and he followed her inside. This was going to be a long briefing.

The General turned and faced him, pausing just inside the door of the room. 'Commander Bly, explain yourself.'

He stared at the Jedi, puzzled, trying to figure out what response was expected of him. The campaign dragging on? The shebs ogglin'? Which part? 'Sir?'

'Remove your helmet, and look at me.'

He immediately complied, his brow expressing his confusion. Jedi. He never could understand them. He swiped a hand through his short cropped hair. Even with his enviro-systems, he was hot. An errant drop of sweat tickled his brow and he tried not to twitch as it beaded down his face.

The General studied him for a long moment, and then squashed the errant drop of moisture with one finger.

He gasped at her touch, confused. She had never touched him before, except when he was injured.

'You fought well today,' the General said, her tone sounding somewhat deeper and huskier than her usual post-battle briefing voice.

Bly felt another bead of sweat trickle down his brow as he nervously studied the Twi'lek Jedi. What sort of briefing this was anyway? Was he in trouble?

The General traced the second droplet in a slow lazy path down his cheek and he shuddered. 'You are overheated. This is dangerous. Take off your armor.'

'Sir?' His jaw dropped as he stared at her in confusion.

'Your armor, Commander. You must remove it. And, your bodysuit, as well.' Her voice was still deep and husky, but held the clear authority of an order.

He gulped nervously and looked around at their unusual surroundings. They were in a fekkin' conference room.

With a wave of her hand, the General locked the door. 'Would you feel better if I disrobed first?'

Bly had no response.

He watched in thunderstruck amazement as his General removed her weapons belt and carefully setting her lightsaber down on the conference room table. With perfect Jedi grace, she removed her leggings, battle skirt, top, and headdress.

'Alright, Commander, I seem to be fully unclothed, and you are still in your armor. Proceed to disrobe.'

Bly was still staring with his mouth agape. He couldn't move. His General. Naked. In the conference room. He glanced back and forth at the empty chairs. With him. Just him.

She leaned down slightly, giving him a full view of her perfect breasts. He throat went dry and he gasped, unable to breathe.

The General's face creased into a frown. 'Did I make a mistake here, Commander? I thought...' Her voice trailed off and she reached for her skirt, beginning to re-dress.

Hearing the slight uncertainty in his the confident General's voice snapped Bly out of his stupor. "No!" His voice sounded overly loud in the conference room, and he glanced around quickly. But, like all conferences on the Jedi cruiser, it was completely soundproofed.

He stepped forward and gripped Aayla's hands in his own. "No mistakes, General."

He was always more a man of action than words. Bly shucked his armor and bodysuit with perfect clone precision, thinking he may have set a new record for getting it off. He still had to stack it perfectly, but it didn't take away anything from his timing.

"As per your command, General." He noticed that certain parts of him were standing more fully at attention than others.

The General's lips quirked with amusement. "At ease, Commander."

At ease? He was about to explode.

She took a step back so she could study him fully. Bly licked his lips nervously. He had no idea what to do next, or what to expect. He'd trained for many things at Kamino, but this was not one of them.

The General did a second lap, slowly circling around him. The tension was too much.

"Sir?" he asked, he dug his bare toes into the floor trying to distract himself as he waited for the General to complete her inspection.

Without warning, the General grabbed him and threw him against the slick surface of the conference room table. It was cold and smooth against his bare skin and he slid back to the center of the polished surface. The flexible Twi'lek leapt onto the table and settled on top of him. He gasped in surprise, overwhelmed by sensations. Her lips pressed down upon his, and her female mound lined up intimately against his shaft. His body responded on its own, and he bucked upwards.

His aim was off and he thrust awkwardly against her hip bone. Bly moaned in frustration. The General grabbed a hold of him, and he gasped at the feel of her hands touching him where a woman had never ventured before. She repositioned him slightly and he felt himself slide inside his General's body.

They moved together, their bodies in perfect sync. Bly felt his skin stick to the polished surface of the table as he slammed back against it time and time again. He knew meetings in the room would never be the same for him.

"I have wanted to do this since the day you were assigned to me," the General said, her eyes a deeper shade than he'd ever seen them before. Fek. She was so beautiful.

He heard her cry out his name and shudder around him. As the spasms erupted, he joined her and spilled himself inside her body. He shouted so loudly he wondered if he'd penetrated the soundproofing of the room along with his General's body. She collapsed across his chest and neither of them could move for several moments because their passion had been so consuming.

Finally, the General's head lifted off his chest and she gave him a gentle lingering kiss. It promised so much. It said that she belonged to him, and no other. They dressed and parted ways before they were seen.

"Until our next briefing, then?"

At times, he had variations on the dream. The 'briefing' would take place in any available supply closet because no conference rooms were available. He would be 'de-briefed' up against cleaning supplies or in a spare weapons storage area. Unable to wait a micro-second longer, he'd simply rip off his codpiece and throw the General up against the door of the supply room. Or, she would take charge and pin him down painfully against a crate as DC-15ms dug painfully into his back. Or, they would have an 'emergency command session' in cockpit of the nearest LAAT with the General sealing the doors shut.

But, they were only dreams. And, they plagued him night after night for his entire stint in the 327th Star Corps.

When morning came, he'd fekkin' freeze his overheated in the body 'fresher or he'd have no hope of jamming himself into his codpiece. Good thing he'd didn't sleep in the barracks with the others. He had no idea what he mumbled out in his sleep.

Bly woke up with a startled gasp and gazed around the moonlit room, unsure of his surroundings. He'd dreamed once again of Aayla. But, where the fek was he? These weren't his quarters. He bolted upright and grabbed for his blaster. Fek. Fek. Fek. His arm wouldn't move. He stared down in a panic, sure droids had somehow stolen the limb. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, his breathing steadied out and memories flooded back.

Felucia.

Mandalore.

Aayla.

Oh, fek. He had actually married the General.

His brain rejected the implausibility of the statement. It was the stuff of his wildest fantasy. He fekkin' dreamed of stuff like that, so it couldn't actually happen. He buried his face in his one workable hand and sucked in a deep dragging breath. He waited while his brain caught up once again with the overwhelming events of the past week. The entire galaxy had been turned upside down. But, yes, the General had actually married him.

The reality of being with Aayla was more than anything he could have imagined during his days of constant freezing showers on the Jedi cruiser.

And, then she'd gone on a farkin' mission without him.

He glanced down at the chrono on his good arm. 0215. He blew out a sigh, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore. Bly rolled over gingerly, and sat up, careful of his injured arm. He checked his chrono again and felt a stirring of hope. Aayla, Skirata, the doctor, the Jedi Jusik, and the Nulls were due back today. He reached for his tunic and stifled back a groan. He was almost too stiff to move. His whole body had been off-kilter since Felucia. Getting mauled by Walon's damned strill had set him back even further. He still wasn't sure why he couldn't shoot the fekkin' thing.

He growled out an agitated sigh, and stumbled toward the refresher. He'd woken up sore all in every limb after battle plenty of times. A hot shower usually loosened up his muscles and his strong Fett-physiology took care of the rest.

The clone commander stood under a scalding spray of water as his muscles loosened up. He glanced down at himself and raised up an eyebrow. There was one area of himself that didn't seem to want to relax. He considered switching over to a freezing shower, but he wasn't in a hurry. There were some advantages to civilian life.

Bly emerged from the shower, relieved of some Fett DNA, and shook water out of his hair. He was still pleasantly warm, so he walked naked as he was vatted as he rummaged for clothes. There was a long mirror along one wall, and he studied his image. A week of healing outside a bacta tank had left him with numerous new scars. Aayla was no longer bound by the Jedi Order. She could have anyone in the galaxy now. Her body was still so perfect.

He turned away from his scarred image and struggled into his tunic. He was winded by the time he finally pulled on the pants. Gah. He stared in frustration. How the fek was he going to get on the boots and socks with one-hand? He wiped a hand across his brow. He'd worked up a sweat, and he'd just emerged from the shower.

Fek it. He grunted and decided he wasn't willing to attempt the task without caf. He grabbed up the offending items and headed off to the kitchen barefoot. The bastion flooring was freezing at night. But, he didn't have much of a choice. There was no way he could get the footwear on by himself.

The hallways were lit at night with low track lighting running along the flooring. It was enough to see by, especially if you had the keen eyesight of a clone. Bly could have located the master switch to illuminate the halls, but didn't bother. He could find his way to the kitchen.

Gah. Not only was the flooring freezing, the entire fekkin' bastion was freezing. He was rethinking his decision to leave his warm bed. But, at this point, he had to be closer to the kitchen than he was to his room. His entire body was shaking with cold.

Bly heaved out a sigh as he padded into the massive dining area. Somehow the whole room exuded warmth.

No, wait, it was warmer. Residual heat from a fire in the central fireplace warmed the dining room. Bly stopped in front of the fireplace, and gratefully absorbed the heat until his violent shivering stopped. Then, the overwhelming desire for caf took over. He padded into the kitchen and found the kitchen was also pleasantly warm from the cooking of the night before. It smelled of roasted meat and sweet baked goods. Lights automatically came on as he entered. Having already expertly scouted the place out while he and Fi cleaned the kitchen, he found the caf supplies with ease. With the athleticism of one who'd trained hard his whole life, he propelled himself one-handed onto the counter and waited for the caf to brew. He breathed deeply as the aroma filled the large room. Even though it was the stronger variety of Mando caf, the aroma was still reassuring and reminded him of the smell that always assailed him the moment he walked into the mess hall. He closed his eyes and imaged he was back onboard a Jedi cruiser with the 327th and Order 66 had never happened. He could see the faces of every one of his Legion greeting him, sitting in their usual places, and the General nodding to join him at their usual table.

His eyes snapped back open, and he hopped down off the counter. He walked over to one of the tall windows looking out into the dark night. Everything came with a price. He'd always wanted the General and he'd gotten her. But, the Republic had fallen, the Jedi were gone and he'd lost the 327th Sky Corps.

The caf pot beeped softly. He found himself the largest plasti-cup he could and poured in the steaming caf. He took an experimental sip, and gave an approving nod. For a clone commander, he didn't do have bad in the kitchen. He considered finding something to eat, but he still hadn't regained a proper clone appetite. He took the cup and headed back out the main room and settled in front of the warmth of the embers of the fire. He stared off out of one the large windows into the dark, lost in memories of the past. Sometime during the night, he drifted off, the caf still clutched in one hand.

"Hey, we gave you a room. You could sleep there."

Bly blearily opened an eye and stared up at Fi. His brother tugged the empty cup out of his grasp and replaced it with a new one.

"I'd ask how you slept, but since you are only somewhat dressed and hugging a caf cup, I'm going to assume you are still missing the General," Fi's lips curled up with amusement.

Bly gave Fi a bland look, but he'd come to appreciate the other clone's quirky humor. He took a long dreg of the caf and 'hmmped' with pleasure. He took it back. Whoever made this caf was far more skilled than him. "Any word from the others?"

Fi shook his head. "Mereel said not to expect anything. Jaing has not yet finished encryption protocols secure enough to risk comms."

"We won't know anything until they land." It was a statement, not a question. He stared out the window again, and finished his caf. Fi brought him out a fresh cup, and they sat in silence drinking together. It was pleasant having the former [Omega] squad member be quiet for once, and Bly was grateful that Fi could sense he wasn't in the mood to talk.

The first orange rays of lights were struggling to penetrate the horizon, but nights were long on Mandalore. As he drained his fourth cup of caf, Fi took it from him, and shoved a plate of food in his hands. Bly nodded his thanks and poked listlessly at the sweet breads and dried meats.

"You should eat," Fi said, breaking the silence.

Bly glanced over at him and nodded, and went back to staring out the window. Sunrises on Mandalore were spectacular. He'd never seen anything like them on Corrie. The contrasts of smoky greys and fiery oranges reminded him of being in battle. His fingers poked down into the textured meat and squishy bread. He knew he should be hungry, but his stomach was knotted.

His lips lifted up in a ghost of a smile. It was probably just too much caf. Aayla was always trying to get him to try her beloved Jedi teas. He steadfastly refused, telling her caf drinking was encoded into his genome. The smile faded from his lips and as the fiery orange took over the horizon he suddenly wondered what he would do if Aayla didn't return.

Parja and Laseema joined in after a while, slipping into the chairs on either side of them. The Twi'lek tugged the plate out of Bly's hand and replaced it an omelette, overstuffed with meat in true Mandalorian style. Bly nodded, giving the unfamiliar dish a tentative sniff as he poked at it with his fork.

"It's not a det, di'kut. Eat it," Fi said, kicking him in the shins with a well-scuffed boot. The commando had definitely tempered his strength because the blow didn't do more than annoy Bly. He wasn't willing to go so easy on his vod in return. He struck out with his heel, hitting Fi on the leg between his armored plates. Bly took a generous bite of the mixture.

"Ow!" Fi protested, laughing. He peered down curiously at Bly's bare feet. "Where the fek are you boots?"

The former commander didn't pause in his eating. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he finally started to eat. The meat and eggs were spiced and blended well together. It tasted like the sort of thing a hungry clone liked to eat. His only response to Fi's question was a slight tilt of his head toward the side of his chair.

The medic glanced over and noticed Bly's boots neatly tucked down below. He chuckled. "Sure. You can snap my leg with your bare feet, but you can't get those on."

"I'm a fekkin' ARC. I don't need my shooting arm to do some damage," Bly grumbled, not looking up from where he was shoveling in the last bites of egg.

"You're in a bastion filled with Nulls and commandos. No one gets super clone status here."

Bly looked up and realized Fi was right. He'd had special status in the GAR. He was different from other clones and had been told so by Jango Fett from the beginning. The other clones accused the ARCs of being 'arrogant.' Bly always figured they were jealous of his superior skills and training. He had always walked around like he was a notch above everyone else. No wonder he hadn't made any lasting friendships beyond Catcher.

"Don't be so rough on him," Parja scolded Fi, rising up to leave. "He's new here." She leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. "You coming by the shop later?"

"See you there. I'm not being rough on him. I'm making him feel at home."

Laseema graciously rose up from her chair, her fluid way of moving reminding Bly of his wife. She knelt down in front of him and gathered up his boots and socks. "Here. Let me help you."

He wanted to object, not able to look at the beautiful Twi'lek. He twirled his empty caf cup in his hand. "Thank you for the meal," he muttered out, trying not to grit his teeth as her hands slid over him. He didn't want anyone else touching him. The Twi'lek pulled on his boots with the efficiency of one who had dressed and undressed others many times before. She reached up for the dishes in his hand, but Bly shook his head. "I'll take kitchen detail."

She smiled at him. "You'll do alright here."

Bly managed a small smile in response, still not able to fully meet her ideas. He was not convinced there was much of a place for him and his Jedi wife. He had no idea of anywhere in the post-Republic galaxy they were welcome. He pushed the thoughts aside and decided to tackle kitchen detail. He was surviving like it did every major military campaign. Focus on the larger strategy while making sure you survive the next hour.

Fi joined him in the kitchen and helped with the tasks which proved impossible to do one-handed. Bly still tried and the former Omega Squad clone ended up saving him from dropping a heavy dura-steel pan onto his feet.

"Fek, you're stubborn," Fi said. He placed the pan in the cleansing unit and slapped Bly on the shoulder. "Come on, we're done here."

"So, now what? What do you do all day?" Bly demanded. Normally, every minute of his day was scheduled and a week of complete anarchy was taking its toll.

The Omega squad clone laughed. "Fekkin' free time. It was the thing I hated most after I came here. We're not engineered for it. We're headed to Parja's shop."

He was relieved to have something to do. He was never meant to sit around. Blame it on his Jango genome. "Let's go," he said, sounding every bit the imperious marshal commander, leading the way. He stopped, disoriented again by the sheer size of the bastion. "Which way is the door?"

# # #

Bly tried to focus on Parja's detailed explanation of the LUX-3 Landspeeder in pieces all over the shop. She was proud of the cramped facility and parts of it vaguely reminded Bly of a service bay on a cruiser. But, it could use efficiency upgrades. He caught Fi's eyes, and gave him a questioning look, wondering if it would be acceptable to suggest an improved organizational system. His brother gave a quick negative shake. Parja rubbed her palms against her workshop overalls, succeeding in only spreading grime around. Bly wondered what the point of that was but figured it was also an off-limits topic.

"Stop doing that clone thing," Parja put down the hydrospanner she was using as a pointer during her prolonged lecture on engine parts..

"What clone thing?" Fi asked, blinking innocently.

"That thing where you know each other's thoughts without speaking," the engineer said. "You know I find it creepy."

Both clones opened their mouths to object, but the small Mandalorian woman continued on. "It's Jedi-like."

"No need to get insulting," Fi grumbled.

Bly folded his arms across his chest about to join Fi in defending the honor of vode everywhere. They were definitely not creepy. His relationship with Aayla aside, Jedi were-

A high-pitched whine from overhead interrupted his brilliant rebuttal. He took off outside the shop at a full sprint. A distinctive greyish-green shape swooped overhead and headed toward the bastion.

"The Aay'han is back," Fi murmured.

# # #

The ship was already down by the time they rounded the corner toward the bastion. Bly saw Jaing and Kom'rk unloading cargo off the ramp. He tried to get himself to relax knowing the mission had been a success. Why did his body still feel shaken and twisted like it did when the legion suffered terrible losses? He circled the ship, looking for the tall form of the Twi'lek Jedi. But, they were only clones, half-clad in stormtrooper armor, slowly coming down the ramp. He knew that look. Shoulders down. Chin slumped. Eyes averted. Silent. He stayed slightly back, out of the way.

From within the ship, Skirata called: "Get a stretcher!"

Fek. Bly barreled up the ramp and nearly took out the Mandalorian.

"Whoa!" Skirata said, careful to catch him without grabbing onto his injured shoulder and arm. "Bly, hold on."

Bly knew that voice. And, fek no. He was not going to hold on. He violently tore free of Skirata's grasp and continued into the cramped ship.

"Bly," growled Skirata, but he let him continue, following behind him.

The clone commander looked around wildly, expecting to see his wife somewhere in the ship, injured. Why else were they calling for a stretcher?

"Bly, over here."

# # #

A/N: So, a bit overdue for an update. For those of you who follow "Rex," you know the story is spiraling to a close after three years. So, this chapter was a bit of fun with the dream sequence and a slight bit of a blast into Bly's past. Next chapter, we learn more Aayla's fate. My genius readers, all of you, have probably already figured out the chapter title: "The Hardest Part." Waiting, of course, is the hardest part.