Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the rumor comes through, he doesn’t believe it. There’s always a rumor going around the ranks, and they aren’t worth the oxygen they waste. If it was true, it’d have made the disorganized mess they call Priority Chat. 

What the priority was was never defined.

Still, there are looks . Not that he’s a stranger to them, but since Steady had been working with this battalion there had been fewer. Not few, never few, but fewer.

They weren’t his. That had been made clear. The assignment was temporary. As needed. 

He didn’t know what they were waiting for. He was now an ARC-trained Commander, hand chosen by Alpha-17 as soon as he could justify pulling him back to Kamino. He understood it was meant to be a power play, a shot at his training, his trainer. 

Steady had saluted and added a kama and a pauldron to his kit.

You hear the Marine died?

No one ever brought that to him, never said it to his face, so he never had to address it. But the words themselves sounded too impossible to be true. Any one of them could die any day. He knew that. It was war. And yet. 

And yet.

No one ever asked him. The blockade was days away in hyperspace, and there’s no reason beyond his rank that Steady would have any intel.

He’d never even met the Marine.

*

“This way,” 17 waved him along and Steady followed. His borrowed battalion had gone on to their next mission, and Steady received different orders. 

The silence from and about Marshal Commander Bacara persisted. 

If he really was KIA, it was a better guarded secret than mission detail. Everyone knew comms didn’t get through the blockade often, but even Captain Rex hadn’t posted more than a mission report in cycles.

“Heard you did well.” The Alpha wasn’t looking at him as he keyed the door open. 

Steady didn’t feel like he owed that a reply. “Objectives met.”

“They liked you.” 17 walked into the little office, put his bucket on a crate by the door, waved for Steady to do the same.

He’d rather not. He’d rather hear what 17 pulled him off the front lines to tell him, and get back to work. “They don’t have to like me.”

17 was smiling when he turned around. Not the usual sharp one that broadcast how much he was looking forward to the fight that would follow. This was smaller, more personal, something almost warm in his eyes that felt completely undeserved.

“They don’t have to,” the Alpha agreed. “But they do.”

As Alpha-17 eased himself down on to the makeshift furniture in his makeshift office, Steady stood, bucket in hand, torn between giving in and accepting this moment of comfort offered by someone who did not owe it to him, and pushing it away to do what he was trained to do, be a leader of men and fight a war.

“Is it true?” Steady asked, because this couldn’t be about anything else. He was a CC, distinguished himself as an ARC, but he’d never done anything to earn this level of intimacy.

17 was silent, and that was the most damning of confirmations. “Take a seat.”

It was gruff, almost an order, and Steady followed so he didn’t need to make it one. He sat, almost braced, sure in his bones that this moment was inevitable. The Alpha nodded, the smile gone, but that hint of warmth lingering. Maybe the two were closer than Steady knew. The veteran commanders shared complex histories Steady would never understand. Even the more junior commanders shared histories Steady didn’t understand. 

17 shoved a small table rolling in his direction. On top of the near silent movement, a datapad. Steady picked it up, reviewing the list. Troops, assigned to his name. Assigned to the 21st.

Bacara was dead.

That shouldn’t be possible. Steady forced himself to read the datapad. It was a trooper resupply. Not nearly enough for the Marines, not nearly enough to replace their losses.

“If you’re going, you should take troopers with you.” 17’s voice was low, not soft, Steady didn’t think he’d ever heard him speak softly. “No confirmation yet. No one knows. But you’re qualified, and your… background makes you the man for the job.”

The Little Marine, they’d joked, back then. He wasn’t little anymore, bigger, broader than most of his brothers. A solid brick to build a wall. Was it a kindness or a cruelty to the men of Nova Corps? To replace their famed Marshal Commander with a newer model?

“I understand.” Steady held on to the datapad. There would be a long trip to familiarize himself with his new assignment, new personnel. He would begin preparations. There were troopers to ready, transport to arrange. Comms to send, but then, not many. Likely not more than one, but then, that one would be difficult.

“Stay a moment.”

He didn’t freeze, not really. There was just a breath of hesitation. 17 watched him with an intensity, but it wasn’t that of a trainer, or even a commanding officer. Steady had never really understood the vode, but he had learned to navigate them in a way.

“Sir.” Steady set the datapad down, gave the Alpha his full attention. All positions behind the blockade were vital, this one more than most. The look on 17’s face was worry, and it was only reasonable to expect it. 

There was grey in the Alpha’s hair. Steady had never noticed it before. Not much, a few strands catching the light by his temples, some in the stubble on his jaw. 17 had been in this war from day one, lost too many brothers, and fought for a long time. They were made for this, but that never made the loss easier. If there were words to ease his mind, Steady didn’t know them, but he had to try.

“I will do everything I can, sir.” 

That earned a little snort. “Not sure you know how to do anything else, kid, but things are different out there.”

He hadn’t been off Kamino for long, but Steady had seen as much action as any CC his age. It was always different, but it was also always the same. “Then I’ll adjust.”

17 reached out, around the edge of the seat, and pulled something up, balled in his hand, and threw it easily toward Steady

It was a kama, grey trimmed in Nova maroon, cut differently than his own standard black one.

 “Adjust starting there.”

*

They’d gone from one end of the galaxy to the other, picking up and dropping off at every hub and depot. 

Word of Commander Bacara’s death had still not crossed Priority Chat. Someone had to sign the forms to reassign Steady, but maybe some things were better left unsaid. 

It was easy to imagine all the veteran commanders who would rather not consider the best of them being replaced by a speedie Commander with a half-dozen successful campaigns and a shiny new pauldron. 

They were nearly belly up to the blockade. One more ship-swap approaching Ord Mantell and their big comfortable venator would return to safer travel lanes. 

Steady led Alpha-17’s hand-picked new Marines on to Winder’s transport. It wasn’t GAR issue, and to be honest, Steady wasn’t even sure it was spacefaring, but then maybe that’s exactly what it took to run the blockade. The same could be said for her Commander, who looked more spacer than soldier.

“Commander.” Steady tugged off his helmet and clipped it to his belt before nodding to Commander Jet of Winder. “CC-6975, 21st Nova.”

The pause is a long one. Steady didn’t take it personally. Every time he introduced himself, a vod would think ‘not Bacara.’ Steady’d had a lifetime of it, but it was fresh for all of them. 

So he would be patient, allow them the time they needed to see another commander in their friend’s place. Jet’s expression shifted from thoughtful to bereft for just a moment, and back to something wry.

Commander Jet looked him over for a moment, and then flipped a flashing silver coin, catching it and taking a quick glance. “Got a name, Commander?” 

“Steady!” 

There was one split-second between the coin and the question where Steady’s attention had been diverted. It was just long enough for one scout-quick vod to throw himself at the new Marines Commander.

Steady caught him, because the other option was to roll with the tackle and throw Jolly across the deck. The last thing Steady needed was a mostly-friendly brawl in front of the Winder Commander.

“It’s Steady,” he grunted as Jolly impacted, taking the weight with one bracing step before dropping the troublemaker unceremoniously. “Jolly and I did our ARC training together.”

Jolly popped up, as casual as a tooka. “As if I’d let you cross the blockade without me?”

There’s a pang of something in Jet’s expression as he looks between them. “Welcome aboard. You two, try not to blow anything up.”

*

His new Marines liked him better when Jolly was around. Steady could understand it. The vode found him strange on his own, but Jolly was more like them, spoke like them, knew their ways. In the days of travel, Steady had sparred with the troops, eaten with them, shared what little additional intel he had, but with Jolly around, they looked at him like maybe he could be a vod one day.

It had never happened before, but Steady had long accepted the future was hard to predict.

There were few troopers their age. Almost everyone 17 had selected had seen full combat duty somewhere else. Slowly, Steady began to learn their stories. Zips had lost most of his squad in a transport ambush on Vandor, and went back to Kamino to help with training. Henny was on Mimban with the Mud Jumpers. 

It took time before they opened up, but once they understood Steady was quiet because he was listening, they began to talk. It wasn’t the easy teasing they had with one another, but it wasn’t the chilly distance of the first few days. 

He shared their face, he could fight as well as any of them, and they were all going to go to the same icy hells together.

“You gonna grow a beard?” Jolly asked, pressed shoulder to shoulder in the small cargohold they used as a mess.

Steady blinked at him.

“The Marine had a beard, right? So, you should have one.” Jolly shrugged. “Maybe they’ll think you’re him.”

“Disgraceful.” 

“Maybe they’ll think you’re his ad.” Jolly grinned sharper now. “Some forbidden fling with a bounty hunter.”

Steady only responded as far as one dry, sidelong glance.

“You’re going to have to tell them something.”

Was he? If any soldiers in the whole GAR understood that every single one of them - even the Marine - was replaceable, it would be them. Steady wasn’t fooling himself, he understood just how unwelcome he might be – a reminder of everything they had lost – but he was arriving with fresh troopers and a resupply. That would hopefully buy some goodwill.

“Why am I letting you come along?” Steady asked, keeping his concerns to himself.

“Because I’ve got orders to run intel with Valor behind the blockade.” Jolly punched his shoulder. “And because I wouldn’t let you do this alone.”

Steady felt eyes on them, and spotted Commander Jet watching them from across the room, something almost pained in his expression.

Status interrogative , Steady flicked in battlesign.

All clear , the Winder commander signed back.

Steady was pretty sure that wasn’t the whole truth.

*

Before their ship landed on Mygeeto, every fresh trooper’s comms chimed for minutes with new messages that were caught in the comms blackout.

There was a whole universe cut off behind the blockade.

Steady had known, but knowing it and living it were two very different things.

It would be his universe until the war ended, he was called back across the blockade, or he marched on. Those were the choices.

Jolly put an elbow into the side. “Want to let me do the talking?”

“No.” Steady didn’t even bother to glare. 

“There are going to be questions–”

“I’ll answer them.” As best he could. He had questions of his own. All of those things would have their turn. 

The lack of reply spoke volumes.

Jolly would await his pickup on-world with Nova. Then he’d be out running intel with Valor. It was the assignment he’d trained his whole life for. In a way, it all felt inevitable. 

Steady had work to do.

He landed one sharp elbow to Jolly’s side. “I’ve got troopers to ready.”

The salute was as rude as Jolly could make it. “Yes, sir. Commander, sir.”  

The troops were veteran. More than Steady had first realized as he got to know them. To a trooper, they’d been fighting on every front. He wondered how 17 had gotten so many of them at the ready on Kamino. The more Steady thought about his brief moments with the Alpha, the more he wondered about all the things he didn’t know, and the Alpha hadn’t told him.   

“Sir.” Zips saluted, and Steady returned it. 

He scanned the troopers busy doing whatever could keep them busy. There was tension in the room, a restlessness Steady knew. Travel time was not the same as being boots on the ground to them. Maybe for a pilot, but to them, the war was on the ground, with air support when they were lucky. These days in hyperspace weren’t combat ready, but they weren’t leave either. They were waiting, with the knowledge of what awaited them on landing.

And that landing was minutes away.

“We’re ready.” Henny nodded, and then looked to the brothers near him. They returned the nod. The ripple moved through the crowded hold, eyes on Steady.

He nodded back. “I know it. They will all know it.”

Even if it wasn’t his tongue, there was a rush in his blood when the calls of Oya Vode echoed off the durasteel.

*

The wind hit them first. The ramp wasn’t even half lowered when it whipped through, pulling all warmth from the hold. Steady shifted his shoulders, blocking what he could for Jolly beside him. Whatever their relative sizes when they’d met as cadets, Steady had grown into exactly what he was expected to. 

He’d weather Mygeeto.

Jolly might need an extra layer of thermal blacks to get by.

They touched down on a rise just past the sprawling Marines camp. Steady led the troops down, Commander Jet to one side, Jolly to the other. 

Barely a minute later, the Marines came up the rise to greet them. 

Not many, a dozen or so with hover sleds and speeder bikes. It made it all the more obvious when their cheerful progress at the thought of a resupply faltered at the sight of the troops’ arrival.

“Jet, what the fuck?” A commander in hooded tabards more suited to a Jedi came forward. “I asked for more medical supplies, not future patients.”

Steady was stepping forward to meet him before Jet could get a restraining hold on his arm. 

“CC-6975, Commander Steady, assigned to the 21st Nova,” he greeted Commander Keller.

“Assigned to do what exactly?” Keller demanded. 

He had anticipated pushback. It was natural. Steady had no question about how big the boots were he’d be stepping into. But he had a job to do.

“Command staff.” Steady set himself more firmly on his feet. “Due to Marshal Commander Bacara’s death.”

“Bacara’s what ?”

The wording had been blunt, yes, but Steady had also been led to believe the Marines were direct. They had at least a week to accept the reality, however hurtful the reality was.

“Bacara’s not dead. He’s dark. Out on a mission with Commander Neyo.” Keller’s posture shifted to that of every exasperated medic Steady had ever met. “Listen, vod’ika….Don’t know where the kark up is, but Nova’s got all the commanders it needs.” Keller’s grumble was loud enough to be picked up on comms and Keller made no effort to hide it. “Bacara will never forgive me if we let you freeze to death. We’ll get you suited for the weather and send you back to the core on Jet’s next run. Come on.”

Steady did not follow, instead he nodded to the troopers behind him to start unloading the supplies to the awaiting carts. 

“After we unload and my men are settled.” He was a commander with the Marines until he was told otherwise, and he would behave like it.

“ Your men ,” Keller repeated, before hitting his open comms. “Krestor, find a way to get Bacara on comms. We’ve got an al’verdikaad with delusions out here.”

Steady had no idea what an al’verdikaad was but he was sure Jolly would translate it in the most derogatory fashion for him later. Repeatedly. 

Commander Jet stood on the ramp watching it all unfold. Laughing.

Chapter Text

Steady had not expected a warm welcome.

His men were welcomed into the Marines ranks. There were a few reunions with brothers they had served beside before, a few warm welcomes of brothers not yet as well acquainted as they would soon be.

The supplies helped fill empty shelves, and a truly impressive number of datapads and sweet snacks were passed out among the troopers. Commander Jet and his Winder brothers were practically celebrities, known to every Marine, and welcomed with shouts of good cheer.

“That way, Al’verdikaade.” Keller pointed down a path shoveled into the snow toward yet another tent. He tapped his bracer twice. “Rothax will get you outfitted so you don’t lose any toes on your first day.”

“What about the men?” He’d brought hundreds with him. If he and Jolly needed weather modifications, all the troopers they brought would as well.

“They’ll get geared up in the barracks.” Keller grumbled as he walked away. “At least we were expecting them .”

It was for the best that Steady had not expected a warm welcome.

Jolly swatted him on the back of the bucket the moment Keller walked away. “I like them.”

“Shocking.” Steady bit back a sigh. Of course Jolly would fit in just fine. Steady looked at the tent ahead, at the steam rising from the peak of it. “Armorer?”

He had been outfitted for armor before, but never by anyone who called themselves an armorer. The Marines, Steady was learning, could be a bit dramatic.

“Star has one.” Jolly slapped his thigh plate. “Best fitted cuisses I’ve ever had.” 

Not that he would complain, but Steady had found most armor a struggle. Maybe an armorer would be willing to share some of his expertise if there was time. Keller had been adamant, Steady would hardly be a Marine for long, but he was used to temporary assignments. If there was something Steady could learn while he was there that would benefit him, he would. No opportunity was to be wasted.

He stepped forward and pushed the tent flap aside, and was greeted with his first taste of warmth since the ramp lowered on the transport’s hold. In the comfort of the armorer’s tent, Jolly tugged off his helmet, and after a moment Steady grudgingly did the same. There was nowhere safer on the planet than the center of the Marines’ camp, but to remove his helmet was to be exposed in a way Steady wasn’t wholly comfortable with. 

“Staff Sergeant Rothax, Commanders.” He gave them both an easy salute. The armorer looked the part, down to his blacks on top due to the comparative warmth, with his helmet and upper armor seated on a crate by the door, heavy goggles on.

It was a formality, and nothing more, but it was freely given. He came around the workbench, eyeing their armor. “Commander Keller commed you two would need some outfitting.” 

“Word travels fast.” Jolly had that easy, cheerful tone that Steady knew meant he was working a vod, charming them into friendship and goodwill.

“Around here?” Rothax’s smile was quick and easy. “We got a resupply, reinforcements, and surprise commanders all in one day. That’s practically Windfall.”

He was moving as he talked, shifting around Jolly with practiced hands just barely sizing up his gear. The pause when he came to the cuisses was obvious. “You were fitted for these? 327th?”

“That’s right.” Jolly slapped them again. “Best fit I’ve ever–”

“They’re decent.” Rothax checked the edges again, fitting the tip of his thumb between the plate and Jolly’s thigh. “Patuka’s got a big head. Probably made his own bucket custom.”

“That right?” Jolly’s grin spelled trouble. “Just decent?”

Steady hung back and stayed quiet as Jolly talked the staff sergeant into a custom fitting, or the staff sergeant talked Jolly into one. The banter went back and forth, layered with double meanings and brotherly teasing. It was too complex to follow. 

Steady could go check on the men, see if Keller had heard back from the Marshal Commander. Thank Commander Jet for his hospitality. There were better ways to use his time.

It was cold out there, but his gear was solid.

“Your gear all replacement gear?” Rothax asked Steady as he walked back around his workbench, a stack of Jolly’s plates in his hands.

“That’s his usual.” Jolly looked far too smug for someone stripped down to his blacks and socks.

“Is it lucky?” Rothax studiously kept his attention on the modifications he was making to Jolly’s boots. “Sentimental?”

That got a full laugh out of Jolly.

“It was the largest size available.” Steady barely fit his shoulders in his uppers, and like most his age, he was still growing. Still, the armor was solid, the only damage was a handful of scrapes and dents.

“Largest standard stock, they meant, if that’s what some lazy requisitions officer told you.” Rothax paused, checking over the buckles one more time before placing Jolly’s boots off to the side and beginning to move through the rest of the pieces of armor. “We’ve got the right stuff for you. Have to, around here. Good luck getting that standard gear on someone like the Commander.”

There were multiple commanders with Nova, but when any one of them said The Commander , they meant Bacara. Who was not dead. Who was on the same planet as Steady for the first time in years. Steady drew even, deep breaths and felt every pinch and poke of his armor.

“I’ll get you sorted, sir. Promise.” Rothax must have taken the silence as skepticism. “Might take a few days if anything needs serious reshaping, but I’ll get your boots and bucket ready now.”

Steady put the helmet on the worktable before reaching down for his boots. He had no doubt the Staff Sergeant knew what he was doing, but he didn’t expect much.

“Did you…?” Rothax hesitated, picking up the helmet and turning it over in his hands. The pause stretched into an awkward silence.

“Staff sergeant?” Steady could not possibly guess where the question was leading. 

“This is the standard Phase II.” Rothax set the helmet down with a firm thump on the worktop. “If you prefer the style the Commander uses, we have spares. I could…”

Keller must have said something, or Jet had told Keller something and it had been relayed. Steady had barely said a word since entering the tent. There was nothing about his face, or even his body, that should make his history so obvious.

He would not wear Commander Bacara’s helmet because a staff sergeant knew too much about his training. Or a CMO, or whoever was responsible for the offer. “It is sufficient.” 

That got a half-swallowed chuckle from the armorer. “Of course, sir.”

“I’ll prep your gear.” Rothax set the boots and bucket off to the side. “Got some refreshments while you wait, if you’re up for it. Go on and stay warm.” The armorer shooed them off toward a half circle of crates with bright, multi-colored blankets heaped on top, nestled close to a heater that looked like it had been fighting on the front lines since Geonosis.

Steady circled the area slowly, the cold seeping through the tarp-bottom of the tent and biting at his toes through his socks.

The Marines lived like this. Lived together like this. There was no leave. There were no long hours in hyperspace between engagements. Their whole world was on one planet – their battlefields, their encampments, their whole lives were on one planet. Steady wasn’t sure if he ought to be preparing himself to do the same.

If Commander Keller had his way he shouldn’t - he’d be sent back to the Core, or Kamino, or another assignment, in days.

Because Bacara wasn’t dead.

Transparalast clinked, and Steady turned. Jolly held the bottle in his hand, the flimsy label scratched off. The armorer had mentioned refreshments.  

They hadn’t been given any assignment yet, and even more so for Jolly, he hadn’t even been connected to his unit. He was not on the job yet. Jolly held the bottle up in a toast. 

Steady rolled his eyes and took a seat. Maybe it was a good thing Jolly wouldn’t be staying with Nova. He might have too much fun.

The tent flap opened and the cold gusted in. Somehow, Steady had forgotten the cold in the comfort of the armory.

“Did you hear about the al’verdikase?” A trooper all but threw himself on the workbench. “They thought Commander Bacara was dead. Keller’s shitting duracrete because Krestor won’t stop laughing and the Commander’s still dark.”

Rothax cleared his throat sharply, and the trooper turned their way.

“Lemme guess, vod.” Jolly saluted with his bottle. “Not a scout?”

“Commander?” The trooper unsnapped his helmet and pulled up one of the crates for himself. “Commanders. Specialist Bossi, sirs.” He remembered himself, and froze harder than the ground outside. “Sorry, sirs. We don’t tend to keep things formal in here, sirs.”

“Understood, Specialist,” Steady spoke up before Jolly could tease the trooper. “As you were.”

That got a sparkling smile. “You talk like him, you know that, right?”

Steady pretended not to hear Jolly snicker he ought to under his breath. “I have never met the Marshal Commander.”  

Specialist Bossi’s face grew serious. “He’s really not dead, you know that, right?”

“I’ve gathered.”

“So, you can meet him now. Get to know him.” Bossi’s face was so earnest, bright and open. Steady didn’t have it in him to tell the trooper he’d be crossing the blockade in days.

“He doesn’t say much, but don’t take it the wrong way.” Bossi patted Steady’s shoulder sympathetically. “He’s a hell of a commander.” 

Steady very determinedly did not meet Jolly’s eyes.

*

“Sir!” Henny leapt to his feet as Steady walked past the vode knotted together at the front of one of the barracks. “Commander Steady, are you free? Some of the Marines were–”

“Nosy, Commander. The Marines were nosy, because they are nosy bastards.” The trooper tugged his bucket off and grinned. “Captain Sharp, Commander, 44th Spec Ops. Heard some good things about you.”

There was a moment of choice. Steady didn’t have to engage. He could give the captain one nod, and walk away. It would be easier, cleaner. And yet, Steady had learned there were times it was worth doing it the messy way.

Steady removed his helmet, nodded in return to the captain. “The Devil Dogs.”

“Heard of us?” Sharp preened, though he tried to make it look like posturing.

Not before Alpha-17 had handed him that datapad. “Your record.”

“They really did all that crazy osik?” Henny checked Steady for confirmation.

“Karking right we did. Still do.” Sharp looked back to Steady. “It’s late meal, if you want company. I can get you up to speed.”

“The men?” Steady asked Henny without being more specific. Now that they had joined the 21st, they weren’t his men. They weren’t any more his responsibility than any other Marine. But they were newly arrived. If there were logistic issues, Steady could work to resolve those.

“All settling in, sir,” Henny promised. “You enjoy your meal.” 

Captain Sharp threw an arm around his shoulder and Steady only barely caught himself before he could startle at the contact. It wasn’t that there was no contact. Jolly seemed to make it a personal mission. But it was still unexpected.

In the field, he went where he was sent. Where he was needed, he hoped. Those assignments had all been temporary duty. No continuity, no familiarity beyond a few weeks fighting side by side. Many of the men he had led followed the ARC armor and kama more than the commander wearing them, but they followed. That was all that mattered.

He’d only been on-world for a day, but it was obvious Bacara’s men revered him. 

“No way all that thinking is about what color the protein cubes will be tonight.” Sharp should be annoying. Maybe too much time with Jolly had raised Steady’s tolerance. “Coming off a rough one?”

Steady cocked his head. 

“Happens a lot when we get fresh troops. Everyone’s fresh off some mid-rim hell. Takes a few to adjust.” Sharp’s arm wasn’t around him anymore, but the top of his backplate was caught in his hold. Like he was scruffing a wayward tooka kit.

Steady would pull away if he had any idea how to do that without offending. The vode were very consistent in their desire to comfort their own. “No. Objectives met. No casualties. All of my assignments have been Temporary Duty Yonder.” 

Sharp sputtered. “Temporary Duty–?”

“Yonder.” Steady repeated. “I have been assigned to various units without a commander. Some without ARCs. Temporary Duty Yonder.” It would make sense that those with permanent postings would be less likely to be familiar with that sort of assignment.

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard anyone say the yonder part out loud.” Sharp swatted his backplate. “Cute as shit, Al’verd’ika.” 

*

Steady very determinedly kept his face unreadable as he came into the command tent. He and Jolly were offered temporary bunks on the absolute other end of Nova’s camp, nestled in right beside the Devil Dogs. Steady did not believe that was coincidence.

Nor did he believe the lack of an alert for the meeting in the command tent was an accident.

Steady took his spot at the edge of the holotable without a word. He was a commander, so he would include himself in their meeting, but he would not be a disruption. A few outdated reports did not make him any kind of expert on the situation on the ground. 

“Can’t wait any longer.” Sharp shook his head, gesturing to the holomap on the table.

“The Commander should be back any day.” The Captain beside him said it like he wasn’t quite convinced.

“You want to be the one who tells them to wait for him?” Commander Krestor pointed at the advancing enemy. 

That got a dark little chuckle. “Think I’ll pass.”

“We’re talking hours here, and burning minutes doing it.” Krestor turned to Keller, who was busy on a datapad. “Are we healthy enough to move?”

“Are we ever?” The CMO didn’t look up from his ‘pad. “Putting the order in now, but we need time.” 

Steady leaned closer to the table, orbiting the knot of Marine Command gathered around the map. The impending threat wasn’t the whole Seppie force, just a strike force. A large one, but still. It was enough to press them to move, but nothing close to a full commitment given the reports he’d read. 

“There are suitable fallback locations?” Steady asked before remembering he was only going to observe. “If you had the time?”

That got a little laugh from every vod in the room. “We used up suitable in the first year of this fucking war,” Keller said between taps. “But our fallbacks have fallbacks which have fallbacks.”

Sharp eyed Steady across the table. “A force that size means we could buy some real time if we need it. If we commit the troopers to it.”     

The end curled up into a question, directed at no one in particular. Every one of them knew they needed it or they wouldn’t be talking.

“Too many for the Dogs.” Krestor cut off that line. “Only run one suicide mission around here at a time, and until Bacara comes back–”

“I’ll go.” 

“You will not.” Keller countered before Steady’s lips stopped moving. “I will not be the one explaining your death to the Commander when he gets back.”

“Better someone here to explain anything when he gets back.” Sharp was on Steady’s side. “We were supposed to be on the move two days ago.”

“Are you suggesting we should have left Bacara behind, Captain?” Krestor snapped.

“Do you believe the Marshal Commander would rather leave his troops vulnerable to attack?” Steady pointed at the map. 

“Commander…” the other Captain started. “We know you’re new and it’s complicated–”

“It’s not that complicated, Tals.” Krestor cut him off. 

“He’s not going to be any help with the load up.” Sharp was talking about Steady like a know-nothing shiny. “Might as well let him and some of the new arrivals run with the Dogs.”

“Don’t you dare fucking die, Al’verdikaad,” Keller threatened. “Bacara will kill us.”

Steady was perfectly stone faced as he nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

He wondered at their blind faith that the unreachable and days-late Commander Bacara would come striding over the snowbanks any moment now. Steady might be comparatively new to this war, but he understood that the worst thing a commander could do was take away what it was that kept his men fighting.

*

They should have moved days ago. It wasn’t like two veteran commanders couldn’t follow the trail of a couple thousand Marines traveling heavy. 

Still, the mission had been a success. The enemy forces split by the unexpected failure of their largest signal tower. 

Unexpected fiery demolition of their largest signal tower. 

Yeah, it had been nice to get out there with Neyo for a few days and blow some things up. 

To the seps, they were just a pair of spacers stirring kosk, clones if their buckets came off, but they weren’t high value targets with useful intel. Traveling light on modded speeder bikes, they’d slipped through enemy lines, and accomplished all objectives, even if it had taken longer than expected. The blow would slow all oncoming attacks, stranding the advance units until they could find a workaround for the tower. 

Should be a good day for the Marines covering the move out.

Bacara was looking forward to being back with his men. Maybe if they got there soon enough, they could join in on the clean up. 

They hear the sounds of battle before they see it over the rise of the frozen terrain.

“Looks like your boys are busy,” Neyo laughs from his speeder bike.

They are. A small force, a company plus or minus, and they’d have a busy day ahead of them.

They’re further out than he’d expected, and by the size of the remaining enemy forces, they’re only getting started. Bacara pulled off to the best cover the snowdrifts provide as soon as he could, and checked yet again for a comms refresh. He couldn’t know if something had gone wrong without hearing from the rest of command.

The wristcomms they carried were weaker than standard issue, but to carry anything with a stronger signal would have defeated the purpose of going dark. A scan revealing other receivers would have alerted the droids guarding the signal tower instantly. 

“Kark me,” Neyo groans as he reads through his own comms unit. “Who has time to read all this osik? Bad as priority.” 

Bacara will. Later. When he isn’t watching his Marines being shot at. 

He and Neyo weren’t in their own armor. They’re still dressed like spacers, maybe smuggles or blockade runners - mismatched armor made of everything from plastoid to durasteel, paired with heavy banthahide gloves. 

Still, there were Marines down in the valley that could use a few more blasters on their side. Bacara turned, but before he could speak, Neyo was checking his weapons. “They’ve got this.”

They did. The Marines had them boxed in the terrain of the valley, icy outcropping on one side, snowy slope on the other. It was a good spot to stage the fight, especially if word hadn’t gotten through, and they believed this was the start of the offensive. 

It was almost like Bacara would have drawn it up. Good cover, low casualty risk. It would take a little longer, but that was appropriate. He would have put a few squads up on the–

The first volley of blaster fire came off the ridge. Less cover, but good elevation. Columns of droids fell fast once they were flanked. There was one moment of scrambling on the rocks and Bacara pulled out his binocs for a better look. One of the Marines had been hit, slid partway down the face. It was one heartstopping moment before a shiny, an ARC by the kama, dragged him back over the face and behind cover. Good.

Good. 

There were too many opportunities to lose their own. This shouldn’t be one. Not when he wasn’t close enough to fight with them. Not when the odds were already tipped in their favor.

It wasn’t much longer until the field was clear. The Marines moved methodically through cleanup. Bacara rarely got to watch them like this, and there was a swell of pride in his chest. This bunch had come out to take their stand with the idea there’d be a couple thousand more behind this bunch. 

Damn fine troopers, his Marines.

He and Neyo took the speeders down through the wreckage of downed droid parts. A waste. All of it. The sooner the Vodalor called them home, the better.

Bacara climbed off his bike near the tat holding Jark up. “Get him on the speeder.” 

There’s one blank moment of incomprehension before Bacara tugged off the helmet he’s wearing instead of his own bucket.

“Commander!” Jark lights up like it’s Windfall morning. The ARC that’s holding him seems to wind even tighter. A shiny. It was not unusual.

“Nice work, Al’verdika.” Captain Sharp swatted the ARC on the back. “Welcome back Commander. How many are incoming?”

“None. Tower’s down.” Bacara looked from Sharp to the ARC, who had barely moved despite most of Jark’s weight on him. “Need a medic, trooper?”

“This is Steady, sir.” Sharp’s too cheerful. Bacara can hear the grin on his face. He hauls Jark out of the shiny’s arms to give himself something to do. He should have known better than to take that disgraceful excuse for a helmet off. “17 sent us another commander when they got word you were KIA.”

The wind whipping through was the only sound in the entire valley. 

“I see.”

“Presumed.” The ARC, the Commander , spoke. “Sir.” 

“Bacara!” Neyo called from somewhere. “You hear they think you died? They sent a tubie to replace you!”

“Was the ridge your decision, Commander?” Bacara kept both hands firmly on Jark’s shoulders. To steady the injured trooper, not to prevent himself from scrubbing at his beard in frustration. 

“Yes, sir.” The Commander was still at attention. He was the only trooper out of the hundred who was. 

“A tubie, Bacara.” Neyo’s helmet was off now as well, tears of mirth in the corners of his eyes. “We are gone a few more days than expected and you must be dead. So, they sent a cadet…”

“They sent an ARC,” Bacara corrected.

Neyo drew up short, taking in the looks from Bacara, and the Captain, and ah, yes, and from the ARC.  “The tubling is an ARC? Now we’re talking.”

“Commander Neyo.” The ARC saluted. “Commander Jolly is looking forward to meeting you back at camp.”

“Looks like you’re dead too.” Bacara grinned, all teeth. “Sounds like Valor’s in good hands.”

Neyo sputtered. “We’re both dead. Don’t you dare– I’m sure mine is a very gifted commander!”

Bacara sent Nova’s shiny new commander a wink. The tat’ka was off to a solid start.

Chapter Text

The battle had ended, and hot blood was still rushing through him. The positioning had been optimal, and other than Jark’s thigh, they’d come away without serious injury. When two spacers came down to meet them, Steady had never imagined they were Marshal Commanders. 

“Get him on the speeder.”  

He knew, right then, even if he couldn’t believe it. The back of his neck started tingling. There wasn’t an accent, not really, just the barest hint. The words were shaped in just that way.

“Commander!” Jark hugged Steady's shoulder like he’s part of the celebration, and Steady tightened his grip on the injured trooper in return. He couldn’t be expected to react to Commander Bacara if he was aiding an injured trooper.

There’s talking. While Steady stood there, holding up Jark like the bruised trooper was bleeding out. Sharp took over the talking. That was good. Better, at least.

Jolly and Sharp should never meet, he decided in that moment, though it’d been obvious from the start.

Bacara was not dead. Steady had heard that before his other boot hit the snow. And yet, standing feet from the man himself, Steady couldn’t quite believe it. Bacara was even bigger than Steady was, impressive in mismatched armor, riding a beat up speeder bike. Maybe more impressive because of it.

Steady spoke at some point. Appropriately, he hoped. Jark was taken from his side, and Steady felt foolish, exposed, standing in the snow like a substandard cadet in their first sim.

Commander Neyo looked like any vod, if it wasn’t for the tattoo on his face. Steady felt his brain reengage for the first time, aware that Commander Neyo was the center of attention, was sharp and loud in that same way Jolly was. 

Oh right.

“Commander Neyo.” Steady saluted because Jark was on the speeder, under the Marshal Commander’s hands. “Commander Jolly is looking forward to meeting you back at camp.”

Bacara smiled, and then he winked at Steady like a friend. A tat.

“Roll out, Commander?” Sharp was still easy and happy, like the Galaxy hadn’t shifted in the last ten minutes.

Steady turned to give the order, but of course the Marine spoke first. “Roll out, Captain.”

Because the Marine wasn’t dead, and the Marshal Commander gave the orders.

*

The return trip was a blur.

Steady was not foolish enough to wish for an ambush, but it was a close thing. Bacara was up ahead, out of his sight, traveling with Commander Neyo and Jark. He should be thinking, planning, even just working through his mission debrief in his mind.

Instead, he was replaying those post-battle moments, working to fill in the gaps caused by his stunned inattention. Had Bacara noticed his lapse? It wouldn’t matter. Steady would be sent on to a new posting regardless. 

He’d asked about the tactical choice to put troopers on the ridge. It was a sound decision, but given his reaction to Jark’s injury, maybe the decision was too risky a plan with the possibility of following waves. 

Steady was a commander in his own right. He had been assigned to the Marines because of his record and qualifications. A Marshal Commander’s approval of a successful mission was a luxury, not a necessity. 

It would have no bearing on his future.

“About time you got here.” Jolly went for the headlock and nearly got it. That was enough for Jolly to jerk back and look him over with a critical eye. “Medical?”

Steady shook his head. “No injury.”

Jolly’s scowl promised interrogation, so Steady redirected. “Marshal Commander Neyo is looking for you.”

“He’s– you saw him?”

Steady would have explained more, but the Marines milling around putting everything back into order to set up the new camp parted with an excited buzz of comms as the Valor Commander appeared.

“This one?” Commander Neyo asked, sounding something concerningly like gleeful as he approached Jolly. “Commander Jolly?”

Jolly turned and saluted his new Marshal Commander. It wasn’t with any kind of textbook sharpness, more like just off. Enough that it was clear he knew what it was supposed to look like, and had chosen something just a little less formal and a little more provoking. 

“Sir.” 

Steady was tempted to escape before this became whatever complex dance of words said and unsaid it would become, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d have Jolly’s back, even if he knew Jolly would never ask for it.

“Newly assigned to the 91st, is that right?”

“That’s right, sir.” Jolly’s ‘sir’s had just enough of a twist to them that they came out somewhere between a compliment and a formality. Steady would never figure out that careful nuance.

“Because they think I’m dead?”

Steady winced in the relative safety of his bucket. 

“Couldn’t say, sir.” Jolly considered for a moment. “My transfer was through before your suspected death.”

“So, as far as they know,” Neyo waved one finger in Jolly’s direction. “I might still be missing.”

But he wasn’t missing. He and Commander Bacara were fine. Mission accomplished. Some sep signal tower was the only casualty of that fiery explosions. 

“Reasonable to suppose you might be, sir.”

“Excellent.” Neyo gave Jolly a surprisingly gentle pat on the pauldon. “That means you can do all my paperwork until I return alive.”

“I can’t say that was covered in ARC training, sir.” Jolly didn’t quite sound as indifferent as he had moments before, and Steady couldn’t believe he was watching a Marshal Commander con Jolly into paperwork.

“Must have been why you were transferred over,” Neyo assured him. “Valuable training opportunity.” 

“My last posting said it was because Valor might need someone around to make sure you took better care of yourself.” Jolly looked as innocent as a tubie as he spoke. “And so you didn’t get any more ‘inadvisable tattoos’. Sir.”

Commander Neyo went still. “What was your last posting, trooper?”

“With the 327th, sir.” 

Neyo thumped Jolly’s pauldron again, less gently this time. “Alright, fine kid. We can split the paperwork. But first we go eat. Rations are gross, but ration bars are vom.”

“Yes, sir,” Jolly said as Neyo started leading him away. The ‘sir’ lost its cant. “But Steady…”

“Bacara’s looking for you.” Neyo threw back over his shoulder to Steady. “Be sure to bring up the dead thing again. It’s a lot of fun.”

Steady did not think he’d be doing that.

*

The Marshal Commander’s tent was adjacent to the command meeting tent. Steady had been past Commander Bacara’s tent a dozen times. This was the first time that tent was a buzzing hub of activity.

Troopers rushed around, finishing the load out from the move, and not-so-subtly trying to catch a glimpse of their returned commander.

Steady squared his shoulders. His presence had been requested. He had not come to catch one more moment with the Commander before being sent back to the Core, though Steady had no doubt that was the purpose of the summons.

The flap was pulled aside and flung over a stack of gear crates not in their place yet. Steady stood in the opening of the tent and watched as the Marshal Commander checked over his own armor.

Latches, catches, bucket, good.

“Sir.” There was no sense in knocking.

Bacara nodded. “Enter.”

Steady entered three strides and held himself at attention. Up close, in his own armor, Commander Bacara was big. Bigger than he even looked in his spacer clothes. After a moment of assessment, Bacara tugged his bucket off. “At ease, Commander.”

He shifted at the order, taking the beat of silence to look his fill. Steady was preparing to answer the question of “what was he like” a few hundred times once he was on to his next TDY. Bacara was big, but it was more than that. Steady was big. He knew how to use his height to loom, how to make himself imposing when he needed it. Bacara didn’t need it. He radiated a quiet certainty that made doubting him unthinkable. Of course his men waited on his improbable return.

“Commander.” It sounded different when Bacara said it. It sounded like praise. Maybe he needed a trip to Medical. The Marshal Commander had spoken to him once. “Commander Keller recommends your return to your previous assignment.”

It wasn’t a question, so Steady didn’t reply. Keller certainly didn’t waste any time. The CMO must have been desperate to get rid of him.

“I wanted to speak with you first.”

That was a kindness. A mark of respect. Steady felt that knowledge saturate his bones.

“At ease.” Bacara’s hand rested on his pauldron for a moment. Steady hadn’t been aware he’d gone back to attention. “Do you want to go back to your previous posting?”

Steady blinked. What he wanted didn’t matter. It was an assignment. He would do as he was told. He met Bacara’s gaze, trying to parse the question. His previous posting was only wherever there was a need for a short-assignment Commander. There was nothing to go back to, even if the decision was up to him.

“No, sir.”

Bacara nodded crisply.

“I would stay.” The words sounded far less breathless than Steady felt. Even if he hadn’t been asked, he had to say it. If he didn’t speak now, he would regret it. There wasn’t anything to lose.

Commander Bacara inclined his head. “Why?” 

He could lie. Steady could talk about the opportunities for advancement with the 21st, or the unique tactical challenges of the climate and terrain. He could talk about the esteem the rest of the troopers of the GAR held for the Marines. Those would all be credible answers to a deceptively simple question.

“You, sir.” Steady kept his head up, eyes on Bacara. “To learn from you.” 

He knew the Marshal Commander didn’t have time for him. He had an entire army to lead. Steady was more than adequately trained, and if he wasn’t, he would have never been a commander in the field. But Steady could still learn from watching, from the discussions he might be included in. Even if they would reassign him after a few months, it’d be worth it.

And while the Marines routinely took losses, Steady would rather take his chances standing with Commander Bacara’s men than leading a squad of strangers for two tenday on yet another TDY.

The Marshal Commander was thoughtful for a long moment and Steady fought the urge to try to convince him to decide to keep a commander that they didn’t need.

“That was the reason I gave Keller as well,” Bacara mused. 

Steady blinked. Beyond that, he didn’t move, didn’t react. The Marshal Commander hadn’t asked a question. There was nothing to say or do to react to the news other than attempt to gather his thoughts as they spun.

“I’ll put the orders in finalizing your transfer to the Marines.” Bacara gave him one last lingering look that had Steady wondering what he could possibly be seeing. “Dismissed Commander. Good work out there today.”

“Thank you, sir.” Steady saluted and escaped the tent before he did something that might make his next meeting with the Marshal Commander even more awkward.

“You done?” Sharp was casually propped against the stack of crates, stripped down to half armor and a civilian jacket with complicated straps and buckles. “Celebration’s waiting on you, Commander.”

“Celebration?” It had been a successful skirmish, nothing more.

“Mission success, no casualties other than the ding Jark’s been showing off.” Sharp shrugged and pushed away from the crates. “If we waited for a decisive, planet-claiming victory to enjoy ourselves, we’d be waiting since Geonosis.” Sharp threw an arm around Steady’s shoulder. “So, let’s not keep them waiting.”

“I’m not being sent back.” If the thought was one last hurrah before Steady was shipped off, the situation had changed.

That got a little laugh and a shake of Steady’s shoulders from Sharp. “Kid, unless you asked for it, they were never going to send you back.”

Oh, well then.

Somehow, Steady was certain Alpha-17 already knew that.

Chapter Text

Bacara was a Marshal Commander. A long-seasoned, veteran Clone Commander. 

That did not mean he was immune to the moment of dread when his CMO approached with an accusing scowl.

Keller shoved a data pad at him before he’d made it through the flap of the newly reassembled command tent.

“Read it, then tell me what the fuck you think we’re supposed to do about it.”

Nothing was actively on fire as far as he could tell, but he was days behind on comms, intel and anything else that would be vital to keeping the 21st fighting. He had left those responsibilities to his best in his absence.

And yet, a personnel file was his top priority.

A personnel file that belonged to a commander. CC-6975. Ah, his replacement .

17 sent us another commander , Captain Sharp had said so cheerfully, he had to be fully aware of the mag-pulse he was lobbing out there. Bacara worked back through all the things he could have done to earn the Alpha’s petty revenge, but it didn’t track. 17 would have never brought a shiny into a plan like that. If the Alpha was going to shove a brassvine thorn in Bacara’s side, he’d have done it without any collateral damage.

Which meant the answer had to be on the datapad.

He skimmed the field reports, familiar with those from very brief priority updates. The commander’s ARC scores were impressive. His training records were as well–

Bacara continued to hold the datapad sightlessly in front of him. Yes, he understood why 17 had sent him. Bacara just wasn’t sure if he should thank or curse the man for it.

“Keller,” Bacara didn’t bother with his comm. The CMO would be hovering outside his tent flap like a jai'galaar.

“He was sent by mistake and we should send him back.” Keller didn’t bother asking his opinion. 

That interpretation of events completely overlooked who sent him. Bacara didn’t know how long 17 had been setting up this play, but Bacara knew the commander had not been sent because there was an opening in his schedule.

“He hasn’t got the experience.” Keller wasn’t wholly wrong about that. “Note he served the 21st with distinction and send him back next time Winder crosses over.”

They could. They could send him off to some other battlefield and tell themselves they were doing him a favor.

“If this was the first year of this fucking war, maybe. Fuck… if this was six months ago…” Keller huffed. “You want to keep him.”

Bacara hadn’t actually said that at any point. “No one they’d send would have more experience.”

“They don’t need to send anyone,” Keller snapped, “because you aren’t dead.”

This time , Bacara didn’t say, because it wasn’t worth saying. They’d done this for a long time. They all knew war.

Keller crossed his arms and glared. “I knew you were going to be like this.”

That almost got a smile out of Bacara. He’d been gone for days, and he wasn’t even out of his makeshift armor yet. So instead of arguing, he slowly repeated the accusation. “Like this.”

“He’s a commander, not a lost tooka kit,” Keller huffed. “This is war, and he is a shiny commander with an assignment he didn’t ask for.” When that didn’t get an instant reaction, Keller threw up his hands. “Like this.”

“You read the file.” Bacara held up the datapad. It wasn’t a question.

Keller’s glare deepened. No argument forthcoming. Krestor would be sorry he missed it.

“Whatever else,” Bacara said in consolation. “He’ll get the experience.”

*

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Commander,” the Jedi in the command tent greeted Steady as he entered. The Tholothian was nearly as tall as he was, and stood at the holotable with Jolly to one side and Marshal Commander Neyo at the other.

“General Allie, sir.” Steady snapped to a salute. He’d studied up on Jedi like he’d studied up on the officers. “CC-6975.” 

She nodded her greeting, and glanced toward Commander Neyo with a hint of a smile. 

“And that’s the other one.” Neyo said it like he’d already been mentioned. “Steady.”

“I see.” The Jedi flashed him a smile, like Commander Neyo had said good things about them before Steady’s arrival. Still, Steady knew better than to glance Jolly’s way for confirmation. “Welcome to the Forward Companies, Commander. Master Mundi is not available at the moment, but if I, or my Padawan can be of any aid, please let us know.”

The offer appeared genuine enough, but Steady had never worked with a Jedi, never met one. Everything in his training and experience had set him up to perform optimally without one. “Understood, sir.”  

“Master,” the voice came through the flap of the command tent before the smaller Tholothian in heavy Jedi robes appeared. “Does a General have the authority to order a Marshal Commander to receive a healing treatment against his will?” 

Commander Neyo snickered.

“It would be unbecoming of a Jedi, regardless of rank.” General Allie was clearly fighting back a smile, and Steady wondered just how often the Jedi broadcast their thoughts on their faces without a helmet to hide them.

The padawan pouted, big blue eyes landing on him. “And you don’t outrank Bacara, right?” 

Steady nearly choked. “No, sir.” 

“Poodoo.” She glanced over her shoulder as Bacara entered the tent behind her. “You should get your knee fixed anyway. Think of Keller’s blood pressure.” 

Steady watched the exchange with a morbid kind of fascination. A padawan was the Jedi version of a cadet, but no cadet would ever speak to a Marshal Commander like that. He glanced over to the General waiting for a reaction.

“You can try again on our next joint mission, Katooni.” The General wasn’t smiling, but it was close.

Bacara cleared his throat. “Under advisement, Commander.”  

Katooni met his gaze across the holotable and shrugged. “We try and we try, Commander.”

Steady didn’t know how often this Jedi General and Padawan Commander were included on joint missions, but he felt like he might enjoy those missions.

This meeting was for sharing intel. Valor had scouted troop movements, and bands of what seemed to be mercenaries had added an extra complication to Nova’s battleplans. What they did was dangerous enough without opening up the Marines to ambushes. Valor’s recon report hadn’t included the role the two Jedi had played. General Allie’s record spoke for itself. She was as smart and daring as the best of the Jedi in the field, but that wasn’t the same as recon work. And to bring a cadet, or at most a shiny, along sounded like an unnecessary risk. But then Steady had never worked with a Jedi before.  He’d heard they were capable of all manner of things – unmatched feats of athleticism, mental manipulation, and even biological disruptions. 

And yet Katooni, the Padawan, looked young, though she was probably as many years old as he was. It was strange to meet beings who didn’t age like they did, to understand that the years may be the same, but the life lived in those years could be so different. 

On one mission, a straight-forward infil-demo job, he’d led a team of ARCs from the 501st. They’d said their Jedi was vode, and then they’d laughed at his perplexed expression. It was hard to be fully briefed on every situation.

“You’re new here, Commander?” Katooni’s gaze on him was considering, evaluating. 

Steady knew there were no faults to find in his appearance. His armor was as it should be, his bearing correct. Jedi were unpredictable though, he had heard that much. He wasn’t sure the implication behind the question, or how much of an explanation was required. Despite being a Jedi, the Commander did not technically outrank him.

“Steady came over with Jolly. They were part of Winder’s latest shipment.” Commander Neyo smirked. “A dusty old vod got worried Bacara was dead because we didn’t comm often enough.”

Steady very deliberately did not shift his attention from General to Marshal Commander. Bacara had agreed to keep him, but there was no reason to make him regret that decision.

“New intel reports,” Bacara began sternly, and Steady turned his attention to the holotable.

*

Intel reports lead to plans, which lead to missions.  That was the way it worked.

Then decisions were made by people who held the rank to make them.

Steady pressed his back more firmly against the frozen rock wall that made for the only thing that resembled cover. They’d been fighting for days, wave after wave of battle droids and scouting parties, and mercenaries. Sometimes it was too many, surrounding them, with minimal cover at the end of a very long tenday.

“How many?” Marshal Commander Bacara was beside him. Their whole force was maybe thirty. The plan had been sound, the intel off by a power of ten when it came to the enemy.

“Count seventy remaining on my sightline.” Steady couldn’t pick out every one. It wasn’t all droids. The mercenaries weren’t soldiers. They moved irregularly, bunching and splitting for no reason, encircling where the terrain allowed. 

Bacara nodded. “Tals?”

“About ten nat-born, another twenty sep.” The reply crackled from the other end of their vantage almost instantly. “Nothing bigger than a B1 on this ground cover.” 

Three-to-one. Steady had faced worse. The mercs and the terrain would be challenges, but the Marines were solid. He’d never fought with a side he’d had so much confidence in.

Bacara made a low little sound. Hard to tell through comms if it was more laugh or grunt. Steady could have turned to check his body language, but the Marine would be as hard to read as a powered down datapad.

“Orders?” Tals asked, and Steady could just barely make him out at the edge of the rock-cover.

They could wait on reinforcements. Unless someone decided to force the issue, they could hunker down until there was a path out. It wasn’t the wrong call.

“Those odds.” Bacara sounded decided. 

Steady braced himself to be disappointed. 

“Sounds like a target-rich environment.”

Steady smiled in the safety of his helmet. “Yes, sir.”

“Marines. At the ready.”

A visible wave of excitement passed through the Marines. Every one of them was ready. Even Steady could feel it, the belief that radiated from one to the next. They were hand-picked to be in this moment, and they would fight beside The Marine himself.

Steady had been hand-picked to stand beside Marshal Commander Bacara in this moment. 

A fist thumped down on his pauldron.

“Count it, Commander..” 

Steady did, and the enemy knew exactly what hit them.

*

“Sir! Sir, over here!” 

At some point, the shout of a trooper in need became an immediately identifiable sound. Orienting by the cry, Steady jogged out. They might have had a stimulating time fighting their way out of an ambush, but the battle had gone on around their position too.

“Here, sir!” Henny called out, looking battered and bloody, with a heap of muddy debris across his middle, but his face was a good color, his movements not suggesting his condition was as dire as he sounded. “Help her, sir.”

That wasn’t a splash of slushy mud that was churned up by every blast, that was a brown robe thrown into disarray,

“What happened?” Steady eased Katooni off of Henny with gentle hands.  

“She was doing some Jedi osik.” Henny clumsily tried to help Steady turn the young commander to rest against him. “I took a bolt, and it wasn’t…” Henny gestured to a nasty tear on his side, below where his chest plate covered. “It wasn’t good, sir, but she said, well, said she’s a medic Jedi.”

“ Healer. ” Katooni sounded half-asleep, or half-drunk. “Jedi are healers.”

“So, you healed him?” Steady looked between Henny’s stricken expression and Katooni’s barely open eyes. 

“Should have said no. Didn’t know it’d hurt her.” Henny struggled to try to push himself closer to sitting.

“Just…. Tired.” Katooni sighed, turning her face into Steady’s armor. 

Steady didn’t understand what had happened really, but it seemed like both Henny and Katooni would be better after they got to the battle-swamped medic station. He looked to the other trooper. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll try.” Henny promised, though pushing himself up to seated had already proven to be a challenge. “You handle the Commander, sir. I’ll comm in my coordinates, I’m not too urgent anymore, thanks to her.”

Katooni made a little sound of protest, curling closer to Steady. That was the right thing to do. That was protocol. Jedi were priority, always. 

“Alright, let’s go, Commander.” Steady stood with Katooni in his arms. He could carry a brother in full kit for most of a day. A young Jedi with no armor felt concerningly light.

“Are we dancing?” Katooni asked, arms moving sluggishly to wrap around his shoulders, head pillowed on his pauldron. 

“Dancing?” Steady didn’t know what she was talking about, but the more she spoke with him, the less he worried about some unseen injury making her worse off in the time it took him to get her to the medics.

“Mmm, my clanmates go dancing.” 

He didn’t know what a clanmate was, but maybe it was something like a squadmate? “They should take you with them.”

The pause was long enough that Steady’s heart rate kicked up anxiously. “Why don’t you go dancing with them, Katooni?”

That got a little hum and a long pause, before she finally answered. “Don’t know how.” 

“Should learn.” Steady was not one to talk more than necessary, but here he was, just short of sprinting an injured Jedi Commander back to medical, talking about dancing. “You’d be good at it.”

“You too.” She thumped one hand weakly on his pauldron in encouragement. They made it the last few strides back to the medical outpost.

“Medic!” Steady barked out over the chaos of the medical station. “Need a medic here!”

Keller was over in a moment, glaring accusingly before Steady even started on the sit-rep. “Commander, how many times do I have to do this?”

Steady was worried enough about their Jedi to have his own sharp response on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t care what Keller thought of him or of his posting to the Marines, a Jedi commander needed medical attention.

“Sorry, Keller.” Katooni sighed. “...I have to help. Jedi rules.”

“Jedi rules do not require you to overextend yourself.” Keller snapped back like Steady wasn’t holding a Jedi too weak to stand. The CMO narrowed his eyes at Steady, like he could hear his thoughts. “Get her in a cot. Under a blanket. Sleeping. Keep her there. Mag cuff her if you have to.”

He would not . But, a cot did sound like a better idea than hauling her around. 

“She’s not injured?” It was like everything on this posting was meant to confuse him.

“No.” Keller was already walking away. “Exhausted herself healing troopers. Happened to her every time we’ve faced enemy fire.”

“Not every.” Katooni shifted closer to his pauldron like a tooka looking for a comfortable spot to nap. “s’fine.”

“Every. And it’s not fine . I’ll comm her ori’vod.” Keller shooed him off, and returned to the battle after the battle.

Right, well. Weighing in on a disagreement between a Medic and a Jedi was above his rank, and Steady had Medic’s orders to follow. He scanned the cots for the nearest free one, but they were all too exposed, too close to the bustle and rush of the post-battle chaos. Katooni had gone quiet, and he could only assume that meant she’d finally fallen asleep, or unconscious. Sometimes, Steady knew all too well, there wasn’t much of a difference anyway.

He flagged a medic stacking empty kits, and Steady was pretty sure the Commander sunk further into his hold when she was wrapped in the scratchy GAR-issued blanket.

“Got some… privacy. Through there.” The medic nodded to the back-flap of the supply tent. “Nothing special.”

It wasn’t anything special, a spare cot with a bedroll on it, an extra layer of tent cloth to block some light and a gearcrate with a camp lantern and a datapad, but it was probably for the medics to combat exhaustion. At least for the near future, their– the Jedi could have it.

He set Katooni down as gently as he could, but from the way she flopped bonelessly, they could have blown a thermal detonator and she’d still be out. Steady made sure she was fully covered, the hood of her robe up over her head and covering her ears to ward off the endless chill of Mygeeto. 

Steady knew the other Marines considered him young. Too young to be qualified for the assignment he’d been given. Too young to understand this war. He’d always found that assumption not just false, but poorly reasoned. 

He was as experienced as any of them had been with this many rotations off Kamino. He wasn’t any younger than the Alphas when the war began, and after months serving, he was nearly as old as all the veterans had been when they’d been assigned off Kamino.

In his eyes, Katooni was too young for a war. He might still be growing, putting on bulk that stretched the fit of his standard kit, but she was small . She easily weighed half what a Marine did. She worn cloth, not armor. She only had one person to help guide her. He had thousands of experienced, elite soldiers to consult.  

She should be on a core planet, away from the battles and the death. She should be wherever her squadmates were, safe and free to dance or whatever young Jedi normally did. The whole reason Steady and his brothers existed was to fight this war. 

He reached out to tug a corner of the blanket more fully over her fingers. 

“‘S quiet.” She didn’t open her eyes, but she turned her face towards him. She knew where he was standing, even when he wasn’t moving. When he wasn’t moving, but only staring at her sleeping. There was nothing to be uncomfortable about. It had only been a few minutes and he was guarding her, like he’d been told. Nothing else.

“Is he okay?” Her eyes opened slowly. “The trooper. Henny.”

A Jedi knew Henny’s name. Even if they had met before the battle, Katooni hadn’t been in their camp for very long. It meant she’d made a point to learn his name. Steady opened his comms, scrolling updates. “Recovering. Under observation.”

She seemed to be drifting on the edge of unconsciousness. Steady frowned harder behind his helmet. “You should sleep. I’ll stand watch.”

“It’s loud.” She fussed with the blankets by her chin, rolling on to her side. “Too tired to shield.”

“What helps?” Steady wondered if Keller had already alerted the General to come care for her. Surely another Jedi would know what to do, but General Allie would have many other responsibilities. 

“Company?” Katooni scooted to one edge of the cot, leaving a curve of space between her bent legs and where her arms curled. The invitation was clear enough. Steady supposed he could do a better job keeping her resting like that, and there was a datapad handy. He could still get some work done.

After a moment to consider, Steady sat carefully on the edge of the cot, his own long day catching up with him as his feet ached in his boots and the knotted muscles in his back tried to unknot.

“Is this–?”

“Good,” Katooni agreed, curling more to give him space to sit fully on the cot. Her eyes were closed and her breathing shifted slower and deeper. “You?”

He checked the hood hadn’t slipped back on her head and tugged the blanket closer up over her shoulder. “Good.” 

*

The following hours were productive, in a soothing, silent sort of way Steady associated with those hours spent in hyperspace between missions. Katooni slept deeply, occasionally shifting to stretch or sigh. 

Henny was cleared through Medical. Steady’s reports were posted. He had missed debrief, but he’d been alongside the Marshal Commander all battle, so there was nothing for him to add. The other reports had all been thorough, as the Marines were in their AARs. More to the point, Steady wasn’t sure when he would be good to leave his current posting.

It was far from the worst duty he’d pulled, even if he still looked – and smelled – like he’d just walked off a battlefield.

“Still here?” Keller’s head poked in the tent flap. His voice was low enough Steady couldn’t even shush him for Katooni’s sake.

“Company.” Steady glanced over at Katooni's sleeping form. “Helps, she said.”

“You should clean up and rack out.” Keller handed Steady a canteen and a ration bar. “We’ve got intel for tomorrow.”

He should. For all his reading before they’d made planetfall, the situation of Mygeeto was a lot more turbulent than the reports had indicated. On the holopage, it had read like one constant grind, but Steady had seen there were more players on the map, more shifting of resources.

“I told her I’d stay.”  Steady hadn’t said those words exactly. More like, she’d said company would help, and he was company.

Keller made a low, grumbling sound. Steady made no move to stand. 

“Get yourself cleaned up.” Keller shook his head, turning to leave. “Know enough stubborn di’kute. Another cot fits in here.”

“Sleep–” Steady stood too quickly, jostling the narrow cot Katooni rested on. “Here?”

“You’re sleeping somewhere, kid,” Keller called back over his shoulder. “Henny can sit with her until you come back.”

Well, he supposed that another cot could squeeze in, and he did smell like a bantha. He had said he’d be there, after all.

Chapter Text

It took another couple ten days before the reality of a permanent posting sunk in. Steady had been on-world with the Marines for longer than he’d been anywhere beside Kamino. Due to the nature of the conflict on Mygeeto, their camp moved more often than not, their battle terrain changed, but everything else felt strangely static.

He woke up from his now-permanent bunk assignment - an always-chilled tent just off the command tent complex - to eat meals in the mess tent with the same troopers every day, to work beside the same troopers every day. To stand at the same holomap, sometimes shoulder-to-shoulder, with Marshal Commander Bacara.

If he’d ever thought that would become routine, it hadn’t yet. 

Commander Jet quirked a brow at him from across the table as their meeting came to a close. Winder had come by again, their arrival always the same object of interest a rare day of sunshine might have. Passing conversation would be full of what Winder had supplied, the new they had shared, and then when they left again, it would be about how good their visit had been. There was something careful, almost superstitious, in the way the Marines talked about Winder. They were an unexpected pleasure, a gift that everyone knew better than to ask for or make demands on. Meanwhile, everything was so freely given, it was impossible to feel like a burden.

“Looks like you have something on your mind.” Commander Jet fell into step beside him as they were dismissed from the meeting. Steady had work to prepare for when they reconvened, grinding over tactical maps and enemy movements. A cup of caff and a ration bar would be enough to see him through. “Want to talk about it?”

Commander Jet usually broke off with the Commander after meetings. For logistics and intel above Steady’s rank, he was sure. Steady didn’t know what he’d talk about with Jet. More often than not, Jet did the talking, in a cheerful, animated way of a person who enjoyed talking. It made sense, Steady supposed. Jet, and much of Winder, traveled long days on small ships. Not much in the way of company. Maybe he liked spending time with the Marines. 

“Was passing through, with Valor a while back,” Jet paused his story to nod at a cluster of passing troopers. “Your friend said he’s had to talk about you a lot lately.”

Steady did not snap a look in Jet’s direction. But he wanted to. Jolly would have no fresh intel beside what came in reports Valor might or might not receive, depending where in the galaxy they were. 

“Who’s asking?” Steady filled a cup and grabbed the bar at the top of the stack without picking through the flavors remaining in the box. Back in ARC training, Jolly had gaped in disbelief the first time he’d noticed Steady never looked. It wasn’t like there was much difference between the green one and the brown one.

“People.” Jet shrugged, gloved finger brushing all the wrapper edges before picking at random. “Seems like you made an impression last time they came to support.”

If they needed him, or he was being reassigned, that would come from the Marshal Commander. Either Marshal Commander.

One corner of Jet’s mouth kicked up. “It’s okay if people like you, kid.”

There was a moment of something. The memory of 17 before sending him to the 21st, telling him that his men had liked him. That had never mattered before, but others made a point of telling him, so he had to assume that meant it mattered now.

Steady tugged off his helmet to sip the steaming caff. “Hope they all know Jolly’s stories are questionable intel.”

“He’s Valor.” Jet laughed. “Mission intel is spot on, everything else is half-osik.”

”Next time.” Steady stared at the caff in his cup for a moment. “When you bring supplies.” His throat worked for a moment. 

“You want something?” Jet brightened. “Yes, tell me. We’ll bring it, or the closest we can find.”

“It is not for me.” Not exactly, at least.

“Of course, Commander.” Jet grinned, unrepentantly. 

Steady grimaced. “It is a non-standard request.”

Jet brightened further, to something closer to gleeful. “Those are our favorite.”

*

“Still doesn’t look good.” Sharp sounded as grim as Steady felt, looking at the terrain analysis overlaid with their intel of the enemy’s movements. 

“Does anything look better?” Tals shot back, scrubbing at his hair. They were all frustrated. The next assault would be brutal, and everyone knew it. The low hills and rocky landscape was the only reason they’d managed to dig in so well in their current position. The Separatists were shifting forces, moving for what looked like an overrun in the planning. 

The ice and wind was hard on droids. It might be the only reason they had as much success as they did. 

Their team was responsible for a small part of the entire plan. Krestor’s session at the holomap had run long, and Steady had seen their somber expressions as they left the tent. If their plans had drawn up similar to Steady’s, he could understand why.

They could win the day. They could clear the position and gain a significant victory. But it would cost them so many of their own.

That was war. They all knew it. But, that wasn’t all of it. Even from a purely tactical standpoint, to risk so many lives without word of reinforcement would leave them undermanned for any response to the attack. 

But they couldn’t wait, without gambling their current gains. Steady shifted back from the map with a bitten-back sigh. Sharp and Tals nodded in commiseration.

And strangely, in that moment of grim understanding, he felt a swell of gratitude. 

Steady had been alone for most of his life. Surrounded by other people, yes, but still alone. Even once he had left Kamino, he was in command of troops, and reporting to rank. He had been with Nova long enough to be chosen to lead a mission-critical team, and handed two well-respected veteran captains to do it with. 

He looked from one captain to the other, knowing they would do everything they needed to do. ‘We’ll find something better.”

It wasn’t a hope, it was a promise. They would find the best way. 

Both brightened to the hesitant optimism Steady had found so prevalent among the 21st. It wasn’t hard to understand why. In all the years of war, so little had gone their way. They deserved so much better. They deserved better from the galaxy, but they definitely deserved his best. He frowned at the map again. 

This couldn’t be his best.

“Get latemeal, I’ll comm.” Whenever he found something to make the very necessary steps in the crucial battle less deadly. The changes in elevation made any sort of heavy fire ineffective from either side but maybe they could–

“Not happening, Commander.”

Steady looked up from the map to eye Sharp, and Tals standing at his shoulder. “Captain?” 

Tals scowled. “We’re not getting a meal while you work.”

“So, we all go to latemeal or we all stay here and bang our heads against a duracrete wall.” Sharp’s lips twisted into a smile. “Us marines are hard-headed enough to get through a wall, but we work better on full stomachs.”

Us. We. Steady didn’t want those words to bite quite as deeply as they did. He couldn’t warn himself against getting too involved, that he’d be transferred again any day. Maybe he wasn’t The Marine, but perhaps there wouldn’t be harm in considering himself a marine .

He flicked the switch to power down the holomap, and grabbed his helmet off the crate in the corner. “Latemeal.”

The ground was frozen solid. Digging traps or trenches would be slow work and far too visible. The driving wind in the area made anything airborne questionable at best. But their approaches were too slow otherwise, on foot or in convoy. The slushy mix of mud and ice made it treacherous to approach at speed, while anything slower led to unacceptable rates. 

They had only just opened the flap of the mess tent when Tals let out a low sound.

“What happened?” The captain rushed over to a trooper sitting half-sprawled on a mess bench to make room for a braced and bandaged leg. “Fuck, Hex. Why didn’t you comm?”

Steady had met Hex before. He worked in transport engineering, and by the way Tals was on a knee by his side, hand stroking his back, they were close.

“Looks worse than it is.” Hex’s hand caught Tals’, thumb moving over the sliver of skin between glove and sleeve. “The bikes can’t lock on an incline when it’s this icy. Had a stampede, but they’re under control now.” 

“Say that again.” Steady approached, well aware this was a private moment, but he didn’t have time for that. They didn’t have time for that.

“Commander.” Hex was smart enough not to make a move to stand. “The speeder bikes have been put on more level ground and maintenance is proceeding as scheduled, sir.”

Steady was too close to finding the thought he needed, but it wasn’t there yet. He needed to look at the map. Needed to track the distances to their chosen attack site. 

“Here.” Sharp shoved a pad into his hands. 

It was a wild plan. Glaringly and aggressively simple. 

"Go on, I’ll grab you a ration bar.” Sharp laughed as he nodded to the tent flap.

“Thank you.” Steady rested a hand on Hex’s shoulder for a moment. “Tals, stay with our technical expert.”

“Yes, sir.” Tals shifted closer to the quiet engineer, hands moving gently like they’d heal the injury quicker than bacta.

It might be a wild plan, but it would save a lot of lives.

*

It was alarmingly easy to find marines willing to carry out his plan. After mapping routes, and discussing engineering requirements, the last thing he needed in place was personnel. That turned out to be the easiest part.

Then there was the question of the green light to run it.

The mission planning meeting had fallen silent as Steady marked his assault positions on the holomap. As the points appeared halfway up the low, snow-covered mountains, he could see the veteran battalion commanders and captains preparing to explain the realities of terrain tactics on frozen ground like he was a third-cycle cadet.

Steady placed his markers, the bulk of his forces held back, sheltered by the landscape, and small groups moving to higher, icy elevation on the enemy-facing slopes.

The Marine had fixed him one assessing look and nodded to the map. “Go on.”

He very deliberately did not glance toward his captains, who had both tested the plan with increasingly improbable failure points and counter-attacks. It was not a perfect plan, but if it failed, they would lose nothing, and if it succeeded, it would save hundreds, if not thousands, of lives.

“Speeder bikes are positioned along these trajectories.” Steady gestured to the position markers up the slopes. “When the signal is given, they are ridden at full throttle halfway down the slope before the Marine dismounts.”

He continued to advance the position of the speeders as he went on. “The speeders continue on their path, and are remotely detonated once they breach the line and bring down the enemy numbers, while providing cover for the ground troops advancing through the valley on heavy transport.”

There was a long moment of silence when he finished. Steady looked up from the map, attention only the Marshal Commander. They could proceed with a more classic attack pattern, but attempting this plan would pull little more than a single platoon to wrestle the speeders to the appropriate locations and launch them towards the enemy. If it even partially worked, it would save far more lives than that. 

“Any questions?” Commander Bacara glanced around the room. No one spoke up. “Good. Plan it.”

“Sir.” Steady cleared his map and stepped back to give the next group room to set up.

“That plan’s nuts, kid.” Krestor was grinning when he said it. “The AAR is going to be a hit in command chat.”

*

The speeders were positioned before dawn, each one accompanied by a team fully prepared to lay low until the signal.

Steady would lead the ground assault through the pass, Sharp and Tals as his chain of command. Everything was as ready as it would get.

It wasn’t until they were preparing to move out that he caught sight of Jolly. 

Valor had come to support. Their aerial resources would have been wasted, but the extra troopers were focused on filling gaps and watching the fallback routes. Steady didn’t know where Jolly would be posted, but there wasn’t much time to talk. 

Steady swatted him on the bucket and got a punch in the chest for it. Everything else could wait until after.

Jolly threw one rude salute from the back of the transport. 

Steady watched the transport rumble off, and turned to the captains. “To your positions. Move at the signal.” 

Both saluted and called their troops to board transport.

Steady mounted a bike with the scouts and led his own troops moving through the foothills and into position. When the call came, they’d send the speeders and then roll out to cut off the milling droid forces amassing. 

When the signal came. Until then, all they had to do was wait.

*

No one would have noticed the speeders racing down the mountainside if the troops hadn’t all heard the signal over comms. For the first stretch of the descent, they didn’t look any different than the usual rock tumble. 

Sharp had no idea how fast they were sailing down the slope by the time the marine aboard bailed, but he did know they were full of momentum and detpacks when they reached the enemy lines.

After they crashed through, there was a long breath of confusion.

And then the detpacks went off, and the foothills erupted into war. 

Chapter Text

The next one went down in a heap of flailing limbs and shattered circuitry and Sharp decided if there was a next war, he was hoping for not-droids. Not that he wanted a next war, or had any interest in killing, well, really, whatever not-droids would encompass. But he was really done with fighting an enemy that didn’t need sleep.

They’d been at it for– well, he didn’t know how long. Time had gone meaningless in that way it had when only the present really mattered. They’d done the wily misdirection, the slick strategic plays. All that was left was to wade through the seas of blaster fire, taking down the waves of seps ahead of them, and continue to push towards the encampment. 

They did that, and did it well. Marines were built stubborn, churning the icy ground as surely as the convoys, pushing forward and forward still. 

That momentum might have been the only reason he’d caught it, the odd lateral movement of an armored speeder. With the other fronts of their assault closing in, there wasn’t room for the strike. Instead, the transport crashed clumsily through the enemy lines, and Sharp tracked it while pinging another droid dead on.

It wasn’t some kind of nav malfunction, the speeder avoided the enemy’s attacking line the best it could, the occasional B1 squawking as it was flung to the snow.

Their offensive had already pierced the line, Commander Steady up ahead with the point. It felt like they’d been fighting for inches, but Sharp knew the low ridges they’d used for cover were well behind now. The commander’s voice was the soundtrack to the crash and clatter. The plan had worked, the progress had been slow and grinding, but nowhere near as bloody, nowhere near as costly, as the original estimates. 

“Unknown speeder, Commander. Approaching at speed to your left.” Sharp called out over comms knowing that he’d probably be one of a hundred warnings. 

The enemy line shifted, deforming at break with the added chaos of the speeder’s arrival. An opening for them to press, to crack their side and draw leverage. 

Before Sharp could shape the thought thanking the speeder for the distraction, the armed doors swung open and blasterfire hailed out.

If he wasn’t up to his shoulder bells trying to keep his side of the surging attack alive, Sharp might have had a chance at charging to support. 

This distance meant he could only watch as the vague shape of armed figures dragged a few of the troopers - including one with pauldrons and a kama - into the transport. It sped off, taking out half a squad of flailing B1s as it went.

“Captain Sharp taking command in the field.” Kark it all. ”Two bikes, peel off. Get eyes on that speeder. Everyone else, press the attack. We have an opening, better not waste it.”

He waited just long enough for the affirmatives before clicking over to a private comm. “Jark, drop back and prep gear. When we’re done here, the Dogs are going hunting.”

*

Intel went bad faster than fresh bantha milk. It was a simple truth in a war with galactic levels of complexity. Even just narrowed to a single world, and a single, coordinated fighting force. Half of the useful intel Steady had before his capture would be outdated as soon as the battle was won. Most of the other half wouldn’t last a tenday before they fully deployed or were obsolete. 

Which meant he didn’t need to hold out forever. 

But he would. If only for the satisfaction of it.

His captors were mercenaries. Maybe bounty hunters or hired muscle by trade. They certainly weren’t trained interrogators.

They’d taken too many at the start. From their bickering in the transport as they were met with armored shoulders and elbows, they’d been targeting him. Mistakenly. The Marine wasn’t on their side of the offensive, but as was often the case, clones were hard for nat-borns to tell apart. 

There were ten in the back of the transport, two in the driver’s area, shouting the whole time.

Three Marines were a lot to handle. The mercenaries barely made it thirty seconds before they opened the door and shoved Zips out. Thanks to the distractions, they didn’t even have time to get a blaster shot off at him.

Steady was hit by a bolt before he could join the other Trooper slipping out the cargo door. Steady did just hear the blaster shots thunk the armor of the transport as he tried to slow them down. 

The bolt had been non-leathal, meant to stun. Steady continued to fight until they’d stunned him a few more times.

By the time he’d come around, he was shackled in durasteel and missing his armor. 

Everything that followed was unimaginative. 

Alpha-17 had talked about interrogation resistance in ARC training. Asked for a show of hands. Only two had gone up. He and Jolly had shared one look before putting their arms down. 

17’s training was– academic but their standards. Steady was glad the other troopers hadn’t stayed on the transport. His captors had nothing for leverage but the most simplistic angles. 

“Still don’t feel like talking, Marshal Commander?” The one who had been in the front seat asked, smirking. 

Steady blinked slowly in reply. He’d been gone for half a day at most. The blooming bruises were hot and uncomfortable. The worst of his injuries were far from life threatening. Clearly, they wanted information enough to avoid risking his life to complications, but there was also a lot left to try.

But it all took time. That alone would work in his favor. 

Steady did not doubt Bacara would take all of that into his calculation. The Marine knew all the possible intel that was at risk, he’d know what they needed to do to protect the Forward Companies’ plans. 

So he would draw the process out as long as he could, and it would end how it ended. Steady evened his breathing and faced his captor.

“We gave you a chance, meat droid.” The mercenary went to a case and rummaged through. What he pulled out was far more concerning than a weapon. The liquid in the hypo-syringe was pale and cloudy and Steady’s heart gave a sickening lurch. 

“You know what this is?” Another one of them asked. 

Yes , Steady didn’t say.

“Don’t you worry, we’ll have you talking in no time.” 

That was true, no matter what he would have wanted. But Steady knew what would happen next. He’d been trained for it since fourth cycle. 

He exhaled as the needle pierced his skin, focusing his mind as the drug raced through his bloodstream.

*

Most battles ended slow. They ended one bolt at a time, one more sweep at a time. Crawling along until someone was sure sure that it was done, and even then there were a couple extra checks.

This one did not.

The Marines were nothing if not efficient, and this was a masterwork. They hadn’t routed the seps off the planet, but they had won the day without question, driving back the bulk of the force they’d faced and taking a rancor-sized chomp out of the enemy.

Sharp, and most of them really, were sure they’d be holding Mygeeto until the war ended or Alor called them Home, but a win was still a win.

“Which way?” The al’verdika’s Valor brother had the flat look of a vod about to do something foolish with full relish. Sharp sympathized, hells he empathized, but he didn’t have time to babysit.

“You have a job to do here, Commander .” 

Jolly was in close in a heartbeat. Those little scouts were fucking fast. He had both hands on  Sharp’s chestplate before the Dogs were moving. Sharp waved them off.

“Don’t make me comm Commander Neyo.”

“I’m not a fucking tubie,” Jolly snarled, all sharp teeth.

“Then stop acting like one, sir. ” Sharp rested hands lightly on his shoulders. “You have work to do.” 

The finest little tremor ran under Sharp’s hands. If there was any single way the vod’ika wasn’t going to shoot on sight and then burn everything to ashes, Sharp might have let him come along, if only to keep him from doing something stupider sitting in camp. But, he liked to consider himself a realist.

“Find your Jedi, or your Jed’ika. Make sure they understand the situation.” Stars willing, they wouldn’t need the help but Sharp wasn’t decanted yesterday. “We’ll need more than bacta when we get back.”

When had he become the voice of reason?

Jolly shifted back, released the stranglehold he had Sharp’s chestplate, and met his gaze. Mad still, the icy, burning sort that called for action, but that was okay. There was something other than anger driven by fear in his dark eyes now, a stony sort of confidence that he would be a raventhorn in every vod’s boot until they brought the al’verdika home. 

Well, that was fair enough.

Jolly squared up, more spite than durasteel in his spine, Sharp would bet. “Make them regret it, Captain.”

“With pleasure, sir.” Sharp saluted, and grabbed a pack from Jark. “Dogs, load up and roll out.”

*

Funny thing about Marines, they never fucking quit. 

The Dogs were ten solid kliks past the abduction point with nothing more to go on than the best route to take an armored transport when the first break came over comms. 

Deadeye knew Zips by name, they’d shared a drink and talked about the bad times back on Vandor one night in the armorer’s tent. That same Zips was now trudging through the frozen slush of Mygeeto with a cracked bucket from a fall out of the damn transport, following the tracker his buddy Dash had slapped on the transport runner before he’d lost his grip and bit it in the snow. Dash was camped out with binocs at the best vantage point on the landscape, with a separated shoulder and broken wrist.

The trade didn’t take much negotiating. Blunt took Zips and Dash back to camp by speeder, and the Dogs took over following the tracker at a much faster pace than one injured vod marching. 

The tracker did the job, taking them out on a slow, winding approach to a small camp dug into yet more frozen foothills. They pulled up on the edge of a sparse stand of trees that looked more than half dead, but still standing. 

No one had ever called Mygeeto’s landscape scenic.

They had lost the weak light of the day, and they needed intel. As much as Sharp wanted to go in with blasters at the ready, he wanted to bring the kid back to camp in one piece more.

“Camp here.” The word tasted bitter in Sharp’s mouth. “One on lookout, one on surveillance. Rest up for now and we’ll do this right.”

No one else was any happier about it, and he knew it. They were so close.

“Got ‘em,” Fixer hissed under his breath as he finally caught a signal with his scanner.

“Visuals?” Sharp coiled that much tighter. When they had intel, they’d move. Not sooner, but damn sure not later.

“Negative. Audio only.” Fixer frowned deeper, focused on getting an accurate number of voices and any suggestion of what lay ahead.

They all made it maybe five minutes. Long enough to down a ration bar and hydrate, check charge packs and straighten their gear.

“Ten, fifteen at most.” Fixer threw down the listening set. “We need to get in there.” 

He was looking at Sten, not Sharp, when he said it. That spoke volumes.

Sharp figured it’d be hard to get the kid to talk, but it didn’t matter if he was talking so long as the Dogs made sure the intel didn’t get anywhere. 

“Same transport, two light speeders.” Deadeye shrugged. “Can’t be that many.”

Thing was, they force their way in, things got messy fast. 

Sharp wanted to hunt as much as any of them. “Come dark. We’ll go in quiet. Secure the kid, and handle the rest.”

Quiet choruses of Oya echoed through their camp. They didn’t have that long left to wait.

*

The medic’s tent was finally calming. Not calm, likely not for a while longer before she could say that, but Katooni thanked the Force that it hadn’t been worse. The battle had raged for days. She and her master had the Force to draw on, but Katooni had no idea how the Vode managed it. Despite flippant assurances that they were designed for it, she could feel their aching exhaustion on all sides.

Now, finally, that was easing. They had won, by all metrics. They took a stronger position in the field, and drove away the Separatist threat before they could advance on their position. 

Katooni had done her best to learn about making war. She’d read up on strategy, talked tactics with Commanders, but despite all of that, it still felt terribly like being good at killing. It was better than being bad at killing, she knew. But Katooni couldn’t quite bring herself to enjoy winning battles when it left so many of them hurt and exhausted.

Master Allie had gone off with Daan. Reports of more injured found on the outskirts of the battlefield. Keller had been called to the Command tent, and Jolly had asked her to make sure one of them was available if–

When. 

Jolly hadn’t said if . 

When they brought Steady back.

Katooni very deliberately didn’t check the chrono. It didn’t matter how long he’d been gone, or how many hours had passed since the battle ended. A Jedi trusted in the Force.

That didn’t stop her stomach from lurching when Keller grabbed his kit by the tent flap and rushed out. He knew what she could do– would do for him and his brothers. If the CMO thought she could help, he would ask her.

Instead, she moved through the tent, projecting calm and healing where she could. There was nothing more useful left to do. She’d only just folded her legs under her to meditate when the tent flap opened. The spill of emotions flooded in with the cold - relief, fear, anger, and a stinging sort of dread.

Katooni raised her gaze up to Jolly’s visor.

“He’s–”

“Back,” Jolly confirmed, but breathlessly, like there wasn’t enough air. Katooni climbed to her feet, and caught his arm. “Can you– Keller says he’ll be okay. But Bacara asked for you. For a Jedi but…”

She could do this. She could handle this while her Master was out saving lives. “Where is he?”

“He’s–” Jolly waved a hand toward the tent flap.

“Okay. Lead the way, Commander.”

Chapter Text

The Dogs had never needed a particular sort of motivation to be very good at their jobs. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a certain extra flare as they eliminated any and all threats to their commander.

Every scrap of data was cleared out, every corner triple checked as Sten worked to get the vod’ika stabilized and and prepped for transport.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, Sharp told himself. 

Repeatedly.

“Binders?” Sten called out, and Sharp crossed the bolthole and was covering instantly, blaster charged and ready to defend their medic and injured commander. “Easy Captain, only friendlies.“

“What are the–'' Sharp barely got the question out when he saw the vod’ika wrestling with Sten, weak as a tooka kit but still swinging.

“Can’t move like this. He’s stable but he’s going to hurt himself or crash the karking transport.” Sten grumbled along as a knee caught him in the side. “Stubborn di’kut.”

“No binders.” It wasn’t Sharp’s place to do a medic’s job, but they’d just gotten the kid out of binders and fuck him if he was going to let anyone put a pair right back on. “We’ll bundle him snug as an ik’aad.”

And that was how the commander ended up wrapped up squirming in an emergency blanket lashed with stickypast. Maybe the binders would have been medically advisable, hells they were medically advised by Sten, but Sharp had seen the kid’s bruised up wrists and two vode could hang on to a drugged out vod’ika ronto wrapped up between them in a transport.

The kid didn’t make it easy. No matter how many times they told him they were Vode, no matter how many times they tried to gentle him. That was the thing about Marines, they were decanted stubborn. 

“Fixer, better find me something to shoot at,” Sharp bit out over the blowing wind. Their tech specialist was digging through what intel they’d gathered, but Sharp wasn’t feeling patient. 

“Save it until we get the kid settled in.” Sten was busy sending medical updates and doing whatever he could do for Steady mid-transport. Sharp knew he was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Debris from the battle still littered their approach, but camp was mostly quiet by the time they rolled up. One look at the Marshal Commander, flanked by Keller and Krestor, stopped any hopes of a joyful reunion cold.

Keller took a moment to speak medic with Sten before nodding. “Get him to the command tent.” 

A split second was all Sharp needed to get his mouth open. Surely they wanted the kid in the medical tent.

“Now.” Bacara was already moving.

Sharp knew better than to question the Marshal Commander’s order. “Sir.” 

*

It wasn’t good when a Jedi was nervous. Even a Shiny one like Katooni. It set the little hairs on the back of Jolly’s neck up, and he wondered if maybe there was a feedback loop - Katooni picking up his tension and frustration and feeding back her own anxiousness. 

He deliberately slowed his breathing. Sharp had sounded good - not positive exactly, but firm at least - when he’d commed to say Steady was back. At least the comm hadn’t come from a medic. 

That meant everything was probably fine. 

Scrapes and bruises. Nothing that needed full medical. Probably. 

Jolly pulled aside the flap for the command tent and let Katooni in ahead of him. She made it one step before she froze. He didn’t need any Jedi osik to do the same. 

Someone had tried to clean Steady up, wiping up the worst of the blood on his face, thick bacta patches where they’d stick and shiny trails of fresh bacta where the patches wouldn’t. He looked worse than Jolly had expected - and he hadn't been expecting anything good.

The space felt crowded, even if it often held more people. Commander Bacara stood off to the side like a sentinel, as Keller and Sharp stuck close to the cot. Krestor moved from the comms table to Bacara and back, whatever they were saying was over private comms. 

Jolly came around to stand at the Jedi’s side, catching her slack fingers in his hand. He couldn’t imagine how much worse Steady looked than Katooni expected. 

“I can– You– he needs a healer.” It was almost a question. She looked like a shiny after first contact with the enemy, and Jolly felt his heart sink. He firmed up his grip on her hand, and she returned it.

“He’s stable.” Keller frowned from his seat, beside the cot. 

Maybe he was, but he wasn’t okay. Steady turned his head to track their voices, making a low sound in his chest. He made to sit up, before the noises turned into a thin moan.

“It’s okay,” Sharp promised.

Whatever Steady said in response was still harsh and snapping, however garbled it came out. 

“What…?” Katooni approached slowly, and Jolly let go of her hand. She was the one they needed here after all. He watched her shoulders rise and fall as she closed her eyes. “He’s…”

“Drugged.” Bacara spoke, but he didn’t come any closer.

Steady jerked toward the voice and let out a low groan in reaction.

“Kark, kid stop. You’re only making it worse.” Clearly Sharp's scolding didn't help.

“A semi-conscious state, accompanied with nausea and disorientation.” Keller kept his eyes on Steady. “Not especially dangerous. Just unpleasant.” 

“For interrogation.” Katooni’s voice was very small. Sharp nodded.

“Darkkoninn berry extract.” Jolly hadn’t meant to speak aloud. He wasn’t a medic. The more everyone in the room ignored him, the longer he’d get to stay.

“Most likely. Or at least a related compound.” Keller glared at no one in particular. 

“A Jedi might be able to purge poisons in their own body but I can’t– I don’t know any Jedi who could do that for him.” Katooni looked from Keller to Sharp, and finally over to Bacara. “What do you want me to do?”

Bacara stepped closer to Steady, not close, but closer, like they were divided by a rayshield. “The Commander was in enemy hands for almost twenty standard hours.”

Twenty hours. Jolly’s gut clenched. Of course time had passed, but between the battle and the mop up, he hadn’t really stopped to think about how much. With Steady taken, every minute burned, but twenty hours.

“He shows clear signs of questioning.” Bacara crossed his arms, looking every bit as imposing as The Marine would. “I need to know what he told them.”

Steady, however out of it he was, bit something out that was certainly not anything in Basic. Commander Bacara’s grim expression twisted for an instant before he replied. Still not in Basic.

Whatever it was earned something rude that was all teeth in reply.

Katooni looked Jolly’s way like he’d have any answer. Of course he knew Steady didn’t speak Mando’a, that he knew other languages, but this was not one Jolly knew. Judging by the faces around the room, no one else knew it either. 

“You will help me question him,” Bacara said to Katooni. “The lives of every Marine on this planet might be in danger.”

There were almost forty-thousand Marines on Mygeeto. Jolly knew Steady had done interrogation training, but they couldn’t leave it up to chance. Steady would be the first to agree.

Katooni looked stricken, big eyes moving to each vod in the room. Sharp couldn’t even meet her gaze, and Jolly understood the feeling. 

“This isn’t… what a Jedi does.” She didn’t say no. Jolly wondered if Bacara outranked her. Part of him wished he’d found the General instead, but then maybe that would be worse.

“A Jedi protects.” Bacara would not be moved. “Help me protect the Marines.”

Katooni hung her head, and Jolly couldn’t breathe right. He wanted Steady better. He wanted the Marines safe. He wanted this over. For everyone’s sake.

“I can try to center him.” Katooni moved to sit on the edge of the cot beside Steady’s hip. “It should help with the disorientation.”

“That’s a start.” Jolly stepped forward to squeeze her shoulder. There were a lot of Marines looking out for their troops in the command tent, but he was Valor, and he could have her back.

“He’d be…” Katooni looked back over her shoulder to him. “He would want me to, right?”

Steady, whatever kind of di’kut he could be, would do anything to protect his troopers. “Yeah. He would.”

She nodded, before reaching out tentatively to rest a hand on Steady’s bare chest, resting just over the swathe of bandages. Even with the slightest contact, Steady flinched back as far as he could, despite Sharp’s hold on his shoulders.

They held there, Steady silent and tense under the touch, until Katooni raised her other hand to brush his cheek. He jerked, groaning.

“I know, I’m sorry, I know.” Katooni smoothed her hand along the bruised line of his cheekbone. The sound in reply was more unhappy than pained, and Jolly had to guess that meant something that Katooni was doing was helping. 

It felt like forever, but finally Steady’s eyes seemed clearer, at least some measure more focused as he snuck a glance around the room.

“Steady?” Jolly knew he should keep his mouth shut, knew he should let the Marines do this their way. But that wasn’t just some vod bruised up and bloody, that was Steady.

“Vitals are improved. Not good, but better.” Keller looked over to Bacara. “Don’t think we’re going to get a better shot until it’s out of his system.”

“Commander.” Bacara’s voice was firm with the kind of authority that had been engraved into the bones of every cadet. “Glad you’re back. We have questions about what happened.”

Steady tried to nod before Sharp stilled him. “Easy.”

There was a low sound of understanding. And then Steady tried to speak. 

“Why isn’t he using Basic?” Sharp asked the room before fixing his attention on Katooni. “He’s okay, right?”

“I don’t know.” Katooni sounded shaken, and Jolly might not be able to do any Jedi stuff, but he knew her nerves wouldn't make any of this go better. “He should be… he feels like he…”

Jolly pressed a hand between her tensed shoulder blades, like she could take what she needed from the energy thrumming uselessly under his skin.

“Commander,” Bacara repeated, crouching awkwardly on his bad knee beside the cot.

And then he began to speak not-Basic in return.

“He was taken by mercenaries.” Bacara translated back as Krestor took down the information. “He counted twelve. Confirm with the Dogs.” 

Steady said something more, Bacara’s frown deepening. 

“They addressed him as Marshal Commander.”

“Well fuck.” Keller summed it up.  

Bacara went on with the questioning, direct and concise. The Marine was an early gen CC, but damn if Jolly didn’t get a strange sense of deja vu as Bacara methodically worked through his questioning. It might as well have been Seventeen’s Interrogation Techniques unit all over again.

And Steady was coherent enough to answer, or at least Bacara understood enough of what he was saying to pass along details of the path of the questioning Steady could recall.

Finally, with a stagger absolutely everyone in the tent pretended not to see, Bacara pushed himself back to his feet. “Reinforce the troops on the western line. We have no proof their locations have been compromised, but we’ll take no chances.”

“Yes, sir.” Krestor moved back to the comms center. No one had anything else to say.

“Thank you.” Bacara rested a hand on Katooni’s shoulder. “Everyone should get some rest.”

The Marine walked out the tent flap without looking back. Jolly put an arm around Katooni and held on tight, for both of them.

*

Steady came awake all at once. Not gasping, not heart racing with adrenaline, but alert all at once to a dim, quiet space. There was pain, though so dialed down compared to what was there before. 

He was warm, with a comforting weight on him - some sort of furry blanket that definitely wasn’t standard issue. Even the smells were familiar.

Steady rolled his head to the side, his neck, back and shoulders protesting the whole way.

“Keep still.” Jolly grumbled, sounding less awake than Steady felt. He was propped next to the cot with his back to a storage crate, a familiar lump of brown robes curled into his side under another kind of furry pelt.

How long? Steady tried to ask. All that came out was a strangled croak. His voice was shot. Steady knew why, and he wasn’t going to think about why. 

“Here.” Jolly pulled off the top and held out a canteen for him to drink from. “Keller said you just shouldn’t talk, but Rothax brought this over to help.”

Steady would have approached the contents carefully another day, but his throat burned and every parched swallow stung. He took a careful sip, and then another. The drink was thickened, sweetish and herbal. It felt soothing at the very least. 

After another slow swallow, Steady began to work his protesting body out from under the heavy blankets. “How long?” 

“Gone? Twenty hours, they said.” Jolly’s voice was hushed. For Katooni’s benefit maybe, but Steady didn’t think that was all of it. “Slept for the last six.”

Steady groaned. Too many hours. Every part of him ached. He felt like he’d been turned inside out and then shoved back to the right side. His stomach pitched dizzyingly as he got himself sitting up. Both hands were heavily wrapped, but they still ached and burned when he moved them. 

“Where are you going?” Jolly asked, one arm resting protectively over Katooni’s shoulders as she grumbled something in her sleep.

“Debrief.” Steady would be able to get off the cot any second now. Debrief was protocol. His memory of everything that had happened while he was gone was jumbled, but he wouldn’t put a fellow Marine at risk.

“Took care of that already.” 

Steady frowned at that answer. He remembered people asking questions, but very dimly. Steady hadn’t answered, sure that it was a trick. When the mercenaries had questioned him, he’d done his best to follow his training - to give believable, but outdated information if he had to say something. With the toxins in his system, it was impossible to keep track of lies, but he hadn’t given them lies. Those had been recent locations for troop assignments. He hadn’t even denied being a Marshal Commander. If the mercenaries hadn’t known the difference between him and Bacara, Steady wouldn’t be the one to enlighten them. The only reason they had kept him alive was the belief that he had valuable information. If he was going to learn anything, be able to escape and return to the 21st, the first thing he needed to do was survive.

Had there been a debrief? He remembered someone speaking Concordian. That had felt like even more of a trap. He’d fallen for that the first time, believed that the training exercise had ended, answered his trainer’s questions about the design of the lesson while sipping a hydration pack and laying in a dark bunk that helped slow the way the room spun around him.

And once the drugs had run their course, he’d been given a failing grade. Lesson learned - sometimes the enemy would pretend to be an ally.

“Bacara questioned me?” Steady croaked out. He had said some colorful things to the Marshal Commander. 

“Guess he did. Translated it back to us.” Jolly passed over the canteen again. “You’re good. Far as we can tell, we’re safe.” 

Lifting the canteen hurt. Gripping the canteen in two hands hurt. It wasn’t so bad. He told himself the pain helped clear his head. Jolly would have questions, Steady knew. He must. It would have all looked very strange to a vod. He drank more deeply this time, feeling stronger. Maybe it wasn’t Rothax’s concoction. Maybe it was the relief at the knowledge he didn’t have to get out of bed and answer to Marshal Commander Bacara for allowing himself to be captured and potentially endangering future troop movements.

He remembered when he didn’t feel so bad any more. Remembered lots of voices, and then a cool, calm focus centering him. He had clung to that. Desperately. The eye of the storm, an escape pod from the sickening dizziness and gripping pain. 

Katooni, then. He didn’t know what she’d done. How she’d done it. They’d always been told the Jedi were more than they could imagine. She’d been remarkable since the moment they’d met, but Steady couldn’t help but feel like he had deeply misunderstood what a Jedi was truly capable of.

“Your CMO will want to check you out.” Jolly didn’t make any move to stand. “Once you’re up.”

“I’m fine.” Or at least he would be. His hands might need a day or two. His ribs ached with every breath. Some muscles needed to recover. Nothing he couldn’t push through. 

“So go back to sleep.” Jolly capped the canteen. “That way I don’t need to call for him.”

Steady was sure that was some sort of blackmail and he should argue, but there was nothing he wanted to do more than get back under the heavy pelt of a big something or other, and sleep until the rest of the pain faded away. 

“You good?” Steady hadn’t asked about Jolly. About the end of the battle. About his men, and the Dogs, and whatever happened to the mercenaries. 

“Yeah, all good now.” Jolly let his head fall back against the crate behind him, arm still keeping Katooni snug. “All good now.”

That was good. Steady could ask more questions later. No one would need him for another hour or two maybe.

*

“Replace or repair?” Rothax called out from behind a tower of gear crates.

“Repair.” Most likely. Bacara was no armorer. It wasn’t superficial, shrapnel and debris leaving deep dents and small cracks behind in the thick plastoid. Getting, or forging, another set in his size would be a challenge on short notice, and the armorer tent was always busy after big battles. 

“Sir.” Rothax flashed a quick smile, scooping up Bacara’s damaged plates. The armorer’s eyes dropped to the bin in Bacara’s hands, smile disappearing. Not a lot of good reasons a Marine would have a set of armor that wasn’t his own in his hands.

“Small repairs.” Bacara felt the tightness in his chest wind further. “While I wait.”

“Of course.” Rothax went back to work, and Bacara eased himself down on one of the padded crates. He removed his knee brace, letting the warmth of the heater ease some of the pain as he stretched slowly.

He didn’t often wait while Rothax worked on his gear. He trusted it would be done right. But with the cot set up in the command space until they could move him, Bacara didn’t want to walk through the room to get to his own bunk. 

They had called him Marshal Commander.

He’d been warned. Of course he had. Keller had told him to send the young Commander back across the blockade. And he’d known the risk. Anyone who had seen as much of the war as he had would ought to have known. 

Bacara worked attentively, cleaning the armor that had been brought back in a sack. According to Sharp’s report, it had been tossed haphazardly on the dirty floor of a bolthole base. 

Armor deserved better. 

Soldiers deserved better. 

There was no paint on the armor. The helmet wasn’t even the right style. Maybe it was just that the kid was big. Maybe because he was leading one prong of the attack. 

It didn’t matter why. The kid had suffered for him. In his place. In his name.

And Bacara couldn’t even put an arm around his shoulders and told him he was safe. That the Dogs had gone and got him, made sure no one who had hurt him would ever have the opportunity to do it again. He couldn’t even promise the kid he’d done well, that he’d been brave and protected their men, and Bacara was proud of him.

Bacara had to ensure their plans were still viable. Their troopers were still protected.

The commander hadn’t been with them for long, but he was high enough ranking that he had known more than enough to blow a venator-sized hole in their op-sec.

So he let everyone else stay, Sharp a veteran voice, Katooni and Jolly to provide whatever comfort the kid could take. Keller and Krestor had done their jobs. It was better Bacara step back and let his troopers take care of one another without him intruding. He was hardly above blame in the whole situation.

Bacara loosened his grip on the chestplate in his hand before he damaged it, and deliberately released the tension that had gathered in his shoulders. 

Rothax came around the heater to drop down into the spot beside Bacara’s. He made one glance at the armor pile before Bacara nodded. Rothax had done this long enough to know touching someone else’s armor was a personal line one crossed carefully.

This was not personal. When the kid was recovered, his armor would look like it should. If Bacara could remove one reminder of what happened to him, he’d start there.

But the future was a bigger question. He could still send the kid back, but without a full explanation, it would look like he hadn’t been able to hack it behind the blockade. Keller was right, he should have sent him back the first tenday. A miscommunication, no fault, no blame.

He hadn’t, because the kid had wanted to stay with him. Not even with the Marines. With him. And Bacara had wanted him to stay. Imagined a future where he could help grow the commander into a future Marshal Commander, an opportunity to shore up some kind of future for his Marines.

Rothax added one immaculately cleaned bracer to the pile and took the next piece. “How is he?”

How could he answer that? Bacara wondered to himself. 

Medically, he would make a full recovery. He was currently bruised and bloody and probably in a world of hurt despite Keller and Katooni’s help. Drugged high as an orbiter, he’d told his commanding officer to go check his speeder’s propulsion system for veshok seeds in the exact tone Concordian insults were meant to be hurled.

“We’ll see.” Bacara shook his head. “He’ll recover. Sidelined until then.” Sidelined for how long? Bacara didn’t know. 

“Glad he’s back.” Rothax rested a hand on Bacara’s shoulder as he pushed to his feet. “Your gear should be ready soon. I've got some caff, and that herbal stuff you hate, if you want a mug.”

“Yes, please.” Bacara picked up the next piece of the kid’s armor, wiping off the worst of the muck before getting to work on scraping out the debris clogged in the grooves. The mug was set beside him on the crate. “Thank you.” 

*

He was healing fast. That much was obvious. The next time Steady woke, he passed his medical check and moved from the cot to his own bunk, though the extra blanket came with him at Sharp’s insistence. The Devil Dogs had led the rescue, and from the way Sharp hovered, the rescue had been a difficult op for the squad.

Steady was tired again, after doing nothing more than walking back to his bunk from where the cot was being packed away. Keller said the recovery shouldn’t take more than a few days, but Steady had no idea how he was supposed to pass the time. 

There was no debrief to give, no meetings he was on the roster for. He wasn’t any use for training or spars. He couldn’t even work on patching his armor, since he hadn’t seen it since the mercenaries had clumsily stripped it off him.

He had no standing orders.

He also had no standing orders because he hadn’t seen his commanding officer since he had come down from the Darkkoninn berry extract.

There was a rustle at the flap to him bunk, and Steady was on his feet, as tentative as his footing was.

“Steady? Can I come in?” Katooni sounded flat, not-like herself.

“Come in.” He couldn’t help the little breath of relief it wasn’t Bacara at the door, and then the competing annoyance at himself for even thinking it would be. A Marshal Commander had better things to do.

Steady tried to look more sure on his feet, closer to fully healed than he felt. Jolly had told him Katooni was worried about him, shaken by what she’d seen. 

Instead of coming in and sitting beside him, Katooni only just cleared the tent flap, lingering as she looked him over. He must have been such a mess when she’d seen him. Steady fought back a prickle of shame. He was hardly comfortable about being so vulnerable in front of a fellow trooper, and she was no fellow trooper.

She still didn’t approach, but she did eventually find words. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Steady admitted, because any being with eyes could probably tell at a glance. “Sore. But improving, Keller says I’ll be at full strength in a day or two.” She’d seen him weak and hurt, and Steady would like to believe that wasn’t enough to make him uncomfortable, but that was proving to be a lie.

“Your hands,” Katooni said, finally stepping closer to catch his hands in hers. They were still swollen in places, badly bruised mostly everywhere.

“I don’t remember how that happened,” Steady admitted, looking at their hands.

“You should sit.” Katooni seemed more sure now that they were closer, maybe now that she had a reason to fuss over him. Still, Steady wouldn’t argue with the suggestion. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his feet. 

“Katooni,” he started awkwardly, but wasn’t sure what would follow. Things had never been awkward between them before but it was obvious many things had changed. “About what you did–”

“I know. I’m sorry.” The words seemed to burst out of her. “I came to say– to apologize. To you because that wasn’t right. I know it was the right thing to do, for everyone, for me to do that. To influence you, but– you’re your own person, and you didn’t ask me to and–” 

Steady pulled her into a tight hug, cutting her off before she could get more upset at herself. “You did the right thing.”

“It’s not about ‘the right thing’, Steady, it’s about you.” She tucked her face into his shoulder. “You should decide what happens to your body. And your mind. It would be different if it was medically necessary, but I chose to do what I was told and I could have said no–”

And she didn’t like the person that made her feel like. Because she was not a soldier, had not been raised to follow orders above all else.  

“You made me feel better,” he promised, holding her closer. “You protected the Marines. If I could have answered you, I would have told you to do it.” 

She squeezed him tighter in reaction to the words. They had never really done this. Especially not when he wasn’t in full armor. He could feel just how soft, how vulnerable she was like this. But she wasn’t, not really. She was something else.

They had been told Jedi were beyond other beings. That the clone army had been enhanced to keep up, to fight alongside, but that the galaxy would need thousands of them to serve just one Jedi General. Not because of a General's tactical experience but because of what one Jedi was capable of. 

Steady hadn’t understood Henny when he’d said Katooni had healed him. He’d imagined her as some sort of battlefield medic who could do their life saving with the Force instead of bacta. That understanding had shifted when Henny had shown the scars to his squadmates, talked about the hole that had been torn open in his body, and how she’d saved him - how she’d stopped the blood loss and mended his body with her ability to control the fabric of the galaxy.

Katooni was not simply stronger or faster than he was. She was capable of things he couldn’t even imagine. And she was apologizing to him. 

Steady was not a standard trooper. He had always found no reason to deny his own value and ability. Unlike the average vod, he had been set apart for his entire life. And yet, sitting on his bunk, Katooni curled into his side, he had never felt less significant.

“Steady?” Her voice was muffled by his borrowed blacks. 

He was still smoothing a comforting hand over her back, holding her close, despite knowing she was more powerful than he could even be. There was something dizzying about knowing how much more she was and yet she wanted this. Wanted to tag along and sit with them in the mess, wanted to tease a Marshal Commander when she could compel him to follow her orders instead. “Yeah?” 

“I’m glad you’re going to be okay.” 

He’d be healed soon enough, but Steady had no idea what the future held for his assignment to the 21st, or even his standing with the Marines. He didn’t know how long it would really take before he might be okay, but that wasn’t a burden he needed to share with anyone.

“Yeah, me too.”

Chapter Text

Steady had gone days without appearing on the Command meeting schedule. He had shown up to the first few, standing back from the holotable like he had in his first tenday with the Marines, trying to watch and learn as unobtrusively as possible. 

“It would be better,” Keller said in a way that was not at all a suggestion. “If you use this time to rest.”

Steady was sick of resting. Even counting time spent in-transit, he’d never rested so much in his life. Since he wasn’t cleared for training or sparring, he had taken to the joyless task of paperwork, hoping to contribute something at least. Which had led, in a way, to his present meeting.

“Sir.” Steady held at attention, Bacara standing in front of his desk. They hadn’t spoken, not beyond a nod or a word in passing since Steady had returned. Not words that Steady remembered at least. 

Until he’d read through Krestor’s notes from his own debrief Steady had only a handful of hazy memories of. 

Bacara had translated back Steady’s words, and Steady couldn’t say he knew precisely what he’d said, or how it would translate into Basic, but reading the file had made Steady’s stomach squirm uncomfortably. 

It was only minutes after he had completed the follow up paperwork on the report when Bacara had requested him to the command tent.

“How do you feel?” Bacara’s helmet rested on the desk behind him, but his expression was stone. 

Steady didn’t know if the question was if he was well enough to be sent away, or well enough to be sent on missions. Didn’t matter for the answer at least. “Cleared for duty, sir.”

Bacara made a little reluctant sound in his throat. “Keller informed me.”

No reply necessary. Steady couldn’t say he knew Commander Bacara, but what Steady knew of him, the Marshal Commander had not called this meeting to be cruel. He had not called this meeting for Steady to petition to stay with the Marines.  

“You will need this.” Bacara nodded to a gear crate beside his desk.

The crate was full of armor. Steady had assumed he would be fitted for fresh armor at some point, but he had expected that to come from Rothax. 

“It was returned, and repaired.” Bacara nodded towards it again, so Steady approached. It wasn’t replacement gear, though Steady had given his up for lost.

Questions bubbled just under the surface, but Steady pushed them away. He could ask Sharp or the Dogs where they’d found his armor. He kitted efficiently, trying to ignore the knowledge that Bacara was standing right there. 

Latches, catches, helmet, good.

Steady felt better standing in front of his CO in armor. Even if he didn’t have any objectives, at least he could feel like he was prepared for them. “Thank you, sir.”

Something in Bacara’s expression flickered. “Expect you at our next briefing.”

Relief hit Steady hard. He wasn’t being sent back. He’d get another chance. Part of him wanted to say something, explain himself, apologize for everything that had happened, but really, Steady knew well enough it didn’t matter. There was no undoing his capture, no explaining away the risks he’d opened the Marines up to.

But, he could try to do better. Prove that the Marshal Commander’s second chance wasn’t misplaced. 

*

“There you are,” Katooni fell in at Steady’s shoulder as he headed for the Armorer’s tent to ask who he had to thank for the return of his armor. “Looking more yourself, Commander.”

He wondered if she could sense his relief at being back in his armor, and at being back on the active roster.Both Jedi and the Valor contingent would go back to their own battlefront in the next few days. General Mundi was crossing the blockade, and he would return to Nova any day.

“Feeling it,” Steady admitted. “When do you…”

“Soon.” She put her shoulder into his side. It wasn’t the same with his armor on, but Steady knew what she meant. “Got your gift.”

He paused mid-step. That had not been in the forefront of his mind. “It was not–”

“I know.” She grinned up at him. “Jolly told me. It was his gift. I know.”

Steady had made it very clear to Commander Jet. The special request was to be delivered to Jolly. If everything had gone to plan, Katooni shouldn’t even know of his involvement.

“Relax.” She slipped her hand into his gloved one. “It was really sweet.”

Oh. Well then.

“I hope you have an opportunity to enjoy it.” Steady floundered. He had hoped this conversation wouldn’t happen at all, and if it did, it would be over brief comms snuck through the blockade as Katooni was off planet somewhere safer than Mygeeto.

She blinked big eyes up at him. “Do you have anywhere to be for the next hour?”

Maybe the Armorer’s tent could wait a little while.

*

“Do we… knock?” Jolly frowned at the tent flap.

Low music and nearly as low voices continued inside. Every now and then, there was a burst of sound, a little laugh or an oof. There had even been a little thud followed by a yelp.

Some things, a vod really didn’t want to know.

“Think standing out here is any less weird?” Sharp gestured to the two of them. 

It wasn’t like that, even if it looked like that.

Jolly had been sent to find Katooni. The comms signal had come back up, and it was a good time to check in with Commander Neyo on their timeline for their return to Valor.

Sharp had come looking for Steady, since he’d been cleared to return to full activity. Which meant he had days of training to catch up on, and the Dogs had been determined to make sure their alverd’ika was returning to the field in top shape.

It wasn’t a surprise that Katooni and Steady were in the same place, but neither of them had expected that place to be Katooni’s personal quarters with low music playing and the tent flap shut.

“Oh, Steady yes!” Katooni said somewhere inside the tent. “That’s it. So good.” 

“We should…” He wanted to say they should definitely leave them to whatever it was they were doing. Except that Jolly had a job to do, and he desperately wanted to, and wanted not to, know what the fuck his friends were doing. 

Sharp knocked on the tent flap before Jolly could decide which direction his sentence would finish. “Excuse me, Commander?”

There was a rushed shuffling inside, and the music stopped and Jolly desperately tried not to visualize what might be accompanying the sounds. It was absolutely none of his business.

“Jolly!” Katooni’s cheeks were pink, and she was smiling as she tugged the flap the rest of the way open. “Hi, Sharp, come on in.”

“We can talk–” here . Jolly didn’t get the word out before Sharp had an arm around Jolly’s shoulders and was stepping into the tent.

For whatever he was expecting, Steady looked decent. Normal. He had his upper armor stripped off, but other than that, he barely looked flushed, and didn’t seem the least bit flustered.

“Something come up?” Steady asked, looking from Jolly to Sharp and back.

“Nothing urgent, sir.” Sharp was grinning, Jolly could hear it in his voice. 

“Oh, then we can show you what we’ve been doing,” Katooni said, grinning at Steady. “Ready?”

Jolly was most certainly not ready.

And yet, in the next moment, there was music, and Steady holding Katooni close and–

And then there was a complex series of steps and kicks and the two spinning around one another to the beat of the music.

“You were dancing?” Jolly was literally outraged.

“Looking good you two!” Sharp egged them on, and the two kept going until the song ended with Katooni draped over Steady’s arm, the two looking entirely too delighted.

“We learned three of them from the holo tutorial,” Steady explained as he set Katooni back on her feet. “There are eight more routines to learn so–”

“It was a holo-tutorial?” Jolly was well aware the words had come out as a squawk, but considering the many totally reasonable subjects, and the equally many lurid possibilities, he’d imagined the unmarked holo Commander Jet had handed over with a wink and too-few instructions….

Well that wasn’t one of them.

“I want to learn,” Sharp announced before glancing to the Jedi commander. “Can we learn? Everyone would want to learn how to dance like that.” 

“Really?” Katooni looked from Sharp, back to Steady and then over to Jolly. “You’d dance too?”

Well, there was nothing else to be done about it. “Kark it, play the holo again. Let’s do this.”

*

Mygeeto was always cold. Even when it wasn’t biting, every corner of the planet strived to be uncomfortably chilled in a way that wore a trooper down.

There were pockets of warmth - Rothax’s tent with Marines clustered around the heater, the mess just before shift change, and usually, the command tent in the spare moments before or after a meeting.

That was not the case for this meeting, Steady noted. There was no chatter, no comfortable proximity. Every trooper in the room stood at parade rest as they took their place around the holotable.

Steady did the same, standing between Daan and Sharp, attention locked on Commander Bacara and their General.

General Mundi was the first Cerean Steady had ever seen. He was tall, almost eye to eye with the Marshal Commander, and then taller with the shape of his head. Cereans had two brains, and that had been the subject of many jokes among the Marines.

Bacara had left his helmet on to speak to the General. Steady would not read into the choice. Maybe the General preferred it that way.

With a nod from General Mundi, Bacara began the meeting meant to fully brief the General on their progress while he was away, and allow for the general to share what he had learned about their upcoming priorities.

About the time Bacara shared all they knew about the presence of mercenaries on Mygeeto, Mundi made a low, thoughtful sound. There was the slightest shift in the Marshal Commander’s posture as he paused. 

“That is a matter for more investigation.” Mundi hummed again. As if the Marines hadn’t chased that lead as far as they could while Mundi was off-world. The General glanced around at the command staff before landing on Steady. “You were the trooper involved?”

‘Involved’ was certainly one phrasing. “Yes, sir.”

General Mundi considered him for a moment.

“The commander has been fully debriefed. A full transcript is on your datapad.” Bacara cut in. “The debrief was conducted with the assistance of the Jedi present.”

“Ah.” Mundi turned his attention to Bacara. Something silent, and not particularly comfortable passed between them. “Information from the Shadows suggests that resolving the stalemate on Mygeeto has become a higher priority for Separatist battle strategists.”

That was confirmation of what they had seen, at the very least. It explained the new players and more aggressive tactics. 

“And while we are on the subject of battle strategy,” Mundi went on, changing the map on the holotable. 

“Settle in, vod’ika.” Sharp’s voice was low in Steady’s helmet comms. “Looks like he’s in one of those moods.”

*

Eventually, through all the talk, there was a mission. Another hour past that, there was something of a preliminary plan. 

Bacara wanted to hear all the intel he couldn’t receive through the blockade. He wanted to know how the war was being fought beyond the scant details that made it to Priority. He did, however, prefer when that information came in less verbose packages.

But, they had been doing this for long years. Bacara knew this side of the Jedi would only last a tenday in the grinding reality of Mygeeto. The first time Mundi had returned from the Core, he’d seemed like a changed man, more lively and talkative. He’d even attempted a meal in the mess with the troopers. 

And then retreated. One day at a time.

Bacara wondered if he hated them, or just their situation. Not many nat-borns were cut out for war, and likely even fewer for one as entrenched and hostile as their posting on Mygeeto, but Mundi seemed particularly ill-suited.

Bacara had been trained for nothing less. The Marines would succeed, regardless.

The command staff filed out, more silent than they had been in months. He had never wished for a Jedi General for the 21st, but seeing how his troops responded to General Allie and her commander, Bacara could be tempted to change his mind.

His command staff filed out - all but one. “Commander.”

“Sir.” 

Of course, Steady would have questions. He had never met Mundi. He would likely have concerns, voiced or not. Particularly when the General had taken an interest in his captivity. “The General should have no further need of you.”

“Understood. Sir.” The pauses were a beat too long. Stilted in a way that had Bacara waiting for what came next. “About the mission. Sir.”

The young commander had proved valuable in mission planning sessions. He had been notably silent in this one. Bacara had believed Mundi to be the cause of that. “Go on.”

“I’m not assigned,” he said, in a breathless little rush. “I’m cleared, sir. Available to participate.”

Cleared for activity , less than a tenday ago. After being in medical for days. “I am aware.”

When the Commander made no move to end the conversation, Bacara brought the holomap of their plans back to life on the table. 

“You are stationed in communications support, here.” Bacara pointed to their secured comms location. “As all other available command staff will be in the field.”

Every Marine wanted to do their part. Bacara wouldn’t have had them if they felt any other way. That said, Bacara would not have the commander out leading marines in what had just been discussed as a particularly convoluted offensive on challenging terrain. The rest of the battle plan would have barely enough time to fully coordinate before they move, and Bacara would not put that on any recovering trooper.

“Understood. Sir.”

Understood, maybe. But it was clearly not the answer that was hoped for. Bacara thumped him once on the pauldron. “Do your job, commander. There will be other offensives.”

Chapter Text

During his time with the Marines, Steady had become accustomed to certain habits. The day to day life behind the blockade was far too tumultuous to form true routines – the 21st constantly on the move meant that even the mess wasn’t in the same spot every day – but there were things that could be expected in small ways.

If a trooper wasn’t found easily, they were sleeping or some level of dekit in Rothax’s tent.
At least two Devil Dogs would be sniffing around the edges of the sparring area looking for a partner.
If there was one place where anything necessary to be said could be said, it was the command tent.

All of those things changed with Mundi on-planet.

Steady had barely met a Jedi before General Allie and Katooni, but watching the Marines skirt around Mundi like he was a mag-pulse about to blow was an entirely different class of droid.

Every trooper was on his guard. It almost reminded Steady of being back on Kamino. There were quick glances around before jokes were told, and flat, blank looks when the General walked past.

The first time Steady ducked into Rothax’s tent after General Mundi’s return, he couldn’t believe the crowd. It wasn’t just a brother or two in need of some solace, it was packed.

Because Mundi did not wear armor, Steady realized. The General did eat, so it was not unlikely he would walk into the mess tent to pick up a meal on occasion. But without armor to wear, and carrying only his lightsaber, there was nothing he might need from the Armorer’s tent.

“Doing alright, Commander?” Zips asked, looking up from the armor in his hand. The veteran was only in blacks down to the waist, but the tent was so full, it was vod-warmed in addition to the old heater still grinding along.

“Yes.” Steady had come to ask Rothax if there was anything that could be done to broaden the curve of his chestplate under his arms, but this was clearly not the moment.

“Needed a break from the old goat, huh?” Deadeye grinned, propped against the tent post beside the door.

Steady kept the startled laugh in, but just barely. The General did have a bit of a resemblance.

“Come on, Alverd’ika,” Sharp called out from a cluster deeper in the tent. Steady’d missed his chance to sneak out. “We’re off-shift.”

Half the Devil Dogs were lounging around the heater, Sharp stretched out on the tarp that made up the floor, back propped against the crate Bossi was sitting on. The Captain patted the ground beside him. “Settle in with us, Commander. You’re not on duty for hours.”

That was, strictly speaking, true. But, his duty hours had been confined to tactical planning and datawork. Compared to his off-duty hours, which were occupied with datawork, physical training, and sparring. Steady understood how vode had found the time to pick up hobbies. The sooner he was returned to the field, the better.

“What can I do for you, Commander?” Rothax slipped past, handing out patched and mended gear. At least the troopers had a pretense for loitering in the armorer’s tent.

Steady could tell Rothax he hadn’t come for anything, but then why was he there? If he handed over his chestplate, he’d be just another trooper hiding out.

“Ay, Balac,” Sharp called out over the chatting voices of his brothers. “The Commander is here if you want to ask him.”

Steady was just turning to check the tent flap for Bacara’s arrival when Rothax approached.

“That chest plate giving you trouble?” Rothax poked at Steady’s catches on his way back to the work table. “You’re still growing, Commander, it’s not going to fit you forever.”

“Right, uh, Commander, sir.” A trooper Steady assumed Balac approached. “I wanted to thank you, sir. For being on comms. Needed it, out there. I was serving under Lt. Essex and, well, he’s still with the medics, but they think he’ll be okay. We were on the second wave, and if you hadn’t called out the support, I wouldn’t be here.”

Steady glanced around the tent. The others had gotten quiet, watching Balac. Watching him.

Being a commander meant he was required to make decisions that got troopers killed. It was a war, and that was the job. But, like every other commander, Steady had tried his best to give the troops a chance. Steady knew in his bones that he was best used in the field - he could do the most to accomplish objectives with a blaster in his hands. But, he had been fully trained. He could win a battle from a command tent as well.

Steady floundered for a moment, before managing a polite, “May he recover swiftly.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You had a question.” That was what Sharp had said. ‘Ask him’, at least, would mean there might be a question.

“Oh, right, well, yes, sir. But, I suppose it’s more of a request.” Balac glanced off to the side, where Sharp was sitting lounging. “Well, sir, we were wondering if you thought you might be on comms for the next one? Since the LT is going to take some time to heal up, and having you giving the orders, up the chain, well, it’s almost as good as hearing them from the Marine himself.”

Steady should have ignored the pinching in his chestplate. Should have braved the odds of crossing paths with the General.

“How ‘bout I get that resized for you, while I’ve got a moment?” Rothax rapped his knuckles on Steady’s backplate. “You could take a moment, warm yourself.”

Balac gave Steady imploring eyes. One glance back to Sharp, where he and Bossi were smiling beatifically, and Steady nodded to Rothax.

“It won’t take long, sir.” Rothax went for the latches on his armor slowly like he was waiting for Steady to spook. “Settle in.”

Steady wasn’t sure how much settling was possible, but at least he would have his chestplate resolved.

*

Bacara wasn’t lingering.

Bacara didn’t linger.

He was spending an extra moment at the end of a meeting to fully absorb the information and formulate his next steps.

General Mundi’s return spurred on the return of many changes. Meetings were more frequent, and notably longer in duration. His men would need to be sought out for answers instead of bringing them to his door. Plans that would have found quick consensus among troopers would be edited and revised so a nat-born could feel like they had an input.

No, that was unfair, Bacara could allow. It was not without some inconvenience when the 21st was joined by General Allie and her Padawan Commander, but their interruptions were the sort an attentive junior trooper might have - asking for clarification and suggesting alternatives motivated by their desire to help in whatever way.

Bacara couldn’t help but think Mundi’s interruptions stemmed from a desire to remind his subordinates that he was important.

And of course the General’s interest in Nova’s newest Commander.

“Problem need shooting?” Keller propped his elbows on the edge of the holotable, directly in Bacara’s sightlines. “Or are we just brooding today?”

Bacara was pretty sure shooting his current problem might only cause more problems. After a long moment, he managed a passable reply. “You were correct.”

“Always,” Keller agreed graciously. “So, you’ll need to be more specific.”

Bacara was not the sort of person to lie to himself. He was well acquainted with telling others what they needed to know or what they needed to hear, situation depending, but that was not the same as always sharing the truth in its barest form.

And similarly bare, Bacara wished he had not taken his helmet off when the General retreated to his tent.

“Steady should have been sent back.”

Whatever Keller had been intending to crow about, this was not it. Instead, there was a momentary flash of confusion, followed by a return to Keller’s most customary scowl.

“Back on day one, when he thought you were dead?” Keller asked, like it was a clarification necessary for diagnosis. “Or three days later, when he helped the Dogs shore up the frontline?”

Did it matter? Baraca wanted to ask. But Keller was working up his momentum, so Bacara kept silent and let the CMO build to give him the long-festering lecture.

“Or, when you read his file, and knew that he was here because he’s here for you.”

Bacara did not wince at the words, but that did not mean they missed their mark.

“Or, maybe you should have been guided by the Force to know to send him back to 17 before he could be captured and interrogated. Which he withstood as well as any Marine, and maybe as well as any commander would…”

As if Bacara needed the reminder.

“If you want someone to beat you up for having human emotions?” Keller waved a dismissive hand. “Find someone who doesn’t know you.”

That was not what Bacara had begun this conversation to hear.

“He’s a good kid, and a hells-damned good commander. You two are tangled up, for better and worse, but it’s been for the better.” Keller squared, and nodded once. “If there’s nothing else, sir. I’ll be going.”

Bacara didn’t have anything else, it was already more than he wanted to hear.

*

Troopers had complained, now and then, about the engagements all blurring together. One offensive blasting clankers, to the next march that turned into blasting clankers, to the dug-in battles grinding themselves against enemy lines. The Marines had been in the thick of it for two tendays now.

Steady had not had the years of experience to blur those moments together. Each still stood distinct, reviewed again and again in quiet moments and sleepless bunk hours. From the command tent, it was even worse. He had no illusions about the weight of consequence that came from his choices, but to solely rely on the ability of others to execute those plans felt cruel.

They were all clones, but as cycles of testing and training had made clear, they were not all equal. Steady wouldn’t say the Marines weren’t good enough, they were elite and everyone knew it, but Steady would have felt more at peace with his choices in the heat of battle if all of the lives on the line had been troopers like him.

As if there were other troopers like him. Steady hoped, and feared, there might be, imagining there was a single cadet on Kamino at this moment, singled out for special training, with The Marine as the far off ideal. Steady hoped that cadet would come closer than he did, even while feeling the pang of jealousy at the idea.

That was the purpose of the sleepless night, it seemed. He lay in his bunk, in the relative quiet of the Marine encampment on a night cycle, eyes shut but mind churning. Kept awake by all the ways he could have done better. Haunted by all the choices that had led to him falling short.

His battles did not blur together. Steady could recall each like opening a mission briefing on a datapad, and think through each missed opportunity, every wrong decision.

He would climb out of his cot and go back to the holotable. Run some battle sims. They had concluded the current string of engagements, but there were two possible paths forward, dependent on scouting reports. He could run both options until the sims assured him he was not entirely without capability.

The tent flap shifted and Steady heard a familiar footfall.

“Awake, vod’ika?” Sharp asked as he let the flap close behind him. Steady opened his eyes in the dimness and nodded.

He wasn’t surprised by the visit, not really. Early on in his time with the Marines, Sharp had started coming to his tent at night. Maybe it was Jolly’s example, or the way Katooni would curl up with him like a tooka at the end of a long day. With both of them off-world, Sharp came more often. Not always alone, sometimes with Jark, or one of the other Dogs. Sometimes it was just to sleep, other times, it wasn’t.

Steady never asked what Sharp was checking him for. If he was worried about something in particular, or if he liked to be a mother nuna.

“Scoot,” Sharp huffed out, climbing around Steady into the bunk. The Captain was down to his blacks, and the chilled material leeching Steady’s body heat earned a little grumble as Sharp made himself comfortable.

“Tough one today.” Sharp spoke the words into the back of Steady’s neck, his arm already going around Steady’s middle.

Was it? Steady had been in a comms tent, with a holomap that refreshed too slowly, and too many Marines awaiting updated orders. He might as well have been wearing greys. The Dogs weren’t in the thick of it, they were in the charge flanking, while Mundi stayed with the main body. Bacara had been particularly brief in the specifics in the debrief.

Sharp’s fingers tangled in his loose curls, giving them a gentle tug. “You good?”

“Should ask you.” Steady’s voice was thick from his not-sleep. “You were the one doing the fighting.”

“So were you.” Sharp gave his hair another tug, less gentle this time. “Someone has to do it, and you do it well.”

Sharp didn’t have to do this. Didn’t have to comfort him, especially after being the one in the field. Steady turned his head to look at Sharp behind him, slipping his hair out from the Captain’s fingers.

“Did good. You always do.” Steady said it, and he meant it. “You and the Dogs. Handle everything that gets thrown at you.” Everything I throw at you, Steady didn’t say. Sharp was in the planning meetings with the other Captains. He’d speak up if he saw weaknesses in the plans.

He’d say something if Steady’s performance was substandard.

“Hey.” Sharp squeezed him around the middle. “Didn’t come here to debrief.”

That was fair.

“You’ll be out there soon,” Sharp said. “But sleep first.”

The weight and warmth of another body was going a long way in helping make that happen. “Sleep first,” Steady agreed.

Chapter Text

“Tals and Sharp will take the flanking positions at the choke points. Timing will be key to neutralizing the supply convoy. Steady, you’ll coordinate timing and communication. This is a small window to act. Any questions?”

Steady did not have any questions. He would have his timings down, and run communications as smoothly as he could. He hadn’t even batted an eye behind his visor when his assignment was given. He was used to it at this point.

“General?” No one would ever suggest there was a change in the Marshal Commander’s tone when he addressed his general, but there was a certain edge to it that was rarely heard around camp.

“Looks as though it is a well-conceived plan, Marshal Commander.” 

Steady could feel every trooper around the table freeze. He hadn’t spent nearly as many meetings with the General as the others, but there hadn’t been a single one where Mundi hadn’t listened to an entire battle plan before making major changes that required a full rework.

Steady held his gaze on the holotable. There would be no reaction to see from Commander Bacara, he was sure.

“Sir.” Bacara’s tone was no softer. “Plan with your units, and we will review after latemeal. Will you be joining us, Sir?”

Mundi made a considering sound, which was not a yes or no, and Bacara simply carried on. “Then if there’s nothing else?” 

“Yes, of course, dismissed,” Mundi said, now sounding more distracted. Katooni had said the Force was distracting sometimes. Maybe Mundi was talking to the Force.

“Sir.” All the troopers saluted. Unlike everyone else in the room, Steady did not have a squad to select, or battle plans to ready. He would run logistics and timing charts to best anticipate the battle support needs.

“Commander. You’ll walk with me.” He pointed at Steady. 

The General phrased it as neither a question nor an order.

“Sir.” Steady could not refuse. He didn’t even have a plausible reason to refuse. “Yes, sir.”

“General.” Bacara’s tone barely hid that sharp edge.

“Dismissed, Marshal Commander,” Mundi repeated, looking more amused than he had since Steady had first met him.

“Commander, I expect to see your full documentation as soon as possible.” Bacara’s arms crossed over his chest.

Steady understood Bacara’s attempt at a plausible escape. An escape from what, Steady would admit, he couldn’t begin to guess.

So, Steady fell into the step just behind the General, reaching out to move the tent flap to let the General past, and he resisted the urge to steal a look at the others behind him. 

His performance had been suboptimal for an experienced commander, but Steady didn’t think he was at risk of discipline. It was hard to imagine the General had followed his performance so closely he would single him out for a reprimand. Any reassignment would come through the Marshal Commander. Generals had more important matters to occupy them than duty rosters.

So they walked, seemingly without direction, and at a slow enough pace Steady was required to pay attention to avoid closing the appropriate distance between himself and the General. Mundi meandered to a stop near the edge of camp. The Cerean looked off into the frozen terrain, his hands clasped behind him. It was a pose that reminded Steady of the other trainers on Kamino - the ways they might stand as they walked up and down the lines of CT cadets. 

“You have fully recovered, Commander?”

Steady took a moment to parse the question. He hadn’t been in the field in more than a month. There were no injuries to recover from. 

“From your capture.” 

“Yes, sir.” Steady answered the question and volunteered nothing more.

“But you have not returned to combat since.” It was not a question, so Steady did not answer. 

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had never been the kind of cadet to shy away from a trainer’s attention, no matter how many times he’d heard the rank and file repeat that all they needed to do was keep their heads down. It would have never made any difference in Steady’s life because there had never been anyone to blend in with. In this moment, the target of the General’s full attention, he understood what they had meant.

“It has been interesting, to me,” Mundi began, because Steady had the sense that he had been brought along to listen as this thought went on. “To observe your role in our group.”

“Sir?” Steady participated in the way he understood he was expected to in this sort of interaction. He had been well-trained on how to listen as a superior spoke until he was satisfied. 

“Your work in the field has been praised in every report since you joined this division.” Mundi began to pace thoughtfully. “But, since your return from capture, you have been assigned only non-combat roles.”

This was reasonably true. Steady might not classify those mentions in mission reports as praise, so much as factual anecdotes, but they had been positive, regardless.

“Even Stass and her young padawan have mentioned you in passing, with nothing critical to say.”

There was a momentary kick in Steady’s heartrate as Katooni was brought up, but it didn’t seem as though the General had brought him out here to suss out any unbefitting conduct between a clone commander and a Jedi Padawan.

“You see, I enjoy a puzzle,” Mundi said, as though it was a concession to Steady. “And while I rarely can say I understand my Marshal Commander, I have had plenty of time to observe his behavior.” He turned back to Steady, from where he had been watching the wind push some grudging, hardy foliage. “And something about you has shaken him.”

Steady would never speak against The Marine. Regardless of Steady’s current struggle to get back to an appropriately active role, Steady would never choose to speak critically of Bacara. Even to a higher-ranking officer.

“Does he hate you?” Mundi asked, all thoughtful curiosity. “It is hard to imagine. As little as he tolerates me, I have never seen him look for retribution against another Clone. I had wondered if it was a lingering resentment over the circumstances of your assignment, but I dismissed that option - it was well within his powers to send you away.”

Steady nodded once with the assessments. Considering how little the command staff thought of Mundi’s opinions on battle plans, this was well-reasoned.

“That,” Mundi said as he nodded toward Steady. “That thought made me wonder if it was perhaps not a matter of resentment or ill-will.” That drew a little smirk to Mundi’s face. “I would never be so petty as to bait the Marshal Commander, but I have tested my theory. Subtly, mind you. He is so quick to intercede on your behalf. Which suggests that he is either trying to limit the damage you can do to him?” Mundi let the thought hang for just a moment, and then continued. “Or, that he is trying to protect you.”

Steady did not volunteer anything. He did not even think the truth. Katooni had promised a Jedi would not seek answers in another sentient being’s mind, but then, clones were not considered fully sentient, and he did not know Mundi well enough to be reassured.

“Satisfy my curiosity, Commander.” Mundi’s eyes were bright, more interested than Steady might have ever seen him at the war table. “Tell me about your relationship with Commander Bacara?”

“He is my commanding officer, sir.” Steady did not bat an eye. It was the clearest, simplest answer, and it bought him valuable moments to process the conversation. 

“Indeed,” Mundi agreed tolerantly, lines of a smile gathering around his eyes. “I have gathered as much.”

Steady could pull the ripcord, excuse himself to complete his barely-urgent documentation. The ramifications of dodging this conversation would likely be another conversation, so it isn’t worth the risk.

“We shared a trainer. On Kamino,” Steady volunteered exactly that much. It was in his file, he was sure. If how little Katooni knew about their day-to-day existence before shipping out was any baseline, the simplified explanation would be lacking in actionable context. But, considering how Bacara and Steady had never even approached discussing the matter between them, saying any more felt like oversharing.

“And that carries a value amongst you?” The General sounded more like Steady had explained the nuance of the ration-bar rankings than he had shared a tiny, vital part of himself. “Fascinating.”

Steady was braced for follow-up questions.

Mundi considered for a long moment and, instead of pressing for more information, finally inclined his head. “You may go, Commander.”

“Sir.” Steady saluted, unsure what had just happened with the General, and what it would mean for the future. At least he could be mostly certain he was not being shipped away. If he was in better or worse standing with the General was entirely unclear.

*

The Jedi were brave, dauntless supporters, and stout allies.

Padawans, Steady had gathered, were not all too different from shinys.

“I’m not going,” Katooni huffed from behind him in his bunk, face smushed between his pillow and thigh plate in a way that could not possibly be comfortable.

Steady did not deign to answer. He’d sent in his projections, and attended all his briefings before the Winder ship landed. The return of General Allie and her Padawan were a surprise, but a short-lived diversion. The resupply from Winder was enough to soften the blow for most of the troopers.

That they would be taking General Mundi with them was also taken as a boon.

“I’m not,” Katooni repeated, jabbing a finger into the gap at the back of his knee.

Steady was doing busywork now, enough to justify putting off a trip to the mess, and not starting his rest cycle yet.  It was nice to spend this time with Katooni. They both had duties to see to, but these quiet moments were different from time spent with the troopers. “Jolly will pout.”

“Ugh,” Katooni poked him again in retribution. “No fair.” 

Sometimes, it took some dirty tactics to win a war. 

“We’re talking tendays traveling with Master Mundi.” Katooni pushed up on one elbow. “First of all, I’m not here for a major offensive, and that’s poodoo.” She ticked off with a finger on this thigh plate. “Two, we’ll be off with Valor at the same time just because they’re headed in the right direction to take us back to the core.” Two fingers drummed on the plastoid. “And three, do you have any idea how many texts on historical policy Master Mundi keeps on his datapad?”

“You would rather fight a war than do your coursework?” Steady knew that wasn’t true, but sometimes Katooni needed to hear it outloud.

She sighed, flopping back into his bunk. “No, I’d rather be here, with all of you, trying to save lives, instead of making another trip to the Core where the other younglings don’t know what it’s like out here, and Temple-bound Masters want to tell me what I need to to learn for someday when this war is over, when I’m still trying to fight it.”

Unlike the clones, the Jedi were not raised for war.

Steady set down the datapad he hadn’t been reading for a while now, and reached for Katooni. She didn’t hesitate to climb into his lap. Sometimes, comfort was the only thing he had to offer her.

Like Clones, Jedi seemed like a tactile bunch. Steady hadn’t believed those ARCs from the 501st when they said it was true, but Jolly had been clear that Katooni needed physical contact too.

“You’ll be safe, right?” Katooni asked, her head resting on his pauldron. 

“I will be on comms.” Again, Steady didn’t add. He’d certainly be safe, and doing far too little to help the offensive. There was no sense in complaining about it. 

Katooni pulled back to look at him. “It’s an important job.”

As everyone kept telling him. “I know.”

“Steady.” Katooni didn’t say it like a scold, as she melted back against his shoulder. “It won’t last forever.”

“Nor will your trip.” 

He earned a poke in the side with that one.

“You can go dancing.” Maybe that would be enough to make the trip more promising. The possibility could take her mind off the reminder that they would both be in positions they would rather not be in.

“I didn’t tell you.” Katooni gasped, popping up from where she’d been resting against him. “Oh Force. Steady…” She broke off into a giggle, a hand pressed to her face. “Those dances? Well, the holo you got me? Those are old dances. Even Master Allie didn’t dance like that as a padawan. Master Mundi probably did, and he might be a hundred.”

Steady felt his cheeks heat. Of course, logically, there was no way he could have known. He’d never ‘gone dancing’ in his life. Jet had been responsible for finding the holovid for Katooni, but still. Steady had wanted to help, and he had apparently failed. In fact, he might have made matters worse, by arming Katooni with outdated intel.

“Hey.” Katooni’s hand rested on his cheek as she lifted his gaze to hers. “It was sweet. Everyone thought it was kind of cool that I knew how.” 

He must have looked as skeptical as he felt, because she frowned at him, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “There are even clubs on Coruscant, specifically for people who want to do those dances.”

“Yeah?” That sounded better, at least. Like it wasn’t a huge screw up. Katooni wasn’t quite smiling, but she was looking at him with one of those looks that fell somewhere between soft and sad, her hand on his cheek. He’d gotten comfortable with their proximity over time, but the only time they were this close together was for a brief hug, or when they were both asleep. 

“Yeah,” she promised. “We’ll go. Someday. Dance where we know all the moves. Show off.” 

Steady was pretty sure that would never happen. He’d never made it that deep into the Core in his whole life. He couldn’t imagine that someday trip matching up with Katooni being back at the Temple. Even if she was, could they even go somewhere together? A Jedi and a clone off duty? That seemed impossible.

“This war will not last forever.” Katooni tipped her head forward, forehead resting against Steady’s. 

It wouldn’t. And it wouldn’t last forever for the Vode. Steady knew that, too, though he wouldn’t ask if Katooni did. Someday, they would be called Home, and someday, she would be a Jedi again, not a Padawan Commander. 

But for now, they could have this. 

“Then we should practice,” Steady said, smiling in the space between them. “Wouldn’t want to forget the steps.”

“Always planning ahead. I like it.” Katooni huffed out a little laugh. “Dance with me, Commander.”

*

At the start of the war, Bacara had believed all Jedi were like General Mundi - prideful and aloof, and above the concerns of their bought-and-paid-for soldiers.

Time and further exposure had taught him better. Mundi was difficult, and certainly a General in name only, but others had been different. Tales of the adventures of other Commanders and their Jedi, his time spent with General Allie and her Padawan, even simply getting to know Kit, had all helped to reshape his views.

Mundi standing silently outside his tent flap, as though Bacara was the one with the Force, was a rare sort of infuriating that his General seemed to specialize in.

The standoff had gone on for more than a minute - Mundi outside, not yet making an intentional move to interrupt Bacara’s tactics review, Bacara inside, at his desk, pretending his work had not yet been interrupted by the lurking General.

General Allie had told him his shields were excellent. Bacara could pretend to be hard at work for the next hour. If ARC training had taught him anything, Bacara knew he was not above temporarily inconveniencing certain people when the conditions allowed for it.

But, the last time Bacara had seen the General, he had singled out a trooper on Bacara’s command staff and summarily dismissed the Marshal Commander himself. 

“General.” Bacara stood, his knee protesting how long he’d been bent at his desk. “Is everything in order for your departure?”

“Ah, Commander.” Mundi entered, humming a bit in that way that seemed to belong to elders of all species. “Your review has been completed for the next offensive?”

That had not been the question Bacara had asked. “Yes, sir.”

“No changes have been made?”

Bacara kept his expression blank as he felt his annoyance rise. Mundi had been in the meeting. If he had had a point to make, he should have made it. “No, sir. Scouting reports continue to support our tactical decisions.”

“The Force has been unsettled for so long.” Mundi’s gaze drifted to the tent flap. Bacara hoped the man himself would follow. “But there are new players on the board for Mygeeto. Uncertainty, all around us.”

That was not actionable advice. The General had suggested that Core intel pointed to new Separatist leadership for the campaign on Mygeeto. The appearance of non-droid ground troops would corroborate the intel to some degree. The Marines needed enough time to investigate that possibility with the locals, but they were too busy fighting a war to do it.  

Uncertainty? Baraca would say that was pretty standard for a war. Instead of spurring his General on, Bacara simply nodded. “Sir.”

“Battle plans are what beings make in anticipation. The Force is only what is.” Master Mundi bowed his head, and exited the tent.

Bacara dropped himself back into his chair with a suppressed groan of frustration. Force platitudes were not what he was banking on to win the war.

Chapter Text

An important job , that was all anyone could say about Steady’s assignment on Comms.

Looking at the intel reports and sat-maps, Comms was more than important on this offensive. There were too many angles, too much terrain that allowed the seps to move in. 

Comms was not about battle strategy. Comms was coordination and communication. It was arming the captain and commanders with updated information that allowed an understanding of the shifting battle map.

Steady reset the holo-map, and brought back the tactics for the points where they would begin the offensive. 

Without successfully advancing from their position, the Marines would be driven back. They would lose the ground they had gained through tendays and months of hard work and bloodshed. Steady propped his elbows on the edge of the table and glared.

The Marines fought on long odds. They held lines that no reasonable tactician would expect to hold. They endured.

But at what cost?

Steady ran the simulation again, moving the flank early, and fortifying the limited heavy artillery support to focus on the right of the attacking edge. The plan was sound, but the margin was thin. Pulling too hard away from the center would leave the front line weak.  

The plan had been decided, and it had been the best option presented. Steady should content himself with his own preparations. 

He was not a Marshal Commander.

“Find anything good?” Krestor propped a hip on the holotable, and settled his helmet on his thigh plate. If Steady hadn’t been so well aware of the trooper’s capability, his easy charm might have been enough for Steady to label him frivolous. Despite knowing his capability as a soldier, Steady felt out of his depth around him. The Dogs could be exuberant, but most of their energy was directed towards finding the next thing they could blow up. Krestor was too focused on people for Steady to feel fully comfortable. Like the Marine might learn more about Steady than he was willing to share, and subsequently find him too un-vod-like to tolerate.

“No.” Steady reset the table with a flick of his gloved finger. 

Maybe Krestor didn’t know what to do with troopers who weren’t charmed by him. Steady was more discomfited than charmed.

“You know, Comms–”

“Very important job,” Steady finished dryly, not looking up from the map. If he had wanted that reassurance, he could have sat by the heater in Rothax’s tent and waited for the next marine to take pity on his shadow suspension.

“Well, sure. It’s important.” Krestor began to idly shift trooper formations at the edge of the map closest to him. “But, I was going to say, Comms isn’t really a tactical planning position.”

Steady’s fingers hovered over his next selection on the holo-map. He lifted his gaze to the veteran Marine, and did his best to gauge if he had been given advice, or an insult. Steady’s tactical planning scores had been at the top of the range, but he had demonstrated the value of his tactical assistance since his very first days with the 21st. 

If it was anything but an insult, Steady struggled to find the meaning. 

Regardless, these were his off hours, and Steady could spend them at the unoccupied holo-map if he chose. Krestor could take whatever judgements he had made about Steady’s capabilities to the Marshal Commander himself.

“What I’m saying is,” Krestor leaned closer to Steady, only to have to toss his too-long hair back from his eyes, “when we’re out there is the field, all we see in a HUD, and all we know is our own engagement.”

Steady did not understand what Krestor was saying.

“The big picture, all those little tweaks to the battle plans?” Krestor shrugged. “We trust those to the ones in command who can see the whole picture.”

“Like Comms.” Steady completed the thought, his eyes still on the battle map.

“Very important job.” Krestor slapped Steady’s pauldron on his way back out of the tent.

*

There were rare times in the course of a very long war, where a Commander could pick the day of his battle. Where he could consider the terrain, scouting reports, and troop movements, and say to himself, *Yes, today will do*.

And then, there were the other times. The far more common times, in Bacara’s opinion. Where the battle found itself necessary to happen when it may.

In this case, it would happen pre-dawn, in the driving wet snow and freezing rain. Because the enemy knew another day of amassing their endless numbers would leave the ground far too favorable to the Marines, and the droids rarely complained about the cold.

Bacara would lead the left flank. The front line was a slow, grinding thing, working through waves of droids, leaving behind piles of twisted scrap. The left flank would be more mobile, more unpredictable. They could model the battle endlessly, but who could truly know when the enemy might change tactics?

More, and more, lately. Bacara knew, as he took down the next droid with a bolt from his rifle. Mundi hadn’t been wrong about that. Things had changed. The shot callers responsible had changed - personnel or objective - and the Marines still didn’t know which.

“Left flank advancing to position three.” Bacara kept up a consistent stream of updates. Weather like this made the signals worse than usual. 

“Received.” The communication from main channel was exacting, precisely enough to feel informed but not inconvenienced. Each Commander had their own objective, their own timing and sequencing, but to envision those goals as anything but interconnected was folly.

“Front line moving… position three.” The middle was lost, even with his high powered antenna.

“Received,” came back clear enough. “To position three. Hold for confirmation. Right, report.”

There was a reply, but it was garbled, and far too long to be good news. Position three on the left was a solid point to hold, shielded to one side from the worst of the windshear dragging the icy rain in to ruin visibility, but they were still under heavy fire. 

“Right flank,” the call went out again.

“Holding?” Captain Sharp confirmed over short-comm. 

Bacara nodded. “Maintain until confirmation.”

The shape of this engagement had been a concern. When they had been fifty-thousand strong on Mygeeto, swinging one end of the battle ahead had been an option. They could rest and rotate recovery. They knew every edge of the attack would hold.  

Now, the Marines would fight for every last inch, but they would not risk an overrun to end a battle a few rotations sooner.

“Cherek” was the only word clear in the garbled mess that came back.

Cherek Company was under Captain Tals, on the right flank.

“Captain, repeat.” 

The signal that came next was Krestor, from the front line. “Right side is taking heat. We’re supporting, but Cherek is pinned.”

Bacara was too busy getting shot at to swear at their bad luck. 

“UT-ATs in range?” Steady asked, and Bacara let himself have a moment of pride at the question. The Tridents were well guarded behind the frontline, clearing the forward lines room to advance, but even without doing true damage, the heavy artillery might be dissuasive to the attacks on the right flank. 

“No shot. Too friendly.”

If that was true, the other side of the field was more disrupted than Bacara had envisioned from Cherek becoming isolated. Unless it wasn’t just Cherek.

“Dorn check in,” Comms snapped, clearly thinking the same. 

“We’ve got Tri-droids incoming - send reinforcement!”

Tri-droids In this weather? Baraca bit back a snarl. If they could clear the left side, the frontline would have enough to lean right, but the rotation was still risky. 

“Left flank–” Bacara began.

“Left flank - Hold.” The command came through like a crack. “Wait on the frontline advance to four.”

“Front line advancing. Copy.”

“The right–” Baraca tried again.

“Right flank, reinforcements incoming. Hold out for ground explosives,” Comms advised. “Lt. Baati taking over comms.” 

A moment later a new voice took over comms, and Bacara reviewed the battle plan in his mind to find any extra resources to swing right with ground explosives to destabilize the already tip-prone tri-droids. To loosen the terrain was the quickest way to bring them down, but even if Cherek was in position to lay the explosives, someone would have to get them there.

Sharp came to the same conclusion Bacara did.

“Baati, you tell someone to get on that jare’la vod’ika’s six ASAP.”

“Copy, Captain. We’re on it.” Baati didn’t pause before confirming the left side advance to position four.

*

It was not that no other trooper could go. Steady could send any qualified trooper to load a BARC speeder up with detonators and get them to the right flank, at whatever cost.

But any qualified trooper available had not spent every spare moment leading up to this engagement pouring over the holotable, running scenarios to avoid a break in the lines.

There had been no scouting reports indicating tri-droids would be active, and unless there was more to it than any of them could imagine, to deploy them in this weather was either desperation or foolishness. 

It was bad and getting worse out, and Steady hunkered down as close to the speeder as he could to duck the worst of the icy rain. His in-helmet comms were insistent, but it sounded like Baati was handling the worst of it. Four speeders peeled off to join up with him, and Steady wouldn’t turn down the backup.

“Cherek, sitrep.” 

No reply.

“Dorn. Report in.”

Clicking, nothing more.

“Captain, what are we looking at?” Steady pinged Tals.

“Not good,” came back instantly. “Won’t turn down the help, Commander, but it’s pretty hot over here.” 

That was clear enough. The roar of battle was already audible, sparks of blaster bolts visible through the snow. 

“Dorn and Cherek?” Steady knew their approximate location from the map, but the best marker would be the tri-droid that he could just make out.

“Best case? Pinned down.” 

That was best case, and they all knew it. But losing two companies on this offensive would be unacceptable. Steady would not accept it. 

One of the speeders pulled alongside him, two vode perched on. “Zips, and Dash, sir. Riding with you for this one.” 

Steady snagged one of the bags of ground explosives, and swung it to the other speeder. Dash caught it with a nod.

“Rocky slopes, ten degrees west.” Steady would rather hash out the plan standing still with a holomap in front of them. That wasn’t how this was going to happen. “Destablize it.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

He clicked the comms back to Tals. “Moving in. We’ve got the tri-droids. Stabilize the front and be ready to evac Cherek and Dorn.”

“The flank is yours, Commander.”

He’d take it, for whatever it was worth. Steady handed off two more bundles of explosives before racing toward the tri-droid. It was swaying drunkenly, but even unbalanced, the firepower was completely unmatched by the troopers on the flank.

The tridents would have been able to match the firepower, but they were doing their job to advance the main force.

He spotted Dorn first, doing their best to drag Cherek closer to an extraction point. They hailed him, expecting evac support, but Steady had a different objective in mind.

“Detonators positioned, sir!” Zips reported, and two more comms pinged confirmation.

“Laying the center line, now. Get out of range, and wait for my call.” All he needed to do was give the droid something to set off, or a reason to step into the trap the others had laid. 

When that worked, they could evac Cherek, and Dorn could help the push on the right side to shore up the front.

Better than he’d managed in any of his sims.

Headed toward the teetering pair of them in the icy wind, their fourteen meters in height looked towering.

The first blast aimed his way nearly rocked the speeder out from under him. This was the easy part. Quick, and simple. Then, everything would work out.

The next blast put the speeder into something solid enough to damage it, but Steady was in range to launch the detonators. They hit the frozen ground with almost no roll, but as the tri-droid’s spindly legs scrabbled for purchase on the rocky ground, it would be enough.

“Detonate in five,” Steady commed out, dragging the struggling speeder into a tight turn. “Four.” He needed to be out of the blast radius, but the tri-droids’ fall would be unpredictable. “Three.”

Steady never saw the blast that hit the back of the speeder threw him headlong into the slushy mud. The armor took the worst of it, but the tri-droid was advancing, and Steady knew full well he was not clear.

“Up you go, Commander,” Cherek company was scattered the best they could in the scant cover the terrain allowed. Two troopers helped him to his feet. 

“Let’s go, get moving,” Steady was barking as he pushed the troopers onward. “We’re going to blow them.”

That was met with a smattering of cheers and the groans of the injured being hoisted into motion with less care than was medically advisable. Then again, explosions were also rarely medically advisable. 

“Mark, three.” Steady reset his count, as they scrambled away from the droid and the newly laid minefield. “Two. One.”

The detonators hit, and the explosions rocked the right flank. The tri-droids bent and twisted with the force of impact. Their long legs collapsed under their unbalanced weight and they crashed to the ground.

“Good work, team.” Steady brought up local comms. “Dorn, rejoin Captain Tals, Cherek, evac the wounded, transport should be on their way.”

The chorus of yes sir was still in his ear as he switched channels back to command comms. 

“Tri-droids are down on the Right flank. Dorn moving up to assist. Cherek returning.”

“Copy, Commander,” Baati said. “Glad to hear it.”

Chapter Text

Bacara made it back to camp just in time to see Steady return. He had one trooper slung over his back and another one trying not to lean too heavily on the little Commander’s free side. The rest of the squads on the right flank weren’t faring any better, as many injured as not, but the reports had come back - no casualties. 

A miracle, if the Marines had any of those left.

For all the result being what it was, that didn’t change what had happened. The young commander had been assigned to comms. Deliberately. Choosing, instead, to hand the assignment off, and race into battle on a speeder bike with minimal support, into a rapidly evolving situation.

Steady eased the tat on his shoulders down into the waiting hands of a medic, and paused long enough to talk with a few troopers of Cherek company before starting toward the command tent. His progress was slowed by pats on the back and brotherly thumps on the helmet.

Battle-high and armor-singed, Steady practically jogged to the debrief. 

Bacara joined the others in the tent at a more purposeful pace.

“There’s the al’verdikaad,” Krestor said as he shook Steady’s shoulders as soon as he made it in the tent. “Dangerous shit. But you pulled it off.”

There’s one moment when the Commander ducked his head, and Bacara doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s fighting back a grin, basking in the praise. 

“Dismissed Commander.” The words were too rough, too sharp. 

Steady’s helmet snapped up. “Sir?”

“What were your orders, Commander?” 

The shift in body language is obvious, overt, posture and positioning shifting from happy and relaxed into text book form. “Maintain coordination with the right flank. Share intel and troop movement.”

“Did you follow those orders?” Everyone in the room knew that he hadn’t. As well as knowing that there would have been significant losses on the flank if he had. 

“For as long as was reasonable. Sir.” 

Bacara’s heartrate kicked up again, but his voice was even when he spoke. “Reasonable.”

“Bacara.” Keller tried to stem the bleeding. 

“Response times. Would have been cut off. Overrun.” By the set of his shoulders, Steady might not be breathing. “I. Assisted.”

“Is that what you ordered to do?” 

“It’s what you would have done. Sir.” And he was right. It was. If he’d been closer, if he hadn’t been holding the left side under heavy threat. Even as it was, Barcara had been tempted.

And that did not change anything.

“You are not me.” 

That sucked the last of the air out of the tent.

No reaction other than a breath. “No. Sir.”

Bacara pointed to the tent flap. “Shovel.”

“Sir.”

Steady left without a word of protest. Without any suggestion in his body language that he wanted to. It hurt like an injury, like a wound, and Bacara didn’t flinch from it. It hurt, but it would be worth it. Maybe it would keep the commander alive a little longer, keep Nova standing another day. Discipline, and only the most calculated of risks, had kept them fighting on Mygeeto. As much as Bacara wanted Dorn and Cherek back in camp unharmed, no one was above following orders.

Bacara turned to the others still waiting to begin the debrief before they could clean up and eat. They watched him with a sort of inarticulate confusion. 

“Debrief,” he reminded, pointing to the holomap, and eventually they followed. 

The command tent was always cold, but today it felt colder.

*

“We could do that, sir.” Bossi offered, standing with a pack of his fellow troopers. They’d cleaned up, and were refueling - ration bars and hydration packs in hand. “Or we can set the droids to it, if it’s priority.”

Steady shoveled out another bite of snow. His back, arms, abs, and thighs all answered back. Almost as though he’d pushed himself too hard not an hour earlier. And was thrown from a speeder. He stacked another shovel-full neatly to the side of the makeshift walkway. The snow was too deep to reach ground level, Mygeeto was frozen through, but the soft stuff on top made walking slow and dragging the repulsor carts difficult. 

“Builds character,” Steady repeated. That was how it had been explained to him. The Marines shoveled snow to build character. Just like wayward shinys were ordered to sweep sand out of tents or inventory munitions. 

“Sir...?” Bossi hesitated before falling silent.

He understood then, that Steady was not doing this by choice. That he’d been told to. That Steady had screwed up. Not just by leaving the post he’d agreed to hold, but even further by defending his decision to do so. 

The bite of another shovel went as Steady tipped his shovel load into the snowbank and he spun around at the sound. Bossi and the others had taken shovels off the rack.

“No.” Steady floundered. “Stop. Please.” He didn’t know if he had the words to explain. He didn’t know if he could even if he had them. This was about him and the Marshal Commander. Not anything the others should be made part of. 

They did stop at the request, uncertain and unconvinced. Steady hit the catches on his helmet, tugging it off to speak to them face to face. 

“Thank you.” He meant it. In his whole life, there’d been maybe one person willing to do something like this for him. Steady waved them off toward the barracks. “Rest. Recover.”

“How long will you…” Bossi would do as Steady asked, but it was clear he wasn’t happy with it.

Until he was told to stop or until he couldn’t continue. That had been obvious from the moment Bacara had given the order. It was still strange to consider that others would apply a different measure, but he had never truly understood the vode . Steady waved them off again. “Go with your brothers.”

Bossi reached out to ruffle his hair. “Don’t work too hard, al’verdika.”

It shouldn’t be enough to win a smile. Shouldn’t be enough to make him feel better while knowing he’d disappointed not just his commanding officer but Bacara. But it helped. It made the ache in his tired muscles and his sore heart just a little less sharp.

Steady turned back to shoveling the path. He needed the time to think. Anyway, he heard shoveling built character.

*

The debrief might have been one of the shortest on record for Nova Command. 

Bacara had mistakenly assumed it was because his command staff were uncomfortable after the start of the meeting. As the meeting came to a close, he realized the mistake.

“Should we bring the kid back in?” Krestor asked, glancing from Bacara to the chrono on the wall and back.

“No.” It hadn’t even been an hour.

“No, because you’re going to do it?” Keller was a brave one.

“I will.” Bacara would not be swayed by the relief in their expressions. “Thirty past dark. When he will be more reasonable.”

They didn’t understand Nova’s young commander. He did. Maybe better than anyone. He wasn’t trying to hurt him, but that time alone, that time working in the dark and the cold would help clear his head. Help him see Bacara was doing this for his own good. 

“Absolutely not.” Keller said and Bacara blinked in confusion. The CMO went on, “He’s not shoveling for two more hours. He’s not the one being unreasonable.” 

“He did his best.” Krestor winced. “We get it, things are different with you two, but you’ve never spoken to any shiny like that.” 

Bacara only just caught his reflexive response. He’s not a shiny. That was as true and as untrue as it was for any of the newer troopers. At Steady’s age, Bacara was still on Kamino. ARC training hadn’t even existed yet. 

Steady had fought battles and led troops. He survived long enough to return to Kamino and fight through 17’s training. More than that, Steady had been made like Bacara had been made. Tested and tried. If they were ever shiny, that had been scrubbed off cycles ago.

Bacara would have never treated a vod like that. But this was different, Steady wasn’t a vod. Steady was like him. He knew what worked on him. He knew he’d have the tat’ka’s full attention. 

He knew what it was like to be pushed to a limit, alone and cold, aware that he had fallen short of expectations. He knew how keenly one would feel that failure, regardless of intentions.

Which would make the correction more effective. It would be a reminder going forward. Something that the young commander would think back on.

He knew because he had reverted to the training techniques he knew and understood. Techniques that had been used on him. 

Used against him. 

He had sent Steady out to exhaust himself in the cold so Bacara could control him more easily. 

Like a trainer would.

Like a man he had promised himself he would never become.

Bacara’s breathing fell into a comforting long pattern set to slow his heart and clear his head. 

He had made a very grave mistake. And from the looks on their faces, his command staff had known it all along.

*

The path to the speeders, the mess, and the barracks were clearer than Steady had seen them in his time on-planet. If he was shoveling for the rest of the night, he might as well do the job right. The cold had sunk through his gear, climbed through the boots and gloves, despite the temperature regulation. It was very nearly soothing against the ache in his boots, and in the heavy joints in his shoulder and hips.

Another day, he might see the armorer, ask him to take a look when he got his armor patched.  Steady’s vambrace was split down the middle, one cuisse had a chunk missing. Likely from being thrown from the speeder, but truly, Steady had no clear idea when. 

Another day, assuming he’d ever be done shoveling, he thought wryly.

The sound of another shovel joined his somewhere around the camp. Steady hoped that trooper would have a shorter night of it.

“You’re done, Commander,” Keller said. The debrief must have ended. Keller, Krestor, and the others from the command tent were walking the path toward the mess. “Let’s get some food in you.”

Would that sort of thing work on standard troopers? “I will wait.”

“Wait for what?” Krestor looked from Steady to Keller like the medic would convince him, before looking back. “Wait for Bacara?”

He would continue until he was told he was done. There was no medical reason for the CMO to pull rank, so Steady would shovel until his commanding officer told him otherwise.

“Kid, you can’t just–” 

Keller cut him off. “Alright.” 

“Alright?” Krestor repeated. 

“Take care of yourself, Steady.” Keller shoved the other commander forward toward the mess.

They were a strange bunch. Somehow, they all seemed more bothered by his shoveling than he was. It was not the standard way of things, but the Marines faced unexpected challenges. There was not one of them above a superior’s discipline. 

Naturally, there was a burn of shame in knowing he was being punished, even while he accepted that his choice had not been a wrong one. It was possible that injuries, even casualties, had been prevented, and the battle plan had been preserved. And yet, Steady could not claim to be above the sting of wounded pride. He knew Bacara was right. Steady could have found another answer, should have. To leave comms in the hands of a trooper who had only worked under commanders, at a vital moment in an offensive, was unprofessional. Well below the acceptable standard for his rank, especially as a commander who had received so much specialized training.

Still, his mind went back to Keller’s words. He didn’t believe the words were a trick or a test. That wasn’t Bacara’s style, and wouldn’t seem to be Keller’s. Had Bacara told them to pass the message along? Bacara was a Marshal Commander, he certainly had better uses of his evenings than to busy himself calling a halt to an undisciplined trooper’s shoveling. 

Steady was hungry and tired and he had to see to his armor before he was back in the field, if that day ever came. Bacara was probably just the same, and busier in addition. 

He continued to shovel, using the quiet to focus himself, and absolutely not buying time for Bacara to come to talk to him personally. He reached the end of the path he’d been clearing when he realized the other shovel was still at work. He’d never been told which path to shovel. They would both be bolstered by the company, even if it was silent companionship.

Steady coasted his shovel edge over the mostly cleared path, picking up any new fall, and following the sound of the other Nova. Hard at work, if the speed of the strikes was any indication. Just walking reminded Steady how many muscles were stiff and tired. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t pushed past before. He would keep going.

He rounded the end of the medical tent to get his first look at the other person on shovel duty.

“Sir?” Steady wouldn’t have believed it if he wasn’t greeted by the sight of a very imposing marine in a maroon kama. 

Bacara turned, sinking the end of the shovel into the snowbank. There was an aborted half-step in Steady’s direction and Steady didn’t know what to do but come closer in response. “Sir…”

Why would Bacara shovel? No one other than maybe General Mundi would rank that kind of order. Regardless that Mundi was off-planet, Steady couldn’t imagine even the Jedi General daring to order it of their Marshal Commander. 

There must be a reason. Moving urgent medical equipment. Something. Something that meant it had to be done immediately, so the Marshal Commander decided to do it himself. If he’d known, Steady would have done it. Would have started here instead of over by the arms lockers. Steady held up his shovel. “I’ll do it, sir.”

That got a short laugh, and Steady hoped that meant they had moved past his impulsiveness and defiance. Bacara reached for Steady’s shovel, planting it in the snow next to his own. The Marshal Commander’s shoulders rose and fell in one long breath, and Steady waited caught between relief and concern. 

Bacara reached up to unlatch his helmet and Steady did the same to meet him on equal footing.

Steady was sure the Marshal Commander didn’t look any worse than he did, sweaty hair matted down, the wear of a tough day gone on too long on his face. It was more than that though, something heavy weighed on him.  “Sir?”

“ Ne net, Retza^[1] .” 

It was the first time Steady heard Bacara speak to him in Concordian, and Steady felt his heart hang at the sound. He’d never had the opportunity to Speak with anyone other than a trainer. None of them had ever said those words.

“Sir, no. No. I wasn’t. You.” This was wrong. Backwards. A Marshal Commander, any Marshal Commander, but especially Marshal Commander Bacara. Steady shook his head, inarticulate but insistent. “Sir.” 

It came out pleading, but it was a plea. 

Bacara’s gloved hand came up, first to cup his cheek for a fleeting moment, and then around the back of his neck, grounding him. “ Speak tat’ka .” 

With that permission, Steady would, in his own language, in the language they shared.

“Sir, please. You were right. I promised to follow orders, and I broke my word.” The apology spilled out, and somehow Steady found himself trembling, overwrought with the emotion and strain of the day. “ Ne net, Bacara. Ne net .”

Bacara used the hold on him to pull Steady in, wrap him up. He held him close, Steady’s chin on his shoulder, bristling cheek against his in the slim inches difference in their height. “You saved our brothers, tat’ka. You saw the battle had changed from when the original orders were given, and did what needed to be done. You were brave, and our men are alive because of it.”

“I was undisciplined.” The one thing he had been trained to always be. Steady knew he should stand on his own feet, look Bacara in the eye, accept his judgment, but there was too much comfort, too much reassurance in the way he was being held. Just how much the gesture meant to him was alarming. “I deserve to shovel, and more.”

“No, no, tat’ka.” Bacara stroked his hair, soothing him. “I was too hard on you. I worry too much for you. Expect too much. I see too much of myself in you.”

“Too much of–? You were right before. I am not you.” Steady knew it, he’d always known it, but Bacara saying those words still rang in his ears. “I shouldn’t have compared myself. I only meant to say I wanted to do what I believed you would have, given the same situation. I know I’m not you. Not now, and not ever. It was hubris to compare myself.”

“Tat’ka.” Bacara’s hold tightened for a moment. 

Steady was shaking his head, but the words to his objection wouldn’t come. Bacara held him a moment longer before pulling away, and Steady felt a rush of shame at how much he didn’t want the moment to end. Still, Bacara didn’t let go, the gloved hand still resting sure on the back of Steady’s neck, an anchor that would keep him from shattering into a million pieces.

“With me.” Bacara said it like it might be a question. Steady didn’t know what he could possibly say, so he nodded, tongue-tied and jerky, feeling like he might laugh at the impossibility of the moment or cry in relief.

Steady let himself be led by Bacara’s hand, walking alongside as he was kept close. As they approached the command tent, Steady tried to compose himself. He didn’t pull away, but he swiped at his face, trying to look less like a sniveling cadet than he felt despite his jellied legs and aching chest.

He had missed debrief, but they continued to walk. Bacara led him through the meeting area. Through and into Bacara’s own quarters. 

Steady moved pliantly, everything feeling dreamlike, as Bacara stood him in the middle of the tidy room, Bacara’s hands a reassuring weight on his shoulders The room was not much larger than Steady’s own. A single cot, and a desk, a rack for gear. Bacara’s bunk lacked the same thick pelt that had been added to Steady’s. In its place, there was a scrap-blanket folded on a spindly-legged chair.

“Injuries?” Bacara checked in, hands moving from Steady’s shoulders to take his helmet and set it next to Bacara’s own on the desk.

Steady is prepared with a quick ‘no, sir’ but he stops to actually consider the reply. Bacara’s attention sharpens on him during the pause. 

“Nothing serious.” Steady settles on, before looking Bacara over more closely. He also had gone straight to debrief, and Steady hadn’t been on comms for the end of the battle. Steady had no idea beyond his portion of the command comms if there had been trouble on the other fronts. He should know better than to assume things had all gone to plan. That thought pricked at him, guilt and misery welling up. “Are you? I should have–”

“No,” Bacara said firmly. “And no.” He pulled Steady back in, meeting his eyes.

Steady nodded. Baati was qualified to handle comms, but there were so many variables. How could Steady have lived with himself if his impulsive decisions had led to the worst case? If the battle had turned in some way he and Baati hadn’t talked through? 

Clank.

Clack clack.

Bacara hit the catches on Steady’s armor. “Sonic.”

Steady blinked at him.

“Sonic. Refuel. Sleep.” Bacara paused, watching Steady’s face. “Here. Unless.” Bacara frowned. “At least, let Sharp–”

“You.” The word was out of his mouth before he could be self-conscious. “Please?”

That earned a warm, soft look from Bacara, and Steady wanted to look away, wanted to not feel that aching rush of reassurance that brought such a bitter undertow of vulnerability. 

“Good,” Bacara praised. “Thank you.” He returned to Steady’s armor, and had his top half neatly stacked on the desk before Steady’s brain could process the feelings that came with hearing those words. 

Eventually, Steady was bundled off to the sonic. As Steady sluggishly walked back from the fresher, fatigue and emotional exhaustion made him bold. Bacara was setting out ration bars and hydropacks, so Steady set the Marine’s helmet on the rack and then went to begin removing Bacara’s armor like he had removed Steady’s.

“You can.” Bacara gestured to the hydropack and rations. Steady shook his head, moving to care for Bacara the way he had cared for Steady. Maybe that wasn’t enough of an answer, but Bacara only nodded and turned to help Steady reach the buckles more easily.

It was nice. It felt good to do this, Steady realized. He hadn’t been alone on Mygeeto. He’d had Jolly, and then Sharp and the Devil Dogs, and Katooni, and then all of the other Marines he had gotten to know. This was different in some way Steady couldn’t express.

“Eat.” Bacara pointed to the meal on the desk as he walked to the fresher.

Steady drank the hydropack, and polished off a ration bar diligently but without enthusiasm. He was too tired and sore to be hungry.

Bacara didn’t have the same problem. After he returned from the sonic, he had finished two bars before he eyed Steady. “Saved two squads, and took down three tri-droids. Big day.”

Steady ducked his head. “Had help.”

Bacara reached out to squeeze Steady’s hand. “Good.”

Chapter Text

He’d been almost second cycle when he was pulled out of general training. At least, he was pretty sure it was almost second. That period of time was lacking in the usual benchmarks. He hadn’t been checked and tested and compared against the other cadets his age anymore because he had already been marked as specialized.

Those first days had been a tightrope between prideful hope and anxious dread. To be noticed by a trainer, to have a trainer’s full attention for any length of time - that was the best and worst any cadet could hope for. This was in the good way, he had told himself, and he could believe it most of the time in those days, except for lights out.

What had once meant a happy, tired stumble into a bunk to be joined by the warm bodies of his fellow cadets now meant laying alone on a makeshift cot in the corner of his trainer’s rooms. His trainer would get him a bunk assignment eventually, just had to find the right one. What would make it the right one was never clearly defined.

In that sleeping arrangement, lights out became more of a notion than a routine. His trainer stayed up far later, with a desk lamp on and a datapad in hand well into the sleeping hours, sometimes not even noticing as he’d put himself to bed punctually. Other nights, lights out would be a production, with reminders and supervision. There was no pattern, no discernible reason, for one night or the other, beyond whim.

As he’d grown, the cot had been replaced by a spare bunk or a temporary one with other cadets for only a night or two. By the time he’d made it into the field, and then into ARC training, bunkrooms of Vode didn’t feel the same. There was too much difference, too much distance.

There were times he’d found comfort packed into a crowded camp tent or sleeping shoulder to shoulder on a long march. 

This was different. These were grown commanders, a *marshal commander* no less, sharing a too-small bunk, warm under a patchwork blanket, and cozied by a hard fought victory. This soothed some part of him he didn’t know still existed, let alone would admit to existing. Steady didn’t want it to end. He lay as still as he could, and tried to absorb the warmth and security of the moment. 

“Sleep more,” Bacara huffed, placing a warm, broad hand on the back of Steady’s neck. “Still early.”

It was. Camp was never quiet, someone was always on shift, something was always in need of repair, but early hours before first duty shift, it was quieter. 

But Bacara had spoken, and that meant he was also awake. Steady didn’t even want to think about what the others would say about the shoveling, what sort of looks he would get from the rest of the command staff after being sent from the debrief. That was on him. He would have to face that as well. They were both awake. That meant Steady should get up, should return to his own bunk, should see to his armor, should–

The weak sun of Mygeeto might barely be clearing the foothills, but putting everything back to where it was before - before he disobeyed orders, before he was captured - wasn’t going to wait for a few more hours of sleep.

“Easy,” Bacara said, the hand on the back of Steady’s neck went kneading, and every bone-deep ache from the day before answered. “Can feel you winding yourself up.”

That was said with a rumble of warm humor, not censure. There was no denying Bacara was right, but Bacara still needed his sleep. Steady could wait until it was the right time to talk, wait until he was asked to explain himself. One thing his training had taught him well was how to live in pointed silences. This would be easy in comparison.

Steady intentionally relaxed his muscles, trying to return to the comfort of waking up. “Sorry, sir.”

“Not like that.” Bacara shifted himself around, still under the patchwork blanket but angled to see Steady. Bacara’s curls were a mess, his beard all flattened on one side. He looked sleep-rumpled and at ease, and Steady wanted to bury himself against him like a sniveling cadet. So much for imagining himself a dauntless Marine. “No ‘sir’ from you until we get out there.”

That order would be challenging, but there was a more pressing problem with the execution.

“What should…” How did Steady even ask that question? If he didn’t call Bacara ‘sir,’ everything else would be a presumption. 

“Bacara?” He offered with a bit of a smile lingering around his eyes. “Tat?”

“Or’tat?” Steady asked, his voice too soft, too questioning. 

Bacara went still as he said it, but Steady didn’t want to take it back and say he didn’t mean it.

“I would like that.” Bacara gave the back of Steady’s neck a comforting squeeze. “Tat’ka.”

Steady nodded, feeling like it was the night before all over again, and everything was too much, too real all at once. Bacara pulled him in, tucking Steady’s head under his chin, and Steady gave in and clung to him just like a cadet would.

Bacara smoothed a hand down Steady’s back, strong fingers careful on still-aching bruises. “Sleep, tat’ka.”

Steady nodded, eyes drifting shut for just a little bit more rest.

*

It was a perfectly acceptable hour of the morning when Marshal Commander and Commander arrived at the medical tent. Together - all but shoulder bells touching as they entered. Keller double checked the chrono. Unless the kark up of the night before lasted well past o’dark thirty, they had both had a perfectly acceptable rest cycle.

Meaning that both might have even managed the correct number of hours of bunk time for a trooper post-engagement. That would have been a Windfall Miracle. Keller narrowed his eyes at the pair, trying to appraise the vibes. 

By the time Keller and Krestor had walked back from the mess, there’d been no al’verdika waiting on his Marshal Commander/ori’vod/hero/buir-figure to pat him on the bucket. Just two shovels parked in snow, and every Marine still awake repeating the kid had been sent to shovel, further details unclear.

Keller eyed both critically before nodding them over to empty beds. Daan stepped to one cot, and without a moment of hesitation, Bacara moved to that one. 

They could talk about that later.

Bacara likely wasn’t the very worst when it came to treatment, but he couldn’t have been far off. He rarely dodged his CMO so blatantly anymore. Still, Keller had stood in the post-briefing with him, had subconsciously checked him over while their Marshal Commander made his bad life choices. Beyond known issues, he was probably fine. The kid, however….

Steady was neatly stacking off his kit as Keller approached. 

“Any issues with your post-checks last night?” Keller tried not to make it sound accusing. Or at least as accusing as it would be other times. There was an after-action process, and it was in place for good reason. Still, Keller knew there were extenuating circumstances.

“No, sir.” Steady nodded over to his kit. “Gear needs some work, that’s all.” 

Despite that, the young commander peeled down his blacks to reveal the kind of bruising most any vod would be proud to show off to an admiring cluster.

“No?” Keller repeated, tempted to poke one of the purple-blue spots to prove his point. He doubted the kid would gratify him with an appropriately rewarding reaction. “Then what’s all this?”

“Came off a speeder.”

Keller had been at this job a long time, so he’d had years to appreciate an explanation so artfully phrased. For a change, he didn’t think the trooper in question was trying to make his job difficult. Steady hadn’t put in to the mission report yet, and Keller had to assume that it would make for an entertaining read. “I see.”

“Was getting out of range after placing the detonators.” Steady tolerated the range of motion check without any overt grumbling and fussing. A rarity for Marines, if Keller was honest. “Hit something.”

“Something.” Keller repeated, as much to keep the commander distracted as to make sure there was nothing medically relevant left out.

“Never saw it. Landed in a snow drift.” Steady’s attention flicked over to the Marine, like he was worried Bacara might overhear. “Bacara checked me over last night.”

Interesting. Keller hummed noncommittally, and continued his work. Whatever had happened between the two, things had settled. Most fevers broke on their own when the time came, and all that medic wisdom osik.

“That’s something at least.” Keller let the point drop, because the two of them patching things up was good for the kid in ways even bacta wouldn’t fix. He finished his check - no sign of lasting damage.

“Refuelled and hydrated?” Keller ran an extra scan to check for potential concussion.

“Last night.” Steady’s attention darted over to Baraca again, like he worried the Marine wouldn’t be in the next cot. “We are heading to the mess next.”

We sounded surprisingly easy after all the tension the night before.

“Cleared,” Keller said, narrowly avoiding a comforting pat on a particularly bruised shoulder. “Fuel up, and get that gear looked at.”

“Yes, sir.” Steady slipped off the cot to stand at parade rest by the door, waiting on his CO. Bacara would tell Keller later, or he wouldn’t, but at least for the moment, things were good.

*

The mess didn’t fall silent when they walked in.

It did noticeably hush for a moment.

The thing about spending most of a war holding one planet with the same body of troopers was everything stuck. That time Crags caught his toe during a downhill march and went boots over bucket. When Jacks and Aran threw a hovercart out of gear while doing blaster maintenance, and crashed into the comms tent. So many more and that didn’t even start on the troopers who were marine-famous for mishaps. The stories were so well known, they had made it all the way to the Marshal Commander’s ear.

When they weren’t being actively shot at, starved out, or frozen solid, marines didn’t have much to do but gossip. Which meant it only stood to assume every trooper in the mess, and most every one that wasn’t, had already heard about his mistake, and Steady’s unjust punishment. 

Bacara couldn’t take it back, and he wouldn’t shame Steady by addressing it publicly, but that didn’t mean he could ignore the weight of the mistake. Yes, he had acted as he believed was right, but without the self-examination and dispassionate judgement any commander should exercise, not to even speak of marshal commanders. Add on that he had not sought or listened to the advisement of his command team–

Steady gave his wrist a quick squeeze, between the handplate and bracer. “I’ll bring trays.”

The tat’ka was giving him the opportunity to pick seats. To choose the level of engagement. More generous than the kid ought to be, really. It wasn’t that simple, and Bacara knew it. This wasn’t a vod who he realized he’d misjudged. Steady was like him, and Bacara was pretty sure the kid would be willing to go too far just to have an or’tat in the galaxy who recognized his existence. Bacara would have to do better by him.

He took a seat far closer to the center of the tent than he ever normally would. A cluster had just gotten up so there wasn’t a crowd at the table, but it was clear he wasn’t hiding. That should be sufficient. 

Bacara had barely sat long enough to check his wristcom when he felt movement across the table. He looked up to see Sharp, and two of his Dogs flanking him.

“Sir.” Sharp saluted. “May we join you?”

Bacara nodded once, and he didn’t need to look around to know the whole room was riveted.

“Captain,” Bacara began. “Are we sharing first meal or was there something you wanted to discuss?” 

The question flashed emotion on Sharp’s face. Of course there was something to discuss. Bacara wasn’t going to waste time getting there. He might be Steady’s or’tat, but if the kid had an ori’vod, that would be Sharp. The Captain hadn’t attended the command debrief.

“You sent Steady to shovel?” The question was both disbelieving and accusing, Sharp’s elbows braced on the tabletop as he leaned in. 

“He did.” Steady said from behind Bacara, before setting a tray in front of him. “For disobeying orders. As is a Marshal Commander’s right.” Steady took his seat next to Bacara, knocking his handplate against his companionably.

Sharp watched them both, and Bacara could see the calculation running. 

“The matter has been resolved.” Bacara deeply wanted that to be true. “And the Commander will return to the field on our next engagement.” 

Steady’s gaze jumped to Bacara, and maybe he should have had that conversation with the commander in question first. Bacara hadn’t assigned Steady to comms as punishment, only to protect him, but they were better with the kid in the field, and Steady had proven that. The kid hid a smile behind his mug of caf.

“Baati will do well.” Steady agreed mildly, digging into his meal. “Comms is a very important job.”

“Right then.” Sharp looked between Steady and Bacara before sitting back and nodding to the Dogs. “Enjoy your meal.”

Fixer and Jark clapped Sharp on the back as they passed, and the three Devil Dogs headed out of the mess.

“They didn’t know, sir.” Steady began, all of the causal indifference dropped. The title caught Bacara unexpectedly. “Of course they were out of line but–”

“It’s good.” Bacara scruffed Steady to comfort him, like he had before dawn. “Good they look out for you.”

*

“What can I do for you, commander?” Rothax called out, head poked out from behind a stack of gear crates. “Commanders,” he corrected himself.

The armorer’s entire demeanor was easy and open as he went about his work. He and Bacara stood with helmets under their arms, waiting for Rothax to free himself up. In the meantime, there was no stealing thoughtful glances, no looks of veiled reproach at either of them. Either someone had already shared that they had eaten breakfast together, or Rothax was very determinedly not taking sides. 

He set a crate of bits set for recycling on the work top. “Repairs or replacements?” 

“Repairs.” Steady began to strip off his cracked vambrace. “If you have the time.” He moved on to the chipped cuisse. Chipped might be an understatement, there was a bite bigger than his thumb taken out of it. That would be a bother to patch.

“Backplate,” Rothax said, and Steady’s head snapped up at the command in the tone. “Give that here. Have you really been going around like that?”

“Shameful.” Bacara agreed, behind the hand stroking at his beard to hide his laugh.

“A Commander I armored, walking around like that.” Rothax adjusted his goggles. “Won’t stand, let me tell you.”

“Obviously.” Bacara was just egging him on.

Steady took off his front and back, inspecting the back for anything egregious. There was a spider web of stress-fracturing around the upper curve, but that had been there for months. Though being thrown off a speeder likely didn’t help.

“Might as well put your helmet here too.” Rothax waved to the workbench. “What else have you been wearing around that still doesn’t fit you?”

Steady wasn’t sure how to answer that. It wasn’t a difficult question, but it wasn’t a simple answer. Most armor was too small for him. That was a consequence of being bigger than standard. After a moment of debate, Steady handed over his pauldrons and upper arms. That was the worst of it, really. 

“Not the thighs?” Bacara asked, and Steady was certain he’d had his own refit custom, because they didn’t seem to bite into his quads. “Or the shins?

Rothax came around the worktable, and without ceremony attempted to test the non-existent gap between his armor and his calf muscle. “Right then. Why don’t we have you down to your blacks, Commander.”

“Unnecessary–” Steady began, but Bacara was already bringing over a pair of empty bins. 

“While we’re here,” Bacara agreed, handing one bin to Steady and stripping down to his own blacks.

“Once I see what needs a full replacement, we can begin the fitting.” Rothax explained, as Steady found himself down to his blacks and bootliners.

Bacara had kept his boots and his comm unit, but everything else was in a bin. Which meant, Steady had to assume this was acceptable, even if there was a long list of tasks awaiting Bacara’s attention as well as his own.

“Take a seat, and then we can talk about colors.”

“Colors?” Steady repeated, blankly. He wore the kama Seventeen had handed him on Kamino, but other than that, his gear was standard. It was only practical in a frozen climate. None of the marines were particularly expressive with their armor paint. “Armor is white.”

“True white, cool white, pearl white…” Rothax went on. “Mist white, ultra white, frost white…”

“Important decisions,” Bacara agreed, tapping away on his comm and kicking his bad knee out toward the heater. 

“Armor is all the same.” Steady was at least mostly sure. It had never looked different, at least. 

“True white, for me.” Bacara hummed.

“The young ones are wild for frost white these days,” Rothax countered from back by his forge. “Pearl is underrated, if you ask me.”

The tent flap swung open and Steady hoped for rescue. 

“Hey Rothax, any luck finding a second dove white cuisse?” Bossi asked cheerfully, before turning to the commanders in surprise. “Ah, hope it’s not intruding. A bunch of us have parts requests in.”

Bacara gestured to the heater. Bossi sat, joined within moments by a half-dozen other troopers on their off-cycle. Steady found himself packed in between Sten and Bacara, warmed by the company, the heater, and the spiced drink in his hand. 

“And that’s lace white,” Deadeye explained, holding his pauldron next to Sten’s, “compared to arctic white.”

“They are all the same,” Steady repeated, though he was becoming less and less sure.

“Guess they didn’t check you for color blindness on Kamino.” Bossi winked. “We’ll make sure you get painted up right, and we won’t tell anyone, Commander.” 

Bacara was hiding his smile behind his mug, Steady was sure of it.