Shattered Stars (TCW)

Extra Scene -- Gratitude

“Afternoon, men,” Taska said curtly as she walked past Ranger’s table in the mess hall.

“General,” they nodded.

“By the way, I did want to offer you my sincere thanks once again for your help on Luerillia,” she added. “Your bravery is greatly appreciated.”

“You should be thanking Lark, sir,” Brick was quick to point out. “He was the only one with his head on right enough to organize us to help.”

“Is that so?” She said curiously, though she was slightly frustrated by how much all of the clones refused to take credit for their good actions. “That gives me an idea. Lark likes to decorate his armor, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, sir, he’s painted a map of every star system we’ve been to so far. It’ll be full by the time the war is over,” Moss smiled, and Taska decided to join him in wholeheartedly believing his armor would make it that far.

“Do you all believe he is worthy of Jaig eyes?” She offered, knowing they were an esteemed symbol of bravery. She had felt guilty about being unable to adequately express what his saving her life had meant to her; she didn’t want to give them the idea that all Jedi were cold and unfeeling.

The table sobered slightly at the suggestion--Jaig eyes were a high honor. “I think he is, sir,” Ranger was the first to speak up. “And I think it would mean a lot, coming from you.”

“Alright,” she nodded thoughtfully. “Then we’ll present them to him. But I’ll need your help.”

“I’m pretty sure this is breaking regulation,” Dev muttered as they approached the command squad’s barracks, just yards away from the General’s own quarters.

“I know, isn’t it great?”

“Not if you’re ordered by the General,” Moss and Brick replied at the same time.

“Besides, it’s for a good cause,” Ranger reasoned. “It’s not like we’re going to get sent for reconditioning for painting a helmet.”

“I guess,” Dev frowned.

Clones were naturally deep sleepers, their metabolisms demanding it unless they knew they were bound for action at any moment. That made silently opening the door to the barracks easy. What came next was trickier.

“How am I supposed to be quiet when it’s a stack of plastoid?” Moss hissed, and the others only shushed him in reply. He gently reached for Lark’s helmet, which was nestled next to the other pieces of his armor in a bank of lockers in the middle of the room. He accidentally hit the door, and froze as it made a gentle clang.

No one stopped snoring.

“Got it!” He whispered triumphantly as he jogged out.

“Are you sure that’s his?” Dev asked, and Moss glared at him.

“Are you kidding? Yes, it’s his, it was in the locker with his number on it and covered in paint! Why would you say that? Now I’m nervous that it’s not his!”

“Stop it! Let’s just bring it to the General,” Brick said, wrenching the helmet from Moss’s hands.

They hadn’t even knocked on the door when it slid open.

“You did it! Great job!” She smiled, and they smiled awkwardly back, not used to interacting with their General in such an informal capacity. “I’ve got the paint from storage,” she continued. “Would you like to help me paint them on?”

Taska made the first strokes, bold and graceful arches of indigo right across the front of the helmet. There were four strokes left to make, and she let each of them have a go.

Ranger made the meek little dash above the left eye, afraid to mess something up. There ended up being a little curl at the top of it where he picked the brush up.

Next, Dev made the mirror of it, a cleaner, chisel-shaped line that still seemed to fit.

Moss did his best to complete the first eye, the brush swooping in a surprisingly talented way. “I just tried to copy the general,” he said sheepishly when the others complimented him.

Brick hardly complained about being last, though he hoped he didn’t ruin it all. He painted on the final part of the last eye very slowly, raising the brush at the end and almost immediately worrying over the jagged edges of the otherwise nicely curved line.

“Don’t worry about it,” Taska said, grabbing a rag and carefully running it around it. It was slightly smudged, but Brick thought it looked better. “Perfect!” She smiled. “Now I’ll just keep it here to dry, and we’ll give it to him tomorrow before the briefing.”

The next morning, Lark came into the command center a bit later than usual, looking mildly worried. “What’s wrong?” Mags leaned to ask.

“Can’t find my bucket,” Lark replied. “I don’t know where it went, I always put it right where it should be--”

“Commander, Captain,” Taska smiled as she walked into the room. “Good morning.”

“Good, uh, good morning, sir,” Lark nodded, almost looking collected.

“Well, first things first, Lark,” his spine straightened even further as she said his name. “I have something for you.”

“Me?” Was all he could manage to say, not wanting to say thank you before she had even told him what it was.

She beckoned at the door behind him, and his squad stepped in, Brick carrying his helmet.

“I couldn’t think of any other way to express how thankful I was for your quick thinking on Luerillia, so your squad very graciously helped me to paint your helmet,” She explained. “We all had a part in painting the eyes, though you are more than welcome to repaint them if you wish. We just wanted to make sure you knew that your bravery was recognized.”

Lark gingerly took the helmet in his hands, turning it slightly for the light to catch it. “It’s perfect the way it is,” he said quietly, before looking up at each of them in turn. “Thank you. I’m--I’m honored.”