Chapter Four: Boundaries
Stonewall was the first to admit that he'd gotten carried away.
The next day, with her voice still ringing inside his head, it had been pretty much impossible to stop himself from following the Jedi to their sparring session; it was also impossible – apparently – for him to act like the rational man he knew he was, and worry over a full-grown Jedi's ability to defend herself just because of a faint limp in her left leg, the origin of which he still had no knowledge of.
Of course, General Kenobi hadn't been trying to hurt her. Of course, the act of the two of them disappearing had been some Force-trick. Of course, he'd been a kriffing, shabla, di'kut and called Cody for absolutely no reason when the Jedi had "vanished," thereby sending the entire company into an unwarranted tizzy, and drawing further attention to his growing...inclination towards General Halcyon.
Honestly, he wasn't sure which part of his screw-up bothered him the most.
But his stupidity aside, he had made an error in judgment, and had to own up to it no matter what, so he'd stepped forward and taken responsibility for the mistake. Happily, it seemed like neither Jedi was inclined to hold his error against him, though he heard Buzz and some of the others over the closed comm channel as the group began to head back to camp, the Jedi following in the wake of the clones.
"If I didn't know better," Buzz was saying, elbowing Stonewall as the lieutenant walked beside him. "I'd say that the Lieutenant has himself a little crush on the new general."
"Who can blame him?" It was Becker, one of the older clones, known for his ribaldry. "She's easy on the eyes, that's for sure. Better than looking at nothing but your ugly mugs day in and day out."
Behind them, Lind added his own laughter as the men continued walking. "I don't think you're her type, Lieutenant. Did you see the way she and Kenobi were standing so close? My guess is they were doing mind-tricks on each other."
Moving up to Stonewall's other side, Becker snickered. "I'll wager some kind of tricks are happening between them."
It took everything that Stonewall had not to pummel the other clone; as it was, his hands tightened into fists at his sides, and he was thankful that his bucket concealed his irate expression. After a moment he blinked into his HUD to call up the 360-degree view, so that he could watch the Jedi as they followed the clones, and he realized with a start that perhaps the others weren't too far off the mark. It looked like – just for a second – that the Jedi were holding hands beneath the cover of their robes.
Was it true, then?
Later that night, when he had a spare moment, he used his HUD to call up all of the information on the Jedi Order that he could access, and narrowed the search to romantic relationships within the sect; he learned many things, but the Order's strict policy on non-attachment was emphasized above all else. No Jedi was allowed to get married or have children, which he idly thought could also apply to the clone army as well, but he didn't find anything on relationships that would not result in those things.
What did it mean? Perhaps he'd been imagining things, as he'd seen no tangible evidence that either she or General Kenobi harbored romantic feelings for one another. But, he reasoned, it was possible – likely, even – that neither one would have let such feelings become evident enough so that their subordinates would be able to tell. So it may be that they did...care for each other.
Well, and so. It didn't matter to him. It couldn't matter. He didn't even know why he'd bothered to investigate the issue, nor did he know why he felt strange and sullen at the thought of her and the bearded Jedi holding hands, or more.
What is wrong with me? he thought with a frown as he watched the others gather around the fire, where she was settling down with her dulcimer again for another nighttime concert. Why can't I just let it go?
The sound of her music drifted over to him but he fought back the urge to go to her side, instead focusing on dismantling and cleaning his deece again. It was just too much; his actions today had proven that he was growing inordinately fond of her – for whatever reason – and he had to put a stop to it, for his sake, for his men's sake.
Stonewall didn't kid himself that his actions would affect her in any lasting way, but he thought it would be better if he kept a distance between them, just in case. Based on what he could tell, she was the sort of person who felt sorrow for the loss of a man whose name she didn't know.
Stone.
In her own way she had re-named him, which he thought meant that she seemed to like him at least a little bit, and it was because of this that he knew that if he didn't survive this mission, she would likely feel sorrow. The thought of such a thing made his grip on the rag tighten; he didn't want her to mourn his death and he didn't like the idea that he would cause her any hardship, even posthumously.
Given all of these reasons, he stayed on the outskirts of the warm glow cast by the fire. Even so, it was difficult not to feel like he was missing out. At least his blaster would be spotless.
The thought wasn't nearly as satisfying as it had once been.
For some time he sat on a nearby crate several meters from the fire, unable to approach her but unable to leave, and when he finished tending to his weapon he watched her without trying to seem like he was. After a few songs, Lind called out a request, and Stonewall winced internally, because he knew the song and would have liked to sing it with her.
"Alright," the general said with a smile in her voice. "But I'm going to need some backup for that one." There was a slight pause, then he watched in amazement as she twisted his way and gave him a hopeful look. "What do you say, Stone?"
Stone.
Shab, he thought with a sigh, and got to his feet to approach her. I'm done for, aren't I? "I...I don't know how to play anything, sir," he said in a careful voice that he was sure sounded forced. "I don't even have an instrument."
He'd come to a halt about an arm's length from her, and he couldn't help but watch the way the firelight caught in her dark hair, which was hanging loose about her face. She'd showered recently, and he could tell because it was still damp; he thought it must be thicker than it looked, to still hold moisture even after she'd been sitting by the fire as long as she'd been. There was a fresh, soapy smell to her skin, even from this distance.
"That doesn't matter so much," she said with a shrug, before she leaned forward and tapped his chest-plate with her fingertips in an easy cadence. "You have everything you need in here. Music comes from within, not without."
She said other things too, none of which he could recall once he sat beside her again, because his chest was still resonating from the touch of her hand.
The fact that he seemed to suffer sporadic, short-term memory loss around this Jedi was alarming, but Stonewall was able to set the concern aside in light of his new focus: creating music. As it turned out, plastoid gave a rather nice sound when rapped, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of several of his brothers hitting their buckets like makeshift lap-drums, while the others clapped along with the beat.
Through it all, she threaded her dulcimer through their sloppy rhythm as though it were actual music, grinning with delight the entire time. Some of the guys nearly lost the beat when she started singing, but she gave them an encouraging look, and they were able to keep it going.
At one point, she caught Stonewall's eye. She didn't smile, but he could see something like happiness within her gaze, and it was directed at him, which made him feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the fire.
He couldn't help it; he smiled at her, though it was an effort to keep it small. His heart drummed out its own rhythm, stronger than anything he or his brothers were managing, when she smiled back.
Tonight, it was Cody who ended the session; Stonewall thought that the commander shot him a somewhat exasperated glance, because with Lefty gone, it should have been his job to cease the revelry for the night and start the watches. But instead, he was gathered with a few others around the Jedi, listening as she imparted a bit of musical advice.
"I don't know," Lind was saying as he fingered his bucket. "It sounds so bad when we do it, General."
"Yeah, I think I'll stick with shooting tinnies," Buzz added with a laugh, the others around him chorusing in agreement.
Stonewall glanced at them, then at her. Compared to the Jedi, the clones – his brothers – seemed utterly uniform in their purpose, their existence. Armored, armed...even their "instruments" were accouterments of warfare, and he figured that once she left none of them would think to use his helmet as a drum, ever again.
She, though, she was not made for fighting as they were. The evidence was plain to see if he only looked: it was there in the softness of her gaze, the way her arms cradled the dulcimer, and the imbalance of her gait; he'd grown used to the sight of her limp, and had heard no one mention it, out of politeness, he figured. He still had no idea how she'd come by it, but he'd done a bit of research – only a tiny bit, while he looked up information on the Jedi Order as a whole – and learned that prior to this she'd been stationed at the Temple on Corrie, so he'd determined that the limp was either chronic or was the result of something that had happened prior to the Wars.
In any case, Stonewall thought that she looked pensive at the others' negative reactions, and the urge to return her kindness with some encouragement filled him. But he knew that for this particular matter, encouragement would be akin to a false promise, and he didn't want to give her that, either.
So, he cleared his throat and watched as her eyes slid his way. "We weren't created for music-making, General," he said in a quiet voice, offering up a tentative smile to soften the sting of the words. "Wasn't in the Kaminoans' lesson-plans. It was...nice, though. Thank you."
Why he tacked that on, he couldn't have said, but her expression flickered for a moment as if in understanding, then shifted to one of mild amusement. "Don't worry about the mechanics of it," she said, casting her eyes around at the group. "Creating music is a very personal thing – sometimes you just have to feel that it's right."
As she said the last words, her gaze caught his for a fraction of a heartbeat, then moved away as she shrugged, adding: "I know you can do it, all of you. It'll just take some practice, that's all."
Stonewall watched her words sink into his men, and smiled to himself as they looked a bit heartened; he felt irrationally pleased at the notion that she'd ignored their protests and tried to impart a new kind of wisdom upon them. Again, he realized that she cared about the men under her command. She wanted them to learn something besides demolishing tinnies – fun as that may have been – though exactly why she wanted such a thing felt like it was beyond him at the moment. Maybe he'd figure it out, one day.
When he glanced back her way he realized that the other Jedi had approached; they were speaking with one another, and she had eyes for no other. Still conversing, they headed off towards her tent, and Stonewall watched them both slip inside before returning to his seat by the fire.
The next morning, when Stonewall awoke earlier than was his custom, he felt restless. It was a similar feeling to the one just before a battle, but there was an additional edge of annoyance that he couldn't quite quantify, so he tried to push the anxiety aside and find something to take his attention. The boys who'd been on the night watch had finished off the caf, so he decided to put some more on; while he stood at the mess-tent, listening to the bubbling sound the beverage made as it percolated, he watched the sky.
During the deepest part of the night there had been an ion storm, but by now it had faded to nothing. Where vivid bursts of electric-violet energy fields had ravaged the upper-levels of atmosphere and made it impossible for reinforcements to arrive, now the sky was clear and bright. In the back of his mind Stonewall thought that it should have seemed a pretty day, but something continued to hang over his head and weigh him down. He didn't care for the feeling.
With a sigh he glanced back at the caf-pot. An inhale brought the rich scent of caf to his nostrils, and he reached for a mug so he'd be ready the moment the beverage was. As he did so, he noted that Commander Cody appeared from the direction of the Jedi's tents and started to head his way, so he grabbed a second cup in preparation.
"It's not quite ready, sir," he said as his CO approached, trying not to glare at the caf-pot. Kriff, the thing took forever, didn't it?
As he clipped his bucket to his belt, Cody frowned at the machine, the scar that ran along his face puckering with the expression. "We need a new one. We need a lot of things, actually," he added, glancing up at the sky.
"Reinforcements coming?" Stonewall asked.
Cody nodded. "Should be here within the hour. I've just let General Halcyon know." He paused as if debating something, then his frown deepened. "It was...odd."
Something in his voice was off. The caf was finally done, so Stonewall reached for Cody's mug and filled it before handing it to his CO. "Sir?"
Again, there was a debate on the commander's face; a moment later he dropped the volume of his voice and gave Stonewall a pointed look over the rim of his mug. "What I'm about to say is to be kept strictly between the two of us, Lieutenant. Understand?"
Stonewall nodded, wondering what in the world had gotten Cody so off-balance. He reached for his own mug and began to pour a measure of the dark liquid as the commander continued. "I think that General Kenobi and General Halcyon spent the night together."
"Fek," Stonewall swore as scalding hot caf bit through his glove and into his skin, the sudden jerking motion of his arm causing much of it to spatter across the prep-table before him.
"You alright, Lieutenant?" Cody gave him another appraising look, which was when Stonewall realized that the commander had been testing him on some level, and that he'd failed.
Rather than respond immediately, Stonewall grimaced and rapidly shook out his hand to help ease the sting. Kriffing, shabla caf...
"I heard some of the men talking about you and Gen-"
"No, sir," Stonewall said, hoping the words didn't sound as awkward as they felt exiting his mouth. "I mean...yes, I'm fine. Still waking up, I guess," he added, flexing the fingers of his hand as the burning feeling began to subside. "Don't know what's gotten into me."
Cody studied him for a moment, then gave a sigh. "I don't like gossip," he said, sipping his caf tentatively and watching as the other man wiped up the spilled liquid with a rag. "And I don't like my men being distracted. You've been distracted."
Before Stonewall could reply, the commander held up his free hand. "Now, it's unlike you, Stonewall, so I'll let it slide for now. But I have noticed your...fondness for General Halcyon. It's one thing to look at a pretty woman from a distance, Lieutenant, but it's something else entirely to continue to place yourself in her path, and ignore your duties in the meantime.
"This isn't a formal reprimand...yet," the commander added. "You'll know when it is, as I'll have you scrubbing every bit of GAR equipment around with a toothbrush as punishment if you step out of line again."
There was a pause, as Cody took another sip of his caf, then continued. "Matter-of-fact, I recommend that you save yourself the trouble and just set your feelings to the side, because they'll cause nothing but problems." As he said the words, Cody shook his head; it was a heavy motion, and for one, wild moment Stonewall wondered if the other man was speaking from experience, then pushed the idea aside as ludicrous.
"Sir, yes sir." There was nothing else to say, really. Despite the fact that his face was hot, Stonewall was thankful for the fact that his CO hadn't said all of this in front of the others, that he'd approached him in private and given him time to collect himself before anyone else woke up. Before he saw her again.
"You're a good soldier, Stonewall," Cody added after a moment, patting Stonewall's armored shoulder with his free hand. "Depending on how this mission turns out, you might find yourself in line for a promotion."
Stonewall managed to pour himself a measure of caf – without spilling it, this time – but he didn't drink. Instead, he met Cody's eyes, eyes that may as well have been his own, and nodded once. "I'd be honored, Commander. Thank you."
Cody chuckled, and lifted his mug just a bit as if in mock-salute. "I won't transfer you, though. You make a mean cup of caf." With this, he turned and headed off to the landing site, presumably to check on the area's readiness to accommodate the new arrivals.
Stonewall looked down at his mug, all interest in the caf having fled his mind, then he glanced in the direction of the Jedi's tents. The commander was right. It was the smart thing, the logical thing to just ignore...whatever it was that he felt when he looked at General Halcyon. After all, he'd only known her a scant few days – had it only been that long? – and all signs pointed to the fact that he'd never see her again once this mission was over.
There was a small bit of consolation in the thought that he might soon have a new title under his belt, but it mostly felt hollow; he sipped the caf without really tasting it, but because he needed something to do. A few days ago, he mused, the idea of a promotion would have been enough to make him...well, maybe happy wasn't the right word, but satisfied. Content.
But he remembered sitting beside the dark-haired Jedi at the fire, and the scent of her soap mingled with her song in his mind, and he wondered if he'd be content with anything else, ever again.
That is not good, he thought with a sigh, blinking up at the morning sunlight, filtering through the camp like her lightsaber. Not good at all.
Some time later, after the reinforcements had arrived – bringing along yet another Jedi, much to everyone's puzzlement – Stonewall was attempting to busy himself with supervising a few of the new guys as they organized the temporary armory that had been set up; they were fresh and ready for action, and he could practically see them trembling with excitement, so he decided to put their energy to good use. The armory – well, it was more of a storage bay, really – was one of the few non-canvas structures that had been brought to Basrah, and it had been another of Captain Lefty's jobs to keep it tidy.
As he instructed Neon, a textbook example of a shiny if ever there was one, on the best way – not the reg-manual way – to store the ammunition, he heard Cody address him over the comm channel. "Lieutenant."
A blink in his HUD allowed him to reply. "Commander?"
"I need you at the atmo scanners," Cody said, uncertainty in his voice. "Second opinion."
It was the commander's way of letting him know that his earlier transgression had been set aside; Cody rarely asked anyone else's opinion if he could help it, excluding General Kenobi. Stonewall answered in the affirmative and gave a few instructions to his men before trotting off to the tent that housed the scanners, comm station, and other electronics.
When he entered the tent, Cody didn't look up, but indicated the readout on a slender console before him. "I'd say it was a ship, but it's moving far too slow."
Buzz was there as well, arms crossed before his chest and a frown on his face. "Sir, it's no meteor, either."
A sweep of his eyes over the console revealed nothing more than the others had already pointed out; there was something out there, all right, but all signs pointed to it being harmless. Still, Stonewall didn't like not knowing for certain, and he could see by the look on the commander's face that Cody felt much the same way.
"Could be remnants of the ion storm, sir," he said without really believing it, but because every option had to at least be mentioned.
Cody took a breath, then shook his head. "Maybe. I've called General Kenobi to come take a look, just in case."
If there was one person on the planet that Stonewall didn't want to see, it was Kenobi. However, before he could find an excuse to leave, the bearded Jedi was slipping in the tent and coming to stand between himself and Cody; his fingers were toying with his beard in his fashion, and his eyes were serious as he studied the display while Cody filled him in on their speculations.
Thankfully, Stonewall was still wearing his helmet, so he was able to surreptitiously study the Jedi. He didn't really know what he was searching for, but he couldn't help himself; the other man appeared to be several years older than General Halcyon, his eyes were blue, his face was...
Well, he was no clone, that was for sure.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was a Jedi Master and High General; he was about as far from a clone as any Human man could be, and in this moment he made Stonewall feel very small and insignificant.
The feeling was fleeting, however, when Cody let out a sharp curse. Everyone in the area registered the sound, because the commander never swore where his subordinates could hear, and certainly never in front of a Jedi, but a moment later Stonewall recognized why his CO had done so.
"We were all wrong. Enemy vessel closing," Cody growled, shoving his helmet over his head and lifting his blaster in one fluid motion. Outside, they could hear the distant whine of a ship's engines, and Stonewall felt adrenaline coursing though his veins in anticipation of a fight.
Through his own comm channel, he called out to the men, urging them to make themselves ready even as Cody glanced towards the Jedi. "I should have figured," the commander said in a clipped voice that signaled he was upset with himself, but trying to push past the feeling. "Your orders, General?"
The Jedi was already speaking to the miniature blue image of General Halcyon, his voice steady. "Kalinda: an unknown ship is approaching the area – I think it's-"
A tremendous booming sound shuddered through the tent, causing Stonewall to nearly lose his balance, though he saved himself from falling with a timely adjustment of his stance. Immediately following the noise, he could hear his men calling to each other amidst the sudden and alien whinging sounds of droid-movements.
"...down, over here! Medic!"
"Incoming tinnies...all sides..."
"...right for us!"
Blaster fire punctuated his brothers' words. Without waiting for an order, Stonewall sprang out of the tent and took an instant to survey the scene before he chose a course of action. A veritable ocean of clankers was washing across the formerly quiet campsite, and he noted with dismay that at least a dozen clones had already fallen. The rest of the troopers were racing for what cover there was to be had – and there wasn't much.
Canvas tents and storage crates would not offer much protection; Stonewall knew that this was likely to go very badly. But there was no time to trouble himself with the end of something that had only just begun, so he threw himself towards the nearest group of brothers, who were scrambling to find cover behind the upturned mess-table.
They needed more cover than the table could provide; his deece was firing before he even realized he'd pulled it free of its holster, and for several minutes Stonewall was lost to the battle, body and mind acting on autopilot. Out of the corner of his eye he marked the blue blaze of General Kenobi's saber, but did not allow himself to wonder where she was, not now, when he could afford no distractions.
A cluster of B1 droids had zeroed in on Buzz, who was on the ground, favoring his knee. Stonewall whirled and fired upon the tinnies, feeling a thrill of relief when they crumbled to the dust harmlessly, and he saw his brother get up and give him a brief wave of thanks.
The relief was short-lived. It was the way of these skirmishes.
Other droids swelled through the lines to replace their fallen brethren, and Stonewall continued to fire for all he was worth.
That was when time truly slowed down: he heard the distinct groan of a Super Battle Droid as it descended upon him from the left, but he was too busy facing the spindly B1s, who made up for in numbers what they lacked in lethality. Time slowed while his mind sped forward: if he were to switch his aim to take out the SBD, the B1s would cut him down, but he could hear the distinct keening sound as the SBD charged its weapon, aimed at him...
Kriff, he thought. This is it, isn't it? Crimson screamed towards him on all sides; he gritted his teeth against the pain that he knew was coming.
Then, sunlight.
Obviously, Stonewall survives the battle, but I thought it'd be a neat line to end with, ya know? ;)
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! Only three more chapters after this? How time flies...