Author Notes - Definitely gonna keep the chapters short in this one. It's going to be a fun short story. She said, knowing exactly how her 'fun short stories' usually go.

Thanks to easpicuzzi for the favourite. Again, an unexpected surprise but a welcome one.

CHAPTER THREE - FRIENDLY

Artoo shook off the cans and glass shards off his body. He had managed to avoid most of the garbage, but bits of it had fallen on him. It didn't matter to him much at all - his greatest concern was the Protocol droid. And, aside from looking incredibly shocked, he looked just fine. Goldie reached for his weapon, despite being stuck flat on the ground, in a hilariously tragic manner.

'G-GET AWAY! I-I'm warning you, I will s-shoot!'

Wow. Artoo knew that Protocol droids were never exactly the epitome of bravery, but this guy was making the others look like Wookiees or Gungans. When he wasn't complaining about sand or his awful job, he had been screaming like a scared little boy.

'Oh dear... I can't reach my blaster! I'm doomed! I'm going to be reduced to cosmic splinters all because my masters...'

His little speech came to a slow stop when he realised that his attacker wasn't moving, aside from tiny turns of the dome. Had he been a human instead of a droid, that was the moment he would've been blushing.

'Wait a moment... you're not a ferocious beast! You're... you're just a droid!'

'Hm. Woah wuh.'

'Don't get sarcastic with me, you little-'

Despite the blank, static face, one could almost see his eyes widen. He got to his feet, slowly and with great difficulty, while Artoo watched his poor attempts at moving. The guy really needed oiling.

'You're a droid! A fully-functional droid in this utter wasteland. Why, the odds of that are five million, seven-hundred-eighty-one-thousand, two-hundred and ninety-three to one! I was told that there would be nothing but beasts on this horrid planet. Ha! So my masters are not only crazy, but misinformed as well.'

Artoo got a little caught up by the word 'masters'. He couldn't even remember his old master, and considering that droids usually forgot nothing that was saying something.

'Bippa brap skreet.'

'You're the only one left on this planet? Everything else is gone? Even the wildlife?'

'Wrrrrp.'

'Oh my...'

Goldie looked around, struggling to move his joints due to all the sand build-up. Now that he was no longer being terrified by monsters that weren't there, he could really get a good look at the sheer nothingness.

'Goodness. You must be a very resilient droid to have survived this long without a master. How long have you been roaming around by yourself?'

'Woop wrru bip.'

'Seven hundred years?! Thank The Maker you're alright.'

Artoo didn't quite understand his habit of repeating everything he said. Granted, translating other droids was one of a Protocol droid's primary functions, but it wasn't like they were any organics around. (He doesn't know about you guys).

But he wasn't complaining, yet at least. Not only was Goldie's shiny exterior just gorgeous, but his voice was just about perfect too. Something about that 'nervous butler' voice seemed to fit, and it brought great pleasure to Artoo's auditory sensors.

'Oh, how rude of me. It is against my protocol to converse without introducing myself.' He put his hand on his chest like he was great hero. 'I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg relations.'

Artoo whistled in joy. No need to use 'Goldie' anymore.

'Twee-pwee-woah?

What a brilliant name.

'Well, I suppose you can call me simply 'Threepio'. And you are?'

'Wah-hoo-twee-woo.'

'Artoo-Detoo? You know, I never understood how organics name us droids. What does that 'P' stand for anyway?'

That was never a question Artoo had before. And now he wished it stayed that way.

'Oh, what am I doing? I'm wondering what the letters in my name stand for, and you have been living on this planet in isolation for seven centuries! How did you repair yourself? You must've... scavenged parts off deactivated droids!' He looked at his blaster, still on the floor, for a moment. 'You're not going to harvest my parts, are you?!'

Artoo laughed to himself. He was certain Threepio would find a toaster terrifying.

'Tweebba whrrr bip.'

'Only when I'm deactivated? That... isn't very reassuring.'

Now that Artoo had another voice he could listen to, the empty silence of the planet was even more noticeable. It put into perspective just how eerily quiet it all was, without a companion to listen to.

'You're probably wondering what a Protocol droid is doing on such a desolate planet.'

No need to wonder why an astromech had chilled here for seven centuries, huh?

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

'Wrrr?!'

'My masters tried to convince me it was because they thought I was best for the job. But I overheard them saying they just wanted to get rid of me!'

Threepio apparently didn't notice the warning beeps, being too preoccupied in telling his story to notice the world around him. Artoo spun his dome around, and saw another giant sandstorm well on its way. It got closer and closer like tsunami of dust. How did he not notice that beast of a storm until now?

'And, better yet, they didn't tell me why I needed to go on this mission. They just told me to look for some plans, and tossed me in a rocket before I could say no! And then they-'

*CLANK*

Artoo bashed his body into Threepio, interrupting his story and nearly knocking him off his feet.

'Artoo, what are you doing? If you didn't want me to tell my story, you could've just said so.'

'Whrrr zrrrt!'

'A what? A sandstorm!? My masters never warned me about sandstorms! No one ever tells me anything.'

Artoo looked back to the sandstorm. It was definitely not that close when he saw it a few seconds ago. This one was approaching fast, the fastest he'd seen in years! Threepio backed up a bit, as if that would get him any further from the storm moving faster than he was.

'Oh, we're doomed! That sandstorm will wreak havoc on my circuitry! I'll be irreparable for sure!'

Artoo spun his dome back around to look at him, in all his pessimistic glory. Such a defeatist attitude would never last long on this planet, in more ways than one.

'Brrzt whrrr mmrr.'

'What do you mean, there's no need to panic yet? That storm will destroy us!'

Heh, the shiny guy's knees and arms seemed to be shaking. If the storm didn't destroy him first, he'd shake himself apart. Artoo knew Protocol droids weren't exactly ones for survival, but this was a bit much.

How he survived this long to begin with was statistically unlikely. Everything about this was unlikely. But, regardless of his incredibly low of chance of survival - possibly because of it, actually - Artoo was not about ready to leave him alone to turn to scrap like everyone else.

Not this time.

'Bippa fwoop!'

'W-What? Climb on? Do forgive me, but I don't believe we've known each other long enough for me to-'

'BIPPA. FWOOP.'

A few seconds of silence. 'Well, alright. I hope you know what you're doing.'

The idea that someone thought Artoo didn't know what he was doing would be laughable... had that deadly storm of death not been getting dangerously close. Threepio, against his better judgement, grabbed onto the short droid as tight as his sandy joints would let him. Climbing onto Artoo properly was out of the question.

'Can you please explain to me what you plan to do?'

'Wooo.'

'FLY?!'

The poor, frightened droid hung onto him tighter, pushing his sore limbs to their limits. Artoo grabbed the leftover blaster, and locked it away into his storage compartment.

'Hurry Artoo!' Threepio yelled with more emotion - fear, of course - than anyone would expect a droid to express. 'The storm's almost here!'

'Twoot zeep!'

'Hang on? I don't think I'll even be considering doing anything-'

Artoo activated his jetpack, ignoring any fear he felt over the added weight of his new brass friend wearing it down faster. Without a second to lose, he took to the skies and zipped away.

'EEELLLLSSSEEE!'

He could feel his new friend dragging him down - and hear his never-ending screams too - but under no circumstances would he drop him. Whether Threepio would do the same thing for him was yet to be seen.

'Artoo, the storm's nearly here!'

The aforementioned astromech knew that, and would make that clear if he wasn't so focused on staying 'alive'. Now was not the time to bicker.

'Wooo!'

Artoo spotted exactly what he wanted to see - his home, its door wide open. Just as he left it. Just one problem - considering that it was barely in his optical receptors, it was still a faIr distance away.

His new friend had travelled much further than he realised.

'Oh Artoo, the storm is practically already on us! We're doomed! We'll become nothing more than the garbage that covers this wasteland!'

Okay, now Artoo was getting sick of his complaining and pessimistic attitude. Urge to drop new friend rising.

'Bzzrt zzzrt tweet!'

'Don't call me a mindless philosopher, you overweight glob of grease!'

Why did Artoo just get the feeling that most of their conversations in the near future would boil down to this?

'AAAHHHHH!'

This time, Artoo would not blame Threepio for screaming.

The dust cloud had consumed them both. Now Artoo was flying blind. The swirling sand blocked his vision almost entirely. He knew Threepio was yelling more things about his doom, that Artoo couldn't even hear over the harsh storm.

Fortunately, a droid didn't need to rely on its vision, when simple geological memories and algorithms would do the trick.

Artoo could feel the sand and dust pummelling against his already-beaten exterior, and seeping into almost every outlet. Though his internal hardware could take some sand - he'd long be deactivated otherwise - he knew he'd only be able to take so much.

As for his shiny friend... he doubted all those exposed wires could withstand so much sand well at all.

'ARTOO, DO SOMETHING!'

That managed to get through the raging sands. On one hand, Artoo did not appreciate the added pressure. On the other, if his friend was still talking then surely Threepio could indeed make it.

'WOOT WOOT ZEEP!'

'STAY CALM? YOU WANT ME TO STAY CALM?! We'd better be almost there!'

They were nearly there - Artoo knew it. He knew he could hold on in time, but whether or not his friend could was a question he'd much rather ignore.

Artoo's jetpack began to splutter.

'Uh oh...'

He didn't dare mention it to Threepio, the same way one wouldn't tell a loved one that the breaks on the ship were shot. But Artoo knew that at any moment, his jetpack would cease to function.

'Artoo? Artoo! Why are we going DOWN?!'

Well, that was it for the jetpack.

'WOOOOOAH!'

Artoo tumbled into the ground, the soft sand cushioning his fall. He rolled across the wavy floor, until his trip ended with a loud solid CLANK. Getting back onto his rollers, he would've done a victory dance had the situation not called for it.

He was home. He could now see it somewhat clearly through the sandstorm. But it wasn't over yet.

'Artoo-Detoo, where are you?! You haven't abandoned me, have you? I should've know better than to trust a rogue droid!'

Artoo saw his new friend almost completely flat on the ground, his stiffer-than-ever arms just barely keeping his face and chest off the sand. His golden exterior blended in with the dusty surroundings surprisingly well, but Artoo could still see him. Just barely.

No way Threepio was going to last much longer. Artoo had to get him in fast. Without delay, he fired out a little magnet on a rope from one of his compartments. It attached itself to Threepio's chest.

'Artoo? Artoo, is that you?'

'Woo-woo!'

'It IS you! Hurry! My joints won't last much longer! I have approximately one minute and twenty-eight seconds until I'm done for good!'

Threepio was so into his calculations that he didn't notice Artoo already dragging him along by that rope, carrying him all the way up the ramp. If only the astromech left the lights on...

Artoo had never been so happy to return home. While some sand got inside, most of it stayed outside.

'Am... am I safe? I can't feel the storm anymore, but I can't see a thing!'

Plugging himself into the socket, Artoo killed two fighters with one missile: he not only closed the ramp up, but also turned the light on for his visually-lost friend at once. The raging sandstorm got locked behind the sturdy door while a dim light filled the room.

Artoo relaxed his servos. Sweet Maker, did he need to relax.

Threepio slowly - and creakily - stood up. His joints didn't quite cooperate, thanks to how filled with sand they were, but somehow he managed to step upright again. Albeit, not very well; he wobbled around like a drunk man until he placed his hand on the door.

'I don't know where you've taken me Artoo, but I want to get off this planet!'

'Uh-wuh. Twoo-weet?'

Threepio completely ignored his question of 'what am I supposed to do about it?'. He instead gestured as wildly as he could in this state.

'The conditions of this dusty wasteland are unbearable! Quite frankly, I'm shocked you've made it to seven hundred years. My joints and servos are so infested with sand, I think I'm going to... going to...'

And what followed what possibly the weirdest thing that Artoo had ever witnessed another droid do. And that wasn't just because he hadn't seen another droid for centuries.

'AH-CHOOO!'

Yes, you read that right. I can assure you that is precisely what Threepio did. Artoo rolled back in utter shock and confusion. Since when could a droid do that?

'Wuh?'

And with that, sand was blasted out of his joints and mouth as he fell back to the floor with a loud CLANK. He bonked the back of his head as he collapsed to the ground. He didn't really seem to care that he just fell back to the floor, and he just stared at his body and the sand that had burst out of him.

'Huh.' Threepio said in the most nonchalant tone he could manage. 'I didn't know I could sneeze. Gah, that's just how horrible this planet is!'

While Threepio ranted more about the horrible conditions of this planet, Artoo found himself enraptured by that shiny gold once again. How, Artoo wondered, did his beautiful coating remain so pristine after the sandstorm had attacked it so hard?

'And now, I don't even know where I am! You've just thrown me in into a box set to detonate for all I know! Just because you're the only droid left on this planet doesn't mean that I will...'

Threepio's voice trailed off - a rare sight to behold. Wherever he was, it was certainly not primed to explode.

Who would ever detonate a humble abode full of such great artefacts like this?

Author Notes - If I have anyone thinking 'wait, I thought you said that Threepio was your favourite character', then I have done something right.