Chapter Two: Homecoming

Mud stuck to Quinn Fett's boots but that didn't slow her brisk pace as she made her way through the Mandalorian camp in the drizzling rain. She could feel the weight of her clanbrothers' and sisters' gazes as she passed. It wasn't a surprise. News of Mandalore's imminent return had spread at light speed and uncertainty smothered the camp. The exception was Clan Fett's new chief who watched her with narrowed eyes. The medic paused to salute the young man before she passed, giving him his due, knowing that the moment she was out of earshot the ambitious little asshole would go back to stirring up as much shit as possible. Not that it was hard. Mandalore had given Chief Fett enough ammunition with his own actions. Quinn knew that the only thing that was keeping a lid on Chief Fett's success was the recent battle over Telos that had placated the other Clan Chiefs. But that wouldn't last for long.

By the time she reached the empty clearing, Ordo's former Weaponsmaster and current Clan Chief was already there, squinting up at the gray sky as though he could make the Ebon Hawk appear by the power of his glare alone.

"So which one of us gets to go first?" Xarga asked her.

She shifted, doing her best to ignore the rain trickling underneath the collar of her armor and down her back. "Does it matter? He hasn't listened to a damn thing we've said since Revan left. I don't expect that to change now."

"I knew the two of them together would be trouble." A beefy hand lifted to wipe the rain collecting on his face. "I didn't know the two of them apart would blow everything all to hell."

"I'm surprised he's coming back. When he got on that ship, I didn't think we'd see him again unless he found her."

"Maybe he did." Xarga gave her a pointed look. "I can't decide if that's better or worse."

Quinn's golden eyes widened. The thought that Mandalore might be bringing Revan's body back hadn't even occurred to her. The whine of engines in the distance drew her gaze to the edge of the jungle canopy, but the frown on her face was deepened by old pain and grief of her own. "He already acts like he's the only one who's ever had a mate take a walk on him. If she's actually dead, he's going to lose it completely."

"He'll probably sell himself out to the nearest two-credit crime boss he can find." Xarga reached up to rub his right shoulder, site of an old injury he always bitched about when it rained. Which was nearly every day on Dxun. "I'm getting too fracking old for this."

Quinn glared at the man who wasn't even ten years her senior. "You don't get to be too old for this."

"I tried everything short of an honor duel to keep him from taking off," Xarga replied with an answering glare. "What the hell else do you expect me to do?"

She crossed her arms. The words were bitter ash in her mouth and a dishonorable betrayal of a friend who had brought the Mando'ade's second chance. She said them anyway.

"Find him another woman."

"You think I haven't thought of that?" Sighing, Xarga squinted up into the gray clouds that hid the approaching ship and muted the engine's roar. "Find me another woman who can best him in combat and I'll lock them in a room together until he comes to his senses."

"He left with a pair of Jedi women. Maybe he'll come back with one," she muttered before the sounds of the Ebon Hawk drowned out anything she could say further.

The ship appeared, hovering over the clearing for a bit before finally landing. But when the Ebon Hawk finally powered down and the landing ramp descended, the only person walking down the landing ramp next to Mandalore was the Jedi Exile. Quinn couldn't tell if she was disappointed or relieved.

When Xarga and Quinn saluted, Mandalore saluted back, then headed straight to the command bunker. Quinn wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not, but they all fell in step beside him, including the amused Jedi.

"Find quarters for Kor-Vas," Mandalore said to Xarga.

"Who or what the hell is Kor-Vas?" Xarga grumbled back, his respect for Mandalore confined, as always, strictly to one salute.

The Jedi's walk became practically a strut as he jerked his thumb toward his chest. "He's a former Republic General, Last of the Jedi, and Savior of the fracking Galaxy, that's who. He's hungry and wants a beer too."

"Supper's at sundown," Xarga barked, like a Weaponsmaster to a lazy child. "You want something before then you can go out and hunt cannocks."

"Aren't you just a ray of welcoming sunshine." He turned his gaze to Quinn, his smirk turning into a practiced leer that must have been used on a thousand other women. "I have a better idea. Why don't you show me where my bunker is instead?"

For all his sleaziness, it was the detached coldness behind the gaze that made her skin crawl. Quinn had been a medic since her thirteenth summer. She knew one of the walking wounded when she saw one.
She snorted. "The time when I was young and stupid enough to take you up on that, Jedi, is long past."

"I thought Mandalorians were braver than that."

"All right," she said after a pause. "But we'll have to stop by my clinic first, so I can give you some shots for all of the diseases you're probably carrying. There is this one..." Quinn took her sweet time describing a technique that had him turning slightly green and scowling by the time they reached the command bunker.

"Mandalore was right," the Exile said with a glare that made satisfaction warm her belly. "You all are a bunch of tight asses."

Mandalore snorted and pushed the control panel for the bunker door.

"Your son's in the infirmary," Xarga announced, and Quinn could almost hear the silent "if you care" she was sure he added in his head.

Mandalore froze on the threshold, turning to fix Quinn with a hard stare. "Was he injured?"

She met his gaze, letting him stew for a several long seconds before answering. "No." Her eyes narrowed. "You going to come get him, Mandalore? Or are you taking off again?"

"I left to find battle," Mandalore snarled. "That's what Mandalore does. Tar will understand."

Quinn didn't buy it for a minute. Mandalore had found them a battle, true, but she knew it was just an excuse for him to hide from his responsibilities and his people, including his son. She placed her hands on hips. "You didn't answer my question."

"After supper," Mandalore said, turning back to enter the bunker. "I have work to do."

It was a start, she supposed, as she followed him and Xarga out of the rain. She frowned when the Jedi followed them too, but since Mandalore didn't object to his presence, Quinn held her tongue. She had bigger battles to fight today.

But not yet. Pulling her drenched braid over her shoulder, she decided to let Ordo's Chief take first crack.

As Mandalore removed his helm and set it on the worktable in the center of the bunker, she got her first look at what six months in space had done to him. The deep lines in his brow stood out more deeply. He was paler, even more so than she would have expected from the decreased sun exposure, and she wondered if he'd taken injuries while gallivanting around the galaxy. And who had treated them.

Xarga chose the nearest access console for his ground, then leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. "Does this work include actually staying in the camp?" he asked.

Mandalore shot a steely glare in his direction. "Make yourself useful," he snapped, then pointed at the console. "Call up battlefield displays from the first battles of the wars."

From a moment, Xarga's brown eyes narrowed, searching for a reason to disobey, but then he turned and began tapping in commands.

Ghost white maps flickered into existence. Cathar, Serroco, Althir, and a score of other worlds all reduced to ash in battles that seemed a lifetime ago. Pride surged as she remembered the glory of the Mando'ade, but it was tempered by weariness when she thought of how few of her people were left now.

She blinked at the maps, feeling like she was witnessing the bones of her people being exhumed and asked, "Are we moving out, Mandalore?"

"Not yet," he replied. He leaned forward, resting his fists on the table as restless eyes flickered over the displays. "Send an order around camp. I want reports from all the older warriors, anyone more than a weapons carrier during the war. Everything they can remember about the commands that came down during the early campaigns." Gray eyes darted to Xarga and then to Quinn. "That includes both of you."

"Yes, Mandalore," she said as she nodded, before glancing over at Xarga and wondering what the hell this was about.

Xarga scratched his chin as he looked over the maps. "You looking for something in particular?"

Mandalore grunted, then shared a grim look with the Jedi. "Proof that a crazy old witch was just a crazy old witch."

The Exile paused halfway to bringing an unlit cigarra to his lips. "She could have been lying. Hell, half of what she said had to be complete manipulative banthashit."

A scowl crossed Mandalore's face. "She spoke the language all Force users are fluent in."

Kor-Vas barked out a laugh. "You have a point." He paused for a moment before lighting his smoke. Quinn's fingers itched for her own that she had left in her office at the clinic. But his next words made her forget about them entirely. "But what does it matter if the Sith manipulated your last Mandalore into picking the fight with the Republic? That shit's ancient history now."

"What?" Xarga snapped. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"A half-truth at best," Mandalore replied, still frowning at the maps. "But even half is too much."

Quinn felt like she'd just been punched in the gut. That all of the honor and glory from both their victories and losses might have been because of the whim of the Sith made her blood burn with a rage that she hadn't felt for a very long time.

"He's right. We need to know." She shook her head to clear it before she spoke again. "But we also have more immediate problems."

Mandalore's eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze to her. "What problems?"

Quinn punched up a schematic she'd spent all night smoking and drinking and cursing over as she put it together knowing damn well it was futile but still too stubborn to quit. The schematic showed the demographics of the Dxun Camp and the battlefields of the past flickered out, replaced by the battle that her people were now fighting, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

She crossed her arms and braced herself as she said, "A population problem, as in, we're not going to have a population if our people don't start breeding soon."

"Oh, frack me," Xarga muttered, covering his face with one hand. "Not this again."

"Yes, this again. And I'm going to keep raising hell about it until somebody listens."

In the back of the room, Kor-Vas laughed again. "Is this the part where you hand over the list of women for Mandalore to knock up? Because I have to say, I thought he was just kidding about that."

She glared at all three men in the room, finally resting her gaze on Mandalore. "I would if I thought it would do any good, but I already know that would be pointless."

He looked away, his jaw tightening, but Xarga just snorted. "Then why the hell are you bringing it up? You expect Mandalore to order a campwide orgy?"

"I expect for him to do what it takes to keep our people from going extinct. If he won't set the example for our people to follow himself, then he must convince others to do it in his place." She turned her gaze back to Mandalore. "Of the five Clan Chiefs in this camp, only one has living children. If they lead the way, then the rest of their Clans will follow."

Despite everything, the corner of Mandalore's mouth twitched in the beginning of a smirk as he looked back at her. "You want me to order the Clan Chiefs to have more children?"

Xarga took a step toward them both. "Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

Quinn gestured to the numbers flickering on the holo. "You're the one always bitching that you can't wait until Mandalore's son is of age so he can become Clan Chief, but there isn't going to be a Clan left for him if the birth rates don't increase." She turned back to Mandalore. "Of the six hundred and fifty-three Mandalorians in this camp, less then a hundred of them are under the age of eighteen, and only twelve of them have been born since you brought us to this camp. Of those twelve, most of them were born within a year of Revan giving birth to your son. Only one has been born this last year."

"So send out recruitment scouts," Xarga snapped. "I already raised four sons. And I'm practically raising yours," he added, stabbing his hand at Mandalore.

The clenching of Mandalore's teeth was almost audible. "You're not raising my son."

"Yeah?" Xarga retorted. "You think he doesn't slip and call me buir?" His other hand slashed through the air in denial. "The point is I did my part for the population a long time ago. You want to blame someone for our low numbers?" With a glare, he jerked his chin toward the Jedi. "Blame him."

The Jedi's smirk widened. "Hey, you were the assholes who picked the fight. Don't get pissy because we won."

"Recruits still need to sire children and so far they haven't." Quinn threw her hands wide. "No one is having babies because this entire damned camp is wondering if it's going to fall apart. Clan Chiefs having children is the best way to prove that this camp is here to stay."

"I'd bet my armor you wouldn't be so quick to suggest it if you were ten years younger," Xarga groused.

"That doesn't make me wrong," she snapped back, squelching the sympathy that tied knots in her gut. As much as she loved children, that she was relieved she was past childbearing age was an understatement. "Look, I'm not asking you to take vows with someone. You don't even have to have sex if you don't want to, but dammit I don't see another answer."

"Of course not." Xarga crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm already Clan Chief. I've already been running this camp for half a year. Why shouldn't I repopulate the whole fracking Clan by myself? How many kids should I have this time? Fifteen?"

"Enough," Mandalore barked. "Reuniting the Clans was your fracking idea and now you're bitching because it takes work?" His glare turned from Xarga to Quinn. "I'll lead a zakkeg hunt in the morning. We'll feast tomorrow night. How are the ale stores?"

Like a petulant child, Xarga sulked for a moment before answering. "We've got plenty of ale."

One night of drunken feasting wasn't going to produce enough kids to save the clans, but at least it was a start. "The camp is restless. A hunt and feast will be good, especially if your son is at your side."

Mandalore just grunted, then tapped the command console. Quinn's chart dissolved, and the early battle maps popped back into place. "Dismissed," Mandalore added, almost as an afterthought.

Xarga saluted before storming out, jaw clenched in a scowl. Quinn followed. The door had barely shut behind her when he turned on her.

"Selling me out to stud?" he snapped. "That's your big plan?"

Thunder boomed across the sky and the rain became a downpour. She marched out into the muddy camp paths as she started the short walk to her clinic, throwing her words over her shoulder as she passed. "If you're going to bellyache like a stuck cannock, get your damn facts straight. My plan includes all of the Clan Chiefs, not just you."

"Yeah?" he sniped as he fell into step behind her. "And does your plan include a name for my new brothel? I need to know what to put on the sign outside my bunker."

"How about 'The Ornery Old Bantha' since you're too damned stubborn and blind to admit that I'm right?"

"You think I don't see it?" As soon as they ducked inside the clinic, Xarga made straight for the storage closet, yanked it open, and pulled out two towels. He threw one at her with one hand while rubbing down his face with the other. "I was a Weaponsmaster, dammit. Five Clans and we can't fill a children's barracks. But how about you go harass the warriors who aren't old enough for grandkids?"

She would have thrown her hands up if she hadn't been busy mopping off her face and squeezing the water from the thick auburn braid that curled over her shoulder. "This camp is full of middle-aged warriors thinking the same damned thing as you. Why the hell would the few young warriors we have do as I ask when the Clan Chiefs and seasoned veterans won't?"

"Because they're young and naive and have things like stamina and energy and a tolerance for banthashit." He glanced over her shoulder, and Quinn turned to see a miniature battle raging behind one of her exam tables. Mandalore's son crouched with two tiny armored figures in hand and then smashed them together with a cry of explosion.

Xarga sighed. "And they haven't already lost it all once."

Quinn told herself that scientific facts didn't care about personal pain and loss. The numbers on her chart were cold and hard; the logical solution obvious. Even so, all she could think of was the look on Xarga's face when the casualty reports from Malachor V had rolled in.

"Shit," she muttered, as she thought of her other clanbrothers and sisters in the camp. There wasn't one that didn't carry wounds from losing a mate or a parent or a child in the war. Not for the first time, she wondered if the Mando'ade was just too broken to rebuild. Frustration mounting, she tossed her towel aside and turned to her office. "We are so fracking screwed."

"No, we're not." Xarga threw his towel on top of hers before following. "Not if Canderous actually starts acting like Mandalore."

Quinn gave him another exasperated glare. Xarga's unshakable belief in his clanbrother's abilities was one of his most irritating and admirable qualities. She strode past Mandalore's son and her own son, Bran, who was trying really hard to look like he wasn't listening while sorting through the medical supplies. She gave them both nods and watched them salute Xarga before punching the door control.

She waited until the door slid shut before speaking again. "And what if he never does?" Quinn tugged at her braid hard as she unbound the wet strands. "I didn't just pull this plan out of my ass. You've trained almost all of the young warriors in this camp, and the veterans have watched you pick up the slack while Mandalore was away. They respect you, probably more than him."

As Xarga dropped into her spare chair, a sullen glower descended over his face, the one he always got when he felt put upon. "And how do you get from that to me hopping into the bunks of one of those warriors I trained? Some of these girls are younger than my sons would be."

Quinn leaned a hip against her console, crossed her arms, and glowered back at him. "Like you said they have a tolerance for banthashit. That should help considerably, I expect."

"Well, I don't," Xarga huffed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and muttering to himself before he looked up at her again. "An offspring match? At my age? I just let the mother call all the shots for the kid until he's old enough to train?" He grimaced. "Or she. That would be my luck. I'd finally have a daughter with some girl I barely know."

Quinn couldn't meet Xarga's eyes as she shoved off the desk and walked over to the observation window that looked out on the medbay. In silence she watched as Mandalore's son brought a soldier with a broken arm for Bran to fix. Her boy heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, but gave in and lifted both Ja'Taren and his toy onto the gurney to begin repairs.

"I know it's a lot to ask, but counting on Mandalore to get his shit together is a sucker's bet." Her hands tightened into fists. "I can't watch the Mando'ade dwindle away a second time."

Without another word, Xarga pushed up from the chair and started for the door.

She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she asked anyway. "Where are you going?"

"To see how much whiskey I have. If I start drinking now, maybe I'll get lucky and the zakkeg will kill me."

Quinn cursed both Revan and Mandalore under her breath as she watched Xarga stalk out of the clinic. Then with a sigh, she joined the boys in the medbay and quieted her own whispers of guilt by burying herself in work.