FN-2187 likes guard duty, mostly because it means he gets to chat with whichever clones are in the mood to join him. Today he's stationed guarding the building's reactor core, standing on the edge of the room and keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. Any sound he makes echoes around him. He's decided to forgo talking in fear that his voice will carry—there are more stormtroopers positioned around the reactor, and he doesn't want to risk being heard.

Today the Wolfpack seem to have assigned themselves as FN-2187's companions. They aren't exactly the most quiet of escorts.

"Kriffing insufferable di'kut, get off of me—!"

FN-2187 pivots to survey the section of the reactor behind him and catches a glimpse of Sinker and Boost tusseling dramatically in the middle of the walkway. Sinker is attempting to rub his knuckles into Boost's skull. Boost twists and shoves to keep him away. Comet is posed nearby as if wondering if he should intervene, and Warthog keeps his distance with a fond bewilderness on his face. Wolffe is leaned up against the wall nearby, calm as always. He seems content to watch the Pack's antics, arms crossed over his chest. His eye gleams in amusement.

FN-2187 doesn't remember exactly how the argument between Boost and Sinker had begun, but it's far more entertaining than staring at the bland grey walkways surrounding the reactor. He keeps one eye on the dramatic battle as he swivels his head to keep watch.

"Take it back, laandur shabuir! Take it back!" Sinker growls in mock-offense. Boost squirms in his grasp, baring his teeth.

"Nu draar! You can't dispute the kriffing truth!"

"Kriff you, I can swim! I learned how, utreekov—"

Boost grapples with Sinker for a moment before suddenly ducking down. His hands, which had been firmly planted on Sinker's shoulders, suddenly slip low. Sinker yelps as Boost's hands go right through him. Boost's limbs are abruptly just as incorporeal as his transparent form makes him seem.

Sinker jerks back with an emphatic curse. Comet cackles. Wolffe snorts.

"Oh Force, you little—that's cheating—Wolffe!" Sinker cries, jerking his head up to stare pleadingly at their commander. Boost looks entirely unconcerned, tucking his hands behind his back with a smug grin. Wolffe arches an eyebrow at Sinker.

"Technically you started it. You won't find any sympathy here."

Boost whoops in enthusiasm. Warthog smacks his forehead with his palm. FN-2187 grins beneath his helmet as Sinker glowers out at all of them.

"Some CO you turned out to be!" he huffs. Wolffe just rolls his eye at him.

The antics are good to cure boredom, but they're also inspiring a plethora of questions that FN-2187 has never gotten the opportunity to ask before.

I have a question, FN-2187 signs with the hand not holding his gun. Wolffe catches the movement. The Commander flicks his fingers in acknowledgement. He also jerks his head towards FN-2187 to shift the focus of the rest of the clones to FN-2187.

"Go ahead, kih'verd."

Arm? How work? FN-2187 signs. His fingers form the shapes slowly. It's not quite a full sentence. He's not fluent enough yet, but it's good enough to get his question across.

Comet narrows his eyes at FN-2187's hand and sighs.

"Do it again? I didn't get it."

FN-2187 smiles. He flashes the signs again, a bit more confident this time. Comet nods triumphantly, but Boost frowns.

"Arm there work? What kind of question is that?"

Sinker slaps Boost lightly upside the head.

"Di'kut, that's the sign for 'how'," he clarifies. "Right, sir?"

"Correct," Wolffe drawls. Sinker grins. Boost scowls and gives him a light shove. For a moment they're trapped in another vicious cycle of poking and prodding each other until Wolffe fixes them with a warning look.

"Gev," he orders in a low voice. The horseplay dies immediately. Boost and Sinker look sheepish.

ARC sign is getting taught through the clone ranks more rapidly than FN-2187 thought was possible. Some clones retain the signs very quickly and are surpassing FN-2187's knowledge even though they've only been learning for half the amount of time. Others struggle a bit more with it, but every clone FN-2187 has met up until now has at least been attempting to learn.

FN-2187 has never felt so… important. It's mind-numbing sometimes, something that FN-2187 can't even really comprehend. The dedication and effort that his new vode are putting into learning ARC signs just so that they can communicate with him is astounding. If FN-2187 thinks about it too much he gets an odd lump in his throat.

"How was Boost able to put his arm through Sinker, you mean," Wolffe clarifies. FN-2187 nods. The clones eye each other for a moment. Boost coughs.

"It—well, uh. We don't actually… know? It's weird. Especially with another vod. You can touch him, or you can not. Like walls. We can touch them, or not, when we need to go through. It depends on what you're concentrating on. Smaller items are strange too. Sometimes they're solid for us, but we can't manipulate them. I can lean against a rotary blaster, but I can't pick it up in my hands."

FN-2187 supposes that it makes sense that they wouldn't have a perfect explanation. Death had thrown them into this state. It's not like they could have researched it beforehand.

Can you touch me? FN-2187 asks curiously. Sometimes it looks like they want to, but then hold themselves back. Comet shakes his head.

"Nope. We can't touch anything living. We go right through."

That's more disappointing than FN-2187 would like to admit. The clones are tactile. There's no shortage of light touches or hugs or friendly slugs to the arm, even among the higher ranking officers. FN-2187 sometimes wonders what it would be like to participate.

"It is kind of cool sometimes, though," Warthog comments. FN-2187 glances over at him and nearly flinches when he sees that Warthog's form has begun to flicker. Every time FN-2187 has seen that it hasn't been a good thing, but he's startled when Warthog's face suddenly disappears underneath his helmet, and his armor shifts into a different model. His helmet grows a little fin on top. "I can choose if I want phase one or phase two. I could even put on the red fatigues from Kamino, but I'm not too fond of them so I think I'll hold off."

Sinker flickers. Suddenly he's clad in red to demonstrate. FN-2187 blinks in surprise. Sinker himself looks different, too—the lines in his face have eased, and there's a hint of fat clinging to his cheeks.

"You're—younger," FN-2187 hisses in surprise before he can contain himself. Sinker shrugs.

"Yeah. I'd show you what I looked like as a baby cadet, but I don't trust Boost enough to do that right now. He'd take advantage of it, probably."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean—?"

"Wolffe can do the opposite," Sinker says, rippling until white armor blinks into existence around him once more. "We can show ourselves in any form we had while we were alive."

FN-2187 tilts his head. Wolffe heaves a sigh.

"I lived to be an old man, vod'ika," he says. "Well. Old for us. Ruug'la be baar, evaar'la be manda." FN-2187 doesn't know those words yet but he doesn't get the chance to ask. Wolffe's form blurs. For an instant FN-2187 catches a glimpse of white hair and wrinkles, but it's gone a moment later. Wolffe had only offered him a glimpse.

E-Y-E? FN-2187 fingerspells at him curiously. Wolffe's lips quirk upwards. FN-2187 blinks, and suddenly Wolffe has two eyes. The scar bisecting his face is gone.

"Stranger now to have it than to not," Wolffe comments quietly, reaching up to probe at his unmarred cheek. Comet waves a hand dismissively.

"You're better off without the eye, sir. The ladies love a man with a scar."

FN-2187 nearly chokes as Boost and Sinker guffaw. Wolffe rolls his eyes again, and the scar returns.

Jokes aside, FN-2187 is fascinated. He thinks for a few moments, and another question comes to mind as easy as breathing. He likes asking questions.

You all, where before me?

"Um, as in where we were before you showed up?" Warthog asks. FN-2187 nods. "Well… Sinker died first, so maybe you should ask him," Warthog says teasingly. Sinker hums.

"When I died, I became a ghost right where my body had fallen. It was pretty weird. I had no idea what was going on, but there were other ghost brothers around me to explain what was happening. I just kind of… followed along with Boost until the or'dinii took a grenade to the kriffing face."

FN-2187 winces. That… doesn't sound fun. The clones are completely relaxed. They don't seem at all ruffled by the fact that they're discussing their deaths. They've had plenty of time to get used to it, after all, but FN-2187 still feels something in his stomach twist in sympathy.

"Look, it wasn't my fault," Boost says in mock-offense. "Kriffing Imps sent us right into an ambush. Anyone in their right mind could have seen it, but no one seemed to care. Boost and I hung around the rest of the living clones in that battalion."

"I got shot down," Warthog adds, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Disgraceful. Same deal, though. We were running a suicide mission. My chip-addled mind didn't question it. After that I just waited with Sinker and Boost until the Empire finished purging the clones from their ranks."

Where after all dead? FN-2187 signs. Sinker shrugs and glances up at Wolffe.

"Well… we kind of got… pulled. I don't know how to describe it. Once every brother around us had already kicked the bucket it was like… we were warped to where there were brothers still alive. Lots of brothers followed Commander Cody for a while. Some of the guys from the 327th lasted a long time in the Empire, too. But eventually there were only three clones left, and we got pulled to Wolffe. He lasted longer than anybody, except Captain Rex."

"When Rex and I finally died, lots of men thought we'd get pulled to the 501st's missing medic, if he was still alive… but we didn't," Wolffe continues slowly. "Nothing happened. We drifted. No one could see us. There wasn't anything to do. We couldn't touch the world around us. Time didn't even really matter anymore, until one day every clone was suddenly pulled to this facility. No one knew why until Fives and Echo figured out that you could see us. For some reason, our spirits have connected to you. And you're the only living being who's ever been able to hear or see us."

FN-2187's eyes go wide. The weight of that statement settles over his shoulders. He's their only connection to the living world.

He wonders why, and can't come up with even a notion of an idea.

Can you go? FN-2187 signs, then grimaces. L-E-A-V-E, he spells out slowly to clarify. Wolffe shakes his head.

"We could roam the planet that we're on, if we wanted to," he says. "But we can only enter space if we're following the vod that we're connected to. There's not much point in exploring. We'll get pulled with you wherever you go."

"Here's the only place anyone can see us, anyway," Boost says quietly. "It doesn't really make sense to leave. You'd be all alone, without anyone to talk to. So no one's really tried that hard."

He sounds sorrowful, suddenly. FN-2187 swallows wordlessly in the moment of silence that follows. Finally, Sinker heaves a sigh.

"You've got some good questions, vod'ika," he says lightly. "Are you sure you're even keeping watch anymore?"

FN-2187 jumps. He turns his head wildly to scan around his section of the reactor just in case. Comet groans.

"It's kriffing reactor duty, Sinker. He's fine. Nothing ever happens on reactor duty. The amount of guards anyone would have to go through before they reach the reactor is insane—"

"But it's still possible," Warthog points out wryly. "Plenty of people have been fooled before."

"And that's even more likely considering it's the First Order we're dealing with here," Sinker adds, and then glances at FN-2187 guiltily. "Uh, no offense."

FN-2187 shrugs. The clones take great delight in pointing out the many flaws in the military structures of the First Order. Maybe a few weeks ago FN-2187 would have been scandalized to hear them, but now he's started to notice the mistakes on his own, too.

"Any more questions, vod?" Boost asks. It's still so startling to hear that kind of question. FN-2187 knows that they're genuinely looking to see if his curiosity has been sated, but he still has to bite back the crisp, "No, sir," that his commanding officers would expect. He thinks about it for a moment.

It's okay, he signs. He's done for now. Commander Wolffe nods at him.

"Let us know if you think of anything else," he offers quietly. "You only have to ask. We'll be here."

And—it's not the first time a clone has said that, but FN-2187 is still completely floored by the statement. He nods, at a loss for words or signs, and watches in bewilderment as something fond crosses Wolffe's scarred face.

"You're aliit now. Clan, pack, family. Don't forget it."

FN-2187 feels something in his chest clench. He blinks rapidly under his helmet and doesn't respond, but the Wolfpack seems to understand what he can't quite say yet anyway.

"Sithspit," Zeroes hisses. He jerks his hands back from the mounted FWMB-10 repeating blaster that he's struggling to man and gives them a shake. The other stormtrooper wraps his hands around the gun a second time and curses vehemently when the kick from the blast nearly dislodges him for a second time. The bolt that he fires doesn't even come close to the target that he's supposed to be aiming at.

FN-2187 glances down the line at the other stormtrooper squads around them. There are four other megablasters set up, and the instructor is busy with a different squad in the corner. She hasn't noticed that Zeroes is struggling yet, but any longer and she probably will.

The recommendation for megablaster training had been unexpected, but FN-2187 had been looking forward to the challenge. So had Hardcase, who is present and has floated higher up into the air so that he can get a better view of the destruction on the other side of the range. The heavy gunner's eyes are alight with glee at the heavy weaponry on display.

Zeroes grunts as the megablaster gets the better of him yet again. Even though the gun is mounted, the kick is ferocious, and if you can't keep your hands in the perfect place on the grip you won't have a hope of using it correctly. FN-2187 glances at his squadmate and sees almost instantly that his hands aren't positioned right.

He looks over at the instructor again. They're supposed to be taking turns. Nines and FN-2187 have already gone, and both managed to wrestle the blaster into submission. Zeroes will get a sharp tongue lashing from the instructor if he can't straighten himself out soon… provided that she's feeling merciful. You never know with specialty trainers.

FN-2187 has never cared too much for his squadmates. He's never needed to. Team cohesion is not a highly-sought-after trait among the First Order, but suddenly FN-2187 wants to help.

The instructor is still distracted. FN-2187 steels his nerve and steps a little closer to Zeroes.

"Move your hands a bit higher," he whispers. Zeroes jerks in surprise at his voice. FN-2187 doesn't let it deter him. "Widen your stance. You've got to steady yourself as well as the blaster."

He doesn't… he doesn't know why he's helping the other stormtrooper. It goes against everything he's ever understood about what it means to be a member of the First Order. You look after yourself first, without exception. But something in FN-2187 squirms in discomfort when he thinks that now.

Hardcase has drifted closer in curiosity, but he doesn't say anything. There are a few other clones on the edge of FN-2187's vision as well, but he ignores them.

Zeroes turns to look over his shoulder at FN-2187, confused.

"Eight-seven, what are you—?"

"Trust me," FN-2187 says, startling himself again. Trust is belittled here. Zeroes stares at him for a very, very long moment. On the other end of the room, the instructor seems to be wrapping up her lecture to one of the other squads.

"She's coming," he hisses urgently. "Higher hands. Wider stance."

Zeroes tenses, but then he huffs and obeys. His hands settle back over the gun, into the right spots this time. He inches his feet wider apart. FN-2187 steps back to his original position, nearly running into Nines in the process.

The instructor finally turns and starts coming their way. She passes just in time to see Zeroes open fire on his target. For an instant he doesn't have control, but he's able to steady himself out thanks to his improved form. The target he's aiming at gets obliterated.

Zeroes lets out a tiny noise of surprise. The instructor nods in silent approval and passes him without comment.

"Ori'jate, vod," a clone murmurs in FN-2187's ear. FN-2187 glances back to see green armor and reddish hair cut into two thick stripes. "That's the way. We don't leave brothers behind."

When Zeroes comes back, he stands stiffly at FN-2187's side and nods at him in quiet acknowledgement. It's more thanks than FN-2187 had been expecting.

These stormtroopers—his squadmates—aren't vode, not like the clones are. FN-2187 has never thought of himself as close to them in any way. But perhaps the clones are influencing him more than he's realized.

His squadmates aren't vode, but perhaps they could be brothers.

"Traat'aliit gar besbe'trayc. The squad is your weapon," the clone in green translates carefully. "It won't be easy, but you could make something out of it, if you tried. It all depends on you, though."

FN-2187 considers it for a long moment.

He wants what the clones have. He wants the easy camaraderie, the constant support, the trust, the faith that your brothers will have your back. He glances over at Zeroes again and sees the other stormtrooper looking at him, head tilted in continued confusion.

"Gaa'tayl," FN-2187 breathes. Help me. He won't be able to do this alone. It's dangerous. He has the clones to set a good example, but these stormtroopers would only have him. Nameless FN-2187.

"We've got you, kih'vod," Hardcase says suddenly, drifting closer. "They're lost, like you were. But we can help them."

FN-2187 feels a wave of fear. But he also feels determination. He nods once, curling his toes in anticipation.

"Oya," he hears several voices say around him. They thrum with excitement. FN-2187 relaxes a bit.

He's not alone.

FN-2187 rounds the corner of a hallway, marching on double time because he's late to his turn at the mess hall, and stops short when he nearly runs into a crowd of ghostly figures.

"What the—"

Heads jerk in his direction. It looks like there's an entire battalion in front of him, all crowded into this single stretch of the hallway. Their armor is painted with dark brown markings. FN-2187 has seen them around before, though he's never gotten a good opportunity to learn their names. There are just… so many clones, and it's hard to talk to all of them.

"Vod'ika," one clone murmurs in greeting. He looks tense. FN-2187 frowns at him. Something is wrong. Two stormtroopers come around the corner and step around FN-2187, passing obliviously through the clones on their way to the mess. They barely spare FN-2187 a passing glance.

"What's going on?" FN-2187 asks quietly once they've gone. The clones exchange nervous glances.

"It's—it's alright, kid. You'll be late. We can explain later," another clone says wearily. FN-2187 shakes his head, even more concerned at his dismissal.

"No, tell me," FN-2187 tries again. He glances down the hall a bit and sees an area near the wall where the clones are huddled closer together. It appears to be the epicenter of the trouble, so FN-2187 makes his way towards the spot. The clones move out of his way as he goes. No one tries to stop him again, but they all look grim.

The clones have positioned themselves protectively around a clone captain who is backed up against the wall, flickering so violently that he blinks in and out of existence with every second. The men closest to him are hovering around anxiously, but they refrain from touching him. FN-2187 freezes in horror at the helplessness on their faces.

"What's wrong with him? Can't you help?" he whispers. A medic looks up at him, fingers twitching reflexively in the air. He shakes his head, agony written across his face.

"If we touch him, it'll spread to us too," he mumbles. "There's nothing we can do."

The clone on the ground doesn't make a single sound, just continues to flash and tremble. FN-2187 takes a deep breath. He knees down next to the men, who shift to make room for him in the little circle.

"What does it mean?" he asks, reaching a hand out before hesitating, because it won't do any good. He finds himself inching his fingers forwards anyway, torn by the desire to help and an unease so strong that FN-2187 can feel a chill trickling down his spine.

"He's—he's remembering things," the medic answers with a wince. "And it's alright to remember things, but—he went too deep."

FN-2187 can't pretend to understand that. He bites his lip so hard that he tastes blood and steels himself. If the clones can't touch him or do anything else to help, maybe FN-2187 can. He reaches out. The medic lets out a gasp, and several other clones shout in alarm, but FN-2187 is already moving. His hand drifts harmlessly through the downed clone's chest—

There's a roar in his ears and pain throbbing through his skull. His men are dying around him. Keeli chokes on the dust swirling through the air and fires his pistols again and again and again. He knows that he's going to die. Knows that no one is coming. The only thing he can do is grit his teeth and plant his feet and fire and fire and fire because if he's going to die he might as well take as many of the blasted clankers with him as he can.

They've already taken so much from him. His men, his family, his aliit. He knows that they're gone and some part of him rages and cries for justice and the other part of him curls up in a little ball and screams because it's his fault. It's Keeli's fault, he could have done more, fought harder, come up with a better strategy to present to the General, figured out some way to protect his men—

His men. His brave, fierce, determined men. They had been willing to sacrifice their lives for the citizens they are protecting, but that does not mean it wasn't hard, that it hadn't sent a torrent of pain and torment through Keeli's heart. His men are dead. He howls his fury to the sky and loses himself in the melee. It's desperate and wild. There's nothing left. Death awaits him with open arms.

Their Jedi fights well. Mandokarla. Worthy. He stands with them to the very end. Keeli takes a blaster bolt to the chest. Every breath means pain. He can feel his organs failing. Bile rises in his throat. He gets off a few more shots. Another blaster bolt gets him in the gut. It burns. It's too much. It's too much. He can't. He doesn't fear death, but he is afraid. Have they bought enough time, or is it all in vain? Will their sacrifice mean anything, in the end?

His vision flickers. He can't breathe. His lungs don't work anymore.

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.

FN-2187 wrenches his hand back with a cry that rattles out of his throat, cracking in fear. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Force, Force—

There are tears streaming down his cheeks. He sucks in a ragged inhale and sits down hard in the middle of the hallway. His limbs are shaking. A frantic hand waves in front of his face.

"Oh no. Oh no oh no come on, verd'ika, you've gotta get up. They're coming, a squad is coming—"

FN-2187 is still struggling for every breath, but he climbs to his feet. His legs quake underneath him. He'd seen—he'd seen—what—how—?

A squad of stormtroopers comes around the corner. FN-2187 looks a bit odd standing alone in the corridor, but he isn't acting strange enough to attract their attention yet. The second the stormtroopers move out of sight FN-2187 stumbles and slumps against the wall. The clones are staring back at him, panic visible in their eyes.

"Vod… are you okay?" the medic says carefully. He holds out a hand out like he's speaking to a wounded animal. FN-2187 nearly heaves when he realizes that he recognizes the markings on his armor. He recognizes them all—these are Keeli's men, who had died without ever knowing if their sacrifice had been in vain, who had given so much for Ryloth's people to be free—FN-2187 had seen their broken bodies through Keeli's tear-filled eyes—

Keeli lets out a gasp from where he's curled up on the floor. His form has stabilized.

"Kriff," the Captain snarls. He pushes himself into a sitting position. His men immediately move closer to steady him.

"Sir, sir, are you alright?" one of them gasps. "Oh, Force, what's happening?"

"Did—" Keeli grunts out, "—did someone touch me?"

Silence. Every head turns to stare at FN-2187.

"I—I didn't touch you," FN-2187 stammers, still panting hard. He stares into Keeli's eyes and remembers the cloying feel of dust in his lungs, the fiery pain of a blaster bolt scorching his skin. "I can't touch you."

"But you did something," Keeli says, completely certain. FN-2187 swallows.

"I don't—I don't know? I just… waved my hand through you, I thought it would help but…" He trails off, because he doesn't know what to say.

Keeli shudders suddenly. He rubs at his face with his hands.

"I don't know what you did, kid, but I… thank you. Vor entye. I don't… I don't know for how long I would have been like that, but I felt… something. It snapped me out of it. Whatever you did worked."

FN-2187 blanches.

"If I—if I touch any of you, will that happen?" he splutters, because if that's what will happen every time, he's not sure he can do this. He can't. Once was bad enough. FN-2187 had felt Keeli die.

"I don't know," Keeli admits. FN-2187 closes his eyes. He doesn't want to see something like that ever again.

But… the Captain isn't flickering this time. He isn't… having a panic attack, or whatever it had been. And FN-2187 needs to know if it will happen again. Better to get it over with now than to wait and be caught off guard the next time he accidentally steps through a clone.

FN-2187 clenches his hand into a fist and swings it towards Keeli's arm as fast as he can, bracing himself for the worst. The entire group freezes.

Nothing happens. His hand goes right through Keeli, completely normal. The watching clones let out relieved breaths. FN-2187's shoulders slump. He reaches out again and tentatively waves his hand through a scout next to him. There is no flash of memory, no wave of foreign sensation. FN-2187 shakes his head in confusion. Does he only get memories if the vod is flickering?

"Kotep kih'verd," one of the clones behind him mutters. "No wonder we connected to him." FN-2187 purses his lips at the comment. Brave perhaps isn't the best word for it.

Keeli hauls himself to his feet, gently pushing away the hands of his men. He holds FN-2187's gaze.

"You saw," he says. It's not a question. FN-2187 nods. Keeli closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry," the Captain murmurs. "I was remembering it too well. I forgot the pain until it overwhelmed me."

FN-2187 clenches his jaw.

"I'm sorry," he whispers back. Keeli takes a shallow breath, composing himself.

"It happened a long time ago. Vor entye," the Captain repeats, sincerity and relief filling his voice this time. FN-2187 feels faint. He nods weakly in response. He still doesn't even understand what happened.

Marching feet sound from around the corner. More stormtroopers. There's no time to sit around and figure this out now.

"Get going," Captain Keeli orders quietly. "You won't get any food if you don't hurry."

FN-2187 doesn't have much of an appetite left, but he has a training session soon and he'll need what strength he can get. If he waits much longer he'll miss his chance to eat. He hesitates for a long moment anyway until the medic makes a shooing gesture with his hand.

"Udesii, vod'ika. We don't know what's going on either. Go, rest, and we can try to figure it out once you've recovered."

Thank the Force for firm medics who can imitate command tone. FN-2187 nods obediently, ducks his head, and hightails it for the mess.

That night he dreams of sand and stars and lightning bolts splitting the sky wide open. He dreams of people that he's never seen before who reach for him with open arms, welcoming him home. He dreams of a flaming sword and an old man in a brown robe that stands on the edge of eternity.

When he wakes in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and panting, a vod who'd been standing guard over him leans in to ask him if he's alright.

"Fine," FN-2187 gasps out, trembling all over. "Just—a strange dream, that's all."

The clone—FN-2187 remembers that his name is Lock—nods in sympathy.

"It happens," he says quietly. "Do you remember any of it?"

FN-2187 tries to recall the images, but they slip away from him like water trickling through his fingers. He huffs in frustration.

"No," he replies.

He can't shake the feeling that maybe they were important. But he doesn't remember anymore, so he puts it out of his mind and goes back to sleep.

A/N: Mando'a:

Di'kut- idiot

Laandur- weak, pathetic

Shabuir- jerk, but stronger lol

Nu draar- no way, absolutely not

Utreekov- emptyhead/fool

Kih'verd- little warrior

Verd'ika- little warrior, but fond instead of literal.

Kih'vod- little brother

Vod'ika- little brother, fond instead of literal

Gev- stop

Ruug'la be baar, evaar'la be manda- old of body, young of mind

Aliit- family, clan

Ori'jate- excellent

Traat'aliit gar besbe'trayc- the squad is your weapon

Gaa'tayl- help

Oya- general cheer of enthusiasm

Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la- Not gone, merely marching far away

Vor entye- thank you

Udesii- calm

I watched the first two hobbit movies with my siblings right before writing this and lemme tell you, it was so hard to write Keeli's name and not immediately imagine dwarf Kili in his place. Idk man it threw me for a loop. I honestly never even realized they have the same name ha!

PLOT ALERT PLOT ALERT! I promise this is going somewhere lol it's coming just be patient

Oh no this chapter is longer. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. I must. exercise. restraint. one fic with 10k chapters is enough thanks holy heck.

Anyway! Thank you so much as always for being very patient with this fic! meridiansdominoes for more! 3