Epilogue IV: Call of the Mockingbird

"Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all."

- Emily Dickinson

Eyat Command Base, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (33 days after the first bombing & 18 months after the Battle of Geonosis)

Wren stood in Gaff's office, in front of his desk, at something that vaguely resembled an at-ease stance, while the noob commander went over his report one more time.

Wren knew - and Gaff knew that Wren knew - that the report was as per regulation and that Gaff already knew it by heart. All clones had a photographic memory; Gaff was just trying to make his authority felt by making Wren stand before him like a propped up broom. The shiny had gotten uppity in the days since the riots.

"Well, Sergeant, everything appears to be in order."

Wren looked down his nose at Gaff, his expression one of barbed tolerance. He'd been nice so far - or as close as he ever got to nice - on account that he'd only gotten out of the fekking bacta tank a karking hour ago. The sedatives he'd been given for his five day bacta bath would take a while longer to completely flush out of his system and until then, he was what passed for him as mellow. But that didn't mean Wren wasn't going to break the shiny's neck if he took this dance of rank and regs one step further.

"How kriffing fortunate for us all."

Gaff glanced up at him and Wren thought he saw a little moue flash across the rookie's face.

Well, his day's work was complete.

"I see you are fully recovered from your injuries and back to your normal self, Sergeant."

Wren lifted the corner of his mouth in something that was not a smile. "Why don't we just fekking skip the pleasantries and get the kriff down to business. What the frag do you want, Gaff?"

Gaff put down the datapad, the moue now a full-blown frown. "Some respect, for one."

Wren crossed his arms over his chest, beginning to enjoy himself. Maybe the shiny commander didn't know his proper place in life - preferably under Wren's boot heel - but Wren would enjoy the task of putting him there.

"Damn. We're all out. Take it up with fekking Supplies."

A slight flush tinged Gaff's cheeks, but he managed to keep from becoming flustered, as he'd done the first time he'd encountered Wren's attitude. "Keep it up, Sergeant, and I'll confine you to your quarters."

Wren let out an amused bark. "You're threatening to ground me?"

That garnered him a look of puzzlement from the rookie. For all that he'd been stationed on Gaftikar for a good two months, Gaff still wasn't all that familiar with civvy slang.

Abruptly, Wren's amusement over this confrontation faded, to be replaced by a bone-deep weariness. Suddenly he wanted out; out of this office, off of this base and as far away from this miserable mudcrutch Rimmer and its fraggin' civvies as was galactically possible.

Bracing himself on the desk, he leaned towards Gaff, ready to bring this interview to an end. "Don't think that one semi-successful fekking mission entitles you to wearing the big boy armor, shiny."

Instead of backing away, Gaff held his ground and raised an eyebrow in what was almost insolence. "General Arhen seems to think otherwise. F Company has received its marching orders. We are now part of General Arhen's 49th Blazer Corps." There was no mistaking the smugness in Gaff's voice. "As soon as the new envoy arrives, we are shipping out to the Arda system, to support General Koth and his men."

For a moment, Wren couldn't quite process the words. When they did fully register, he felt something in his chest kick-start. F Company was leaving Gaftikar with General Arhen - and he was still trying to get used to the concept of anything related to Ro as an officer - and that meant his assignment was over. He could leave.

"And my orders?" he demanded.

"Haven't come in yet." Gaff leaned back in his chair and Wren didn't like the manner in which the commander was studying him. There was a speculative edge in Gaff's eyes that did not bode well for him.

"What the fek are you talking about? My kriffing assignment was to train you noobs. If you're effing leaving, then I'm going back to the 35th." He was still technically a part of that unit and the latest scuttlebutt had the 35th Infantry heading to Ryloth. Wren wouldn't mind a posting there; for one, the fighting was said to be heavy and vicious. For another, the local freedom fighters were supposedly made up of a good number of females, who were in no way disinclined towards the clone troopers.

"Commander Levet hasn't requested your return to his unit."

The words were like nails driven into a coffin and Wren could feel his chance of escaping this planet slipping through his fingers with every syllable.

"Then what the fek am I supposed to do?" Wren demanded in exasperation and growing desperation. "Just sit here and recalibrate my Deece?"

Gaff was doing a piss-poor job of disguising the fact that he was enjoying the chance of making Wren squirm for once.

"By all accounts that's something you're quite good at."

At any other time, Wren might have - might have - found Gaff's little side trip into biting sarcasm amusing, but right now, he'd much rather strangle the rookie until he was blue in the face. And beyond.

"Keep it up, Gaff," Wren hissed, "and only one of us is walking out of this fekking office with all his fraggin' bones intact. Now what the kark do you know?"

Gaff bristled, obviously stung in his new-found commander's pride, but Wren didn't miss the shift of his eyes and the cautious manner in which he studied Wren. Gaff might be a shiny, but he wasn't stupid enough to think he could take Wren in a one-on-one.

"For all I know," Gaff said waspishly, "you'll be shipped back to the 35th."

Wren raised an eyebrow, getting to the end of his limited patience. "However..." he prompted.

"However," Gaff continued, "the envoy sent by the Naboo Diplomatic Corps has forwarded a personal request. Along with members of the Agri Corps, he'll be arriving with his own security detail and would like someone from F Company to act as guide and advisor to his party."

No. Absolutely kriffing not.

Spend his days acting as some advisor to mongrel guards who didn't know the first thing about security? Remain on this fek-forsaken planet for the benefit of diplomats and Jedi wash-outs waving their hands over weeds? Have nothing better to pit his skills against than the last remnants of the GFH?

Coldness washed over him at the idea, chilling his mind and a single thought crystallized with perfect clarity. I'll eat plasma before that happens. He would not be forced to endure such endless days of grey tedium.

Wordlessly, he pushed off the desk and left the office, not bothering with a parting shot, let alone asking to be dismissed.

His hands itched and he clenched them tight against the urge to drive his fists into the wall until they were broken and bleeding. Despair at his future prospects was quickly turning into rage, but he was not about to lose it in front of Gaff or a corridor full of shinies and Blazer Corps troopers.

Wren shouldered his way through the crowd roughly - with the addition of Blazer Corps' men, things had gotten a bit crowded at the base - ignoring the protests and occasional insult volleyed his way by General Arhen's men. F Company's rookies knew better than to get in his way.

He burst out onto the parade grounds, feeling his temples hammer and a buzz rise in his ears as he got ever closer to his breaking point.

Commander Levet hadn't asked for his return and the Nabooian diplomat had requested someone familiar with the lay of the land. It was pretty obvious which way this was going to go.

A flash of color caught his attention and he looked over to where the Mockingbird rested in one corner of the landing pad, surrounded and partly obscured by LAATs and a single Jedi starfighter. The sun gleamed off of the mongrel ship's curved wings, making it appear as if it was ready to flex its wings and fly away. Compared to the bulkier larties, the Mockingbird was sleek, giving the impression of speed and deadliness.

He'd heard of the ship's escapade during a brief trip to the mess hall and company 'freshers after getting out of bacta. Wren thought he would have liked to see the strange ship in action, swooping down on the crinking karks who'd tried to take the base.

Bet she's a sweet ride.

There was a flurry of activity on the other side of the parade grounds, distracting Wren from his contemplation of the mongrel ship. A quick glance in that direction showed a platoon of troopers, all wearing Blazer Corps' flaming star insignia and the corps' maroon piping, gathering in formation on the grounds. Three lieutenants stepped forward, with their men neatly aligned behind them, while another officer - this one clearly decked out in the markings of a clone marshal commander - walked the ranks.

Snap inspection.

The sight of all that military precision set his teeth back on edge and drove out any lingering thoughts of admiration concerning the Mockingbird.

He hated them. He hated them all, for their obedience to orders; their blind compliance; the conformity to which they surrendered so happily.

The tendons in his hands creaked as he clenched them hard enough to feel the bite of his fingernails against his palms, even through the gloves.

He'd never been a part of that. He was an ARC; bred for more than these grunts could ever hope to achieve. Bred for independence. And yet he was condemned to muck along right beside them.

Despite being dead, despite having been defeated by his most hated enemy - the Jedi - Jango Fett was still managing to make Wren's life a misery.

No matter what I do, the old kark still has the last laugh.

And it would never end. Not until Wren was slotted in battle - or until he took care of the matter himself, as Thrush had.

Turning his back on the inspection and the base, Wren disappeared into the surrounding forest, automatically dodging the perimeter guard and circumventing the new security measures. He was gone like a ghost and no one ever noticed.

One of the first things that Ro noticed was a sad lack of cookies about the base - and one grumpy cookie in particular.

No matter how deeply she delved into the Force, there was no distinctive feel of lightning and sharp akk teeth in the vicinity.

Ro blew out a breath, her bangs flying out of her eyes.

"Typical masc," she muttered. "When you want him, he's just not around."

Some of the troopers passing her in the corridor shot her curios looks and the Force about her tingled with the feeling, like she was swimming through a lake of fizzer-sweet powder. They might have been staring at her because she was standing in the middle of a busy corridor like a defective traffic robo and talking to herself to boot. Of course, the brightly colored crocheted bantha wool dress she was wearing might have had something to do with that as well.

It was one of her favorite dresses, but one look at Garett's face when she'd walked into the communications center and Ro knew her brother had, finally, found something he and Eda could agree on. Her adoptive mother wasn't a fan of this particular dress either. In fact, Eda was of the strong opinion that allowing Ro to shop for herself should be a capital crime.

Or every armored masc in the building's just curios about what kind of thermal their general's kid sis is.

Well, it wasn't the first time she'd made a spectacle of herself in public and it probably wouldn't be the last. The point was, at this moment, she was decidedly cookieless and she wasn't about to stand for it.

"But what to do, what to do?" She turned once around her own axis, then decided first-thing-first. She wanted something sweet before she tackled the grumpy. "Mess hall," she decided and put thought into action, threading her way through the busy throngs with a skip in her step that garnered her a few more odd stares. At least no one was saluting her. The novelty of that had worn off pretty quickly.

Given the fact that there were three Republic ships in orbit - one cruiser and two frigates - the mess hall was surprisingly empty; not empty as in no one there, but more along the lines of un-crowded. There were actually a few tables that stood empty and those troopers here for a meal didn't have to jostle elbows with their neighbors when getting a seat.

Much to her amusement, her entrance caused a bit of a stir in the mess. Conversations ceased for a few telling seconds as the troopers caught sight of her and elbowed those with their backs turned to the door.

Curiosity mingling with astonishment, caused a nervous energy to run through her. From other quarters she sensed a distinct flavoring of attraction and tossed back her thick mane of blue-blond hair, flashing a smile in that direction in appreciation. It never hurt to play to ones audience.

Of course, you couldn't please everyone.

As she walked through the aisles of tables towards the servery, she could also feel tendrils of antipathy and disapproval brush against her, like bothersome cobwebs. Some of the men did not, apparently, find her style to their taste, a fact that Ro shrugged off easily. She'd faced down worse than the silent criticism of a few soldiers.

She didn't bother with studying the menu, but went right up to the serving droid, grabbing a plate and tray as she did so. Luckily, there was no one in line at the moment.

"Desert, please," she told the droid.

The droid regarded her with two very big eyes that protruded slightly from its cylindrical head. Its many arms were busy with chopping, stirring and kneading various things.

"We respectfully refuse all service to non-military personnel," it told her cheekily. "Please remove yourself to the next available civilian eatery."

"I'm no civvy," she objected.

"You're not tall enough to be a clone," the droid pointed out and went right on with its business of preparing whatever it was that was the special of the day.

Ro narrowed her eyes at the droid, hearing excited whispers start up behind her. Anticipation mounted like an incoming tide; these men were eager for a confrontation.

She rapped her knuckles against the permaglass that separated diner from the brown mess and mashed up vegetables that were steaming on heated trays in front of the serving droid.

"Last chance, tinny," Ro told the droid cheerfully. "I'm on a mission and in need of a double dose of the sugary kind, ASAP. So hand over the after-dinner delight and no one gets disassembled."

The droid didn't really have anything resembling a face, but the manner in which it peered at Ro definitely conveyed a sense of scorn. "Idle threats will not get you your way, diminutively-built organic."

Ro smiled brightly. "Now who said anything about idle?"

When Gaff walked into the mess, he was instantly aware of the silence. It was, he realized, not the silence of men weary from a hard days work or who were concentrating on their food to the exclusion of all else, even conversing with a neighbor.

No, this was the kind of silence that was generally created by men who'd just been up to their blasters in something they knew their CO wouldn't approve of and were trying to cover up the fact.

Gaff scanned the mess, but couldn't find anything immediately amiss. There were no troopers trying to hide a blossoming bruise or quickly covered stains from spilled food and upturned trays, so that ruled out a fight.

He narrowed his eyes at the assembled troopers, most of whom had jumped to their feet and saluted at his appearance. "Gentlemen." He greeted them with a nod. "As you were."

Everyone sat, but the chatter was slow in starting up. A quick glance at some of the troopers present from his company showed averted eyes and reddened faces, as if his men were barely able to contain shouts or bursts of laughter.

Still, the majority of troopers currently in the mess hall were from the 49th and while Commander O'sic had informed him that he and F Company were joining Blazer Corps only that morning, the announcement hadn't gone through official channels yet. He outranked every man here, but he wasn't their commander and ordering one of them to explain himself wouldn't be prudent. Nor did he want to single out one of his men in front of troopers who were still relative strangers, but who would soon be brothers-in-arms.

But he still kept a wary eye out for clues as he walked to the servery for a cup of caf. That interview with Wren had left a slightly sour taste in his mouth. Though he'd gotten in a few good parting shots, he hadn't really derived any enjoyment out of the confrontation. Sergeant Wren needed to learn his place, but Gaff didn't enjoy dressing down a man, let alone stooping to Wren's level of disrespect and biting sarcasm. Still, it seemed to be the only thing that ever got through the sergeant's thick skull.

He leaned on the counter, opening his mouth to order some caf from the serving droid...

...and up popped Ro from beneath the counter like a sand burrower rushing up from its nest.

"Shab!" Gaff jumped back in surprise, his heartbeat picking up drastically in surprise.

"Heyla, Gaff," Ro greeted him, a big grin on her pretty face. "Did you just curse? Shame on you; that ain't in your pay grade. Officers are supposed to be clean enough to eat off of."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, hearing snickers coming from behind, but he was simply too surprised to be embarrassed.

"R-Ro! What are you doing here?"

Ro raised her pale eyebrows in amusement. "Talking to you, silly."

"I mean, behind the counter. Where's the serving droid?" He looked about, only now noticing the droid's absence.

"Droid?" Ro made her eyes go wide and her voice took on a sweet, innocent tone that even Gaff could tell was contrived. "What droid?"

More snickers from the listening troopers and Gaff was beginning to have a bad feeling about this. "The serving droid on duty for the mess." Again, he scanned the space behind the servery, but he couldn't spot the clanker anywhere.

"Hmmm." Ro glanced about as well, then shrugged. "Guess it went the way of the desert."

"I beg your pardon?"

"As you should." She propped her fists on her hips, which drew his attention to those particular curves and the way in which they were highlighted by the close fit of the dress she wore. It was bright, colorful - almost eye-smartingly so - but it suited her in a way he could not define. It just seemed so...Ro. This time, he did blush as he realized he'd been staring.

Oblivious of his inappropriate scrutiny - or perhaps kindly ignoring the fact that his eyes had strayed to where they had no business being - Ro continued, outrage clear in her voice. "Do you know there's not a crumb or chip of a cookie in this entire base? Not a smidgen! What do they feed you to grow you so tall, if not good, healthy sugar?"

"Well, there's..." He tried to gesture at the mysterious brown half-liquid bubbling in one of the trays, but Ro wasn't finished.

"Cookies are one of the vital five food groups. What nutritionist don't know that? I have a full mind to go have a chatter with Master Yoda."

Horrified at the mere prospect - and the sinking suspicion that she would take it up with the High General - he tried to intervene. "No, Ro, that's truly not necessary. We are fed."

She gave him a calculating look, as if trying to measure up the extent of his sanity. "What food?"

He pointed wordlessly at the trays before her.

Ro blinked. "That's food? Holy crumblebuns, I was way off. I thought this was what you were throwing at the Separatists for ammo."

Someone tried to turn a laugh into a cough and almost choked as a result. Gaff threw a censoring look over his shoulder and the mess hall went quiet once more, but none of the troopers were leaving their seats, though he could see that several had finished their meals already.

"Well, I'll take your word for it." And she waved it off. "But I will be talking to Garett. No deserts! That's a crime against decency, humanity and culinary taste buds. Now, how may I serve you?"

He felt his face flush a deeper crimson at her wording. How was it that she could bring about such a drastic change in him? Just a moment ago he'd gone toe-to-toe with one of the most difficult and aggravating troopers in the GAR and didn't break a sweat. But five minutes of talking with Ro and he was reduced to a blushing fool, unable to say a single intelligent thing.

"I-I was just..." He cleared his throat. "Wanting some caf."

She brightened. "I can do that." And much to his horror, she actually began bustling about, picking up a mug and gliding up and down the countertops, hunting for a fresh pot of caf. "No, no, Ro, you don't have to do that. That's the droid's job..."

He didn't know what was worse; blushing in front of her and his men or being served by a Jedi.

"Nonsense," she said airily and poured him the caf. She shot a look his way over her shoulder, eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "I'd saaayyyyy...you take it with sweetener."

A little stunned, he nodded. "That's right. How did you know?" He still wasn't comfortable with the idea of having her - a Jedi, technically his superior and the sister of his new general - serve him, but he also felt pleased at the fact that she knew how he liked his caf. He didn't know why, but it was a pleasant feeling and when she handed him the mug and their fingers brushed against one another as he took it, he didn't pull away.

After all, the touch had been accidental and therefore perfectly permissible. Right?

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"No problem." She leaned on her elbows, watching him and, feeling very conspicuous, he took a sip of the caf.

"It's...good," he said lamely.

"I'm glad. So, what's got you in such a good mood? Can't possibly be the chow."

"How did you..."

She tapped one temple and he felt even more foolish. Of course. She was a Jedi; Jedi could tell such things.

"I had a conference with Commander O'sic this morning."

"Oh?" She visibly perked up at this and he felt another flush of pleasure. He was used to people paying attention when he spoke, but those self-same people were his subordinates and though some were also friends and brothers, Ro's attentiveness was something different entirely. And he found he liked it. "Had a good commo?"

"Eh, yes." Self-conscious again, he cleared his throat. It was not his place to spread the news of F Company's new assignment; as highest ranking officer, except for General Arhen, that was Commander O'sic's prerogative. Technically, he shouldn't even have revealed as much to Wren, but Gaff knew the sergeant wasn't one for spreading rumors; for one, he didn't have anyone to spread them to.

Ro seemed to have picked up on his reluctance to talk further about the subject, because her face fell with disappointment. "Classified above brass level?" she asked and sighed. "Too bad. I love a good gossip." She eyed the full mess thoughtfully, then snapped her fingers in inspiration. "Got a perfect think."

With the agility of a squall, she vaulted over the servery and much to his surprise and delight, she linked her arm with his. "Follow closely," she told him with a wink. "We'll exit stage right and step into my office."

"Office?" he asked, bemused at this latest twist in their conversation.

Instead of answering, she hummed a jaunty tune.

Just before exiting the mess hall with Gaff in tow, Ro gave the commander a slight push. "You go ahead, I've got one last thing to account for."

Gaff looked back at her, puzzled, and only went as far as the door, before stopping to wait for her.

Good enough for Ro.

She quickly hunkered down at a table about half-way between the servery and the door, grinning at its occupants. They were all men from F Company and she knew most of them by name. Ro gently poked the nearest trooper, Notch. "Do me a favor," she half-whispered, so that only this table's occupants could hear.

Notch grinned back, an expression mirrored by his partner, Fince, and the rest of the men. "Sure thing, Padawan. We live to serve."

"I'll keep it mind." She winked playfully at them, then pointed her thumb over her shoulder, back in the direction of the servery. "Now be a dear laddy and let that serving droid out of the freezer. I think it's learned its lesson."

Mekk snickered and about the only one still with a halfway serious expression on his face was dour Ezec and even his lips were slightly curling up at the corners.

"Should we reattach its serving arm, Padawan?" Mekk asked.

Ro gave this some consideration. "Nah. Leave it sticking in the gravy. It'll improve the taste and be a reminder for the tinny to be silent, if it can't say nothing nice."

Most of the men lost the battle for keeping a straight face and burst into laughter.

Ro grinned as well, delighted by this streak of devilment in them all. They'd enjoyed the show she'd put on, taking on that serving droid and not a one of them had tried to stop her. She got up and skipped back to Gaff, who was watching the mess like he was looking for a trap, his eyes going again and again to Notch's table, where the men were still fighting to get themselves under control.

"Anything I should know about?" Gaff asked. She could practically taste his trepidation at her possible answer.

Ro tucked him along, talking as she walked. "Better question would be, is this something you want to know about?"

This had apparently not occured to him and Ro watched some of the color drain from his face. Poor Gaff. I should go more easy on him. Gaff wasn't Wren, after all and she should remember to curb some of her teasing.

"Ro, where are we going?"

"To my office," she repeated and stopped.

He looked around, confused, then realized where they were. "Ro..." They were standing in front of the much-abused storage closet. "We can go to my office."

"Nonsense." Giggling, she opened the door and pushed Gaff inside, quickly hurrying after him and closing the door behind them. She leaned against it, grinning wickedly. "This is far too much fun to resist."

He turned about in the small space, looking about helplessly. "Ro, this is very inappropriate."

"Of course it is. That's the whole point. You. Me. A masc. A fem. A tiny space to share." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and delighted in the blush that burned his cheeks. "Now. Sit, sit. I want to hear everything." Well, she had never denied that she was nosy.

Gaff caved with a resigned sigh, looking about for a place to sit and settling for leaning against some empty wall space.

"So, what did O'sic have to say?" she prompted.

"Commander O'sic," he said with obvious relish, "has informed me this morning that F Company will become a part of Blazer Corps."

"Really? Oh, Gaff, that's wonderful!" She clapped her hands together in absolute delight. "I always knew my brother had excellent taste. Thank the Force he finally proved me right."

He smiled at her shyly and she could feel his own delight like sunshine fracturing over a fresh snowfield; both at the news and her reaction. "It is a great honor. Commander O'sic and General Arhen have made quite the impression these past four days."

"I bet." She couldn't help the grin that came to her face. Garett made the kind of impression that wasn't one, whereas she tended to blow people right out of space. Most of the time, most sentients preferred Garett's way of impression making. "I figured the three of you would hit it off."

"Yes." He looked down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the rim of his helmet. "Perhaps...we will work together again, you and I."

Oh. Ro brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling some of her amusement fade. Things you put off tended to come back to bite you in the exhaust port and she'd been putting off having this talk with Gaff for a while now. She hated bursting people's hydrostatic bubble, but it wasn't fair to leave him in the belief that she felt anything more for him than friendship.

"I'd like that, too, but I don't think it's going to happen often. I'm not really in the armor-solidarity-uniformity business, even with this new deal and that's kind of Garett's thing now."

He blinked. "New deal?"

"Eh." She scratched her head, a little embarrassed. "Guess I've got a bit of news myself. I'm...joining the GAR. I'm a commander now. Wowzer, that sounds strange out loud."

And by the way he was looking at her, it sounded strange to him as well. "I-I didn't expect that."

"Neither did I," she admitted. "It just seemed logical at the time."

"Well, then let me be the first to congratulate you. Commander." He straightened, throwing her as jaunty a salute as was possible in the confined quarters of the closet.

She smiled, but she honestly felt more embarrassed than honored by the gesture. "Please don't do that. I only wanted the brass so's I could go after the big rats with bigger cannons at my back."

"But that's wonderful news." The smile on his face was growing ever wider. "We could be assigned to the same battle group. I'm sure General Arhen..."

"Would be horrified," she finished quickly. "Trust me, Gaff, Garett and me adore the stuffing out of each other, but we're not really the type to work together in close quarters. It's a driving up the nearest convenient wall kind of thing. And," she took a deep breath, knowing this was going to hurt, but fudge, there was just no good way to give the 'lets be friends' speech, "I think the same applies to me and you."

She could see his face fall by increments, with every word she said. That glowing specter of delight and burgeoning hope was quickly being eclipsed by a growing sense of disappointment. "I thought..." he hesitated, looking down again and this time in chagrin. "I thought we worked well together."

"We do," she hurried to assure him. "It's just, we work well together, just not...together. You handled this crisis stellar on your end and I worked the bit on my end and together, our efforts got the hunt done. But...Gaff, be honest with yourself." She sunk down onto her bottom, to sit on the floor. "You're a straight shooter, Gaff, who walks the line. I don't even know where the line is. You get things done by the regs and most of the time, I can't even find the regs."

This wasn't helping. The Force was drawing in tight around Gaff, like a protective shell against the truth.

Ah, monkey feathers. But she might as well keep going. "I'd drive you thermal within the week, Gaff. Or wear you out to the bones with you trying to keep up with my latest insanity. Garett knows that. That's why he and me don't work together and for the same thinks, me and you shouldn't be sharing the duty roster."

"I see." He was stony-faced now, but he could no more hide his feelings from her than a purple polka-dotted gundark could hide on Hoth at high noon. Disappointment was slowly but steadily creeping towards crushed and a mounting sense of frustration.

"Gaff," she reached forward to take his hand in hers, "I do like you. As a friend." Oh wowzer, that just sounds crummy no matter how you say it. "And believe me that's no small thing, 'cause I don't actually got that many friends." She squeezed his hand. "Please tell me you'll be my friend."

"I will, Ro," he said and though she sensed the sincerity behind the words, he was grounding them out like shards of permaglass. "I'd be honored to be...your friend. I just thought..." He cut off what he'd been about to say.

"You thought we could be more."

He didn't want to talk about this; didn't want his tender hopes aired in front of her, but she knew if they really were to be friends, they had to talk about this. All of it.

"Gaff, I know you're...sweet on me." At his shocked expression, she hurried to explain. "It's not like you've been acting like a love-lorn selky puppy. Not at all. It's just...I'm a Force-empath; I can't not know. But it's because of that, that I also know that what you're feeling for me, right now, it's just so much gossamer on the wind. It's not the real thing, Gaff and if you'd ever been around someone up to their hearts in love, you'd know that."

His entire face, all the way down to his neck, had turned crimson at the word "love". He tried to tug his hand away, mortified beyond all sense, but she wouldn't let go and she didn't try to soothe him through the Force. Let him feel his feelings and work through them. The experience, she hoped, would be good for him.

"I-I would never presume..."

"You should," she countered. "You're a great guy and some organic out there is going to be over the moons and stars to have you."

He studied her, trying to detect signs of deceit, but she was as earnest in this as she'd ever been about anything in her life. He was a sweet, wonderful man and she had her own private thoughts about who would suit him, but meddling in other people's love life was not something she did. She might nudge, but in this case, he'd already been put in the right position to find happiness - in her humble opinion.

"But not you." He still sounded so forlorn when he said it, though he tried to hide it from her.

"No," she said slowly and hid her own pain from him. "Not me." Not for anybody. But she couldn't explain that to him.

They sat there for a few more minutes, not saying anything, but still holding hands; each struggling with their own sort of grief over this parting.

It was Gaff who collected himself first.

Ro watched several emotions flitter across his Force-aura, like birds in agitated flight, until they settled and he was once more that open, brightly lit field his emotional basis painted in her mind. Gaff was so earnest and at his heart, far more peace-oriented than even he knew, that to her, the shadows in him were nothing more than short, stunted things, like the shadows cast by the plains bushes, which grew so low to the ground, that even with the sun full on them, their shadows never stretched farther than an inch or so along the ground.

And when that image had firmed in her mind, had taken on full texture - sense, sight, smell and taste - he straightened up from his unintentional slouch and gifted her with another tentative smile. "I would still hope that we could remain in communication, Commander. So far as you find yourself with the time."

His formality made her laugh and she punched him playfully in the knee. "For you, I'll hold the chrono ransom and demand the tick-tocks. And stuff the 'commander' in a sack and throw it in the Dune Sea. It's Ro."

"Just Ro," he finished for her and just like that, she felt the balance between them shift back to right. Some of the awkwardness still lingered and she could still sense a raw edge of hurt to his feelings, but there was not, to her great relief, any lingering sense of resentment.

She didn't think about what she would do next. She just did it.

Getting up, she threw her arms around his middle and gave him a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're my friend," she told him.

"I am as well," he admitted and that was the honest truth.

When they did exit the closet, Ro felt that a great weight had been lifted off of her chest. She hadn't done everything as right as she could have, but at least she hadn't left things a complete mess and she'd won a friend in the bargain.

Now, if only she could get a partner on the side, that would be simply mono stellar.

"When are you leaving?" Gaff asked her diffidently. Now that they were out of the closet and back in the crowded corridor, he was striving for a more formal tone.

"Today, me thinks. I just got one last thing to settle and then it's blast off. Artee's already warming up the engines."

"So soon?" He looked truly startled and just a bit disappointed as well.

"My work here is done," she pointed out, blowing her bangs out of her eyes as she did so. "Rest is up to the diplomats and the Agri Corps. I've got new rats to catch."

"Of course." He cast a surreptitious look about, but there were obviously too many trooper milling about in the hallway for him to say what he wanted. Instead, he gave her another salute and this time, she thought the gesture was less formal and more a sign of friendship and mutual respect. "I wish you luck, Commander."

She grinned and gave a mock-salute in turn. "Thanks a heaps. I'm sure I'll need it." She reached out and quickly, before he could pull away, gave his hand one last squeeze. "And may the Force be with you, Gaff. Watch your backside out there."

"I intend to. As well as that of my men." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And that of your brother."

She had to bite down on her tongue to stifle the giggles. You have no idea. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

And then they parted.

He had duties to attend to and Ro watched him go, back straight, stride sure, nodding to those troopers who greeted him as he passed.

Life is full of surprises and he has no idea how many are waiting for him out there. Still, she figured if anyone could handle the galaxy, it would be Gaff.

"Now," she said aloud, reorienting herself in the corridor and once more becoming the spectacle of the moment for passing troopers. "To get myself a Cookie."

Abandoned rebel camp, the forest, seven klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (33 days after the first bombing & 18 months after the Battle of Geonosis)

Wren sighted down the scope, making minute adjustments to account for the shift in wind direction and force.

He breathed out, listening to the beat of his heart, which was strong and steady. He went through the exercise again, then tightened his finger in the second between one breath and the next.

The DC-15A kicked back slightly against his shoulder and his eyes closed instinctively against the bright muzzle flash. Wren's nostrils flared at the scent of burned ozone and the next time he glanced through the scope, his target - a fist-sized ball of woven together branches, two klicks away and suspended from a convenient tree - sported a scorch mark, dead center.

Three seconds in total had passed, from the time he'd pulled the trigger to the moment he'd checked through the scope.

"Fek, I'm good."

He readjusted the rifle's stance on the pod, lining up for another shot.

"Cookie!"

His hand jerked, the shot going wild, scaring a flock of avians into flight. "Fek!"

"Cookie!" The call came again, much closer to this time.

He closed his eyes. "This. Is not. Effing. Happening."

But of course it was, because the kriffing universe was never so kind as to grant him one. Fekking. Second. Of quiet.

She emerged out of the woods like a colorful little ghost, smiling fit to split her cheeks.

"You've got any notion how hard you are to find?"

"Apparently not karking hard enough."

He twisted where he lay on his stomach to scowl at her, then had to fight the urge to shield his eyes from the glare of her dress. "Clown throw up on you?"

Ro laughed, the sound echoing through the empty camp. "I've got to introduce you to Eda. She'll either adore you or gut you on sight."

"She can fekking try." He turned back towards the rifle, hoping that ignoring her would make her understand that he wanted her away; preferably skipping through a minefield, blind-folded. Naturally though, she didn't get the message.

"Did you know you've got a tree here that drops rocks on you? Mono strange behavior for a foliage."

He let out a breath in an explosive exhale. "Cheeka, get the hell out of here." He wasn't in the mood; not for her company or for anyone else's.

But he didn't hear her move. In fact, he didn't hear anything at all, which made him glance at her sharply. She was still standing there, at the edge of the small shooting range he'd built by himself, along with everything around the former Marit rebel camp. Gaff and his shiny boys had deactivated most of the traps he'd contrived, but he'd been out here for a good hour and more and that had been plenty of time to get most things to rights again, before he'd settled down for some sniping practice.

Ro was watching him with her large, teal eyes, her hands crossed behind her back. She was rocking back and forth slightly, a shy but elated smile on her lips, as if she was bursting to tell him something, but not sure how he'd react to it.

It made him wary and unwilling to turn his back on her. Fek only knew what she'd get up to.

"What the kriff do you want, cheeka?"

To his surprise, she didn't answer him immediately. Instead she searched the ground around him for a good spot to sit, then settled herself down beside him, legs crossed, the dress riding up to reveal about a hands-length of extra skin above her knees.

"I wanted to talk," she said, once she'd fidgeted herself into a comfortable position. "With you."

He grunted a non-answer and turned his attention back to the blaster rifle. Once more he checked the wind, the distance, the fit of the rifle butt against his shoulder. The finger around the trigger tightened, then relaxed. Tightened and relaxed.

Ro kept quiet through the entire procedure, watching him with a lively interest as he shot his target to charred bits of branches. It wasn't until there was nothing left but the rope it had hung from, that he spoke again. "So effing talk already." He got up on his knees and began to disassembled the Deece, inspecting every part before stowing it away in a weapon's case.

But she was still watching him and he had no idea what to make of this new, silent Ro.

"Cheeka..."

"Did you hear F Company's joining up with Blazer Corps?"

Wrong thing to say. He felt his jaw tighten, reminded of the very reason he'd come out here in the first place. He slammed the weapon's case shut. "Yes."

"Do you..." she hesitated, fiddling with the black silk string of her necklace. "Do you wanna go traveling with them?"

"I haven't received my orders," he told her tightly.

"That's not precisely what I asked."

"You want to know what I fekking want?" He snarled at her, suddenly so close to her face that he could feel strands of her hair brush against the tip of his nose. "I want to get the kriff off of this fraggin' Rimmer world."

She blinked and that shy, happy smile from before made a reappearance. "Even if it's in the company of a little nuisance?"

Now it was his turn to blink. "What?"

"Would you leave...with me? Would you come with me and Artee on the Mockingbird and hunt rats in the name of the Republic, freedom and nanana twists?"

He sat back on his hunches, staring at her. Go with her? Be exposed to more of the same madness they'd gotten here? Spend his days chasing madmen like Metesk, while trying to survive her barvy antics?

Wren narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Are those my orders?"

She blew out a breath, puffing up her cheeks in the process. "It's an option, Cookie. A choice and you can take it or leave it or use it for target practice as you please."

"Options? Choice?" He barked a bitter laugh. "Cheeka, I'm a clone. The only fekking choice I get is if I want the mystery stew or chaka noodles for lunch."

A frown flashed across her mobile face, before she gave a shrug. "Well, you got one now, Cookie. Master Yoda said if I want to play with the armored boys, I need myself an escort, so as I don't step onto any brass toes."

"What are you..." Fek, he asked her that a lot.

"I'm going to take a rank in the GAR and I'd like you to be my partner in misdeeds."

"A rank? You? You're going to take up a position in the Grand fekking Army?"

"As a Jedi Commander, yes."

He couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, almost rolling on the ground. He held his sides, heaving out great gasps of laughter. "You!" he howled. "A...commander!"

Ro grabbed up a fistful of leaves and flung them at his head. "Jerk!" But she was laughing as well.

"And me..." He was still pushing the words out in-between his laughter. "You want me...as your flimsi-pushing...hand-holding...kriffing...aide."

"That was my thinks," she agreed. "If you want the job, though I'm warning right now, the pay's horrible and so's the health insurance, but it does come with a promotion."

And just like that, it wasn't so funny anymore. The smile disappeared from Wren's face. He leaned back, bracing himself on his hands and studied her more carefully. "You're effing serious."

"Course I am." She seemed offended at his skepticism. "You and me, we're going to be snooping where no one wants us sticking tails or noses in. And we're going to be the bridge that spans the maw between the Order, GAR and the Altisian Jedi. So we'll need a bit of spit and polish and Master Yoda and Master Windu figured it won't do having a sergeant shadow my every step. So, if you want the job, you'll be promoted to lieutenant." She cocked her head at him. "It's not like you haven't deserved it. According to Master Windu, your military record is of the interesting variety."

"General Windu read my file." Kripes, now there was something he didn't want to think about. There were things in his file - or rather, a lack of some things - that he didn't want anyone becoming aware of, let alone a High General.

"Sure. When I told 'em I wouldn't take the post without you, they had to check if you had the creds. Personally, I told them you had enough balls to scare a Zelly."

He felt his lip twitch despite himself, but he wasn't ready just yet to give in to her attempt at humor.

"And if I refuse this...choice?" Kriff that was an odd word coming from him.

This time, Ro began fiddling with the triangular charm that hung from the end of her Padawan braid. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't think you'll go with Gaff and F Company." She grimaced. "Between you, me and that tree, I don't think you and my brother would get along. He likes things...the Jedi way."

Which left him with either being recalled to the 35th - which, if it was going to happen would have happened already - or remaining on Gaftikar to aid the Agri Corps and the Nabooian diplomat's security detail.

Wren was no fool. One way or the other, he wouldn't survive either possibility for long and then the only choice left to him was if he wanted to end the misery by his own hand, instead of waiting for that lucky shot from some clanker.

"Cookie?" Ro peered at him through her bangs, the question clear in her eyes. "What do you want to do?"

Eyat Command Base, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (33 days after the first bombing & 18 months after the Battle of Geonosis)

Ro stood at the top of the ramp to the Mockingbird's cargo hold, hands on hips and head slightly cocked as she listened to the electronic screeching echoing through the ship.

She blew her bangs out of her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation. "Artee, you're going to blow a circuit if you keep going on like that."

But her astromech was not in a receptive mood. Still ensconced in the cockpit, R3-T3 had turned up the ship's intercom to full and was blasting her with every complaint, worry and statistic he could come up with. And given his computing power, that was saying something.

Currently, he was expounding on the hazards of increased irritability due to close-quarters living, rattling off numbers so fast, Ro couldn't understand them though she generally followed Binary quite well.

She rolled her eyes as she continued to listen to the tirade. "Increased irritability my blackhole glaze," she muttered. "As if you could tell..."

"Talking to yourself is a sign on insanity, I've been told," a laconic voice drawled. "Not that I needed further kriffing evidence that you're barvy beyond all rhyme and reason."

Ro whirled around, a delighted smile lighting her face. "Cookie!"

Wren stood at the bottom of the ramp, one boot planted on the ground, the other on the ramp itself. He was dressed in full armor, the plating he'd had replaced obvious by its shiny cleanliness in comparison to the few pieces that had survived their venture in the mine, which were scuffed and scored. His helmet was clipped to his belt and he raised a demonstrative eyebrow at the racket coming from inside the ship.

"I am not," he told her firmly, "listening to that crinking clanker for the rest of this fekking assignment."

"Oh, posh." She waved a dismissive hand. "Artee'll calm down soon as he realizes you won't use him for target practice. All packed up? Is that all you're bringing?"

She peered at the backpack he'd slung over one shoulder, then at the blaster pistol holstered low on his hip, the Deece holstered on the other side of him, then the blaster rifle he was gripping in one hand.

"What were you kriffing expecting?" he asked with a snort of derision for her ignorance. "The fekking kitchen sink? I'm a clone, cheeka. I travel light."

"'Xept in ammo. Got enough blasters there, Cookie?"

"There's no such fraggin' thing."

He was still looking up at her, not moving an inch up that ramp.

"You say bye to Gaff?"

"He shed a few tears, but I think we parted company as best friends for life," he said deadpan.

This caused her to giggle. "Uhhhh, so crotchety. I like that in a man."

"Barvy," he muttered to himself. "Absolutely thermal."

"Well," she said, a cocky smile on her face, "what does that make you for coming along for the ride?"

"Beyond any fekking hope, obviously."

She threw her head back and laughed, then started jumping up and down in place, clapping her hands in excitement. "This is going to be so much fun," she squealed and skipped inside the ship.

Wren glanced about, half hoping no one had seen the newest commander of the Grand Army acting like a three-year-old on a sugar rush, but naturally, he wasn't that lucky. They were the focus of several curios glances and Wren peeled back his lips in a silent snarl.

Most of the watching troopers recoiled and scurried away. Some though, just smirked back and waited for the encore.

"Cookie! C'mon, get your keister into hyperdrive! I wanna fly!" came the voice, clear and high, from the cargo hold.

Wren closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as several of the nearby troopers broke into scattered snickers. "She never effing disappoints, does she?"

Well, he was already humiliated; might as well get the rest over with.

Hefting his pack, he walked up the ramp, feeling the ship vibrate beneath the soles of his boots with the power of the revving engines. The tingling spread through his entire body, making his fingers clench and unclench with anticipation.

Those thrumming engines held in them the promise of power, speed and escape.

She'd waited for him in the cargo hold and Wren thought the little Jedi might actually burst with excitement.

"You can pick your own room," she started as soon as he'd entered the cargo hold completely. The ramp began to close behind him almost immediately. "I've got it painted now on account that I painted the whole ship, but we can repaint or I can repaint if that's what you want, soon as you tell me your likes and then we can get creative with the decor and...Oh! We must absolute go shopping on the next trading post out 'cause there's no way I've got anything like the stuff they've been feeding you, so you'll absotively poselutely have to tell me what your fav dish is and..."

She kept chattering a parsec a second as she skipped through the narrow corridor that led through the ship, on occasion interrupting herself by pointing out certain features of the ship.

Wren took it all in, following her at a more sedate pace.

His stomach gave a little lurch and he knew that the Mockingbird had taken off, lifting straight off the ground like a larty. It wouldn't be long before they'd be exiting atmo and leaving this fek-forsaken system behind.

He was free; free of Gaftikar, reg-bound officers and the vigilant eyes of the GAR.

"And this is the galley." Ro threw her arms out wide, as if embracing the entirety of the space. The light caught the electric blue zigzags running through her pale blond hair, making them flash.

Past a ladder and through a hatch that led up to what he guessed had to be the cockpit, several electronic shrills filtered down to them, each sounding just a bit more hysterical than the next.

Ro ignored the sonic barrage, her grin only growing wider. "Welcome aboard the Mockingbird, Cookie. You're now officially one of us. There's just one more thing that's need doing."

Wren glanced from her, up the hatch, then back at the grinning Ro.

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

"HUG ATTACK!"

And before he could raise his blaster in defense, he had fifty kilos of little Jedi nuisance hanging from his neck. His blaster rifle clattered to the floor and he staggered back at the force of her ambush. From somewhere up above, he thought he heard the electronic equivalent of malicious laughter.

What the kark had he gotten himself into?

The ship's engines sang, high and clear, as it left gravity and Gaftikar behind.

With a surge, Mockingbird leaped forward and disappeared into hyperspace.

Author's Note: Well, gentlebeings, there you have it. Call of the Mockingbird is now officially finished. Wow. I never really thought I'd see the day and this project couldn't have been what it was without the help of the wonderful laloga, LongLiveTheClones and spikala, who never refused a desperate cry for help and who gave me invaluable advice on how to keep such a long project together and going. Thanks so much, you guys.

Special thanks also go out to Eregnar, who caught all of my spelling mistakes. And here's to you, the reader and the reviewer. Ro and Wren were insistent about having their story be told, but it was your steady encouragement that kept me writing.

The Mockingbird series will continue. Call will be followed by a vignette series, To Share a Sky, which will look at some of Ro's and Wren's early adventures and their struggles to cement their partnership. Sky will begin posting next week, Friday and will continue posting on that date. For those Gaff and F Company fans out there, there will be a drabble series called Stalwart Wings, which will follow Gaff and his unit through the war. Postings will also start next week and will continue every Monday, Darth Real Life willing.

The next installment in the Mockingbird series, Mockingbird: At the Edge of Reason, is in the works and is a collab between the amazing spikala and myself and will feature her lovely characters from Waste Not. If you have not yet read this simply breathtaking story, then I suggest you park your speeder and get to it, because you're missing out on one heck of an amazing landscape of characters and places. A tentative launching date for Reason is July, with a preview to be posted in May.

Cheers! impoeia.