Author's Note: While the rest of Blazer Corps was languishing away, waiting for the Seps to arrive, or engaged in fierce battle, someone wondered what Captain Kase was doing in the meantime? Bravely, the amazing laloga ventured out to answer that question. I think, dear readers, you'll find he was well occupied.

This will also be my last update for 2014. I'll be taking a temporary hiatus over the holidays - Darth Real Life's orders - and I'll see you all again in the new year, my dear gentlebeings.

Ecstatic

Companion piece to Boredom, Invigorating and Uncertainty.

Six cases of ration packs, totaling seventy-two units.

Check.

Four cases of sterile hypospray canisters, totaling forty-eight units.

Check.

Eight cases of–

"Kase?"

Kase's helmet was clipped to his belt, so he withheld an audible sigh. Pilot L'loga still refused to call him by his rank, though by now he understood the habit to be one of those unquantifiable "civilian quirks." Rather than waste energy and time correcting the Rendia pilot, he chose to accept the fact and move on.

But that did not mean he would return her informality with the same. Kase glanced up from the manifest. "May I help you, Pilot?"

Rather than answer immediately, she bounced on the balls of her feet and swept her eyes across Blazer Corps' temporary base. Though it was morning, the sunlight filtering through the cloud cover did not offer much illumination, which was probably a good thing, given the general, mud-splattered state of the camp. It was early; most clones, including his usual helpers, Ziv and Neely, were still in their racks. After thirty-six hours of fighting, the Seps had pulled back to regroup, giving the Republic forces a much-needed respite. For the moment, at any rate. No doubt the droids would return soon.

So it was critical that the supplies Quartermaster Braxx had requested be offloaded and inventoried as soon as possible. Pilot L'loga's reticence to speak was a delay he was unwilling to tolerate. "You have a question?"

"Sort of." Still bouncing, she glanced back at him. "I need to use your 'fresher."

Kase studied her; this could very well be an attempt at civilian humor. She had a way of unbalancing him, though by now he should have come to expect the unexpected with the civilian pilot. "This is a serious request on your part?"

"'Fraid so." She indicated her vessel, whose landing struts rested in about half a meter of mud. "Mine's broken. No running water and the kriffing sonic's busted to boot. I haven't washed my hair in about a week, and I don't even want to talk about the toilet situation. Let's just say that things are reaching critical mass."

Kase frowned. "Per Rendia Freight's manual of operations, you are required to report any deficiencies in the functionality of your ship to your supervisor."

"Yeah, I did," she replied with a frown of her own. "Three times, actually. But this isn't considered an emergency, so each time, I get told my request is being," she lifted her fingers to add air quotations, "'processed'. Believe me, I'm planning on raising hell once this run is over. But in the meantime, all my clothes have a disturbing smell and this is my last wearable uniform."

As if to emphasize her point, she tugged on the sleeve of her gray flightsuit, where the material was stained in half a dozen places. In fact, she looked decidedly more unkempt since he'd seen her last. Red-gold curls hung limply around her face, she'd forgone her cosmetics and there were blue-gray smudges beneath her eyes.

It still took him a moment too long to form a suitable reply. "Our latrine facilities are only to be used by GAR personnel. Furthermore, we are involved in an active campaign, and civilian traffic is restricted in and around the perimeter of all GAR operating facilities."

Brown eyes fell upon him and she said, "Jars."

"I beg your–"

"Jars, Kase," she broke in. "My toilet situation involves kriffing jars. Please don't make me go into detail, and please, for the love of all that's holy, let me use your 'fresher."

This was...highly irregular, to say the very least.

But not, he realized, against the rules.

The location of Blazer Corps' temporary base camp was considered classified information...but she was already in possession of that critical Intel. Pilot L'loga was a civilian contractor, and as such, her security clearance technically granted her special access to military facilities; it was the reason she was allowed to set foot aboard ships like the Stalwart, after all. Coordinates of battle groups and ships were necessary for her to carry out her duties. Additionally, such clearance indicated that she'd been investigated and deemed trustworthy, fully capable of working with the GAR.

This time he allowed himself a deep breath, though he concealed it by turning away from her as he clipped his datapad to his belt. "Very well," he said, straightening. A broad smile flashed across her face, and he continued. "However, our water supply is limited, so please restrict your use to no more than five minutes."

Still grinning, she nodded emphatically. "Sure. No problem. If there's running water at all, I'm overjoyed. Let me get my stuff."

With that, she darted aboard her vessel, hair bobbing with each step. Only when she disappeared within the ship did he turn his attention back to checking the supplies against the manifest. She emerged a few minutes later, a rucksack in one hand, a towel in the other, and met him at the base of the ramp.

"Okay, Captain. Point me to the 'fresher."

Special clearance she may have had, but she was still a civilian, which meant her behavior was unpredictable at best; it would not do to send her wandering through a war-zone, lest she trip over a blaster - or worse. Additionally, there was information here that she did not need to know, such as the location of the officer's tent and weapons' depot.

There was only one logical solution. Kase shook his head. "No. I will accompany you."

She frowned at him. "Despite all appearances, I can manage on my own."

He met her frown with a steady gaze. "However, I cannot allow you unrestricted access to the camp. Once we reach the refresher station, I will leave you to attend to your," he cleared his throat, "situation."

"Fine." She sighed and cast her eyes skyward. "But escorting me to the 'fresher is a little excessive, even for you."

In response, Kase nodded toward the camp's center, where the latrine and showers were housed together. After the recent battle and at this early hour, only a few others stirred through the camp. As Kase and Pilot L'loga reached the 'fresher station, Neely emerged from the open doorway, clad only in a standard, GAR-issue towel.

Upon seeing the officer, Neely snapped to attention. "Good morning, sir." His eyes fell on Pilot L'loga and widened. "Er...good morning, Kel."

"Hi, Neely. Sorry to butt in, but I've got a 'fresher emergency, and Captain Kase has been kind enough to let me use yours."

Neely's gaze flickered between the civilian pilot and his captain, though he nodded. "Oh. Well, it's empty now, and there's lots of hot water."

"Stellar," she said with a look at Kase. "Five minutes' worth of water. No more, I swear." With that, she slipped inside the plasticrete building.

First objective complete, Kase offered his datapad to Neely, still staring after the civvy pilot. "Private, when you are properly attired, complete receiving Pilot L'loga's shipment into our inventory, and see that it is disseminated appropriately."

No response.

"Private."

But the datapad remained outstretched in Kase's hand and Neely, it seemed, was lightyears away.

Kase cleared his throat. "Private."

The captain's tone shook Neely out of his trance. The other clone inhaled sharply before glancing at Kase, who pointedly looked from the 'pad to Neely's eyes. At last the trooper nodded and all but snatched the 'pad. "Yes, sir. I'll get right to the manifest. Just have to go, ah, kit up. It's probably against regs to run around naked with a civvy present."

Before Kase could reply, Neely darted for the makeshift barracks, his pace indicating that he had a specific goal in mind, one that likely had little to do with his orders. It was not difficult to determine what that goal might be. Neely was slightly more sensible than his counterpart, Ziv, but like many clones, he was overly fond of gossiping, and his interest in the lone, female presence in the 'freshers would no doubt be shared.

Which meant that, very likely, the 'fresher station would have visitors soon. Alone, Kase allowed himself a quiet sigh. This wasn't how the morning should have gone. However, it would not do to risk Pilot L'loga's security any more than it would do to risk that of the base. Glancing at his chrono, Kase planted himself before the 'fresher station entrance, and waited.

Sure enough, two minutes and forty-seven seconds later, Ziv and Fister approached, wearing only their towels and far-too interested expressions. Both men saluted the captain, while Ziv also attempted to peer over Kase's shoulder.

"The refresher station is temporarily off-limits." Kase angled his armored body to block Ziv's view. Though he was successful, a few more clones trickled into the center of the camp, clearly heading for the 'fresher station.

Fister frowned. "But, sir–"

But Kase cut him off. "You will be informed when it is avail-"

"Oh, kriff, yes!"

Perhaps his words would have had more of an impact without a backdrop of ecstatic, feminine noises emanating from the 'fresher station. Kase glanced at the entryway; given the layout of the small structure, it was impossible to see inside, but sounds carried clearly. Pilot L'loga moaned again, though this time he did not catch her exact words.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kase noted several more soldiers on their way; a glance at his chrono indicated that Pilot L'loga should be finished any moment. "Clear the area, troopers."

"Holy kriffing hell," Ziv managed. "She's really in there. I thought Neely was pulling my leg."

Fister glanced from Kase to Ziv. "What I want to know is, who's she in there with?"

"Wish it was me," another of the clones chortled, amid a chorus of agreement.

Ziv grinned. "I could stand to get wet."

"Maybe she could help polish my Deece," Fister added, waggling his brows.

"Enough." Kase ensured his tone not only carried the full weight of his authority, but also contained a sharpness that matched the escalating severity of the situation. Accordingly, jaws snapped shut, shoulders squared, and all of the clones within earshot straightened.

He did not immediately continue, but rather paused to let the full weight of his displeasure sink in to the half-dozen clones who'd converged on the 'fresher station. "You are all in gross negligence of standard codes of conduct regarding, not only an employee of the GAR and therefore a co-worker, but also a full citizen of the Republic, whom we are honor-bound to protect. At all costs."

"But...we really need showers, sir," Fister said after a beat.

Kase leveled his sternest glare upon his subordinate. "Private, your conduct is unbecoming and unprofessional, and will not be tolerated. Three weeks of KP duty."

Ziv snickered.

Without looking at the trooper, Kase added, "That goes for all of you. I will be speaking with your squad leaders within the hour. Dismissed."

A few of them groaned, though they scattered readily enough. Except for Fister and Ziv, who meandered away, the latter slowing to cast a last look over his shoulder. Kase returned the look with another, though no-less-stern glare. Within moments, the area was free of curious clones, so he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and glanced at his chrono.

Eight minutes, fifty-six seconds since she'd gone in. He pursed his lips at Pilot L'loga's tardiness, but before he could dwell too long, footsteps behind him broke through the quiet. Turning, he was met with...

Purple flowers?

Gone was the gray flightsuit that he'd seen her wear at every interaction to date. In its place was a dress that hit her knees and revealed her slender shoulders; white fabric, painted or dyed with bright purple flowers, swayed with each step, wholly and completely out of place amid the mud-soaked camp. Her rucksack was slung over her shoulder and her head was tilted as she squeezed moisture from her damp hair. The smile on her face was very, very wide, and it was directed his way.

"Wow," she said as she came to stand beside him. "That was amazing. Thank you." A sweet, floral scent followed her, surrounding them both. It was a strange contrast to the tang of plasma that lingered in the air, well after the battle had ended.

"Nine minutes," was the only suitable reply he could manage.

"But I only had the water on for five minutes. Per Captain Kase's request." Still smiling, she lifted a brow at him, clearly waiting for a rebuttal.

Which, of course, he was prepared to offer. "Standard showers should take a maximum of three minutes. You had adequate time to see to personal needs."

"But this," she grabbed a selection of damp curls, "takes a lot more work than what you're sporting. You have no idea."

And he never would. Such long hair was impractical for a soldier, and while not necessarily against regulation, it was best avoided.

However...

As she daubed the ends with her towel, he noted that the length of her hair had increased exponentially while the color had darkened; evidently the curls were heavy with moisture, enough so that the tips fell to her shoulder-blades. The effect, while not unpleasant, left something to be desired. Dry, the curls added volume to a face that was slim, as well as highlighted the straight contours of her cheekbones; their color accentuated the natural tan of her skin and suited the deep brown of her eyes..

Just as the dress – a decidedly civilian garment – suited her feminine, physical proportions far better than the gray flightsuit.

There were still dark circles under her eyes. Ostensibly, they were due to a lack of sleep, though she was not exhibiting any other traits that would indicate such a thing. Kase did not know what to do with the observation, so he filed it away for another time and indicated the direction of her ship.

Heedless of his scrutiny, she patted her ears dry as they walked. "I heard shouting while I was rinsing off. Is everything okay?"

"It is now."

She glanced at him again, brows furrowed. "What happened?"

"Several of the men displayed," he searched for an appropriately inoffensive phrase, "excessive interest in your presence, and needed to be refreshed on proper conduct."

"Excessive interest…" She halted and swiveled her head to look around the camp, before looking back at him. "Oh, kriff. I didn't even think about it. There's only one 'fresher here, isn't there?" Kase nodded and her cheeks darkened. "So, when you say, they needed to be refreshed on proper conduct...that was you doing the yelling?"

"I was within my rights to discipline them," he replied, frowning at her. "Though I should have considered such an outburst would occur. Women are an uncommon sight to most clones."

They were at the edges of the camp and only about ten meters from her ship, but as he spoke, she placed her hand upon his left forearm, lightly, eyes searching his own. At last her mouth curved into a smile "Kase, are you saying you were...protecting my virtue?"

Another civilian idiom, no doubt. He considered it briefly before formulating an answer. "If you care to phrase it so, then, yes."

He glanced down; curiously, her hand was still upon his left arm. Her wrist was slender enough to wrap his own hand around it completely with room to spare, and there was bright green coloring on her nails. No part of her was familiar to him, but her touch was neither intrusive, nor unpleasant. Additionally, Kase noted that she'd not restricted movement of his blaster-hand with her touch, though he could not say whether such action on her part was deliberate.

When he met her eyes again, she blinked and lifted her hand, and continued walking. A moment later she began shaking out her damp hair. "Kriff, I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to be clean. And it's a relief not have any part of my 'fresher activities involve a jar."

A frown came to his face before he could stop it. "Unsanitary conditions such as you've described are a severe health hazard. Furthermore, Rendia Freight is obligated to equip its employees with a safe working environment. If your supervisor refuses to offer assistance, you have other options. Have you contacted your supervisor's superior?"

"I did. Same response. They don't always listen to us lowly pilots." She pursed her lips in thought. "Would you be willing to send a complaint to HQ? Maybe if they knew a client was inconvenienced, they'd be more inclined to do something about it."

Kase considered the matter. "Any inconvenience on my part has been minimal," he said at last, glancing her way. Her face fell, but he continued. "However, I was not displaced from the refresher station this morning, unlike some of the others. Additionally, unsanitary conditions on any freighter may result in the contamination of medical and food supplies. To that effect, I will inform Rendia of the disruption."

She beamed at him. "Thank you. I hope that does the trick."

By now they had reached her ship. The absence of the supplies indicated that Neely had performed his task as requested, so there was no reason for either of them to linger.

But she was a civilian, and operated by her own set of parameters. Rather than make for her ship's entrance, she stood at the base of the loading ramp and toyed with the ends of her damp hair. "Would you mind doing me one more favor?"

It was not a "favor" to perform his job, but he chose not to comment on the fact. "If it can be accommodated in my duties."

"Would you apologize to the others for me? I know it's no fun being without a 'fresher."

Kase shook his head. "They've experienced far worse conditions. Nine minutes without a 'fresher does not warrant the need for an apology."

"Maybe not, but I don't like leaving things unfinished."

She spoke calmly, but something about her words unsettled him. At last he exhaled. "Very well. I will pass along your apology."

"Thanks." She flashed him another smile. "See you later, Kase. Take care."

The idiom was another of the civilian quirks he'd learned. In this instance, from what he could tell, the meaning behind the words meant more than the words themselves. It was the same with the reply. He nodded once. "You as well."

Two days later, Kase received a private message: Victory! No more jars. Thanks again. -Kel