A/N: The final chapteeeer! It's like the final countdown, only without Rocky Balboa.

I think my mind wants to be done with this portion of the story so bad that it didn't want to write these last chapters. So if they seemed rushed or lame, I apologize. Just remember that there are going to be Order 66 shenanigans coming soon! So keep a look out, and thanks so much for reading! It's been a lot of fun!

Machines

Nonmaleficence, Outer Rim

The door slid closed behind Signe. The air in the room was stale. She was facing a woman not much older than a decade of her, the same height, the same tired eyes. Amyr wasn't what Signe expected without her helmet. She had a delicate nose and fair skin, and auburn hair braided neatly and wrapped over the top of her head. The hard lines over her eyes and around her mouth told a different story than her curled eyelashes and striking green eyes. If the kit wasn't any indication that Amyr Meshkad was no Coruscanti window-shopper, the glare on her face was. Signe wanted to back up against the door.

"Please have a seat, General."

Signe had long forgotten that this was her own room. She sat down in one of the plastoid shell chairs along the wall of the front of the room. She clasped her hands in her lap as if she was ready for a lecture. When was the last time she had been yelled at? Master Dagen?

"I'm sorry about Oni," Signe blurted.

Amyr's eyes hardened. "Everyone dies. You do everything you can to avoid it, but there's always the chance that something will take what you love."

Swallowing, Signe realized she had been staring down at her hands. She forced herself to keep eye contact with Amyr. She figured Amyr found out about her relationship with Oni one way or another.

"Now is the time you see what you're made of. You haven't thrown yourself into any explosions or put your lightsaber through your gut, and you haven't left your men. That's good." Amyr had her arms folded over her stomach. She started pacing as she spoke. "But not good enough."

Still silent, Signe suddenly wanted to do one of those things. She didn't want to hear how she wasn't "good enough." She knew that.

"My husband says you're a weak General. You don't have to be a good general with a clone commander at your side, but my husband thinks you're going to get yourself killed." Amyr paused and arched a brow at Signe as if expecting some sort of rebuttal. "Do you think you're fit for this?" There was a long pause, the only sound in the room a small creak from the bed Tracyn was sitting on. "Well?"

"I don't know!" Signe clenched her jaw. "I don't know how to lead troops. I don't know how to train my Padawan so she doesn't get killed when I mislead her. I don't know how to keep my chest from aching when I see my men die. I don't know how to stop myself from enjoying every life I take in battle--it's the only permanent solution to anything in this war. Killing." Signe covered her face with her hands. "I can't do anything right, not even for Oni. I would be better off anywhere but here." She trailed off for a moment. "I see what I am now. I'm just a screw up with some lightsaber tricks who couldn't save one clone's life."

Signe felt hands closing around her wrists, and suddenly she was yanked to her feet and her hands were pried off of her face. She sensed a wave in the Force, like cold water was splashing her in the face. She held her breath as she stared into the Mandalorian woman's face.

"You don't get it, do you?" Amyr's voice was acidic. "You're a Jedi, Signe. You are not allowed to be a normal person. You are not allowed to let anything get in the way of your duty. I would have sympathy for you because you were born into this, you had a choice when you weren't old enough to make the decision, and you didn't know there was going to be a bloody war. Nobody ever knew to prepare you for this." Amyr's grip tightened on Signe, to the point that it hurt. "But look at you. You're pathetic. How dare you even think about deserting your men. They need you more than you ever needed Oni."

Signe's breath caught in her throat. Desertion. That's what it was.

"Remember when Amiel ran away?" Tracyn said in a small voice. "She felt really bad. I could tell. What would you feel like after you left, Signe?"

Signe looked down. She hadn't thought about what would happen after she turned her back on the men, but a twist in her gut gave her a hint. "I would wish I was back here," she concluded aloud.

Amyr let go of her wrists. "That's what I'm here for. Tracyn and I will be fighting alongside you from now on. I'll give you a crash-course in leadership, the Mando way."

Hands balled into fists, Signe nodded. "I would like that, Amyr."

"No more Jedi Masters telling you to tickle your brain's pleasure center to make the hurt go away. We're going to build you some backbone."

"Okay," Signe said with some resolve.

"You've already got a solid start, from what I've heard."

Signe's cheeks turned a little red. She didn't know she wanted the approval of Amyr, but suddenly receiving a compliment from a Mandalorian warrior made her feel a little better about herself. She snapped out of her moment of embarrassment when there was a knock on the door. There was a pause where Amyr watched the door, and Signe remembered that this was her room. She opened it.

"General!" Rem Meshkad shouted. He grabbed her face in his hand and looked it over like a physician. Then he let go and looked passed her at Amyr. "You didn't hit her, cyar'ika?"

"I'm a lower-ranking officer now, Rem'ika. It would be in bad form. Also, it's Captain, Sergeant."

"Oh, Captain, my Captain," Rem said with a dreamy sigh. Signe scrunched up her nose.

"Not now," said Amyr with a smirk.

"Daddy!" Tracyn slipped off of the bed and bounced over to her father to hug him around the waist.

"I've missed my little ladies!" Rem said, rapping his knuckles on Tracyn's helmet. "What's the plan now, cyar'ika?"

Amyr picked up her helmet and smiled at Signe. "Introduce me to the troops, General."

CIS Armaments, Saleucami, Outer Rim

Morj was getting dizzy. He couldn't breathe.

"Jatne!" Sprocket said. "Hurry!"

Morj's fingers closed around his medpack and he handed it to Sprocket, who threw it toward their brother. Morj winced and felt his knees give under him, and Sprocket tried desperately to keep him upright. "I'm going to lose it," said Morj. "Listen. Jatne, get the foam coagulant--" Morj weezed. His vision was blurry but he could see two gray figures in the dust, one kneeling over the other. Gev was in bad shape. Morj saw that he had been maimed, and there wasn't a lot of time.

"Sprock, I can't breathe," Morj said on a private channel with him. He didn't want to distract Jatne. "Call in a medevac. And figure out where I'm bleeding--probably my chest--"

It was nausea and vertigo all at once, the world spun, and the last thing Morj remembered was the ground coming up toward his face.

Medbay of Nonmaleficence, Outer Rim

There was cold metal touching his skin, and that woke him up with a start. Morj's eyes were accosted by bright white lights and the glint of the medical droid examining his chest. Things got dizzy again.

"Rib four and rib five were fractured proximally with disarticulations of the costochondral cartilages. A minute pulmonary contusion was also detected. Thoracic cavity was stabilized with foaming coagulant, fracture and lung mended with bacta soaks."

Morj nodded at the droid. The term he learned for that injury was "flail chest." The broken Basic seemed to be the droid's attempt to "dumb down" the usual jargon it used to communicate with its fellow droids.

"Discharge estimated in two hours."

"What's the status of RC-0329?" Morj asked the droid.

"No such unit in my databases," the droid replied before it rolled away to the next bed.

Morj tried to control his heart rate from spiking and prompting the droid to come back. Gev was dead. Where was his squad? Were they being separated? Morj couldn't even move his head to look around the medbay--his muscles were so sedated that he was lucky his eyes moved.

Suddenly, a young woman came into his peripheral view, accompanied by a commando with black markings on his armor. "Lyda! Jatne!" Morj said. The force of talking made him wince.

Warm hands grabbed onto his. He could faintly detect the soft skin of the Padawan, and his eyes worked hard to focus on her face. Her hair was messy and the frown on her face could have caused him even more physical pain. "Morj, I was so worried!"

"I'm fine." He looked at Jatne. "Where's Gev, Jatne? Where is he?"

A med droid intercepted Jatne, literally hitting him in the shins. "Biohazard! Error! Error!" It began spraying Jatne's armor with a disinfectant, washing traces of blood from the plastoid plates.

"Morj, Gev's--" Jatne huffed and shoved the droid away. "Gev's okay."

Morj felt his hand relax--he must have been squeezing Lyda.

"But he's not coming back."

"What do you mean, 'he's not coming back'?"

The droid kept shoving Jatne, causing him to take a couple of steps backwards. Other droids were closing in on him. "He's in surgery. He needs new legs and they don't have any for him--he's getting transferred!" Morj watched as Jatne swore and turned to leave the medbay before the droids started attacking him. "I'll be back later!" he shouted.

Lyda gently grazed the back of her hand against Morj's cheek. Her sweet face was turning red and Morj was afraid she was going to cry--she must have felt what he felt.

Morj conjured all of his willpower and managed to lift his hand and grab onto Lyda's forearm, the closest he could get to her hand. He shut his eyes and held on to her, wanting never to leave the bed or the medbay or the ship ever again.

Outside of the medbay, Jatne finished shouting all of the swear words he knew at the medical droids just in time to receive a transmission from Sprocket.

"Hey, Jatne. Gev's surgery is almost done. He's stable." Sprocket paused and seemed to want to lighten the mood, or at least change the subject. "General Ramseur was on board earlier and I tried to set up a meeting with you, but he just had to ship out."

"Osik," Jatne muttered, trying to calm himself down. He didn't hold in Gev's blood with his own hands to have him taken away, then get insulted by a stupid droid about how he was "unclean." "What about General Ramseur's Padawan?"

"What about her?"

"She's with Morj right now."

Sprocket guffawed. "Commander Kala and Morj? Is that it? That's--wow."

Jatne gritted his teeth and wondered if Morj would be mad now that Sprocket knew exactly who he was with. "What level are you on? I'll come meet you."

"Here's the room number. I'm waiting outside because nobody's letting me in."

"All right. I'll be there soon." Jatne ended the transmission and began walking, mentally preparing himself to say goodbye to Gev. He wasn't sure if he could do it.

Jatne made his way to the nearest turbolift, one of the few clones wandering the halls alone. The floors suffered at the friction of boots and droids and cheap transport carts, no surface of the ship untouched by the whereabouts of the war. He stepped into the turbolift, turned, and was surprised to see Amiel running toward him. He held the door for her, and she stepped in, out of breath.

"I thought you and General Amrun were being shipped out," Jatne said.

"Lyda told me what happened to Gev, so I decided to come and see him," Amiel said between belabored breaths. She smiled faintly. "You guys can't seem to stay out of trouble."

Jatne watched as Amiel flipped her hair over her shoulder. It was shorter, wavy, and not braided. He wondered what it would feel like to touch it. She lifted her eyes to him and squinted as if she could tell he was staring at her, even though his helmet wasn't quite turned in her direction.

"Jatne?"

"Yes?" Jatne popped off his helmet and held it at his side so he could see her without a visor between them.

"I can't ever be sorry enough for what I did to you. And I didn't want you to leave again without letting me say that."

Jatne looked down, his brow furrowing.

Slowly, Amiel moved closer to Jatne and wrapped her arms around his torso. "I'm so sorry," she said into his shoulder. "It's all my fault. You didn't deserve this. I made a stupid, selfish decision, and I can't stop regretting it."

"Amiel," Jatne murmured, hesitantly returning her embrace. The turbolift stopped and the Padawan reached out and pushed the button that kept the doors closed. "A little flash-training is a small payment for being free of whatever happened to me."

Amiel looked up at him, her eyes glassy. He tentatively rested one of his hands on the back of her head, and he imagined what her hair must have felt like through his glove. Finally, she smiled and let go of him. "I'll find a way to make it up to you," she said. "I promise."

LAAT/i Transport, en route to Republic lines, Outer Rim

"Ladies!" Rem said to the platoon. The clones looked at the silver-clad Mandalorian, seemingly deadpan. "As most of you may know, my wife and daughter have now joined the ranks. Meet Captain Amyr Meshkad and Tracyn!"

The clones waved to Amyr and Tracyn, who were standing near the cockpit with Signe.

Rem looked dramatically from helmet to helmet. "As a result, participation in the 'Show Your Junk' game must cease."

"What?" one of the clones demanded, outraged.

"But Sarge!" another pleaded.

"Thank Manda," another said with a sigh.

"You actually play that game?" Signe asked the platoon. She had heard rumors of clones trying to prank each other by--well--stripping, but she had thankfully never been on the short end of the stick in the game. Signe sighed and wished she hadn't just thought of that pun.

"All the time!" a clone said, laughing.

"General, won't you overrule him?" one of the clones nearest to Signe asked.

Signe grinned shook her head. "I can't be responsible for the debauchery of a nine-year-old."

"Daddy!" Tracyn said, stamping one of her feet. She stood out in the dark cockpit like the clones, since she had painted her armor white. "What's this game? Can't I play it?"

"Absolutely not!" Rem shouted.

"Oh," Tracyn said. The clones started laughing.

"Okay, Sarge," the lieutenant of the platoon said, a smirk evident in his voice. "Just don't pull a fast one on us."

"It's tempting," Rem said with a shrug. Then he grabbed Amyr and pulled her against him. "But I think I'm only gonna play with this one right here."

"What an honor," Amyr muttered, acerbic. She pounded her fist into one of his chest plates.

The clones burst into another round of laughter. Signe couldn't remember the last time she saw a group of clones in such high spirits, and this platoon wasn't devoid of sorrows.

"Psst!" Tracyn said, tugging on the sleeve of Signe's cloak.

"What?" Signe whispered, kneeling so she was close to Tracyn.

"What happened to your other lightsaber? Why did you need two? I really want one!"

Signe pursed her lips to avoid smiling. "I had two because my old Master gave me this one. It belonged to a former Padawan of his."

"And the other one--you built it, right? Where is it?"

"Yes, I built it. It was destroyed in a duel."

"Oh," Tracyn said, toning down her excitement. "Was that when Oni--" she trailed off.

Signe nodded and Tracyn patted the Jedi on the hand. The slightest movement of Tracyn's helmet showed her attention changing to another place. "Ew. Mommy and Daddy are kissing."

Signe looked over her shoulder and saw the foreheads of Amyr and Rem's helmets touching. Smiling, Signe rapped Tracyn's helmet with her knuckles because to her, the collision of two pieces of metal was hardly kissing.

Living Quarters of Nonmaleficence, Outer Rim

"So your ribs broke, is that what happened?" Sprocket asked.

Morj nodded. He was sitting with only his fatigue pants on, and his chest was still wrapped in bandages and bacta soaks putting the healing touches on his wounds. "Nearly half of the victims of this kind of injury die. So I'm lucky."

"We're not," Sprocket joked.

Jatne was waiting by the door. Gev was going to come by so they could say their farewells. Jatne was tempted to scribble his thoughts down on his datapad because he had a lot to say to Gev, like how he was the first one in the squad to make Jatne feel welcome, and he was responsible for keeping them all sane. Jatne had no idea how to express any of that, and the weight of the words seemed to sit in the back of his throat like a large rock.

There was a knock on the door before it slid open. Gev was sitting in a wheelchair (because hover chairs were expensive), one of his legs severed under the hip, and the other amputated below the knee. He had bruises on his face but he was grinning. There was a purple Twi'lek Padawan pushing his chair.

"Commander Inada!" Sprocket said, standing up. He started laughing. "What are you doing with this joker?"

Commander Sennia Inada smiled, and Jatne felt his chest heat up. "Gev's an old friend. I guess."

"Yep!" said Gev with a crooked grin. "Commander Inada and I go way back. Like six months or so."

"Lyda told me what happened," Sennia said, gently ruffling Gev's hair. "I thought I would keep Gev company while he gets settled on the ship."

"Yeah, vode--did I tell you? They're stationing me on the Nonmaleficence as part of the tech crew."

"You'll be sitting on your shebs while we hoof it across the galaxy?" Morj asked.

"And you get a prissy gray uniform?" Sprocket asked with more fashion enthusiasm than was necessary.

"Yeah! And legs!"

"Legs!" Sprocket cheered.

"Oh, and you got promoted, Morj," Gev added. Morj's brow lowered unpleasantly. "Did you know General Jusik quit?"

"Really?" Morj smirked. "Picked up some Mando armor and quit? Smart kid."

"Gev!" Sennia chided. "Don't gossip!"

"What do you expect, Commander? We're clones! Gossiping is like an ego trip for us!"

Sennia sighed. "I'm tempted to roll you down a flight of stairs."

Gev ignored her comment and glared over at Jatne. "Stop looking like you're about to cry! Jat'ika, no one's going to tease you about Amiel anymore, or how your ear looks like an over-cooked bean. You should be happy!"

Jatne rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, ashamed that he really did look like he was about to cry. Gev wheeled over to him and hit him on the leg. "Stop it! Look, if you're really going to miss me that much, I'll just record myself talking and you can listen to it before you go to sleep at night."

Jatne chuckled, then started to laugh. Sprocket came up beside him and squeezed his shoulder. "And we can go visit Gev on the bridge while he's doing important stuff, like checking his messages and surfing the HoloNet."

"Can we really visit you, Gev?" Jatne asked.

"I'd get mad if you didn't!" Gev reached out and grabbed Jatne's hand. "Ratiin tome, ner vod."

Smiling, Jatne gripped Gev's hand tightly. "Ratiin tome."

Sprocket grumbled and took out his datapad. "'Always together.' Cute. Hey, remember when you promised to teach me Mandalorian, Gev?"

"Nope!" Gev said, wheeling himself backwards to Sennia. "Quick, let's go!"

"It was nice meeting you all!" Sennia said hastily as she turned and took Gev out of the room.

"You suck!" Sprocket shouted after them.

"I'm gonna miss that shabuir," Morj said with as much sincerity as Jatne had ever seen in him.