Thank you to SandriasSaber for the idea. ;)


"There's a field outside," Quinlan announced, from where he was plastered against the base's window.

After sending a frown at the back of the Kiffar's head, Hunter returned to the very long and very incomplete report form that he'd been given.

General Kenobi, meanwhile, barely paused in his flimsiwork as he replied. "Do tell, Quinlan. A field outside? As opposed to in the kitchen, perhaps?"

Scoffing, Quinlan leaned harder against the window, his forehead squeaking on the plexiglass. "I haven't seen a field in years."

Obi-Wan snorted. "You were just on Naboo last month. We would be done much faster if you would just help fill in these details."

A hefty sigh was his only response. Hunter rolled his eyes.

"You did this exact report once already," General Kenobi went on, shooting a mild look of perplexity at his fellow Jedi. "Surely the second time will be much quicker."

A groan was the only answer he got.

Obi-Wan frowned and gazed down his nose for several seconds before letting out a sigh. "Quinlan . . . honestly."

"Falsely," replied the Kiffar.

"Vos."

Quinlan turned around and leaned back against the windowsill. "Look, Obes, I triplicated the reports. We accounted for every blasted piece of equipment we used, and Hunter and I even checked – twice. And we all signed 'em properly, and then Tech did his fancy encryption stuff on them. We got a notification that they'd been processed. We thought we were free and clear. . ." He trailed off, then lifted both hands in a gesture of helplessness. "So I just don't get why they need to be done again."

General Kenobi pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked up, mild disdain in his blue eyes. "Because, as I have already informed you, Command does not have them."

"Yeah! And that's Command's problem." Quinlan folded his arms. "The reports arrived, they're probably just buried among a mountain of other bureaucratic nonsense."

"That is entirely beside – never mind." Obi-Wan shoved his chair back and stood abruptly before addressing the room at large. "I am going to make some Nabooian flower tea. Would anyone else like some?"

"Nope," Quinlan said. "I'll take a stiff spotchka, though."

"We do not keep alcohol on the base," the general said frigidly, even though Hunter knew for a fact that Cody had taken to keeping gold whisky in the command quarters. For medical purposes only, of course.

"What about you, Sergeant?" Obi-Wan asked. "Tech?"

"No thank you, sir." Hunter shook his head, and Tech merely glanced up once before returning to whatever he was researching.

General Kenobi sighed and glanced at Wrecker, who was slumped in a chair with his eyes shut. Crosshair, meanwhile, was slouched lengthwise on one of the deep windowsills, apparently dozing. His eyes were shut, a toothpick drooping from the corner of his mouth.

"How about you two?" Obi-Wan asked pointedly.

Wrecker began to snore at the top of his lungs, and Crosshair's toothpick came dangerously close to falling out of his mouth.

Fakers, the both of them. They were clearly awake.

"Sorry," Quinlan said. "Guess the only one who wants blossom tea is you."

"It is flower tea." General Kenobi left with a sigh and a swirl of robes.

Opening a new form, the sergeant bit back a sigh of his own. He and Quinlan had definitely filled this one out already, too. . . Forty-six pages. How could a simple report be forty-six pages . . .

Looking up at his two apparently sleeping teammates, Hunter said, "He's gone. You can stop pretending now."

"Oh, goodie." Crosshair sat up, adjusted the toothpick to its usual aggressive angle, and sneered at Hunter. "The one time we fill out the flimsiwork correctly . . . and look what happens."

"Indeed." Tech lifted a finger. "It is beginning to seem that the saying 'No good deed goes unpunished' is at least partially accurate."

"Tell me about it." Quinlan slid down the wall until he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. "And because Command can't keep organized, the grand taskmaster himself was assigned to review our mission. . ."

"I heard that, Vos!" Obi-Wan shouted from the kitchen. A metal pot banged on the surface of the cookstove.

A moment of silence followed, and Hunter was able to fill in two entries before the next interruption.

"I don't get it," Wrecker said mournfully. "Why do they want to know how many grenades we used?"

Crosshair rolled his eyes and threw his toothpick across the room. "Because they want to make sure we're being efficient. Guess being completely effective isn't enough, they need to make sure we're not wasting their precious credits either."

"Not like they can even verify what we're saying," Hunter grumbled. "We only used two thermals from the resupply, but we already had Wrecker's half-dozen from our raid on the clankers . . ."

"We could ignore the request," Crosshair suggested.

"Yes," Tech said, looking up icily. "Though, if you recall, having a reputation for ignoring flimsiwork requests is exactly what got us sent to this base."

Nobody answered. Hunter transferred his gaze from the report form to the overcast sky and the field outside the window. It was probably going to rain soon.

"Well?" Quinlan said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. "What are you waiting for, Hunter? Fill in all the empty spaces in your neatest handwriting, and make sure you dot your i's and cross your t's."

Hunter threw a spare datapad at his head.

As the Jedi yelped and ducked, the sergeant returned to work. Was it three and a half fuel tanks they'd burned through, or four? He couldn't remember how much they'd jettisoned. . .

Before he could ask Tech, a shrill whistle sounded from the kitchen, rising in pitch and getting louder and louder, like a descending rocket –

The sergeant jolted to his feet, and Quinlan looked lazily up at him from where he was seated on the floor. "It's a tea kettle," he informed him. "It's used to make tea. And it was three and a half tanks. We only jettisoned about three liters."

Hunter filled in the information. "If you remember this thing so well you know what question I'm on, get over here and make yourself useful. What's so hard about it?"

"Yeah," Crosshair said, slouching back on the windowsill.

"Yeah, Quinlan." Wrecker yawned and cracked his neck. "Hurry up so we can get out of here."

The Jedi stood, wandered over, and looked at the datapad upside down. "Twelve, six, and twenty-three," he said, pointing to the respective numbers. "And it's not hard to do it, it's just the idea of Command being so blasted . . ."

The door opened. Cody walked in, hands clasped behind his back as he observed the room's occupants with a slight smirk. "You boys still complaining about the report?"

"No, Commander," Tech replied, looking up innocently.

"Right." Cody shook his head. "You're probably the only one not complaining about it, specifically because you're not actually doing it."

"That is correct."

"Hm, I see." The commander met Hunter's gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Where's the general?"

Quinlan raised his hand. "Right here, Cody, ask away."

"It has to do with reports," Cody said dryly.

The Jedi smiled brightly. "Then you're looking at the wrong guy. If you want to know where Obi-Wan is, though, he's in the kitchen drowning his woes in tea."

General Kenobi entered the room with a very longsuffering look on his face. "I most certainly am not. Commander Cody. What is it?"

"The mission's been delayed, sir." Cody held out a datapad and stylus. "Base is on lockdown while scouts move in. No ships in or out until eighteen hundred hours."

"Oh, blast." Obi-Wan took a delicate sip of tea and considered the screen for several moments before taking the stylus and signing it. "Very well, Commander. Have the men stand down."

"Yes, sir. They could use some R and R, anyway." Cody tilted his head towards the field outside the window. "At least we've got a good location, this time."

"That's true," General Kenobi agreed, seating himself at the table. At Hunter's questioning look, he continued. "As it turns out, the jungle isn't the best place to play games such as dodgeball. At least here, the men won't hit a sleeping rancor and then have to run for their lives."

"Wait, that really happened?" Wrecker asked.

"Yes." Cody moved back to the door. "That day was . . . I'm not sure how to put it."

"Interesting," Obi-Wan supplied dryly. "Especially the part where our chief medic threatened to garrote you with the IV line."

"Ah, yes." The commander grimaced, then narrowed his eyes slightly in his general's direction. "In my defense, it did sound like everyone was dying."

"I assume it did," Obi-Wan admitted. "But imitating a krayt dragon was the only thing I could think of at the time."

Quinlan choked on a laugh and bit his lip. "You what?" he asked gravely.

"Never you mind," General Kenobi retorted. "Besides, Stitch yelling at Cody was far louder than . . . my attempt to distract the rancor."

"I have never heard a krayt dragon," Tech said, a look of absolutely insincere innocence shining in his eyes. "What do they sound like?"

"Well, it's rather hard to describe." Obi-Wan tilted his head. "I suppose you could say it is a cross between a scream and a roar, though with a bit of a metallic tone to –"

Cody cleared his throat pointedly. "Is that all, sir?"

The general caught himself mid-word. His mouth remained open for half a second before he shut it and cleared his throat. "Ah. . . yes, Commander. Thank you. We will finish up with these reports as soon as possible. Right, Sergeant? Quinlan?"

"Yes, sir," Hunter replied.

"Sure." The Kiffar leaned both elbows on the back of Hunter's chair and peered over his shoulder to see the datapad. "We'll get this done . . . again . . . Oh, that one's forty-five, unless you want to count the third one which was actually inactive."

Silently, Hunter filled in the next line, resisting the impulse to jerk his chair to the side and knock Quinlan sprawling.


Only one hour of actual work later, the report had once again been submitted and Obi-Wan Kenobi generously decided to release the Bad Batch and Quinlan.

"Go join the others," the bearded general suggested, ushering them outside. "Or perhaps you would prefer to rest. I'm afraid I have several things to do before I meet with my officers, but I'm sure you'll find something to keep you occupied in the interim."

"Well, see that you don't get into mischief." Quinlan gazed sternly at Obi-Wan. "And leave the whisky alone, you hear me?"

Hunter was impressed by the vicious manner in which General Kenobi managed to close the automated sliding door. That took skill.

"Finally!" Wrecker exclaimed, gesturing expansively at the wide field. "I thought we'd never get out of there! Uh . . . what do we do now?"

Flicking a toothpick to the ground, Crosshair jerked his chin at the far end of the field. "Watch the regs destroy each other."

Tech huffed through his nose. "They are going to play a game, Crosshair, not attempt to kill each other."

"Um, well." Quinlan scratched his nose thoughtfully. "To be fair, whenever we play a game, it usually devolves into death threats and attempted homicide, so. . ."

"True." Tech put both hands on his waist and observed the group of clone troopers standing together at the end of the field. "But it does seem that, overall, the regs are a little less – ah –"

"Suicidal," Crosshair suggested.

"No . . ."

"Insane?" Wrecker asked hopefully.

"No – well, yes, but not exactly."

"Idiotic? Reckless?" Quinlan paused. "Thoughtless? Out of control?"

"No, no, no, and definitely not." Tech turned, shooting a narrow look over his shoulder at the Jedi. "What, precisely, are you trying to –"

"Your turn, Hunter!" Quinlan interrupted loudly. "Any suggestions? Compared to you guys, the regs are less –?"

He gestured for Hunter to speak. The sergeant tilted his head, thinking. They were definitely less –

"Competent," said Crosshair.

"Crazy," Wrecker added.

Shoving both of them, the Jedi turned to Hunter, who shrugged and said, "Fervent?"

"Fervent." Tech looked up with an approving nod. "Ah, precisely. The regs do seem to be less fervent."

From behind them, Cody cleared his throat. "Well, you're just full of compliments today, aren't you?"

Wrecker nearly fell over his own feet as he spun to face him. "Aw, we weren't talking about you, Commander!"

Tech fidgeted with his datapad. "Well, technically, I suppose that we –"

Hunter elbowed Tech hard in the ribs to shut him up.

"What, I'm not a reg?" Cody eyed Tech, a stern frown on his face, but his eyes twinkled. "I thought you boys said you were going to keep the attitude down this time."

"We were, sir," protested Crosshair, and gestured at the other clones. "They can't hear us, they're a hundred meters away."

"Right." Cody said. "Well, I'll take what I can get. I see General Kenobi finished with verifying your report."

"Yep." Quinlan clasped his hands at the back of his neck and twisted from side to side. "And, as a result, I'm as stiff as an arthritic wampa."

Tech performed an unusually sharp doubletake before saying, "Wampas cannot get arthritis!"

"Stars . . ." Quinlan's arms dropped down at his sides, and he pursed his lips in apparent concern. "Tech, I really have to ask. Why do you even know that?"

Before Tech could do more than look confused, Cody stepped between him and the Jedi. "Come on. The others are going to start a game of dodgeball. Hunter, you remember Boil, right?"

"Ah – yes, sir." Hunter glanced sharply at Wrecker, who had started a major brawl with most of Ghost Company the last time they'd been on the Negotiator.

"He'll lead one team. Why don't you guys play against him?"

"Aw, yeah!" And Wrecker tore off through the short grass, with Crosshair half a step behind him.

"General Vos, you should join in, too." With a professional salute and a particularly unprofessional smirk, Cody walked off towards the supply tents.

Hunter glanced at Tech, shrugged, and headed across the field. It wasn't like there was anything else to do right now besides stand around and talk . . . or wait for his teammates to get bored enough that they dreamed up something particularly dangerous to try. He wouldn't put it past any of them, including himself, since he had at least as many ideas as the rest of them when it came to being an idiot.

As the Bad Batch and Quinlan approached the other soldiers, a familiar clone with a goatee and a permanent frown waved his arms in the air, shouting to get everyone's attention.

The clones gathered around, and Boil scooped up a bright cerulean ball, holding it out in both hands. "Here's how this works!" he barked. "The idea is to throw the ball at a member of the opposite team, Wooley –" Here, he paused to glare at a trooper with unusually curly hair, while snickers rose from the other clones. "If you manage to hit someone, that guy is out. First team to get all the others out wins. Simple?"

"Yeah." A lieutenant cuffed Boil's arm. "Now explain the things they can't do, because those always end up happening."

"Right . . ." Boil slanted a look at the commandos. "You here to join in?"

Crosshair opened his mouth, and Hunter stepped hastily forward. "Yeah. I figure us and the general can be a team."

"Well, that's cheating." The lieutenant near Boil grinned. "You can't have a Jedi on the team unless we get four men for each one of yours."

Quinlan bowed slightly. "I'm flattered that you think so highly of me," he said. "I wasn't actually going to use the Force, though – ow!"

Hunter glanced down to see that Wrecker had just stepped on the Jedi's foot and was now turning, as though to whisper something.

"Well, we still get four men to your one," the lieutenant said.

"Fine by me." Quinlan shrugged, intent on trying to pull away from Wrecker, but Crosshair and Tech closed in around him, whispering to each other while Hunter stood there and felt perplexed.

"Waxer," Boil said to the lieutenant, then eyed the Bad Batch suspiciously. "Let's pick our team. You, you're the sergeant, right?"

"Yeah. Hunter."

"Okay, you lead your team."

"Uh – right." Hunter turned to the others in time to see Crosshair elbow Quinlan and whisper, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Vos."

"What?" Finally managing to yank his foot out from beneath Wrecker's, Quinlan looked up and shoved Wrecker back a pace. "I don't think –"

This time, Tech grabbed his arm. "Quiet," he whispered. "We are going to need every advantage."

"I thought you weren't impressed by regs," the Jedi said.

"We aren't," Hunter said, catching on at last as to why his teammates were so concerned. "But these are Cody's regs, in his handpicked company, and that means they're dangerous."

"So you're impressed." Quinlan grinned.

"No," Crosshair said flatly, and set to work stretching his fingers and arms. "We'd beat them easily in a one-on-one."

"Gotcha." Quinlan thought for a moment, then grinned. "You know, you guys are, like, either really overconfident or super arrogant."

"Ha-ha." Tech secured his datapad in its pouch and shot the Jedi a bland look. "That is highly amusing, Quinlan."

"Yeah," Wrecker said, then laughed. "Especially since you're as bad as we are! You said somethin' like that last night!"

"I said I was awesome," the Jedi answered, tossing his lightsaber to land inside the tent entrance.

Crosshair snorted.

"Which," Quinlan allowed, "could possibly be misconstrued as arrogant."

"Shut up," Hunter told his teammates, leaning closer as he kept half his attention on the other troopers. "Boil's getting his team lined up. We need a strategy – an actual strategy, Wrecker, not –"

"Rush in headfirst and hope we don't die?"

Hunter growled, and Wrecker guffawed and slapped the sergeant so hard on the back that his nose smacked into Tech's head.

"Blast it, Wrecker!" Hunter touched his upper lip to check for blood. "No, we aren't doing that. First of all, it's not a plan, and secondly – this isn't a battle."

Crosshair's sharp eyes narrowed at the opposing team as he drawled, "I say it is."

"Okaaay . . ." Quinlan folded his arms. "Look, it's simple. We're trying to throw the ball and hit our opponents. So we need to keep the ball on our side. Crosshair, you're good with all that 'incidence and reflection' stuff or whatever."

"What?" Wrecker scratched his head. "We're not causin' an incident . . . not yet, anyway."

With a pained grimace, Crosshair pulled a reflector off his belt and held it up to catch the sun's rays, then put it back. "The angle of reflection equals the angle of incidence," he stated. "And I'm not explaining it."

"We get the idea," Hunter told him. "So, you figure on bouncing the ball off troopers to hit other troopers, right?"

The sniper nodded.

"Okay." Quinlan rocked back on his heels. "Which means the rest of us have to focus on getting the ball to Crosshair. Right?"

"Right," said Hunter. "And running interference."

"I'll do that." Tech smirked, but before the sergeant could warn anyone about not being unnecessarily aggressive, Boil called him.

"All set?"

"Yeah."

"Good! Listen up, troopers – here are the things you can't do. No stun weapons. No face shots with the ball or with anything else. No throwing anything except the ball – and that includes people." He shot a look at Wrecker. "Understood?"

"Awwww, fine."

"Uh-huh." Boil looked unimpressed and unconvinced, but he moved on. "No tackling or punching. I think that's all."

Waxer stepped forward. "Once you get the ball, no holding on to it. You can only take three steps before you have to throw it. Oh – and when you get tagged out, just drop to the ground and stay where you are. All clear?"

Everyone shouted an affirmative, and Hunter nodded.

"Great," Boil said, with a dark smile. "Now . . . let's begin."