Summary: Sequel to Behind The Scenes. "Unit Arrel is the smallest unit in the Guard, and the ongoing joke has always been their instability, the idea that none of them would be able to handle another addition without someone crossing lines and getting someone killed." The war forces a padawan to seek refuge in the arms of the Temple Guard.

A/N: Rakesh Brem is the name I have given the Grand Inquisitor, the main character of this series. Further notes on him and the appearing Guard and/or Inquisitorius members will be listed at the end of this fic on AO3.


A Hand In Refuge


An otherwise silent world bursts to life without warning, sound slamming into the ears of a Pau'an Sentinel and absorbing straight into his head. He hisses into a state of wakefulness, startled from his sleep, and swings at the being who'd dared mess with the cover over his left ear.

There's a yelp of surprise as his arm strikes what feels like a shoulder. "Sorry, Rakesh, sorry."

Rakesh Brem sighs in irritation as he settles back down, recognizing the voice of Brakan Mavor, his work partner. "What do you want?"

"Jurr wants us to meet him in the unit common room." Brakan says. "I didn't know how else to wake you."

Fair enough, he decides, blinking his eyes open to find their bunkroom bathed in black and white. Still dark, then. He hadn't slept in, but had rather been woken up early. Not that he's fond of either one.

As he sits up, his arms raise to the sides of his head, correcting the adjustment of his left silencer and turning the dial to make the world more audible in his right. He watches Brakan feel his way toward the door. "What does he want?"

"He didn't say." The Zabrak admits, pausing to glance back in his direction- futile, considering that Zabraks cannot see in the dark no matter what planet they're from. "It seemed important enough, though."

"It must be, if he's woken us up this early." Rakesh grunts, shoving his feet into his boots and rising to a stand. He watches his companion struggle in his door-opening endeavors. "Do you want me to get it for you?"

"Only if you're coming with me." Brakan modestly replies.

"I can't very well stay in here, can I?" He points out, slipping around the other and hitting the control panel.

The door slides open, and he blinks fiercely against the rush of light and color that threaten to blind him. His eyes adjust quickly, however, as they always do, and he doesn't have to squint for long.

He scowls at the sight of Loktof resting in his favored chestnut armchair. But he's still tired, and it's far too early to challenge the Shistavanen over it. He takes up position on one of the couches instead, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Brakan sets himself on the opposite end of the couch, leaving the middle cushion open to give him space- or, for Vori to take.

It's quiet, still, enough so that Rakesh can hear his clanmate engaged in conversation with Tindri and Linaleh within their own bunkroom. He can't make out what they're saying, but that matters little to him. There's no sign of Jurr, and that catches his attention. Whatever this is about must have to do with Master Drallig.

Wonderful. He hopes that they aren't being reprimanded for anything. That never seems to go over well, at least not with Tindri. Last time, she'd done worse for what they'd been scolded for in retaliation.

It's a wonder that she's still among them, sometimes, that they've not been disbanded and redistributed into other units. It's probably something to do with the nature of Jurr's friendship with the Battlemaster. The two of them have always seemed pretty tight-knit, closer than Vori and himself.

There's a hiss from one of the other bunkroom doors as it slides open, and the women appear from behind it, stepping out into the common area.

Of everyone in the room, Linaleh's the only one who bothered to put on all of the Guard uniform's effects. It makes her stand out as she and Tindri take to the couch opposite of Rakesh and Brakan, the golden highlights reflecting the lights above at the walls and furniture.

Vori plops down between the latter pair, just where they'd expected her to. She's quieter- stiller- than normal, as if she'd been deep in the clutches of sleep when awoken.

"Please, tell me Jurr told someone why we're up before sunrise." Tindri begs, her face a grimace as she rubs at a knot in the back of her neck.

Rakesh shakes his head as Loktof grunts in response. "I wish I could say that he did."

Her head drops into her hands with a mighty sigh. "I need a cup of caf before he has Drallig chew us out."

"Okay, I'm completely fine with you disobeying Jurr, but I'm not letting you leave when Drallig might be on the way." Linaleh says, reaching out to pull the other back onto the couch when she tries to rise. "The kitchens will still be open later."

Tindri jerks away from her hold and settles back down with a moan of momentary despair.

"Quit whining." Loktof growls low in his throat, flashing his teeth at her.

In the wake of the warning, a silence falls upon them, one that Rakesh is not entirely against- they were being far too loud for the hour, as it were, though he'd been awoken with a flood of sound himself.

His biology truly does frustrate him at times, throwing problems at him that the others could never understand or feel to the same degree that he does.

The only advantage that he seems to hold over them is his ability to see in the dark. It's quite amusing to watch other creatures when they cannot see even an inch in front of them, the things they do, the objects they trip over and run into. Not that he'd use it against anyone other than Loktof and Tindri. Still, he's thankful that it isn't a problem of his own.

Some species are simply better equipped for different situations than others are, and he respects that. It's fascinating, really, how evolution has treated the different kinds of creatures and sentient beings over the millennia. The galaxy truly is diverse.

Rakesh gradually catches onto the sound of someone humming a tune under their breath, and his gaze trails over to Tindri, who has thrown her body lazily across the other couch, hardly mindful of Linaleh's presence. She seems more bored than tired, and he has to confess that he's becoming rather impatient himself. The tune she follows isn't one that he recognizes, is likely one he's never heard before. It's not unpleasant.

For a moment, he contemplates challenging Loktof to some early sparring, just to get the blood properly flowing through his body, but a sudden weight on his right shoulder chases the thought away before it has fully formed.

He frowns, glances at the head leaning on his shoulder. "Is she asleep?"

"I think so?" Brakan returns from the other side of Vori's slumped form, his words more of a question than an answer.

It's Tindri who answers, ceasing her tune to confirm it with a smug-sounding "yep."

Over in the armchair, Loktof ends a large yawn with the snap of his jaws, the clack of his teeth connecting reaching across the room. He shakes his head to clear it, a clawed hand smoothing back some of the fur around his face.

Linaleh shakes her own head, though Rakesh can see disbelief in her eyes rather than the transparent, milky clouds of sleep. He can't blame her- this motley crew could really do with better management. Well, most of them could use it. A few of them, himself included, don't need it quite as much.

Either way, it probably is a good thing that they're here in the Temple full time instead of out on the front, representing the Order in public. Because they really do act like children, despite the fact that everyone in the room- other than Loktof- is between the ages of thirty and forty. He's only met one Jedi who acts like that outside of the Guard himself, and that's Skywalker- why he has an apprentice, Rakesh will never understand.

On the other side of the couch, the fabric rustles as Brakan shifts. But before he can carry out any proper movements, the door opens with a whoosh- and then Vori is yelping right out of her sleep as she takes an elbow to the gut.

She slams up into Rakesh's side, jostling him as she jerks away from their other agemate. He flinches away from her, nostrils flaring, before he catches himself and exhales through his teeth to vent before he lets his mood sink.

He scowls at Tindri's laugh as he rights himself, shaking Vori off of his shoulder so that he can lean forward to shoot Brakan a look.

The Zabrak winces back the slightest bit, his mouth pressing into a thin line to disguise his embarrassed frown. "Sorry…"

"The door startled him." Linaleh vouches, and her words take a moment to register.

Right, the door had opened.

Finally.

Rakesh turns his attention that way, finding that Jurr has finally returned. It's no surprise that Cin Drallig is indeed at his side, his face warm in light amusement at the scene their entry had caused. They aren't being reprimanded, then. That's a relief.

Jurr stands a small distance behind the Battlemaster, so as to allow the other man to take the lead in whatever announcement is to be made.

Cin, of course, remains silent in the beginning, respectfully waiting for the others to settle down following the brief chaos that had unfolded upon his arrival. He seems patient enough this morning, more so than the unit itself- not that that's an unusual thing; they're never patient, and Drallig is rarely impatient. It's curious that they get along with him so well.

With a little encouragement from Loktof, Tindri eventually falls silent, curiosity winning out as she sulkily crosses her arms and turns back toward the front of the room.

"Good morning, Unit Arrel." Cin finally speaks up. "I know that you are curious as to why we've gathered you at this hour." He pauses, watching Linaleh prevent Tindri from making another comment. He smiles briefly, allows it to fade before he continues. "I have spoken with Jurr, and we would like to add another Jedi to your unit."

After the shock passes, the air is thick with sound, of voices deliberating the fate of another with little information. Rakesh himself remains silent, tuning them out the best he can, wincing when Vori shrieks something in excitement. Loktof says more words than anyone's heard come out of his mouth all week, and Brakan is quieter than he's been all morning.

The rest of them fall silent after a few minutes, and Drallig goes on to explain the details of the candidate and why he wishes to add him to the unit:

Trohr Cassusk is a padawan seeking refuge from the war, going so far as to be knighted just a year beneath two decades of life. And that's very early. No one is knighted that young without good reason, and it's usually not for someone with the intention to ever leave the Jedi Grand Temple in the future. They often end up in the Archives or as part of the AgriCorps, in fact- for one to be recommended for the Guard- for their unit in particular- is interesting indeed.

Half of the unit is ready to defend the boy even before Cin finishes speaking, unwilling to turn a blind eye to his troubles, ready to protect him as if they've known him for years already. The rest understand that they really are a mess, and don't think that this is the best place for him- they're probably not wrong, Rakesh knows, but perhaps their disorganization is exactly what the boy needs. It's certainly what he needed.

He can feel the tension rise throughout Cin's full explanation, the others silently pitting themselves up against one another. Admittedly, he's almost relieved when the Battlemaster is done and the quarrels begin.

"Have you seen us?" Tindri is the first to get a word out, snorting in clear disagreement. "We're not even stable ourselves, we'll make him worse."

Linaleh's voice comes to his attention next, but Rakesh tunes her and the rest of the group out so that he can think it through properly without their thoughts interjecting upon his own opinions.

Would we be able to handle another? Unit Arrel is the smallest unit in the Guard, and the ongoing joke has always been their instability, the idea that none of them would be able to handle another addition without someone crossing lines and getting someone killed. It's a bit more than a joke, really; he's almost killed Tindri and Loktof at times himself.

All the same, does that mean that they should turn away someone in need?

He asks himself what he would say if Trohr was Ahsoka. The answer is an obvious one: he would lend her a hand, help her to rise back up from whatever dark corner that the war's atrocities have driven her into, draw her out of whatever shell she's hiding within.

There is no emotion; there is peace.

A Jedi's main purpose is to keep the peace, whether that be directed toward villages, worlds, or even simply just individuals. He has no reason to deny the boy this. Why shouldn't he give him aid in his escape from the war?

"These children are marching to their deaths." Linaleh is snapping at Tindri as Rakesh comes back to them. He can only guess what the younger woman had said, and none of the possibilities are good. "How many more must be sent to the front lines as soon as they are assigned a master?"

"They would send them all, if they could." Rakesh points out, regretful of how true it is.

The Order would never go so far as to send the younglings to war, but they'll certainly send the youngest of padawans- and they have been. Ahsoka shouldn't be on the battlefield yet, and there she is. He hates it, the corruption, the dark cloud twisting around the Council and tainting their judgment. Children don't fight wars. The Jedi shouldn't be fighting a war. Rakesh doesn't know how things fell into such disarray so quickly.

The argument continues on, each one of the others vying for the final word, their stubbornness making Rakesh's head ache. He withdraws from the whole thing himself, listening only when something new that hasn't been mentioned comes up.

But things don't go anywhere, the conversation going in circles, Cin and Jurr refusing to interject as they note each person's stance on the subject. There's no progress.

And when Rakesh can stand the squabbling no more, he finds a break between speakers and jumps in with his own voice- because he's made up his mind, and there seems to be a general consensus forming, Tindri aside. "We'll take him."

The room drops into an abrupt silence, and Linaleh rounds on him. "You can't make that decision on your own, Rakesh."

"Are you saying you disagree?" He challenges, his eyes bearing into her own.

"No, but-"

He almost rolls his eyes as turns back toward the front of the room to repeat himself and put an end to the debate. "We'll take him."