Chapter Text
As far as battles go, this isn’t the worst the 501st legion has ever been in. Dusty red rock that reminds them too viscerally of Geonosis aside, the clankers aren’t providing any more than the expected level of difficulty and there have been minimal casualties.
So of course something happens. Something always happens whenever he starts getting hopeful.
Sir, we have a situation, Fives hollers over the comms.
“What kind of situation?” Rex calls back, ducking a barrage of blaster fire.
Jasper and Riker are down and, Fives sounds puzzled, they’re being covered by a civvie.
“How did a civvie get out here?” he demands.
Not sure, but she’s doing a credible job with a vod’s blaster. We’re trying to get to them, but it's going to take a bit.
“Keep me posted,” Rex sighs and turns his attention back to the clankers. Why is it always him?
—----
Kix makes tracks for Riker and Jasper after the battle is over. According to the comm chatter, a civvie had shown up out of nowhere, grabbed a fallen vod’s blaster and covered the injured troopers until the rest of Torrent was able to reach them.
He stifles a curse when he sees that the civvie is in nothing but a tunic and leggings and is barefoot. She can’t be more than a few years older than Commander Tano, with auburn hair tied back in a hasty braid. A blaster burn is evident on one of her arms, but she’s already wrapping it in a strip of cloth torn from the hem of her tunic. This is unexpected, most civvies have no idea what they are doing when it comes to basic wound care.
Even more surprising are the neatly wrapped bandages around Jasper’s leg and Riker’s wrist and midsection. It appears the civvie has used more of her tunic if the torn and ragged hem is anything to go by.
She steps back and lets him work, which he appreciates. After the troopers have been seen to, he turns to the girl. “Can I look at your arm?”
The civvie shakes her head. “There’s other wounded that need your attention more than me.”
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. This is decidedly out of character for a nat-born. Something about the girl niggles at him, but he can’t put his finger on it. Further musings are cut off by the crackling of his comm. “Kix here.”
We need you back at the base camp, stat. Impulse Platoon just got back, they’ve taken heavy casualties and there are four troopers in critical condition.
Kix bites back a curse and breaks into a run towards his speeder. The civvie follows.
“I can help. I have basic medical training.”
He looks at her for a long minute, then shrugs. He isn’t going to look a gift eopie in the mouth. “Hop on.”
She does so and they tear off in the direction of base camp with a plume of dust.
The next hour is a haze of cries of pain and muted cursing from the medics as they work overtime to save as many of Impulse as they can. The civvie darts in and out of the chaos, doling out supplies, bandaging minor injuries, and generally making herself useful. Finally the flood of wounded slows to a trickle and then stops completely.
Kix is in the middle of cleaning up the inevitable medical detritus that accumulates around a triage site when he hears shouting. Not a brother’s voice, no, one is definitely a nat-born officer and the other is unmistakably female. He goes to investigate and finds the civvie glaring at Sergeant Evelon, her fists planted on her hips, her body positioned defensively in front of an injured brother from the 212th.
“....I don't care if he’s a clone,” the civvie says tightly . “He is more severely injured than you. You want treatment, wait your bloody turn .”
The sergeant glares right back at her, the tips of his mustache bristling in irritation. “I outrank it,” he sneers. “I’m ordering you to give me the rest of your supplies.”
Kix sees the civvie’s spine straighten as Evelon deliberately dehumanizes the brother she is defending. Something makes him very grateful that he is not in the sergeant’s shoes. There is an electricity in the air between the pair, a tension that is almost at the point of snapping.
“No.” It’s a single word, guttural utterance that comes from deep in the civvie’s throat, almost a growl.
“What did you say to me?” Sergeant Evelon demands.
“I said no.” The civvie doesn’t flinch at the anger in the man’s eyes. Her own are twin wells of righteous blazing fury. “I am not a part of your army sergeant. I will not deny a man treatment just because you outrank him.”
Evelon looks murderous, but she’s right. She isn’t under his authority. “My superiors will be hearing of this,” he promises coolly.
She stares flatly at him. “Go ahead. I’ll be more than happy to levy charges of gross abuse of rank.”
The sergeant gives her a look of pure venom, which the civvie takes without batting an eyelash, and stalks off, for all the world like a petulant cadet.
The civvie relaxes as he leaves. As soon as he is out of sight, she kneels next to the trooper and deftly but gently begins to clean a deep blaster burn on his arm, seemingly oblivious to the awestruck look he’s giving her.
Kix watches approvingly. She wasn’t lying about having training.
He waits until she’s finished and gestures for her to join him. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
The civvie’s expression twists. “That shouldn’t have happened. It’s one thing to take rank into consideration when the injury is severe, but that sergeant wasn't hurt beyond a burn and a few grazes.” She shudders, eyes flicking up to meet his and suddenly it dawns on him why she seems so strange.
This girl is no civilian. Her eyes are worn, with that special kind of sadness that he only ever sees in his vode . This one is a child of the battlefield as much as he and his brothers are. Too young for this war and yet too old at the same time. What happened, he wonders, for someone so young to walk with such experience?
“Are you a Jedi?” he blurts before his brain catches up with him.
She frowns. “What’s a Jedi?”
Kix stops short and gives her an incredulous look. “Do you not know what a Jedi is?”
The girl sighs. “No-” her explanation is interrupted by a poorly concealed wince and Kix’s medic sense is immediately on high alert.
“What’s the issue?”
The civvie, he really needs to figure out her name, shrugs slightly. “I think I might have cut my feet on the rocks.”
Right, bare feet. He’d forgotten in the chaos of the last hours. “Med tent,” he orders.
She sighs. “I’ll be fine.”
His eyebrow goes so high it nearly meshes with his hairline. “Really? I fail to see how wincing every time you take a step is fine.”
“I don’t want to steal your supplies,” the civvie says softly. “I’m sure there are soldiers who need them more than I do.”
Kix shakes his head. “All of the worst wounded have been seen to. You aren’t stealing anything.”
The civvie nods hesitantly. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
They head for the med tent, the civvie hissing every so often in pain. He makes her sit down and goes to fetch bacta and some bandages. It doesn’t take long and when he gets back he finds that the civvie has somehow rustled up a bottle of disinfectant and is gingerly cleaning the cuts that litter her feet, hissing as the liquid stings her raw flesh.
They work in silence, the civvie cleaning the cuts and Kix bandaging them. She smiles slightly as he finishes tying off the last bandage. “Thank you…?” she trails off questioningly.
“Kix,” he supplies. He doesn’t usually give his name to nat-borns, but something tells him that this one is trustworthy.
The civvie nods. “Thank you Kix.”
He nods back. “You’re welcome…..?” he mimics her earlier pause.
She hesitates for a moment, as though debating something. “Bravo.”
Kix smiles. “You’re welcome Bravo. Thank you for your help earlier.”
Bravo colors a little. “You’re welcome. No need to thank me for doing my job.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “Can you walk? I should introduce you to my Captain.”
She places her feet experimentally on the floor and nods. “I can.”
Kix holds the flap for her and together they exit the med tent.
—----------
Rex pinches the bridge of his nose against an incoming headache. The flap to the command tent falls back down as Bravo exits. He has no idea what to make of her. She’s guarded about her past, though he can’t fault her for that, but she shared enough for them to know that she has some skill in combat as well as a limited amount of medical training, a fact which Kix confirmed.
Now comes the problem. What are they supposed to do with her?
Kix was clearly impressed with her, which says a lot because the CMO is usually very picky about nat-borns.
Still, he can’t just add a civilian, trained or not, to the 501st.
“Rex?” the General’s question breaks him out of his reverie.
“Sorry, what was that sir?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for zoning out.
Skywalker shrugs. “I wanted to know your opinion on this Bravo.”
He sighs. “I don’t know sir. She clearly has experience with combat, but she can't be older than eighteen at the most. Protocol would dictate that we send her back to Coruscant and let child services deal with her.”
“But…” his General prompts knowingly.
“But I don’t think she’s too far from eighteen. You’ll notice she never specified her age. And I don’t think that she would do well on Coruscant.” Her eyes carry the same pain, the same forced maturity that his brother’s do.
Skywalker nods soberly at the last bit. He must have noticed as well. “She carries herself like a soldier,” he muses, “and she has a survivor’s fire.” The second part of his assessment is almost inaudible and Rex has to strain to catch it.
“There’s more,” Kix adds from his spot by the wall.
Rex starts slightly. He’d forgotten about the CMO for a moment. The stim he took earlier must be wearing off. Drat.
“Oh?” Skywalker asks curiously.
“She defended a vod rather vehemently against one of the nat-born officers. He was injured and she refused to give the officer her supplies in favor of the vod .” Kix smiles faintly. “I have a helmet cam recording of what I was present for if you wish to see it.”
There is a gleam in the General’s eye that makes Rex shudder slightly. It’s the gleam that means mischief is in the works. As much as he is professional on the battlefield, Skywalker is a chaotic mess when they are off duty.
The footage is duly produced and watched.
If anything Rex is even more confused after watching it. It makes no sense. Aside from Jedi, most nat-borns ignore the clones at best. There is no reason for Bravo’s furious defense of a vod she doesn’t even know.
He says as much and Skywalker’s eyebrows crease thoughtfully.
Once again, Kix speaks up. “I don’t think she knows about the war,” he says plainly. “I asked her if she was a Jedi and all she did was look at me funny. If she doesn’t know about the war, she would have no pre-existing prejudices either for or against clones.”
That does make sense, but does nothing to alleviate the headache Rex can feel coming on. How dense does someone have to be to miss the galaxy wide war? Suspicion replaces his confusion.
The General hums thoughtfully. “She could be useful. Sending her to Coruscant is a poor idea.” He gives Kix an interrogative glance. “What if we offered her a position as a medic in Torrent?”
Kix nods consideringly. “That could work. She has training and potential and we always can use more medics.” His face falls slightly. The turnover rate for medics is unfortunately high, even in the 501st.
“Good,” Skywalker says. “Is that acceptable, Rex?”
He sighs. “With all due respect sir, this is highly irregular. We don’t know this Bravo and she could be a Separatist spy for all we know.”
Kix frowns. “I-”
Rex drums his fingers against the top of the holotable. “Think about it Kix. A civilian mysteriously shows up in the middle of the battlefield and just happens to be extremely nice to us. You have to admit it's suspicious.”
Memories of Slick’s betrayal niggle at the back of his mind and he firmly shoos them away. This is not the time or place for that.
“I sensed no deceit in her,” Skywalker prevaricates. “Just a lot of stubbornness and grief.”
But Rex is fully into the role of the devil’s advocate and he pushes forward. “And her age, sir. Eighteen at the most. She says she has training, but how much? I am not jeopardizing the men by putting an incompetent civilian in the field.”
Kix doesn’t back down. “Like it or not Rex, we need more medics.”
“And we’re desperate enough to recruit a civilian minor?”
“She has experience. You didn’t see her when Impulse came in. She knows what she’s doing and I think it’s worth the risk.” Kix has a mulish look in his eyes, one that borders dangerously close to insubordination.
“Men,” Skywalker says calmly and Rex and Kix freeze, uncomfortably aware that they’ve just been caught arguing in front of a superior officer. He plays with the straps of the glove over his prosthetic and fixes each of them with a firm look. “Rex, I understand your suspicions, but I am going to side with Kix in this case. As you pointed out yourself, Bravo would be unlikely to do well on Coruscant. If nothing else, then we’ll have a female medic for Ahsoka.”
Rex deflates. “Yes sir.”
“We’ll put her on probation if it makes you feel better.”
“Four weeks sir. And I reserve the right to put her through a thorough skill assessment and interview when we return to the Resolute. ”
Skywalker nods. “Done.” He jerks a thumb at the tent flap. “Do you want to call her back in?”
Rex pinches the bridge of his nose again. He really hopes this isn’t a mistake.
—----------
Bravo sits curled on the cot she’s been assigned, breathing deeply. The meeting with Kix’s captain, Rex, hadn’t gone horribly. Kix told him how she had assisted Riker and Jasper and then him. The attention makes her uncomfortable, she was only doing her job, but she suspects that most nat-borns don’t treat them the way she did.
She’s been in this universe for less than a day and has been scrambling to catch up ever since she arrived in the middle of a battle. Kix had given her a brief explanation as he walked her to the section of tents reserved for the female officers.
This galaxy is in the middle of a massive war and the side she’s landed herself with, the Republic, has an army made mostly of clones who are led by a handful of Jedi, beings who use something called the Force, and a selection of natural born officers.
If her interaction with the sergeant is typical, most of the “nat-borns,” as the clones call them, seem to view the clones as second class citizens, something that sticks in her craw. The way that sergeant had tried to take her medical supplies….
Bravo shudders, firmly shoving down memories of bitter winter and blue eyes that gradually went dull, not from a bullet, but a lack of medicine. Sepsis kills far more than guns ever will.
They’ve offered her a position as a field medic, which is a relief, though she’ll hedge a bet and say it wasn’t unanimous. Rex doesn’t seem to trust her and she doesn’t blame him. It’s a captain’s job to be wary of strangers, he’s responsible for the wellbeing of his men after all.
Evidently there is a dearth of trained medics in the Grand Army of the Republic. She will be working under Kix, which she is grateful for. He’s a highly skilled medic and she admires the way he deftly treated injuries while calming down slightly hysterical troopers. There is much she can learn from him.
Her feet are still sore, though the ‘bacta’ Kix had used had worked wonders. The muscles of her upper arms ache from using the blaster she appropriated from Riker, it has been far too long since she has fired her Colt, but she is pleased to note that her repeated drilling has at least kept the form needed for a handgun fresh.
—----------------------
Jesse frowns at Hardcase over the top of his cards. His batcher gives him a slightly manic grin and lays down his hand with a flourish.
“-20.”
Jesse scowls. “17. You’re a dirty cheater, ‘Case.”
Hardcase grins. “Can’t prove anything.” The expression is wiped from his face as Echo quietly lays down his cards.
“Pure Sabacc.”
Hardcase gapes. “How-”
Fives guffaws from where he is seated beside his twin. “Echo never forgets a card,” he crows.
Echo flushes and elbows his twin in the gut, hard.
“Probably to make up for your horrible bluffing, Fives,” Jesse says wickedly.
The not quite shiny sighs dramatically and clutches at his chest. “You wound me!” Echo gives him a helpful shove and he lands sprawled on his back on the dirty floor of the tent like a landed fish.
“Now you’re dead,” Echo tells him serenely.
Fives sticks his tongue out for good effect. “Murdered by my own twin,” he says sadly. “What a cruel, cruel world.”
“Cruel indeed,” Kix says from the entrance, “especially since I have to put up with your histrionics.”
Jesse raises an eyebrow as he collects and shuffles the battered deck of sabacc cards. “Did Coric finally kick you out?”
Kix looks incredibly unimpressed. “No,” he says huffily. “I have someone for you to meet.”
“Another shiny?” Fives asks, popping up like a nuna-in-the-box.
“You don’t like being the baby, Fiv’ika ?” Denal teases from his bunk.
Fives scowls. “No.”
Kix smirks and shakes his head. “Sorry to disappoint.” He pulls back the flap of the tent and to Jesse’s everlasting shock, a girl steps through.
For a second there is silence then Hardcase gives Kix a beatific smile. “Something you want to tell us, ner vod ?”
Kix glares at him. “Really, ‘Case? Really?”
“You!” Fives blurts. “You were the one covering Jasper and Riker.”
The girl nods. “I was.”
Jesse feels his eyes widen as he puts the pieces together. So this is the civvie. He studies her critically. She’s short by clone standards, but probably about average for a human female. Her copper red hair is held back by a messy braid. Her face is covered in small smudges of grime and her grey tunic is dusty, the hem ragged and torn. Small white scars litter her bare arms, likely from shrapnel and a hasty bandage peaks out from under her left sleeve. Smears of this planet’s orange-red dirt cover the knees of her leggings. Her bare feet are bandaged as well but that doesn’t stop her from standing tall under his scrutiny.
In fact she returns it. Her eyes sweep over the assembled clones, noting tattoos and haircuts and other distinguishing marks. He can practically see the gears turning in her head as she catalogs them.
“Got a name, verd ?” he asks.
The girl frowns. “What’s that mean?”
“Soldier,” Echo supplies quietly.
“ Verd ,” the girl mutters to herself, almost as though she’s tasting it. She nods and gives him a hesitant smile. “I’m Bravo.”
“Jesse,” he says. “These jokers are Fives and Hardcase and the quiet one is Echo.”
The rest of the troopers go around and list off their names as well. Bravo’s eyebrow twitches at a few of the more unusual ones, but she takes it in stride.
“Bravo’s going to be joining us as a field medic,” Kix supplies.
“You qualified?” a brother hollers from the back of the tent. Zeer or Attie, Jesse thinks.
Bravo shrugs. “Enough.”
“Details!”
“Two years, eleven months, thirteen days.”
“Of what?”
Bravo smiles, the expression bitter. “Field experience.”
Hardcase cackles. “She outranks the Captain!”
Bravo looks extremely confused. “What?”