Reviews;
TGP212th: Yep! The poor boys deserve to have someone nice.
Pink ranger 13: Thank you!
JaDe In NighT: Yep, he was hella worried and almost ended up as a farmer instead of a fighter. She still has to get used to him though, so she doesn't know what kind of Master he is yet!
Tatsuki Vermilion: I always thought the braids were neat! I'm glad you enjoyed it, and thought it was suspenseful! I'm not sure about spelling and grammar, I don't have a beta right now so there are probably some slips!
Godlikelover16: Thank you very much! I'm actually not huge on fight scenes' as far as they're pretty hard to write, so part of my avoidance is that I'm actually lazy :p
Chapter 6: Shifts
With a braid in her hair Aliette held her chin aloft, a weight of years lifted off of her chest. When she met with her make-shift medic team in the ward that morning Flint and Long Shot greeted her with grins and open hands. She had brushed her finger tips along their palms and they along hers before their fingers curled into linked grek* shapes. She squeezed their fingers.
"Did anyone else come in last night?" she asked once their hands had dropped. The man she had been inspecting the day before was gone, his bed empty. The Force told her he had been gone for a few hours.
"No, Ma'am," Flint reported. When she gave a soft wave he took her permission to sit on the nearest cot. Long Shot had already accepted her leniency and was cross legged on the one across from it. He hadn't gotten up from there when she entered.
"We're getting new Medics today," Long Shot reported. He had gotten another dark line added to the crescents, leaving the outward curve down over his jaw. Aliette smiled softly at the sight.
For her people tattoos were special, sacred. They gave away a name which told of ones place in life. She adored seeing them on other people, especially those that had meaning behind them. The Kiffar understood Pantoran beliefs, to a much lesser degree, and the Mirlians always had the most interesting stories behind their designs. Zabraks too Aliette enjoyed listening to, and the markings on Togruta had always caught her eye.
It was what had begun the friendship she shared with young Ahsoka Tano, so many years ago, when the youngling had come to the Hall with a lekku damaged in a mock Light Saber battle. She had thought the facial markings to be wonderful, and said as much. Ahsoka's lekku stripes had darkened considerably. It had been before the little one understood her prodigal status and gained more confidence in herself.
"You won't be stuck with just the droids now?" she asked, glancing to the corner where one such metal creature stood. They were offline when they weren't needed, and most of the clones didn't like them much. Aliette didn't blame them for their distrust.
"What, you're not going to stick around and make sure they know what they're doing?" Flint's surprise was warranted. She had already made it well known that she preferred being in the Med Bay to being in her own quarters.
Aliette smiled at him. "I will be here. But I'm sure that my Master will also want my attention, and I do have other responsibilities as a Commander." Unfortunately. Medic Bay's were so much more familiar to her than leading. It was a grim comfort for her to be in them, surrounded by the wounded.
"Oh." Flint's chin dropped with a touch of Embarrassment. Aliette waved it away with a soft push of the Force. There was nothing for him to be embarrassed about just for not thinking of her other jobs.
"Commander," Long Shot called, "Are you really in charge of that squad?"
He didn't need to specify which one he was talking about. Everyone had heard the rumors of Slick's squad. No matter how much they tried to cover it up, something like that could not be kept completely under wraps. People would always talk and gossip was the life blood of the republic.
Aliette pursed her lips together. She liked her squad. She knew that they were looked down upon now by others of the Company. That didn't make her any less willing to work with them.
"Yes," she said after a moment, "I will be."
The two clones that had worked for her mending their brothers did not seem happy with that. They exchanged glances, ones that held meaning Aliette wasn't entirely able to read just yet, even with the Force helping her along.
"Sir, those men are-"
"About to walk in," she cut in. She didn't like interrupting. She didn't want to head them speaking ill of her squad now either. Especially not when they were seconds from entering the room.
Right on cue the door slid open, revealing Gus standing behind it. He hadn't been close enough to hear them talking but the sudden snap of two jaws was enough to set his own in a hard line. Aliette didn't envy him. She knew what it was to walk into a room when people had been discussing you moments before.
To try and lessen the blow she offered him a kind smile and an open hand. He stared at the offered limb like it was completely foreign.
With her cheeks dusting violet Aliette withdrew her hand. Long Shit and Flint knew her habits. Those at the Temple knew her habits. Gus had only just met her.
He wouldn't know what it was she was offering.
"Good morning," she greeted, dipping her head to him.
He was straight shouldered and tight faced. "Good morning Sir."
Aliette said no more. When Long Shot pushed a pad to her she accepted, pulling up the front screen. Two clone faces stared up at her with numerical designations beside each. She barely glanced at those. Numbers were irrelevant to her. What she needed was other information.
Straight from Kamino, both of them. A sergeant and a regular medic, neither of which had ever been exposed to the field. They were as green as she was.
Honestly, Aliette would have preferred someone who had fought at least two more battles than she had.
It didn't matter in the end. Who was she to complain of lack of practice? Given she had more as an actual doctor than any of the clones did but that was less important when one was in the middle of a fire fight.
"Commander," it was Gus again.
She looked up at him, her head tilting enough her braid tried to curl under the collar of her shirt. As uncomfortable as the poking was it also made her smile with a sliver of illegal pride. She was a Padawan now.
"Yes, Gus?" she asked.
He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "We were wondering about our new shifts, Sir. You're in charge of them and we haven't received any orders."
Aliette startled. "Shifts?" she asked without meaning to. She did not like to admit her ignorance.
The three men around her shifted. She knew immediately that she had revealed herself again an amateur and felt her stomach twist unpleasantly. Her mouth followed suite into a frown.
"You're clueless," Gus realized.
Long Shot and Flint both leaned forwards to snap her defense.
She did not give them the chance. They were cut off with a self-deprecating smile and a shift of her shoulders.
"Yes," she agreed softly, "I did tell you."
They were staring at her. She didn't meet eyes. Internally she berated herself. Where was the confidence she summoned when people needed Healing? Where was the self-assured grace that Jedi were expected to have?
Gus shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Flint was openly surprised. Aliette didn't blame him, he had seen her working in her area of expertise when they first met. Long Shot was frowning deeply while he pulled on the back plate of his gauntlet. It was a Thinking Habit she had noticed he had, like her Master pulling on his beard.
Her new subordinate cleared his throat awkwardly before he explained, "Shifts are times when a trooper works outside of battle. Patrols or inventory, technology checks, things like that get done. Depending on what shift you're set on you go to a different area of whatever base you happen to be at. There are four shifts in a standard day, sometimes more or less depending on a planets rotation. Sergeants assign shifts to the men in their squads unless a higher ranking officer decides to change the rotation."
Aliette listened carefully, nodding slowly with her understanding. When he was done she dipped a few degrees to the soldier.
"I see. Thank you for explaining. I'm sorry, I don't know my duties yet. I'll try to learn quickly," she promised, lowering her head to the clone. When his discomfort became apparent she stood straighter. It was so strange to be in charge, to be expected to give orders instead of just take them the way she had for so much of her life.
She would have to get used to it, she supposed. There was nothing else to be done. If she didn't make a good leader they might send her back.
The Pantoran withheld the urge to begin shifting nervously. She was twenty, she was too old to be so afraid of rejection. Jedi did not fear.
Jedi do not fear.
Aliette tried to take that truth to heart.
"If you would be willing to show me how, or direct me to someone who knows, I would like to learn how to set up shifts," she said after a moment. Jedi did not fear rejection, they certainly did not fear being trouble for other people, and especially not those under their leadership and guidance.
Whatever good her guidance did she wasn't entirely sure, but she knew it was expected that she offer good direction, if ever she was to be a Knight.
Gus nodded hesitantly.
"I think Sergeant Gap would be able to explain it to you," he said. Aliette could tell his picked his words carefully. She wasn't sure why.
When Long Shot shifted she remembered that Gap was his Sergeant, in charge of the squad he had been on and was in the process of reforming after the Battle. Only Gap and Long Shot were left of it. Liner was gone now too.
Aliette looked to the other clone, the only one in the room with any tattoos.
"Do you think he would have time?" she asked. Long Shot looked caught between disliking Gus and wanting to assist her. She was touched that was in his Nature. It was a kindness she enjoyed seeing.
Very slowly Long Shot nodded. "Yes, I think he would be willing. He likes you."
A soft warmth curled in her chest at his words and Aliette smiled a bit wider than normal, at all three of them.
"Then I think I might seek him out, after we get our new doctors in."
After all, she had a lot to learn.
When Gap was thinking he had a tendency to press his tongue into his namesake. A mishap in a training simulation had left him missing his bottom front tooth. Ever since then, since the first teasing jibes of his brothers at the alteration, he had pushed his tongue against the bared gum. He'd even taken it for his calling, when originally he had just been 5079. Gap was better, he figured.
He always felt a little funny when one of the Jedi used his name though. Kaminoans usually used their numbers. Sha'ak Ti had called him Gap once or twice, when she had singled him out to be a leader, and Kenobi was good enough about their names. But neither of them was as vehement about using their names as the little Commander they had been given.
The one sitting across from him in the mess in soft grays that didn't take away from the perfectly smooth blue of her skin or the soft shades of pink in her hair.
Gap had always enjoyed the look of females over males. They were softer, even the ones that had edges and bared teeth. He especially enjoyed watching the emotions cross those few kind women he had been allowed to interact with during their protection of the Christophsian Refugees.
He found that the Commander's emotions were more muted than theirs, than even the General.
She was easy to be around, if you didn't mind the oddity of her gentle words and true questions. There was something about the way she held herself though that reminded him of some of the more downtrodden evacuates he had helped to escort. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was though.
"Shifts," he repeated slowly, a hint of a lisp ticking his lips. It wasn't very prominent, but he'd had reprimands for it before. The Commander nodded, as if she didn't notice it at all.
"Yes."
Gap worried the tip of his canine next to the missing tooth. He'd never had a higher up ask him this. Of course he'd only ever had three Jedi leaders, and the first wasn't much to say of. General Kenobi was nice, he understood better how to command humans. Their Zabrak Jedi General, the first the 212th had served under, had had a hard time with that. In turn they had had a difficult time following him.
Not obeying. They followed his orders without question. His orders were just unclear and his words meant to inspire his own kind.
Gap wondered if the blue Commander in front of him would have the same issues. She would have more if she didn't understand the simple things.
"No one told you how to assign them?" he had to ask again. His jaw clicked when he realized that was impertinent and he apologized with a swift, "I'm sorry Commander. This is just unusual."
The young woman seemed unphased, her mouth curved into a kind smile that made Gap's pulse quicken a pair of beats. He mentally shook himself. He wasn't the only clone who reacted to pretty women, but this one was his CO. He needed respect, not thoughts of her smile or her eyes.
"It's fine, Sergeant. I'm sorry to bother you, but would you please show me how to assign them?" she asked. There was something in her voice that struck him as funny. It took Gap a moment to understand that it was because she wasn't ordering him. She was honestly asking.
Gap awarded the Padawan with a smile.
"I would be honored, Commander. Do you have your Data Pad with you?" he asked.
Mauve hair dripped over her shoulders with the bow of her head and grey cloth shuffled when she pulled the pad out.
"Okay. If you log in you'll see a list of your subordinates, set into squads. If you have your own squad they should all be first on the list," he instructed. He waited until she was nodding again, her pad unlocked to the section, before he went on. "If you select them you get their basic info, which you can edit however you want, and at the bottom of everything there's their assignments."
"I see," she said softly.
Gap nodded. "You can edit that too, since you have clearance as their CO. Assign what hours you want them where, and what specifically you want them to be doing. Those would be their shifts. Like any regular work schedule," or so he had heard.
The Jedi apparently knew as much about regular work as he did for she just nodded and smiled at him again.
"Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your help," she told him, lowering her head. It had taken most of them a while to understand when she did that it was in place of the bows she bestowed up on the Generals.
Gap smiled back at her. He was starting to like his new Commander. She was really, truly new, but she treated them well. Like people.
"Any time you have a question, my door will always be open, Commander Ansa."
Again he heard her words of thanks.
Again he admired the softness in her face when she said them.
Genuine.
Aliette was sitting on the bunk in the room she didn't have to share with Ahsoka anymore, her legs tucked under her. She loved the soft, easy clothe that military fatigues were made from. It was cheap, of course, from some Outer Rim world where they could scam the inhabitants. It was still nice, probably the mellowest thing the soldiers had.
She felt bad for enjoying it. She had Jedi clothing, which were almost as soft, but there something nice about the room the pants left her and the way they fit. She should have been happy with what was hers. Jedi were selfless, after all.
Liking what was not given to you was selfish, wasn't it?
Technically these clothes were not given, they were just in the room and they hung on her hips, and well past her heels.
Aliette sighed softly. She had been up too long, been doing too much. It was idling her thoughts and making it harder to focus on the job at hand. Mainly, understanding and assigning her men.
She would have liked to know more than she did, would have liked to have something to compare it to. All she could make connections with was her own time as an Initiate and her years on assignment in the Medi Corps, which was always following what Master Che said and spending her days or nights in the Medical Wing. It was split three ways for them there. Early morning, full day, and evening into night. Not so different, she supposed. She had just never been the one in charge of planning. That was left to Master Che and her Padawan Arlo, before he had been Knighted some years before.
A large part of Aliette had hoped that, once Arlo was a Knight, Master Che might want her as a Padawan.
Her hopes were never realized. Master Che taught her the way she taught all others, no matter how eager she was to prove her abilities or how real those abilities were.
Aliette shook her head. She couldn't think like that. She was no better than her peers. All she could do was mend skin. That did not make a Knight. Even Ahsoka, her eight years junior, was more talented. Why would the Chief Healer even consider taking her on?
Before her thoughts could spiral further into self-pity a knock came upon her door.
The girl was surprised to find that, lost in her musings, she had missed the arrival of Punch. How distracted had she been?
She waved her hand, used a frivolous push of the Force to set down the button that would allow her underling entrance. Punch came in, his goatee showing signs of fresh grooming while the rest of him showed weariness, as well as preparation for confrontation if the tension in his shoulders was anything to go by.
"Punch," she welcomed, sitting higher up. Her shoulders rolled back and her knees drew together in a more modest post. "Is there something you need?"
His jaw tightened and loosened a number of times in a scant few minutes for which he was silent. Aliette did not rush him, she stayed quiet on her own, waiting with all the patience due to a Jedi.
Padawan.
"Sketch," he blurted at last, the word seeming to burst from his chest with built up tension.
The Pantoran pursed her lips in thought, and confusion. A single name was little to go on, so she waited again, trusting Punch to tell her what he needed her to know.
"On my shifts," he took a breath so large his armor rose and fell with it. "I want to be with Sketch on our shifts."
Aliette searched his eyes, trying to understand. They were close, she had known that already. She had been contemplating how it would look, and what would happen with them staying together already. They could not all be traitors, not the entire squad, and the pair would not have been able to be one a turn coat without the other knowing, if they were friends enough Punch would risk asking their time be spent with one another.
He met her gaze with challenge before his eyes fell. There was fear there, worry. He had risked something, though she did not know yet what.
Time only would tell.
"Alright," she said at last, "Do you prefer early or late shifts?"
His chin jerked and his eyes snapped to hers. His surprise was palpable. All at once his heels were together and his shoulders were squared in the hardest Attention she had seen on him yet, startling the little Padawan.
"Thank you, Sir."
It was the first time he had called her Sir. It was the first time he had addressed her with any name or title, in fact.
Aliette's smile tilted her head side ways. "You're welcome, Punch. If there's anything else, I hope you feel you can come to me with it," she said genuinely.
There was still distrust in his eyes. Instead of agreeing he said again, "Thank you, Sir," before bowing out in the way of Military.
Aliette watched him go, thinking hard on the information he had just revealed to her. Was that why he had been nervous? Why he had hesitated with his request? Because it would tell her that they were close?
More questions stacked up, unknowns pushing in on the sides of her brain and twisting into her mind until she couldn't think in a straight line and went into worrying circles. That was not a good reaction, that was not a healthy fear.
What, she wondered, could have put it into a Courageous Clone Trooper?
A darker thought wormed its way into her head.
Not a what, but a who.
When Punch came in Sketch was sitting on his bunk, the one tucked into the corner. Punch's was next to his, just barely far enough away to stay in regulations. Between him and the door.
Him and Slick.
Except Slick was gone and when Punch came in he looked too dazed for the sergeant to have made a return in physical form. His eyes went right through Sketch when he looked at him before they lit up and a smile, the first true smile Sketch had seen on him in far too long, spread across his face.
"Punch?" he asked, a little weary. Something good must have happened. Either that or his Brother had finally lost his mind. But that was impossible, they were designed to withstand stresses of all kinds.
"She said yes," he reported.
It made no sense to Sketch though. 'She' had to be the Commander, Ansa. What she had agreed to Sketch was still drawing a blank about.
"Said yes to what?" he encouraged with a wave of his line.
The thin metal was warm from his grip, dark liquid marked its end and the pad of Flimsy he had settled on his lap, describing visually the pattern that had formed inside his head. It was one of hundreds, thousands probably.
One of the only ones still intact.
Punch dropped into his bunk with a grace that was exclusive to him and started unsnapping his armor. Arms first, then knees. He was so excited his started fumbling, at which point Sketch rose and took over, stripping his Brother of the white protection.
"What did she say yes to," he repeated. Sometimes Punch forgot to reply with his mouth and not just his mind.
"To us having the same shifts."
When the words registered Sketch fumbled as well. He was surprised she agreed, but more than that, he was surprised by something else.
"You asked her?" he demanded incredulously. They had made that same request months ago and look at where it got them, never on a single place at the same time, not for even one minute unless it was a battle. Sketch wouldn't have asked.
Knowledge was power, information gave people something over others.
This was no different.
Now she had something to hold over them, if she so chose.
"She said we could stay together," Punch smiled at him and Sketch sighed, giving up. He was too happy, his Brother, his favorite Hatchmate. He would have had to know just as well what he'd done, but if Punch thought it worth the risk…
"Good," he said at last, finishing the last clasp on Punch's thigh guards. "It'll be good to be with you again."
Punch clapped his shoulder. "Better than good," he declared.
Sketch smiled back at his Brother and together they put the armor where it belonged, inspection ready as all their bunks and up keeping was.
Things were looking up.
*Grek is the G in the Basic Alphabet.