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“Psst.”
Steady opened his eyes. His eyelids felt approximately like scraps of grit flimsi. Blinking helped. Slightly.
“Commander?”
He rolled his head sideways, slowly, as that was all his aching muscles could manage. He squinted at the bright light coming in from the outdoors.
“Oh! Sorry.”
Two figures resolved themselves, ducking inside and cutting off the influx of frigid air. A Devil Dog— Jark, he thought, if he recalled the armor paint correctly—and a specialist-equipped trooper were peering at him concernedly through the gloom.
“Troopers,” he greeted, ignoring the way his throat went hoarse before the second syllable.
Bossi. That was the other’s name. Steady had a vague recollection of the two being seen together after his first run with the Dogs… something about Jark’s grievous injury (which he’d been all too happy to walk off in front of the Marshal Commander) requiring a specialist’s tender care.
Despite appearances, it had been cute.
Jark coughed, drawing his attention with a sheepish smile. “Commander. We heard you got through detox all right.”
Unsurprisingly, word of his imprisonment and rescue seemed to have spread. “I did,” he agreed, voice rough. “Did you need something?” He struggled to sit, but with a flurry of movement, the two other men rushed to reassure him.
“No! Nope, nah, we’re good,” Jark hastened to say. Two hands attempted to restrain Steady, as gently as they could. “Also if you get up, Keller will probably kill us.”
“His two-trill senth’s been flaring up,” Bossi added.
Steady frowned, unfamiliar with—
“Twitchy trigger syndrome,” the specialist clarified helpfully.
Steady grimaced, and lowered himself back to the cot. “I do not think that is a real medical condition.”
“No, it is.”
Utterly without an ounce of hesitation, or shame. The sheer confidence on these men was astounding.
“But anyways!” Jark clapped his hands. “While we’ve got you here.”
There it was.
“We just wanted to check in, sir,” Bossi said cheerfully. So very innocent. “We know you’re new here and all.” As if he needed another reminder. “Realized we neglected to introduce you to one of our most important officers—”
Perhaps he could pretend to fall back asleep. It was medically recommended.
“—and there’s no time like the present!” his partner continued seamlessly. Whoever had let these two bunk together deserved whatever they got, Steady decided. Hopefully it was Sharp.
“Send him in,” he ordered grimly.
The two troopers exchanged grinning glances. Steady noticed far too late that Bossi had his hands behind his back. Jark raised his own over his mouth, and made a muffled, musical fanfare.
What.
“Presenting… the one, the only, the bravely-decorated: Lieutenant Sneak!”
With a flourish, Bossi revealed his secret: a speckled Tooka tom with a chunk missing from one ear, tail flicking contentedly as it dangled from the trooper’s grip.
Steady looked up at him flatly. “Lieutenant?”
“Not me, sir,” Bossi corrected. “The tooka.”
Brazenness could be considered a positive quality. To some, at least, he was sure.
“The tooka is the lieutenant,” he repeated slowly.
“Yessir, he just got promoted for advancements in medicine and post-combat rehabilitation!”
“Did he.” Steady was beginning to put the pieces together. “And did the Medical Commander sign off on this… course of treatment?” he sighed.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the two troopers brightened and inched even closer. There would be no recourse from these two without a rescue, and he heavily suspected he had used up that particular well of luck for the foreseeable future.
Perhaps. If he thought about it very hard, the Padawan Commander might—
Bossi placed the tooka next to him on the cot.
Steady froze.
Jark huffed, and leaned over to carefully rearrange the tooka’s paws. The Lieutenant looked up at the troopers with a curious mrrp . Then it looked back down at him.
“Do not,” he warned. However, it was difficult to muster sufficient force of command. Lieutenant Sneak ignored him, sniffing delicately at his cheek.
“Stop that.”
Something like soft, wet grit flimsi lapped at his ear. He made a face. Someone failed to entirely smother a laugh.
“You’ll be written up for this, officer,” he told the animal.
The Lieutenant didn’t seem particularly worried.
The tooka rubbed its face against the hard line of his jaw, then curled up next to him, purring like a swoop bike into his clavicle. The soft part of Steady’s neck must have had some sort of appeal as a pillow. He forced himself not to tense.
After a moment or two, the vibrations began to soothe, rather than irritate. It felt… nice.
Jark fed the Lieutenant a short strip of jerky. “Good show, sir.”
Steady slowly blinked up at him, unexpectedly tired.
“I could not have been more clearly talking to the Tooka, sir.”
Well.
At least he could say the Novas were
fearless
.
“Jolly, I’m sure he’s fine, I just thought—”
Typical. Typical Steady, typically getting into trouble even when he was karking bedridden, the moment his back was turned.
“Calm down!” Padawan-Commander Katooni tried again, skipping into a long stride just to catch up to him. “I just said he woke up for a minute or two while we were out.”
“But you heard it,” Jolly emphasized over his shoulder, making the wiggling, hand-waving gesture he’d seen other Valors make to denote Jedi osik when their general was out of range. “And you said that that was strange.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Katooni repeated patiently. She winced at a sudden burst of wind, and adjusted her brown cloak around her neck. “We just went to the mess and back.” Then she made a face. “Also, what’s this?” She repeated his gesture. He pretended not to see it.
She pretended to let the matter drop.
Look at them, cooperating on the fly.
They reentered the medical quarter, and made a beeline for the tent they’d left Steady in. The di’kut was probably already awake, trying to convince his attending medic that bullheadedness cured all ailments.
As if he hadn’t tried that on Jolly before. No sir, not today, he’d sit on Steady before he let him—
Halfway inside the tent, he stopped short at the sight in front of him. Katooni collided with him from behind. “Jolly, keep going.”
Steady was still asleep. But he had a visitor.
A grin growing, Jolly shuffled aside, and Katooni hurriedly closed the tent flap behind her. She turned to see what had stopped him, and immediately clasped both hands together over her chest. “Oh!”
“Shh!”
“Sorry.”
Steady was sleeping, or something close to it. He remained flat on the cot, just as they’d left him, but with one very important difference: the tooka curled into his shoulder, snoring in time with the rise and fall of Steady’s chest.
“What are you doing?” Katooni whispered under her breath, catching Jolly raise his arm comm.
“Taking a holo.”
“... can you send me a copy?”
He smirked.
“Absolutely.”