Work Text:
Uncontrollable sobbing was not a common sound onboard General Pong Krell's flagship. So where were those cries – so heartbroken, bordering on hysterical – coming from?
Baron turned into another hall, looking around wildly for the source of the noise. It echoed worse than ever in here, so the young pilot knew that whoever it was had to be hiding behind one of the adjacent doors. The only question was which one.
Gritting his teeth, Baron ran a shaking hand through his close-cropped black hair, his bright brown eyes flicking from one door to the next, struggling to pinpoint the sound's origin. It was driving him mad, and he knew that there was no way that he'd be able to get a decent night's sleep with the knowledge that one of his own brothers had locked himself up somewhere and was now crying his heart out.
Everyone needed consolation right now (except for that shabuir that they were all forced to refer to as "general"), especially in the light of their legion's most recent battle. There'd been massive casualties, three-quarters of which were fatalities. There were a lot of brothers who needed reassurance.
Another round of sobs echoed down the hall, and this time, Baron was able to locate the source. His eyes settled on the entrance to one of the many storage rooms to be found on the vessel, on his left, three doors up.
There.
Baron wasted no time. In seconds, he had crossed over to the door and was typing in the entry code. It opened with a hiss, and he entered.
The sight he beheld stopped him cold.
Sandwiched between two crates, huddled into a ball with his back to him, was one of the most pitiful-looking figures that Baron had seen in his entire life. Though he couldn't see the man's face, he knew immediately that he was a brother – he had the same tall frame, dark skin and broad shoulders of every other clone trooper had ever met, though his hair was a vibrant shade of red rather than the usual dark brown. His previously white armor was a mess, dented in multiple places and covered in dirt spots, scorch marks, and blood. His shoulders shook violently as he cried; loud, hacking, wheezing sobs that filled the room and made the pilot's chest seize up.
Baron's heart gave a wrenching twist. The poor kid hadn't even bothered to clean up after the return to the ship. He'd probably been in here for hours, all alone with the dust and the memories. Baron was willing to guess that all or almost all of the man's squadmates had been slaughtered down on the planet's surface. That was the story of almost every veteran clone in the legion.
"Hey."
The man jumped and whipped around. Baron was briefly taken aback by his… unusual appearance. His eyebrows were as red as his hair – not dyed, then. And his eyes, far from the typical brown, were ice blue. Currently, they were also tinged with red, bloodshot as they were from his crying fit.
Baron stepped out of the shadow of the doorway, allowing the younger one to see him clearly. Suddenly nervous, the man snapped to attention upon seeing the blue paint decorating the pilot's armor, designating him as a lieutenant. Baron smiled to himself at the nervous energy that the shiny was displaying. He's as twitchy as a feral tooka, he thought vaguely.
"Sorry," the trooper said quickly, with barely a tremble in his voice despite his previous breakdown. "I was just… taking stock of the dust bunnies." He flashed a weak smirk, though his watery eyes greatly downplayed the effect.
Ah. A joker, Baron thought grimly. Jokers never lasted long in Krell's legion. The general had no sense of humor, and didn't like clones who did.
Baron smiled back, choosing to ignore the trooper's breach of protocol. He didn't mind being addressed casually, even if it wasn't technically proper for a shiny to speak to him like that. No doubt the man had heard enough of it from the general already, and anyway, it was neither the time nor the place to bring it up. The kid needed comfort, not a lecture.
Taking another purposeful step forward, he gestured to the empty spot directly in front of the shiny. "Mind if I join you?"
There was only a slight widening of the man's eyes at the suggestion. He shrugged, muttered "sure", and sat again, the perfect picture of nonchalant composure. He watched silently as the lieutenant took a seat.
"This is an odd place for R and R," Baron remarked mildly, glancing around the storage closet with feigned interest. The shiny smirked slightly, just enough for Baron to know that that was what he was doing. He smirked back.
"What's your name, kid?" he asked quietly.
The shiny glanced down. "CT-5241," he muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably under his superior's scrutinizing gaze. Baron raised an eyebrow. Rolling his eyes, he clarified, "Sharp."
"And why do they call you that?" the pilot asked mildly. Sharp eyed him.
"I'm a good shot," was all he said.
Baron nodded. "Makes sense."
Sharp stared hard at him, sizing him up, obviously attempting to figure out whatever ulterior motive he had for a lieutenant of all people to be talking to him. Typical uptight shiny, Baron thought wryly, allowing a small smile to creep across his face. When's he gonna learn that we don't all have an agenda?
Sharp turned away slightly, just enough that Baron could no longer make out his expression. The kid had gone completely stiff, every aspect of his posture guarded and withdrawn. The lieutenant had worked with shinies like this before – traumatized, confused and broken young men who wanted nothing more than to fade into the background in hopes that it might permit them to live just a few more weeks. How long ago had it been since he was one of them?
"This your first time on the battlefield?" Baron asked. Sharp shook his head.
"Second."
"Ah."
Both fell silent, neither looking each other in the face as they lost themselves within their own minds. Baron observed out of the corner of his eye. The sniper wasn't crying anymore, instead tapping an odd rhythm on the floor next to him. His eyes were glazed as he stared at a point somewhere to his left.
Baron fidgeted, suddenly unsure of what else to say.
Luckily, he didn't have to.
"Why does the general hate us so much?" Sharp asked. His hands clenched into fists on his lap.
"All we ever do is follow his orders," Sharp continued bitterly. "So why in haran does he treat us like this?! Not even the Kaminoans were this bad."
Baron sighed heavily. "I don't know." Sharp turned to look at him, the anger fading from his expression. Baron shrugged helplessly. "I don't get it either."
A brief, tense silence stretched between them.
"I hate him," Sharp muttered finally, glaring at the floor. “My whole squad is dead, and it's all his fault.” His voice trembled with fury. Baron reached forward and clasped the man's shoulder.
Sharp met his gaze, his ice blue eyes burning with mixed anger, hatred and grief. Baron understood what he was going through all too well. How many times had he had those same thoughts about the General? But it wasn't like there was anything that either of them could do about it. It was their duty to stand and fight for Krell, no matter how horribly he treated them, no matter how much they despised him, and no matter what their opinions on his battle strategies happened to be.
Duty. Oh, how Baron hated that word.
"When I first got here,” Baron said quietly, “Krell sent all of the fighters at his disposal up against one of the Sep's most heavily-armed battle cruisers. I was one of only five men to come out of that attack alive."
Sharp was silent. Then: "Did you win?"
Baron snorted. "Technically yes, thought I'd hardly call it a victory when we had more casualties than the seps did," he remarked sourly. “The general doesn't see it that way though."
Sharp looked down at his hands, saying nothing.
After a beat, in which neither man said anything, Baron leaned forward.
“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.”
Sharp looked up.
“What?”
“It's Mando'a,” Baron told him. “A phrase my training sergeant taught me a long time ago. I've always found it comforting to say it after a battle.”
“What does it mean?” Sharp asked.
Baron smiled. “Not gone – just marching far away.”
He looked Sharp straight in the eye. “Your squad's still with you, like mine is still with me. It's not the end.”
Sharp shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Maybe.” He said, sounding doubtful.
Baron waited a few moments, then stood up. “Well, it's late. We should both get some sleep. It's good to meet you, Sharp.” He turned to go.
“Wait.”
Baron paused. He glanced back.
“You never told me your name, sir.” Sharp said.
The pilot smiled. "I'm Baron."
Sharp hesitated, gnawing on his lip. Baron waited patiently for the man to speak.
"Do you think this is ever going to end?" he asked quietly. “Krell? The war? All of it?”
Sighing, the officer rested his hand against the cold durasteel door.
"I wish I knew, Sharp. I wish I knew…"