"You're embarrassed by me."
"How'd you know?"
Caleb facepalmed. "You just admitted it!"
"I mean, did your pitiful failure during your exam this morning give it away?" Dakota pulled the safety goggles up over her emerald eyes and pushed them atop her head. Her hair curled into the straps. She lowered the technical tool in her grasp and set it off to the side. It clinked onto the surface of the ship. The motivator of her starfighter had been acting up recently, causing minor delays in response time, and she wanted it running smoothly.
Anakin had walked her through the steps that morning, and provided her with his haul of tools from his stash. She rummaged around the tool box he had given her, the clank and clatter hiccuping around the Jedi Temple docking hanger.
The hangar bubbled around them with quiet efficiency, its usual hum punctuated by the low whine of repulsorlifts and the occasional hiss of docking clamps engaging. Without their helmets and plastoid plates, the clones wore simple utility jumpsuits—neutral tones of gray or tan with black boots—designed for functionality rather than combat.
The jumpsuits bore the faintest hints of wear: scuffed knees, oil smudges on sleeves, and patches hastily sewn into fabric that had seen better days. Their identical features, ranging from clean-shaven to faint stubble, marked them as unmistakably brothers, yet subtle differences—hairstyles, tattoos, or scars—hinted at their individuality.
One clone guided a repulsorlift platform piled high with cargo crates, his movements deliberate as he steered the load toward the far wall. He passed by Dakota and Caleb on his trek backwards.
"Well, I'd say I haven't been trained properly," Caleb accused with a snarky attitude.
Dakota waved in greeting to the worker clone nearby, not breaking her concentration as she located her next tool. "Gone are the days where Jedi are trained like actual Jedi," she began screwing in a part. "You're a military commander, whether you like it or not. You learn by seeing, and doing. Trial and error. Start taking some lessons from the clones."
"But you're my master," Caleb reminded sharply.
"But clearly I'm not training you properly," she returned his sentiment, biting her cheek when she realized that the screwdriver she chose wasn't doing the trick. She pondered for a moment, then used her bionic finger to twist the piece into the metal plate. That worked like a charm. She shrugged, somewhat proud of herself, and moved on. She slipped down from the platform.
"I want to learn how to use the Force," Caleb stated, trailing after her as she rounded the starboard of her ship. She reached her back thruster, using the force to draw a wrench towards her. The Padawan watched with a hint of jealousy at her party trick.
"Look, I can tell you all the mystic, metaphysical stuff all the live-long day," she tossed over her shoulder, waving the tool thoughtlessly, "but ultimately it's you who decides when you're ready to accept it. You have to want it, to open yourself up to it. For some it's over night, for others, it's years." she began working again.
"How long did you train as a Padawan before you could use the Force?"
Dakota paused mid-repair, Caleb's question lingering in the air around them. She leaned back against the side of her starfighter, her arms crossed with the tool in hand as her mind drifted years into the past.
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Afterglow II | The Clone Wars
Fanfictionbook 2 although the Clone War is drawing to a close, there is still a war within the Jedi of many secrets. The Order has shaped her ethics, but that which is forbidden is her inner compass. She is a warrior, a sister, a friend, a lover. Ultimately...
