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Colt had been involved in skirmishes smaller than Senator Amidala’s little gathering. The space was grander than any he’d ever seen other than the Jedi Temple, and full of more sparkle and shimmersilk than he’d seen in his life.
Cody flashed rapidfire battlesign across the crowded room, and Colt and Bly were on the move. “Just circulate” was not an attack plan, so it had been up to them to devise their own. The three rotated around the room, one of them always watching the Generals for any call for backup.
The other two were split between working the crowd and resupplying with bite sized snacks from the buffet.
Colt preferred the watch rotation, but he was sure both his vode did as well.
“Only nearly the worst, like I said.” Vos sounded far too cheerful for a person who looked ready to throw himself off the balcony all night. The longing looks at last-resort escape routes were dramatically reduced by a rerouting of General Secura after Bly had mentioned it to her.
Bly’s strategic observation was certainly only intended for Vos’ comfort, not to dissuade the occasional wandering hand on General Secura, of course.
“You seem to be surviving.” Colt collected a small plate of little crunchy shells filled with some sort of salty cream center. Cody had requested them, but Colt wasn’t sure if that was because he liked them or because Kenobi was likely to wander by and steal one when he saw them in Cody’s hands.
“Wars are fought on many battlefields.” Vos shrugged, big and expressive. “You have been popular tonight.”
“Not particularly.” Colt snickered. “If one of us didn’t have tattoos and the other a scar, they’d all think we were the same person.”
“Certainly not,” Vos scoffed before stealing one of the crunchy-salty things he’d been collecting for Cody. “You’re the one in the tight suit.”
Unfortunately, that was true. Colt had needed a few less than subtle comments about his fitness and the physical demands of being a soldier before the first Senator reached out to test the firmness of his biceps.
There was that moment of disorientation as those two realities of their existence clashed. He was a clone, property of the GAR and this Senator was asking about his ability. He was also vode, a person in his own right, with his own boundaries and feelings.
Then General Kenobi interrupted, redirecting the Senator with a discussion of some vote or other and Colt rotated off on the next round of battlesign. The question lingered, and no answers were forthcoming.
“There’s a balcony. Left side, behind the curtains.” Vos didn’t even look in that way. Like a karking professional. “Door’s unlocked. If you need a breath of fresh air.” He stole another crunchy thing from Colt’s plate as a fresh serving dish of them were set out. Stole it from Colt’s plate just to annoy him, as far as he could tell. “Or if you want to tell your brothers.”
“We were advised we should mingle, not spend the night talking to one another.” Colt reloaded his supplies from the serving plate.
“Amazing then, how you three have managed to rotate so seamlessly.” Vos’ eyes sparkled. “With only a few obviously completely unrelated gestures.”
Shaak had said Vos was good at what he did. Colt had never seen the Jedi on a battlefield, but this was impressive enough. But, that wasn’t something Colt wasn’t planning on sharing any time soon.
“That where you disappeared to?” Colt swept the room with his eyes, ticking off Bly drifting closer to where Secura was chatting with a cluster of politicians, and Cody parked on the edge of the crowd on watch, his attention directed somewhere in the direction of his Jedi for some reason .
Shaak was not where she’d been before Vos had come over to chat.
Colt had watched her drift into a knot of guests in animated discussion with Senator Amidala, but she wasn’t there now.
“Disappeared?” Vos pretended to be insulted. “Busy examining the situation from all angles, you mean.”
Maybe that’s what Vos would call it. Colt had expected the Jedi to be more comfortable, more talkative in the crowd. There were so many in attendance who were ready to be a willing target for his charm. It was possible Colt didn’t know as much about who Vos really was as he knew about who Vos pretended to be.
“Shaak’s outside.” The words had just a hum of teasing.
Colt had seen Vos speak to her for a moment before heading to the food. Which meant this was the Jedi doing him another favor. Colt frowned. “She’ll be cold out there.”
“Maybe someone should keep her warm,” Vos agreed with a negligent shrug, plucking the handful of crunchy bites from Colt’s hand. “Don’t worry Commander, I’ll make sure your brother feeds these to Obi-wan.”
Cody could fight with Vos about that particular wording.
Colt could go out there, suggest his General come in before she got any colder than she undoubtedly already was. But that wasn’t really his job; Shaak could take care of herself.
Then one of the guests noticed Colt, eyes lighting up at the prospect of catching him alone, and he was on the move.
Tactical Withdrawal. Declarative. Colt flashed to Bly through the crowd, nodding his head towards the balcony door.
It earned him one rude gesture in return. A small price to pay.
Colt eased his way through the room, slipping through the gauzy curtain and out into the rush of cool Coruscant air.
There was a dizzying view of the lights and small potted plants, dotted with some small night blooming flowers that made the balcony smell woodsy and sweet instead of like wet duracrete like the rest of the city.
Plants, lights, a few pieces of delicate furniture, and no Shaak.
Maybe she had gone back inside, or maybe Vos was mistaken, or just having a laugh at the way Colt followed her around like a starry-eyed shiny.
“Sir?” Colt called out, sure that when there was no reply he could go back to do his turn telling the guests about how yes, they all had their share of scars, and no, he wasn’t interested in showing them his.
“Colt?” Shaak leaned out from behind one of the planters. Something went warm and soft in his chest at the look of relief on her face.
He couldn’t help the grin that broke out. “Are you hiding, sir?”
“I am privately meditating on the rush of city life,” she said it in that calm, reasonable, Jedi-voice that Colt had come to understand was for when she was being mindful and inscrutable.
And for when she wanted others to believe she was being mindful and inscrutable.
“I see.” Colt was pretty sure this one was the second, not the first, but he wasn’t sure enough to call her on it. “I thought you might be cold, but I’ll leave you to your meditation....”
“Colt.” Her voice was so fond it dug right into that warm, soft place. “I am a little chilled.”
And what was he going to do about that with a room full of Jedi and Senators who might walk out on the balcony at any moment.
He didn’t have a robe to put around her shoulders. She’d done as she’d promised General Secura and left the robe in the speeder.
They were separated from the crowd by a thin curtain. He didn’t dare wrap her in his arms, as much as he wanted to.
Instead, he braced his hands on the railing and propped a shoulder against hers. Nothing too familiar should someone come to look for her.
“Do you hate it?” Shaak asked, leaning into him to rest her head on his shoulder. Her lek wrapped around his arm, maybe to keep warm.
“The mission?” Colt asked, wondering if he did. “It’s not what I’m used to.”
That got a low chuckle out of Shaak, which put a smile on Colt’s face.
“I thought this would be more your kind of thing.” He picked his words. Colt wouldn’t assume things about Shaak, but still. “Getting a room full of coddled senators to think straight can’t be much different than teaching a clan of younglings or a squad of cadets.”
As he said it, Colt knew it wasn’t true. Cadets, and the younglings he’d met, were open-minded, ready to learn, and above all, respectful of the Jedi.
“Exactly.” Shaak rested a cold hand on top of his on the railing. “I prefer the younglings and the cadets.” She rubbed her cheek on his borrowed greys like a tooka. “Both of them don’t require I dress like this so I am bearable to listen to.”
“The uniform is… different.” Colt agreed. He’d never seen Shaak wear anything like it, but he couldn’t say it made him listen to her any more than he did when she wore her robes.
That drew out a real laugh, soft and warm, and Colt turned to see her eyes bright with the city lights. “There was a time I would have enjoyed the chance to wear something from my home world, attend a party.”
“But?” He almost didn’t want to ask. There was so much about both of their lives that wasn’t what it had once been.
“I raised two padawans on Shili.” Shaak gestured to herself with the hand that wasn’t on Colt’s. “I would wear things like this then, for festivals, occasions.” She squeezed his hand. “It feels like part of a different life.”
Shaak had mentioned having padawans before, but the lack of any more information had always led Colt to draw his own conclusions, and they weren’t happy ones.
He knew what those thoughts felt like. He’d had his own share of them watching Rex across a table at 79’s. There were parts of their lives that hurt to remember, that words couldn’t ease. He wouldn’t insult her by acting like his words would make it any different.
Colt turned his head, pressing his lips to her montral.
“If those exhaustbags will only listen to you when you wear what they find acceptable, they don’t deserve to be around you.” And he would happily tell them so. “Bunch of nebulas in there, all hot gasses and no substance.”
That got a giggle, and his chest loosened at the sound. Colt pulled his hand out of her grasp and draped his arm over her shoulders. Maybe it was too bold if they were discovered. A heartbeat later, she was pressed against him, back to his front, slight and chilled in his arms.
“Sir.” Colt brushed his lips against the sensitive skin where her lek met her head. “A few more days.”
Only days until they were back on a ship headed for Kamino, back to the same grind they had been so ready to escape. How had that become easier than spending time around the people they cared about?
Even that was temporary now, Colt knew. He wished he could tell her about that, but it wasn’t time.
“I’ve missed this.” Shaak leaned back into him. “Missed having you at my side.”
Anything he would say in reply would be crossing the lines they had drawn. He wouldn’t do that, especially not now, knowing what the future might hold. “Don’t let Quinlan hear you say that.”
“He’d be insufferably smug.” Shaak knit her fingers between his, still too cold to the touch for his taste. “He likes you.”
Colt hmmed, not quite sure what to make of that information. True, he hadn’t seen Vos spend much time with any of his brothers, and Colt had found the Jedi to be more considerate than he needed to be.
“He pointed me out here.” Colt knew they should go back in. His brothers had shown unexpected decorum in not comm’ing him every three seconds.
“He and Aayla must have a bet on us.” Her little laugh was a purr against his chest.
That would make sense. “Who’d bet against us?”
She made a considering noise. “That is the better question. I did not think any of my fellow Jedi or any of your brothers were so foolish.”
He didn’t think so either. Unless one of his brothers had something more to be gained by losing the bet.
Like one of his brothers who wouldn’t mind if he lost a bet to Vos, only to make it back with his brothers. One of them who would have an inside line on just how things were going between him and Shaak.
“On the way back to Kamino,” Colt murmured against Shaak’s montrals to feel her shudder. “Tell me every detail of your talk with Bly at 79’s.”
Funny thing was, there were a good few days Colt had actually felt bad about ratting the di’kut out. Gree would have a good plan for the proper revenge.
“Every detail,” Shaak agreed, giving his hand a squeeze.
Music started up and Colt felt Shaak shift with it. He loosened his hold in response. There was probably some Senator waiting to claim her as his dance partner.
“I’ll take a fiver out here before I come in.” The last thing he wanted was for the people who mattered to her to get the wrong impression, or in this case, he supposed the right one.
“Colt, they know you’re carrying my lightsaber.” She turned to press a hand against the greys, where her lightsaber was safely tucked against his ribs. “And they have seen your armor.”
“Say the word and I’ll repaint the bracers.” He had made that exact offer when she’d first seen the stripes, before they’d touched down on Coruscant. She had only acknowledged them with a smile and gone to admire Baar’s new paint.
“I don’t want you to repaint them.” Shaak leaned into him instead of walking back into the party where people far more important than him wanted her attention. “On Shili, it is traditional to wear a mark for those important to you.”
He would. So willingly. On his armor, on his skin. He would.
Shaak leaned away from him to gesture at the gem in the center of her headpiece. “My people. And these,” she said, pointed to the beads. “My Jedi family. My Master and two padawans.” She eased the wide vee of the neckline aside to reveal a mostly-faded bruise on the edge of her collarbone. “Yours will need to be refreshed.”
Colt felt his heart expand until he forgot how to draw a full breath. “Any time, sir.”
“Thank you, Commander.” She looped her arm through his. “Now, about that dance…”