Hangar

[Dav Man'Sell]

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Wasn't paying attention, too focused in on what you were doing, lost your situational awareness. Rookie mistake, Man'Sell.

In the back of a battered, green-brown A-A5, Dav sat in a shadowed corner, furthest from the egress hatch. He lifted his shirt, the dark red material darkened further still by fresh, sticky blood.

It had been a glancing hit, deflected partially by his armour, a flesh wound that had missed anything actually dangerous to his life. But the round from the slug thrower had been a high-calibre, high-speed projectile, and had torn a fair bit of his flesh away from the side of his chest with its impact. He'd dispatched the shooter pretty promptly after taking the hit, a twirling thrown blade that had separated head from shoulders.

But I should have got him ten seconds earlier, before he had a chance to squeeze that trigger. I didn't even notice him. Too busy demolishing that Canderous Assault Tank.

He pressed the bacta-patch to the wound firmly, working his jaw against the stab of pain that would have drawn a groan from most other people. He held it there for a moment, before taking his hand away, reaching into the med-pack, and grabbing a cleansing cloth. He mopped up most of the rest of the blood quickly, slung the cleansing cloth and packaging for the bacta-patch into the bio-hazard container, and slapped the med-kit closed again, before tugging his shirt back down.

He turned his attention to his laid-aside armour and Greatcoat, grabbing up the torso piece, finding the fresh gouge in the durasteel back-plate.

If I hadn't been wearing this, that'd have been a lung. Probably wouldn't have killed me, not with my metabolism, but even I wouldn't be able to keep fighting with a serious lung injury.

Got to pay more attention, Dav. Still a lot of work to do.

He laid the armour back down, grabbing the coat up instead, and finding the two holes, entrance and exit, in the material. He poked a thick finger through one of the holes, establishing just how big the bullet that had hit had been, and frowned a little deeper. His finger came away stained crimson with his own blood. The wound he had sustained would heal pretty quickly, of that he didn't doubt, and the numbing agent in the patch had taken away much of the pain. But if that round had hit his lung, even he might not have survived it.

It wasn't often he was really faced with a sense of his own mortality.

He grabbed a bottle of water - the one consumable, thanks to the rainforest, that they were really in no danger of running out of - and popped the lid. A liberal pouring of the water rinsed the blood from the coat's resilient fibres, leaving just the hole, which he could repair later. He stood, swept the coat on, letting it drape closed across his front but not buttoning it. The coat pretty much covered his wound, which he thought was better for the morale of the team. He could feel the transport turning sharply - he turned to the door leading through to the cab, which was open, to peer through the viewport. They were just turning back into the Praxeum's hangar, which was bustling with activity, as it had been non-stop for eight days. He leant right in to the cabin, where the two vehicle crew sat, patting the driver on the shoulder.

"Cheers for the ride, gents."

Dav turned back, grabbing his armour and slinging it over his shoulder, and moving back through the vehicle. Either side of him, tired, muddied looking soldiers sat. A few were injured, but they were all alive; he was bringing back every single soldier he had left with. He had managed to keep them all alive.

So despite the close call with his own life, he was counting today as a win.

The transport swung again, and then slowed to a stop. The Jedi Master stopped at the door, twisted the release lever, and the panel folded down to become a ramp. Behind him, he could hear the soldiers getting up, helping their more wounded companions, gathering kit, preparing to disembark. He moved down the ramp, into the slightly cooler air of the hangar, from the smell of blood and sweat into the aromas of lubricants and vehicle fuel.

His legs felt heavy, shoulders aching. There was a little bit of a headache, behind his eyes. In fact, the least painful area was his injury, where the patch had really kicked in.

He wove among soldiers and technicians, between tanks, and walkers, and X-Wings, A-Wings, E-Wings, Airspeeders, past munitions crates and broken parts, and at least one laser-scored nose assembly that he realised had been extracted from a Dragon Squadron StealthX - Jago's, he assumed.

As he approached the exit, he lifted his gaze, and slowed. Stopped. Arched his eyebrows.

"Here to see me?"

[Tebana Sor]

Of course they were there. Just as expected, the Jedi Masters of Yavin had rallied on the far exit of the Hangar Bay waiting the imminent return of their commander and Battlemaster who’d only just exited battered and worn from an equally battered and substantially muddier A-A5.

They had all come. Jago, Ronan, Zuli and… Tebana.

Still dressed completely in black, without outer robes or any other ornamental Jedi garb, her dark curls were drawn back into a thick braid that disappeared under the folds of a black shawl covering her shoulders.
Her arms crossed in front of her, she stood with square shoulders and a distinct frown waiting for Dav Man’Sell. Her presence in the Force could have been equalled to a light, cold breeze, while she projected a carefully constructed image of calm.

Through their Force bond, she nudged against his Force presence, testing, examining without pressing. But also, without hiding her worry or a good dose of frustration at what she pictures would very quickly become a scene of dispute rather than a proper welcoming party for a hero. No matter how much he deserved it. He did deserve their intervention just as much.

Tebana could tell that not only had fatigue now settled in, but proper exhaustion. Muscle pain, strained limbs, headache, dizziness, slow muscle reflexes at first. She wondered if he already was at limited Force sensation, impossibility at any resemblance of Battle Meditation, confusion and at limited focus yet.

Otherworldly metabolism or not, Dav Man’Sell still was standing on his two feet after all. After eight days of fighting, plotting, planning, reacting and preparing, battling, hand-to-hand, wing-to-wing, mind against mind. After eight days of avoiding rest and calm. Eight days of … running? Running from reality. The enormity of it all. From their losses. Their odds. From the impossible he couldn’t control, towards the little he could.
Away from images of a tortured Joshua who he could nothing for, away from the lost body and spirit of Zak Leem. And the names of the other 100’000 they had not been able to save. Not once had he been seen in the Grand Audience Chamber.

She had gone through this and more in the last few days, in the small hours of the night when between the bed of the wounded, she went to each one of them, just being present, offering whatever it was they needed.

But there had to be more. This was the man she loved. The man whose life was tied forever into hers. Whose sense and spirit had withstood some of the galaxy’s darkest moments. And even triumphed.
This was Jedi Master Dav Man’Sell. Guardian, General and Battle Master. One of the greatest Jedi to stand in the Force.

At his words, a light, but sincere, smile played across her features.

“Who else…? Why so surprised? Since when don’t you like welcoming parties…?”

[Zuli Madoon]

*Zuli stood quietly for a moment. He had been working on repairs to some vehicles in the hanger with the tech crews before hearing of Dav's imminent return. Dressed in a set of greasy overalls, he wiped his oily hands on a rag, whilst a set of skin-shifted secondary arms rested hands on hips..

"Especially when you are the guest of honor.." *Zuli huffed a continuation of Tebana's words, as a smirk spread across his lips..* "Do you want me to take a look at that?"

*His secondary left arm rose up as he finished speaking, the index finger extending and gesturing towards the partially obscured hole in the front of Dav's Greatcoat..

The Jedi Titan was incredibly perceptive at the best of times. But when it came to beings he knew so well, he didn't need The Force to tell him that Dav was wounded. Subtle differences in his movements, his body language and even the sound of his voice. Even with Dav's incredible abilities of self healing, Zuli could not help but feel concern for his friend. Especially in the current circumstances..*

[Dav Man'Sell]

Dav's gaze shifted from Tebana to Zuli, cocking his head, a smile of wry amusement playing over his lips.

Curse your sharp eye, Madoon. Good spot.

"S'alright. It's just a scratch, really."

Sure, it was a fairly severe scratch. And sure, it would have been a probably-killing shot if he hadn't been wearing his armour plates - or if it had given in under the shot. But it was just a scratch. He wasn't going to bleed to death from that. He glanced at the other three again, the smile remaining, but tightening as a frown creased his brow heavily.

"Now, I love a party, don't get me wrong. I just would have thought the four of you had more important things to worry about than lil' ol' me."

He looked into each of their eyes in turn, finally meeting Tebana's. His chin lifted, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her, watching him.

After a long moment, he nodded slowly. He knew where this was going. The same place Tebana had taken their last conversation... what was it, two days ago? Two days earlier. Her exterior had all the control, and calm, that was her; Tebana Sor, diplomat. But he could see it all the same; sense it as he dipped into the Force, touching the edge of her presence just enough to sense it.

"Ah, well. I suppose this was to be expected sooner or later."

He lifted his gaze, finding Jago's face this time.

"Well, if we're to have this conversation, shall we have it somewhere a little more private, where we won't be in the way?" He indicated the door behind them. "Training Room Two is still unused, I believe."

[Ronan Starflare]

"Right here is fine, thanks."

"We do have more important things to be doing than worrying about you. But since you're clearly not worried about yourself...," "...somebody else has to do it for you."

[Tebana Sor]

Dav’s reaction disturbed Tebana as soon as he’d spoken the words.

Expected…?

Not only was this not the reaction she had anticipated and prepared for, but it was so far from the expected that it could do nothing but unsettle her.
She hid her confusion behind an inpenetrable mirror of ease, yet the frown only deepened as her shoulders tensed and then released again.

She had expected arguments, a fight, a descent into fighting responsibilities and rank and experience and a lot of ego… instead there was… resignation…?

Really…?

His look was unreadable. Slightly unpleasant, but not hostile. Force, what tricks was her own fatigued mind playing on her.

And there he was. Brushing up against her in the Force in turn and even through all the projection and her well-seeming exterior, she couldn’t lie to him. She never could. And he’d sense it. The apprehension, the worry, the acid-tasting sting of fear, the lead-filled pull of exhaustion and a sea of tears that could not be shed within a lifetime.

Tebana turned away as quickly as she dared without raising anybody’s suspicion and her own state of unrest and stopping a one of the tech personnel in its tracks that happened to be passing only a few feet from her. She pulled his datapad from him, scrolled through a set of screens, before dropping it back into his hands and thanking him under her breath.

She was thankful for Ronan speaking up in turn, and quickly crossed to the far side of the wall where a large footlocker lined the wall. She entered her code, pulled out an unmarked pack and dropped it close once more.

As she stepped back towards the group of Jedi, she dropped the First Aid Kit into Dav’s hands without any comment, not even offering to examine this wound or any other bodily injury herself, knowing she would be refused.

The irony wasn’t completely lost on her, as she stated:

“Dav. Please. Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. You know why we are here. You know why I called them here. You need rest. And you need it now.”

[Jago]

~ The scene was a tense one, although in a quiet way. Jago looked towards his friends, of which Dav was most certainly included, and took in the way they responded.

Tebana, with care. Ronan, strong-willed. Zuli, stoic and friendly.

And Dav. Knowing there would be no turning this aside again, he quietly accepted his chat with the four other Masters of Yavin IV.

For Jago, he was not sure how to respond. In his face was Dav, bleeding and worn again. He himself bore the scars too: the one below his eye had still failed to heal properly, developing into a nasty scar. They all did. The amount of blood on Tebana's hands, for perhaps reasons different than Dav's, was still jarring enough to think of. They had all been thrown into this conflict, and yet all of them save for Dav had managed to find the time to keep themselves as healthy as they could. Though it had been little, Jago had forced himself to sleep. Zuli had still found the moments to eat. Ronan too had stepped out of the Strategy Center to collect his thoughts, and Tebana, though with the same suitcases under her eyes, had made damn sure to preserve her own life so she could continue to save others.

Balancing the needs of others with the ability to continue on was certainly one of the many challenges that a Jedi faces, but it wounded Jago to consider that Dav, whom he often looked to for advice in his own struggles, could not make the right decision on this one.

Jago stepped forward as well, laying a reassuring hand on Ronan's shoulder. He nodded to his friend, his fellow younger Master.

Most of them, really. He, Ronan, Tebana: Masters, and yet their age said otherwise. The needs of the many, indeed.

" Easy buddy," he said gently, drawing his eyes towards the exposed hilt in Ronan's palm. There had been enough usage of those weapons lately, Jago felt. Far too much use.

" We're all friends here. But I know how you feel, I do."

Those azures lifted to Dav now, keeping as much of their warmth as he could spare. His mouth, however, remained taut and terse.

" I do. I know how you feel. And as your fellow Jedi, as the people who are also protecting this moon."

He shook his head.

" As your friends. Please. Go with Tebana, go to your room, and shut down. We've all been finding a way to do so, and you can too."

Jago tried to smile, he honestly did. And maybe the words came out a bit more harshly than he intended. Maybe Ronan's own guarded stance was seeping into Jago's tone, maybe the stress was finally getting to the Yavinites.

But he did try to smile.

" There's no excuse towards otherwise." ~

[Dav Man'Sell]

He watched them all. Ronan's anger and frustration, still a big part of the young Jedi Master - Dav wondered if Ronan would ever be completely free of it - as he made a defiant and, Dav was sure many would say, justified stand. Tebana's weary caring, as she fetched a medkit and dropped it in his hands, a symbol that she wanted him to treat his wounds, rather than just let his metabolism do its work.

Given that it has slowed down a bit the past few days, probably not a bad idea.

Jago came next. A voice of calming reason. An emotional plea, backed by a kind of empathic logic. He sighed, looking at them all.

They're all here. They're all worried.

It was something to consider. It had gone beyond just him and Tebana - who, by her very nature, was inclined to dissuade a lot of the rash or risky behaviour the others of their group often liked to indulge in - and that was, he had to acknowledge, significant.

He broke eye-contact, looking into the empty space thoughtful.

"There's every excuse..."

The Jedi Master looked up to Jago.

"Sooner rather than later, yes. Yes, I'm going to need to do that. I'm aware I've slowed down. I'm aware that I am tired. I'm going to reach the stage where I'll have no choice. But..."

He worked his jaw. Rubbed slightly at the wound in his side through his coat, which gave only a dull ache, thanks to the anaesthetising properties of the dressing he wore.

"... not yet. I don't much think I could sleep if I tried, anyway. There's... there's too much vulnerable. With the shield generator, the ion cannons, if we lose either one of those, we're done. They're our exhaust port at the end of the trench, you know?"

He brought his hands up, looking at them. Grimy, calloused, big hands. The hands of the eternal warrior.

"More than any of us, I'm built to get down to the dirty work, to fight. We all know this. And out there, in the field, I can use that to keep us safe. Ro, you can plan, crunch numbers, organise our forces, stack our deck as well as any of the Galaxy's best strategists. Jago, you can make starfighters do things that I'm pretty sure break the laws of physics. There's no healer better than you Tee, and Zuli..." He gave a small, lopsided smile. "... is there a factor of all this you haven't been an integral part of?"

Dav looked at them all, fondly, then looked down at his hands as they closed into fists.

"I can react. I can pre-empt, I can strategize in the field, in a split-second, based on instinct and experience and what the Force is telling me, I can fight harder than anyone else out there, and I can keep the Praxeum safe. I can make sure that no-one gets near the generator, or the cannons, react to enemies we don't even realise are there until they're practically right on top of things, and I can make sure enough damage is being done everywhere else that they don't recognise that pattern, and I can do all that whilst bringing our soldiers back, alive."

His gaze became unfocused, glassy eyed, a small frown furrowing tightly between his eyebrows. His lips parted slightly.

"I can see the shatterpoints, the moments that could break everything apart, bring our destruction. They're there, almost constantly now. Coalescing, coming closer. A great big hammer-fall that could bring our end. And every time I step out of those doors, every time I light my blades, I push it back, just a little further. And until we sort it properly, until we work out this Fallanassi technique..."

The frown tightened even further, just for a second, before he suddenly focused in on the room again, the frown disappearing, he looked up at them.

"It's the best we can do. And if just one more soldier, one more person, gets to live because I'm out there instead of here sleeping, if I have any fight at all left in me..."

He gave a shrug.

"Then I have to fight. I just have to."

[Tebana Sor]

Ashen and petrified. Not from fear, but from the inevitability of his reasoning and their chances at making a true argument and actually reaching any other conclusion than the one he had foreseen.

“And what about your own breaking point, Dav Man’Sell. Your own shatterpoint! Can you still see that…?”

Then, as if the harshness of her word still wasn’t enough of a warning, her true frustration broke through.

“CAN YOU… ?!”

The uncharacteristic outburst already was making for some frowned looks and turned heads in the hangar bay where tech personnel and soldiers were staging their commando outings and pilots reading their flights.

“This is a waste of all our time. You are beyond reasoning. And nothing we say will change either your stubborn mind sith-bent on killing yourself on account of saving that one soldier.”

She stepped one step closer towards Dav, her hands dropping into fists at her side.

“Tell me something, battle master. Where will that one soldier you have saved today be when tomorrow all of this goes up in flames because YOU overestimated your own power?”

[Ronan Starflare]

"She's right..."



"How stubborn can you be? How...how egotistical? To think that you and only you can go out and get your hands dirty?"



"These men..." "...and women? They go out and fight on a daily basis. Fight for you. For you. For me. For all of us. They give their best and sometimes more than that so that we can continue to fight on. You do them a disservice, going out there at nothing less than full strength."



"The fact that you would even try to justify continuing on is an insult to those that keep fighting. An insult to those that gave their lives to defend this moon. To Knight Leem. To the seventy five-thousandish men and women who served aboard the Guardian and the Uptempo...

"And worst of all, it's an insult to us: your friends...your family."



"Please Dav...get some rest..."