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When the war crests on the Republic's horizon, Bail Organa isn't surprised. The reveal of a ready grown and trained army however, is.
He's not sure what to think of soldiers created for use by the Republic; clones of one man by a colony of secretive cloners out in the outer reaches of the Rim. The clones are described as loyal, committed, and superior to the Confederacy of Independent Systems' metal droid army. The Senate and peoples of the Republic are reassured that these soldiers, made to fight for them, are similar to droids aside from their physical make up. Flesh and blood droids to rival their metal and circuit opponents. Created to follow orders but with the creativity and flexibility of a near-human mind.
Bail, throughout all of this, is troubled. The Clone Army is accepted without the questions that should be asked, the challenge that should be raised of a potentially sentient fighting force being forced to fight. Slave soldiers is not said aloud, except when Bail is at home on Alderaan with Breha - sharing their quiet fears as to where the Republic has stooped to.
A portion of the Republic's new clone army is stationed on Coruscant - the Coruscant Guard. Quiet and efficient, liveried in a stunning contrast of red paint on white armour. The Guard are primarily for the protection of the Senate, to supplement the Senators' own protective forces. Bail tries to talk to them in passing, though they politely evade any sort of questioning directed towards themselves.
Good soldiers, as promoted by the Kaminoan cloners. Always present, always alert, always in full armour. Ready and willing to defend.
Bail has never seen a Coruscant Guard without their helmet, though as the war progresses he sees footage of clones on the frontlines without their helmets - their faces the same and yet unique. It piques his curiosity, a desire to know the men that protect him (and they are men, he realises, not flesh and blood droids, sentient. And doesn't that affirm those fears he had felt all along), to learn who they are underneath the armour. They continue to skitter away from him, remaining stoic and professional in his presence. He doesn't take it personally.
It's not until a squad are assigned to him as escort for a diplomatic visit that subsequently goes very promptly sideways; that not only are they men, they are men that hurt. That they love and care and that their blood bleeds, their bones shatter, their hearts break. They are men grown as slaves to fight and protect those that don't even view them as sentient.
So it is all of this that causes Bail to fling himself bodily over the man next to him as blasterfire flashes overhead, rubble and debris surrounding them. Someone shouts in surprise, words lost to blasterfire. The rest of the squad are still up, fighting the oncoming droids and ordering Bail to take cover. So, Bail does take to cover, but he does this whilst dragging the man with him, a hole burnt through his armour plating. There's a stutter of suprise from one of the men, the brief falter letting another bolt slip through and clipping them in the arm. His blaster drops from his fingers and Bail reaches over to grab it - passing the weapon back to the man who gives him a jerky nod before resuming firing.
Bail lets the rest of the men focus, keeping half an ear out for if they wish to move soon, and carefully turns the injured man to get a better look at his injury. The man groans and Bail murmurs quiet reassurances to him. Motion catches Bail's eyes for a moment as a bag with a medical symbol lands next to them, presumably tossed to him by one of the troopers.
The man lurches upwards in pain as Bail fumbles to remove his chestplate, hands flailing towards the injury. Fingers scrabbling at Bail's pressing hands, in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain. Bail firmly grabs one of his hands, moving it away from the area and gently pushes his body back down.
"It's alright," Bail says, "I promise I do have some idea as to what I am doing."
"Sir?" comes the confused response between panted gasps.
"I used to attend evening classes," Bail says conversationally as he carefully shifts the material of the bodysuit out of the way. "Not under fire, mind, this is quite a new experience."
"Uh, Sir?"
"I wanted to learn skills that would perhaps come in use as a protector of the Queen," he explains, as the man's chest heaves beneath his fingers. Bail pauses as a strained gasp statics from the man's helmet. "Can I take your helmet off?"
There's the barest of nods and trembling hands grasp the bottom rim of the helmet. Bail gently places his hands over the trooper's helping the man slide it free. He settles the helmet down next to them and startles as he takes in the pained grimace of the trooper.
'He is young,' Bail thinks. 'Goddess above.'
"What's your name?" he asks instead, as he opens up the medbag.
Wide eyes look up at him searchingly for a moment, his brow wrinkling in question. Bail waits patiently for the response as he selects the items he needs. He's not going to push the man, if he does not wish to provide his na-
"Arik, Senator," Arik says. "I'm a medic, sir." There's a challenge in it, a defiance of a slave claiming something to be theirs.
Bail wants to take them all home, away from this war, away from servitude, to give them the freedom they deserve. Breha wouldn't say a word, would be more fond of them even, Bail knows, and dote on each and every one of them.
"Nice to meet you Arik, though I would prefer to have done so under different circumstances," Bail says, tilting his head in the direction of the approaching droids. "You're a medic? Wonderful - then you can judge my work and hopefully it'll be enough to pass muster from a professional."
Bail administers the pain relief, but to his frustration he can't wait for it to take full effect due to the blasterfire still being traded over their heads.
Arik huffs in jerky, pained amusement as Bail starts to clean the wound. "Yessir. You're doing great, Senator. Thank you."
"Considering my hands are in your chest right now, I think you can call me Bail," Bail says as he carefully packs the wound with sterile gauze.
Arik writhes painfully as he works, jaw clenched tightly as Bail tries to do what he needs to as quickly as possible.
"Sorry, Arik," Bail murmurs as Arik fights to keep his body still. "Almost there."
He fishes out a bacta patch blindly from the bag, peels the backing off and smooths it over the wound with shaking fingers. He hopes it is enough. Bail exhales. Arik looks up at him with a hazy, grateful expression.
"There we are," Bail says, latching up the medbag before reaching down to wipe the tear that had leaked out of the outside corner of Arik's right eye. "That should hold until someone qualified can take a look at it."
"I'd give it a solid nine and a half, sir," Arik mumbles, sounding like the pain relief is finally setting in.
Bail chuckles. "Room for improvement then," he says lightly. "Would you like your helmet back on?"
Arik nods. Bail gathers up the man's helmet and helps Arik guide it onto his head. No sooner has he done so, Commander Stone orders them to move. Bail glances up for the first time in several minutes, the area around them pockmarked and scored with blasterfire, the droids much closer than when he had first taken cover. He reaches down, slings the now-closed medbag over one shoulder before sliding his hands under Arik. The medic startles but Bail keeps a firm grip, carefully hefting him upwards.
Commander Stone does a double-take from under his visor. "Senator Organa," he says, "we can-"
"Nonsense," Bail says, cutting the man off. "All of you have weapons, I can carry Arik here."
This seems to give him another double-take from the Commander, but he nods in acceptance.
From then on, Bail finds himself and Arik in the centre of a protective formation, hurriedly weaving around debris and foliage. Arik is almost limp in his arms at this point as Bail tries to not jostle the poor man too much as they make a rapid retreat.
The warbling roar of engines above worries Bail for a moment, until he sees the shape of Republic gunships descending towards their position. More ships fly over them, heading in the direction of their pursuers, and before long, there's a rumble of detonations in the near distance.
The squad comes to a halt then, Bail taking the opportunity to take heaving breaths as it has been some time since he last had to exert himself to quite such an extent. It's worth it to him though, as he looks down at the still breathing form of Arik held carefully in his arms. The rise and fall of the man's chest is worth every gulping gasp of air, the stitch in his side, and the ache in his shoulders.
They're all herded onto the gunship, a swooping sensation in his stomach as it swiftly lifts off and ferries them away from the planet below. Bail sighs with tired relief as the ground fades into the distance.
"Senator," someone says from next to him, and Bail turns to see several troopers looking at him. Commander Stone is also hovering, trying not to look worried even under the helmet. "Are you injured, sir?"
"Me? No," Bail says, ignoring the aches stretching across his body. He can deal with those later. "Medic Arik is - he has a blaster wound to the upper right side of his chest. I was able to give him some pain relief, thankfully."
Arik stirs at the sound of his name then, head lolling against Bail's shoulder. "Nine and half, sir," he mumbles again.
Bail laughs and the relief is almost heady. One fewer man lost to this senseless war. "I'm glad, Arik," he says. "Though it seems high time to hand you over to the professionals now."
The mentioned professionals are looking confused and twitchy right now, but Bail puts that aside for thinking about later. He carefully passes Arik over to gentle, experienced hands, before sitting down heavily in one of the empty seats.
Bail is lost in thought when Commander Stone quietly appears at his side. Bail glances up and witnesses a moment of deliberation before the Commander appears to steel himself.
"Thank you, Senator," Commander Stone says solemnly.
"Happy to be able to help, Commander. I hope I was able to do enough for Arik, though he did reassure me that I didn't do too poorly."
The Commander shifts slightly. "You put yourself at risk for one of my men, sir," he says carefully.
And now Bail understands. The clones are considered expendable by the Senate, a product. It is for them to throw themselves into the line of fire, not civilians, and certainly not a Senator. The Republic values their lives differently, but Bail…
"Each of your lives are as valuable as my own, Commander Stone," he says, placing a hand on the Commander's forearm and hoping the man doesn't take offence. "Your job is to protect Republic citizens, correct?"
The man nods. "That is also my role," Bail says quietly. "Though how I do so is, of course, different to yours."
Bail holds the man's gaze through his visor before letting go of his forearm, hoping he has sufficiently managed to convey his thoughts to the Commander.
"I understand, sir," Commander Stone says straightening the almost slump he had had to his shoulders. "I- Thank you, sir."
"If you or your men ever need my help, Commander," Bail adds with a smile, thinking how painfully young each of these wonderful men are.
The tilt of Commander Stone’s helmet seems to smile back at him when he nods.
After that whole mess, Bail is notified that he is to take a leave of absence, to rest and recover, much to his frustration. The Chancellor had been very insistent and so, Bail with much grumbling, rested.
Despite his grumbling, it was nice to be able to return to Alderaan for an extended time and spend time with Breha. Very little work was demanded of him and therefore, he took delight in the opportunity to relax in the gardens with his wife - which with the war had become a less frequent occurrence than he would prefer.
So this is how he finds himself on this fine Alderaanian morning, watching the sun rise over the horizon. Bathing in its gentle light. The light catches on the armour of his companions, quietly stood nearby - another bonus. He'd been able to insist on being accompanied by a few members of the Coruscant Guard, plus a certain Guardsman in need of medical treatment.
Bail has taken great pleasure in watching them on his home planet. They are still professional, attentive, alert - but, there's an ease to them that he's not seen before. He doesn't mention it, except in quiet moments to Breha, as he suspects they themselves are not aware of it. It's a lovely feeling, to share with them the feeling of peace, if only for a while.
He has caught Breha taking notes of names and numbers, squirreling them away, and Bail's sure he doesn't want to know quite how many Breha's planning on homing here. At this rate he fears it might be all of them, and even he's not sure how she's going to squeeze all several million of them. An issue for the future, perhaps.
Several weeks later finds Bail back in the Senate. He misses those quiet moments on Alderaan, and yet, new little things start to brighten his days:
Commander Fox finally accepts his offer of a cup of caf.
His keycard appears to access more doors than it did previously.
Bail's more tedious pieces of paperwork become more streamlined and the processes more efficient. This allows him to focus on more important matters, including ensuring the Clones are given rights the same as all other sentients.
The Guardsmen he sees around the Senate acknowledge his presence in return to his greetings - not professionally polite, but pleased.
All of these things are wonderful moments amongst the ever-encroaching shadows of the war, buoying him when he misses Breha and his homeworld. His favourite thing, he muses as he looks down at his commlink whilst he avoids another piece of paperwork, is the unlikely friendship Arik and himself share. The medic grouses continously about his brothers' escapades, always fond, and never failing to bring a smile to Bail's face.
After the war, he promises himself silently.