Chapter Text
| 22 BBY, Mid-year
| GAR Headquarters, Coruscant
Silence stretches between you and the clone behind the desk.
He hasn’t looked up once, and is instead just flipping through his datapad, brows furrowing now and then. The nameplate on his desk reads ‘CC-1010.' The stacks of folders and sealed boxes around the office tell you he’s barely settled in, but the lines on his face suggest the workload hasn’t been kind.
In the last three months since the war began, you've seen a few clones here and there, but this is your first time seeing one up close. His black hair is cut short- clean but not fully buzzed, a standard military style. A strong brow and angled nose accentuate his sharp jawline, while his deep brown eyes scan the file. He's in full armor, the plastoid pieces squeaking slightly whenever he readjusts in his seat. The red accents have been painted on, likely recently, as there are very few chips or scratches compared to the more weathered white base beneath.
You sit rigid, resisting the urge to fidget. It’s only been minutes, but the silence stretches unbearably.
Then, finally, he speaks.
“So…" he says slowly, leaning back in his chair, "you want to join the Grand Army of the Republic?" His tone is almost annoyed, making his question seem more like a bored statement.
"Yes, sir,” you say too quickly, just grateful to finally break the silence.
Joining the army. It's practically the only thing you've thought about day in and day out for months.
The clone taps through your enlistment file, armor squeaking as he swipes pages. He scrolls lazily, his disregard barely veiled. You take a couple of breaths, trying to avoid any frustration.
You’re qualified for this, you remind yourself. You're more than qualified for this.
"You know," he starts again, still not looking up from the datapad in front of him, "there's not really a place for civilians in this war."
A small pang of disappointment creeps into your chest as the few words he's said burn in your ears. Your shoulders stiffen, and you try to control your jaw from clenching.
Is he really going to write me off that easily? Just a civilian?
Your friends warned you this would happen. That war isn’t a place for someone like you. But you ignored them.
I need to do this. I have to try.
He flips to another page, his brows pinching slightly. Then, for the first time, he looks up. "But you're no normal civilian, are you?"
You exhale- not realizing you've been holding your breath- and the tension in your chest eases just barely.
Technically, he's not wrong. You're not what anyone would call a 'normal civilian.' However, you're not about to elaborate on the past four years of your life at the risk of sounding boastful.
As if reading your thoughts, he dives into the details. "So, a Senate commando, huh?" he says, slowly nodding his head with the slightest look of intrigue. "I've only been stationed here on Coruscant for a few weeks now, but from what I understand, that's quite the achievement."
You scoff internally. That's one way to look at it.
You've been a Senate commando guard for the past year and a half, sporting the dark blue plastoid armor and, occasionally, the long blue robes. While it's definitely a highly qualified position, escorting senators around and providing security during Senate sessions is not quite what you envisioned when you first took the position.
You answer anyway. "Yes, sir."
He waits, expecting more.
You clear your throat. "Serving the Senate these past eighteen months has been an honor. Protecting key Republic officials is critical work."
Your tactfully curated answer seems to satisfy him just enough, and he continues. "Ah, yes, I imagine you've met a couple of Jedi over your years of service as well. As you likely know, many of the Jedi are generals here in the GAR."
You didn't know that, actually.
"Oh. I'm sure that's greatly benefited the war effort for the Republic," you respond, still tactfully gathering your thoughts. "I've been lucky to become acquainted with a few Jedi over the years, such as Master Kenobi and Master Windu. I can only imagine how impactful their leadership and insight have been."
"As you'd imagine," he replies, his tone growing distracted as he flips through your file, finding where he left off. "Ah, here we are. A year and a half in the Senate commandos… and before that, a sergeant—" His brows rise. "In the underworld police?"
Ah, yes. That.
"Yes, sir," you confirm again, trying to keep your voice level and maintain eye contact.
Despite being on the same planet, the wide, pompous halls of the Senate building are worlds away from the darkened, crime-ridden lower levels of the giant ecumenopolis. Those two years were some of the longest, darkest of your life. Not necessarily full of darkness within yourself, but rather all around you. Two years of completely concealing yourself within the masked, cyborg-like armor and voice modulator, hiding every aspect of your race and identity- all for your own safety.
The lower levels of Coruscant are plagued with racially targeted gang rivalries, drug cartels, trafficking rings, and more. The underworld police uphold what little order exists in such chaos. You were assigned to the lower levels just six months after graduating from the police academy and joining the force. Straight from the frying pan and into the fire- at least, that's what you always tell people to try to lighten the gravity of it all.
The interviewing clone's expression shifts and falls as he tries to comprehend it all.
Clearing your throat, you attempt to interrupt his train of thought. "I just hope to serve the Republic in a different capacity, like helping those in need across the galaxy. Not just those here on Coruscant."
He looks back at your file, his face still slightly frozen in bewilderment. Finally, he takes a deep breath and exhales with a slight chuckle, his composition softening a bit.
"Well, your experience speaks for itself," he admits, closing your file. "But, as a matter of procedure and policy, you'll need to take the GAR Combat Fitness Test to formally evaluate your physical and mental abilities. After that, we'll contact you about how you can best serve the Republic."
You exhale, a massive wave of relief filling your chest. "Thank you, sir."
‘Your experience speaks for itself.’ His words echo in your mind.
Oh, if he only knew, you think to yourself, consciously keeping your mind from being sucked into the memories.
He taps a quick note on the datapad, creating a lull in the conversation. You decide to take advantage of the pause.
“How soon can I take the combat fitness test?”
He glances up, intrigue replacing his earlier bewilderment. “Well, today, if you’re ready.”
“Absolutely.” You grab your pack from where it rests beside you, standing before he can change his mind. You packed your training attire and Senate commando armor ahead of time, having hoped for this exact opportunity.
He eyes you, then the pack, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Alright then. Head down the hall and to the left. I’ll comm Commander Stone.”
You can't help but smile.
As he opens the door, you extend a hand. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you, CC-1010.”
He chuckles, shaking it. "Please, call me Commander Fox, or even just Fox."
Your smile grows. "Well, thank you again, Commander Fox."
Starting down the hall, you're practically giddy with excitement. You quickly rein it in, though, as you find who you can only imagine is Stone waiting for you at the end of the hallway.
His armor’s red accents also seem to be newly painted on the weathered white base, but his designs are much simpler and plainer than those of Commander Fox. He’s shaved bald and has an Aurebesh ‘58’ tattoo on the left side of his head. His expression is stern, and it's obvious he's already sizing you up. You pretend not to notice.
“Hi, are you Stone?” you ask, extending your hand in greeting.
He looks down at you, and you immediately recognize the look on his face. It's the same incredulous look that Commander Fox gave you at the beginning of your interview. This one, however, is somehow deeper and more scathing.
He takes your hand and gives it a single shake. “You must be the new potential recruit,” he gruffs, almost immediately letting go and turning to exit the offices.
Seeing that he's not one to waste time, you quickly fall in pace behind him.
He leads you through the halls of the GAR hadquarters, heading towards the combat fitness exam. With each turn, everything seems to be less busy and crowded than you thought it would be.
“Where is everyone?” you ask before thinking, your mind buzzing with excitement.
He hesitates a moment before answering, obviously debating whether he wants to answer you at all. “Most legions are engaged in battle at the moment,” he finally replies.
You wish he would go on, eager to learn anything about what was going on in the war. Instead, he just continues to briskly lead you through the halls.
A few minutes go by as you both walk in silence.
“It's Commander, by the way,” he suddenly chides.
You blink. “What?”
“It's ‘Commander Stone,'" he emphasizes. "Not just ‘Stone.’"
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Oh, so he's one of those.
In the past four years, you’ve met plenty of power-hungry, title-happy lieutenants, captains, and commanders. You’re never one to disrespect authority, though, no matter how pompous the individual is.
“Oh. Um, sorry, Commander,” you apologize, feeding into whatever ego he needs stroking.
The two of you finally arrive at the training hall. It's a wide, open area with high ceilings and various stations. The area has four quadrants, two of which appear to be sparring mats right next to each other. The other two quadrants are adjacent, one with weightlifting equipment and the other with lines of treadmills.
“You can change in there,” Stone mumbles, roughly gesturing to the doors at the far right of the sparring mats.
You nod and quickly make your way over to what you assume are the locker rooms and freshers. You quickly change into your royal blue senate guard jumpsuit, tie your hair up, and shove your pack in a locker.
When you return to the training hall, Stone is across the sparring mats, over at the treadmills. You jog over to him, and he almost immediately begins.
“Alright, the first test is a…” He pauses for just a second, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Cardiovascular evaluation. Gonna see how long you can run for at different speeds.”
You glance at him, expecting him to say more, but he doesn't.
That's it? you wonder. Most combat fitness tests you've taken in the past haven’t been as… mundane as this. But you obey, hopping onto the treadmill.
He punches some numbers into the panel. The area has multiple treadmills, but you two are the only ones in the quadrant.
“Pass this test, move on to the next. Fail, you're done," he says monotonically, not looking up from the control panel in front of him. "Each test is harder than the last. No do-overs. Understood?”
You nod. Sheesh, he's a delight.
The test starts, and you keep pace all too easily with the different speeds. Forty-five minutes go by, and frankly, you're starting to get bored.
As if noticing your boredom, Stone suddenly bumps up the speed drastically, the controls beeping in fast succession. You quickly adjust your pace, but he increases the speed again and again and again. It's obvious he's not following any kind of set testing requirements.
An annoyed look flashes across his face while he watches you keep pace, even though you're basically sprinting now.
With a loud huff, he walks off, leaving the treadmill going beneath you at an alarming speed.
Your brows furrow in frustration. Are you kidding?! you exclaim internally. Where the hell is he going?!
Little does he know that you go running almost every morning- and you love your morning runs. Years as a police officer and senate commando have demanded peak physical fitness.
But this full sprint pace? No one can sustain this.
‘Fail, and you're done. No do-overs.’ Stone’s words frantically run through your mind.
Panic starts to creep in at the edges of your mind. Your legs burn. You start to falter.
Then, out of nowhere, Stone returns to the control panel in front of you, a smug look on his face.
He taps a single button, and the treadmill rolls to a stop. You step off and hunch over, resting your hands on your knees, your legs shaking, and your lungs screaming. You look at him, hardly able to hide the bewilderment on your face.
He barely acknowledges you. “Great. Moving on." He walks off, expecting you to follow.
You stand there frozen, trying to understand what just happened. Eventually, exhaling a frustrated sigh, you reluctantly follow.
He leads you into a small briefing room. Rows of blasters and other training weapons line the walls.
“Put this on,” he orders, handing you a vest and a training blaster.
“What's this?” you ask, eyeing the vest as you obediently pull it over your arms.
“Weighted training vest, designed to mimic the weight of armor on the battlefield.”
“Oh, I actually brought my armor with me,” you start. “I can go run and-”
“That won’t be necessary,” he says, curtly cutting you off. “Head out these doors for the agility test. Make it through in the required time to pass.”
He turns his back on you and leaves the room before he even finishes speaking.
You look down at the training vest, admittedly feeling a little silly. All of your Senate commando armor is in your pack, back in the locker room. With a small sigh, you adjust the zippered vest and examine the training blaster, still trying to make sense of Stone’s cryptic behavior.
This will have to do, you sigh to yourself. At least this test sounds more legitimate than the last.
Exiting the briefing room, you find yourself in a much larger room, every inch of which is covered in square panels: a battle simulation room. Stone sits in the raised command deck behind tempered glass. Upon seeing you, he immediately presses a few buttons on the control panel.
The room comes to life- the panels in the floor, walls, and ceiling all growing, shrinking, and moving, creating an obstacle course. Just above the command deck, a chronometer counts down your start time.
You roll your shoulders and shake out your legs, bobbing on the balls of your feet as you watch the time tick down.
3… 2… 1… Begin.
You vault over the first obstacle, clearing it in your jump and landing in a barrel roll. You spring off walls, scale over barriers, and crawl under low outcroppings. As you fly through each obstacle, your lungs start to burn again, but nowhere near as badly as they did during the treadmill test. You keep your training blaster cradled or holstered whenever needed, making sure not to drop it at any point in the course.
Ducking under a moving panel that barely misses your head, you immediately launch yourself over another wooshing panel. You sprint to the end and slide under a low wall, skidding to a halt at what you assume is the finish line.
Whipping your head around, you find the chronometer.
1:28.
You have no idea what that qualifies as. Passing? Failing?
Stone’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Leave your vest and blaster in the briefing room and return to the sparring mats for the next test.”
Next test.
Letting out a sigh of relief, you head back towards the sparring mats after leaving your ‘gear’ in the briefing room as instructed.
You're not one to look for constant praise or anything, but a little indication of how you're doing would be nice. What's his deal, anyway? It goes without saying that Stone’s dismissive and odd behavior is starting to get on your nerves.
Swallowing your frustrations, you remind yourself how much is riding on this combat fitness test. You've dreamed about joining the army for months now. You're not going to let some pissed-off commander get in your way.
Once back out at the sparring mats, you realize Stone is nowhere to be found. You look around, trying to find his distinct white-and-red armor. There are a few other clones in the sparring and weightlifting quadrants, any of whom could be Stone if you didn't know what his armor looks like.
Looks like being in the army surrounded by identical clones is going to be the galaxy’s hardest game of ‘I Spy,’ you chuckle internally.
Of course, you’re getting ahead of yourself.
You aren’t even in the army yet.
“Hey there,” a voice calls from behind, interrupting your train of thought.
Turning around, you come face to face with a clone who, for once, looks noticeably different than the others you've met so far. His hair is red, for starters, and is shaved into a double mohawk. A massive smile stretches across his face.
You eye him tentatively yet curiously. “Hey, yourself."
He motions around the training hall. “What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
A couple more clones walk up behind him- one blondish gray, the other with the same black, military standard haircut as Fox. They all have the classic white armor but with flint gray accents.
“Just, uh, taking the combat fitness test,” you reply, trying to keep your answer simple, imagining that not many people try to enlist in an army that's predominantly full of clones.
“Wait, you mean you're enlisting?” the red-haired one asks.
Shoot, he catches on quick.
“In this crazy clone pool of an army? Why on earth would you want to do that?” the blond one exclaims with a laugh.
“Ignore him,” the red-haired one continues. “I'm Boost. And this is Comet and Sinker." He motions to the black-haired clone and blond-haired clone, respectively.
“Nice to meet you guys,” you reply, introducing yourself and eyeing them all.
Maybe it's because you're seeing these clones up close and side by side, or perhaps it's because of their dramatically different hairstyles, but you can easily see how each of these clones differs from one another.
“Really, though,” Comet, the black-haired one, probes. “What are you doing here?”
You realize all at once- They don't believe me.
Well, why would they? You haven't seen any other recruits or, truthfully, any other women all day- apart from a couple of female Jedi generals briefly in the halls.
You reiterate, motioning to Boost. “Like he said. I'm hoping to enlist."
They stare at you, waiting for you to go on.
You sigh. “Right now, I’m in the middle of the combat fitness test. I'm supposed to meet Commander Stone here at the sparring mats.”
“Ah, Commander Stone, what a kih'kovid,” Sinker echoes, putting a particular emphasis on 'Commander.’ “Don't you just love when a brother falls head-over-heels in love with their new promotion?”
He pulls Comet into a purposefully overly affectionate hug, but Comet quickly shoves him away with an annoyed roll of his eyes.
“CFT with Stone, huh? How's that going for ya?” Boost asks, a slightly concerned smile on his face.
Ah, so Stone is like this with everyone.
“It's been fine, I guess,” you shrug, wishing there was more to tell.
“And you're actually doing the entire CFT? Like, all four tests?” Boost continues, the look of concern growing more apparent across his face.
Thanks to Stone's aggressive crypticness, you aren’t sure how many tests there are.
“So far, I've done the treadmill test and the agility test. Now I'm just waiting for some kind of sparring test, I think. What’s the last test?”
“Wait, treadmill test?” Boost repeats. He looks over at Sinker, obviously confused. There’s a pause as you wait for him to continue.
Sinker is the first to speak. “We... never had to do anything involving a treadmill."
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions level. So that treadmill test was totally bogus after all. What is he trying to do? Get me to quit and just go home? Yeah, fat chance.
“You still haven't told us why you're here,” Comet pushes again, interrupting your thoughts. “Why would a neverd like yourself come here? You don't look like you're cut out for this.”
Boost smacks Comet upside the head. "Hey, di'kut, have some class, will ya?”
You look between them. “'Neverd?'”
“He means a civvy," Sinker explains. "Or, uh, a civilian,”
Ah, this again. With each new clone you meet, you're starting to see that your genuine desire to be in the GAR is going to be a hard concept for them to grasp. Even though you're pretty sure there's been crazier things to happen in the galaxy than a ‘civvy’ joining the army.
Boost turns back to you, ready to try to explain and apologize on behalf of his brother. But before he can start, Stone walks up to the group, followed by another clone in a black sparring jumpsuit.
“If you're done making friends, let's start the next test," he snides.
The group goes quiet, eyeing Stone.
“That’s fine,” Boost scoffs, breaking the silence. “We Wolf Pack boys were just leaving anyway.” He throws you a toothy grin and a thumbs-up, then walks off with the other two clones.
Stone watches them leave, waiting til they’re out of earshot. He turns his attention back to you.
“This is Hound,” he gruffs, motioning to the jumpsuited clone beside him. “He’ll be your sparring partner for this next test.”
“Nice to meet you,” you reply, giving a friendly smile.
Hound only nods, giving you the slightest hint of a smile back before returning his attention to Stone. He looks like your standard clone, but he is the first clone you’ve seen with a beard. It’s dark and shaggy, with jagged edges on his jawline and cheekbones. You suspect he shaves it into that style, and it reminds you of a set of teeth, almost like on a massiff.
Ah, hence the nickname.
“You'll have three minutes to subdue your opponent," Stone explains, all matter-of-fact. "A three-second pin is an automatic win. Three rounds. Best two out of three." He sets a timer on his vambrace and motions to you without looking up. “When defeated, feel free to tap out."
You resist another urge to roll your eyes. Maker, this guy is relentless.
You square up in front of Hound, shaking out your arms and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Looking at him, you immediately see the hesitation in his eyes.
He doesn't want to do this, you realize. Why? Cuz I'm a ‘civvy?’ Or a woman? Or both?
The twinge of annoyance from your conversation with the Wolf Pack boys again shoots across your chest.
Stone sets a timer on his vambrace, and it counts down in a robotic, chiming voice.
3... 2... 1... Begin.
The round starts off slow, with most of the time spent just circling. Hound doesn’t seem to want to go on the offensive at all. You take a couple of jabs, trying to engage him, but he continues to back off. A couple of minutes go by, seemingly wasted with no advances.
Ugh, come on. You decide you’re done waiting.
You move on Hound, striking with quick jabs near his face- baiting him. He parries, arms up, leaving his midsection wide unguarded. It's your opening, and drive your knee up into him.
He grunts, stumbling back, swinging instinctively. As he does, you catch his wrist, yank him forward, twist your back into his chest, and pull. His feet leave the ground, and his body flips over you, slamming into the mat with a thud.
He sputters, lying flat on his back and trying to catch his breath.
Before he gets up, the robotic chime goes off. You turn to Stone, only to find him- unsurprisingly- far from impressed.
“Set up and go again,” he orders, not even acknowledging your win.
You glance at him a second longer, hoping he’ll say something more, but his eyes remain fixed on his data pad.
With a frustrated sigh, you return your attention to Hound, who is still on the ground.
You extend a hand, which he takes. “You okay?”
Hound double-takes at you as he stands, seemingly surprised you asked. “Yeah…” he finally answers.
Stone practically sneers at Hound as he resets. “How about not taking it easy on her this time, huh?”
Hound gives him a side-eyed glance before focusing back on you, ready to start the next round. Stone resets his vambrace.
At the starting chime, Hound’s hesitation completely disappears.
He charges you, finally going on the offensive. The round quickly turns more physical, both of you parrying and jabbing, kicking and attacking.
You mistime a strike, and he takes his chance. He locks onto your wrist and kicks the back of your knee, pulling you down to the mat. You try to get up from your knees, but he already has a hold of you.
Kriff.
Your hair starts to come untied, and big pieces fall in front of your face. You swing your foot back, trying to sweep his foot behind you, but you miss the mark. He knees you in the hip, slamming your butt and lower back into the floor.
You instinctively start to arch your back, avoiding the pin. He repositions, cementing your hips in place and pulling your arm backward at an excruciating angle, trying to rotate you onto your back.
You know he has you- he’s won this round. Your shoulder burns as it stretches unnaturally, and you grimace, desperately trying to keep your back off the mat.
Amidst the struggle, he glances down at you, making eye contact. Locking eyes briefly, you know what he’s trying to tell you. You silently answer back in your mind.
I'm not tapping out.
He lets out a small sigh and breaks eye contact, leaning further into the hold, sending fire down your shoulder and arm. You wince and hold your breath, keeping the small cry of pain from escaping.
Finally, Stone’s vambrace chimes. Hound instantly releases you. Your arm springs back into its natural position, and you finally lie flat on your back- rubbing the strained muscles.
Hound stands over you, extending his hand for you to take. “You okay?”
You huff a laugh, seeing how the tables have turned. “Yeah.”
Stone seems to finally be amused, a smirk flashing across his face. Chuckling dryly, he resets his vambrace. “Last round..."
You quickly re-tie your hair out of your face, give your shoulder one last rub, and get into ready position, squaring up.
Best two out of three. Here we go. Here we go.
The round starts.
Hound immediately grabs your shoulders, skipping any sparring and parrying altogether. He tries to trip-flip you over his outstretched leg, but there's no way you're letting him get you down to the mat again. You twist under his arm, breaking his hold as you tuck and roll away, popping up across the mat.
He advances on you again, jabbing high and low, all of which you parry, save for a few on your shoulders and lower back. You counter with your own jabs and kicks, landing a hit to his sternum and abdomen.
You keep at this for a while, getting into a good rhythm, when you realize you likely have less than a minute before the time's up.
‘No do-overs.’ Stone's words echo in your mind. An electric sense of urgency ripples through you.
It’s now or never.
You slam into Hound's shoulders like he did to you earlier in the round. He instantly realizes what you're trying to do. He pushes back, but it is already too late. You reach your foot behind him, hook his foot, and sweep it out from under him. His balance gives way, and you throw all your weight onto him, sending him crashing back into the floor.
Quickly scrambling up off his chest, you get behind his shoulders and lock your arms around him. You lean into the chokehold with your legs off to the side, watching his back slowly sink into the ground despite his writhing efforts to get free. His complexion starts to deepen. You hold him there, mentally pleading for him to tap out. His face turns a darker and darker shade of red.
Worrying he's going to black out, you silently beg for the timer to go off. Come on, come on, come on…
Suddenly, a frantic hand taps your shoulder.
You immediately release.
Almost purple-faced, Hound rolls away from you, gasping for air.
You immediately look up at Stone, expecting something- anything- different than what you've gotten all day.
But no.
He stares you down, eyes boring into you. It's only now, in this moment, that you realize this is the first time he's actually looked at you rather than just in your general direction. His gaze is piercing and fierce, and the room seems to go silent.
His vambrace chimes, signaling the end of the three-minute round. You exhale, sinking onto your elbows, grateful that the test is finally over. Looking over at Hound, you're relieved to see that his face has returned to a normal shade of tan, albeit still a bit red and flushed.
He sits up and rubs the side of his neck. “Nice match,” he groans, extending a hand to you in congratulations.
You shake it. “You too. You almost had me there.”
“Ha, come on. I never stood a chance,” he laughs with a wink, his reserved and quiet demeanor seeming to melt away now that the match is over.
Stone looks back and forth between you and Hound, obviously not satisfied with the results of the match.
You're not getting rid of me that easily, you think to yourself, flashing a small, innocent smile up at him from your seat on the floor.
His jaw clenches, and his brow furrows deeper than normal. “Fine,” he retorts exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “Let's just move on."
You and Hound follow Stone to the other end of the sparring mats, where the edge meets the open hallway beyond. Clones and generals pass by the training area in full armor, glancing in at the training activities every now and again.
“Alright,” Stone says coldly, jumping straight into the details. “This is the fireman-carry, or as we call it here in the GAR, the clone-carry. In battle, troopers are often required to assist their wounded brothers to safety.” He turns to face you, fully sizing you up once more before continuing. “If you can't manage this test, there's no sense in being in the GAR. You'd only be deadweight to us.”
You stare back at him, shocked at his brazenness. His words cut deep and straight to the point.
Deadweight.
The word sits like an anvil on your chest.
Stone signals to Hound, who gives you a quick, worried glance before obediently lying down on the sparring mat floor, trying to go limp and relax his body.
“Carry Hound across the sparring mats and back,” Stone commands, a new, almost solemn tone to his voice.
You look across the room. It’s likely 25 meters across both sparring mats. Eyeing Hound, you judge him to be 80 kilos, maybe 85?
I can do this, you reassure yourself. I've done carries like this before.
The weight on your chest grows heavier as you dwell on the thought.
Hound's worried face looks up at you from his prone position, noticing your expression. Shaking the thought from your mind, you lean over him, grab his ar,m and pull him into a seated position. You kneel and slide him onto your shoulder, grabbing his arm with one hand and wrapping your other arm around his leg. His abdomen rests over your shoulders and upper back as you stand. You manage to get him into position without any visible distress or strain, trying to hide how sore your legs and arms are from the earlier tests.
Without looking back at Stone, you set off across the room. You definitely underestimated how big the training hall is, but you manage to make it to the far side of the room. As you turn back, you catch a glimpse of the Wolf Pack boys in the weightlifting quadrant. Looks like they've been joined by other clones- some with orange accents, some with blue- most of them in half-kit.
Boost catches your gaze and flashes you a toothy grin, another thumbs up. A few of the blue-trimmed clones around him eye you, too, seemingly impressed.
Approaching the end of the mat, you feel a wave of relief as you kneel to set Hound down, excited to be done with the test. He lets out a soft grunt as if to warn you, stopping you in your motion just as his butt hits the floor.
You look at him and follow his gaze to Stone, who glares at you from behind his datapad.
“What are you doing? Go again,” he barks, jerking his datapad towards the sparring mats, his voice seething with annoyance. Hound is already lying down on the floor, playing injured still. You quickly pick him up- his head and arms on one side of you, legs on the other- and start across the room again in the clone-carry.
You grit your teeth, trying to keep your irritation at bay. “You could have told me this was going to be more than one lap."
Up til now, he’s been silent on your back, and he only responds with a quick and quiet ‘sorry.'
This lap takes you longer than the first; your body tired and aching. Finally, though, you make it back to where Stone stands- but you can already tell what he’s about to say by the look on his face alone.
“Again?” you ask, taunting his antics.
Stone only gives a dry, sarcastic laugh, obviously still annoyed that you're even here.
You turn back to walk across the room for a third time. You’re walking even slower now, but are determined not to falter. You cross the room and turn around to make your way back to Stone. Your heart pounds in your chest and ears. Your legs burn from the heavy, weighted steps. Your back and shoulders are tight and strained, especially the arm Hound used against you in his pin. Even your fingers feel cramped and stiff.
Somehow- somehow- you make your way back. You're just a few meters away from Stone now, doing all you can to keep Hound in place.
“Nice job,” Hound whispers from his place on your back. “Sometimes, even some of the shinies don’t finish all three laps of this exercise.”
You barely huff out a response. “‘Shinies?’”
“New clones,” he explains, still quiet. “Ones straight from Kamino with no real-world experience.”
“Huh,” is all you manage to get out.
'Your experience speaks for itself.’ Commander Fox’s words briefly enter your mind again. The last thing you want him or anyone here to think of you as is ‘shiny’ or ‘civvy.’
Finally arriving back to where Stone stands, you shakily set Hound back on his feet, doing your best not to drop him straight to the floor. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, just grateful this test is finally over. The day has all but exhausted you, and you're starting to feel a little faint. You put your hands on your hips and breathe through it, focusing your attention back on Stone.
He looks at you, his expression- for once- unreadable.
“Again."
You double-take at him, your voice coming out sharper than you mean it to be. "What?"
Your gaze flicks to Hound, who’s obviously confused as well.
Stone doesn't even flinch. “You heard me,” he replies, his tone unnervingly even.
Frustration rises in your stomach, your breath growing uneven, frustrated, disbelieving.
Hound just told you that this exercise is only three laps. Yet here you are, being pushed over the edge by a power-hungry, cocky commander who has doubted you from the moment he laid eyes on you. Maker, you want so badly to prove him wrong. The frustration turns to anger in your chest, choking the breath out of you.
Hound is about to protest, but before he manages to say anything, you push him down to the floor- hard.
Leaning over his shocked and confused face, you practically rip his arm out of its socket as you pull his body onto yours, a new fire lighting inside you. Your thighs scream in agony as you shakily push up, raising him off the floor. He now feels like an entire bantha instead of just an 80-kilo clone.
Without looking back at Stone, you set off across the sparring mats. You set your brow, ignoring the multiple strands of hair falling into your face as your thoughts race with raging frustration.
He’s trying to break me, isn’t he? Make me look weak. Incapable. Let him karking try.
Your legs buckle, sending you down onto one knee.
Hound tenses up on your back. “You okay?” he asks, his voice of genuine concern. “You’re shaking…”
You immediately force yourself back up, straightening your shaky legs to stand. “I’m… fine…” you manage between labored breaths.
He wants to say more, but you continue walking before he can. The room that was once full of chatter and conversation has now fallen completely silent. Realizing how many eyes must be on you- this isn't exactly a normal sort of training hall activity- a brief pang of nervousness skirts through you. You quickly dismiss it, honing in on the determined fire in your chest. Whatever. If they watch, they watch.
It feels like an eternity later, but you finally get to the opposite end of the sparring mats, halfway done with this last lap. Who knows if its the last lap, really. Stone might push you til you fail, no matter what. You glance back toward the front of the hall.
There, Stone watches you smugly from the other end of the room. He's challenging you; that much is obvious- trying to make a statement out of you.
An idea flares hot in your chest, and you latch onto it instantly.
If it's a statement he wants, then that's exactly what he'll get.
Seeing you pause, Stone gives a small, cocky motion of his hand, signaling you to come back across the mat.
With a roll of your eyes, you readjust Hound on your back, giving him a little jostle that surprises him, and he clutches your arm to balance himself.
Then, without looking back, you turn, setting off in the opposite direction.
Venom in your veins, you carry Hound around the perimeter of the entire training floor, taking the long way back to Stone. You pass through the weights quadrant where the Wolf Pack now stands with several clones- so many that you don’t even care to count. No one says a word. They all know this exercise is three laps, yet here you are, a stranger and a civilian to them, on your fourth lap, carrying one of their brothers.
It might take a thousand steps, but you finally pass the next section- the cardio conditioning quadrant- where only hours ago, you started the combat fitness test with that stupid, pointless treadmill test. That seems like days in the past now rather than just a few hours.
With every heavy step, your surroundings start to fade in and out of your awareness. You force yourself to focus on your feet, watching them move. Your world narrows to just that.
Step. Step. Step.
Your entire body screams in agony, but the rock-hard determination in your chest pushes you forward.
You round the corner, now walking along the side of the conditioning quadrant that meets the open entrance of the training hall. Looking up from your feet, you find Stone’s armor across the room. Eyeing the blurry, tan blob that must be his face, you imagine his smug expression, probably still looking down on you and doubting your every move. Yet, still, you progress- each step intentional and planned.
As you walk, your mind falters momentarily, all but overwhelmed by the exhaustion. A memory starts to flicker in your mind's eye, and your surroundings further fade from your vision…
—
You trudge through the lowest levels of Coruscant. The ancient buildings around you shroud you in darkness, yet feel so clear in your mind. The sound of blaster fire rings in your ears. The voice modulator in your mask muffles and distorts your breathing as you gasp for breath.
Then, there, on your back, the practically lifeless form lets out a soft grunt.
A pang of hope scorches through your chest. Your mind pleads now just as it did back then.
Please be alive… just keep going…. you’re almost there…
—
“Kriff, you’re almost there," Hound says quietly from your back, pulling you from the memory. "You can do this. Just keep going,”
You shake your head, shoving the memory back into the depths of your mind. Sweat drips down your nose, falling to the training mat in splattered, defiant drops. Adjusting Hound on your shoulders one last time, you zero in on the group of clones in front of you, who are all but a blur of white and colored accents now.
You don't know how long it takes- things black in and out for a moment- but you finally make it back to Stone.
Hound practically jumps off your back, grabbing your arm and steadying you as your legs almost give out. Your head spins, and your entire body trembles. You rest your hands on your shaking knees, breathing heavily, trying not to vomit.
Forcing yourself to straighten, you look Stone in the eyes, your vision barely refocusing. His masked expression has completely given way, replaced by a look of utter disbelief. Hound still has you by the arm, helping keep you upright, a similar sense of disbelief laced with pride on his face.
“Anything... else... Commander?” you breathe, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears.
Stone doesn't say anything, and for a moment, you think this hell of his might continue.
Then, barely there- his mouth turns at the corners.
“No,” he finally huffs, a small scoff. “That will be all.”
Something in you lets go.
Your knees give out, and you sprawl on your back, your limbs tingling. You bring your hands up over your head, holding your temples and trying to control the ringing in your ears. Your heart threatens to explode out of your chest, and the room spins violently around you.
Breathe, breathe, you remind yourself.
Slowly but surely, your surroundings come back into focus. You register footsteps making their way towards you across the padded sparring mat.
Still dizzy, you force yourself to open your eyes, and your breath catches-
Looking straight up into the crystal blue eyes of Master Kenobi.