Good day all,

It seems surreal that this is the 23rd installment of the Making of Grey…we are about 2/3 of the way done now. I both love that and hate it. I haven't had such joy writing in a long time, and it will hurt to see this to its end – but I shall overcome.

Thank you for the feedback, folks. It means everything to me.

Happy Writing,

Eliana

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His old tricks still worked well enough, Djibourdi had observed when he and his small crew made it to the hidden sanctity of his legions. It worked well enough that he had almost fallen for the reflected image of the forest that was thrown off by the shield conductors, the simple projectors that had been carefully placed around the massive encampment hidden at the foot of the mountain. It had taken his flight longer than it should have to get back – four standard hours instead of two – because, as he had told Sam when they prepared to leave their remote camp:

"We have to make another stop."

None of his men had questioned that order. Or the order when they found what he led them to. Or the order to slaughter the slaughterers and set the civilians free. Most had left to join the exodus of bodies fleeing to what they thought was safety while others had chosen to stand and fight to protect what little ground they still had control over. Djibourdi only had interest in speaking to one, and then he and his men were off again, moving as fast as they could to the culvert that protected their men.

There were two legions of clones hidden here: a little over sixteen thousand due to the meager losses felt at engagement with the outsiders and their interferences with the work of those dark things. Half, at once, followed Tombur and his padawan with Sam as their praetorian. The other, once led by Warren, ran to his command and his two praetorians: Campion and Cedric. Now, none of them had a general. Most had no idea.

They had been more than excited to greet their commander when he and his small flight had made it back to them, but too quickly that celebration was ushered to a close when Bones herded the young Togruta to his medical station and immediately turned him into a living pin cushion. Djibourdi, in all honesty, was too pained and weak to offer much complaint when the medic stripped him of his armor and weapons. Somehow, he found it in himself to address all three of his praetorians as the medic hooked yet another syringe to the now-attached IV line where he sat propped against Sam.

It was a standard fake-out that they all could see through… none of them had the guts to call him on it.

"Our allies we were able to find are in good health, sir," Cedric reported from where he sat on a medical crate, his position matching that of his wounded commander that leaned a bit too heavily against Sam, "They are ready and awaiting orders."

"Good," the Togruta's voice was worn, his lips turning into a frown at the slight tingle of whatever Bones was pushing into his body, "What of the men?"

"Lean and antsy, sir. They've been chompin' at the bit since Cam brought the ready order," the praetorian responded with a small grin that he and his one brother shared. It dropped when they realized that Sam and Bones didn't react as they did. Instead, the two were too engulfed in the burning concern they had for the Togruta among them, and, feeling the tension, Cedric's tone changed, "We are ready to get on the move when the general arrives."

Bones's hands went suddenly still against the IV line and their commander's arm, and Sam was completely focused on their commander's face. They didn't know what to say.

This wasn't normal behavior. It was nerve wracking.

Cedric and Campion shared a look and then, tentatively, Campion requested of his commander:

"When will the general be arriving, sir?"

Sam went to answer the question, but the monotone voice of Djibourdi answered instead, his eyes closed against the pain and shallow breaths that ravaged his body.

"He's not coming," was his simple reply as his eyes slid open, "Tombur cannot bring the men to reckon."

He raised his right arm to show them their general's command gauntlet, and both of their faces drained of color when realization settled in.

"Not anymore."

His head turned and he moved to softly press his free palm against the medic's hands that had moved to bring a syringe full of morphine to the line that fed into his arm. His worn eyes were met with the stern ones of the Bones, and none of the praetorians in their presence were willing to step in between that battle.

"You are in pain, sir, and your body is in distress. A lot of it – you need the relief and rest," Bones left no room for complaint in his tone. His commander forced the room into existence.

"Not yet," Djibourdi managed before a soft cough forced its way out, "I won't be able to stay awake once you use that."

He hadn't outright refused its use…and that alone was enough to alert every man in the room that there was something very wrong. In testament to that feeling Djibourdi turned back to Cedric and Campion with a simple order.

"Summon the men for me, would you? We need to have a talk."

They both quickly acknowledged and went to move out of the tent. They stopped short when a sudden realization passed between them, and Cedric looked back to him with a quirked eyebrow.

"Which men, sir?"

Djibourdi let out a shuddering breath.

"All of them."

Neither clone could offer a valid retort so they shared a long look before leaving, each to summon their marks, and each to seek out and arrange the speakers and devices that they knew that would need. Left in the tent, Bones and Sam tended as carefully as they could to the commander who was seemingly half-asleep between them, his energy torn between the activities of the days prior and the punishment of the falls. His body had hit the point of demanding him to be still.

As the medic carefully hooked the bag of saline onto the IV line their commander finally took a steadying breath as he came back to himself, looking between the two of them as he pointed out of the tent.

"Sam, Bones… get me out there."

"With all due respect, sir: you aren't in the kind of shape –"

"Sam," his note came from his commander's lips with a hint of a warning, and it was enough to have him click his jaw shut, "Don't argue. I am not in the mood."

The response of: 'understood' was all that was offered, and all three crawled at a battery-drained caretaker droid's pace out of the tent and toward one of the ledges that jutted from the mountain wall overlooking the assembling camp of clones. Not long later those men listened attentively to their commander's voice as it bounced between them, some of it echoing off the stone of the mountain and some coming through the speakers arranged around them.

None of them felt as though they could breathe when Djibourdi explained to them what had happened…what he was bringing to them.

"You all understand what it is that I ask of you," his voice met their ears, all of their eyes plastered to him as he sat straight against his body's will, "and I don't need your answer right now. You are under no obligation to anyone other than those that command the Grand Army of the Republic, and I understand that I am not them. What I am asking you to consider is not condoned by the army or by the Jedi Council. So please –"

He gestured among them.

"Every one of you has the right to his own choice. If you want no part of this, when I leave at 0200 hours with those that choose to run, you are free to return to holding."

This time he waved a hand above his head to loosely signal to the firefight above their heads in space.

"The Republic and the Togruti military will break that blockade soon enough…but not soon enough for my people. I cannot allow myself to stand silent at their slaughter, so I will be leaving in time to make it to the valley of contention before the palisades fall."

"Sir," one of the men seated along the ridge raised his hand and he nodded to allow him to speak, "Sir, all due respect… the enemy seeks to kill your kind. If you run that field, they'll all be aiming right for you. They'll slaughter you like an animal."

"If that is what it takes, then so be it," the answer was calm, and its effect rolled over the men who listened, "Regardless of how this plays out, my friends, it has been an honor serving with all of you."

With a hum he reached into one of the pockets of his cargo pants, pulling out something he had wrapped in cloth before they had left the auxiliary camp. Turning it over contemplatively in his palms for a moment he tested its weight, then looked up to the thousands of eyes that watched him.

"As we are on the subject of honor, there is a matter that I would like to bring before the legion. In events of war, we members of the Jedi command have been given the power to assign rank to the men that have shown dedication to us and to their brothers that goes beyond the call of duty. Today, we will be acknowledging that right."

He turned his lead to glance over his shoulder, catching the pair of hazel eyes that studied him.

"Sam," he summoned, and the praetorian wasted no time responding, bringing himself to kneel in front of his commander who he knew wouldn't be able to stand again, "Sam, in the past weeks you have shown more dedication than has been demanded of you. It was my master's desire to bring this honor to you, and in his passing that task has been passed to me – it is one that I am happy to bestow."

Shakily the emblem of the legions, the one that Djibourdi had torn from his own armor, was uncovered and the Togruta reached to present it to the clone. Sam didn't know how he had forgotten what it felt like to breathe when that shining piece of golden durasteel was placed into his hands, and he was fairly certain that his heart stopped when his commander's words met his ears before the approving call of his brothers drowned it out.

"Honor be to you, Commander Sam."

That wall of sound was engulfing, even as he rose to his feet to salute his commander who smiled at him and gestured to his own right side. Sam found his rightful place there, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. The cheers around them tapered when Djibourdi signaled with his hand, and again he addressed all of them.

"With this change, our ranks require that Sam's role be filled."

Again, he looked behind him, this time to the two men that remained.

"Praetorian, front and center."

Campion and Cedric obeyed, and when they stopped in front of him and he addressed them, his voice carried to all of the men who listened in.

"Preatorian, face your brothers."

They both did.

"These are your brothers. No one knows them better than you, and only you can decide who among them is ready to join your ranks. Tell me, who would you name to join you? Campion?"

"Sir," the clone's voice responded, "I believe Bones to be ready to join our ranks."

"Cedric?"

"Sir, I also attest that Bones is ready to join us."

"Bones," Djibourdi called to him, and rather hesitantly the medic made his way to stay in front of all four of them, "Face your brothers."

He obeyed.

"What say you, runners of the Republic?" the commander asked of his men, and the approving wall of sound shook the ridge once more.

Drowned out in the roar was whatever Djibourdi spoke next that had Bones turning to himself and Sam, the medic accepting the mark from the now-commander with a salute. The change of ranks complete, the three clones found their place by their commander's side and allowed their brothers to speak their peace and let them fall quiet on their own. When quiet reigned again, Djibourdi's voice carried between them softly.

"My friends, take the time to consider your decision. If you want no part of this, return to holding when I leave. Any who choose to confront the ruin at the world's ending, pick up your shields and follow me… choose your marks. I leave you to your brothers. Thank you, all of you, for everything."

Nothing had ever sapped his energy more than this had, and when the two legions of men echoed their sentiments and had dispersed to their stations, Djibourdi finally dropped what bravado he had and let his commander support his weight.

"Sir, you need to rest."

"Not yet."

"Why push your luck further, sir?" his new praetorian pressed where he crouched next to him, and the worn golden eyes blinked slowly. The Togruta only offered the four men one word, and that single statement blocked any argument they sought to have.

"Ahsoka."

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"It was a good service, Dji," Ahsoka told him through the hologram.

The small, abandoned building that she had put herself in suddenly felt more like a cave than a storage shed. They had made it to where the mountains bowed down and formed a guiding ridge to the valley… that's where they had stopped for a while, mainly to regroup and intercept the people who were heading down to their new location.

Eddy, Tocarra, and Donovan had taken turns translating for the Jedi and had been successful in rallying the Togruta to their side. In two standard hours they would make their way into the valley and redirect the herd of terrified people that had gathered there. They needed allies to help them direct, help them build defenses, help them get the innocents off of the playing field… she was worried that it wouldn't be enough.

They were playing a very dangerous game, attempting to guide the hunters turned prey as quickly as possible away from contention but not stopping their advance. They had to draw their enemies into close quarters, into the trap that was heading their way.

She wasn't sure when her friend had figured out that she had found a way to get these two communicators working past the block, but they were certainly of use now. She had told her master that she needed some time to herself and locked herself in this tiny building to 'meditate', and the 'meditation' she was currently engaged with was making her stomach turn.

Djibourdi didn't look well, and despite how hard he tried to hide it from the camera she could see the oxygen mask he had tossed under the blankets and the IV line that fed into his unwounded arm. She couldn't put that feeling to rest, especially when he leaned his weight back against the chair he sat in. For his benefit, she chose not to comment yet.

"We buried him under that tree with the white flowers you always meditated in. Anakin led the ceremony, the rest of us put him to rest with those petals and the incense you left...and one of those fruits he threw at my head. It was nice," she told him quietly, wanting to somehow reach through the hologram and embrace him when the small smile reached his lips… but not his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured to her.

"You don't have to thank me…it was the least that I could do."

They both fell into a tense silence for a moment, Ahsoka fiddling with a small stone she had plucked from the ground, before she finally decided to acknowledge what she felt.

"I'm just so…MAD at you," she pressed out to him, not ready to hear her own voice crack with emotion or feel the bite of bitter tears at her eyes.

"I know," Djibourdi whispered back to her and offered a gentle smile.

It was enough to convince her to take a solid breath. Blast him, she could never stay frustrated with him.

"Why do you still not trust me?"

"I trust you."

"I call kriff," she ground out to him, her eyes hard, "if you did, why did you leave and not tell me? Did you think I couldn't handle it?"

He allowed a flash of a grimace to overshadow his face as he adjusted his position, and when he finally looked back to her she swore that her heart had been ripped from her chest. The one who looked at her was a shell of her friend, someone who was so desperately weak and tired that they were pulling on what reserves they could to appear whole.

"You misunderstand my intentions, Ahsoka," the response came, slightly garbled for a moment when the signal fluctuated, "I know that you can. That is why things are the way that they are, why you are now in the position of control. The one who cannot handle it isn't you, it's me… I cannot lose you, too."

The Force rippled with pain, softly rocking the safe harbor that was her resolve. It was a mixed current of light and dark, its energy bickering and fighting as it moved.

"My grip, it's…" Djibourdi's throat rumbled as he swallowed, his eyes closing in a swift moment of grounding against the dark that snapped at him. When his heavy eyelids opened again, he offered, "I can't. I'm not strong enough to lose anyone else, Ahsoka, so I must ask you to be strong enough… for the both of us."

The hardest choices require the strongest wills, her master had told her once… and as she sat here, taking in the words that her friend spoke, Ahsoka had to wonder if her will was equal to his. His strength, however ebbing and weakening in front of her eyes, was something that broke her in two.

This wasn't fair, she wanted to tantrum like a toddler at the feeling.

The world around her was supposed to be her home, the home that she would always be drawn to when the universe grew cold…but now it was filled with dark and shadow. Bones and dust. Fear and agony.

She had realized something years ago when the hardest reality hit her: the same formula was used for control no matter where she went. Fear ALWAYS worked. Fear stopped people from acting. Fear led to anger, then anger to hate, then hate to the reality she sat in now. She knew what it felt like to lose.

She had believed so desperately that she was ready for this, ready to go down in a tumbling blaze of glory befit for a Jedi while fighting for the liberation of her people. She had believed the same when she was the equalizer between Steela and gravity, and Kalifa and the hunters, and now…

Djibourdi, despite his silence, recognized the realization in her eyes. He had tried to fight it, had tried to resist it, tried to run from it, and yet he had understood before this moment: destiny would arrive all the same.

He was just as afraid as her, yet they both somehow found the will to walk on.

"Are your troopers going to help?"

The fact that he looked away from her dropped her stomach out of her body.

"We shall overcome," he finally answered and then met her eyes through the hologram, "How are our people?"

"Scared, overwhelmed… about how you would think. Fear always works, always feeds the dark. Seeing this in real time is…"

"A lot," her friend offered, and she nodded in agreement with a sigh. The small rock she rolled through her fingers was tossed away without another thought.

"You would think we would be used to this by now."

"We are mortal, Ahsoka," Djibourdi reminded her as a small cough squeaked past his lips in testament, "We should be concerned when these things no longer bother us… that is a sign of the dark side. Will you be able to get them away from the shields?"

"Working on that now," she answered hollowly, "Anakin is with Eddy right now getting some of the warriors and experienced from the crowd to help us redirect people out of the field of contention… we're going to actually go out into the valley soon to get them all out and slow their pursuers. The weapons you and Master Tombur got on that trip of yours are going to be of good use."

It was so ironic. To fight weapons, they had to turn to weapons. To prevent death, they had to cause it. They killed and wounded, in the name of stopping those that killed and wounded… the Jedi pretended to be different. An insecure part of her had to wonder how that could actually be, and if that was what her friend had been talking about a couple days ago.

"There's no margin for error, Ahsoka. We will have to be cunning, full of tricks."

"I know. No pressure, fox boy."

The wheezy laugh Djibourdi gave her didn't help her feel better – no matter how she looked at this, they were woefully outmatched. The pitiful desire within her wanted to go and find him, get him some support and some help… the last time she had seen him look like he did now, both of their lives had nearly been forfeit. She could see his fight against exhaustion slowly coming to a head. He was in a war with his own body. And he was losing.

It fed her concern to new levels. He caught her look and tilted his head in curiosity, the beads tied over his montrals swinging by his temple.

"What is it that you worry over so deeply?"

His question was posed so innocently that she almost didn't know how to respond without sounding snarky.

"You have to be joking."

"I thought you knew that I don't have the mental capacity for jokes."

"I do know that, but you have this annoying habit to doing things that I think that you can't do – probably because you think it's funny."

Djibourdi softly rolled his eyes and she copied the motion, the two of them sharing a moment of calm in the midst of chaos. Suddenly the younger sobered and drew in a breath, his fingers weaving into the fabric of the blanket that was pulled over his lap.

"Ahsoka," he whispered to her, "you need to think hard before you agree to what I'm going to ask you to do. It's not condoned by the council, or your master, or the Republic… and it's a lot to ask of one person. No one can know. Ever."

"I don't have to think at all," Ahsoka corrected him as she leaned forward onto her propped-up palm, watching him with critical eyes.

"Why is that?"

She shrugged.

"I guess, despite my better judgement, I trust you," was the gentle jab, earning her a shy smile.

"Alright then," her friend conceded through the video, now serious, "Please, take a moment to ensure you are alone."

Ahsoka gave him a nod as she climbed to her feet, checking that the boards over the small windows allowed no light to peek through and, after quickly sticking her head out of the door to make sure no one was near, she locked herself into the small building and pulled another board over the doorway. Now, fully bathed in the light blue light thrown from the video communicator, she sat back down in front of the device.

"All clear."

"Do you have the items I left you?"

She presented the bag to him, setting it in front of her and opening it.

"Right here."

"Good. Ahsoka, listen closely…"

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And so it begins, my friends. I hope you have enjoyed reading so far.

Happy Writing,

Eliana