#clone medic croissant

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Hospital Clubhouse - Pt4

Summary: The Coruscant Guard gets a new medic transfer from the Kamino Guard. Needless to say, Tongue Twister is not exactly the most Normal™ of brothers...

[wars465]

Thiere X Cricket part 1

A/N: just a cute little story may be a kiss on the end!

The Coruscant Guard is on their last rounds before bed until something unexpected happens. Tsunami walks in pushing one of her many sisters as well. Fox groans, Thorn chuckled, and Thiere, he just looked up from his datapad. He looked at the two medics.

“I wonder what’s this about.” Said Thorn.

“She needs a job!” Tsunami yelled.

“But we already have a medic!” Fox snapped.

“I wouldn’t mind having another medic, plus Med needs help.” Said Thiere.

Fox looked at him if he were crazy and Thorn was smiling.

“Ok here you go!” Said Tsunami leaving.

“Now wait.” Said Fox chasing after her.

“And I will leave you two alone.” Said Thorn walking away.

There was a long silence between him and the medic.

“I am Thiere by the way.” He said.

“Cricket.” She said.

“What?” He asked.

“That’s my name Cricket.” Said the medic.

Cricket looked at Thiere, her sea-green eyes meeting his brown eyes.

“So what did he mean ‘I will leave you two alone’?” Cricket asked.

“Who! Thorn don’t worry bout him.” Said Thiere.

Cricket smiled and so did Thiere. Then, she kissed him on the lips.

“I think this is a start of a beautiful relationship.” Cricket said.

“I think it is.” He replied.

For the rest of the evening they talked about their lives until they had to part. This is a very beautiful relationship Thiere thought walking away.

THE END

[gaeasun]

Thought about this but kept forgetting to mention it, lol, but

I think a while ago I mentioned that I thought Croissant would probably become some sort of sleep specialist after the war. However, I have been watching a little tv and changed my mind.

He would absolutely be a veterinarian.

Yes, he would have to retrain, and probably move off Coruscant entirely (which granted he wouldn’t like much. he would try to move to a spot that has a clone enclave but is also a bit more rural, like maybe a concord dawn colony?), but it fits his personality.

He gets to be an absolute grump to his patients and they won’t care.

Animal is being a problem? Sedation is actually encouraged this time! He doesn’t have to worry about revenge later.

He gets to cuddle tooka kittens when no one is looking :) (or so he thinks)

Needs a whole lot of really diverse and niche knowledge, which Croissant is really good at.

Not grossed out by lots of body fluids (and being a Corrie medic I’m sure he saw plenty.) Birthings were a new one for him tho. Lots of ?????. 

It takes a while to get retrained, but when he’s done it’s (mostly) worth it. Even when he has to still get up in the middle of the night for emergencies and deal with the blackmail holos of him and that one very cute puppers.

Also I think he would be the type to adopt some older animals that are having trouble as well. He gets some sort of old hound dog and names it “(My Favorite) Fox”. Because he thinks its really funny. Person Fox is not as amused.

[elendiliel]

Trust Me

Just filling in a storyline gap between Counter-Conspiracy and A Life Laid Down. I’m afraid this one is rather longer than usual, but its component parts fitted together too well to be split up. It also briefly references @gaeasun​‘s OC Croissant, as well as characters and concepts from Frank Herbert’s Dune series. (I might have taken a few chronological liberties, but the timeline of the last two seasons of The Clone Wars and Revenge of the Sith does my head in.)

---

“I still can’t quite believe it.” If Anakin said that one more time, Helli thought she might hit him. She could believe, very easily, that Chancellor Palpatine was involved in some sort of conspiracy against the Jedi, and not just because a large piece of evidence was lying in a bed beside her in a private room off the main Halls of Healing, having been decanted from a bacta tank earlier that day. Anakin and Helli had used all their not-inconsiderable combined influence with the Healers to keep Fives’ survival a secret and prevent him from being transferred elsewhere; they knew they couldn’t take any unnecessary risks. Only six people knew exactly what was going on, and they were all crammed into that room – Fives, the two Jedi, Captain Rex and Helli’s and Fives’ squadmates Torrent and Spark, whom Helli had smuggled in via the Temple’s roof and maintenance tunnel network. The core of their counter-conspiracy.

“You must admit, it makes sense.” Almost absently, Helli’s fingers tapped out a few bars from “Ye Jacobites By Name”, a song from her birth-world that was less than complimentary about politicians. For complex historical reasons, all her species was effectively hard-wired to distrust any such person who hadn’t proved themselves faithful to their people and their ideals. Such people did exist, she knew, but were few and far between. “His words sound good on the surface, but his actions don’t match them. And his speeches are full of double meanings. Once you know what to look for, it’s so obvious.” She was struggling to contain her fury both at the Chancellor and at herself. Insight and intuition were supposed to be her strong points, but she had barely sensed anything from him on the rare occasions when they’d been in close enough proximity – just a feeling of unease she’d put down to her own prejudices. I could have prevented this. But I didn’t, so it’s no good worrying about it.

“So what’s our next move?,” Anakin wondered. “Confront the Chancellor ourselves?” It was a serious if daft suggestion; mercifully, Rex knew his general well enough to head him off straight away. “With respect, sir, we don’t know exactly what we’re up against, but we do know he holds some good cards. He has the loyalty of the Senate, he’s still popular with the public, and he’s technically our commander-in-chief. We need to strengthen our hand before challenging him. My first choice would be bringing in the Jedi Council, if they’ll listen to us.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Fives started to sit up, apparently intent on taking his case straight to the Council as soon as he was properly dressed, but Torrent gently but firmly pushed his kih’vod back down. “Not until you’re quite a bit stronger. And if you try to get up before then, I’m calling Croissant in and making you his problem.” Helli winced in sympathy with her vod’ika. She had met the hypo-happy Coruscant Guard medic properly only once, and it hadn’t gone well. She’d just come back from a weeks-long deployment, which had left her sleep-deprived enough that Croissant had decided she needed a sedative. Unfortunately for him, she had been too tired to override her self-defence reflexes but not too tired to put him on the floor before either of them really knew what was happening. She hadn’t hurt him, and had apologised afterwards, but they were still wary (though respectful) of one another.

Fives obediently subsided. The threat had been all but empty – they did not want the Corries knowing anything was out of the ordinary if possible – but unnecessary. As an ARC trooper, Fives didn’t quite fit into the usual chain of command, but as a medic Torrent’s word in such matters was law. And Rex had seen another problem. “Besides, we need positive proof. We know you’re telling the truth, and the drugs the medics here found in your blood can’t have scrambled your brain enough that you’d imagine something like that, but Palpatine’s cover story is pretty convincing. Generals, could a Jedi tell the difference between the real truth and a delusion?”

“I’m not sure a Jedi could, even Master Yoda,” Helli said thoughtfully, “but a powerful Bene Gesserit truthsayer might.”

“Bene – what?” Anakin clearly hadn’t heard of them before.

“Gesserit. An ancient order of human females. Very secretive, but there’s a fair bit in the Archives about them. They’re thought to be at least as skilled as the Jedi in many ways, but rely on a deep knowledge of biology, not just the Force. It’s a long shot, but I might be able to pull some strings and bring in one of their truthsayers. She could convince the Council.”

“Via Lady Jessica?,” Spark put in. “Good idea. She did seem to like you – and you, vod.” He shot an almost mischievous smile at his sergeant.

“I think the General should tackle that.” Torrent answered the unspoken question. “I did steal from her the last time we met – temporarily and for a good reason,” he added quickly, for the benefit of Anakin, Rex and Fives, who hadn’t been on that counter-espionage mission.

“Valid,” Helli conceded. Rex had moved on to the next difficulty. “Getting this person to Coruscant unnoticed might be tricky, if she doesn’t have her own transport. None of us can leave the planet without attracting attention, and we can’t risk telling anyone else in either the army or the Jedi Order.”

“So we need a good pilot we can trust, who’s outside the system…,” Fives mused, before a grin spread across his face to match his commanders’ and brothers’. “Are you all thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I think so,” Anakin said. “But how do we find her?”

“Leave that to me as well,” Helli told him. “But please don’t ask for details. Least said, soonest mended.”

***

“Lady Abbasa, what an unexpected pleasure.” Lady Jessica of Caladan’s voice gave nothing away, especially over the top-security hololink. (She had no known surname; the Bene Gesserit had concealed her parentage, and she was only Duke Leto Atreides’ bound concubine, not his wife. Officially, that left the Duke free for a political marriage, though it was common knowledge in his part of the galaxy that he would never marry another while Jessica lived, and that their son was his intended heir.) “I assume this is not a social call.”

“You assume correctly.” Helli cut right to the chase. “I find myself in need of the services of a Bene Gesserit truthsayer, as powerful as possible. I don’t believe I’m exaggerating when I say the fate of the galaxy might depend on it.”

“Is that so?” It was a genuine question, but Helli didn’t feel the need to answer it in words; her body language was doing the job, judging by the other woman’s close scrutiny. Jessica must have concluded that she was telling the truth, as far as she knew it. “As it happens, I believe I can help you. My former teacher, Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, is an extremely skilled truthsayer. If I can persuade her that your request is important, and I know you would not ask if it were not, I will send you coordinates for a meeting place on this frequency and with this encryption.”

“That would be most helpful. Thank you very much.”

Jessica’s smile became wry. “I am Bene Gesserit. I exist only to serve. Much like you, I imagine.”

“A fair assessment.” Helli matched the older woman’s expression. “I must go. May the Force be with you, Lady Jessica.”

“And with you, Lady Abbasa.” Jessica hung up, and Helli allowed herself a sigh of relief before turning to her next task. Finding a pilot.

***

‘Soka… Ahsoka paused, one hand on the door of her block of flats, as the soft voice hummed through her head. She didn’t immediately recognise it, but very few people called her that. Most Jedi and friends from outside the Order and GAR used her full first name, surname or title; clones, even Rex, had used her old rank. Even her master switched between Ahsoka and Snips. She could only think of two further possibilities, both trustworthy to a fault – or she had thought so, until a few months previously. If it were Master Plo calling her, she could at least get an apology out of him for abandoning her when she needed support as never before. Maybe that was the idea. And if it were the other one…

She turned and followed the voice as she would a physical sound, letting the Force guide her. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of cutting herself off from it entirely, though she was careful; even in the course of a few months living hand-to-mouth in Coruscant’s lower levels, relying on her assortment of skills from her old life to earn enough credits for rent, food and even a second-hand speeder bike on the verge of breakdown, she had realised that the Jedi weren’t much more popular than the clones. Both were too closely associated with the war and all the problems it had brought. And she didn’t want to be found by the Order just yet, or anyone else. Though it looked as though she had been, despite all her precautions.

The voice led her to a dark alley a few streets from her home. She listened carefully, using her echolocation ability to try to sense any movement, even reached out through the Force, but against the background of the densely populated city-planet couldn’t be sure of anything. Finally, she stepped out into the mouth of the alley, peering into the gloom.

“Recipe for trouble, standing like that.” As Ahsoka’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could just make out a cloaked figure leaning casually against a wall. Perfectly still, all but invisible to echolocation. “You’re too visible. Didn’t your master teach you to be more careful?” The person had a near-perfect lower-levels Coruscant accent, but Ahsoka heard the differences even before they raised black-gloved hands to their hood and drew it back to reveal a very familiar face. She’d been right. “I don’t think so – Helli.”

“Very remiss of him.” The young Jedi Knight resumed her normal surface accent, laced with that of her birth-world, as she straightened up a little. “Good to see you, though, ‘Soka.”

“Good to see you too.” Ahsoka joined her friend in the shadows before anyone spotted her. The two females had known of one another for a long time – Togruta and Picti were relatively rare both outside their native planets and in the Jedi Order, and Helli in particular tended to stand out – and had even entered the Temple in the same year, although a four-year age gap is insurmountable when the parties involved are three and seven. They hadn’t really become friends until the war, when Helli had been assigned to Ahsoka’s master’s battalion, but bonds forged in battle are very hard to break. Ahsoka trusted Helli implicitly, and knew the sentiment was reciprocated. Still… “Does Skyguy know you’re here?”

“He knows I’m looking for you. So do Rex and my vod’ikase, but no-one else. And none of them know where we are.”

So this wasn’t for the Council. Anakin and Helli had finally gone rogue; Ahsoka could only assume it was for a good reason. She’d get to that later, but had another question to ask first. “How did you find me?”

Helli’s mischievous grin flashed white in the darkness. “There are advantages to being part of Master Tholme’s lineage. My master and his brother-in-training had quite a network of contacts, which I’ve inherited. And Togruta are conspicuous, as I’m sure you’ve realised. I circulated your description and the date you disappeared, and the network did the rest. Everyone in it is vetted, by the way; nobody’s going to sell you out to a bounty hunter.” That was a relief. Ahsoka didn’t like to remember the time Cad Bane had held her captive, or the incident on Florrum. She could look after herself, but would rather that weren’t necessary.

Eager to change the subject, she asked, “Why are you looking for me?”

Helli did her the courtesy of being honest – or at least as honest as possible. “We need a pilot to pick something up and bring it back here. Someone completely trustworthy but whose absence won’t be noticed. I’m afraid I can’t tell you more, for all our sakes, but it’s vitally important. And I’ll fill you in as soon as it’s safe to do so, I promise.”

“Sounds pretty serious.” Helli seldom did anything lightly, but this was unusual even for her.

“Deadly.” Helli seemed to mean that literally. Ahsoka read pain and grief in her friend’s Force-presence. Someone had already died because of whatever she was trying to stop or prevent, and she didn’t want anyone else to meet the same fate.

“I’ll help you as much as I can, but I don’t have any way of getting off-world.” Would she have used it, if she had? Probably not, she realised. Where would she go?

Helli held out a scrap of flimsi. At the top, in Skyguy’s messy handwriting, was an unfamiliar name and address; below that, in Helli’s careful script (not her note-taking one), was a set of coordinates. “Anakin said this gentleman would supply that if you mention his name, and that’s the rendezvous point. The cargo’s a person, a Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother. She’ll be veiled and all in black, and probably able to tell you your own life history. Six to four she’ll be the one to make contact. And this,” she handed Ahsoka a cheap commlink, “is a burner comm. Call the pre-programmed frequency when you have an ETA and a destination and I’ll meet you there.”

You’re unsettlingly good at this, Ahsoka thought, but all she said was, “I will. By the way, I notice you’re using Skyguy’s first name at last.” When she’d last worked with Helli, the two knights hadn’t quite been on first-name terms, despite their closeness in age.

Helli grinned again. “Yes, he finally convinced me, after a slight contretemps with a couple of virus droids. I’ll tell you the full story one day, and all about this mess. But for now, I just need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“Of course.” Ahsoka might have lost faith in most of the Jedi Order, but Helli was different. She’d never lost sight of the Jedi’s ideals, never compromised her own more than absolutely necessary. As the former padawan made her way back to her flat, she knew she was on the right path.

***

Without realising it, Helli had started pacing back and forth as she waited for ‘Soka’s shuttle to arrive. It was an old habit she’d been trying to break for years, with limited success. A Jedi should always be, or at least seem, patient and calm. But stillness had never sat well with Helli; ironically, her mind and soul were most at peace when her body was moving. And after the previous few days, filled with frenetic activity she’d had to conceal even from some of her closest friends, she needed to find that peace again, if only briefly.

She sensed the pilot before she heard, let alone saw, the ship. Ahsoka was strong with the Force even by Jedi standards, even without the Order around her or a master to train her. Which was just as well, given the state of the two-person shuttle coming in to land at one of Coruscant’s busiest civilian spaceports (a good choice of ‘Soka’s; in such a crowd, nobody would look twice at them). In other hands, the bucket of bolts might very easily have exploded or broken up on re-entry, let alone when it touched down. But it did neither, thankfully.

Helli waited until the familiar red, white and blue figure emerged from the flying death-trap before shouldering her way through the crush of people and ushering her friend and the black-clad woman with her towards her borrowed speeder, via somewhere they could talk a little more privately.

“Greetings, Reverend Mother,” she said once she could make herself heard. “I trust your journey was satisfactory?” The question was just a formality; she could deduce the answer already.

“Well, we got here in one piece,” the truthsayer conceded. “But I’ve always loathed space travel, especially in an accident waiting to happen like that thing. At least this young lady knows what she’s doing.” Her eyes, just visible beneath her veil, flicked briefly to Ahsoka before resuming their close scrutiny of Helli. “As I said to her, if some of my sisters met you two, I think they’d consider changing our entry criteria.” The Bene Gesserit only accepted certain human females. “There’s good blood in you, my girl.”

“And some that is less good.” The words slipped out as Helli focused on letting go of her annoyance at being called my girl, but they were true. Stored in her genetic information and her race-memory was the legacy of some disgraced, long-dissolved clans. Most of her species could probably say the same; Alban law did not allow the crimes of a parent to be visited on their children, even crimes that deserved exile, a fate usually worse than death for a people so linked to their planet. (It had taken Helli years to let go of that attachment.) She normally regarded those traces as warnings, examples of what not to do, but recently had come to be thankful for the guile and cunning her ancestors had bequeathed her.

All the same, that wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss, so she steered the conversation well away from it. “My speeder’s this way. Ahsoka, are you coming with us?” They both knew she didn’t just mean returning to the Temple for a flying visit.

Ahsoka considered the question for a moment. “No. Not yet. And you don’t have to give me a lift, either. My bike’s not far away.”

“Fair enough.” Helli wanted her friend to come back, but wouldn’t force her to do anything against her will, or her best interests. “Well, if you change your mind, you’ll be very welcome. The Temple hasn’t been the same without you, or the Steadfast.” Anakin’s flagship, successor to the Resolute.

“I’ll think about it.” Ahsoka pulled Helli into a quick hug, which she reciprocated in full, automatically resting her forehead against her sister’s in a Mandalorian-style keldabe. Stars, ‘Soka was getting tall, already about Helli’s height even discounting her montrals, and probably still growing. A civilian diet clearly agreed with her. “May the Force be with you, and try not to crash.”

“And with you, and I’ll do my best.” As Ahsoka headed for her own transport, Helli led Mohiam the rest of the way to a speeder borrowed from the same contact as the shuttle, and in about the same shape. At least it was untraceable and had a roof and tinted windows. Mercifully, the Reverend Mother stayed quiet until they were in the never-ending chaos of Coruscant’s traffic system, and Helli was fighting to remember that she was in friendly territory and not, technically, combat.

“I must say, you’re something of a puzzle,” Mohiam finally commented, moments after a particularly tricky intersection. “You’ve suffered and inflicted violence, but seldom kill, and I don’t believe you have ever taken a person’s life. You long for children, but know you will never have any. Your emotions run deep, but you aren’t influenced by them. You’re an idealist with a pragmatic streak a parsec wide; utterly trustworthy, but devious. Quite a paradox.”

“So I’ve been told.” Helli was concentrating on the journey to their destination, finally parking a discreet but convenient distance from the Temple. She scrambled out of the speeder and helped her passenger to do the same, then turned her attention to the next problem. Which of the routes to their rendezvous with the others would be best?

Mohiam made up her own mind while Helli was still mulling the question over, striding to the main doors with perfect self-confidence. Hurrying after her, the Jedi was just in time to hear the Bene Gesserit command the Temple guardians on duty, “Let us through, then forget you saw us.” Her tone was strange, enticing and compelling even to the strong-willed young woman; the guardians obeyed without question.

“That was Voice?,” Helli whispered when they were alone again. She had read about the Bene Gesserit’s equivalent of Force-compulsion, irresistible to anyone without special training and just as unethical as the Jedi version. Mohiam only nodded. “Impressive, but I’d rather you didn’t use it again. Not on my brothers and sisters. Now, if memory serves…” She led the way down little-used corridors to the room where she and Anakin had asked the Jedi Council – the part of it on-planet, at least – to meet them. Leaving Mohiam just outside, she unlocked the door with the Force and went in.

“Young Abbasa. Good of you to join us at last.” As ever, the compassion Helli always sensed from Master Windu took the bite out of his words. “Now perhaps you and Skywalker will tell us why you’ve summoned us like this, and why you’re being so secretive.”

“In a moment, Master.” Helli sounded far more serene than she felt. She glanced at Anakin, who just smiled and tapped the commlink on his arm. A green light indicated that his and Spark’s anti-surveillance sensor and jamming signal were working perfectly. The only bugs in the room were organic. “I know we both owe you all an explanation, but there’s someone else far more qualified to give it.” She reached out to her vod’ika, sending, You can come in now.

A hidden door opened behind the Council to reveal Fives, paler than usual but clearly alive and likely to remain so, especially if Torrent had anything to do with it. The medic had agreed to let his kih’vod out of bed only under his direct supervision, and was therefore hovering behind him, but Fives was the centre of attention. Helli noted the Council’s reactions while Fives told his story, ranging from unreadable (Master Yoda and Master Windu) to almost open joy (Master Ti, Master Fisto and, surprisingly, Master Kenobi) at first, shifting to universal shock and outrage laced with caution as the tale unfolded. As she had expected.

“If what you’re saying is true…,” Master Ti began. She was on the verge of believing that, Helli thought.

“That’s the problem,” Master Windu pointed out, quite reasonably. “I know you believe what you’re saying, Fives, but how can we be sure that that’s what actually happened?”

“There was no sign of any sort of infection when the Healers examined him,” Torrent put in. “And the drugs they found wouldn’t cause that kind of hallucination. Check with them if you don’t believe me.”

“We do,” Master Kenobi assured him. “Unfortunately, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. If what Fives just told us is true, Palpatine’s covered his tracks well.”

“Not well enough,” Helli countered. “I took the liberty of calling in some outside help.” She looked to Mohiam, who had slipped in when she opened the main door under cover of Fives’ arrival and hidden in a shadowed corner. “Reverend Mother, what do you make of Fives’ testimony?”

A wave of consternation washed through the assembled Jedi Masters as the black-clad figure stepped forward, drawing back her veil to reveal a stern, age-worn but still beautiful face. “On my word as a Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit and a truthsayer, the clone spoke the truth as it is, and not merely as he saw it.”

That put the nexu among the nuna. Helli’s voice rang out over the sudden babble of conversations. “I will vouch for her and for my brother, on my honour as a Pict of Clan Abbasa and as a Knight of the Jedi Order.” Not so long ago, that would have been enough. She was one of their own. Family. But Barriss, Krell and Dooku had been family as well. Trust me, she silently begged them. Trust us. Or we’re all boiled.

Her prayers were answered by Master Yoda, the eventual spokesman for the half-Council. “Accept your statements, we do. Removed from office, the Chancellor must be, as soon as possible.” Helli couldn’t speak for relief as the Council, Anakin, Fives and Torrent (with commentary from Mohiam) began to plan their next steps. They had believed her, and more importantly Fives. There was hope for the galaxy after all.

---

Mando’a glossary:

Vod: brother, sister, sibling. Kih’ (factual) and ‘ika (affectionate) are diminutives; -(s)e is the plural ending.

Just to be clear, Helli does like and respect Anakin and understand at least some of his feelings (as do I); she’s just getting a bit fed up with everything.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Summary: In which several clone medics create a private comm chat where they can discuss the daily shenanigans they are exposed to. Chaos, as usual, ensures.

[A chatfic where you get to see the clone medics either unwind after a long day, or occasionally pester each other for a quick laugh. Each chapter will be fairly short and simple, and there will be a LOT of Clone Medic OCs in it. Some chapters might focus primarily on certain characters rather than the group as a whole.]

[mwolf0epsilon]

There's Something Lurking in the Guard Barracks

Summary: After a sudden spike of random animal attacks begins to plague the Coruscant Guard, Hound is put in charge of investigating whatever might be the cause of so many vode ending up in the medbay with their ankles bitten to shreds...

[Rhythm and Red Alert are @lost-on-kamino 's boys. Croissant is @gaeasun 's lad.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

A mystery had reared its supposedly ugly head in whatever dark corners of the Coruscant Guard Barracks that no vod had ever bothered to map out. A mystery that lurked, stalked and bit whoever was unfortunate enough to catch its fancy. Attacked at such a speed and in such an unexpected inopportune moment, that none who'd been attacked had been able to see the perpetrator.

All that the victims knew was that they'd been alone in some unassuming area of the barracks, and that whatever had latched onto their poor defenseless ankles, certainly had jaws of steel at its disposal.

Animal attacks were no new occurrence when it came to the Guard. Animal attacks within their own base however... Well, there was a reason why the massiffs were allowed to roam outside of kennels at certain hours of the day. It wouldn't do well to let a plague of rats run rampant.

But this was no rat. At least not one Hound was familiar with.

It all began on a typical Prime Day, as most inconveniences for the Guard often did. Between cranky Coruscanti folks giving them a hard time because they didn't want to do their own routines, or the Senators deciding that overworking them on the weekend wasn't enough, Prime Day always opened up a new week with any given kind of problem.

Hound had been called in to speak with Fox for a reason or another (you never knew these days), and found his superior officer with a limp and a rather sour look on his face. Which gave away immediately that things were about to get really interesting for the head of the K9 Division.

"There's a pest problem in the vents." The marshal commander told him, as he massaged his aching ankle. "Something big's made its home in there, and it karking bites. I want you to deal with it."

"Did you see it, sir?" He'd asked out of curiosity, hoping to know what exactly he (and by proxy Grizzer) would be working with.

"...Not even a shadow." Fox hesitantly admitted, mouth twitching slightly as he mulled over it. "I'd just gotten into my office, set down the stacks of datapads I had to get through, and then the next thing I knew I was on the floor clutching my Force-damned ankle because something caught me from the vent behind my chair... Just barely heard it skitter away back in through the ventilation..."

"Uh... That's too bold for a rat, or even a tooka..." Hound scratched his chin in thought. "Have you gotten a rabies shot from the medbay, just in case?"

"Of course I did." Fox rolled his eye at this. "I may not like getting my jabs, but I'm not risking ending up a frothing twitching mess on my office floor just because I got bit by some unknown pest with whatever disease it caught outside..."

"Right, I'll try to figure out what bit you sir. I'm sure it's nothing good ol' Grizzer can't sniff out and deal with!"

It turned out to not be as simple as that. Whatever was hiding in the vents was not making itself available for removal without a fight. And unfortunately several other vode ended up finding themselves in the same situation as the marshal commander.

With limps and preemptive shots straight from the medbay. The line got longer every day, and by the end of the week Hound was at a loss for what to think of the whole situation.

He'd never encountered a critter that left him so stumped.

"I don't understand. I've dealt with all sorts of pest infestations before..." He bemoaned as he ate his lunch with Rhythm and Red Alert, right next to the riot trooper gear storage closet. "Rats, roaches, spiders... Kriff, even someone's runaway pet lizard that started breeding with the local population of geckos!"

"Well, not every animal operates the same way." Rhythm offered his thoughts on the matter. "Maybe we've got ourselves something a little smarter than a street tooka or a spoiled lizard."

"Or maybe something from down under came to the upper levels and we actually have a potential bio-hazard on our hands..." Red Alert gulped at the prospect of such an event taking place.

"That's what preemptive shots are for Red." Hound huffed. "Whatever is in the vents isn't some mutant from the under-levels. It wouldn't have survived climbing into the lower sector's vents all the way up to our level... Not with the measures in place to keep stuff like that isolated down there anyway..."

"You never know..." Red Alert shrugged, pausing to look up when he caught sight of Olly walking into the room looking a little flustered. "There you are! Olly I haven't seen you all morning!"

The larger riot trooper didn't respond, merely frowned and looked around the room before slumping his shoulders slightly.

"Hey, you seem down big guy..." Rhythm frowned as well, noting his friend's apparent distress. "Is something wrong?"

"Hm..." Olly shrugged. "S'fine... Just can't find something..."

"You can't find something? It's not like you to misplace your stuff..." Red Alert blinked. "You need any help finding it?"

"No... I'll... Has to be around here somewhere..." Olly shook his head and walked back out of the room, picking up the pace as he carried on looking for, well, whatever it was he'd lost. How odd.

Ah well, whatever was going on with the rather long named trooper could wait. Hound still had a mystery on his hands after all. He could help with another later.

"So, you're both helping me trap whatever is in the vents."

"Yeah sure!" Rhythm grinned.

"Uuuh I don't think--"

"Great, thanks guys. I'm thinking we block some of the vents and bait the one in our quarters. Then we trap it with like, some kind of container." Hound grinned.

"We don't even know how big it is!" Red Alert protested.

"Just big enough to fit in the vents, not too bad!" Rhythm shrugged.

"That's the spirit!"

With a plan as solid as this, surely the three of them should be able to catch one measly bitey creature. They were highly trained soldiers after all! The pride of the Guard no doubt.

Which is what they assumed, until they'd all ended up in the medbay getting their own jabs. Their ankles torn to shreds like everyone else's.

"I am starting to think Fox should call a specialist to deal with the vent problem." Croissant sighed as he finished administering the preemptive rabies shots.

"I don't understand... We should have seen it coming." Hound was at his wit's end. "Nothing should have gotten past us!"

"And yet, here all three of you are. This stuff isn't cheap you know..." He held up the vial of medicine, grimacing at how little remained. "And you need several more just to make sure you don't end up contracting the damn disease..."

"We don't even know if the thing in the vents can catch it, much less transmit it through a bite." Rhythm pointed out. "I didn't feel teeth, just really strong jawbones..."

"Jawbones that bit with such force they drew blood!" Red Alert whimpered.

"Grizzer wouldn't even go near the vent... What is in there that's scaring my massiff?!" The idea that some horror from the deep had really gotten into the barrack vents was starting to become more plausible.

"OOOOOOOOUCH!!!!!!!"

All four jolted slightly at the shrill scream outside of the medbay doors. Then, they gawked as Fox (for once clad in his officer grays rather than his armour) rushed in through the door, something relatively vent sized firmly attached to his unprotected backside.

"I wonder if it might be that thing?" Croissant deadpanned as he watched the marshal commander spin around gracelessly, in an attempt to shake off whatever spiky nonsense was currently trying to rip his shebs apart.

A minute later, the door opened again.

To everyone's surprise Olly was the one opening it, which was highly unusual considering the unusually tall riot trooper hated going to the medbay. The confused look on his face swiftly changed to one of absolute joy, which was another surprise.

He rarely openly expressed anything other than mild annoyance.

"Cabur! I've been looking everywhere for you!" without giving Fox so much as a warning, the larger trooper stopped him by the shoulders before prying the creature from it's grip on the marshal commander's aching behind. But not without a parting gift in the form of ripped piece of grey fabric and part of Fox's underwear as well.

"AAAAAACK!!!"

"Olly, what the hell?!" Croissant chose to ignore the happy riot trooper and the beast he was holding, in favor of helping their commanding officer off the floor where he'd fallen after getting the creature pulled away from his rear-end.

"What even is that...?" Rhythm blinked as he stared at his friend.

Olly paused to look at the others. He held out the animal in question, revealing its spiky shell, long gangly limbs, spiny tail, prehensile neck, and rather unpleasant looking snooty face.

It appeared to be a turtle of some kind. Which was likely why Olly wasn't afraid of holding it.

"This is Cabur. She's a shiro that I found in one of the upper floors in a public fountain..." He offered as a form of explanation. "And I've been looking everywhere for her. I was afraid she'd gotten lost."

"I... What was a shiro doing in a public fountain?!" Red Alert stared at the creature in horror, flinching when it appeared to glare at them and snapped it's jaws threateningly. "They're indigenous to Naboo, not Coruscant!

"Nevermind that, you knew what could have been biting everyone and you didn't say?!" Hound stared incredulously at Olly.

".... You never asked." Olly shrugged in turn.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Hound put his face in his hands. "This whole time you knew and could have helped.... Everyone's ankles are ruined! Fox's ass is ruined! No offense ori'vod..."

"My ankles and shebs hurt less than the jabs..." The marshal commander grumbled. "My dignity however..."

"Our stash of preemptive medicine is nearly gone." Croissant pointed out. "Which might be a problem in the future..."

"Well... At least if that thing has rabies, we won't catch it anytime soon with all the jabs we got?" Rhythm offered, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Turtles can't catch rabies." Olly pointed out calmly.

"....Kark, then yeah, this is terrible." The communications officer groaned. "All of this worrying for nothing..."

"Again, you never asked." Olly rolled his eyes and walked out of the medbay, turtle menace in tow. At least he seemed quite happy with the situation.

Maybe next time something like this happened, Hound would decline any pest related problems.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Summary: Canivete's youngest batchmate, Abstract, gets hurt in an incident involving a Sith Artifact while on a mission. This causes the 212th medic to panic and say some things she doesn't mean, which in turn causes a minor falling out with a fellow medic.

[The Hospital Clubhouse gets a venting channel tab after this particular mess goes down. Sometimes when people get scared they say some pretty awful things without really thinking about it. In this case it hits a nerve.]

[mwolf0epsilon]

Exhale the Paint Fumes

Summary: Olly's spiraling smells a little like paint...

Recommended Song: Slow Walk

Canon Characters: Commander Fox, Clone Trooper Dogma, Sargent Hound, Grizzer the Massiff

Original Characters: Riot Trooper Olly Olly Oxenfree, Clone Trooper Lichtenberg Clone Trooper Pretty Boy, K9 Trooper Redacted, Communications Corrie Rhythm(@british-hero) Riot Trooper Red Alert(@british-hero), K9 Trooper Bumblebee(@british-hero), Clone Medic Remedy(@kkrazy256), Drift(@calamity-aims), Clone Medic Croissant(@gaeasun), Clone Medic Nocte(@purgetrooperfox).

[This story is heavily inspired by @calamity-aims 's fic "To Unexplain the Unforgivable", and @gaeasun 's fic "The Two Hundred". I would suggest giving those a read beforehand.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

Fox's office smells like fresh paint. The unpleasant smelling vapors cling to the walls, furniture and nostrils, even if the coat itself is not present on them. Because whenever the marshal commander of the Guard breaks out the paint, usually it's to add another name to his vambrace.

If Olly were the kind of clone to wax needless poetics, he'd likely akin both the scent and effects of the fumes to be what loss physically smelled and felt like. Seeing as he's no bard, and Fox is certainly no philosophical major, he never words such absurdity. There's just no point in trying to make a tragedy into art.

It was 200 this time...

200 names delicately etched on a piece of armour that had seen far too much in far too little time. 200 names that make the eyes water and the nose itch. 200 men erased and replaced like glitched software. 200 brothers that Olly has lost. That were stolen from Fox's attentive and caring hands because of something well outside of his control.

Neither of them speak. There really isn't any need for that. Not much either of them could say that would ease the pain or guilt, nor do they particularly feel like breaking the somber silence.

It's a minute of remembrance, honoring the not quite dead.

If Olly focuses hard enough he could almost hear the voices of the past. Each carefully caligraphed letter of a name so full of the impression of memories, that both gave him the drive to go on, and a newfound crack his already quite broken heart. A crack that threatens to finally shatter it into a million pieces.

He wonders what is going through Fox's mind as he completes his 109th name. What tormenting horrors poke and prod at his brain as he tries not to quake and quiver with each one he catalogs into somewhere so private and close. Probably the same kind of monsters that are gnawing at Olly's own gray matter. Monsters that remind him that he's lost everything and everyone to the cruelty of the galaxy. The indifference of Kamino, Coruscant and the GAR.

His unnamed ori'vode and vod'ika, spirited away by the demagolka that haunted his nightmares. Lich, lost and very likely devoured by the all-consuming shadows of Umbara's unending darkness. Pretty Boy, a traitorous defector that turned-tail and saved himself instead of coming back to help him grieve their brother. Rhythm, wiped clean like he was nothing more than a stubborn stain that needed to be removed from a fancy carpet.

Hell hath no fury like a vod who's got nothing left to lose. And yet... Olly can't bring himself to be angry anymore.

At least not right now.

156 names on a singular vambrace. Some older than the ones Fox has just added to the ever growing list. The other will no longer be bare. Each addition kills another piece of both of their souls.

Everyone knew riot troopers never got decommissioned nor reconditioned. There's no need because they're "mindless brutes". Why "fix" something that exists only to push back a crowd and deliver a violent beating? It would defeat the purpose of such a henously glamour-less position.

It also meant that those who'd endured the horrors of their hard to survive job, were left to sit around idly and helplessly watch their brothers be taken away from them. Sometimes never to return. Other times being brought back wrong and never the same.

Red Alert always told the Shiny Turtles not to get too attached, even if he himself failed to follow his own rule. Olly simply told them to hold on to the memories they'd made, and to look after the broken shells that came back from Kamino.

Not all of them took it well. It was hard on the heart. He'd caught so many kih'vode hanging from the drafters that at this point the idea of suicide within the barracks was not a novelty.

Telling Fox of these incidents always meant more paint smell. More fumes. More headaches. More stinging eyes and noses. More guilt, retching and dry-heaving over a dirty toilet bowl in some dingy establishment's bathroom.

Never a good idea to throw up in the Coruscant Guard barracks, their plumbing was and forever would be quite shitty.

Olly doesn't really know why he bothers to stick around to watch Fox whenever that happens. There's no point to him watching his commanding officer, his Guard ori'vod, adding the names to his armour.

It's not like the commander would ever dare to skip over a name.

Once, before Remedy got wiped that is, the bespectacled medic had suggested the methodical way Fox wrote the names might simply help the riot trooper to relax. Each line and curve forcing him to focus and take deeper even breaths.

Maybe he'd been right.

Time always seemed to slow down and make more sense when he sat by the marshal commander in these moments of sorrow.

200 names spread between two vambraces. Fox isn't bothering to conceal the hitch of his breath or the tears running down his face. Olly squeezes his shoulder once before leaving him to grieve in peace. Force gods only knew he was hanging by the fraying thread of what little dignity he still had remaining.

The veteran riot trooper refused to be the one to take that from him.

Olly's unofficial patrols start the moment he leaves the marshal commander's office. They're self-imposed. A personal mission he'd given himself the first time something like this had transpired. A way to reassure his weakened mind and broken heart, despite it doing exactly the opposite on most cases.

The outliers gave him hope. The hopeless causes took it away.

He takes a deep breath, inhales the "clean air" and the exhales the paint fumes he'd been breathing in all morning. Exhales his nerves and tries not to cough up a lung in the process. The stinging in his nasal cavity and throat are still there from the light chemical burns. And then he makes his way towards his various destinations.

His first stop is down in Storage where '22 can always be found.

Even after a full mind-scrub, Dogma's quirks hadn't quite left him. They likely never would, no matter how many times he got reconditioned, considering he'd always just been wired differently from the great majority of the rest of them. He still liked order and organization. Thrived doing inventory work.

He just doesn't respond the his old name anymore.

That's fine. He seems to like it when Olly calls him D22. Never asks why Olly walks in with his right first bandaged, just accepts the treat he forcefully pilfered from a vending machine that was located on one of the various blind-spots of Coruscant. The larger trooper used to hate stealing, now it was a necessity if he wanted to offer something his siblings were more inclined to eat.

'22 loved cupcakes just as much as Dogma. Olly can't bring back his kih'vod, but he can bring '22 a cupcake.

His second stop is the medbay, even if he hates going in there.

Seeing what used to be Remedy walking around with cropped hair and no glasses is very jarring. Not only to him but to the medics that hadn't been wiped yet. He could see it in Croissant's and Nocte's eyes whenever they thought he wasn't watching. Knew they feared what might befall them if the chancellor got upset at Fox anytime soon.

The CMO had always been a frowner, which hadn't changed. None of the reconned clones ever really smiled much.

8847 always zeroes in on his injured hand before anyone else could register the riot trooper's presence in the medbay. Before any of this happened, Olly would have shied away from his touch. Refusing to show weakness even to the kindly medics. A couple of glass shards in his hand were nothing compared with his full body pains after all.

Now he lets '47 do as he pleases with the injuries.

He's taken up whittling. He's pretty crap at it. Laughably so. There's always some shitty wooden figurine in one of his pouches to offer to the medic as a "gesture of gratitude" for the medical care. 8847 doesn't seem to understand why he gives them to him but, according to Nocte, he hasn't thrown any away.

Olly can't tell if he's just trying to be polite or if he's trying to figure out why anyone would make and keep tiny wooden trash. Sith-hells, maybe '47 is just trying to figure out what the hell any of the figurines are meant to be. The little tooka he'd tried to carve was so bad it kind of looked like a malformed star fighter.

His third stop is the kennels.

Olly is absolutely terrified of the massiffs kept there, but he forces himself to swallows his fear like a hard pill. He'd never really seen eye to eye with Hound, but he was still a vod. And he'd been Rhythm's friend. Now he didn't even seem to acknowledge the massiff he'd bonded with prior to being reconned. Something which registered with the creature, if the way it now behaved so sadly was anything to go by.

He'd taken a hard hit. That much was obvious from the way he looked at people and animals so vacantly. Olly mostly came to make sure he ate something at least once or twice per day. With shaky hands he also made sure to refill the bowls in the kennels, even though the movements of the caged little beasts made him recoil like he'd been burned.

The riot trooper was ashamed to admit he often didn't stick around to even have an attempted conversation with the K9 trooper. He left that up to Redacted who had taken on the majority of the work in the kennels since Hound and Bumblebee got wiped.

His fourth stop takes him straight to Drift.

6147 greets him stiffly as usual. He'd been an arc trooper once, and also one of very few vode that ever dared to spar with a turtle that stood at 6 feet tall and was as built as Alpha karking 17.

Everyone knew Olly's strength was abnormal. Alarmingly so.

Another factor which adds to his chronic aches. Human muscle was never meant to be used at the same capacity as a woolamander would use it. Adrenaline was thus the key to unlock such power. Olly had learned early on to control the lack of restraints Sulu Ra's serum had cursed him with, but he couldn't mend what the strain did to him. No one could.

He'd likely end up permanently disabled one day.

Despite the danger of real injury being an accidental likelihood of facing him on the mat, Drift had never feared him as an opponent in the slightest. Seemed fond of the challenge.

Drift had fought him like he'd fought any other brother. The ARC had even beat him on several occasions by being perceptive, quick and witty. Only one of those things hadn't left him. The lack of fear.

6147 hadn't beat him yet.

He was slower, less coordinated, less aware of his surroundings. Olly barely did much in their spars. Just let the vod burn the energy. Eventually the former ARC would just fall on his shebs on his own and listlessly sit there, seeming almost at a loss for why all of this felt wrong. It wasn't right to see him life this.

His stops took him everywhere around the Coruscant Guard HQ. Fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth... ...Two hundreth. His final stop was always Rhythm.

It was also the one that hurt him the most.

There was just nothing there. Nothing left of the clumsy but highly spirited vod'ika that reminded him so much of his own batchmates. Kamino had completely ruined him, from cutting the locks he'd so proudly styled, to removing the very light in those rich dark eyes of his. The only recognizable aspects were the freckles and scars. Fractured constellations.

Croissant had called him insane for putting himself through this. Nocte had just looked at him with such pity. He knows both of them mean well, but honestly kark them both for getting into his business. There was already so much that had been taken from him, he'd be damned if he lost this as well.

Torturous an ordeal or not, Olly would never abandon Rhythm. He can't let him go, even if the healthier option would be to do so. 2895 isn't Rhythm but that doesn't change the fact he used to be.

Maybe... Impossible as it may seem... He could be again...? If Olly tried hard enough...?

With a purpose he lets go of letting go. Just like a turtle Olly slow walks towards that one particularly unfeasable goal.

Even if it means indulging in things he honest to gods hated.

Like playing Rhythm's dumb little playlists full of songs that make his brain hurt. Or practicing twice as hard on his guitar playing skills even when he's too tired to lift it up properly. Sometimes he overturns the little box where he keeps the kids's little gifts, hoping '95 might recognize Agi's finger paints or Vite's handwriting. He has holopics of Lenta, from the few nights they'd all gone out together for some not quite cheap caf. He even holds the turtle plush Rhythm got him once as an apology gift for getting up to shenanigans...

The indifference behind '95's eyes never deters him. He tolerates Olly's company but doesn't seem curious at all about any of the memorabilia. Just seems interested in meticulously retouching his standard-painted shock trooper armour.

Olly's continuously dashed and renewed hopes smell like fresh paint.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Whumptober Day 11: "911, What's your Emergency?"

Prompt: Sloppy Bandages, Self-Done First Aid & Makeshift Splint

Summary: The plan was never to go anywhere near the Coruscant Guard barracks. Sponge had only gone out to walk Beautiful before they both retired to bed. They couldn't ignore when she started signalling for injury whenever they passed by one of the patrolling guardsmen...

[I mentioned wanting to write this once, and it seemed like the appropriate time to do so. Hope y'all don't mind if I borrow some medics @kkrazy256 , @purgetrooperfox , @lost-on-kamino and @gaeasun]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

Contrary to popular belief, even the reclusive and often argumentative Sponge liked getting out of the barracks once in a while. Not to go clubbing at 79's or catch up with anyone in particular, mind you, but to simply stretch their legs and get some fresh air (or as fresh as Coruscant's air filtration system could allow for).

The peace and quiet of the medbay was nice and all (and organizing the supplies was a fairly easy way to relax after a long day of filling medical report updates), but one couldn't simply evade some much needed exercise nor the need for some newer sights and sounds.

Mental stimulation that did not involve mending injuries, lecturing others for their reckless shenanigans, or any sort of blaster fire, were a must for a medical practitioner.

Nevermind the fact that maybe (just maybe), Sponge would very much prefer to have one or two minutes where they didn't hear the voice of another vod. Because as much as they loved Coric's, Kix's, Pitch's and Twitch's company, they too grated on their nerves sometimes. Especially when their social meter was at its very limit.

All anti-social behavior aside, Beautiful couldn't go without walkies. To dare think such a thing was an heinous crime.

Leash in hand, armour discarded in favour of their medical officer's fatigues that they almost never wore, tired expression upon their face, and barghest wagging her tail so hard her entire rear-end shook with excitement, Sponge took the nearest lift that lead to the bottom floor of the GAR barracks without much of a thought.

They nodded their head in acknowledgement at a few passing brothers (some baring 501st blue and others displaying various other battalion colours barring corrie red), before walking out into the Coruscanti night.

The cantankerous medic practically let their beloved companion drag them wherever she pleased. Beautiful was often as cooped up indoors as they were, so it was only fair that she got to decide where the rare nightly walk would take them. Where Sponge liked going out to wander about and clear their mind, Beau loved her carefree runs and the wonderful experience of sampling new smells, or even new treats if the vendors that were around weren't bastards about serving a clone and their pet.

That was what they had in mind for the night. Just a quick jog, maybe find someone who'd part with some street-food, let Beautiful do her business, and then return to base.

In and out.

They did not anticipate the barghest suddenly halting and sniffing the air with a most perturbed look in her usually placid face. Nor did they expect her to turn to stare at a nearby alleyway, before taking on a very familiar stance. One Sponge had specifically trained her to take on, for a rather important task.

Beautiful was signalling for medical help. There was someone in that alleyway and they were injured.

Sponge couldn't help but frown at this. The thought of bringing a first-aid kit with them had never crossed their mind. It shouldn't be something they needed to think of when they weren't on duty, and taking their barghest out for a walk was as good as any way to say that they were most definitely off the clock.

But they weren't the sort of person to ignore when someone needed their help. And Beautiful, bless her soul, certainly wasn't the kind of creature to ignore someone in need of help.

It was why she'd been so easy to train to sniff out medical emergencies. She was eager to do the job. Very good at it too.

Hopefully whatever the stranger in the alleyway needed wouldn't require stitches or anything fancier than improvised bandaging and support, until they could call for proper help. Surely there would be a guardsman patrolling nearby that they could ask assistance from.

Imagine their surprise upon approaching the alleyway when they realized that, yes, there was in fact a guardsman around...

But they were the one currently injured...

"What in blue blazes...?" The lone corrie was in bad shape. That much they could see with a passing glance. The vod's armour cracked open in various places, scuffed right down to the base, and paint chipped away messily.

He was laying on the ground, head lolling from side to side in what they could only assume was an attempt to clear the fogginess of unconsciousness from his mind.

A concussion, perhaps? No time to dwell on what it could be.

"Trooper, sitrep."

Call them callous for cutting to the chase like that, but Sponge was never one for formalities when they were presented with potentially serious injuries. Whatever had happened to this guardsman had cracked the protective shell encasing him, and they weren't about to offer small talk.

And it seemed to do the job just fine...

One visible glazed eye temporarily focused on their scowling face, then seemed to dart away from it to inspect their fatigues Sponge was wearing. Whatever briefly tense body-language the trooper had been carrying upon being addressed, melted away completely.

The sight of a medic must have been a relief.

"G-Got.... Got jumped...." The filter on the helmet was broken, revealing a far too young voice. This corrie was barely 8 it seemed. The visor of his helmet was broken on the right side, partially exposing the wounded vod's face and revealing the youthfulness that shouldn't be there. Along with the blood of course. "Three... Three assailants. Drunk... I c-couldn't... Couldn't fight them off..."

And Sponge could see why. And it wasn't just the fact this poor kih'vod was nowhere near done growing up.

Although most of the injuries looked new (the visible bruising still coming in after such a brutal beat-down), one thing stood out to the medic as they knelt down to assess the damage. This guardsman was walking around with what they could only assume was a makeshift split. The sloppily done up bandages keeping it together looking slightly yellowed and fraying at the ends.

"You were singled out..." It comes out without a thought. They're not entirely sure why, as usually they try to keep their thoughts to themselves unless something was absolutely aggravating enough that it got them on a mad rant.

The trooper nods slowly, much to their horror.

"B-Biggest g-guy... Broke my arm last week..." The kih'vod croaks out in between wheezes. The poor thing needs immediate attention, as there is a high chance he has a perforated lung. "The commander... H-he assigned me a n-new route... They s-still found me..."

Before Sponge can inquire any further on what the kid means, Beau starts to whine loudly. They glance her way and notice she's staring out the alleyway now. Signaling once more for injury. They don't need to get up to see what she's found now. The injured party is headed their way, and something coils in the pit of the medic's stomach when their eyes land on the two new guardsmen that enter the alleyway (likely in search of their missing vod'ika).

They are wobbling. Visibly. Be it from whatever wounds they are concealing beneath their scuffed armour or from exhaustion, Sponge does not know.

But their instincts as a medical officer are never wrong. Neither is Beau's response to these sorts of situations.

One is using a pole as some kind of walking aid. It has had grips fashioned out of scrap materials, so it's likely this particular vod has needed this improvised crutch for a while now. The other also sports a makeshift splint like the little brother Sponge and Beau had stumbled upon in the alleyway. Unlike the kih'vod's however, the new guardsman's splint and bandages look neater. Fresher.

Their posture is ramrod stiff and unsure upon seeing Sponge and Beau. Bordering on frightened even. They both relax when they see their fatigues. Seemingly appeased by the neutrality of them.

Something needs to be done, and Sponge decides to hell with whatever simple night they were hoping for.

-

It takes about 3 minutes for Sponge and the two silent corries to find something to use as a stretcher to carry the third battered one. Without access to medical equipment there's no way of telling the severity of the kih'vod's state (although outwardly it certainly doesn't look good), and Sponge isn't willing to risk exacerbating any probable neck injuries.

It takes 1 minute to properly secure the injured guardsman and, despite their own obvious injuries, the other two carry their fellow brother in red rather effectively. They seem capable of walking off their own ailments (likely out of habit, which is a disconcerting thought), and the only indication of any sort of issue is that the one that uses the pole for support needs to go at a slower pace.

It takes 30 minutes to make it to the Coruscant Guard HQ, and what Sponge finds awaiting them is a complete nightmare scenario. Which shouldn't be that much a surprise, considering every clone in red and white that they pass by is quickly assessed by Beau and singled out as being injured in some way or form.

Every.

Single.

One.

Of.

Them.

The 501st medic's eye is twitching rather sporadically by the time they are indoors. Their leg bouncing uneasily once they also get the news that, unfortunately, this broken soldier they have been helping transport needs to go into the barracks because the medbay is at full capacity.

Why in karking sith-hells the corrie medbay is at full capacity, is something they are both dying and quite frankly terrified of find out...

They'd only ever seen something like this on Umbara, and the trauma was still oh so very fresh on their mind.

Scratch that. This was somehow worse.

Barracks was putting it kindly. The two (somehow fit for duty) troopers that had silently performed their duties beside them, had taken Sponge to something that looked like a storage room. A very tiny storage room that smelled vaguely of mold and sweaty bodies.

Minimalism was often regarded as the most modernized form of architectural art by the rich and well off. White walls, white furniture, white everything. Kaminocore if you could pardon the absurdity of the jargon.

The GAR barracks and its clone denizens believed in the opposite. Every wall full of color, painted decals, posters and handmade decorations of all shapes and sizes. Sometimes if you got lucky you got a gift from a particularly nice natborn that you could put on display.

The Guard barracks were bare-bones. Cracked unpainted walls, damp spots due to terrible insulation and pipework, scavenged objects that had clearly been taken from the trash and haphazardly repaired to be used as some means of creature comforts. It felt like a prison despite attempts to cozy it up. Nothing like the homeliness of the quarters Sponge was familiar with.

All beds (or bed-frames serving as beds, with their mattresses on the floor to compensate for the lacking number of available cots) were taken by vode that Beau whined and howled at because she was sick and tired of signaling so desperately for injured.

The makeshift stretcher ends up on the floor. The two troopers sitting besides the battered brother they'd been carrying with twin motions of defeat. Sponge doesn't know any of their names but they have seen that sort of body language before.

Crushed spirits were hard to ignore once you knew what to look for.

Needless to say, there's no medical supplies that they can ask for. The number of sick and clearly dying that are just in the barracks alone tells them that much.

Sponge doesn't know what has caused this. Doesn't know if it's just always like this, or if something happened recently to completely overcrowd the medbay and subsequently the barracks.

But they do know one thing: They're about to make it everyone's problem.

Beautiful in tow, knuckles paper-white from holding her leash in a tight grip, the medic begins to search for their intended target. Begins the search for answers and a potential solution.

They could go directly towards the marshal commander's office and demand to know what the fuck this was all about. Demand to know why in haran commander Fox hadn't requisitioned any aid from any available battalions that were currently on leave. But that was a conversation they'd prefer to have later once they actually applied some protocols that may help.

Right now they wanted to meet with someone a little more qualified for the job. Someone that, if circumstances called for it, could outrank any other commanding officer in the nearest vicinity.

Thankfully the medbay isn't hard to find. Ordering Beau to stop before she begins the torturous run around calling out for help, is a little harder. She's on edge, the poor thing.

Little Force Gods above, some of the sick were performing first aid on themselves with little more than primitive supplies.

And the only medics he can see (one with red and white hair, another with a half-moon tattoo, and the last wearing fatigues and looking to be administering what they could only assume was a sedative to a trembling clone without legs), were running all around the medbay. Providing what little help they could to their charges despite the three of them looking just as disheveled and ready to drop as the patients.

The level of concern has breached the charts. It was off the scales and Sponge knew drastic measures were likely the only way to put an end to whatever the hell was going on.

"I'm looking for the CMO." They don't introduce themselves, don't even let the three present medics inquire about their presence or identity at their own pace. They just startle and look towards the door, surprised to see a fourth unfamiliar clone in medic fatigues, leashed barghest in hand.

"That would be me...?" The one with red and white hair approaches as he seemingly snaps to attention.

Sponge takes in the framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, as well as the white coat and blue latex gloves that contrast against the dreariness of the medbay. The scars on his face tell a story. One that they suspect is older than the horrors of this position.

They don't dare ask. It's rather impolite to do so.

"Are we getting a new transfer?" The one with the half-moon tattoo asks no one in particular, seeming confused before addressing the one that stepped forward to answer Sponge. "Remedy, did Fox mention anything about a new medic...?"

"With how swamped he's been after the riot..." The one still holding the needle shrugged. He looks wary of their presence, which the 501st medic doesn't fault them for. They'd also wrinkle their nose at the sight of a stranger in their workplace. Even if said stranger was a fellow clone. "Doubt we'd hear anything until next Prime Day, Nocte..."

"As if that's Fox's fault Croissant." Half-moon, Nocte apparently, frowned slightly at the endearingly named Crossaint's, response. With a grip like that on the needle he was still holding, Sponge doubted he was a sweet as they were soft.

Which wasn't a lot.

"You're the CMO." Sponge repeated, staring at Remedy in contemplation. They opted with ignoring the other two completely for now, as they didn't feel like they needed to address them for this temporary plan to work.

All in due time.

"Yes... ?" Remedy responded, eyes slowly trailing down to look at Beautiful for the briefest second. They darted back up to try to figure out why Sponge was here. Or who they were. Or both.

"Ok good... Beautiful." Sponge glanced down at their most loyal companion. The barghest stood at attention, staring up at them with her 6 inquisitive red eyes. "Eat him."

Almost immediately the rather compact mass of muscle that was Beau, lunged towards her designated target. A datapad and the pair of glasses practically flew as the vod was bowled over, his shrieking cut off as the barghest eagerly began to lick his face while sitting on him.

The other two medics (and every single other conscious corrie in the room) are shocked into silence, staring at their superior officer who's now effectively pinned under the full weight of a large animal with a maw full of wicked looking teeth.

Then they stare back up at Sponge who merely huffs.

"Oh dear... It appears the CMO is currently indisposed." They stated calmly as if they hadn't ordered their pet to sit on a fellow medical officer themselves. "Seeing as a lack of an on duty chief medical officer and medical amenities, is a direct violation of this branch of Republican military... I suppose the right thing to do is for me to message my own CMO, who is a part of a sister branch of said Republican military and thusly allowed to take jurisdiction if circumstances present themselves, and request for immediate aid."

Both Nocte and Croissant looked absolutely flabbergasted by the monotonous announcement. Remedy just looked like he'd given up on the spot as Beau continued to lick him.

"Very well then..." Sponge shrugged and began to make their way back out the door. They stopped to look at Remedy. "She likes pats on her hind-quarters, like playing a drum... And don't give her anything even if she tries to beg, she's already been fed and she knows it."

Sponge doesn't await an answer nor has any qualms turning their back on everyone else. They know they won't be attacked. Instead walking out the door and letting Beau keep the corrie CMO occupied, until they could have all available medics from the 501st (and whatever other battalion they could contact) invade the Guard HQ with first-aid kits in hand.

They were already comming Pitch, not trusting the shitty signal they got on Coruscant to let them message Coric directly.

They also made sure to message Kix and Twitch who'd no doubt rush towards the corrie medbay before anyone else got there. They'd likely be able to get information out of Remedy, Nocte and Croissant due to being relatively more sociable and likeable than Sponge was.

Next stop... Pay the marshal commander of the Guard a lovely visit. If what Croissant had implied was to be believed, they might be able to subdue Fox fairly quickly, and dig for answers themselves.

They had a feeling they weren't going to like what they were about to walk into however...

[mwolf0epsilon]

Whumptober Day 22: Pick Your Poison

Prompt: Withdrawal

Summary: Stimpack usage out in the field was useful for keeping troopers going no matter how tired, hungry or stressed they might be. The problem was that sometimes campaigns lasted months on end...

[Withdrawal is a bitch and I doubt the stims used in the battlefield aren't addictive. This is also not the first time I've written a chatlog type fic but I'll doubt it'll be my last... I have elected to borrow a few medics for this so shoutout to @lost-on-kamino @ermakeys @purgetrooperfox @kkrazy256 and @gaeasun . I assigned your ocs some silly chat-handles for my own entertainment.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

The private medic comm channel was full on chaotic that day. Not that it wasn't generally chaos most other days, but this time it was for more than just info dumping or even venting one's frustrations over medical limitations or mishaps.

The 104th were back from a two month long campaign, and the on duty medics were besides themselves with worry.

All of the vode had come back severely addicted to the stimpacks.

Stimpack usage out in the field was useful for keeping troopers going no matter how tired, hungry or stressed they might be. The problem was that sometimes campaigns lasted months on end, which meant troopers who were regularly using stims to keep functioning, tended to become dependent on them even outside of battle.

Going through heavy drug withdrawal was not an easy process.

The symptoms made the vode volatile and somewhat unpredictable, and having an entire battalion going through it at the same time was beyond hellish.

The bouts of insomnia and irritability, mood swings, instances of depression and anxiety, full body aches and pains, constant cravings, fatigue and hallucinations, and the nausea spells came in waves. There was no resting for the medics.

But at least they had the medic comm channel to rely on.

---HyenaDon't has connected to The Hospital Clubhouse---

HyenaDon't: One of the vode I'm currently treating has gotten to the later stages of withdrawal.

HyenaDon't: His hallucinations are so bad he needs to be restrained.

HyenaDon't: Problem. He's allergic to the materials of the restraining straps.

RemRemRemRem: What are the straps made of? Leather? Polyester?

CMOric: Have you tried sedation?

HonHonHonCroissant: Have you tried sedating the vod?

HonHonHonCroissant: You owe me a drink.

HyenaDon't: I think they're polyester but I'm not sure...

RemRemRemRem: Swap out the straps for something else. If not just sedate and hope for the best.

HyenaDon't: Aite. We also have another vod that keeps vomiting.

HyenaDon't: None of the nausea medication is working.

PhylumPorifera: Are they on methadone or buprenorphine? A lot of the vode have weird reactions to buprenorphine.

HyenaDon't: He is. I'll swap the medication.

JackOfAllTrades: Besides the obvious how's everything going your side?

GoodnightMoon: Probably not great. We've had our fair-share of vode coming off stims after riots, raids and galas. Always sucks.

Twitch'ika: Oof...

HyenaDon't: Oh no yeah it's bad. We're down an entire battalion :(

KixxyCatDoll: :O

PitchlessWhisper: Just reminds me we're off to Umbara soon. Not gonna be a quick one either...

HyenaDon't: Join me in my misery Blue Boys :')

CMOric: We'd rather not.

JackOfAllTrades: :|

Optimist: Least your men are all intact. Withdrawal's a bitch but they'll live.

NotAThief: Way to set the mood Hopeless.

Optimist: Am I wrong?

MotherHen: Well no but that kind of killed the mood...

HonHonHonCroissant: What mood? We were already talking about allergies and hallucinations...

HyenaDon't: Gotta go, one of the boys just broke off into a sprint and my CMO is gonna have my shebs if I don't keep things in check.

MotherHen: Oh? Who's doing a runner?

HyenaDon't: .... Commander Wolffe...

GoodnightMoon: Isn't that one of Fox's ori'vode?

RemRemRemRem: Send holos. I need something to lure Fox in for a checkup.

HyenaDon't: Lmao will do.

Twitch'ika: Are we allowed to blackmail our superior officers into checkups?

JackOfAllTrades: When they're as stubborn as a CC?

JackOfAllTrades: Yes.

Twitch'ika: :O

PhylumPorifera: You're corrupting him...

JackOfAllTrades: Nah, just opening up new horizons for the kih'vod :)

PhylumPorifera: You're corrupting him!!!

Twitch'ika: I have seen the light.

PhylumPorifera: Twitch no!

KixxyCatDoll: No...

CMOric: We lost another one boys :(

Optimist: Alas they grow up too fast.

MotherHen: We shall miss your innocence Twitch

NotAThief: Lol what innocence? Twitch is a little fiend.

RemRemRemRem: Someone who smiles that much has got to have a dark side to them...

-HyenaDon't sent I_wasnt_decanted_for_this.png-

JackOfAllTrades: AHAHAHAHAH

KixxyCatDoll: Where are his clothes????

Optimist: Ah.

PhylumPorifera: MY EYES

Twitch'ika: How did he get up there?

GoodnightMoon: :O

CMOric: :O

HonHonHonCroissant: :O

MotherHen: :/

NotAThief: Oh I didn't need to see that.

RemRemRemRem: Uh, guess it runs in the batch.

PitchlessWhisper: What the kark does that mean?!

RemRemRemRem: Wouldn't you like to know.

HyenaDon't: I'm going to have to get him down somehow.

HyenaDon't: Force help me...

JackOfAllTrades: Lmao good luck!

---HyenaDon't has disconnected from The Hospital Clubhouse--- Yeah the medic comm channel helped cope with the horrors of having to deal with several hundreds of men going through different stages of withdrawal. It still didn't save the medics from having to deal with the shenanigans that came out of it, however.

Now how Hyena was going to get Commander Wolffe safely down from the rafters, he did not know...

[gaeasun]

I posted 8,404 times in 2022

That's 1,531 more posts than 2021!

726 posts created (9%)

7,678 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mwolf0epsilon

@its-captain-sir

@willowworkswithwords

@chiafett

@razena88

I tagged 2,839 of my posts in 2022

#twitch my beloved - 218 posts

#gaeasun answers - 114 posts

#g gives a thought - 60 posts

#kenobi spoilers - 59 posts

#incorrect quotes - 53 posts

#clone trooper dogma - 43 posts

#lol - 35 posts

#yes - 30 posts

#oc: croissant - 30 posts

#augh - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i dnt always do tho because its difficult on mobile to ask multiple things and i do not always have the energy to remember whatimgoingtoask

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Rex: Dumbest scar stories, go!

Fives: I burned my tongue once drinking tea.

Tup: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and burned it.

Echo: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade.

Twitch: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn.

Dogma:

Dogma: I have emotional scars.

149 notes - Posted June 28, 2022

#4

Oh hey heres a random terrible thought

You remember in the brain invaders episode? Where the clones were hunted down by anyone with a worm and forcibly infected?

Some version of that must have happened at 66.

I mean, come on. Not every clone is going to have their comm on, and listening. Somewhere across the galaxy, someone must have been asleep. Someone must have had their comm muted.

All officers were just called to the bridge. And this one clone, he needs to use the refresher. It will just be one minute, so he mutes his comm and breaks off. But when he gets back, everyone is looking at him strange. We have orders, the Commander says. Let me play them for you.

Just after a battle, most clones were sleeping. In the middle of the night their.comms chirp. Priority alert. Some listen, some take a moment to wake up. And watch as their brothers stiffen. Watch as they come closer, comms outstretched. We have our orders, they say. Listen to them. Some figure it out quickly and have a few seconds warning. They run to the door. But their enemy is now their own flesh and blood, and they are everywhere. Those who run are caught, forcibly pinned down as someone sets a comm to their ear.

Incredibly rare are those who physically cannot hear the order. Those who had commanders, medics who cared and who wouldnt give them up. Vode for whom the entire group learned signing. But they dont understand why everyone is acting so stiff. Execute Order 66, someone signs. But it has no meaning. The blaster suddenly pointed at their face does. Traitors will be executed, they read off their commanders lips. Traitor? What-

197 notes - Posted February 10, 2022

#3

Fixit au where the Wrong Jedi arc went differently because at the beginning of the war Rex, Cody, and Wolffe made a groupchat called "Protect the Padawan"

302 notes - Posted November 16, 2022

#2

HC that Fox was the clone who helped Padme after she fell from the ship and because he helped a Senator that's why he was put in charge of Corusant and now he wishes he never even heard of Padme

317 notes - Posted May 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Another thing that kills me in the Tales of the Jedi trailer is how young Anakin looks before time is passed.

Hes what, 21? Hes 21 and hes barely not a teen anymore and hes given a 14 year old kid. In the middle of a war. Being told, hey she's your responsibilty now. Dont get her killed.

And so he pushes her, desperately. Giving her a little more than she can handle every time, but hopefully not enough to get her killed. He trains her relentlessly, again and again, having their own men (who shouldnt be either of theirs) shoot her over and over until she can hold her ground. Dueling with her until shes adept enough to battle a Sith Lord and win before shes old enough to legally be in the army.

Because she is his responsibility. And he loves easily and ferociously and dangerously.

1,174 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

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