"So son. We have the reports, but I don't believe them-" Kal sat down in front of him, he leaned forward, interested, but not intruding into Brook's space.
"What happened, how did you come here?"
Brook swallowed, sat up straighter, hands resting in fists at the sides of his legs.
He desperately wished he could stand up, but standing while Skirata was sitting down seemed wrong somehow.
Brook really didn't want to go there, yet.
"What, what did the reports say?"
Kal sighed, then leaned back, picture of a very relaxed man, but the tenseness in his shoulders, thin lines around his eyes and mouth told Brook that something was bothering the older man.
"Well, condensed it says that you are either crazy or a traitor and that you randomly opened fire on your brothers."
Brook choked. "I didn't do that!" It burst out of him.
His brothers. "I could never hurt my brothers:"
He looked up, leaned forward himself. Kal didn't react, just put his feet up an a stool.
Brook plowed ahead, desperate to tell, to say that he could never, ever do that.
"He, the captain, he told us to split up, then when we were alone he shot me. He called for help, but…but there was only me."
Br gasped for breath, tried to breathe calmly, but it just wouldn't work. He fought back tears of frustration at the memory.
"My brothers came. He then threw a grenade, a frag."
Brook shook his head, wiped the moisture away from his eyes with angry, abrupt motions.
"They shot me."
Brook finished, "I fell." He added, blinking to see Kal more clearly.
The older man looked pained to him. Kal had moved from his relaxed position, held out a small glass of clear liquid for him.
"Here, should help you calm down." Kal said, giving Brook an encouraging nod as the clone sipped.
The taste was sharp, stinging for a moment before making a hot, burning trail down into Brook's stomach. He coughed, set the glass down, faintly hoping that Kal wouldn't mind.
He didn't, was busy downing a glass himself. The mando exhaled sharply, shook his head.
"Your story fills in the blanks." He looked at Brook, nodded, gave the young clone a vague attempt at a smile. You did good son."
Brook shook his head.
"Why? How?"
"How you did good? You told me the truth." Kal poured himself another shot.
"How your story makes sense?" Well, you ex-," Kal stressed that part of the word, "captain claims you went psycho, started shooting and threw a grenade."
Brook swallowed, felt the tears well up again, didn't protest as Kal motioned at the glass, copied the other man's movement and swallowed the remainder of the liquor.
It went down a bit easier this round. While Brook was still coughing, eyes watering, Kal continued.
"Your group was made up out of splinters and command was breathing down his neck to reform them into a working unit. He didn't have time, so figured if he chattered them as a group, set himself in the middle of the disaster," Kal shrugged," it would go better."
Brook shuddered.
"I am no traitor." He said, quietly, almost only to himself, but Kel stood up, laid a broad, strong hand on his shoulder.
"I know son, we all know."
Brook blinked, slowly feeling his senses go fuzzy.
The flames heated fireplace, warmth spreading through the room.
Kal pushed him back, Book obeyed the gentle push, tugged his legs closer to his body. The ache of his wounds was dimmed.
Kal sighed and pulled a blanket over Brook's shoulders.
He tousled the clone's hair, stayed by his side until the breath evened out.
Brook had fallen asleep on the couch as his past came back to haunt him.
He was back on the cliff, his brothers against him.
Brook raised his hands, weapon gone.
He was without helmet, without armour.
Hi captain laughed, taunted.
"Spaarti, bait." He called, voice loud, reverberating in Brook's head.
He tried to speak, to defend himself, but no word came out, breath caught in his throat.
His captain spoke, yelled, whispered, told lie upon lie.
"Traitor." He called Brook and he, he could say nothing, couldn't move, was frozen to the spot.
Something in him yelled, screamed, tried to fight or at least to run.
Nothing was to be done as his brother's raised their guns.
In real life Brook hadn't seen it coming. Here, he watched as the shots of pure light came closer and closer and…
Someone gripped his shoulder, called his name.
Brook's eyes snapped open.
His heart was racing, too fast, just as his breath. Brook gulped down air, but nothing seemed to reach him.
"Calm, take deep breaths."
Scorch looked down at him, a safe distance away.
Many clones came out of dreams violent, fists raised and ready to to do what they had been born to do: fight tooth and claw.
Brook nodded, deeply grateful that Scorch had woken him.
His brother perched, there was just no other word for the actions of the permanently chipper clone, on the edge of the couch.
"So vod'ika." He began. "Something not right with your bed?"
Brook shook his head, lip caught between his teeth.
At the door, clearly waiting for Scorch, were Boss and Fixer. They looked over to them, Fixer just raised an eyebrow when Brook looked to them.
He jerked his hand impatiently, as if to say: 'Go on already.'
Brook remembered Skirata's words earlier that day clearly.
"Scorch likes you Brook." He had said. In his understanding, unsettlingly understanding voice.
"And the rest of his squad does too, don't let Boss' demeanour fool you. If he didn't he would never have you around."
Brook exhaled shakily, lowered his head, almost ashamed to tell his brothers, who were all so stronger, more experienced, who were just plain better than him.
"Ididn't want to be alone." He said; voice barely audible over the cackling of the dying fire.
"The room is empty, it's weird. I have never slept alone in one."
A dry cough sounded. Brook's head snapped up.
It had been Boss and the older clone was suppressing a laugh.
"That's all?" He said, pushed away from the wood he head been leaning against.
"What are you waiting for? Come."
The older clone strode out of the room, expecting Brook to follow.
Brook stared after him for a moment, not quite comprehending what he had seen and heard.
Boss laughing and his words…
Scorch sat up, poked Brook's bruised shoulder playfully.
"Well, you heard him vod'ika. Move your shebs."
Brook followed the three to their room. They had cleared to space in the middle, two bunk beds pushed to the walls.
The frames were empty and Brook watched confused as his brothers lifted the mattresses up and flung them on the floor.
The pillows and blankets followed in one wild heap- Fixer, highly uncharacteristically, whopped with joy.
Mereel passed Brook by in the corridor, the younger clone could hear him mutter something about Delta being "complete barvy", but couldn't ask what it meant as Scorch grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
Someone switched off the lights- it was pitch-black in the room.
Before Brook had much of a chance to comprehend what was going on he found himself in the middle of a pile of blankets and pillows.
There was a bit of shuffling, one or two curses until everyone had his own; or at least one pillow.
It had never been completely dark before in his light, all training facilities had always a bit of dim light.
But to Brook's right there was Scorch, muttering one last curse about Fixer's pillow.
"It's just too fluffy." He grumbled.
To Brook's left Fixer shot back a reply, mandoa, fast and way above Brook's language skills. It sounded barbed, but he could feel Scorch chuckling.
Then, things settled down, they could hear the sounds of the house settling down for the night.
"Vode?" Brook said quietly, speaking into the darkness, listening to his brother's calm breaths, "Thank you."
And he meant it, in every way possible.
"Sure thing." Was Scorch's cheerful reply, a friendly elbow-bump came from Fixer and a calm:
"Hope you can sleep now."
From Boss, closest to the door, it seemed to Brook he was almost guarding them.
A.N.:
So, hello everybody!
This is the last chapter of this arc.
I will work on Small Stars 2 when (if) I find time to write in the next couple of weeks, but the next part of Brook's story is being planned!
Under stress I tend to write either angst or pure fluff.
Since angst drags me down while writing it, here is some fluffy fluff fluff.
Hope you enjoy.