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Description

Level was on his way to see Arlo for the umpteenth time since the messy retreat and subsequent beeline to the Republic Medical Outpost. When he couldn’t find his brother amongst the other wounded in the receiving area, he’d cornered a medical droid and demanded to know where exactly CT-5818 was. The droid had calmly told him that CT-5818 had been placed in a bacta tank before scuttling back to work. Apparently, the droid wasn’t aware how much this small piece of news had shaken Level.

    He shivered as he paced down the glowing blue endless aisles of tanks, each containing a brother he'd never known, and would probably never get to know. His armored feet clacked and echoed in the wide area. He scudded to a stop when he saw that someone was already standing in front of Arlo's tank.

    Shab, not now.

Level felt a very strong inclination to leave. He didn't do well with social interaction, and he really wasn't feeling up to having to attempt to hold a steady conversation now. He was debating on whether or not to silently glide away so as not to disturb the person when the figure turned around. It was Fara. She squinted in his direction then gave him a weary smile.

"Hello, Level."

"I, um, didn't know you were—do you want me to leave?"

Fara's face registered surprise.

"Oh, no, of course not. Please stay."

Level sidled up next to her and watched the steady stream of bubbles emitting from Arlo's oxygen mask before he garnered enough courage to look at Arlo himself. He was in a pretty bad way, and that made the guilt he carried squirm uncomfortably in his chest. Arlo had had rough luck ever since his first field engagement when he’d almost lost his leg, and lost the close knit group of brothers he’d grown up with. Level thought he could look after his “little brother” and make sure nothing like that would ever happen again, but as luck would have it, they’d been scouting the bombed out remains of a slum when a ball had come rolling down the alley.

    Arlo had reacted faster than Level, shoving Level into a dilapidated house as the grenade went off. He recalled a flash of light and a deafening whoomp, and suddenly finding himself buried in what was left of the house, an explosion of overlapping, confusing chatter on his comm bringing him to consciousness as Glacier yelled in his ear to know if he was still alive. When the smoke had cleared, Level tried to comm Arlo, but Arlo’s line was silent. The next half hour was the worst, slowest thirty minutes in Level’s short life as he waited for the rest of his squad to show up, all the while asking if Arlo was okay, mentally preparing himself for the worst. Arlo was alive, but the grenade claimed his left forearm and left behind a large swath of second degree burns along the left side of his body.

    What with all the osik he’d been through, Arlo looked oddly peaceful floating in the vat of bacta.

Fara touched Level’s arm, jerking him back to the present. The sad smile still lingered on her lips as she stared up at Arlo with wide, worried eyes.

“Force,” she said, breaking the silence. “He looks like he’s been through hell and back.”

“That’s because he has,” Level replied, and then realized how insensitive he sounded. He shifted weight on his feet, ducking his head down as he felt Fara look at him.

“Sorry. That was—“

“Technically correct.”

They gazed at the floating figure in silence for Level didn’t know how long until he noticed that Fara was looking at him again. He twitched his head down to meet her eyes.

“Uhm.”

“Were you there when it happened?” she asked. Level immediately felt like he’d been impaled in the chest by a burning hot piece of shrapnel. Honestly, he would have preferred the shrapnel to this.

“Yes,” he said.

Is she looking for someone to blame? Is that it?

Fara blinked.

“Oh.”

When she didn’t remove her gaze from his face, Level, not knowing what else to say, shifted his eyes to his feet.

Wait, was that rude?

She made a noise beside him, and when he looked back at her, her eyes had suddenly become bloodshot and watery.

Please, no. Please, no. Please, no.

Fara emitted a sob and hid her face in one of her tattooed hands. Level’s pulse rocketed. He’d never been trained for situations like this. What he really wanted to do was beat a hasty path back to his quarters as quickly as possible to escape the awkwardness, but what little social etiquette he'd absorbed told him that he was supposed to stay and comfort Fara. He placed a tentative hand on the woman's shoulder, giving her small pats.

“It’ll be okay,” he said.

Shab. I sound like a character from a cheap holovid.

He definitely wasn’t prepared for the small Mirialan to bury her face in his chestplate and let vent the tears she’d kept bottled up ever since she’d found out about Arlo's condition. Level became as stiff as durasteel. He wasn’t much of a touchy-feely person and everything in him screamed stop touching me, but he forced his muscles to relax and remained planted to the spot. Fara needed this, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did too.

“It’ll be okay,” he said again.

* * *

This scene popped in my head, so I typed (most of) it up two nights ago and tweaked and added stuff today. The text needed a picture, so there ya go.

This makes me feel like such a bad mom to these characters. You deserve better! I'm sorry, my children!

Fara, Level, and Arlo©Capella336

Star Wars©Lucasfilm Ltd.

DO NOT COPY, REPOST, REDISTRIBUTE.

Description

Level was on his way to see Arlo for the umpteenth time since the messy retreat and subsequent beeline to the Republic Medical Outpost. When he couldn’t find his brother amongst the other wounded in the receiving area, he’d cornered a medical droid and demanded to know where exactly CT-5818 was. The droid had calmly told him that CT-5818 had been placed in a bacta tank before scuttling back to work. Apparently, the droid wasn’t aware how much this small piece of news had shaken Level.

    He shivered as he paced down the glowing blue endless aisles of tanks, each containing a brother he'd never known, and would probably never get to know. His armored feet clacked and echoed in the wide area. He scudded to a stop when he saw that someone was already standing in front of Arlo's tank.

    Shab, not now.

Level felt a very strong inclination to leave. He didn't do well with social interaction, and he really wasn't feeling up to having to attempt to hold a steady conversation now. He was debating on whether or not to silently glide away so as not to disturb the person when the figure turned around. It was Fara. She squinted in his direction then gave him a weary smile.

"Hello, Level."

"I, um, didn't know you were—do you want me to leave?"

Fara's face registered surprise.

"Oh, no, of course not. Please stay."

Level sidled up next to her and watched the steady stream of bubbles emitting from Arlo's oxygen mask before he garnered enough courage to look at Arlo himself. He was in a pretty bad way, and that made the guilt he carried squirm uncomfortably in his chest. Arlo had had rough luck ever since his first field engagement when he’d almost lost his leg, and lost the close knit group of brothers he’d grown up with. Level thought he could look after his “little brother” and make sure nothing like that would ever happen again, but as luck would have it, they’d been scouting the bombed out remains of a slum when a ball had come rolling down the alley.

    Arlo had reacted faster than Level, shoving Level into a dilapidated house as the grenade went off. He recalled a flash of light and a deafening whoomp, and suddenly finding himself buried in what was left of the house, an explosion of overlapping, confusing chatter on his comm bringing him to consciousness as Glacier yelled in his ear to know if he was still alive. When the smoke had cleared, Level tried to comm Arlo, but Arlo’s line was silent. The next half hour was the worst, slowest thirty minutes in Level’s short life as he waited for the rest of his squad to show up, all the while asking if Arlo was okay, mentally preparing himself for the worst. Arlo was alive, but the grenade claimed his left forearm and left behind a large swath of second degree burns along the left side of his body.

    What with all the osik he’d been through, Arlo looked oddly peaceful floating in the vat of bacta.

Fara touched Level’s arm, jerking him back to the present. The sad smile still lingered on her lips as she stared up at Arlo with wide, worried eyes.

“Force,” she said, breaking the silence. “He looks like he’s been through hell and back.”

“That’s because he has,” Level replied, and then realized how insensitive he sounded. He shifted weight on his feet, ducking his head down as he felt Fara look at him.

“Sorry. That was—“

“Technically correct.”

They gazed at the floating figure in silence for Level didn’t know how long until he noticed that Fara was looking at him again. He twitched his head down to meet her eyes.

“Uhm.”

“Were you there when it happened?” she asked. Level immediately felt like he’d been impaled in the chest by a burning hot piece of shrapnel. Honestly, he would have preferred the shrapnel to this.

“Yes,” he said.

Is she looking for someone to blame? Is that it?

Fara blinked.

“Oh.”

When she didn’t remove her gaze from his face, Level, not knowing what else to say, shifted his eyes to his feet.

Wait, was that rude?

She made a noise beside him, and when he looked back at her, her eyes had suddenly become bloodshot and watery.

Please, no. Please, no. Please, no.

Fara emitted a sob and hid her face in one of her tattooed hands. Level’s pulse rocketed. He’d never been trained for situations like this. What he really wanted to do was beat a hasty path back to his quarters as quickly as possible to escape the awkwardness, but what little social etiquette he'd absorbed told him that he was supposed to stay and comfort Fara. He placed a tentative hand on the woman's shoulder, giving her small pats.

“It’ll be okay,” he said.

Shab. I sound like a character from a cheap holovid.

He definitely wasn’t prepared for the small Mirialan to bury her face in his chestplate and let vent the tears she’d kept bottled up ever since she’d found out about Arlo's condition. Level became as stiff as durasteel. He wasn’t much of a touchy-feely person and everything in him screamed stop touching me, but he forced his muscles to relax and remained planted to the spot. Fara needed this, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did too.

“It’ll be okay,” he said again.

* * *

This scene popped in my head, so I typed (most of) it up two nights ago and tweaked and added stuff today. The text needed a picture, so there ya go.

This makes me feel like such a bad mom to these characters. You deserve better! I'm sorry, my children!

Fara, Level, and Arlo©Capella336

Star Wars©Lucasfilm Ltd.

DO NOT COPY, REPOST, REDISTRIBUTE.