Welcome to another addition to my fiction! Read and review everyone- you can never have enough reviews! Just to point out- angered really by Fixer's lack of... Anything in particular in the game (Despite him being one of my fave characters) I decided to give him a little bit of added detail. It goes against Star Wars? Do I care? Of course not. It's a Fan-Fic. Of course, I don't own the franchise, yadda yadda- let's get on with it.

Chapter 2- Glimpses

"Thought they'd never let us go," snorted Fixer, tapping away at his handheld. It wasn't often that Four Oh showed humour, but he had his moments. Ninety five percent of the time it was with fiddling with tech when he let his wit fly, preferring to leave the humour to Scorch and Sev. Three-eight, Boss, watched him intently- he oft wondered of his second in command. He spoke little, chose not to socialise and at times almost seemed to be as far removed from humanity as could be physically possible. What made it worse was that he knew Processor. 'Pod brothers, no less,' thought Boss, and knew that there'd be no approaching Fixer for some time- even if he refused to show his emotions freely.

It was quiet in the hold, for once. Rather than riding in the cockpit or even the quarters, Delta Squad chose to sit in the relative grime of the cargo-hold. It was here that Republic Ship Discipline seemed to cast a blind eye. Mops and buckets lay in corners randomly, despite the obvious fact that maintenance droids didn't require them. The room was of a dull greenish grey hue, due to the odd fact that the walls seemed to automatically secrete a slime-like substance. A substance that (It would seem) can only ever be found in the cargo-hold of every ship in the universe. "Built in grime." Scorch had said as he entered; patting the walls affectionately. "Ships wouldn't be the same without it."

Sev tapped his foot on the floor. The rattle from the metallic paving echoed slightly. A faint dripping could be heard in the background.

"Some trip this is." He grunted; his gravely voice causing Scorch to jump slightly. He moved his red patterned body and clipped is gun to his belt, and looked up at everyone else.

"...got my kill tracker working. It had a back-up all along. Should'na wasted good ammo on that twerp."

The was a pause and he grinned like a shark in a deeply satisfied way to the group: "Probably shouldn't have wasted all that energy hunting him through the air ducts either. Probably cost a fortune in repairs for the air purifiers too. Should never have planted the proxy mines to 'em..."

Fixer's face split slightly with the faintest hint of a smile, whilst Scorch gave an appreciative giggle. Sev caught the look on Forty's face and pressed further.

"What about you, Fixer? You usually have something to chat."

Boss tried hard not to nudge Sev in the side. Tact decidedly wasn't Oh-Seven's best quality. Four-Oh's hunched vulture shoulders loosened a tad and he moved his head away from the handheld's screen.

"Nice ship, really," he responded. He saw the incredulous look Sev gave to him in reply and quickly added "Not the hold, but the cockpit and stuff. It has a twin ION Stream fuel line for the engines."

Again, he caught the look on Sev's face, and gave a careworn sigh: "... Yeah. It's the beam that allows the transmission of the ION pulse from engine to engine to travel without the aid of any form of physical contact."

By now Scorch was looking at him blankly, and Boss had managed a small grin on Fixer's behalf.

"Forget it."

XXX

"HAH! Over my dead body!"

"We'll see. You're not protected against a hack from your own frequency are you?"

Fixer blinked and stopped short. He shuffled in his suit slightly. "Ah."

The two clones were sat next to each other out on the wall of the landing pad. Granted, the weather was never particularly appealing on Kamino, but when all you're used to are thunderous blotches lining the sky, you quickly learn to accept it. It was a 'cheery' day, as Fixer would have put it. That is, it wasn't raining, and the cloud cover wasn't coal-black. Fixer and Processor sat on the edge, their legs dangling almost comically on the side into thin air. Not quite the same as dipping your feet into a stream, but it would do. The pair created quite an image sat next to each other, resembling a pair of infants with games consoles. Processor picked up the conversation again:

"It's easy. All computers operate on a different data encoding frequency, right? Well, if you know the frequency of the computer you're trying to hack, you can patch your own model with a decoy freq. That mimics the other computer's. It should- in theory- allow you to outwit the hackee's computer and grant you access, if you're using the correct code."

Processor paused for dramatic effect, pulling the most cheese-filled grin that he could muster.

"Very nice." Fixer replied solemnly. "Though you don't have my DEF anyway, so how can you hope to duplicate it?"

Processor's grin turned from Cheddar to Wensleydale: "Swiped it from your helmet earlier. All's fair in war!" He added quickly, noting the rare glint in the now murderous Fixer's eye.

"Don't worry, Fix; I'll be kind to your comp. I'll tone down the haxor skills for you. Of course, if you were any other noob I would have sliced your computer already. You should be honoured you lasted so lo- Ah."

"My turn to smile, Processor: my turn to smile," Fixer declared whilst closing his laptop. It gave a smug and silky click as the catch sealed it shut: it almost matched the look of satisfaction riding Four-Oh's face. "I think I remain the 'leet haxor'."

A scowl and a grunt later, Processor grinned: "For now."

"For now."

Four-Oh stood up, his armour clanking slightly. His eyes met the shoreline and he let them surf out along the waves to the azure alien sea. Fixer had green eyes... He was unique in his own way. His green eyes were what set him apart from everyone else. It wasn't just he who had these eyes- Processor had them too, but they didn't have the same deepness to them. His eyes were pit-like: clouded with jungle mystery and adventure, he was, in his own way, unique. No-one had ever noticed, miraculously; he assumed instantly that it was a genetic defect, making him obsolete. An outdated model. Perhaps useless organic junk? He kept his and his brother's eyes quiet, preferring to hide his character away by making himself seem less... there. 'Less human' he'd heard Scorch say at one point. He quietly thought about it to himself; wondering if he should lighten up with Processor. He was, after all, his brother... A rumble from the sea as the foamy waves hit the landing pad drowned out Processor.

"What?"

"I said it's getting to windy! Besides- I want you to teach me how you stopped my slice!"

Fixer smiled, and turned his back on his thought inspiring sea. He placed his helmet over his head, and released a deep, caring sigh:

"All right, noob. Let's be off."

Processor rolled his eyes in response.

"We'll call by the mess for my software."

Fixer nodded and smiled. He stirred slightly when he felt his arm tingle, and realised it was Processor's arm.

"Lighten up, Fix. I'll get you a drink."

He smiled. Somehow, some way, he liked being different.

XXX

"Fixer?"

"Yo. Forty. Snap out of it dude."

Four-Oh jumped and sat up, meeting the eyes of Boss and Scorch: both of whom were now standing close and sporting concerned looks. A deadpan silence performed a reverse echo around the hold, spreading from the four silent troopers. Only the dripping from the far wall could be heard.

"You should stop spending so much time in front of a computer screen, Four-Oh," Scorch said knowingly: "It's ruining your eyesight as well as your stamina."

The green trooper grinned in reply: "D'you have any idea how maternal you sound, Scorch?"

"It's my right as a loving parent." Winked Six-Two. "Besides- commandos don't just doze off like that. What's up with you?"

"Nothing. Lack of sleep is all," retorted Fixer, and shuffled around in his suit again. He felt cold sweat dripping down his back like nails on a blackboard.

"Commandos don't bottle it up either."

"It's NOTHING, SCORCH."

"Delta, we know it's something, and we also have a fair idea of what's up! Now, you can either bottle it up, be miserable this whole journey, or you can at LEAST admit you have a problem and treat us as equals," interjected Boss. "We may not be from the same pod but we're as good as brothers. We're comrades, Fixer. Even better than that: we're friends."

The squad mates all sat on the ammo crates next to the clone computer hacker and waited.

"I didn't want to lose him." Forty spoke quietly. "I didn't think it'd happen. I had so much confidence in him."

"Can't help it," Sev grunted. "That's war, isnit?"

"I know. Just didn't expect it to happen so... soon." Came the reply. It was shaky and childlike- it was hard to believe that it was Fixer talking at all.

"It's all right, Forty," soothed Boss. "You're with Delta Squad. Nothing's going to happen, and that's a promise." Fixer sniffed and looked up. His face showed no sign of moving, yet his deep green eyes let out more than words ever could. He leaned forward and practically winded Boss with an embrace.

"Thanks, Delta-Lead."

Scorch grinned and glanced a knowing look at Sev:

"Fixer? Commandos. Don't. Hug."