Clone Wars Oneshots (and some Bad Batch)

A/N: Minor spoilers for the Star Wars: Republic Commando books, specifically Triple Zero

Enjoy!

Arc Company Barracks, SO Brigade HQ, Coruscant

   Morgana trailed Skirata down the long passage that ran from the main doors of the Arca barrack wing and felt like she was following a gdan; slow and wary, trying to be ready for anything.

   Omega Squad's description had made her think of Kal Skirata as a kindly old uncle, a veteran soldier with a facade of tough talk who had sweated blood to give a generation of boys the benefit of his wisdom. But what she felt in the Force was very different, just as his appearance was unlike what her mental image of him had been.

   He was a whirlpool of balanced conflict–truly cold black violence shot through with deep red passionate loves and hatreds. It marked him out as a complex man who had built a warrior elite. If she looked at him another way, though, he was very much the dark side; everything the Jedi had taught her to shun as a Youngling, and it reminded her of Krell. It was why she felt so defensive and wary of him.

   And yes, he reminded her of a gdan, the nasty little carnivores that hunted in packs on Qiilura and would take on any prey; small by comparison with his strapping troops, but ferociously, tenaciously aggressive. And he wasn't quite the elderly man the squad had first described, either; to twenty-year-old boys, though, he must have seemed ancient. He was about sixty standard years old–just middle-aged–and obviously fit except for his tendency to drag his left leg.

   And he looked armored.

   He was only wearing a civilian jacket–polished tan bantha leather with a high black collar–and brown pants, but he had that same presence that all the commandos had. He was ready for something; anything, really. Given that he was a head shorter than his squad, had a pronounced limp, and yet still looked like trouble, Morgana decided he must have been a formidable soldier once; she realized he still was.

   "In here, ma'am." He could make ma'am sound like girl somehow; he could do the same with General. Hopefully, he wouldn't be calling her that again anytime soon. But as an ex-Jedi who still fought in the GAR and still carried her lightsabers, she really had no right to feel affronted by lack of deference. She realized she hoped he would like her; but she was still wary, still ready to pull her lightsabers on account of the darkness within him. But somehow, she knew his darkness wasn't the same as her old master's. "Just a little chat, and then you can find General Jusik and catch up on events," Skirata said.

   Yes, Skirata gave the orders. But Morgana wasn't sure if she could trust him, and she wasn't sure how much catching up she wanted to do with Jusik, either. But she kept that to herself.

   Skriata ushered her into a side room that turned out to be a cabin with a table, a chair, and a narrow bed with a half-packed carryall sitting on it. There was a neat pile of clothing, military- grade fabric equipment with unidentifiable lumpy items in them, and a set of sand-gold, battle- scarred Mandalorian armor.

   The Force told her this was a tidy room filled with the wretched chaos of broken lives, pain, and misery. She wondered if it was entirely his, but decided not to probe further in case he felt it and reacted. He was a dangerously perceptive man; she couldn't make up her mind if she could trust him with all the questions she wanted to ask, all the things she wanted to tell him, but if Darman trusted him, then he was definitely worth the effort to try. And so far, she couldn't detect any sense of animosity directed at her.