Takes place in season 3, episode 18 'The Citadel' (yeah, I jumped way ahead. Me and chronological order don't get along so well). Inspiration struck as I was having a TCW marathon. Slighter and Bridge are of my creation. Everyone and everything else is George Lucas. Or Dave Filoni. Or both.

Through the Eyes of Captain Slighter

Captain Slighter sat as still as possible, despite the discomfort of his injuries. If he even twitched his fingers, the Commando droids moved as if to use him for target practice. His legs were starting to hurt, though, from maintaining the same position for so long. And, his shebs was starting to go numb. Which only compounded the pain from his other wounds.

Captain Tarkin, the mongrel officer, shifted slightly, straightening. Immediately, the droids turned their attention to him, and Slighter took the opportunity to shift as well, trying to bring feeling back to his backside. His brother, Lieutenant Bridge, glanced at him from the corner of his eye. You good, captain? Slighter twisted his lips into a slight grimace, only noticeable by Bridge, and shifted again. Bride, understanding his predicament, curled one side of his mouth up in a small grin, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Behind the amusement, though, Slighter saw weariness. Bridge had been injured, too, more internal than Slighter, and the captain knew his brother risked bleeding out into himself the longer they remained prisoners. If only they were able to kriffing move, maybe he'd be able to alleviate some of his brother's pain. And maybe some of his own.

The mongrel had stilled and the Commando droids had returned to staring at the wall above Slighter's head, their oculars lit up bright white, eerily similar to human eyes in shape and style. Of course. Humanoid droids. Naturally.

The pain in his legs flared to nearly intolerable. To kriff with it. Having past the point of caring, he levered himself with his hands, sliding back on the metal bench. The movement made pins and needles prickles up and down his legs and shebs, and he sucked in a soft breath between his teeth. As he'd expected, the droids raised their guns, but he didn't hear the distinctive sound of the weapons charging up. Maybe they knew he didn't pose much of a threat in his current state. That thought sent bitterness through him, laced with anger, and provided a momentary relief from the pain that was slowly consuming him. I'll still fight you to my last breath, clanker. You and your master.

Oh, yes, he'd had the joy of meeting the warden of the Citadel, who'd introduced himself as Commander Sobeck. He was Phindian, soft-spoken and quite ugly in Slighter's opinion. He was also the man who was responsible for the clones' current predicament. Guess I should include the mongrel into that. He doesn't look to comfortable, either.

As if thinking about him pushed him into action, the mongrel stood, one arm behind his back, the other raised slightly in front of him, his chin tipped up in a manner that spoke entirely of arrogance. His body language screamed haughtiness and exaggerated self-opinion. Slighter had to stop himself from snorting. Keep that up, mongrel, and you'll have us all dead. He could only hope the clankers weren't programmed to read body language.

"Droid," in his cultured, high-society voice, the mongrel's word dripped disgust and irritation. Both the droids' heads spun to stare at him with those glowing oculars. Seeing he had their attention, the mongrel continued. "I would like to be aware of what your commander plans to do with us. As prisoners, we are of no use to him."

Slighter closed his eyes in defeat. Beside him, Bridge tensed, instinctively readying himself for the fight that the mongrel's words were going to cause. The droids just stared at Tarkin, then returned to staring at the wall above their heads. Something in Slighter relaxed, and he suddenly felt the adrenaline in his veins. He hadn't even realized it was there. Bridge relaxed, too, a small breath of pain pulling from his lungs. Slighter glanced at him, and his brother just gave a small tilt of his chin, a reassuring nod. I'm okay, sir.

The mongrel, no doubt realizing that the droids had just insulted him, took a step closer. Slighter's defeat turned to morbid amusement. The mongrel, with his pride of status, was going to get himself killed, perhaps only himself. The droids seemed more intelligent than others Slighter had encountered. Maybe they'd realize that the mongrel was the only one causing trouble.

Before he could open his mouth, though, Bridge, ever the peace-keeper, sat up straighter. "Captain, perhaps you can request information at a later time."

Tarkin froze, turning his head slightly, and Slighter knew his pale blue eyes were glaring ice daggers at the lieutenant. He didn't say anything, though, and neither did Bridge, both waiting with anticipation to see if the mongrel captain would take Bridge's respectfully suggested advice. The seconds move by slowly, creeping through the tense atmosphere in the cell. Finally, Tarkin moved back to the metal slab provided as a bench, and the two clones managed to breathe somewhat easier.

Silence fell over the cell again, silence and stillness. It didn't last, though. The stillness, not the silence. The mongrel, as insulted and angry as he was, was unable to remain still. His fingers moved, clenching and unclenching in fists, body tense to the point he nearly vibrated. He did, however, remain silent, and Slighter felt a flash of derisive approval. Good mongrel captain. Good boy.

After many minutes, though, the mongrel calmed down. Slighter had the strong suspicion he had almost literally swallowed his anger. Whatever he had done, he had returned to his usual mask of indifference, and his body language was once again at its usual level of haughtiness.

The droids moved suddenly, and all the men in the cell tensed. They didn't come at them, though. Instead, they shifted slightly towards the door, and Slighter knew they had picked something up on their sensors. Then he heard it, the sounds of footsteps. He recognized those footsteps. Clones, brothers, their boots on metal hallways. Softer footsteps, Force-enhanced. He knew the sounds of that, too. Working with a Jedi General allowed a man to learn it. Three Jedi, no, four Jedi, one of which was his general. Two of the Jedi were similar size and build, and the fourth was smaller, lighter.

The droids looked at each other. One spoke, its voice, low and mechanic, grating against Slighter's ears. "I hear something."

There was a moment of silence from outside, then the sound of a lightsaber activating. One of the droids walked up the steps that led to the door, and Slighter and Bridge shared a glance, knowing what would follow.

The saber slice through the door, through the droid, ending its mechanical existence, and the other one hefted its gun. This time, Slighter heard the sound of it being charged, though the droid didn't charge out the door. It hung back, falling into a slight crouch, waiting, and he realized that these Commando droids were much smarter—if such an adjective could even be applied to a piece of machinery—than the regular B1s and SBDs he was used to dealing with.

Everyone in the cell waited with baited breath, the taste of freedom so near. Nothing happened for one second, two seconds, and then door slid open. Again, nothing. Slighter counted the seconds if only to occupy his mind. The pain from his injuries was all but forgotten, his discomfort having fled at the sound of the footsteps.

Suddenly there was movement, a blur of burgundy and black, of russet and white and indigo, swinging from the door frame into the cell, onto the droid. Burning yellow-green joined the colors, driving through the droid's head and disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Slighter stood, two of the three other clones in the cell following. Bridge didn't, though, and Slighter knew his brother was in much more pain than he was letting on.

General Piell ran down the stairs into the cell, and the mongrel captain stood. Slighter was aware of them speaking, but his attention was on the blur of color which had formed itself into a young Togrutan woman. She was beautiful, tall with muscles rippling under her skin and pale blue eyes that—unlike the mongrel's—had a softness in them at the same time they dared anyone to get in her way.

Beautiful and brave, Slighter realized, to have come on a mission like this. The two lightsabers clipped to her belt suggested talent; after all, not many Jedi were ambidextrous, most preferring to fight with only one saber. Her entrance into the cell indicated agility and energy, not unexpected of a Jedi, but still enough for Slighter to be impressed by her. Her stance, body language, it all screamed vigilance and protectiveness and hints of defiance, though Slighter could only guess at what or who she was defying.

And then there was the fact that she was female. He had never seen a female, not really, not in real life, real flesh. He'd seen them through illicit videos hacked into on Kamino, pictures and pin-ups some of the men had, paintings and drawings the men did, holocom conferences he sometimes had to sit in on. But never real, and never this close.

She was, he decided, more than beautiful. She was magnificent, everything he believed a female should be. Strong and capable and colorful, and suddenly her eyes darted towards him, as if she could hear his thoughts, and her lips quirked up in a small smile, eyes narrowing into a playful look. Slighter blushed, remembering all he'd heard about Jedi and realizing she probably had heard his thoughts. Instead of being upset, though, or insulted at his attention, at the thoughts of a mere clone, she had embraced it, offered a smile, and that was something he'd never expected from any Jedi, or any female.

The discussion ended, the group split up. Slighter and Bridge went on with General Skywalker and the female, his Padawan, Commander Tano. The mongrel captain was with them, as well, but Slighter found he suddenly didn't mind so much. His pain was at a much more manageable level, his brother was with him, and he was following a Jedi-female who had given him the gift of a smile.

He'd noticed the other captain, Captain Rex he'd introduced himself as, seemed very protective of the commander, as protective as she was of the rest of the men. He didn't hinder her, though, and even though they were simply walking, Slighter saw they moved in tandem, as a team, the way only long-time friends and warriors could. Slighter envied the captain for a moment, but only for a moment. He had his brothers, and her gift. Even if he dreamed about it, he didn't really want the relationship with her the other captain seemed to have.

However, he would give her his loyalty. General Piell was a good general, but the commander was colors. Colors and smiles and defiance. I've got your six, commander. Once again, she must have sensed his thoughts, or heard them, or his intention, because she glanced at him over her shoulder, another smile curling at her lips, eyes soft and friendly and welcoming.

Two gifts in less than a day. Even if he never served with her again, even if he died on this planet, in this prison—as he expected would probably happen—he'd leave with his memories of her defiance, his dreams of her colors, and her gifts of smiles.

I see a recurring theme of smiles. Oops haha I really do love Ahsoka's smiles though #GirlCrush

I might have messed up the timeline of the episode a little bit (I think the droids hear the lightsaber, not the footsteps. Oh, well).

Next one will probably be from season 1 again, Ryloth or maybe the Blue Shadow Virus arc. We'll see. Again, suggestions or ideas welcome.

Read, review, enjoy.

Kisses!