The Second Month Trial

Odd Ends, Ansion, Mid Rim

Ro stuck her head in through the door.

"Cookie?" The bedroom was empty. She bit her lip and cast a surreptitious look over her shoulder before entering Wren's room, doing a slow turn-about as she did so.

A sigh of disappointment escaped her shapely lips.

Wren had done practically nothing with the space since his arrival at Odd Ends. The bed, closet and small desk were at their accustomed places; the bed so neatly made, Ro was afraid to stare at it for too long, lest the sheets crinkle under her curiosity. The walls - a pleasant, but neutral creme and pale blue - were unadorned. That, at least, was new. Eda had decorated the walls with tasteful prints, but they must not have been to Wren's liking, for the trooper had removed each and every one. Ro briefly wondered where he'd stacked them without provoking Eda's ire.

The only personal touch to the room was a battered footlocker shoved up against one end of the bed, a faded and flaking Galactic Roundel stencilled on top.

Ro tisked in mild reproof at such uninspired interior decorating. Running one hand through her long, thick hair, she fingered one of the ochre strands, critically examining her newest dye-job. The earthy tones, she thought, left her quite un-tickled. Next time, she'd go back to the electrics; maybe dive into some mouth-watering greens.

But color-coordinating her hair - no matter how stellar - wasn't going to help her on her errant. Neither was wondering how Wren could stand sleeping in what amounted - in her stylish opinion - to the cell of a B'omarr monk.

Care to remember, Ro, the state of being of those barracks you dug him out of. Mayhaps Cookie be just imitating life as he knows it.

Well, so long as he was comfortable...

She blew the unruly bangs out of her eyes. Focus was required. She was on a mission, - a search; a jive - determined, bound and pretty goodly set on not leaving until she'd hit payload.

"Nowsy-powsy," she hummed to herself, tapping her bottom lip in thought. "If I was to be a broadband antennae, where'd I'd go to not be found?" She let her eyes roam over the spare room, until they landed on the wardrobe. "A-course." She beamed, snapping her fingers in success. "The sock drawer. Duh, Ro."

But a gander through the drawers revealed no broadband antennae, but did answer the age old question of boxers vs. briefs. She held up a pair of black boxers, of which Wren seemed to own a good two dozen, trying to bite back the giggles. "Looky-looky. Would have thought gung-ho Cookie likes going commando-style." Then she wrinkled her nose and carefully put the boxers back. "Guess personal chafe comes before even bad-choobies style." But where was that antennae? She was certain Wren had some spare parts for a comlink. But where did a trooper keep his pieces of tech?

"Under the bed or over the sill? Where does Cookie keep the bitsies, so I can have my fill?" She did glance beneath the bed, before the footlocker caught her attention. "As likely as all ever," she told herself and dropped to one knee, inspecting the locker more carefully.

No lock. Huh. Guess the good ol' G of AR don't think clones got no pretties to squirrel away. She fingered her own bit of pretty, the triangular charm that hung off the end of her Padawan braid, then flipped the catches on the footlocker.

Inside was...perfect order.

She blinked in surprise, then grinned down at the orderly stacks of ammunition, armor plates, spare bodygloves and small kits for various purposes.

"Well, well. Cookie's got an order-touch." Who would have thought a maverick like Wren would organize his ammo clips according to size and model?

Ro scanned the interior of the footlocker, but found nothing even resembling an antennae. The light of the afternoon sun did gleam invitingly off of the black T-visor of the helmet stashed atop the rest of the armor, but Ro kept her fingers firmly locked behind her back and resisted temptation.

No touchy; only look-see. Rule three and four.

But the sun wasn't quite yet done playing with her inner magpie. A stray beam caught on the screen of a datapad, tucked into a side compartment with packets of ration bars.

Her curiosity piqued, Ro picked the 'pad, inspecting it carefully. This didn't look like the standard GAR 'pads she'd seen Zey and Maze handling. In fact, judging by the dents and scrapes on its casing, the datapad looked as if Wren had pulled it out of a rubble-pile. She brushed the pad of her thumb over a spiderweb crack in the screen. At her touch, the screen lit up, causing Ro to jump in surprise.

"Treats and sweets to sturdy manufacture," she said, impressed by the devices durability.

Wren must have had some program running prior to putting the 'pad in the locker, because a string of perhaps a hundred names and numbers began scrolling across the screen almost immediately.

Brow wrinkled in confusion, Ro browsed through the list, puzzled.

- Alpha-02 ("Spar"): AWOL Kamino

- Alpha-17 ("Alpha"): Captain, assigned Kamino

- Alpha-19 ("Asher"): processed

- Alpha-20 ("Wrench"): processed

- Alpha-26 ("Maze"): Captain, assigned Jedi General Arligan Zey, Coruscant

- Alpha-30 ("Sull"): Lieutenant, KIA Gaftikar

- Alpha-98 ("Nate"/"Jangotat"): Captain, KIA Ord Cestus

Naturally, it was the mention of General Zey and the name "Maze" that finally clued her in. This was a list of ARC troopers, dead or active and their current postings. On a hunch, Ro checked the 'pad's history and found that, yes indeed, this list had been updated frequently in the past - almost every day, in fact.

Cookie's keeping track of ARCs, she realized. Question was, why? Did he have friends among the ARCs?

Not very likely. In the two months they'd worked together - Gosh, has it already been that many rotationary ticks? - Wren hadn't made any bones about the contempt he felt towards his fellow clones.

So why the list?

To know where the ARCs were stationed, of course.

And why does Mr. Cookie need to know-how ARC territory?

Perhaps...so he could avoid them?

"What the fek are you doing here, cheeka?"

Ro squeaked in surprise and jumped to her feet, whirling towards the sound of the voice.

Wren stood in the doorway, one fist resting against the frame, the other clenched at his side, while his dark eyes were fixated on her.

"Cookie. You freaked the living nunas out of me." She gave an embarrassed little laugh, her cheeks reddening under his continued stare. "I was just, ehm, going on the gander for a broadband antennae. My comlink's on the fry-out and Shiv don't have the parts paw-handy..." She petered off as his raptor gaze dropped to the open footlocker and the datapad still in her hand.

"That," he said, pointing at the 'pad, "is not a karking antennae."

"Yeah." She dropped her gaze, scuffing at the floor with her bare toe. "Sorta-ish figured that one out."

He pushed away from the door, stalking towards her.

Ro winced, but did not budge. The curtain of lightning-like anger that surrounded him in the Force was thickening to a suffocating level, even as his eyes darkened to a near-black.

Uh, oh.

"We had an effing deal." He was toe-to-toe with her, glowering down at her from his greater height. "Kriffing rules three through crinking four."

"I didn't touch your kit," she protested and pointed towards the footlocker and the armor stacked inside. "Pristine free of presence of Ro."

"This," he snapped, kicking the footlocker for emphasis, "is a fraggin' part of my vaping gear!"

"'Kay." She held out her hands, giving off conciliatory waves through the Force in an attempt to soothe his anger. "Gotcha. I crossed the bounds and I'm mono sorry, but I was just looking..."

He tore the datapad out of her hand, quickly glancing at the screen. And froze.

Ro had never seen a man grow so perfectly still from one moment to the next.

"You read this?"

The emotions flickering through the Force around him were...interesting.

Anger definitely dominated, lending the mixture a red tinge. But there was also jittery consternation, cobweb-thin strands of dread and a vibroblade sharp sense of preparedness.

Instinctively, Ro took a step back, wary of the combination. That felt all too much like an akk dog waiting for the signal to tear a throat out.

"I sorta..." She hesitated, tugging nervously at her Padawan braid. "'Kay, I did."

"You read this."

That wasn't a question. Ro could barely stand to meet his fiery-hot gaze as Wren's fingers clenched and unclenched around the 'pad, hard enough to threaten to crack the casing.

"It ain't no biggie-dealy-o," she tried to reassure him, hoping to cut the threatening confrontation off at the pass. "So yousa keeping track of ARCs. What of it?"

His eyes narrowed, but his tan face lost some of its angry flush. "Why the gfersh should I be tracking kriffing ARCs?"

It was Ro's turn to narrow her eyes. "Uh-huh-huh. Really? We gonna be playin' by those limmie rules?"

"Fierfek, cheeka. What the kriff is that fekking supposed to mean?"

Ro propped her hands on her hips, pretending to study the ceiling with exaggerated care. "Hmmm, let me give it a goody-think. Whyhaps would Cookie be stashing a list of ARCs? Mayhaps on accounting of yousa having a bombad mono secret? Perhaps to-doing with ARCs?"

"You don't know what the kriff you're talking about," he growled. The Force was by now spiking wildly about him, shooting prickly hot needles into the base of her skull. Ro rubbed her palm over her left temple in response.

"Don't be so sure," she snapped, aggravated by the roiling gunk he was dumping into the Force and losing her patience as a consequence. "How often have I gotta repeat before words sink into that thick skull-container of yours? I've more sharp-thoughts and observations than you've dumped curmudgeonliness this side of the Kaliida Nebula. You," and she thrust her finger under his nose, "are an ARC."

"I'm not a fekking ARC!" He threw the datapad at the wall behind her. It shattered, Ro ducking the flying shards of duraplas.

She skittered to a halt by the desk, hand pressed to her chest. His violent display was not as shocking as the shivers of the Forces running over her skin. He was...telling the truth.

"Wren, I..."

He turned on her, eyes blazing.

"I...I was just curious. About you," she finished lamely.

His lips peeled back in a sneer. "Read my crinking files. The fraggin' rest is none of your rodding business."

"Of course it's my business." She couldn't believe this. How could he be this fudging dense? "We're partners!"

"So we share every damn secret?" His contempt was like a slap to the face. "Shared all vaping secrets of your life with me?"

"Uhm." Her hand paused at her temple, eyes shifting about the room. He had her there. "Well..."

"Get! Out!" He took a menacing step towards her, arm cocked in threat.

That was when Ro's own temper snapped.

Eda stared at the miniature Mii tree balefully, clippers in her right hand, while the fingers of her left drummed against the top of the table she liked to use for her gardening work.

Eda did not like miniature trees.

Each was a piece of art and pretty enough to look at. But they were a pain to own; vain, hypersensitive things that required constant care. Her own preferences ran towards sturdy plants, who could be left to their own devices for several days and rewarded even the smallest efforts with blooms and colors all-year round.

The only reason she had ever learned the art of miniature trees was because they had been very fashionable amongst the powerful and rich during her time as a mercenary and in order to insert herself into a target's innermost circle, she could not afford to be behind in the latest fashions. No matter how asinine.

Shiv watched his mate stare down the hated tree from a safe distance, curled up by the pond of their courtyard. The day was sunny and warm and they'd both decided to take to the fresh air.

"Eda, my love," he said at last, "just sell it already. Or even give it away. You know Anzubar would give his left hand to own the thing."

"No." Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed in annoyance. "It was a gift. One does not re-give a gift. It's tacky." She looked up from the miniature Mii tree to glare at her husband. "Get your foot out of the pond," she ordered. "The fish will die of hairballs."

Shiv's distinctive growl of a chuckle rumbled through his chest and he wriggled the toes of the offending foot in the cool water. His prosthetic leg was safely curled against his side. "Love, we don't have any fish in the pond."

She was undeterred by his logic. "How can we?" she demanded. "When you keep poisoning the water by sticking limbs into it?"

He flashed his fangs at her in an impudent grin and dipped the tip of his flexible tail into the pond, flicking beads of water into the air.

An angry roar cut through the summer's quiet: "I'm not a fekking ARC!"

Shiv and Eda swivelled towards the third-floor window; Shiv's ears perked at attention, while the smile that had been quirking Eda's finely shaped lips turned into a frown.

A second voice, muffled and calmer, but definitely female, soon followed.

The couple exchanged a look. Shiv was clearly mystified, but Eda could feel her blood beginning to boil in outrage. She knew, intellectually, that she was prejudiced against the clone, but that did little against her knee-jerk reaction to hold even the smallest offence against him.

Slowly, controlling her growing outrage, she began to pull of her garden gloves.

"Don't you dare threaten me!"

That was Ro's voice, high and furious in turn and Eda felt her own feelings spike in response.

"Or else, what?"

She threw the gloves onto the table and jammed the clippers, points first, into the wood next to the miniature Mii tree.

Recognizing the signs of an imminent - and no doubt vehement - intervention, Shiv sprang to his feet, ignoring the twinge in his back as he did so. Coming to his mate's side, he put a placatory hand onto her shoulder.

"Now, Eda," he rumbled soothingly, "I'm sure it's nothing."

Eda glared at him, brushing the hand away. "Of course it is. It always is with that clone." She didn't try to hide her contempt. If it hadn't been for Ro's obvious preference, Jango Fett's little copy wouldn't have set foot on Ansion, let alone her home. She'd have skewered him first.

"He's Ro's partner and we agreed we wouldn't interfere in her business," Shiv reminded her sternly. "She's a grown woman, my love. I'm sure she can handle..."

"How about trying for a dose of civility, you lumbering, bleat-brained, bucket-headed barbarian!"

"See?" Shiv dropped his jaw in a Shistavanen smile. "That's our girl."

"Fekking shutta!"

"That," Eda hissed, "is it. He. Is. Gone." She yanked the clippers out of the tabletop, forcefully pushing past her husband.

"Eda." Shiv sprang after her, his prosthetic leg creaking slightly with the sudden movement.

"What?" She grabbed his tattered ear before he could think to restrain her, pulling his shaggy head down to meet her furious almond-shaped eyes.

"Eda. Love." Shiv squirmed in her grip. "That ear isn't more than halfway attached already..."

"You like him talking like that?" she asked, keeping the ear in a grip just firm enough so he wouldn't risk pulling away. "To our daughter."

"No," he protested. "Of course not. But..."

"But," she replied icily, giving his ear another good tug, "is the backend of a body. Not the beginning of a sentence."

He looked at her plaintively, his one remaining eye big with pleading. "Eda..."

"None of that." She let go of his ear and he quickly sprang out of grabbing range, checking to see if the ear was still attached with the tips of his clawed fingers. She loved that old wolf, but sometimes he drove her to pulling out hairs. His, specifically. "You might be too lazy to intervene. That doesn't mean we shouldn't. I want..."

A loud crashing sound interrupted her mid-harangue.

Shiv winced, but Eda closed her eyes and carefully began counting to ten in Huttese.

"What," she bit out, "was that?"

Her husband, at that point, looked very much like a youngling hoping to be excused. "Eh, I'm not quite sure..."

"Shiv," she warned.

He gulped, his right ear twitching towards the house; a sure sign that whatever was going on was far from done.

"Sounded like a lamp," he finally admitted. "The one in the second-floor corridor."

In other words, the lamp with the colored glass-shade she'd bought in Theed. Eda's lips compressed into a tight, white line and Shiv, seeing this, began to sidle away from her.

The shouting continued, moving to the ground-level and mostly muffled by the bulwark of the house.

Eda turned slowly towards the veranda, her eyes narrowed to thin slits; her nostrils flaring.

The sound of tinkling, breaking glass came on the heels of a loud thump.

Snarling in Huttese, Eda exploded forward, charging into the dim coolness of the house just as Wren stormed out of the stairwell.

"Barvy saberjockey!" he yelled up the stairs, clearly not seeing Eda in the side-entrance.

"You come back here and yell that to my face!" Ro shouted from the top of the stairs.

Wren made as if to do just that, but Eda was just that nanosecond faster. The clippers were still in her hand and with a practiced flip, she flung them towards the clone's head. Catching movement in his peripheral vision, Wren leaped backwards and the clippers embedded themselves in the wood of the wall.

"What the gfersh?" He whirled on Eda, surprise and rage writ large across his face.

"Eda?" came Ro's more tentative question from upstairs.

"You!" Eda pointed a trembling finger at Wren. "Out of my house. Now."

He had the audacity to sneer at her. "Kriffing been there before, haven't we?"

A warning rumble came from behind her and the light in the hallway dimmed considerably as Shiv's massive form appeared in the doorframe, blocking the light streaming in from outside.

"Why don't we all just calm down," he suggested, putting both his paws on Eda's shoulders and slanting a warning look at his mate. "I'm sure we can sort this out."

"Fek this," Wren spat. He cast another bitter look up the stairs, which Ro was slowly descending. Even in the dim light, Eda could see two high spots of color on her daughter's cheeks and her eyes were flashing, the usual teal turned a darker grey-blue in her anger.

"We've not crossed the finish line on this argument, yet," Ro said, eyes fixed on her errant partner. She thrust her chin out at him, daring him to come back upstairs and finish what they'd started.

"I have."

"You have."

Eda and Wren glared at each other, as annoyed by having spoken in unison as by everything else.

"I don't need this," the clone muttered, then repeated the words, more firmly, at Ro. "I don't. Kriffing. Need this."

"Fine then," Ro shot back. There were tears in her eyes, but Eda couldn't tell if they were from anger or something else. "What's the point of being partners if you go on denying the obvious? If you can't trust me? So why don't you leave, why don't cha? "

"Sounds fan-kriffing-tastic." And he turned his back on Ro - on all of them.

"What?" Ro looked as shocked as if a Hutt had suddenly crashed through their ceiling, offering the secret to galactic peace. She almost fell down the stairs in her haste to get at her partner. "Wait. Cookie!"

The door slamming shut hard enough to rattle frame was her only answer.

As Ro stood there, gape-mouthed and confused, Eda looked up at her husband. The old Shistavanen sighed and scratched at his scarred and greying muzzle.

"Well, that didn't last very long," he muttered, for her ears only.

Eda couldn't surprise a small measure of triumph and satisfaction. "Good."