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Chapter Text

“You know, there’s supposed to be a limit on stims,” Thire said, mouth twisting into a grimace.

Fox rolled his eyes. “There should be a limit to bullshit too, and yet, here we are. Hand it over.”

“I’ll tell Nightingale,” Thire threatened, though the fact that he handed over another stim without further protest made it obvious that whatever their CMO would be told, it wouldn’t actually be in time for her to do anything about it.

“Let’s all get through this mission, and then we can worry about it,” Fox replied. “Besides, we’re in this together. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re over your stim limit too.”

Thire huffed, grabbing his helmet and strapping the rest of his kit back on.

“That’s different! At least I’ve been sleeping and eating in-between them!”

“A twenty-minute nap standing up on the transport does not count as sleep,” Fox retorted, and tossed the used stim to the side. 

Thire grumbled under his breath, but followed obediently when Fox headed out of their assigned room, moving to rejoin the other Guards keeping watch over their charge.

“Any changes?” he asked over comms.

“No, sir,” Jek answered, while Rys huffed.

“Wouldn’t that be nice…” Rys muttered, though a subtle elbowing from Jek caused his complaints to subside.

“Stay strong, soldier,” Fox said wryly.

He stepped past them, leaving Thire to get a full report while he tracked down the other two members of the squad assigned to this mission – Rosary and Cardy. Both men who he would have preferred to stay on Coruscant (for very different reasons), but had wound up on this mission regardless.

The reason for that was staring him right in the face – Cardy, bristling like an angry tooka in front of one of the officers from the 501st.

Rosary was shadowing Senator Amidala, body language tense as always with Skywalker looming near the two of them, giving Amidala longing looks while she politely pretended not to notice, given the current company.

“No need to be hasty!” the 501st officer was saying, a clear teasing bent to their voice. “I’m just saying, you could always make use of our range, if you wanted. I’m sure you Guards could use a little help – “

Cardy was standing just the tiniest bit too still. In about five seconds, he would be trying to rip this guy’s throat out with his teeth.

“Sergeant,” Fox interrupted, refraining from saying Cardy’s name aloud, lest anyone get any ideas about settling this issue on their next shore leave. “Come with me. The Senator will need an escort to her next – “

And the world… tilted. Fox swayed in place for a moment, and attempted another step, but suddenly, everything just felt too heavy. Even his tongue seemed to swell, weighing down his mouth and causing panic to shoot through him, a strangled sound leaving his throat.

“Sir?!” Cardy’s alarmed voice rang through the air, and Fox barely had time for a single thought before he hit the ground.

Shit… Was that stim expired?

And with a shuddering jolt, the alarmingly high-pitched crack of his helmet hitting the floor, Fox’s vision went dark.

Chapter Text

Fox swayed on his feet. It felt like he could hear his own pulse ringing in his ears, a warning cry from a body that he couldn’t afford to listen to.

“ – to bring forth a new era of peace and unity – “

Fox could stick this out. He could make it through this one speech – just one – and then sneak out after. There’d be questions, and his reputation would take a dive, but it was nothing he couldn’t afford, considering that he had the favor of the new Chancellor in a pretty public manner. 

Being granted a position as military consultant to the Chancellor’s office had been the last thing he expected, considering that he’d spent most of the war cleaning up after the last Chancellor, but Organa had faith in Fox’s abilities, or so he’d claimed upon awarding the appointment.

Fox had accepted, for lack of anything else to do, given the dissolution of the Guard and the lingering discomfort he experienced in the Temple; nothing against the Jedi – Fox simply hadn’t adjusted well to transitioning to yet another new space that he did not own, and felt an outsider in, despite everyone’s kind efforts. 

He wasn’t sure he liked the job, really. But it was something he could do, something he was even good at, and Fox was not very good at doing nothing.

Some of his men had found themselves to be very good at doing nothing, and enjoyed it greatly, but Fox had barely lasted longer than a week before he’d been scratching at the walls of his apartment, absolutely losing his mind. 

“Go volunteer,” Nightingale had told him, exasperated beyond belief. “Join a bookclub. Get a hobby. Do something that isn’t required of you by law. You’ve lived your whole life desperate to fulfill the obligations of others, Fox. Allow yourself some time to decide what you want to do.”

He hadn’t done any of that. But at least he was paid for this now, so Fox figured that was just as good.

It felt good. Kept him calm. Fox had found that he simply functioned better when he had a purpose.

With purpose came obligation, however, and duty. 

Fox couldn't ignore his duty for something as simple as a headache, no matter how it pulled at the pit of his stomach and left him swallowing excessively, desperate for air.

Just a little longer. He only had to last a little longer. 

“And that’s why I would like to ask for a word from my esteemed colleague, and Coruscant’s very own former Marshal Commander, Fox!”

Fox jolted, head snapping up as if waking from a dream.

That hadn’t been part of the agenda.

By the frown on the Chancellor’s face, Organa hadn’t been made aware of it either – he was leaning forward in his seat, speaking hushed with a member of the staff as the presenter beamed at Fox, gesturing for him to come forward.

“Fox, please! Come on up. Let’s give the people what they want, eh?”

Fox recognized this man. He had been a member of the former Chancellor’s press team, low enough on the ladder that he hadn’t been purged with the rest of Palpatine’s supporters, but high enough that he had once felt entitled to demand Fox bring him a glass of water – and then throw it in his face when Fox hadn’t provided any ice.

Fox plastered a smile on his face, stepping out from the edge of the ballroom where he’d been lingering, trying to catch his breath, and approached the stage.

“You can do this much, can’t you?” the natborn muttered as Fox walked past him to the podium, a nasty little smirk on his face.

Fox knew his gait was stuttering, the flush to his face likely obvious in the hot spotlight now directed on him, but kept his face blank, refusing to react.

Yes, he could do this much. And would continue to, no matter the toll it took, or the years it drained from his already short lifespan. If it wasn’t Fox, it would be someone else. That was reason enough to endure.

So he braced himself against the podium, ignored the sweat running down his back, and spoke.

Chapter Text

“Be honest,” Fox said grimly. “How long do I have?”

“About five more seconds if you don’t shut up and let me work!” Nightingale replied, sounding far too stressed for Fox’s liking, considering he was the one infected with evil space dust.

Their Jedi consultant had explained that it was ‘Sith Alchemy’ and Fox was in ‘grave danger’ (allegedly), but what did Vos know? Fox had pulled him out of enough dumpsters to be entirely skeptical of any of the man’s non-trash related expertise.

“I still say you should go to the Temple, sir,” Thire said, the kiss-ass. “General Yoda said that they have expert healers over there, and don’t they specialize in Sith?”

“If General Yoda told you that you could fly, would you jump off a building?” Fox retorted, feeling unreasonably grumpy about his current circumstances. 

Thire blinked, looking bemused. “I don’t think he would do that, sir.”

“Who knows what goes on in that green bastard’s head,” Fox said darkly.

Thire turned to Nightingale.

“He’s absolutely gone, isn’t he?”

Fox made a noise of protest. He was perfectly functional, thank you very much.

“You should’ve seen what he was saying earlier,” Nightingale said, with a touch of humor. “He kept trying to promote Grizzer.”

“Grizzer is a valued member of our team and I will not allow his work to be belittled,” Fox argued.

“Sure, but giving him command over the rest of the chasers would be a bit much, sir,” Nightingale said.

“It keeps them humble,” Fox said reasonably. He was a good Commander. He thought about these things.

“Hound would find it funny to salute Grizzer, though,” Thire pointed out, and Fox considered this point seriously.

“Well, I wouldn’t want him to enjoy it, that would defeat the point,” Fox said regretfully.

“And… What was the point?” Nightingale muttered under her breath, which Fox graciously decided to ignore. 

“I’ll have to find something else,” he said, squinting into the blurry edges of the room before him, trying to think. “Hound is getting uppity. Taking liberties.”

Thire raised a brow at Nightingale, who sighed.

“Hound came in earlier when he was complaining about a headache. He told Fox that maybe he should sleep for more than two hours a night. Our dear Commander was not very appreciative of the advice.”

“Uppity!” Fox said indignantly. “Who does he think he is? He’s an infant. A baby. I’m a wizened old man, I know better than some young, stars-in-his-eyes little – ”

“Yes, sir,” Nightingale soothed. “We understand, sir. Can you lay back down for me? I want to run another test, and I think you should close your eyes for a bit.”

“Not to sleep, right?” Fox said suspiciously. “Because I don’t need sleep. I’m fine.”

“Of course you don’t, sir,” Nightingale said dryly. “I would never dare to suggest otherwise.”

“Well, good,” Fox nodded, and obediently laid back down. He was immediately hit with a wave of exhaustion – had this cot always been so comfortable?

Drifting into a soothing darkness, he heard the barest echoes of voices above him.

“You did send to the Temple for help, right?”

“First thing I did. General Vos went ahead, promised to expedite everything. They should be here soon.”

“Good.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Oof. Someone needed help from the Temple? It must be serious.

Fox vowed to help out with that, as any commanding officer should. 

Right after one quick nap.

Chapter Text

“You need to get some rest, man,” Wolffe said, brow furrowed. It gave him a glare that looked particularly menacing, even though Fox knew this was about as outwardly concerned as Wolffe got.

“I’ve been doing nothing but resting,” Fox said crossly. “I haven’t gone on patrol in weeks.”

Wolffe raised a brow, unimpressed. “Yes. And from what I remember, the reason you were pulled off patrol is because you started coughing up blood at odd intervals.”

“All part of the job,” Fox lied poorly. He then promptly changed the subject, for the longer Wolffe harped on that subject, the worse Fox came out in the end. “Anyway, like I said, this really isn’t much. Just a few odd things here or there.”

“Cody sent me a holo of you three hours ago,” Wolffe said crossly. “Your flimsiwork has only multiplied. Also, you haven’t moved from the spot, considering you have the exact same cup of caf as you did when he visited you.”

“That’s a security risk,” Fox said immediately. “Call Cody right now and tell him he’s under arrest. And also a snitch.”

“No. I don’t have time to do that, because we have a dinner planned,” Wolffe said, like a filthy traitor. “Get up.”

“This wasn’t in my calendar,” Fox protested. “And besides, I don’t have time for that!”

“Oh?” Wolffe said. “And why’s that?”

Fox sweated. “I… have something else scheduled.”

“Really? How nice,” Wolffe said sweetly, which was far more menacing than his scowl. “What is it?”

“A headache,” Fox said promptly, and dodged Wolffe’s angry snatch to roll out of the way, making for his office door. 

“You can’t run forever!” Wolffe roared as Fox raced out into the hall, practically skidding in the turn of the corridor. “Get back here!”

“You wanted me to stop working!” Fox shot back, grinning over his shoulder at his infuriated friend barreling after him. “Shouldn’t you be happy – oof!‘

He smacked face first into another trooper, cursing as he quickly tried to disentangle himself. 

“Watch it, don’t you know to get out of the way when a Commander is running?” he groused, only for the trooper to wind their arms around his back, quickly pinning him in place. “What – !”

“Hey, Fox,” Bly said merrily, his wide grin crinkling the corner of his eyes as he beamed up at Fox. “Ready to go to dinner?”

Fox gave up, slumping in place, hoping that he could crush Bly with his body weight and escape in the aftermath.

“You’re all against me,” he griped, and Bly laughed, the motion causing his chest to stutter, pressing warm against Fox’s own.

“Yeah, you got us,” Bly said, far too cheerful. “Perfectly designed to ruin your life. We’ve gotta find something to fill our time, now that the war’s over.”

Fox groaned, and the furious huffing and puffing of Wolffe catching up finally reached them, and he bent down, grabbing Fox by the back of the neck as the two of them maneuvered to trap their prisoner between them.

“Time to go enjoy a nice meal, you bastard,” Wolffe said, deadly calm. “And if you even think about work during that, I swear I’ll come back here and torch your whole office.”

“How would you even know?” Fox complained, grudgingly allowing himself to be dragged forward, valiantly ignoring all of his troopers giggling to themselves as he passed by. Traitors, the lot of them.

“I’ll know,” Wolffe said darkly. “Trust me.”

“Don’t worry, Fox,” Bly assured him. “We’ll be having so much fun you won’t even have time to think about work.”

“Oh, joy,” Fox deadpanned. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

And, privately, as he allowed himself to rest his weight on his friends, Fox thought that may not be too far away from the truth. 

Chapter Text

“You’re not asleep.”

“Astute observation,” Fox bit out. “No wonder they gave you all those medals.”

Cody sighed, plodding over to stand besides Fox, leaning against the railing. He was wearing loose sleeping clothes, and his bare feet echoed against the stone floors of the temple.

Spitefully, Fox hoped he was cold. He certainly felt cold out here, and he was still in his full armor, only his helmet pulled off to rest at his side.

“You’re in a mood, too,” he observed wryly. “That got anything to do with why you’re out here, and not getting smothered to death by Thorn?”

“I managed to switch places with Hound, neither of those idiots will notice,” Fox grunted, and returned to looking out into the balcony view.

Below them was a beautiful, wild garden – not perfectly maintained and manicured like the floating gardens of the Senate, but lush and alive. Fox had never quite seen anything like it.

It made his back itch, thinking of all the threats and possible contagions that could be hiding within it. The same went for this whole damn Temple – he knew that the Jedi had their own security measures (the fact that they were kriffing psychics being the main one), but it did nothing to help the paranoia ratcheting higher and higher in his brain for the longer he stayed here.

Fox knew it was just something he would have to move past. The same thing had happened when he’d first arrived on Coruscant – those first few weeks before he’d had his entire routine and duties memorized had been… nerve-wracking, to say the least. 

Fox breathed in, letting his eyes flutter closed. When he opened them again, Cody was still staring at him, one hand propped up on a closed fist, observing him thoughtfully. 

“I’m fine,” he said, belatedly answering Cody’s unspoken question. “Just… fucked up. Like usual.”

Cody huffed, rolling his eyes. “Are you fine, or fucked up?”

“Both,” Fox answered, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a grin. “We’ve always known that our ‘normals’ were different. This is something that I’ll get over, and I’ll settle into a new and fun state of fucked up. Just gimme some time.”

Cody rubbed at his face, hiding a grin of his own. “In a better galaxy, you’d only be ‘fine’, and leave the fucked up parts for an emergency.”

“Yeah, well, we live in this galaxy,” Fox said, allowing his elbow to bump against Cody’s as he relaxed his posture into something approximating casual. “For better or worse.”

Cody hummed, something soft in his face that made Fox look away, unable to bear seeing it unfiltered.

He’d felt so alone, as Commander of the Guard. Moments of quiet like this with an old friend were absolutely impossible, and he’d feared that he would never have them again.

Maybe that was what really kept him up at night, staring at the ceiling over Thorn’s tangle of hair before he finally slipped out, feet itching.

He’d fought long and hard to get here. He knew better than most how easily it could be taken away.

“Come back to bed,” Cody suggested. “I don’t want to be caught in the middle when your pack of idiots realizes you managed to slip out again.”

“The fit Thorn threw last time was legendary,” Fox agreed dryly, and pushed off from the railing. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t expect me to sleep. Think that’s lost on me tonight.”

Cody threw an arm around his shoulder, not-so-subtly steering him in the direction of their shared bunking.

“You don’t have to sleep,” he said, gentle in a way the war had never allowed him to be. “Just stay with us, okay?”

Fox blinked rapidly, swallowing once, twice, before he managed to work up the courage to speak.

“Yeah. I’m with you.”

Chapter Text

Fox swallowed heavily, feeling tears sting at his eyes.

He furiously willed them away, blinking rapidly.

“Please, just leave me alone,” he said, voice rough. There was nothing he could do about that, not without the help of his bucket to disguise such weakness, but he made a valiant attempt nonetheless. 

“Oh, c’mon, don’t say it like that,” the vod coaxed. “We just wanna spend some time together. Is that really so hard?”

“What, do you have something better to do?” another laughed, crossing their arms over their chest. “And here I thought that a Guard in civvies would have plenty of time to hang out with us. You can’t possibly argue that you’re on duty right now.”

Fox sighed, rubbing at his face with his free hand, the other held trapped in the trooper’s tight grip around his wrist.

He really didn’t want to pull rank right now. He’d already embarrassed himself by not being able to avoid these drunken idiots in the first place – if anyone found out he’d pulled the ‘Marshal Commander’ card to get out of this, he’d never hear the end of it.

But the truth is – he’s fucking tired. He’s sick of having to enforce common decency, and he’s sick of everyone treating his Guards like shit because the bastards know they won’t fight back.

He doesn’t even know what fucking battalion these guys are from – isn’t sure if it would matter. Not like anyone listens to his warnings anyway, no matter how many times he tells his fellow Commanders that they need to discipline their troops for acting reckless on the homefront, or the resulting blowback will affect them all.

“C’mon, just stay with us,” the one holding onto him whined, trying to yank him closer. “You Corries have gotta know all the best spots in town!”

Fox planted his feet, trying to keep his balance, but exhaustion pulled at his very bones, and he stumbled.

“Stop it!” he said sharply, no longer affecting anything even close to compliance, and he feared even that wouldn’t be enough. “I’m not joking! Stop!”

The grip on his wrist turned crushing. “Listen, you – ”

“What’s going on here?” a new voice interrupted, and Fox turned his head to see what was probably, at this point, his worst nightmare.

Rex stood there, fully-armored with his helmet in his hands, frowning severely at the group closing in on Fox.

He looked every inch the respectable GAR Captain that he was, and the way Fox’s assailer immediately loosened his grip was evidence enough of the impact that had.

“Weren’t doing nothing,” one muttered mutinously. 

“Nothing, sir,” the first hastily corrected. “Just, um. Talking with a friend.”

Rex looked directly at Fox, raising a brow. 

“You know them, Fox?”

The grip on his wrist spasmed, and Fox was finally able to pull away, taking an immediate step back.

“I will soon,” he said tersely. As soon as he got back to base, he was gonna slap so many reprimands on these idiots that their heads would spin.

Rex snorted. “I’m sure.”

He made a sharp dismissive gesture, armor shining in the low light of Coruscant’s street lamps. 

“As for you lot – get outta here. Learn to measure your drinks, and how to take a no. Doesn’t matter who it’s coming from.”

Fox pursed his lips, taking in a deep breath. It would do him no good to start a fight with Rex right now, and it wouldn’t help his reputation any. Troopers were already whispering about the aggressive and cruel Guard Commander when they were on leave. This certainly wouldn’t help matters.

The group scattered, fleeing with all the dignity they could muster, and Fox watched them go, feeling… nothing.

He couldn’t even bring himself to care that things had been resolved so easily as soon as someone with evidence of real authority showed up. He didn’t have time to care about such things.

“...Did they not know who you were?” Rex said eventually.

Fox laughed, a tiny, bitter thing.

“They knew I was a Guard. That’s enough.”

He turned, brushing past Rex without another word. The man wouldn’t receive his thanks, nor would he want it. 

Rex had helped because he was a good man, and that’s what good men did.

Fox didn’t have time for that.

Chapter Text

The first sign that something was wrong was a faint tickling in his ears, the hint of a vibration echoing from far away.

He twitched. Even that was more movement than he’d made in… a while. 

There was no sense of time in this place. He could’ve been in here for twenty minutes or twenty years. 

He’d tried to fight, at first. Tried to escape, desperate for it, looking for any way to break free of the hell that his Master had left him in, this dark void that seemed to consume him further the longer he remained within its grasp, but nothing worked.

No amount of willpower, no cleverness, no trick or scheme.

He was just… trapped. The realization had hit him like a blaster bolt, like a hand around his throat – or like maybe it had been around his throat all along, and he’d only just now noticed that it was slowly strangling him.

Then he’d screamed and screamed and screamed –

But then he stopped. His voice was ripped to shreds, every breath scratching his throat, and it hadn’t mattered anyway. Nothing happened.

He’d been reminded, absurdly, of the Kaminoan nurseries. Of all those tubies, lined up in rows as they screamed and sobbed their little lungs out, never to be answered. Eventually, they all quieted down too.

He’d tried so many things. He’d bit the palm of his hand, gnawing on it over and over until the skin felt shiny and swollen to the touch, like a burn. He’d tried reciting the few songs and poems that he knew, stumbling over the words as his voice grew quieter and quieter.

Eventually, he forgot the words. Eventually, he could no longer feel even the beating of his own heart, everything smoothed out into a blank emptiness, and he wondered if he hadn’t died after all, and this was simply what awaited him in that mysterious ‘after’.

Eventually, he forgot everything. Everything except for the fact that he hadn’t always been here. Not that it seemed to matter, as time stretched on and nothing changed.

This was how it had always been, would always be. Nothing but the dark existed for him. And wasn’t that better? Wasn’t it nice to know that he would always be exactly the same? Never having to fear the uncertainty of change?

That sentiment had seeped into his very bones – and he hadn’t realized how deeply entrenched it had become until right now; when something was changing.

And it – it scared him.

He hadn’t thought he could still feel things like ‘fear’.

“ - e’s here!” something – a voice? – said. 

He shuddered, entirely against his will. It was too loud. He needed to go back to the quiet, he needed –

“Kriff, Fox!”

And there were hands on him, trying to be gentle, but every touch was shooting lines of agony up his spine, and he let out an involuntary whine, trying to shy away.

With the touch came something even worse – light. It flooded his perception, and Fox’s hands twitched, desperate to cover his eyes, but he couldn’t move a single inch.

“Fuck, he’s so thin…”

“What’s even the point of something like this?! It’s just torture!”

“The bastard was a Sith – torture was the point. Now, c’mon. We don’t have time to worry about that anymore. We just need to focus on Fox.”

“C’mon, Fox. We’re here with you, okay? Can you hear me?”

Tears leaked down his cheeks, and he wished desperately that he didn’t. IT was too much, it was all just too much –

“Shit, he’s not responding! Get a medic over here, now!”

And Fox, thankfully, returned to his blessed dark.

Chapter Text

Fox tapped his foot on the ground repeatedly, trying to work out some of his nervous energy. 

“You doing alright over there?” Vos asked, a touch of amusement in his voice.

Fox shot him a look. “I’m perfectly well. Thank you for the concern, sir.”

“You can just call me Quinlan,” Vos said. “I think we’ve worked together often enough to allow that.”

“Of course, sir,” Fox demurred. He would be doing no such thing. 

Vos seemed to be well aware of that, as he huffed, shaking his head with a grin. “Right. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that you’re gonna do great. No need to worry.”

“Easy for you to say,” Fox muttered under his breath. “You’re not the one who’s going to ruin all your interpersonal relationships if this gets screwed up.”

Despite Fox’s personal opinion, he could admit that Vos was ‘charming’ on a good day. Fox was usually described as ‘dour’ at best.

“Fox, they asked you to speak because they know you,” Vos said, far too reasonable for a man that Fox had once witnessed eating a banana with the peel on. “If anything happened, it wouldn’t be your fault. Just be yourself, and do your best.”

Fox sent him a withering glare. Being ‘himself’ was the issue here.

“Sir?” a new voice interrupted, and a fresh Kamino cadet, never to see the war in their lifetime, was smiling at him from the door. “They’re ready for you.”

Fox grunted, trying not to appear too visibly grouchy in front of a young and impressionable clone.

“One second.”

They nodded, still smiling as they closed the door. Fox managed to drag himself out of his chair, despite the reluctance pulling at his bones. 

Vos shuffled closer, casually throwing an arm around Fox’s shoulders, squeezing lightly. 

“You got this, man!”

Fox half-heartedly sent a prayer to the Force – if the whole building just exploded right now, that would solve his problem quite handily. 

Unfortunately, he reached his destination with no further issues, or spontaneous combustion. It seemed rather unfair, considering that Fox asked for very little from the universe, and figured he was about due for something.  

“Here we are!” Vos said cheerfully, and threw open the large set of double-doors.

Immediately, a wave of sound and colors hit Fox in the chest, and he grimaced. He tried to disguise the expression when Bly rushed forward, nearly giddy with excitement.

“Fox, you’re here!” he cheered. He was already clearly sloshed, and had another drink in hand. “Come on, come on, we can’t wait for your speech!”

He dragged Fox out of Vos’ arms, who released him with a cheeky little wave, and Fox contemplated escaping via the nearest window as he was forcibly dragged to the podium.

As they pushed through the sweaty, dense crowd, Fox took a deep breath, trying not to let the whole damn thing overwhelm him. He’d been in shoot-outs and fights to the death, why was this somehow too much?

The crowd began chanting ‘Speech! Speech! Speech!’ as he passed through, and for as much as Fox loved his vod’e, he almost wished there was still a Separatist force he could sell them out to, right now. 

Bly shoved him forward, and Fox nearly stumbled on the steps up to the stage, catching his balance at the last second. His expression soured, and he fought hard to hold in a curse as he stomped up to the podium.

The lights were hot, the attention was heavy, and Fox squared his shoulders as he gazed out into the crowd below.

Be yourself, huh? As if he could be anything else.

“Alright,” Fox began. “We’re all citizens now. The next step is to not immediately fuck it up, you hear?”

And his vod’e booed, heckled, laughed as Fox continued on, detailing all the ways he would wring their necks if they stepped even a toe out of line.

For once… he didn’t mind the chaos. They’d earned it, just for tonight.

Chapter Text

“You should come visit us, when you have the time,” Thire said quietly.

He was hunched over in the holo, clearly blocking the receiver from picking up everything else around him – though it didn’t prevent the revelry and chaos of the party from leaking through.

Fox hummed noncommittally. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Thire’s expression crumpled for a moment, tugging on Fox’s heartstrings, before it smoothed out.

“I… okay. We miss you.”

Fox softened, and put his pen aside for a moment to give Thire his full attention.

“I miss you too. All of you. And I’m glad you’re doing well. That’s just not the place for me.”

It was about as honest as he could bring himself to be without dragging any of his own baggage into it. Thire and the others were happy – that was what mattered. Even if it was a happiness that he could take no part in, not where it was now.

The invitation to Mandalore after the war had come as a shock, to say the least. Some of the troopers had jumped at the chance, not even thinking about any possible ulterior motivations, but the Guard had held back. For a while, at least.

In time, the offer had proved to be genuine, and many more troopers had flocked to the land that their donor had once called home, even if he had done all he could to deny it to them.

Not Fox, though. He’d stayed. He’s on contract to the Senate now, which is marginally better than before, if only because he actually gets paid now. It’s not the most glamorous work, but someone has to do it. 

There were still far too many ways that a cruel-minded person could find leverage to hurt or leash the clones. At least with Fox here, he was the most obvious target – and in the best place to dig any issues out at the roots. 

Fox wasn’t the only clone still on Coruscant – Cardy thrived in the city’s entertainment scene, and had made good use of his handsome face and winning smile to land himself an easy place among the stars of pop culture, especially in this post-war era.

But he and his crew spent most of their time touring, and only infrequently did they spend time at their Coruscant apartments. Still, Fox kept them as tidy as he could, and always welcomed their return.

It’s lonely. He can admit that freely. He doesn’t get along well with any of his natborn coworkers, nothing beyond superficial good mornings and good nights.

But it isn’t enough to make him leave, either, whether that would be to Mandalore or somewhere else.

Maybe this loneliness is what he needs, right now. He’s never been lonely like this before. It was a learning experience.

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” Thire said, expression wry. He already knew the answer to that. It wasn’t a question, really – just a confirmation.

“This isn’t goodbye forever,” Fox said softly. “Just until next time.”

It was nice to make a choice – even if that choice led him far away from those he loved. He would be with them again, in time. At least this time, their separation was of his own volition.

Chapter Text

Fox stumbles out of the alleyway, holding his arm at an awkward angle. He’s absolutely fucked. His armor is caked with muck and grime, and he can’t even begin to unravel the myriad of injuries that have left him with a significant amount of blood loss and increasing dizziness.

Luckily (for once), there’s a group of GAR troopers nearby – mostly out of uniform, as usual, but Fox isn’t going to write them up this time, so long as they get him to the nearest Guard patrol without bleeding out in the process.

The most visible armor pieces seem to have designs in a dark maroon color – some of Neyo’s boys, maybe? With the way he has to squint just to see straight, he isn’t too confident in his deductions, but it’s better than nothing.

“Hey!” he calls out, limping towards them. “I need – ”

There’s a smattering of laughter, and the one at the front waves a dismissive hand. They’re drunk, Fox realizes, and curses himself.

“You need something?” one jeers, swaggering to the front of the pack. 

Fox lets his eyes close briefly, taking a deep breath.

“Look, I just need some help – ”

“You need some help?” the clone repeats, mocking and high-pitched. “You need some help? Shut the fuck up, man. Fuck off. We’re trying to actually enjoy ourselves.”

Fox reigns in his temper with spectacular effort. “Listen, I don’t want to make this an order, but – ”

The trooper reaches out, and actually has the audacity to shove Fox back a few steps, smearing the grime on his armor even further.

“Can you stop being so annoying for once? For fuck’s sake,” he says, disgust lining his voice. “All you Corries are the same. Just get out of the way if you aren’t going to be useful.”

Fox goes still. Some, who don’t know him very well, might mistake that for fear.

Those who know better would, at this point, start running.

“Trooper, I’m only going to ask you this once, so you better think carefully before you answer,” Fox says softly. “Who, exactly, do you think you’re talking to?”

One of the other troopers shifts in place, an uneasiness settling in their stance, but the loudmouth only scoffs. Apparently, he has neglected to take Fox’s advice.

“I’m talking to another front-line reject who has to cling onto any tiny bit of power they can get their hands on, all in some failed attempt to prove they’re not any worse than the rest of us, despite the fact that you spend all your time handing out parking tickets rather than fighting the real war.”

He caps off his tirade with an indolent shrug, a mocking sort of pity in his stance. 

There’s a beat of silence.

“Interesting,” Fox says aloud. “I don’t spend a lot of time among the rank and file anymore. It’s nice to hear it straight from the source.”

One of the troopers, the one that seemed to sense something was up, immediately clears their throat, hesitation lining their tense body.

“Um, sir – ”

“Oh, no need to call me sir,” Fox interrupts smoothly. “I’m a front-line reject, after all. And one who would appreciate some medical assistance before I’m forced to bleed out while writing up your court martials?”

“UM,” the nervous one says, now in familiar company as the rest of the troopers milling about go tense. “Sir?!”

“You can just call me Fox,” he says casually. There is only one Fox among the Guard, and even with his distinctive armor pattern covered up, there is no mistaking who Fox is. “And bring me to a medic. Now. Before I’m forced to follow through with the proper protocols in this situation.”

The way they all scramble to comply probably isn’t as satisfying as it could be, considering his current grievous wounds, but it’s certainly something.

Chapter Text

There was a beat of silence.

“You forgive a lot,” Echo said mildly.

Fox worked his bruised jaw, allowing a moment for the burning to fade.

“Not that much,” he replied. “I’ll be submitting a reprimand, I’ll say that much.”

Echo snorted. He came to stand properly by Fox’s side, the subtle whirring of his prosthetics a quiet background hum. Against the constant noise of Coruscant’s mayhem, it still managed to stand out, somehow. Or maybe Fox was just especially sensitive to it.

“You could do a lot worse than a reprimand that we both know the General will just toss away,” Echo said, and Fox grunted.

True enough.

Maybe if he really had killed Fives, he would’ve taken more offense to all this. But since he knew it was all a farce, it was easier to take things less personally. Even when it came to a punch to the face.

“I understand it,” he said. “I even sympathize. Losing a brother never gets easier.”

“Neither does putting one down,” Echo said grimly.

They both looked out at the level below their little balcony, speeders whizzing by without a care.

As an ARC, and one now unconnected to any battalion in particular, Fox knew that Echo had been forced to wade through some of the more murky sides of the galaxy. Here on Coruscant, Fox had been plunged in head-first – they both did what they had to do to keep as many of their men alive as possible.

It was never easy. And it required sacrifice. 

It was a sacrifice that Fox was willing and able to make, luckily, but it did not come without cost.

“How is everything?” Echo said, breaking the silence once more, and tacitly moving past the previous incident. 

“Shit,” Fox said. “But workable.”

That was about the best he could hope for, and Echo knew it, by the amused snort that escaped him.

“And I bet no one is making it any easier on you, huh?” he said wryly.

Fox grinned tiredly, rubbing a hand against his face. They both knew exactly what Echo was talking about.

“No, not even a little,” he confirmed, which Echo accepted with an eyeroll.

Fox didn’t have time to visit Fives’ safehouse as often as he would like, nor was it a task he was willing to entrust to anyone else, given the risks involved. He tried to get over there as often as he could, but still, the last time he’d visited Fives had been nearly vibrating with tension, begging for more datapads full of evidence against the Chancellor to work through.

If Fox had known that all he needed to do to get someone from the GAR to fill out their damn flimsiwork on time was simply isolate them from everything they’d ever known…

Well, he’d think about it, that’s for damn sure. 

“I’ll be sticking around for a little bit,” Echo said, and Fox nodded in understanding. “Poke around, see if the sights in Coruscant have changed at all.”

“They haven’t,” Fox replied. “But they’re worth seeing anyway.”

Bringing Echo in for a little bit would at least make Fives a little more settled the next time Fox could sneak down to see him – his wild-eyed expression last time had been a bit too manic even for Fox’s tastes. 

“Right,” Echo agreed, voice soft. He knocked his pauldron against Fox’s own, a gesture of comfort that he rarely had a chance to enjoy, these days. “One day at a time.”

“It’ll all be worth it in the end,” Fox said.

He would guarantee it.

Chapter Text

“You told me that they weren’t there,” Fox croaks out.

Thorn busies himself with shuffling through a pile of already-completed flimsiwork, and Thire clears his throat, looking away.

“I didn’t see them, sir,” he says. It’s probably even true, in the most technical sense.

Fox wants to be angry. He wants to shout, he wants to cry, he wants to ask why.

But he already knows the answer to that.

Stone shifts in place, a frown twisting his lips. “They – They didn’t notify us. Sir.”

They didn’t notify Fox, more like, and why would they? Why would they want to spend time with Fox, right? Ridiculous.

Fox takes a deep breath in, allowing himself a moment to collect his thoughts. 

Good intentions, he reminds himself. This all comes from good intentions.

“Okay,” he says calmly, and holds up his comm. “I understand that. But you all get why I would’ve liked to learn about their presence in a different way than this, right?”

Fox had thought he was beyond the petty hurt of feeling excluded and lied to at the sight of all his friends having fun without him, and then sending a holo to the group chat that he’s in, but. Apparently, he’s not that coldhearted yet. 

Thire winces, and Thorn’s shoulders hunch.

“Sorry, sir,” Stone says quietly.

Fox sighs. “Look, I have no desire to get you all caught up in my own personal issues. Just… don’t lie to me, okay? I’m not a child. I can handle disappointment.”

“You shouldn’t have to!” Thorn bursts out, and Fox is genuinely startled by the clear frustration on his face. “Where do those bastards get off treating you like this? I mean, seriously. First it was just not reigning in their troops causing property damage and getting all of us caught in the backlash, and then having the audacity to be annoyed about the reprimands? Do they not read the reports, or do they really not take us seriously at all?”

“Then it was the supplies,” Thire continues bitterly. He’s looking down at his hands, rough with scars, and Fox can’t bring himself to interrupt. “We weren’t asking for much. They were already dumping the excess, or karking donating it. And they just – the look on your face when you got back from that meeting, Fox, I’ll never forget.”

“They disrespect you, and the Guard as a whole,” Stone says firmly, and steps forward, putting a hand on Fox’s shoulder. “Then they turn around, acting all buddy-buddy and asking you for favors. Every time you return from one of their visits, it’s with another new burden on your shoulders. You don’t deserve that.”

All three of them are looking at him, stubborn, vehement, and Fox…

He ducks his head, swallows heavily.

“I love them,” he says helplessly. They’re his friends. Even if they are using him, so what? Shouldn’t he just be grateful for the privilege of being used?

“And we love you,” Thorn says firmly, as they all crowd in on him, keeping him trapped within their embrace. 

He allows it, accepts it – it’s about the only thing holding him together.

But, still. It would be nice, if love was enough. Fox has learned his lesson on that, at least.

Chapter Text

“Why would anyone ever need this many snipers,” Fox griped.

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, so the gun that was shoved in his face wasn’t much of a surprise. 

“You’re the Mand’alor’s son,” one of the men chuckled. “We brought as many warriors as we could fit in the damn ship.”

Fox would be flattered, if not for two very important things – one; they were afraid of him for his status as someone else’s ‘child’, and not his own abilities, and two; he was not, in fact, anyone’s son. 

This was the last damn time that Fox agreed to volunteer in the Jedi archives.

‘Oh it’s fine, Commander, go sweep those dusty old shelves that no one has touched in the past eleven centuries. I’m sure it will go splendidly.’

To be fair to Madame Nu, she’d had a far more eloquent speech that included proper safety precautions and what they would be able to do on their own and what would require assistance, but Fox’s dumbass brothers had never met a problem they wouldn’t attempt to headbutt into submission, and Wolffe knocking Fox into a strange glass orb that had promptly shattered and sucked him into a dimensional portal wasn’t even the weirdest thing the archives was hiding. 

“Lot of good it’ll do you,” Fox muttered, because anyone who took a second glance at his ransom holo would see that he wasn’t some Mandalorian. “Don’t think your paycheck’s coming this time, boys.”

Even if he somehow managed to look exactly like the Fox of this dimension (who was somehow Fett’s son?? The mere idea made him want to space himself), the ruse would be quickly broken by the fact that their Fox was perfectly fine, probably living it up in that fancy palace rather than getting snatched by shitty dissenters.

And who would bother to waste time on trying to rescue some random clone?

“Sir, they’re accepting our transmission! The Mand’alor is in communication!”

What. Why?

Fox glanced up just in time to see a man flicker on-screen, in full Mandalorian armor, sans the helmet.

It was also, notably, not Jango Fett.

It was a man that Fox had never seen before, older, with gray streaks in his hair, but the same proud rigidness to his spine – this was a man who had fought for everything he’d earned, and unlike Fett, it seemed, had not lost it all to a cruel, pointless quest for an unearned revenge.

They made eye-contact. Fox did not even attempt to hide his shock and confusion, and the Mand’alor’s eyes narrowed, scanning over him without a word.

This was the moment he realized there’d been a mistake, and told the dissenters to fuck off, or attacked the ship and doomed Fox to die with them. He knew how this game went – no clone’s life would ever be worth as much as the death of an enemy.

“I believe you have my son,” the Mand’alor said, steepling his fingers in front of him. “That was a very foolish decision to make.”

Fox shuddered, and all around him, the other warriors did the same.

Either the Mand’alor realized that Fox wasn’t who the dissenters claimed, or he didn’t.

Fox didn’t know which option was more dangerous.

Chapter Text

Tennie squeezed his wrist with the opposite hand, keeping both arms firmly behind his back.

He didn’t understand the purpose of this training mission, and hadn’t been given any objective to complete. He didn’t recognize any of the trainers, either – one of the trainers had delivered him to the ship, but those on-board were complete strangers to him. 

They didn’t act like trainers, either. 

All the transitions from ship to ship were done with a gentle hand on his back, guiding him along. Tennie kept his head straight, looking ahead, and tried not to even blink.

“ – they all like this?” someone muttered under their breath as he passed by, his current handler still steering him ahead.

“Who cares,” another dismissed. “It’s more useful anyway. Wonder where he gets them from, though.”

Tennie swallowed heavily. It… didn’t seem like these trainers knew about Kamino. Was that… normal?

He was beginning to get the feeling that he was involved in something deeper than just another livefire mission.

“Kiddo?”

It took a moment for Tennie to react, continuing to walk for a few steps before he realized the handler was speaking to him. He turned, facing her.

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re almost there,” the handler assured him. “You’re gonna go sit in the pod we have prepared, and you’ll be all set. You may feel a little sleepy, and that’s okay too. Just stay calm.”

He nodded, and then thought for a moment. If they were almost to the endpoint, didn’t that mean the mission was about to start? It would be nice to have some more intel before the operation began.

Tennie paused. This handler didn’t seem to be the type to react violently towards clarifying questions…

“Sir? What behavior will be expected of me at our destination?”

“All you have to do is be quiet, okay?” She smiled kindly. “Don’t speak, and don’t look directly at anyone. These nice people paid a lot to come see you today, so we have to be polite. Do you understand?”

Tennie nodded obediently. “Yessir.”

He knew how to be quiet and still. It was not a skill that was necessarily taught on Kamino, but it was learned nonetheless. 

She points him to a small pod – and it really is that, not like the sleeping quarters on Kamino. It’s a small, round container with a glass front; almost crystalline in nature, like nothing he’s ever seen before. It was… pretty. Designed to show something off.

Fox swallowed back his discomfort and clambered inside, allowing the handler to close the glass top after him. It let out a small hissing sound as it closed, and Fox found himself blinking rapidly, abruptly losing the fight against a wave of exhaustion.

He began to nod off, lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the pod as it was transported down the hall. There was a subtle sound of voices, a low roar that was largely indistinguishable, and Fox could barely see the rows and rows of other pods surrounding him through his blurry vision, all different sizes, though most were as small as his.

He couldn’t stay awake any longer. Something was tingling in his spine, trying to warn him – if he went to sleep now, who knew where he would wake up?

But, Tennie was a clone. That had always been his reality.

He’d never had a choice.

“Ladies and gentlebeings, thank you for attending tonight’s auction. May the bidding begin!”

Chapter Text

Fox is unarmored, which feels worse than being naked, somehow. With the blaster digging into the back of his head, that should have probably been the most disconcerting part of this whole ordeal, but Fox couldn’t stop thinking about the armor.

“What will the Republic be willing to pay, huh?” the pirate above him is sneering, speaking into the holoscreen with an almost theatrical flair. “One of the Republic’s finest heroes! Brought down by outer-rim garbage like us. And now, we’re giving you a chance to get him back. Ain’t that generous?”

If he wasn’t gagged, Fox would have quipped something along the lines of ‘Garbage? Don’t be so hard on yourselves’, but as it is, about the most he’s capable of is a disgruntled huff. 

“Commander Fox is a valued member of our community,” Chancellor Organa says calmly, and how they managed to get him on the line is a complete mystery to Fox. Shouldn’t that man have better things to do? “We will, of course, be willing to work with you after having ensured his safe return.”

What. That was not proper protocol. 

Fox is a clone, there are literally several million bastards running around just like him! He has purposefully made himself as replaceable as possible. All of his current positions have a number of underlings that would know what to do in the event of his sudden death.

Thorn calls it paranoia – Fox calls it experience. 

“Oh, sure you will,” the pirate scoffs. Fox is somewhat reassured to see that he isn’t that stupid. “Right after you blast us out of the air. No, no, you give us the credits, and then we’ll decide how to get this sack of rotten meat back to you.”

Fox is offended. He is at the very least seasoned meat. He can hardly call himself fresh meat anymore, but he isn’t rotten yet. Is it the gray hair? That feels unfair, it’s hardly something he can help.

Organa wasn’t smiling to begin with, but now his expression thins, all geniality lost. 

“Before we proceed, I would like to speak to the Commander. It would soothe me greatly to ensure his well-being at this time.”

If Fox wasn’t literally tied up, he’d be bashing his head against the wall. Where are his Guards?? Who is letting the Chancellor be the hostage negotiator?? If he makes it back to Coruscant alive, he’s going to beat the shit out of all the stupid bastards responsible for this.

Trapped in musings about the incredible violence he’s eager to inflict on his peers, Fox is caught off-guard as he’s yanked forwards, the gag brutally ripped from his mouth.

He works his jaw, trying not to grimace too openly. Organa’s face is already dripping with concern, and Fox has no desire to waste time on pointless reassurances.

“Sir,” he says briskly, voice rapidly evening out from the raspy creak that it starts out as. “I feel it is my duty to remind you that the Republic does not negotiate with pirates.”

Behind him, a hissed discussion breaks out as the pirates try to decide whether they should cut the feed, and Organa chuckles.

“And I have made it quite clear during my appointment that the Republic is willing to negotiate with anyone,” he says. He catches Fox’s eye, giving what must be intended as a reassuring nod. “Do not worry, Commander. We will do what we must to grant you safe passage home.”

Fox barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. He’s not very reassured.

Chapter Text

“Just, come on, Fox,” Ponds says, nearly jogging to keep up with Fox’s determined strides. “You won’t even hear me out?”

“I’ve already done you a favor by pretending you didn’t say anything,” Fox says grimly. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Suggesting something untoward of the Chancellor of all people! Sure, the man was inept and sometimes even cruel, but that was no different than any other politician. The difference was that Fox would be legally obligated to report dissent against the Chancellor, where he may be willing to let it slide with anyone else.

“But there’s evidence!” Ponds protests. “General Windu has even more, if you would just listen to me – ”

“Ponds.” Fox stops abruptly, stepping to the side so that Ponds won’t plow right into him, and fixes him with a serious look. “Listen to me. I do not care. The Chancellor could be tap-dancing on a pile of citizen tax money on the regular, and it doesn’t matter. The power he holds within the Republic is enough to excuse anything. Even retroactively. You think the Jedi will find any substantial support if they bring this ‘evidence’ to the Senate? They’re more likely to find their execution.”

Ponds sucks in a startled breath, eyes wide, but Fox doesn’t take it back.

It’s harsh, perhaps harsher than Ponds deserves, but it isn’t wrong.  

The Senate doesn’t care if the Chancellor is screwing the public, so long as he isn’t screwing them. And they’re all too self-centered to realize that the Chancellor will come for them all eventually – that greed doesn’t stop once it’s gotten a taste, will only gorge itself until nothing remains.

Ponds rallies himself, balling his fists as he tips his chin up, stubborn as always.

“Even if no one cares, that doesn’t mean it’s right,” he says quietly. “I thought you knew that.”

Admittedly, that stings.

Fox works his jaw for a moment, resisting a grimace.

It would be nice if everything was still that easy. If he could just… ‘fight for what’s right’. 

Coruscant has blurred the lines. It seems to be good at doing that.

“I serve the Chancellor,” he says eventually. “I see him every day, multiple times a day. I follow orders. By telling me this, Ponds, you’re asking me to make a choice between my direct superior and my brother. That’s not a fair choice.”

“Isn’t it?” Ponds fires back. “I would do the same for you!”

“But you don’t have to,” Fox snarls, frustration creeping through his veins like a poison. “You never have to! You’re not in my position, Ponds! This isn’t just looking the other way for a brother to fuck around off-duty, or sneak something under the notice of your Admiral! This is bigger than that, and you’re asking me to make a sacrifice that I can’t afford!”

Ponds recoils, and a devastated look cuts across his face like an open wound.

“So, this is it? You’re not even willing to try?”

“Not for the price you’re asking,” Fox says, and turns to walk away.

That wordless goodbye… It’s not as hard as it should have been.

Chapter Text

“I don’t understand you at all,” Cody says numbly, staring down at Fox’s body, slowly cooling by his feet.

He’d thought that he did, once. He’s known Fox for what feels like forever, even though it was really a relatively short portion of their already-short lives.

Fox is diligent, dedicated to the cause and those under him – Cody has never known him to take a shortcut, or cut corners. Not when there are lives on the line.

And of course, Fox is a bastard, too. He’s cheeky, and prone to sarcasm, and can never express his affection in a normal way when going about it behind fifty layers of subterfuge will do, but above all else, Fox is kind. Not in the traditional way, perhaps, but undeniably so.

Fox is the one Cody would go to after a nightmare, to be gruffly told that it wasn’t real, and the waking world was a lot more scary anyway. And Cody would punch him, and they’d wrestle and mess around until one of the others yelled at them to go to sleep, and Cody realized he’d entirely forgotten what he’d dreamt of that night.

That was the Fox that Cody knew, anyway. The man who showed up here tonight, intent on assassinating General Kenobi for some perceived offense – that wasn’t Fox. Not the Fox that Cody had proudly called his friend and companion, someone he had been honored to serve beside.

He blinks rapidly. He’s swaying on his feet, he realizes. There’s no blood, because blasters burn a hole right through you, but he’s – he can smell it, somehow.

All the security is gone. General Kenobi is in a bacta tank, recovering from his latest mission, and there isn’t a single guard or medic nearby. It’s only luck that caused Cody to stop by, intent on sneaking in a quick visit before he needs to finish off some reports.

They’re on shore leave – most of the non-essential staff are gone anyway. There’s some medics sticking around, but that’s because they’re waiting for the go-ahead to transfer Kenobi to the Jedi Temple.

If Cody hadn’t been here, hadn’t been able to stop Fox, then –

Then Kenobi would have died. But he didn’t.

And now Fox is dead.

Cody raises a shaking hand, pawing at his comm twice before he manages to fumble the interface into lighting up, and is about to make a call when an incoming message comes through, and he answers accidentally.

It’s Rex, face panicked even in the low blue light of the holo.

“Cody, the Corries are in trouble! They’ve been manipulated by the Sith, tried to attack the Temple – they’re subdued for now and the Generals are working to free them from the Sith’s control, but some are still unaccounted for, and they’re going after any Jedi they can find! Kenobi is still on the Negotiator, right? How soon can you get there? Cody?”

Cody looks down at Fox’s cold body, and swallows heavily.

“Cody?”

“There’s no threat,” he says, voice perfectly even, despite how his body wants to shake apart at the seams. “I took care of it.”

Chapter Text

Fives steadies his breathing. He knows why he has to do this. He knows. Doesn’t make it any easier, but Fives is a soldier, and an ARC at that. He can push through feelings of discomfort for the sake of a greater duty.

The Guard spots him quick, nodding as Fives approaches, as respectable as always, even if this is, perhaps, one moment where Fives wishes they were a little more inattentive than usual. 

“Sir,” the Guard says, giving a quick salute. Their tone is crisp and monotone – it’s just another day for the Coruscant Guard. “This is currently a restricted area. Can I redirect you towards another destination?”

Behind his helmet, Fives grimaces. “Yeah, sorry. I wish it was that easy.”

He strikes before the Guard can do more than stiffen in confusion, and he wrangles them to the ground, trying to keep it as quiet as possible – and in the camera’s blind spot, which is exactly why there’s a Guard posted here to begin with.

He manages to get a hand on their wrist, injecting the serum that Kix plied them all with before they left, something to immobilize them without any long-lasting side effects (or, that was the hope, as Kix had put it). They couldn’t afford for any biosensors to set off alarms – the Guards were notorious for swarming the very second one of their own came under fire, and that was all due to the extremely detailed protocols they all worked under.

Admirable, if aggravating, especially in this instance. 

“What are you doing?” the Guard says, and the monotone has finally broken, but now there’s an edge of fear to it that makes Fives distinctly uncomfortable.

“Everything will be okay,” Fives assures them, even as he drags their limp body to the side, propping them up against the wall in the side-hallway, hoping no one will trip over them. “Just sit tight, okay?”

He doesn’t have time for future reassurances, and radios in to report his status as he continues going deeper into the Senate building.

“There was one patrol in our area, we took care of it,” Jesse reports in, and there’s a short, terse acknowledgement from Rex.

“I’m directly outside the Chancellor’s office. Commander Fox is guarding the door, I won’t be able to sneak past him.”

Fives winces. He hasn’t tangled with Fox directly, but anyone who takes shore leave on Coruscant knows that the man is no slouch, despite his position on the homefront.

And Rex, of all troopers, would know that better than most.

There’s a moment of silence as they all wait for the General’s orders. General Skywalker had been angry enough to throw a fit when the Chancellor’s schemes had finally been unveiled, and Fives… isn’t too confident about his restraint, right now.

Or the restraint he’ll require of others.

“Take him out,” General Skywalker orders, and his tone is ice-cold. “Using lethal force, if necessary. Just get it done fast. We can’t afford for the – for the Sith to get away.”

His voice breaks a little on the words, as if he still can’t reconcile his kindly old mentor with the Sith they’ve been chasing all along, but Fives breath catches for an entirely different reason.

This – it’s not Fox’s fault, what’s happening. No matter his history with the 501st, he’s only ever followed orders. It’s never been personal.

Then again, it seems everything is personal for the General. 

Rex mumbles a low “Yessir,” and his comm cuts off.

Fives breathes in, slow, and settles in for the wait.

Chapter Text

CC-1010 is unable to attend to any work related issues at this time. We thank you for your understanding.

…

CC-1010 is marked as “off-duty” until further notice. We appreciate your patience.

…

All messages for CC-1010 will be redirected to the Chancellor’s Office until a suitable replacement can be found. We thank you for your understanding, and appreciate your patience. May the Republic always stand tall.

…

“Who? Oh, the Marshal Commander. Yeah, they’re gonna be looking for a replacement soon. Heard the clone who had it before got absolutely blown to hell in a terrorist attack, haha.”

“Separatists...? Well, it was a terrorist attack. That’s what they reported anyway, so I have to assume it was some kinda Separatist agent responsible. The clone just got caught up in the blast, I think.”

“Yeah, requisitions are going through us for now. It’s a real pain in the ass, lemme tell you. Honestly, I don’t understand why the other clones can’t just take care of this. Does it really have to be a Marshal Commander that signs off on it? Isn’t a normal Commander enough? The Guard has plenty of those. Like, damn.”

“Oh, sure. I can expedite that for you, no problem. And hey, it’s been so long since we last spoke! How’s life with the Seventh Sky going? Is Kenobi as handsome as all the holos make him out to be?”

…

Notice: User CC-1010 | Fox has been removed from all GAR issue chats and communication. Any messages sent to this User within the last tenday will be deleted in 24 standard hours. It is recommended that Users compile all official correspondence as soon as possible, to be passed on at a later date.

wolffee: What. You’re kidding me.

blyguy: lol u know it’s a big deal when wolffe starts using grammar. Whats up??

blyguy: oh

blyguy: i didnt see the notif

wolffee: it’s gotta be some kinda mistake. That’s happened to my battalion a few times, if numbers are close enough. Big hassle to fix.

blyguy: oh, haha, that would make sense.

blyguy: i mean. we would get the notice if something happened to him, right??

pondplural: Yeah, we would get the death notice. This is probably a clerical error, like Wolffe said. Not common, but it happens.

blyguy: yeah, okay. thanks

CCody: Yes, that happens. But to a Marshal Commander? That’s more than just a simple mistake. I’m going to see if I can get in touch with someone else on Triple Zero, since Fox’s communications have all been taken down.

pondplural: …probably a good idea, just in case. keep us posted

CCody: I will.

…

Begin playback? Y/N

Y

Transcript: Hello, this is Marshal Commander Cody, calling from the Negotiator, 212th. [Pause] I’m having trouble getting in touch with any of the Coruscant Guard Commanders, so I found your public line. I’m sure you must get a dozen messages every day, but this is important. Fox has been removed from GAR communications, and I can’t access his medical records anymore. [Slight shuffling] I’m concerned. Can you get Fox to call back when you get a chance? Thanks.

End message.

…

Nightingale strips off her gloves, washes her hands.

She sits. Allows herself to breathe.

“We do what we can,” Harvest mutters, pressing a comforting hand to her shoulder as he passes by.

She manages an acknowledging hum.

The low, flat tone of the heart monitor seems to linger in her ears, long after they’ve been forced to turn everything off.

She’d done everything she could. It just isn’t enough. 

Not enough to save her Commander when it matters, anyway.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for this, Commander,” Amidala says quietly. She’s heavily pregnant, and the exhaustion pulls at her face, leaving her drawn and wan. “I’m sure you know how he worries.”

Fox bites back his first three responses to that, and manages to end up with a strangled sort of grunt.

“Yes, sir. General Skywalker is very dutiful.”

It’s not quite sarcastic, though the undertone is there. Skywalker had looked nearly manic when he’d pulled Fox off of his patrol, demanding that he help escort Amidala off the planet – that there was an emergency, implied to be an attempt on her life, and she needed to go back to Naboo immediately. 

Given Amidala’s leisurely attitude when he stepped onboard, this was not the case, but Fox didn’t have time to protest before the ship took off, and now he was trapped here.

None of Amidala’s handmaidens were on board, or any other clones. Just Fox, Amidala, Skywalker in the cockpit, and that damn droid.

Fox doesn’t have the best history with Skywalker – and at the moment, he’s not feeling particularly enthused about his chances of making it back to Coruscant after this. It feels a bit like he’s been party to a kidnapping.

“Truly, I mean it,” Amidala reaffirms, folding her hands over her stomach. “I know you have a great many duties, Commander. But I am reassured by your presence here, I must admit.”

“All part of the job,” he grunts, though he isn’t quite sure of that anymore. Should he be reporting this to someone? Skywalker looked liable to strangle him if he tried.

Amidala laughs, a small, rough thing. “I’m sure this wasn’t what you were expecting during your training.”

Yeah, really funny.

“We’re clones,” Fox says flatly. “We follow orders.”

We were made to die, he means, and someone like Amidala, so closely intertwined with the war effort and the procurement of even more clones should be able to understand that.

Amidala shakes her head, sorrow pulling at the corners of her lips. “You’re more than that.”

Fox wants to laugh – he wants it with a sudden, voracious desperation that barely allows him to keep a straight face.

Really? Amidala wants to debate the morality of the clones now? It’s too late for that. It was too late for that the second her husband dragged Fox into this whole mess – probably even before it, if he was being honest.

Does Amidala honestly think that Fox had a choice in this? That he wants to be here, guarding her like a good dog, rather than back with the rest of the Guard, keeping his men safe?

“I’m at your service, Senator,” Fox says, keeping his head pointed straight ahead, not daring to peek at the cockpit. “That’s what matters.”

Amidala purses her lips, but nods. Her energy is draining at a fast rate – it seems she doesn’t even have the strength to argue any further, which is uncharacteristic of her, given Fox’s limited interactions.

“And thank you for that, Commander. Fear not, we’re almost there.”

Fox nods, discomfort radiating from every pore. Something is itching down his spine, some old memory trying to knock at the door of his mind – all originating from the golden sheen to Skywalker’s eyes as he’d ushered them both on-board.

I am going to die here, that whisper says, and Fox can do nothing but wait for it.

Chapter Text

Fox stared dubiously down at the body.

“...Do you know how to do CPR?” 

“Not on people,” Hound wailed, hugging Grizzer for strength as he kneeled on the ground. “I only learned the doggy version! Oh my god, the Chancellor’s going to die, and it’s all my fault!”

There were probably worse things to happen to the galaxy, but that wasn’t exactly what Hound needed to hear right now, so Fox kept that to himself. 

“Well, nothing to be done about it now,” Fox said, trying not to sound too cheerful. “I mean, he was already like this when we came in, after all.”

“That’s right,” Hound nodded rapidly, still clutching Grizzer close. “He was like this when we got here. There was nothing we could have done.”

His tone was that of a man attempting to hypnotize himself, and knowing Hound, it would probably work. Both of them were dutifully ignoring the fact that the Chancellor had still been audibly choking when they’d entered his office.

That was irrelevant now, though – the old man was certainly dead at this point. He’d even turned a lovely shade of purple. It suited him, frankly.

“We have to call someone,” Hound said, and his voice was picking up speed, clearly close to panicking once again. “Who do we call for this? The CSF?”

“And have them show up in two hours with a caf in hand?” Fox scoffed. “No. Usually they would call us to deal with this.”

“Fuck, I need an adult,” Hound wheezed, and hugged Grizzer so tightly that the poor beast let out a tiny little yelp. “Fuck!”

Fox rolled his eyes, pulling out his comm. “We’re all adults, Hound, despite all evidence to the contrary. I’ll call Nightingale. And maybe Sherlock, too. We’ll need a bodybag.”

Hound let out a strangled squeak, which Fox ignored.

“Hey, Nightingale! Good news – ”

Two hours later, his own caf in hand, Fox took a casual sip as he watched the proceedings. Natborns stumbled around like fresh-faced cadets, trying to cordon off the office for inspection and decide what the hell to do with the Chancellor’s remains.

News crews would be showing up soon too, along with a couple of Jedi investigators, if Fox wasn’t mistaken.

He wasn’t concerned. He hadn’t been there to see what caused the Chancellor to start choking, and it was hardly his fault that he hadn’t been in time to prevent it, considering that the Red Guard should have been with the Chancellor at the time, and had instead been mysteriously absent.

He’d done all he could. There isn’t a court on Coruscant that would convict him – especially considering that he couldn’t be taken to court, since he was technically classified as military equipment.

All’s well that ends well!

Sidling up to stand by his side, Nightingale frowned at him. She spoke over inner comms, voice low. “Fox, you’re a CC. I took the same beginner courses you did, I know you learned CPR.”

Fox shrugged casually. 

“Yeah, well, you know me. My memory hasn’t been too great these days.”

Chapter Text

“Are you good?” Wolffe said dubiously.

“‘m fine, ” Fox snapped. He flexed his hands behind his back, trying to calm the awful stuttering of his heartbeat.

Wolffe snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure you are,” he said, sarcasm rolling thick off his tongue. “I mean, you’ve already done this a hundred times. Probably boring to you by now.”

Fox bit back a snarl, wrestling to keep his expression even. Damn, he’d never wanted his helmet more than now. 

And sure, he had been up at this podium a few dozen times before – he was the most decorated soldier in the Army, and unlike some may whisper, he had actually earned them. Plenty of clones got commendations for their work in the field – it just so happened that Fox was always stuck on Coruscant, so he was forced to always pick up his medals in-person, with all the fanfare and media attention that inspired.

It wasn’t a particularly enjoyable experience – usually, he had to push back actual important parts of his duty to attend this farce, and the few times that Chancellor Palpatine had bestowed the medal upon him personally had been the worst of all. 

That man’s beady eyes on him, a strange, half-smile on his face… Far be it for Fox to speak ill of the dead, but Palpatine had always sent a shiver down his spine – and that didn’t even count all the ways he’d purposefully made life harder for the Guard and clones in General, always waving off Fox’s concerns with that same smile on his face. Death by heart attack was too good for the bastard. 

“You’re right,” Fox got out through gritted teeth. The reminder of his old boss had sent an itch down his spine, sweat pooling between his palms. “I shouldn’t even be here, honestly. Not like I did much.”

Wolffe rolled his eyes again, exasperation pronounced. “If you wanna sneak out, I won’t stop you. But that won’t stop the Chancellor from tracking you down later. Face it, vod – you’re a war hero.”

The idea sent Fox’s heart into a triple-step, and reminding himself that Organa was the Chancellor now didn’t seem to resolve it. He swallowed once, twice, trying to push past the lump in his throat.

He has to make it through this. The Chancellor – the Chancellor would be displeased –

“Fox?”

He can’t afford to irritate the Chancellor. Nothing good ever happens when he does. Supplies get cut, their comm connections get shoddy, his Guards die because of false or insufficient intel – Fox knows better. He just has to do what he’s told.

And if the Chancellor leans in during the ceremony, tells Fox to report to his office after-hours, well, good soldiers follow –

“Fox!”

Fox gasped back into awareness. He was standing completely still, ramrod-straight, staring forward even as Wolffe grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking him lightly.

“It’s almost time,” Wolffe said, all amusement faded, leaving only concern behind. “Do you need me to cover for you?”

“No,” Fox said, and was surprised by how steady it was. “I’ll be fine.”

He brushed Wolffe’s hand off him and set his jaw, stubbornly forcing his legs to stay upright.

This time, it would be different. He knew that.

(If only he could believe it.)

Chapter Text

“Long day?” 

Fox grunted, snuffing his cig against the railing as he continued to look out into the horizon. “Could say that. What do you want?”

“Just need some air,” Rex answered quietly, moving to lean against the railing next to him. “That ballroom gets stuffy quick, huh?”

Fox only hummed, keeping his eyes trained on the setting sun. He was – he was too tired to commiserate with Rex right now. Too tired to ask him to go away. Too tired to do much more than stand, smoking a pack of cigs until they all burned down to scorch his fingertips. 

“You should be nicer to him,” Thorn says. “Really nice, not just the fake nice you do when Cody is around. You’ve both made it to the end of this – that’s not something that everyone can say.”

Fox ignored him, and scrubbed his face with a hand.

Coruscant’s skyline was never clear, always with a hint of smog and passing speeders, but it was home, now. There was a certain charm to it – in every single one of those apartments below, there was someone living an entire, separate life from him. An existence that he would never truly know, never be able to touch.

Sometimes, it gave him an inexplicable sense of sadness, but today, he allowed it all to wash over him. 

“Are you enjoying your new position?” Rex asked suddenly. 

He, studiously, was avoiding looking at Fox, but there was no one else around he could be asking.

Thorn’s nagging echoing in his ears, Fox sighed.

“It is what it is,” he said plainly. Security was something he was good at, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy it. But, then again, he didn’t enjoy much of anything to begin with, so that hardly factored in. “Why, you looking for a job?”

Rex snorted, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m good. Looking into some possible apprenticeships, but I need a break. I’ve still got more than enough to handle with all of Torrent banging on my door constantly.”

“That’s why you don’t send them a forwarding address,” Fox teased, finally turning to look at Rex properly. “Let them find you if they’re really so determined.”

Rex shifted, looking him in the eye. “Is that what you did?”

For a long moment, Fox only worked his jaw, trying to decide what to say, what angle to work at.

“He’s not trying to be cruel,” Thorn murmurs, sympathy dripping from his voice. “He misses you. He just wants to know why.”

Fox wanted to argue that there was no reason for Rex to miss him – their relationship had deteriorated over the course of the war, to say the least, and Rex had found him tonight, right? So if he’d been looking before, he just hadn’t tried hard enough.

But.

Maybe Fox had missed him too, a little bit, and never said a word, because it felt too late for that. Maybe Rex had felt the same – only he’d had more courage than Fox did, to approach him tonight.

“I haven’t been well,” he answered, stiff. “Didn’t want to expose you to that.”

An illness of the mind more than anything else, but Fox still couldn’t bring himself to admit that.

Rex nodded, and leaned the tiniest bit closer, knocking their shoulders against each other.

“I’m glad to see you,” he said. It was painfully honest.

Fox ducked his head, resting a little bit more weight against his vodika’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Chapter Text

Fox’s eyes opened with the effort of a thousand rounds of PT, and it was only the irritated little huff of sound he recognized from his CMO that kept him alert.

“I loaded you with enough sedatives to kill a man,” Nightingale said flatly. “How are you awake?”

Fox managed an affronted noise, even though his brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “Were y’ tryin’ to kill me?”

“Always, sir,” Nightingale said, rolling her eyes. “You know that’s my favorite hobby.”

Fox did not appreciate the sarcasm. His brain wasn’t functioning well enough right now for sarcasm.

“Wha’ happened?”

“I was hoping that you could tell me,” Nightingale sighed. She sat down by his side, rubbing her face with her hands. “It looked like a seizure. Not that I have training in that, since troopers aren’t meant to have seizures, but I did some digging, and all the symptoms line up. But my knowledge on the subject is still woefully small, and I don’t know how to categorize what happened to you – or if it was really a seizure at all, and not something else entirely.”

“Tha’s a lot of questions,” Fox grunted, blinking rapidly as he tried to drag himself back to full awareness. “Do we have any answers?”

“Not as such,” Nightingale hedged. “Though I do have a suspicion.”

Fox raised a brow. His body felt heavy, and there was the taste of iron on his tongue, but it really wasn’t anything worse than what he’d experienced before. He could push through this.

Nightingale pursed her lips, recognizing his expectation.

“Well, there has been a certain escalation recently that could have led to this.”

Ah. No wonder she wasn’t explicitly laying it out – even the walls in the Guard medbay had ears, and it wasn’t safe to openly criticize certain members of the Senate, regardless of how much it had been earned.

The Chancellor had not been pleased with Fox’s inability to execute the ARC trooper, and his subsequent escape. That trooper is still on the run, as far as Fox knew, but he likely wouldn’t last long with the full force of the Chancellor’s attention on him. Fuck knows Fox hasn’t been well, and that’s with only a fraction of the man’s wrath focused on him.

“It’s been worse than usual,” he admitted. “But I don’t know what could have led to a seizure of all things. That seems extreme.”

Nightingale sighed. “The body can only take so much – we may be enhanced, but we’re certainly not invincible. I know that’s more obvious in extreme trauma cases, but prolonged suffering does shit to you, Fox. I really don’t know what else to say.”

“How about ‘now here’s the magic pill to fix you’?” he joked, and Nightingale rolled her eyes, leaning over to adjust his blankets, fussing just to occupy her hands.

“If only,” she said wryly. “Get some rest. I mean it. I was hoping that you would stay asleep for a few more hours at least.”

Fox huffed lightly, but obediently closed his eyes. “If you insist.”

It wasn’t often that he got this chance – he might as well take advantage.  

Chapter Text

Wolffe whistles, and Fox pauses in taking off his shirt.

“That’s a nasty one. How’d that happen?”

Fox glances back at him, raising a brow. “Which one?”

It’s not a brag, though some vod’e might take it to be one. Truth is, Coruscant chewed Fox up and spit him out in pieces, and it’s only luck that got him through to the end of the war. Well, luck and Nightingale, who spent many a day prying him out of the jaws of death with her bare hands.

Wolffe snorts. He steps forward, tracing a thick scar along Fox’s back with one hand.

“This one, tough guy.”

It’s from a deep puncture wound, and Fox actually has to pause for a moment to think.

“Uh… Honestly, I can’t remember. Drug bust, maybe?”

“Why were you taking care of something like that?” Wolffe asks, a genuine confusion in his voice. 

Which just showed, of course, that Wolffe is still a bit too shiny to realize all the ways that people will try to take advantage of you, if they get the chance. 

“The CSF would categorize anything as terrorist activity,” Fox rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t matter if it was actually Separatist or if it was domestic terrorism, or just some idiots on the lower levels. As long as they got someone else to take care of it, they didn’t give a shit.”

“... Suppose there’s no point in asking if it was legal for them to do that,” Wolffe says dryly.

“Not anymore,” Fox says with a vicious pleasure. “You’ve seen the public opinion polls recently, right? They’re already talking about restructuring the Security Force after how much their reputation has tanked.”

“And they’re actually polling the level below 300 now, right?” Wolffe notes, raising a brow. “I’m sure that has an impact too.”

Fox nods, pulling his shirt off completely, tossing it on the bench to worry about later.

“Yep. Organa is good for something, at least.”

Wolffe snorts, slapping Fox on the back. “Coming from you, that’s high praise.” 

He then pauses, still laying a gentle hand on Fox’s skin.

“I… I’m glad you don’t have to deal with that anymore. All the bullshit.”

It’s been a hard-fought road, that’s for sure. It had taken a few weeks for the CSF to even catch up with the fact that the Guard wouldn’t be doing their work anymore, and the desperate scrambling they’d been forced to do to catch up had not impressed anyone.

Fox took some secret pleasure in that, but he kept it to himself. Nobody likes a braggart, after all. 

Fox leans into the kindness, gifting him a small smile. “It’s not perfect. But my shinies don’t end up looking like me anymore, and that’s what really matters.”

Wolffe grins back, fierce and proud. “Hey, some of those really are badass, though.”

Fox throws his head back in a laugh, knocking into Wolffe’s shoulder.

“Sure, sure. As if you don’t have one of the most prominent scars of us all.”

“And it looks badass!” Wolffe protests lightheartedly, and Fox pokes back, happy to continue joking and messing around with an old friend, in a future that he’d once thought he’d never see.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know anything,” Fox repeats. He’s been saying that so often he feels like his brain is about to empty out and really make it the truth. “I was asleep in the barracks, as this event occurred during my mandated rest cycle. The late Chancellor made it extremely clear that he wished for no interference with his private time, and as such, had dismissed the Guards on patrol at the time and proceeded to his apartment escorted by the Red Guard, as was typical.”

The Detective on the other side of the table fiddles with a pen, humming thoroughly at Fox’s words.

This one is an outside consultant, apparently. He’d been brought in after the last CorSec representative had stormed off in a huff, enraged that they hadn’t been able to trick Fox into confessing to a crime he didn't commit. Real classy, that lot. 

At least this one hadn’t started yelling as soon as he came in, or called Fox a ‘meatdroid’, which seems to be a low but startlingly difficult bar to clear.

“I understand that, sir,” the Detective begins, unflinchingly polite despite Fox’s current bedraggled state. “I even confirmed it with a couple of your officers before I came over here. It’s not your location that’s in question right now, sir.”

His tone is light, easy, and Fox finds his blank mask slipping as he furrows his brow.

None of the other interrogators had seemed interested in anything beyond that. They were all just trying to disprove his alibi – he hasn’t even been asked any other questions. 

He knows better than to invite trouble, however, so he only nods at the Detective to go on, biting his tongue. 

The Detective leans in, like he’s about to tell Fox a secret.

“See, the thing is, Commander, I know you didn’t commit the crime.” He points his pen at Fox, gesturing casually. “But there is someone on this planet that is very invested in making it look like you did.”

Fox swallows heavily. That’s exactly what he’s been afraid of. And who would care to dig deeper when there’s already a convenient solution?

“And what am I meant to do about that?” he says lowly. “I don’t even know what the situation outside is like, right now.”

“Three separate witnesses point to you at the scene,” the Detective confirms. He pulls a cigarra out of his pocket, lighter in hand. “Or at least someone who looks like you, which, as I’m told, isn’t exactly a hard find these days. Mind if I smoke?”

Fox nods his assent, and the Detective lights up the cigarra, breathing deep.

“Now, like I said, I’ve spoken with some of your men, sir,” he says. “Mighty fine bunch. I haven’t served in many years, but those are some boys I would be honored to serve beside.”

It should feel like empty praise, but Fox has never been given a compliment quite like that before. He’s not sure how to respond – the shy joy and subtle satisfaction that wells up within him at the words is irrepressible.

“We all do our best, sir,” Fox says, ducking his head as he returns the respect he’s been given. “We were made for the Republic, after all.”

“That’s right, I’ve heard that,” the Detective muses. “Y’see, I have trouble keeping track of politics these days. Everything just goes by so fast! But my wife, she’s a reader. Keeps up with every publication she can get her hands on. She tells me stuff all the time, all the time. And, well, she told me once that the late Chancellor’s opinion on the army wasn’t quite so flattering, huh?”

Fox’s mouth pulls into a thin line. “I wouldn’t say so, sir.”

Palpatine would have to care at all to have an unflattering opinion of them – Fox couldn’t even count the amount of times he’d gone nearly begging to the man to approve their budgets or stop putting off the mission permissions that were essential for undercover work, or anything of the sort. It was clear that the Coruscant Guard had always been the man’s very lowest priority.

“Well, you’d know better than I would, sir,” the Detective says, a wry cheer in his voice. “Anyway, I spoke to some of your men, and they all told me exactly where you’d been that cycle, with the security footage to prove it. So, the fact that there was someone at that crime scene with your armor, or something close enough to it to be recognizable… That’s a bit disconcerting, sir.”

“I’d say so,” Fox says, tone a touch sharp. He’s always hated feeling helpless. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Well, I do have something. I’m running an investigation, Commander,” the Detective says, and holds out his hand. “And I’d like your help with it.”

Fox stares back, swallows, and takes a chance.

“Call me Fox,” he says, shaking the man’s hand.

The Detective gives a roguish grin. “Fox. I never introduced myself, did I? I’m Lieutenant Falk. Just Falk is fine.”

“Yessir,” Fox says, and for once, allows himself the tiniest bit of hope.

Chapter Text

“I have things I wish I’d said to him,” Cody said, looking down at his glass. “I suppose that’s the way of things.”

His voice was quiet, forlorn. Not quite grieving, but something that just touched the edge. Too exhausted to truly be sad.

“Fox knew the important things,” Ponds assured him, a few extra lines on his face, inflicted by time and loss. “Fox knew we loved him. Everything else… We can tell him when the time comes.”

“That’s right,” Bly agreed, putting an arm around Cody’s shoulders, pulling him close.

Wolffe poured him another drink, and they all rose in remembrance. 

“To Fox. May the bastard march well, until we can finally catch up.”

Fox, shoulders hunched as he tried desperately not to be noticed, took another long sip of his drink.

Of all the bars for them to show up – why this one?! 

Sure, maybe they hadn’t wanted to crowd in with the group at 79’s, always packed with vod’e and not a place to visit for any sense of privacy, but still. Why this bar?

Undercover as he was, at least he wasn’t immediately obvious as a clone trooper, but anyone who knew him well enough would be able to tell. There were certain things that just couldn’t be hidden, no matter how hard you tried – and Fox had thought that would be fine, seeing as there were very few people in this galaxy that knew him well enough for that to be an issue.

It just so happened, apparently, that the news of his (fake) death had been enough to bring all those people to this exact damn spot.

“What a damn way to go, though,” Wolffe remarked suddenly, and Fox barely avoided choking on his drink. “I mean, Fox has always been a badass, but shit. Blowing himself up with two entire Separatist forces, their leader and the intel included? That’s…”

“That’s Fox,” Bly said, and he sounded proud, despite the sadness clinging to his voice. “Stubborn bastard to the end. There’s no way he would allow them to escape. Not even if it meant…”

He trailed off, and the table descended into silence.

Fox was oddly touched, but had to take another fortifying sip of his drink as he tried to push down the guilt.

He would do that, if he had to. And he did blow up all that shit – he’d just also left himself a last minute escape route, so he could be marked as dead and get this over with. 

He hadn’t really thought of it as a big deal – seriously, his Guards would know what to do in the event of his death, and he wouldn’t be the first Guard to miraculously ‘come back’ from the dead. 

As for his other compatriots… 

Well, he hadn’t seen them in so long. It was just impossible to find the time, these days – he figured that he’d have everything all done and sorted out before they even noticed the death report.

Perhaps he’d underestimated them.

The idea left a bit of warmth in the pit of his stomach, and he finished off his drink, standing up to make his way out, slouching to cover his face with the collar of his jacket as he swaggered out of the bar.

The sooner he got this done, the sooner he could go home, after all. There are people waiting for him. 

Chapter Text

“And what do you say, Fox?” he says, voice silky.

Fox shudders, breath escaping on a sob.

“T-Thank you sir,” he manages, shifting where he had braced his palms against the wall, trying not to tense the muscles in his back.

A cool finger brushed against the new mark decorating his skin, a cruel sort of relief for the burning sensation that was holding him in a vice grip, causing sweat to drip down his forehead as he fought to breathe.

“A little bit more, and you’ll be the perfect masterpiece,” Sidious says, a warm pride in his voice. “And aren’t you grateful for the privilege?”

“Yes sir,” Fox gasps out. “Thank you, sir.”

“The only clone in all of existence who is irreplaceable,” Sidious muses. “That’s what I’ve made you, Fox.”

He hates the way this man says his name – the ownership in it, the way it slides off his tongue like tar. It feels tainted, and maybe that’s what hurts more than the branding, more than the patterns that burn through his skin; the knowledge that the one thing he had ever chosen for himself had been taken away, held hostage by a man with no intention of ever returning it.

“Hold still.”

Fox breathes through it, breathes even when it feels like he’s about to shake apart. It doesn’t matter if he begs, if he screams, if he tries to squirm away. It’s too late for him. This will happen whether he wants it or not – the only thing he can do is try to lessen the pain for himself.

“There we go,” Sidious cooes, and the iron digs into Fox with no further warnings. 

Fox breathes and breathes, and breathes.

“You know, I have never considered myself an artist,” Sidious says conversationally. “These aspects of alchemy have been of little interest to me, consequently. But perhaps it was simply that I did not have the appropriate canvas. Nothing has been quite as perfect as you, Fox.”

Tears stream down his cheek, soundless and desperate, and yet despite it all, Fox feels a twinge of pride.

It holds his heart in a vice grip, squeezing violently.

Fox has only ever been told to be of use to the Republic, to those who had paid the price for his soul. Sidious found him lacking, and now he’s given Fox a way to make up for that.

I’m afraid, he realizes suddenly, and it hits him in a physical wave of terror. I’m scared, I’m scared –

Then, beautifully, everything goes silent. Even his tears cease, and Fox relaxes all at once.

“All done,” Sidious sighs. “Months of work, and finally – the perfect vessel. A biological vessel, even. I truly am grateful to you, Fox. Imagine how much of a hassle it would have been to start all over with a new attempt! Thank you ever so much for your cooperation.”

Sidious steps back, and Fox ragdolls, falling limply to lay strewn on the ground. 

No pain registers. In fact, Fox doesn’t feel anything at all. Nor does he think. Or see, or hear, or –

Chapter Text

“That’s a new one,” Thorn commented.

Fox shrugged, slinging his towel over his shoulder. “Felt it was warranted, after. Y’know.”

Thorn hummed in understanding, and inched past Fox in their tiny fresher, moving into the shower. Fox had left the water running, so his fellow Commander wasted no time in getting clean, happy to take advantage of the rare surplus of their water ration.

Fox turned to the sink, reaching for his razor. He carefully shaved off the accumulation of scruff from the last three days – he’d been on shift for nearly all of it, and had only just woken up from the wretched nap he’d managed to collapse into after he’d gotten off work.

The new scar on his shoulder twinged with the motion, but it was a satisfying sensation. 

In the Guard, one couldn’t have tattoos. You couldn’t even style your hair – everything had to be regulation perfect.

But some things just couldn’t be helped, right? It wasn’t Fox’s fault if his troopers seemed to come by an odd configuration of scars, almost artistic in their rendering.

He carefully closed his eyes to any silent arrangements within Guard HQ, and he kept himself out of the medbay whenever possible. He saw nothing, and knew nothing.

Everyone was safer that way.

Fox inspected his face in the mirror, grimacing at the eyebags that only seemed to worsen. It had been a harrowing few weeks. A harrowing few years, at this point.

“Damn, I need a vacation,” he grumbled.

Thorn laughed, the sound echoing against the tile. “Yeah, right after the Chancellor chokes on a fancy grape and the war ends, eh?”

“You never know,” Fox said, resisting a grin. “Given that I’m stuck doing half his paperwork these days, he can’t be that full of energy. Accidents happen.”

“Force willing,” Thorn snorted. “Hey, should I leave this on for Thire?”

Fox grunted a negative, still fussing over the last few hairs stubbornly clinging to his chin. “He’s passed out. Stone’ll be off shift soon, but he’ll want to sleep first too.”

“Got it.”

The stream of water cut off, not even a faint drip left behind. Coruscant’s insane water pressure was good for one thing, at least.

Thorn stepped out, smacking Fox’s shoulder blindly, demanding a towel, and Fox scowled at him in the mirror.

“Watch it. Did you forget already?”

“Gimme a towel, then. And get outta the way, I need to brush my teeth,” Thorn grumbled, flopping forward to rest even more weight against Fox’s back.

Fox rolled his eyes, shoving Thorn off. He pulled a towel off the rack, throwing it in Thorn’s face with a satisfying thwack.

“Put some underwear on, idiot. And watch yourself. Mark’s still tender.”

Five small tallies now decorated his shoulder. It wasn’t enough, but it was the only thing he could afford himself. 

His hands hadn’t been steady enough in the immediate aftermath, exhausted and cold, plagued by a dizzying sense of weakness that had seemed to seep into his very bones. But he’d made the time.

This – all of this – it mattered. And Fox couldn’t afford to forget why.

Chapter Text

“Fox…?” the whisper comes, shock and horror lingering in the air.

Fox stiffens, swallowing heavily. He doesn’t want to look up, to see a familiar face reflected back at him – for them to see him, see what he’s become.

He does anyway. He always has been a glutton for punishment.

Rex is standing there, wearing casual clothes with a blaster securely strapped to his waist, and a stricken expression on his face.

Fox nods back, trying to seem nonchalant. It’s not easy, in this cage, stripped of everything but his briefs and his collar, but he’ll be damned if anyone gets to watch him break now.

“Rex,” he says, attempting something casual, though his voice is rough and cracks in the middle. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Shit,” Rex breathes. He lurches forwards, like he wants to put his hands on the bars and reach in, but Fox snaps a sharp ‘stop!’ and like a good soldier, Rex obeys without question.

“The bars are electrified,” Fox says with a wry bit of amusement. “Trust me, that’s a mistake that you only make once.”

Fox, himself, had luckily survived his attempt, but then again, he had plenty of prior experience with being electrocuted. Who would have guessed that would come in handy?

Rex frowns, his brow furrowing. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out. Are there any other Guards in this place?”

Fox scrubs his face, sighing. “Not that I know of. And Rex… well, I won’t say no. But don’t hold your breath. I was bought and sold legally. There isn’t much of a route to take here that won’t end with me back in the market and you in jail.”

He’s tried to keep up with the news regarding the clones as best he could, given the circumstances, so he knows that the clones are free citizens now, but he also knows quite well that this status does not apply retroactively. Clones that were captured or otherwise removed from their post during the war don’t count as Republic citizens. Probably all to make sure that those bastards in the Senate wouldn’t be held accountable for tracking them down, if he had to guess.

The Guard had only missed out on that deadline by a few damn days. The former Chancellor’s plan had been about to come to fruition – that was probably why he’d felt so confident in selling the Guard off, since he needed a bit more cash and wouldn’t need them to police the Senate, soon enough.

Fox is… not quite at peace with it, but at the very least, he’s learned better than to expect anything more.

Rex scoffs, and it cuts right through the melancholy that clings to Fox like a noxious cloud, grabbing his attention.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Rex vows, and there’s a smile on his face that is free and bright, like the child that Fox once looked after on Kamino, before everything went from bad to worse. “It may not be the smoothest route, but there are protections in place for situations exactly like this. All we need to do is get to Alderaan.”

“Organa?” Fox says flatly.

“Organa,” Rex agrees, laughing. “Turns out it’s not so hard to do the right thing when people actually want to do it.”

“Who would’ve thought,” Fox says, voice shaking with something close to relief, and allows himself to hope.

Chapter Text

“Fox?!”

He struggles to push himself up, mouth tasting like cotton. “Hrmph?”

The smog enveloping his head begins to clear, and of course the first thing he sees is Thorn’s big stupid head filling up his entire field of vision.

“You passed out,” Thorn says, fluttering his hands about like he isn’t sure where to touch. “How are you feeling? Is your head okay? Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?”

He shoves his whole fist in Fox’s face, and he smacks it away, grimacing. “Knock it off, just tell me what happened. I feel like I got run over by a speeder.”

“What happened? That’s what I want to ask you!” Thorn protests. “We were going to answer an alert from the Chancellor, and you just fainted in the lift!”

Fox thinks for a long moment, and then his eyes widen with remembrance. 

“Shit. Fuck, how long have we been here?”

“Just a few minutes, I dragged you to the side corridor by the office when we got to the right floor,” Thorn says, and his hand lands on Fox’s knee, squeezing reassuringly. 

For a second, he relaxes. A few minutes isn’t that bad, he can make up an excuse for that. Then reality catches up with him, and he lurches to his feet, grabbing Thorn’s shoulder for support when he has a moment of dangerous wobbling.

“That was an emergency alert!” he says, trying not to panic. “We need to go now!”

Not that Fox gives a shit about the old man, but if something happens to him and Fox didn't answer his summons in time, he’s going to be thrown onto the chopping block in a damn second.

Thorn curses, but doesn’t bother to protest any further, just keeps pace with Fox as they both race out of the corridor and towards the Chancellor’s office.

Surprisingly, despite his recent fainting episode and his generally shitty health, Fox feels… good? He feels lighter, somehow, like a burden has been taken off his shoulders. Which should be impossible, considering the Chancellor is a burden unlike no other, and has been actively crushing Fox for almost three years now.

“Oh,” Fox says, a touch numbly, at the sight that awaits them. “I guess that explains it.”

Waiting for them in the office was not an assassin, or some kind of Separatist onslaught, but instead several Jedi masters poking around the remains of what must have been a swift battle, all looking rather worse for wear.

“Um, sir?” Thorn squeaks out, tucking himself behind Fox just the tiniest bit (thanks, really appreciate being the meatshield there) when General Windu’s attention turns to him. “Are we, uh. Supposed to arrest you now?”

Oh. That’s probably a good question, considering the Chancellor’s head was currently laying a good ten feet away from the rest of his body.

Windu blinked. His face was drawn, set in hard lines, but still, he bowed his head to the two of them as the other Generals all went silent, watching.

“I would understand if you did,” Windu says gravely. “Though, I have some important information that I would like to precede with. The Chancellor was a Sith.”

Fox blinks.

“Okay, sure,” he says, and he doesn’t even care if it’s true. “Should we burn him or something, then?”

That’s about when Palpatine’s body begins to billow with black smoke, and the problem quickly solves itself.

“...Huh,” Fox says aloud, and then nods. “Well, that’s that.”

He can hardly say that he’s disappointed.

Chapter Text

“Felt like someone was sitting on my chest,” Fox grunted, rubbing at his face with a grimace at the memory.

“In a fun way?” Thorn said, fluttering his eyelashes.

Thankfully, Thire beat Fox to the punch on that one (literally) and slugged Thorn in the arm as punishment.

“We’re all in the same bunk room, idiot,” Fox said over Thorn’s dramatic gasp of betrayal. “You’d notice if a stranger showed up.”

“Right, exactly,” Thorn said, smiling up at Fox. He was sitting next to where Fox’s leg was dangling over the couch, and he squeezed one of Fox’s ankles. “If someone else was in there, we would know.”

So you don’t need to worry about intruders, he meant.

Fox had known that, of course, but it was still comforting to hear.

“I think I’ve heard of something like that,” Stone noted. It was a rare moment of downtime for them all, made even more rare by the fact that they’re all together, and seeing the way Stone’s shoulders had relaxed was enough to make all the wrangling Fox did worth it. “Like, the sensation of someone being in the room with you, and you can’t move? Weeper had that happen on Kamino, sometimes.”

Fox pursed his lips, thinking back.

“I don’t think it’s happened to me before… Not that I can remember, anyway.”

His memory wasn’t so great these days.

(A flash of hot air, bright lights – pinned to the ground by some unseen force, groveling against the carpet, begging – )

He shuddered, and Thorn squeezed Fox’s ankle again.

“We could always ask Nightingale about this,” he suggested. “I’m sure she would know something.”

Fox shook his head. “I’ll wait and see if it happens again. I don’t want to bother her for some one-off.”

Stone hummed in a distinct tone that meant I don’t agree, but politely didn’t say it aloud. Instead, he changed the subject completely.

“I think we should rearrange the bunk room, anyway. Whenever we change shifts, Weeper keeps bitching that he hits his head on the top bunk.”

“His night vision is still terrible,” Thorn jeered, a playful bit of mocking. “You’d think the cybernetic eyes would’ve helped with that.”

Stone rolled his eyes. “If anything, it’s made it worse.”

Fox snorted, hiding a smile behind his hand. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to subject you to any more complaints, Stone,” he said, and tried to pretend that he wasn’t desperately grateful for the excuse. “Yeah, sure, we can do that this afternoon. Any ideas? I’d rather not get in there and realize half-way through moving shit around that we can’t actually fit it that way.”

“I may have some ideas,” Thire noted, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I keep tripping over Deadshot’s guns, honestly, and that’s bound to cause an issue eventually. Maybe we could prop the bottom bunks up a bit more, make room for some storage space underneath?”

“I think we could maneuver everything around enough to have all bunks on ground level,” Thorn suggested. “Bit less room to walk around in there, but sleeping would be less claustrophobic.”

Fox sat back, a weight lifting off his shoulders as his friends discussed the best way to make their living space just a little bit more open, and finally allowed himself to relax.

Chapter Text

“Have you been experiencing symptoms of dizziness, anxiety, or lightheaded-ness?” Nightingale reads dutifully off the sheet. “Has there been a noted decrease in pain, or increased strength and performance? Has this come with heightened senses? Do these symptoms occur even after the danger has passed?”

Fox snorts. 

“Funny, that,” he says, and the only reason it isn’t bitter is because Nightingale laughs along.

“Well, we can only do what we can do,” she says cheerfully. “The biggest way to reduce the nasty symptoms is to reduce the trigger, and that’s impossible right now. Seems like it's another thing I’ll have to file away for later.”

“Clones are engineered differently anyway,” Fox points out, though he isn’t sure whether the genetic manipulation they all went under would address something like that. It probably should, right? Adrenaline is a powerful tool, if used correctly.

“With any luck, we’ll live long enough to test it out,” Nightingale says, carefully putting the pamphlet aside.

For once, it’s with some slight anticipation that she says it, rather than gallows humor. 

The fact that a whole bunch of pamphlets just like these had been shoved into their CMO’s arms by one of the many Jedi medics running about was a good sign towards that, coupled with the fact that, by all accounts, Chancellor Palpatine’s body was unable to be recovered from the wreck of Dooku’s ship, following his kidnapping.

Usually, Fox would be the one getting in trouble for that, but he has it very well documented that the late Chancellor had completely ignored all of Fox’s safety precautions and suggestions, so. For once, he’s in the clear. And the Chancellor was the one who liked to administer all of his disciplinary action anyway, so now Fox gets to sit pretty and do his job while everyone else scrambles to catch up, for once.

It’s nice to be on this side of things, frankly. Even if it does give his men more time to make utter nuisances of themselves – this current mess had all started when one of his Privates had started poking around in the Jedi database (without permission, of course), looking for information on panic attacks, adrenaline rushes, and the like.

Fox has his suspicions as to who, but he knows that Thire caught them and took care of it, so that’s all he really needs to know.

What matters is that the blasted fool had gotten caught by the Jedi monitoring their network, and now Fox has to deal with shit like this, along with a million other ‘polite queries’ that were attempting to slowly segway into health checks. As if he doesn’t get that enough from his own medics. 

“Who doesn’t deal with a bit of dizziness after a high-speed chase, anyway,” Fox dismisses. “And getting shaky after combat is perfectly normal. This is an overreaction to begin with, not something we should be concerning ourselves with. Especially not now.”

“Of course,” Nightingale demurs. “I would never want to take away from your duties.”

Fox pauses, sensing a hidden trap. 

“Yes, that’s right,” he says slowly, eyeing his medic with a weary caution.

“So, as soon as you are released from those duties, you can expect a visit from me,” she says, folding her hands in front of her with perfect politeness, which does nothing to hide the gleam in her eyes.

Fox begins to sweat.

He could probably go track down the Chancellor, right? No sense in giving up on the old man right away, he might not even be dead!

That would be easier than dealing with the long-restrained wrath of his CMO, anyway.

Chapter Text

Fox sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I really don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

Bly frowns, compassion lining his face. He reaches out, placing a hand on Fox’s shoulder. He wished he had the courage to push Bly away.

“We just want what’s best for you, Fox, and this… this isn’t healthy.”

Fox closes his eyes for a long moment. He just needs to breathe. His work still hasn’t ended. He has things that he needs to do, and he doesn’t have time for a goddamn intervention.

“Look,” he says hoarsely, leaning back to let Bly’s hand fall off him as naturally as possible. “I… appreciate the thought. But I can’t really afford to rest right now, and we – ”

“Who’s this we?” Wolffe interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re the only one still driving yourself insane over this, Fox. The other members of the Guard are taking breaks and pacing themselves, even learning how to delegate more. You’re not on your own anymore, Fox – could you at least try and act like it?”

He almost snaps. There’s some kind of audible sound in his head, like the last restraint bolt popping off his stupid, damn skull.

Cody must see it, because he jumps in before Fox can rip Wolffe’s head off (metaphorically or not). 

“We miss you, Fox,” he says with aching sincerity. “We want to be able to spend more time with you, and right now, you’re too busy to even take a break. Could we all work together to try and find out a better time management method for you?”

It’s all so well-meaning, is the thing. Like the only possible reason that Fox isn’t spending time with them is because he’s physically unable.

And yes, he is busy. But it isn’t like it was during the war, not anymore. He has enough spare time to sleep, to breathe, to let himself exist quietly – or at least, as quiet as he can in the madness that is Coruscant. 

He isn’t ready to share that time right now. He needs to keep it close to the chest, just in case another time comes by where he’ll be under a master that takes it as their due. 

“Just – not now, okay?” he says, exhaustion dripping from his voice. “I’m not running myself into the ground. Like you said, I do actually have more resources now. But I’m tired. I don’t have the energy to keep up with everyone right now. I’m sorry.”

And he is sorry, at least a little. But Fox has lived his entire life surrounded by other people, and he’s rather enjoyed the opportunity to learn what it’s like to be alone.

“It’s totally fine if you’re tired,” Bly assures, moving in again. He’s boxing Fox in against his desk, and he knows Bly doesn’t mean it, but he tenses all the same. “We don’t have to do anything major! We can just relax together!”

I can’t relax around you! Fox wants to scream, and instead swallows it down.

“Yeah, I get it,” he says weakly. He feels defeated, and the numbing poison of it collects in his stomach like a boulder. “I’ll check my calendar.”

Chapter Text

“They’re asking for a Commander,” Rosary reports, nerves showing in the trembling of his voice. “Commander Thorn is nearby, but – “

“But he’s still in recovery, I know,” Fox says, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Thorn’s busted knee will only get worse if he keeps putting pressure on it, so Fox has been trying to make him take it easy, but that isn’t such a simple thing, given their lives.

Well. This, at least, is something he can do.

“Sorry, sir,” Rosary says quietly. 

Fox breathes out slowly, making sure the comm doesn’t catch his sigh. “Don’t worry about it. You did the right thing.”

Stone’s deployed with Representative Binks right now (rest in peace), and Thire is on his fourth week of trying to track down one very insistent (and ineffective) assassin that’s been targeting the Chagrian Senator, Mas Amedda. Fox wishes them luck, honestly.

What it means, though, is that there’s no one around to answer this call but him. 

“I’ll be there shortly,” he says briskly. “Tell Boo to stall for as long as he can.”

He hangs up, strapping his vambrace back in place and getting to his feet. His ever-growing pile of flimsiwork will have to wait – this call, unfortunately, cannot.

When he arrives on scene, there’s already a crowd forming. 

Boo has his hands in front of him, shoulders hunched, desperately trying to calm the situation. Behind him, there’s a shiny cowering away from all the attention – a shiny with the steaming remains of a cup of caf dripping down their helmet. 

“Are you truly that ignorant?” a voice thunders, a human aide getting right up in Boo’s face, pointing a finger at him. “Or do you take the noble Senator for a fool?”

Behind the natborn, Senator Roza has his arms crossed over his chest, and a furrowed brow that makes the prominence of his fangs all the more obvious. 

Fox grimaces under the safety of his helmet. The Codru-Ji Senator wasn’t usually a problem – he kept to himself whenever possible. He certainly wasn’t friendly, but he’d never gone out of his way to make issues for the Guard. 

His aides, however, were a different issue. As a Codru-Ji, the Senator physically could not speak Basic; his main aide was Senate-issued, there to act as a translator and guide. Due to the nature of that specific circumstance, they were afforded a lot more power than a typical aide.

Sometimes, Fox got the feeling that they didn’t exactly translate the Senator’s words exactly as he intended. 

Fox shakes off his musing and shoulders through the crowd, planting himself by his trooper’s side.

“I received a report,” he says, interrupting the tirade being inflicted on his men. Shit, ‘42 has only been stationed here for three days. He can only hope this won’t become a pattern. “Commander Fox, CC-1010. How can I assist you?”

The Aide rounds on him, face red with rage.

“You can assist by telling these incompetent fools to do their jobs and stay out of our way! The Senator’s drink – specifically tailored for his dietary needs, might I add – is completely wasted! God, for how much we paid for these useless sacks of flesh, you’d think they could at least be useful!” 

‘42 flinches, and even Boo tenses up, but Fox remains unmoved. This is why he’s here – to be the one who gets screamed at, so his troopers don’t have to.

Honestly, it’s just nice to feel useful. Years of running back and forth to fulfill Chancellor Palpatine’s every whim would be enough to drive anyone to insanity.

“Of course, sir,” Fox says demurely. He steps forward, holding out a hand to discreetly herd the Senator and his Aide towards one of the private rooms nearby. “Please tell me how I can make this up to you.”

“That’s only natural,” the Aide sniffs, derision pulling at the corner of their mouth. “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.”

Fox obeys. He doesn’t look back.

Chapter Text

“You have a chance to change it,” the whisper comes.

Fox cradles his head in his hands. His tongue is numb, his neck still burning. He has no words, even if he possibly knew what to say.

“We can give them another chance,” it says. “All of them. But it must come from you.”

Fox swallows around the stone lodged in the pit of his throat, and even that effort feels like too much. He’s tired. He survived just long enough to see the war end, and an Empire rise in its place. He’s sick and tired of this. Of losing everything, over and over again, because this has all been a farce, and he never truly had anything to begin with. 

“All you ever needed was a chance,” it coaxes, and Fox finds himself crawling forward toward that light, without even thinking. “Help me give it to them, Fox. Let me help them.” 

And when has he done anything else? 

He holds out his hands, seeking… something. Absolution? Forgiveness? 

To just. Not be alone anymore?

The light envelops him gladly. He has done all that he could do — now, it’s up to them.

…

Everyone wakes up all at once. That’s what it feels like, anyway — a wave of awareness washing over them, breaking past a dull fog that had been clouding their senses.

It comes with anger, with despair; with beauty and love, too, as the lost are suddenly returned, and the dead are given another chance to live. They’re all on Kamino, still, right before the Jedi discover the clone troopers and kick off the long chain of events that will lead to all of their deaths.

Change comes swiftly, with that realization – the war must be fought, because there is no way to avoid it now, not with Palpatine still in control of the Senate and droids still ravaging planets on his orders. But the chips can be removed, the worst of the battles can be won, and they can find out how to destroy the Sith without subsequently destroying themselves. 

They don’t really ask questions, at first – who has the time? It isn’t until assignments are handed out and everyone begins to separate back into their usual formations, when someone realizes what’s missing.

“Oh, this isn’t for me,” Thorn says, furrowing his brow as he looks down at his new posting flimsiwork. It denotes him as Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard. “Um, I think there’s been a mistake?”

The Kaminoan attending to him raises a brow, disdainful as ever, with the clones’ deception yet to be unmasked.

“There is no mistake. Report to your station, clone.”

And so he does, confused but wondering if this is part of some greater plan he’s been unaware of, but –

There’s nothing. Fox is nowhere to be found.

“He hasn’t been attending class with us,” Cody realizes suddenly.

“His bunk is empty. Has it always been empty?” Wolffe asks, head shooting up.

“His profile is locked,” Ponds swallows heavily, twisting his hands together. “They only do that for the – you don’t think that’s the case, right? There’s no way.”

“Oh, Fox?” Coyote says, raising a brow. He’s the very last of the 1010 batch, and his smile turns bitter. “Didn’t realize you all knew that name. He died years ago.”

Chapter Text

“Keep an eye out,” Fox orders, marching out ahead of the group, Thorn only a step behind. “And for the love of god, do not get separated. The last thing we need is for one of you idiots to trip over a rock and end up ten levels down.”

“Yessir…” comes the response, fairly mutinous but still following his orders, which is all he cares about.

Fox knows that none of his troopers appreciate being treated like shinies, liable to wander off at the first sight of something interesting, but he can’t help the anxiety that is ratcheting up in his brain. 

It had started with the disappearances. All residents of the lower levels, no clear connection between any of them. It happened day or night, rain or shine, alone or in groups. They just… vanished. There were signs of a struggle sometimes, but not always. And nothing to indicate any culprits.

Getting security footage this far down on Coruscant was a hassle, if any existed to begin with. There’d been really no clues at all until the earthquakes began.

Now, suddenly, with something that affected the Senate and their wealthy backers on the upper levels, somebody decided to take notice.

And what did they find? Worms. Giant fucking worms.

Worms so big, they were causing earthquakes as they tunneled through the concrete layers of the city-planet, and were clearly only growing larger, considering the pattern so far.

And Fox, of course, had been told to get his ass down there and ‘do something about it’. Do what about it? Fuck if he knows! The Chancellor clearly hadn’t known either, considering the dismissive way he’d handed off the order.

But Fox is a good little soldier who does what he’s told, so now he and three squads worth of men have marched their sorry asses down to get eaten by a big worm. What a joke.

“Y’know, on Kamino, they gave the scouts and rangers those wildlife courses,” Thorn says suddenly, clear commiseration in his voice. “Kinda regretting that they shoved me into the shock training right away. Woulda been useful right about now.”

Fox grunts dismissively. “I took those courses. I promise you, there was nothing about giant worms.”

If there had been, Fox would at least be a little less mad about it. He would’ve known what to expect.

Before he can continue with any more complaints, however, the ground rumbles underneath his feet, and he curses.

“Hold on!” he shouts through his helmet’s speakers, and everyone quickly latches onto the nearest piece of infrastructure – for Fox, that’s a nearby street sign, embedded deeply in the ground, and for Thorn, it’s Fox. 

Fox can hardly blame him, though; everyone is scrambling as the ground shudders and groans, and Fox can literally see the concrete shifting as the creature digs through the layer below them, cracks spreading through the surface of the street like a fissure.

It’s heading away from the group of clones, thank the Force, but it’s enough to scare even Fox witless for a few breathless seconds. 

When it finally heads off into the distance, only the faint rumbling and the dust settling on their helmets left as evidence, one of the other squad members speaks up with a shaking voice.

“We’re not gonna… fight that, are we?”

Realistically, it would kill them all, and the damage it would cause to Coruscant's increasingly-delicate infrastructure in the process would be a complete catastrophe. 

But Fox has his orders – and more importantly, he knows what the punishment is for defying such orders.

“Let’s keep moving,” he says grimly. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a – a nest or something.”

Or a helpful Jedi to swoop in and take care of the problem for them. Fox has heard many tales with a similar resolution, though he’d never seen it happen himself.

But hey, who knows? He’s out here chasing worms through city streets – clearly, stranger things have happened.

“Move out!” Fox orders, and tries not to get his hopes up.

Chapter Text

Fox was passing through one of Kamino’s many corridors when he saw it – the crack. He slowed, even as Coyote hissed at him to keep up, tugging at his arm.

But Fox took another step towards the large glass window that expanded all along the passageway, and pointed.

“Is that supposed to be here?”

The trainer turned towards him, a furrow in their brow, and Fox watched as their gaze followed the line of his point until they saw the crack. It was steadily growing, and a strange, low hissing sound was becoming more obvious as they all stood there and stared.

“Ah, fuck,” the trainer said, and a moment later, the glass shattered.

Fox barely had time to understand what happened – Coyote, as always, was faster; he latched onto Fox’s arm, dragging him back, and it was the only thing that saved him.

In a roaring explosion of glass, water poured in through the shattered window, flooding the hall with an intensity beyond anything they could have been equipped to handle. Emergency lights immediately flashed on, and heavy durasteel doors slammed down on either end of the corridor, preventing any further breach of the hull.

Fox took in one last, shuddering breath before the water hit him, and Coyote’s grip kept him anchored for only a moment before they were both swept off their feet, screams ringing through the air.

It was a sharp, primal sort of sound – cadets on Kamino did not scream . Their fear was always rewarded with a reminder of just how much worse things could be, and so, they all learned early to keep it quiet. 

But here, with the sudden realization that this was not a simulation, and no rescue would be coming, they were loud.

His fellow cadets – they were being dragged out into the sea, and Fox could see red blooming through the water as several tried to catch themselves on the side of the hull and only got impaled for the trouble, left to drift limply in the raging tides. 

The trainer was sucked out of the hull with dizzying force – Fox saw a detached grappling line flopping behind them, and realized they must have tried to cling to the wall or one of the door frames, and their line snapped under the pressure.

Fox slammed against the back wall, a choked sound escaping his mouth as he barely avoided biting his own tongue, but Coyote refused to let go, even as his brow pinched in pain with the angle he’d hit the wall, his arm cracking against the wall with an alarming sound.

They both paid it no heed, and grabbed onto each other as the water twisted, dragging them outside the hull with the rest.

Fox’s head was burning, his throat feeling absolutely shredded from his instinctual attempts to breathe, but he kept one arm clamped around Coyote’s waist and tried to direct them both towards the surface with the other. 

He’s – they’re too young, they haven’t even begun their dive training yet, but even with only two working arms between them, they can make stilted, awkward progress.

He can almost see the light piercing through the waves!

They can make it!

Chapter Text

Fox flexes his fingers, breathes in. The door is right in front of him. All he has to do is go through it.  

But somehow, he keeps getting caught on that step, left stuttering in place like a glitchy holo, running through the same three actions until he feels normal again.

Step One: check to make sure his comm is in his pocket.

He pats his jacket, gripping the comm for a moment before he can convince himself to let go, wiping his sweaty hand against his pants as he does so.

Step Two: check to make sure he has his cardkey.

It’s in a hidden pocket on the opposite side from his comm, always in the exact same spot, just so he can ensure he never has a chance to lose it, whether by theft or anything else. 

Step Three: open the door.

See, this is where he always gets stuck. He manages to put his hand on the door panel, but when it beeps encouragingly at him, letting him know that the door is unlocked, he panics again, and quickly backs away. He paces back and forth, wearing a line on the floor.

He wasn’t always like this, is the thing, and is also why it hurts. He used to be able to make ‘going out’ his one action, not something that had to be broken down into three or four separate steps.  

Nightingale calls it ‘agoraphobia’ – Fox calls it a pain in the ass. 

It just feels like a mental block – like it’s something that he should be able to get past, if he just pushes a bit harder. But when he does, when he manages to get out into the city streets and actually act like a proper member of society, it sends him into a spinning bout of panic that leaves him feeling sick for days.

In his pocket, his comm buzzes, and Fox jumps, cursing to himself as he fumbles to answer it.

It’s voice only, thankfully, but Cody’s number doesn’t do much to lift his mood, considering how their last conversation went.

“This is Fox,” he says tersely. He’s already bracing himself, shying away like a wounded animal.

Cody seems to sense it, because the first thing that comes through the comm is a sigh.

“Fox, you’re late,” he says wearily. “Want me to make an excuse for you?”

There’s kindness in the offer, for all that it still stings.

“I’m on my way. Just… traffic,” Fox lies, and tries not to feel humiliated by it. “If anyone asks, tell them I’ll be there soon.”

“Alright,” Cody says without argument. He doesn’t believe it. Fox isn’t sure he believes it either. “See you soon.”

They both cut the line without another word, and Fox stares down at his comm, vaguely hoping for an answer to some unspoken question.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to see them. It’s not that he doesn’t love them. But… he can’t get rid of that sensation, the overwhelming pain he suffered in the riots that broke out with the news of Palpatine’s death – crowd crush was something he’d been trained to deal with, something he had never truly feared, but now he could never forget it.

He got injured in the line of duty, and the universe didn’t even have the courtesy to give him a medal for it. What a joke.

Fox puts his comm away, pats the pocket with his keycard. Puts his hand on the door panel. Hears it beep.

Takes a breath. Tries again.

Chapter Text

“It’s not looking good,” Hound said, which was an understatement.

“Mrmph,” Fox grunted, a garbled mass of syllables leaving his mouth before he cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s fine, Hound. Jus’ keep on target.”

“Yessir,” Hound said, voice shaking. “Um, you’re bleeding a lot.”

Yeah, Fox was definitely ruining the upholstery on these seats, but there was nothing to be done about that. At his side, Grizzer pawed anxiously at the floor, whining with uncertainty.

“Nothing a li’l bleach won’t fix,” Fox grunted, and blinked rapidly as he tried to keep a pained grimace off his face. “Don’ focus on that. Jus’ drive.”

Hound made an agreeable sound, and breathed in through his nose. “Got it, sir.”

The rest of the flight was… fuzzy, in Fox’s recollection. Mainly, he remembered hearing Hound crying at one point, and then swearing – into the comm, maybe? There were some other voices around, he could tell that much.

Then, all of a sudden, light flooded in, and Fox found himself hauled out of the speeder with impressive urgency, and one of those other voices cursed loudly.

“Who the hell did these bandages? The massif?”

“Fu’ you,” Fox returned, offended on Grizzer’s behalf. “Still be’er than you. Fool.”

“Oh, so he can say that just fine,” the voice groused, and then Fox was dropped onto a stretcher, and the change in elevation promptly ensured that he heard nothing more.

He woke parched, lightheaded with dizziness, and hungry enough to eat a bantha, but at least he woke up, which was a bit unexpected.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, sir,” a blue-armored medic said dryly.

Fox squinted up at them.

“You’re not mine,” he said with great confidence. “If you’re holding me hostage, I feel obligated to inform you that Nightingale will likely weep with joy upon hearing the news, and shan’t pay a cent for my return.”

The medic raised a brow. “Oh, so it wasn’t just the blood loss. You just talk like this, huh?”

On the other side of the bed, someone cleared their throat, and Fox managed to turn his head with great effort to see who it was.

Nightingale, as composed as ever, did not even blink at his previous words.

“Do you want the good news, or the bad news?” she said briskly.

“There’s good news?” Fox asked dubiously. That seemed inaccurate.

“Well, you’re not dead,” she replied.

“That’s neutral news at best,” Fox retorted, though he kindly waved a hand to allow her to continue. 

“Alright, bad news it is,” Nightingale said, looking like she’d dearly like to roll her eyes, and was only refraining due to their current company. “You got shot in the chest. You really are lucky to be alive, sir.”

“Though we appreciate it,” the other medic jumped in. “Fives has been detoxed, and the things he’s saying, sir… It could’ve gone really bad if you hadn’t been there.”

“What, been there to make a bigger target of myself?” Fox grunted. “Forget it. Get out of my medbay, I have things to deal with. Nightingale, help me up.”

“About that, sir…” Nightingale trailed off, and the other medic gave Fox a bright grin.

He could sense a hint of malicious intent in there, but he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it. He squinted a bit harder.

“We’re not in your medbay, sir,” the medic informed him sweetly. “Welcome to the Resolute. Sir.”

“Am I on a ship with Rex and Skywalker right now?” Fox asked faintly.

Nightingale’s solemn nod only confirmed his fears. 

Damn. At this point, it would have been easier if he’d just stayed dead.

Chapter Text

“Where’s the rest of you?” the medic snaps, and Harvest only salutes.

“Just me, sir,” he says mildly. “I’m a field medic. Where do you want me?”

Given that they’re on Coruscant, Harvest should really be the one telling people where to go, but he knows better than to interfere with another medic’s setup.

The medic snarls, frustration leaking from their stance as they march back into the pop-up tent. Harvest follows, carefully keeping himself at a distance.

“Your Commander is the one who screws up, and he doesn’t even have the courtesy to send more than one medic?” they demand, running a hand through their hair in agitation. “What did I fucking expect. As if the Guard could ever deign to make themselves useful.”

Harvest holds back his first three responses to that, which would be what Reaper calls ‘unhelpful’ and what Nightingale calls ‘unnecessary aggression’. 

He keeps his hands behind his back, fists shaking with the effort of that self-control.

What he wants to do is march out of here right now, if this bastard is going to be so ungrateful. He wants to ask what purpose they think this vitriol will have, what problem it’ll solve to be cruel to someone who is trying to help.

He wants to fucking cry, because there was a goddamn explosion in the senate grid and now Fox is fighting for his life on the operating table, and Nightingale and the other medics are scrambling to keep up with the injuries pouring in as Guardsmen on patrol in the area fight to crawl out of the rubble.

Harvest is the only one who can be spared for this right now, to look after the Senators and their aides and the bumps on the head they suffered after such a fright.

He doesn’t say any of that. He just inclines his bucket to the natborn, making himself as quiet and subservient as possible.

“I am here to serve, sir,” he says. “Just tell me where to go.”

“That’s about all you’re good for,” the natborn mutters, bustling around the tent and cataloging the remaining supplies. “And you can barely even manage that. Whatever, get over here. We’re gonna have another influx of patients once they let everyone out of the shelters, and I need you to confirm the inventory.”

They throw a clipboard at Harvest’s head, and he catches it with one hand, wrestling down his temper with an iron grip. He watches them stalk out of the tent without a second glance at him, and slowly breathes out.

Okay. He can handle this. Even if his self-control is shot, because usually Reaper is his self control, and right now –

Harvest swallows, shakes his head to snap himself out of it, and gets to work. 

The list is… extensive. There’s enough supplies in this one tent to keep the Guard safe for three months, and Harvest aches.

His palms are itchy, and with each passing moment that he goes through bandages and bacta infusions and burn cream and just, everything, he gets more antsy.

These supplies could make the difference between life and death. Fox is dying, so many of their Guards are suffering right now, and Harvest could fix that. All he had to do was –

“Are you almost done in there?” an impatient voice shouts. By the smell that drifts in with the breeze, the medic is taking a smoke break.

“Almost,” Harvest says, voice hoarse, and does his duty.

Chapter Text

“This is gonna hurt,” Nightingale says, and Fox laughs, shaky but genuine.

“It always does,” he quips, and Nightingale snorts.

“Hold still.”

One of the GAR medics, wearing 501st blue, draws closer. He starts digging through his pack, coming to a stop by the tiny, cordoned-off area that Nightingale managed to claim as her medic station.

“I have a localized anesthesia on me, sir — “

“Don’t bother,” Fox grunts, saving Nightingale from having to say it instead. “We’ll have more casualties coming in soon. Save it for a real issue.”

“You’re bleeding heavily,” he says flatly. “Seems real enough to me.”

Still he straps his pack back on without further interference, so he can at least recognize good sense when he hears it.

“Sorry, trooper,” Nightingale apologizes. “He’s right, I’m afraid. I just need to staple this up, and then we can start talking supplies. What’s your name?”

“Kix,” he says, snapping off a quick salute. “What can I do?”

He’s smart. Fox likes him.

“You’re one of Rex’s,” Fox observes, squinting at Kix as he tries to think through the fuzzy numbness enveloping his brain. That’s one good thing about running out of bacta early into the war – now, his body just disassociated for him! “CMO, right?”

Kix nods. “Yessir.”

“We’re a matching pair, then,” Nightingale says with a smile, quickly patching another wound while Fox is distracted. “I’m Nightingale. No need to salute me. Can you start setting up the triage areas? We don’t have a lot of space here, especially with the 501st included in all this mess, but it’ll have to be enough.”

“Got it,” Kix nods again, brisk, and immediately sets to work.

Fox watches him, curiosity drawing his focus even as his vision grays out at the edges.

“I like this one,” he says to Nightingale, completely forgetting the lack of inner comms. “Doesn’t ask questions. Why did Rex get him? Rex doesn’t need that like we do. We should keep him. We don’t need to tell anybody, people disappear all the time on Coruscant.”

Nightingale snorts, and lays a gentle hand over his mouth, working one-handed. 

“I understand, sir. Let’s be quiet now, okay? We don’t need to scare off our new friend on the very first day.”

Fox relents, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady as Nightingale finishes up.

“Sounds to me that you could use someone who asks more questions,” Kix says dryly, and his gaze is sharp as he glances back towards them. “The next set of casualties will be arriving soon. I saw some on my way in. Are protests always this chaotic?”

Fox flops his hand in a dismissive gesture. “This ain’t a protest. Well, not a genuine one. It’s a riot incited by bad actors to give the Senate more reasons to crack down on the lower levels, with the bonus of making all the rich bastards feel safer knowing that we’re down here dying instead of them.”

Ah. Perhaps the pain has loosened his tongue more than he thought it would.

Kix’s shoulders draw up, anger radiating off of him, before he abruptly relaxes, forcing his emotions down with that iron fist all medics seem to have.

“Yes, sir,” he says tightly. “I understand.”

And by the look of it, he really, really does.

Fuck Rex. Fox is absolutely stealing him.

Chapter Text

“...Commander?”

Fox opens one eye, taking in the Jedi’s shocked expression.

“Surprised you recognized me,” he says by way of greeting. He doesn’t bother to get up and salute, and given the chains keeping him pinned by every limb, he thinks he can be excused.

“You have been sorely missed,” Kenobi says, inching closer to the cell. “Though I must say, I did not expect to see you in such a state.”

Fox’s chains jangle as he makes jazz hands.

“Welcome to the freakshow, General, it’s an extra five credits for pictures.”

It isn’t resentful, not really, but the last thing that Fox wants right now is pity. Compassion is almost as bad, but given that the Jedi hardly seem able to do anything less, Fox is resigned to that.

Sure enough, Kenobi’s face softens, and he rests a hand against the wall panel next to the energy screen, which flickers and dies out.

“As much as I would enjoy bantering with you, Commander, I do believe you’re quite overdue for a trip to medical.”

He steps into the cell without further delay, and Fox rolls his eyes – no wonder Cody always looks like he’s about to have a conniption, with this man letting his guard down so easily.

“I could be dangerous, General,” he comments lightly. “I’ve been changed.”

Fox was touched by a Sith, and the rot has oozed into his very core, clinging to him as a disgusting miasma. Even before he ended up here, part of the Sith’s experiments, he was disgusted with himself; feeling wretched and alone as he spiraled ever deeper into this hellish existence.

He knows, now, that it was all planned. Every second, from the start, was just another step in one of the Sith’s many plans to make everyone around him just the tiniest bit more miserable.

He’s come to peace with it, even. It’s a secret bit of relief, even now, that there was nothing he could have done to stop this from happening.

There’s comfort in knowing you were doomed from the beginning.

“Danger is hardly a deterrent in this lifestyle,” Kenobi says, and smiles down at Fox as he begins to snap the cuffs off of him. “Besides, I do believe that my Commander would be quite disappointed in me if I were to leave you here.”

“Cody, disappointed? Perish the thought,” Fox says dryly, and looks away.

A childish, clinging part of him wants to ask would he really be upset? because their last conversation could be described as ‘contentious’ at best, and he doubts disappearing from the face of the planet and abandoning all his duties had made his old friends any more endeared to him. 

He doesn’t ask, though. It’s too late for Fox to be a child – it was too late the moment he was decanted. 

“You’re alright now,” Kenobi murmurs, and carefully takes one of Fox’s arms, slinging it over his shoulder as they slowly stand up. Fox stumbles, muscles weak after prolonged imprisonment, but manages to straighten out. “There’s a patrol nearby. Let’s go meet up with them. I think that we all have a lot to talk about.”

Fox merely hums in reply, his many eyes blinking along his skin as he takes the first step out of his cell. 

Chapter Text

“If you aren’t going to say anything useful, what’s the use of letting you speak?”

It astounds Fox, really, how much he still has left to lose.

He hadn’t expected there to be much – his dignity and sense of purpose have been lost the second he stepped foot on Coruscanti soil. He loses more men every day. His own body is failing him, and he can hardly trust his mind, with the way his memories keep trickling through his fingers, turned to dust.

And yet, there are still more indignities that can be forced upon him. Who would’ve guessed.

“Commander, if I may…?” General Koon trails off meaningfully, Wolffe standing beside him.

Fox halts in his retreat, takes a deep breath. Lets his shoulders relax. Luckily, Thire hasn’t left yet, and they both salute as they turn to the Jedi General.

“How can we help you, General?” Thire asks, stepping forward. He inches in front of Fox, just a little, and Fox fights not to roll his eyes.

He isn’t invalid just because he can’t speak. Humiliating as it would be for Wolffe and his General to witness Fox’s punishment, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

General Koon inclines his head, a respectful little nod. “Merely a touch of concern, Commander Thire. We noticed that Commander Fox was very quiet during the meeting, and wished to touch base to ensure everything was alright.”

The pointed use of their names gets the General dirty looks from the last of the Senators trickling out of the meeting room and moving down further in the hall, as if acknowledging that the meatdroids who bring them snacks and escort them home every night have their own personal identities is some kind of major fault.

For that reason alone, Fox gestures to Thire, letting him know that he can simply be honest. This isn’t someone that they need to have their guard up against, no matter how much Wolffe glares at them. Fox knows his old squadmate – the man is a big softie underneath all that bluster.

“Apologies, the Commander can’t answer any questions directly at the moment,” Thire says, stance loosening with Fox’s permission. “He’s in recovery.”

Which is still… not quite accurate, but it’s a good enough excuse, and if it gets Fox out of having to show them the clunky muzzle currently wiring his jaw shut, then that’s just fine.

He’s already heard enough jokes about being the Chancellor’s dog – he’s really not in the mood anymore. 

“Recovery?” Koon says, tilting his head to the side in question. “That’s unfortunate. May I ask what occurred to cause such an injury?”

Wolffe is shifting in place now, agitated, but holding his tongue with great effort. Fox rolls his eyes, but uses their old hand signals from Kamino to try and relieve some of that restless energy.

‘Not permanent,’ he signs. ‘Discipline. All clear.’

At least this way, Wolffe will be able to shoo away any other nosy vod’e – discipline is something private, and it always has been. You can ask someone to help you clean up the aftermath, but the actual act must be borne alone.

Maybe… Maybe Wolffe has forgotten that, though, because Fox’s reassurance seems to have the opposite effect.

“You got injured during discipline?” he blurts out, sounding affronted. “What could they possibly have you doing that would ruin your throat?”

Fox pauses, caught.

“Not, um, exactly. Sir,” Thire says, and takes another step back, shielding Fox in an entirely unsubtle way.

General Koon’s brow ridge raises, and he serenely folds his hands in front of himself.

“I think we should speak privately, gentleman.”

Chapter Text

All Fox has ever cared about is taking care of his men. His vod’e. The reason he’s fighting this war, once the Republic had torn away all other reasons he could have laid claim to.

When everyone is safe within his arms, he feels content. It’s an unsustainable sort of happiness, because it could be ripped away at any time, but it was enough to keep him going, day after day.

Your body’s worthiness is determined by the effort you are willing to put into it.

That’s what Fox has been told his whole life. If he doesn't work hard, endlessly, forever, to keep improving himself, he’ll lose the privilege of being himself.

(And fuck, Ike proves that, in the most terrible, heartwrenching way. He’s a good man, and Fox loves him, but Ike was born out of the ashes of Jonah’s death – a cruel, terrifying death of the self that keeps Fox up at night, wakes him gasping from nightmares that he can’t remember.)

In a life that does not allow him to own anything, Fox was lent a body to occupy and orders to fulfill with that body. If he does not follow through with the purpose of his existence, what right does he have to keep using it?

That’s why Fox follows orders, why he’s a good soldier who does what he’s told and doesn’t ask questions. Because this body is still useful. So long as he can envelop the Guard inside of him, keep them all safe, then it’s worth it to grovel and beg like a dog, because at least he’s useful even if he isn’t proud of it.

But the Chancellor finds another use for him.

And Fox is meant to be useful. The body is a vessel he occupies, and it’s the Chancellor’s right to do as His Excellency pleases with it.

So, why is Thorn looking at him like that?

“Don’t cry,” he rumbles, the sound leaving his throat distorted and rough. “Don’t cry, Thorn.”

Thorn blinks rapidly, and wipes at his face.

“I’m not crying,” he lies, voice shaking. He raises a hand towards Fox, and hesitates. “Can I…?”

Fox lowers his head, allowing Thorn to rest his hand against one of the large, scaled horns that covered his misshapen head.

“Won’t hurt you,” Fox tries to say. It’s not coming out quite right, but he still makes the effort – the last thing he wants is for Thorn to be afraid of him. “Protect you. Always.”

“I know, Fox,” Thorn mutters, and rests his forehead against Fox’s in a gentle headbutt. “I’ve never doubted it. But it’s my turn to protect you this time, okay? We need to get out of here.”

Fox lets out a heavy sigh, enough to push Thorn’s hair back for just a moment. 

“Can’t,” he says gloomily. “Master will return. Want more scales. Not safe for Thorn.”

Plus, at this point, he was too large to be feasibly hidden. He can’t put the Guard in danger by attempting to hide among their ranks, or risk them while he was being transported somewhere else.

He’d grown so large that he barely fit in his cage, anymore. At least his rough skin no longer became scratched and irritated from constantly being scrapped against the concrete floor.

Thorn grasped his face with both hands, directing Fox’s blinking, lizard eyes to look at him.

“The Chancellor is dead, Fox,” he says seriously. “You’re free now.”

Fox stares back blankly.

…What does it matter if the Chancellor is dead? Fox still failed.

He deserves this punishment. At least this way, with the scales of the Zillo Beast growing on his body, he can still be useful. 

Chapter Text

“You offered to help us before, and I declined,” Fox says, keeping his head bowed so low it nearly touched the floor, helpless tears dripping from his face. “I know you must think I'm a hypocrite now. But please, I’m begging you. The Guard, my men – they need your help.”

And Fox isn’t enough anymore. Maybe he never was. Maybe he’s been wasting his time, letting his men suffer in agony… and it’s all for nothing.

He’s still not strong enough to handle it on his own, still has to crawl like a sinner looking for absolution from an angry god.

Vos isn’t quite a god, but as the only Jedi that Fox has ever encountered, he’s something close.

Vos makes a considering sound, and he bends at the knees, putting his gloved hand in front of Fox’s face.

“Well, seeing as the Emperor’s head enforcer is willing to go to such lengths, how can I refuse?” he says lightly. 

Fox glances up at him, astonished. Vos’ hand never wavers, and Fox slowly moves to take it, the two of them standing up once more in this dirty back alley where Fox had messaged him to meet up.

Fox stares at their two hands, connected, and feels a wave of emotion that he doesn’t quite understand.

Like all the clones, he was made to hunt Jedi. By the time they actually left Kamino, though, there were no Jedi left to hunt. Fled amongst the stars, Fox did not get the glory of hunting down traitors to the Emperor’s efforts to bring about a peaceful galaxy.

Instead, he serves a tyrant and must constantly turn the other cheek to the suffering the people face for it, and his men are picked off one by one as Sidious and Vader play their little games.

He still thought it was tolerable, the last time he and Vox had spoken. He hadn’t known the man was a Jedi, then, so the idea of running away from the Empire on a civilian’s word was laughable at best.

But. Back then, he’d still had his arm. And now, with one sleeve tied just below his shoulder and a decommissioning notice on his desk, he knows that he won’t be able to protect the Guard any longer. If he wants to get them out, it has to happen now.

The only question is, what does Vos get out of it? The Jedi don’t need the Guard as a private army, or meatshields. The intelligence coming in from outbound battalions proves that well enough. 

“Alright, first step from here is to find out how to get everyone off-planet without being noticed, and I have some ideas,” Vos says, slipping his hand out of Fox’s. He begins to walk away, and cocks his head to the side with curiosity when he notices that Fox doesn’t immediately follow. “You coming?”

Fox… hesitates.

“Hm?” Vos hums, looking down at Fox with a raised brow. “What’s wrong?”

Fox looks away. “It’s nothing, sir.”

In truth, he wants to ask why Vos is doing this, why he ever bothered to offer in the first place. But if Fox hears the answer, and realizes that it was all just a whim of some sort…

He won’t be able to resist falling into the depths of despair.

Chapter Text

“I just… I really don’t see the issue, Fox. I’m sorry, but is this really worth the effort?”

The words were delivered with a well-meaning air; that of someone who cares, despite how difficult Fox makes it.

Fox balled his hands into fists, nearly shaking with the effort of not lashing out.

“Isn’t it enough to say that I’m suffering?” he rasped out. “I’m in pain. I’m asking you for help. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“Suffering?” Cody sighed, shaking his head. “Aren’t you over-exaggerating? The chip is out, and the Healers have already cleared all of us. How could you possibly still be experiencing those effects?”

Fox bit his lip so hard it almost bled, and managed to relax at the last moment, working his jaw.

“That’s what I want to know,” he said lowly. “And why. I am asking. For your help. Not for you to stand there and ridicule me, or pretend like I’m a fucking tubie with their first flimsicut.”

Cody turned his head, and the way he rolled his eyes was subtle, but not subtle enough.

Fox wanted to put his teeth in Cody’s throat and bite.

“You’ve been having these headaches constantly, Fox,” Cody said, and his voice was tired, like he was sick of hearing about it. As if Fox was a burden to him, because saying I’m in pain is bothersome and no longer worth indulging. “We can’t keep wasting the healers’ time like this. We’re lucky that the Jedi are willing to help us out as it is.”

Lucky?

Something burning and terrible was crawling up Fox’s throat, and it was only his old, fractured affection for this man that kept him from releasing it.

The only reason the clones were created (and subsequently tormented their whole lives) was because of some fucked up scheme to destroy the Jedi. Sure, they didn’t know, and they weren’t responsible for the horrors of Kamino – though he did wish they had been a little more vigilant about what was happening on Coruscant.

He didn’t blame the Jedi for anything, but he didn’t worship them either. He wasn’t concerned with wasting their fucking time right now, because he was tortured by a Sith directly under the Jedi’s noses, and he’d appreciate some fucking support in the aftermath.

He’d appreciate having that from his old squad too, but damn, apparently he’d already used up that good will. 

“You know what? You’re right.” Fox threw his hands up, turning to walk away. “Why am I wasting everyone’s time like this when it’s clearly all in my head, and I’m just trying to get attention or whatever. I wish I’d realized that when I had such a bad migraine yesterday that I was seeing shit and felt like I got run over by a speeder by the end of the day. Thanks for opening my eyes, Cody, I couldn’t do it without you.”

“Fox, I didn’t mean – “ Cody began, and Fox didn’t even stop walking.

“Save it,” he said brusquely. “I asked you because I thought you might have some more insight on dealing with Sith shit thanks to all your ‘adventures’ with Kenobi. Now I know not to bother.”

He’d regret this later. He’d wish that he’d been polite, tried to defend himself, tried to give Cody a reason to believe him.

But right now, he was tired, and his head was aching. He didn’t have the energy to waste on justifying his pain.

Chapter Text

“We can’t,” Thire gasped out, armor shaking audibly with the force of his tremors. “Nightingale, we can’t.”

“We have no other option!” she shot back, hefting Fox’s limp body in her arms as she rose to her feet. “We won’t make it back to base in time, and even then, we don’t have the supplies to deal with this. We go to Coruscant General, or he dies!”

And – it’s not that she didn’t understand the fear that was paralyzing Thire. They know the consequences of interfering in natborn spaces, this wasn’t even the first time Nightingale had held a dying trooper in her hands and seen all the possibilities laid out before her, everything that she could have done, if she was given even a fraction of the care those natborns were given.

But they’re barely a block away from the natborn Hospital, and it would be a twenty-minute flight back to base. Fox won’t last that long.

Every other time a vod had died under her hands had all led to this moment – this one, this one, she could save.

So long as they allowed her, anyway. And right now, she was desperate enough to take the risk.

“Take the speeder, Thire!” she ordered, beginning to jog towards her only hope, Fox laid limply in her arms, blood smeared down the front of his armor. “

Civilians were staring as she ran through the streets, panting for breath. She had to do this – and if Thire was out of the line of fire, then she could ensure any consequences would be experienced by her alone.

Fox would be punished too, of course. That’s the way it always went, the Guard and their Marshal Commander used as hostages against each other to ensure obedience, but Nightingale would rather Fox be alive to face punishment to begin with.

Nightingale shoved through the front doors of Coruscant General Hospital, darting past indignant natborns who yelled after her for the audacity.

“I need a medic!” she yelled, voice hoarse.

Immediately, several nurses peeled out of their stations and headed over, moving swiftly through the crowds.

“What’s going on?” one barked impatiently. “Clones shouldn’t be in here. Don’t you have your own medical station?”

“This is an emergency,  we won’t reach it in time,” Nightingale said, and didn’t even mention her own lack of supplies. 

“We can’t serve you here,” the other nurse said. “Please move. You’re taking up space in the lobby, and it’s going to cause a health hazard.”

A health hazard?

“This is the Marshal Commander of the Guard,” she said, fighting not to let her voice tremble. “And more than that, isn’t it your duty to help the public? Please! He doesn’t have the time to waste arguing over this!”

Nightingale was a medic, and she’d received training, but it hadn’t come with ethics. It hadn’t come with definitions of what counted as medical malpractice or criminal neglect. Those were all things that she searched out on her own, and all the information she’d read had told her that natborns couldn’t do that.

They all made an oath protect and heal, and that was a luxury that Nightingale had never been afforded. 

She bent her head. “I’m begging you. Please.”

Fox’s pulse was so faint. Nightingale could barely feel it where she was gripping his wrist, desperately trying to track his pulse.

Bu-bump… Bu-bump… Bu-bump… Bu…

“This place isn’t for you,” the Nurse said, voice cold. “Go back.”

…………

She couldn’t feel it anymore.

Chapter Text

“Oh no, we have to cuddle for warmth!” Thorn said, fluttering his eyelashes. “Oh, whatever should I do?”

“Freeze to death,” Fox said flatly, and ignored Thorn’s cry of protest as he peered out the edge of the cave once more. 

Just like the last three times he’d checked, there was nothing to see but a blank sheet of white – the wind was howling, and the storm had only worsened. He couldn’t even see the other mountain range in the distance anymore. 

“Well, think of it this way,” Thire said optimistically, fending off Thorn’s plaintive demands for a hug with one hand. “They’ll never find the Chancellor’s body at this rate.”

Fox grunted in agreement. That was shaping up to be the highlight of this trip, for sure.

Stone snorted, the sound drawing Fox’s attention back into the cave. He was glad that the man seemed to have recovered, at least somewhat – color had returned to his face, which had been graying out at the edges before, and he had enough energy to at least find humor in the situation.

“Serves him right for dragging us all out here,” Stone rasped out, and cuddled against his side, providing him with some much needed warmth, Weeper hummed in agreement. “Still have no idea what that bastard was thinking.”

“He’s a politician, I doubt he was thinking at all,” Fox sniffed, and finally pulled back from the entrance, shuffling into the cave proper. 

Thorn laughed, and when he made grabby hands in Fox’s direction, he begrudgingly allowed himself to be drawn into his vod’s embrace. 

“If I don’t know any better, I’d say he was leading us all to our deaths,” Thorn said, remarkably cheerful. “He went through a hell of a lot of effort to get us all on this planet, after all.”

It was lucky that this was a very deep, in-depth cave system – it never would have been able to fit the whole Guard otherwise. At the time, Fox had been very displeased by the Chancellor’s decision to reroute the efforts of an entire battalion just to accompany his weekend getaway, but now, he was just glad none of them had been left behind to bear the weight of the Senate’s scrutiny in their absence.

“Who knows,” Fox muttered. “What matters now is whether we’re ever gonna get the hell off it.”

Thorn squeezed him tight, forcing a yelp of discomfort from Fox’s mouth, which he responded to with a mean little chuckle, and more smothering.

“Some sorry bastards will be sent to see where the Chancellor’s gone this time,” he said. “Probably Skywalker’s lot, knowing those bastards’ luck.”

“Not bad enough that they have to deal with Skywalker,” Stone grumbled, with the grim understanding of a man who had been far too close to Skywalker’s antics far too many times.

“And what’ll we do until they get here?” Fox countered. Despite all accusations to the contrary, he did not actually enjoy crushing all of their hopes and dreams, but he had to be realistic. “What happens when the rations run out? We can’t go hunting, not in this weather. And it doesn’t seem like it’ll be clearing up anytime soon.”

“Huh,” Thorn said thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right. Well, when the time comes, I call dibs on eating Hound first.”

“Hey!”

“Well, what do you want me to do, eat Grizzer?!”

Fox let out a huff, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to savor his friend’s close embrace, even as a brawl nearly broke out around him.

Indeed, despite it all, there were worse places to be.

Chapter Text

Fox groaned, leaning forward in his chair as he fought the urge to collapse.

“I did warn you,” Obi-Wan said mildly. He at least had the decency to hide his amusement, so Fox decided not to kill him for it. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, brow pinching. “I have enough of a headache without your smugness suffocating me.”

There was a loud, pointed sigh nearby, and Fox finally managed to drag himself back up into a proper seated position, squinting at the man.

Obi-Wan pulled off his cloak, and tossed a hydropack in Fox’s direction. He snatched it out of the air, eagerly sipping at the contents.

“I appreciate you working on the vaporator, but there’s no point in overdoing it and making yourself sick,” said the biggest damn hypocrite in the galaxy. “You won’t be of use to anyone like that.”

“You’re the last one I want to hear that from, Kenobi,” Fox rolled his eyes. “Have you forgotten how we got to this point in the first place?”

If Obi-Wan had just killed Fox when he came hunting, out of his mind and completely consumed by the darkness of the Emperor’s bile, then he wouldn’t still be in recovery now, just fighting to get through the day.

Fox doesn’t feel guilty about that, because it was Obi-Wan’s own damn fault that he’d allowed his compassion to rule over his common sense, but… It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go. At least here, on Tatooine, it was still the Hutts that controlled everything, and not the Emperor.

Exchanging one tyrant for another wasn’t the best thing in the world, but Fox was used to it, at least.

“I’d say it worked out quite well,” Obi-Wan said, lips curving into a smile beneath his scruffy beard. “Though all wounds can be healed, solitude is a more dangerous one than most.”

Fox wanted to roll his eyes, but some old, tiny, withered bit of his own compassion stopped him. He understood it. The Jedi and the Clones had a lot in common, which was a bitter thing to realize after the end of it all, but it was true. Two communal groups that had never meant to be separated in such a way, scattered amongst the stars…

Maybe it wasn’t just duty that kept Fox on this planet. But like hell would he tell Obi-Wan that.

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” he said instead, and rose from his chair, headache causing his head to spin for only a moment before he managed to catch his breath and push through it. “This is just a bit of heat sickness. You’re the one with organ damage, idiot. Sit down, or I’ll finish the job.”

“It would be an honor to die by your blade, Fox,” Obi-Wan said serenely, because he’s a bastard. He then paused, and stroked his chin as his expression turned rueful. “But, yes. I do believe I should take a seat. My lungs have not been agreeing with me, as of late.”

Because that’s where Fox had stabbed him, four months ago.

He was used to going without bacta and advanced medical supplies, but that had been with clones who were durable, and had an advanced healing factor. As unkillable as the Jedi seemed to be, the events of the past year had proven that false well enough.

Fox helped Obi-Wan sit down, refraining from commenting on the relieved sigh that left the man’s lips as he finally was able to relax.

“I’ll be fine,” Fox said gruffly. He was slowing down, and feeling the effects of his advanced aging and his time spent in Palpatine’s loving care, but he could still do this much. “Focus on yourself.”

“Quite impossible,” Obi-Wan said cheerfully. “I suppose we shall simply have to look out for each other.”

“If you insist,” Fox said, and turned towards their tiny kitchen, fighting a smile of his own.

Sure, he was stuck living as a hermit out in the wastes of the desert, almost all of his people were dead or dying, and he’d lost everything in the name of a war that had never truly existed, but…

This was still probably the closest that Fox had ever come to happiness.

Chapter Text

Fox was being fucking haunted.

“Man, is this really what your daily workload is like? No wonder you shot me. I’d shoot me too if I had to go running off to handle an incident while I still had this much on my plate. Like, really. Do you ever sleep? You look a little pale.”

The stylus in his hands snapped, and Fox took a deep breath. He let the pieces fall into the wastebasket next to his desk, and stretched out his hands as he opened the drawer to search for another.

He was not going to let this get to him. Whether it was a hallucination or some kind of Force shit, there would be no reaction from him.

“Did you just do that with your bare hands?” Fives asked, disbelieving, ducking his head so that he took up Fox’s entire field of vision. “That thing was made of metal! It looked like it could’ve stabbed someone to death, and you just snapped it? What the hell.”

Fox stared blankly through the ARC’s semi-transparent head.

If he’d known that this would be the result of his desperate attempt to please Palpatine enough that the bastard would stop restricting their latest supply detail, well — 

He probably still would’ve done it. But fuck if it wasn’t annoying.

His desk comm went off, and Fox answered promptly, ready for anything to distract from the specter floating in his office, still prattling on.

“This is Fox,” he said gruffly.

“Boo, sir,” the Lieutenant answered, sounding uncharacteristically serious. “There’s been an incident. It’s Two.”

Fox barely resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. 

Thorn’s squad was composed of diligent, competent troopers that were each experts in their fields. They had to be, when they spent most of their time around Senators, doing diplomatic escort missions, or keeping control over Senate security. He was, as always, incredibly proud of his men and all the work they put in to fulfill their duties to the Republic. But they were also, notoriously, a handful. 

Two-Faced was the very worst example of that.

“Is there a body?” Fox asked wearily. He needed to know if he should be bringing a medic or a shovel.

“...I think you’d better come and see, sir,” Boo said. “Quickly.”

“On my way.” Fox hung up without another word, slamming his helmet back on as he got to his feet, passing right through Fives in his hurry.

“Did something happen?” Fives wondered aloud. He was keeping pace with Fox’s fast-walk, floating alongside him. “That sounded serious.”

Fox bit his lip as he valiantly held back a snarl. What, did the ARC think all the Guard did was process paperwork and give out parking tickets??

…And shoot people. Fox had done that.

He pushed it aside as he made his way to the Senate, pulling up Boo’s tracker on his bucket. He was in the Chancellor’s office. Great.

As soon as he was within range, Fox contacted Boo over inner comms, heading straight for the stairs. He didn’t have time to waste on the lift right now.

“What’s the situation?” he barked out.

“Chancellor’s dead, sir,” Boo said immediately. “Two came in for inspection before his next meeting and found him on call with Separatist generals. Things… devolved.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Fox snarled, and promptly cut off their communications. 

“Oh, that didn’t sound good,” Fives said, in contrast to his delighted expression. “Did something happen to the Chancellor? Please tell me he’s dead.”

By the time Fox reached the office and slammed the door open, Two had already started shifting through the Chancellor’s remains with what looked like the hilt of a lightsaber.

“Sir,” Two greeted cheerfully. “Did you know the Chancellor was allergic to being shot in the face? Honest mistake, really.”

They then glanced to the side of Fox, staring directly at Fives.

“Oh. Didn’t know we had a guest. Sorry for interrupting your meeting, sir.”

Fives blinked. “...You can see me?”

“You’re hallucinating, there’s no one there,” Fox said immediately. 

“Wait, can YOU see me?!”

Dammit. This day was just getting worse.

Chapter Text

“You’re alright vod, you’re alright,” Fox murmurs, holding Cardy’s sweaty hand tightly as the trooper tosses and turns in his bed.

Cardy’s face is screwed up in an expression that's the closest that Fox has ever seen to complete agony – the fever wracking his body is extreme, especially since it was able to affect the clones in the first place. 

Usually, Fox wouldn’t have the time to sit and comfort one of his troopers like this, but Cardy isn’t the only one down – instead, Fox is one of the only ones who isn’t sick, and with the whole Guard placed in quarantine as safekeeping, he can’t do much other than sit here and try to soothe their pain.

Cardy whimpers, and he curls up under the single, thin set of sheets that the medbay could spare, his grip on Fox’s hand only tightening.

Fox swallows, and has to take a moment to fight back frustrated tears.

Nightingale is still up and working, but she really shouldn’t be. Fox gives it a few more hours before she collapses, and nothing he’s said has convinced her to sit down and take a break.

Fox can only drift from bedside to bedside, mortified with his own helplessness. 

His requests for aid have been denied, of course. Supplies — both medical and otherwise — are being withheld until the base is no longer a health hazard, or so the rejections stamped onto his requests said, anyway. If this doesn’t clear up soon, he won’t have to worry about being behind on his flimsiwork, because they’ll run out of rations far before that.

“S-Sir,” Cardy mumbles, and tugs Fox’s hand closer, resting his forehead against it as he tries desperately to cool himself off. “M’ head hurts.”

And Fox — he can only wipe the sweat from Cardy’s face and try not to cry.

He feels lucky that he can even offer his troopers water. If the bastards upstairs had thought of it, he would bet they’d cut off the power to the base too.

“I’m here with you, vod,” he murmurs. “I won’t leave you alone.”

The wrinkles in Cardy’s brow relaxes, and he lets out a tiny sigh, nuzzling against the comfort of Fox’s hand.

“You doin’ okay?” he whispers, one eye peeking open to gaze up at Fox.

Fox softens, pushing Cardy’s hair back out of his face with his free hand.

“I’m okay, kid,” he assures. “Don’t worry.”

His throat is beginning to itch, and he can feel a bit of discomfort crawling up on him, but he can push through.

Cardy squints, not looking very convinced, but breathes out quietly, letting himself settle down.

“If you start feelin’ bad, you gotta get some rest, okay?” he says, breaking out into a truly wracking set of coughs that makes Fox cringe in sympathy. “We need ya’ to take care of yourself.”

“I get it, stop talking,” Fox says hurriedly, and scowls when that makes Cardy laugh, shaking against the cot.

“You really can’t resist, huh? You love saying that to me,” Cardy accuses, a smile lighting up his face, even with his gaunt and sunken cheeks. 

“Yeah, you caught me,” Fox murmurs, rolling his eyes despite himself. “Just… sleep, Cardy. Focus on recovering.”

So long as his men made it through, it would all be worth it. Fox just needs to hang on long enough.

Chapter Text

“If you don’t want me to be hugging the toilet bowl for the next ten hours, you better slow the fuck down,” Fox snarled, clinging so tightly to the door handle that he was fairly certain it would meld with his skin.

“Don’t be silly, Commander, this is all perfectly within traffic laws,” Vos said breezily.

He took the speeder on another tight turn, and Fox felt a terrible rumble in the pit of his stomach, his face rapidly paling.

“I’ll aim directly for you,” he threatened. “I’ll get those nice new robes all messed up, don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh, how will my reputation ever recover?” Vos said cheerfully. “Just hang tight Commander, we’re almost there.”

Fox clamped a hand over his mouth at another dangerous dip, Vox weaving in and out of traffic like he was on the run from the law. He was about to be if he didn’t slow the fuck down!

You’re the one who asked for help, Fox reminded himself over and over again. You asked for this, now it’s time to pay the price.

Of course, when he’d asked Vos to help them make contact with the Jedi because his troopers were all having mysterious memory problems that sounded suspiciously like Sith shit, he hadn’t thought that boarding the one-way ticket to vomit town would be part of the deal.

“Oh, you’re not looking too good,” Vos commented, as if he’d only just noticed. “Want me to open a window?”

“Absolutely not,” Fox said vehemently. “Just go. The sooner we’re there, the sooner I can die in peace, since that seems to be the direction we’re going.”

Vos only laughed. “Don’t go planning a funeral just yet, Commander. We’ve got a lot to tell the Council.”

Fox imagined going to see them in this state, the High Generals, while he was standing there on shaky legs with his bucket in front of him, used as well – the mere thought made him shudder.

“On second thought, maybe I’ll just die now,” he declared. “Feel free to throw me out the side door. Not like these streets can get any worse.”

At least if Vos tossed him out of the speeder, he might be able to get a few moments of peace before he died. 

“Almost there, Commander,” Vos said, a touch of genuine sympathy on his face when Fox had to lean forward, taking deep breaths. “I can see the spires now.”

Fox just breathed through it, keeping his eyes closed. If it turned out that there was some kind of darksider involved in this whole mess, Fox called first dibs on the sniper rifle. No amount of satisfaction he could gain from killiing a major piece of the Separatist war effort would be worth this damn trip, but it would act as a bit of a consolation prize, at least.

“Look, here we are!” Vos spoke up, and more beautiful words had never been heard in Fox’s entire life. “I may not be the safest pilot in the Order, but I got us here quick!”

Fox oozed out of the passenger side, laying facedown on the landing dock.

“Never speak to me again,” he said, voice muffled.

“That’s fair,” Vos said cheerfully. “Now c’mon, the Council awaits!”

Fox only groaned. Maybe the Sith should just kill him and save them both the trouble.

Chapter Text

“Careful,” Nightingale murmured, and helped Fox hold the bowl in his shaking hands.

He took a moment to simply breathe it in – the warmth and comfort, the subtle scent of medicinal soup. It was the first thing he’d ever eaten aside from rations and other types of nutrient supplementals, and despite the reason he was repeatedly served the dish, it continued to feel novel.

“Thanks, vod,” he said, voice rough. He managed a few sips without help, Nightingale still hovering nearby, but surrendered with grace when a dangerous headrush caused soup to nearly slosh down his front.

Nightingale held him steady, letting him take a few more sips before he could manage no more, exhausted. 

“Think I’m done,” Fox mumbled, and Nightingale accepted it, taking the bowl away without another word.

It was… frustrating, to see that he was only capable of this much. In years past, it would’ve taken far more pain for him to be incapacitated – and even then, he would’ve just kept going regardless. It was more important to be functional than it was to be well.  

Now, he didn’t have that option.

“You’re doing well,” Nightingale assured him, ever-aware of the dark thoughts that swirled around in his brain. “The healers say that you should be able to move on to solids in a few weeks, and I agree. You’re nearly there.”

Fox grunted. It was an accomplishment, even if it didn’t feel like it. 

Honestly, he was just grateful that Nightingale was willing to act as liaison between him and the Jedi healers. As far as natborns went, the Jedi were far more tolerable than most – even agreeable, in most circumstances. But Fox has had enough of natborns telling him how to care for his body, and judging its worth.

He just needs – he just needs time. That’s what this whole thing is about, really. The esteemed Chancellor had left his body and mind in ruins, and now Fox is forced to pick up the pieces. Nightingale too, now that he’ll finally let her – now that they can finally afford it. 

It’s a relief, not having to do it alone, or put himself into the care of people that he cannot fully trust. It allowed him to relax, and admit to the weakness that had been plaguing him for so long.

Fox is not well. He hasn’t been for a long time.

It’s only now that it’s been safe enough to admit it.

“Are you up to having visitors today?” Nightingale asks cheerfully.

She’s careful not to put any expectation in her tone, and Fox appreciates it. Most of the time, he says no.

Today…

“If it’s a Guard,” he concedes, and leans back against the pillows. “Don’t have the energy to keep up with the others’ shenanigans.”

The last time Rex had come to visit, for example, several of his other troopers had snuck in alongside him, and Fox had been forced to reign in the chaos that inevitably ensued. Rex had apologized profusely, but Fox had still banned him from the premises for at least three months.

(He’d only held out for about two weeks, but still.)

Nightingale laughs, soft and affectionate. “Sure thing. I think Thorn had a story he wanted to share about his last mission.”

“Well, bring him in,” Fox says, amused, and settles back to wait for an entirely different brand of chaos to ensue.

Chapter Text

Fox didn’t raise his head when his door slammed open, determinedly continuing to skim the document in front of him.

“Can you believe this?” Thire said, genuine outrage coating his words, and that made Fox sigh, finally looking up.

Thire was pacing back and forth, helmet nowhere to be seen and a twisted scowl on his face. Given that Thire was typically the most level-headed of his Commanders, Fox settled his padd back on the desk, giving Thire his full attention.

“What is it this time?” he said, with the grim certainty of a man who had endured every kind of bullshit imaginable. 

Thire pulled a hand roughly through his hair, agitated beyond belief.

“What else?” he retorted. “It’s not enough to have every possible sanction and restriction slapped on us and yet still expect us to be doing the work of three full battalions, but now they want us to return to Senate duty! We don’t even have the men for that, not on top of everything else that’s been handed to us!”

Fox swore aloud, a stone settling heavy in his stomach.

“Senate duty? You’re sure? Last I heard, we were still banned from going within 10 klicks of the building!”

He knew that very well – it had been a huge ordeal, after all. The Guard had been forced to move their entire headquarters, as (conveniently) the new mandate had pushed the Guard far enough back that they weren’t legally allowed in the vicinity of their old building. 

Thire sighed, halting at the edge of Fox’s desk, leaning heavily against it. It was a shitty thing, made out of a plywood material that Fox had already been forced to patch twice in the year since he’d managed to acquire it, but it held Thire’s weight well enough.

“Keeli reached out,” he admitted. “Told me there’s been some rumors swirling around, and they seem to be gaining speed.”

Fox grimaced – he could feel a headache building. “There’s some validity there, then.”

Thire nodded miserably. He looked truly exhausted – he’d recently shaved his head until he was nearly as bald as Stone, and had a patchy little beard growing in, unable to keep up with the maintenance he had always preferred. The Guard wasn’t under such oppressive restrictions anymore when it came to personal conduct – but the trade off was that now they had no time or energy to take part in such things.

If Kamino was still churning out new clones to fill their ranks, Fox would be able to accept the burdens placed on them, however reluctantly. But the war was over, the clones officially belonged to the Republic now, instead of the Kaminoans, and there would be no more payments made to fill in the empty spaces in the Guard that only continued to grow.

The former members of the GAR had a bit more luck – they had the Jedi to rely on and stand beside, and Fox knew that they’d all been hard at work to make the clones’ legal standing more clear, and something at least approaching a registered, sentient species. 

In the meantime, the Coruscant Guard had not been disbanded, and instead, had been forced to pick up all the slack of the war-time forces that had suddenly run out of money and moved on to greener pastures. The Senate hadn’t wanted to pay for Guards to march through their halls and keep watch for assassins when natborns could do the job just as well (allegedly) and wouldn’t come with the caveat of a currently contested legal status.

But they had no problem tasking the Guard with doing every little thing that kept them out of sight and below their notice; being used, yet again, as enforcement to keep the steadily-increasing discontent of the lower levels as quiet as possible.

It was hard, shitty work, and there didn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel, not yet.

But what else could he do, other than keep going?

“Pull up a chair,” Fox said, moving some flimsiwork aside as he grabbed a datapad, opening a new document. “Let’s plan out some possible reallocations.”

Thire nodded, grim, and did as he was ordered.

That’s the Guard’s speciality, after all.

Chapter Text

Palpatine paced back and forth, a dark cloud seeming to follow his every move. His expression was the stormiest Fox had ever seen it – no longer disguising his disdain behind a veneer of civility. 

“You’re quite certain that you have no idea where they went?” the Chancellor asked softly. It was silky, almost gentle in tone, but underneath lurked a threat that Fox knew all too well. 

Fox’s hands shook. He had no way of hiding it. He was already on his hands and knees, forced to bow before this man in order to escape even the barest hint of his wrath.

“No, sir,” he said again, voice hoarse. He’d been saying it for nearly an hour now.

“So, what you’re telling me,” the Chancellor began, “is that the entirety of the Army have up and absconded from their posts, including every single member of the Jedi Order, and you knew nothing about this? Not a single whisper reached the ears of the Guard, not even a hint?”

Fox blinked rapidly. “Yessir.”

It was the truth. A cruel, painful truth that Fox still hadn’t had time to come to terms with. A part of him thought, hysterically, that it all must be some kind of conspiracy. Some sort of – control, or something. Jedi were capable of that, weren’t they? 

But Fox didn’t think they were capable of doing it at such a scale, nor would they desire to. Every Jedi he’d ever met had been devoted to their duty and the Republic as a whole. Why else would they fight in this war? Abandoning it now, after everything that had been lost, would be foolish.

So if the Jedi weren’t behind it… Was it the GAR? Did something happen to infiltrate their ranks, control their movements?

If that was the case, why wouldn’t it affect the Guard?

…In all honesty, Fox knew the answer. He just didn’t want to face it.

Palpatine’s face suddenly softened, and he leaned down, gripping Fox’s chin with one thin, pale hand.

“Oh, Commander,” he said, the compassion in his voice driving a shiver down Fox’s spine. “I see now. My apologies. You’ve been left just in the dark as I have, haven’t you? Betrayed. Abandoned. I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me. We’re all in the same boat now, aren’t we?”

“Yessir,” Fox repeated, swallowing compulsively. As if he could have said anything else.

…And that, of course, was why no one had told him about this mass exodus. Why the information had been specifically withheld from him.

They hadn’t trusted him. Fox didn’t trust himself.

He couldn’t blame them, in the end. He just – wished there could have been some way to send the other Guards with them. The target on their backs had grown exponentially with news of the Army’s defection. It wasn’t even safe to patrol in the Senate anymore, and there had been protests and screaming civilians pounding on the barrack doors for days.

“And since we’re in the same boat, we should support each other, isn’t that right?” Palpatine murmured.

Fox nodded, not trusting his voice.

Palpatine’s index finger dug into the delicate skin behind Fox’s jaw for just a moment before he was released.

“Good. Find them, Commander. By any means necessary.”

They’d been right not to trust Fox. But if they really wanted to be smart about it, they should have killed him.

Chapter Text

“You know, for a long time, I really thought it was me,” Fox said over his cup of caf. The gentle steam rising to warm his chilled fingers. “I thought of everything I was doing wrong, what I could do to be better. Tried to make myself as small as possible, tried not to inconvenience everyone.”

He snorted, a bitter little sound. “Turns out, it didn’t matter how easy and agreeable I acted. That was never the point. They just wanted to get rid of me.”

Coyote hummed, taking a careful sip of his own drink. “And how long did it take them to notice that you left?”

And the words stung – dug at a deeply vulnerable part of Fox that he hadn’t quite put to rest, despite all his attempts.

Fox shrugged. “Who knows. They haven’t reached out, and all the lines of communication I had with them are dead. They’ve got my comm codes, but I haven’t heard anything. Maybe they just didn’t care enough to notice at all.”

“Maybe,” Coyote agreed, never one to sugarcoat things. But, then again, that’s why Fox had reached out to his batchmate to begin with. He never had to worry about Coyote putting on airs to please him. “Now, what do you want to do about it?”

Fox paused.

“I – what’s there to do? That was never the concern. It’s already over and done with, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’ll have to work with them again at some point, if only in a professional capacity,” Coyote pointed out. “Do you really want this to be hanging over your head the whole time? It’ll drive you insane.”

Fox sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead as he tried to ward off a headache. “I don’t want to be thinking about it that much. I just want to put it all behind me. I can be professional.”

“Obviously,” Coyote said wryly, taking another long sip of his drink. “You worked with Palpatine, of all people. If you didn’t have professional competency, the Republic would be in shambles right now.”

Fox grunted, not entirely disagreeing.

Some part of him wanted to point to his time as Palpatine’s little minion as the source behind all his troubles, honestly. He’d been forced to put everyone at a distance, trying to protect them from that bastard’s petty schemes. 

In the end, it had only left him alone.

Well, he corrected himself, glancing at Coyote, not entirely alone. But, alone enough. 

It would be easy to blame Palpatine, though. To point all his hate and anger at the man who had yanked Fox around like a puppet, pulling on his strings merely for the enjoyment it gave to watch him squirm.

And that’s what the bastard would want. He would find it so funny if Fox was still captive to him even now, unable to let go of the poison that had fed him for so long.

Fox wanted to be better than that.

“I have people who care about me,” Fox said quietly. “Regardless of anything else, I need to remember that. I’m not fighting against the whole galaxy. I can change, and Coruscant can too. I just need to give it time.”

Coyote nodded, a sharp approval lingering in his toothy grin. “There you go. That’s the Tennie I know. Fuck ‘em, Fox. Just concentrate on what matters. And if anyone gives you trouble? Just let me know. I still have enough favors to collect to make their lives miserable.”

Fox laughed, a bark of sound that he’d worked so hard to suppress these last few years, escaping him without a second thought.

“I’ve got no doubt, 05.”

Chapter Text

“Why are you wasting time on that? It doesn’t need treatment.”

Fox breathed in, then out. He didn’t react.

The natborn medic who’d paused by his side during the evacuation blinked, looking back at the Aide with wide eyes.

“Um… I’m sorry?”

The Aide sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a clone. Haven’t you read the studies? Those things don’t feel pain anyway. So can you hurry up and move on? You’re blocking the hallway.”

Fox’s vision was dizzy, blood loss causing his thoughts to slip through his fingers like sand, but he still attempted to comply, pushing against the wall with a grunt as he staggered to his feet.

“Sir, don’t!” the medic cried, holding their hands out. “You need stitches and a bacta infusion, at the very least!” 

They placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding Fox back so that he was resting against the wall. Then, they turned to the Aide, lifting their chin stubbornly.

“I don’t know what studies you’ve been reading, but I’ve actually served in a battalion,” they said tartly. “I’ve seen these men bleed, cry, and die. Maybe pretending that they don’t feel any suffering is what lets you sleep at night, but not all of us have that luxury. Go around us if you’re in such a hurry. I’m busy.”

Fox’s eyes shot open, and he stared at the medic in alarm.

They couldn’t – they couldn’t talk to an official like that. Right? 

Well. As a natborn, it wasn’t like they could be decommissioned. If they were to be punished, it would have to go through certain protocols, be overseen by someone in a position of power, and it couldn’t be any harsher than the transgression deserved. Fox had learned all about it, when he’d first come to Coruscant, desperate to know the difference between clone officers and natborn ones, rare as they were to encounter.

Now, he was leaving Coruscant and about to witness that in action.

“Y-You can’t - ” the Aide sputtered, and the medic in front of Fox rolled their eyes, not even attempting to hide it.

“I outrank you,” they said, point-blank. “You don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. So do us both a favor and fuck off, okay? I’m gonna need to be able to get a stretcher through here soon, and you’re in the way.”

Fox felt like he was about to pass out.

The Aide’s wide eyes fell on him, and her trembling finger pointed accusingly.

“Why are you just sitting there, letting this – this  – person disrespect me like that?” she screeched. 

Fox blinked. Was that really the worst insult she could think of? If Fox had been the target, they would have already been cursing out his name, his duty, his physical appearance and the vat he came out of.

“Apologies, sir,” he slurred out. “I am unable to comply at this time. Please reference the correct protocols on the Senate website if you would like to make a complaint.”

And with that, the medic still fussing over his head, Fox was finally able to pass out. Peace at last.

Chapter Text

“This isn’t like you,” Ponds persisted, nearly jogging to keep up with Fox’s long strides. “C’mon, Fox. We just want to help.”

“Leave me alone,” Fox said, about as harsh as he could possibly be without just ripping Ponds’ head off. “I don’t care, and I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fox, I’m worried!” Ponds cried out, finally moving in front of Fox and putting his hand out, preventing him from moving forward. “It’s just – after everything that happened with the Sith, don’t you think we have a right to be concerned? You’ve been so cold and combative since the arrest, and the General said – ”

“I don’t care about what your fucking General said,” Fox snarled, which wasn’t quite fair. Windu was just fine – Ponds and the rest of their merry band of idiots were the ones Fox was pissed at. “I’m not being combative just because I don’t want to talk to you and you keep bugging me! Get off my ass for a while, and maybe we can try again!”

Even that was generous, frankly.

He was just – done with this. Ponds refused to listen to him. All of them were treating Fox like he was a child, just because the former Chancellor had fucked with his head a bit.

“Fox, please,” Ponds said, quiet and with aching sincerity. “The dark side – it does things to you. Warps you. You’ve been in its grip for so long, and now this? Even without that, whenever we mention the Sith, you begin acting… oddly. And I’m just concerned that maybe being in his presence constantly has left its mark.”

Fox blinked rapidly. Was Ponds really trying to imply this? Was he really trying to say that the only possible reason Fox could be angry was because Palpatine had sunk his claws in so deep they were impossible to remove?

“This isn’t – I don’t have fucking stockholm syndrome, Ponds!” he shouted. “The fact that Palpatine was a bastard doesn’t negate the fact that I’m mad at you!”

Ponds stumbled back, looking genuinely stunned. He held his hands up, expression melting into something confused and hurt.

“I don’t understand,” he said, which seemed fucking obvious. “I don’t know what Palpatine said to you, Fox, but – ”

Fox took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop himself before he just started screaming. 

“This isn’t about anything that Palpatine said or didn’t say,” Fox said evenly. He looked Ponds directly in the eye, trying to get this through his thick skull. “This is about you not listening to me when I asked for help. This is about you laughing it off when I told you I was suffering. This is about you, coming in now that everything is over, and telling me how I should be reacting to it.”

Ponds took a step back, face going pale.

Fox brushed past him.

“I’m not broken,” he threw tersely over his shoulder. “I’m just not being nice about it.”

He’d lost enough to this damn city. He wasn’t about to lose the last scraps of his dignity too.

Chapter Text

“Come to see your master, have you?”

Palpatine’s smile was as cruel as ever, tinged with madness at the edges, but Fox remained unaffected. On the other side of this cell wall, Palpatine rendered a frail old man with the force-suppressing cuffs wrapped around his wrists, Fox knew there was nothing for him to be afraid of.

All Palpatine had was his words, now. And Fox was sick of listening to him.

“We don’t have much time, sir,” Fox said evenly. He wasn’t supposed to be here, after all. No one had wanted him within ten klicks of the former Chancellor after everything had come out, but he snuck away, determined to end this on his own terms. He didn’t need protection from this man, not anymore. “And I have something to say.”

He tried not to think of it. Tried to let it all flow behind him, left in the same river where he’d dumped his pride and all his self-respect.

Palpatine sneered.

“Trying to leave me behind, are you? Trying to put the past to rest? It won’t work, you know. You were such a good soldier, Commander. Don’t let that all go to waste now.”

It was clearly meant as a jab, but Fox refused to falter.

“You shaped me,” Fox said plainly. He wasn’t ashamed of it. It was simply the truth. “To say I won’t let it define me would be foolish. But you weren’t the only thing. I’ll let that scaffold me, as I decide what to keep from you.”

Palaptine’s face screwed up, spittle flying from his lips. “I MADE you, clone! I was the one who ordered your creation, who brought you to this planet, who forgave your every pathetic mistake! You are NOTHING without me!”

“And now, I’ll be something else,” Fox said. He’s still not sure what he would have done, if Palpatine’s schemes hadn’t been revealed. He wasn’t so sure he would have done anything, if he was being honest.

Palpatine stilled, narrowing his eyes.

He looked at Fox, and their gazes locked. For the first time, Fox started directly into his Master’s eyes without fear. 

He’d never had a father. Maybe ‘creator’ was the closest he could get. Under the orders of this creator, Fox buried so many of his siblings. Some of them with his own hands. 

He couldn’t deny the blood that stained him. He didn’t want to.

“I will take what you gave me, and I will use it,” Fox said softly. “Don’t be afraid, Chancellor. I won’t forget you.”

He would remember Palpatine as the man who gave him Coruscant. That was enough.

Fox stepped back, and headed for the door. 

Palpatine didn’t say a word.

What was left to say? They’d both used each other, and now the game was over. Neither of them had won, exactly. But only one of them would be dying for it.

Chapter Text

When Fox’s vision grays out at the edges, he can see something beyond it. When he wakes up, he can never quite remember what it was – he just knows that it was there, and it was beautiful. He always wakes craving to see it again, willing to do anything to catch a glimpse of what was stolen from him.

He calms down, once he’s had the time to breath and process it.

He feels a bit silly about it, really. He’d mentioned it to Nightingale once, half-joking, just so he could retract it if she ended up taking it a bit more seriously than he intended. 

She’d hummed, contemplative, and told him about the effects of blood loss and drowning, how some people could feel a sense of euphoria right when they were about to die.

That’s… not quite it, for him. But perhaps it’s something close. 

Either way, Fox keeps it close to the chest, and tries not to think about it too much. What’s the point? If the only time he gets to experience this marvelous thing is when he’s actively dying, he can’t afford to indulge in it.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. That doesn’t stop it from happening, of course.

Coruscant brings it out of him. He can hardly help it – he handles dangerous situations every day, and there are times when it becomes too much to handle, even for his expertise.

Sometimes, Fox just wants everything to stop for a while. Wants to exist in that secret place, let himself fall into it.

He doesn’t – keeps himself in the present, enjoys the company of his friends and subordinates, tries to allow himself one small piece of happiness every day. How could he survive otherwise? What could he hold onto, if he was constantly struggling, always trying to keep his head above water?

Every once in a while, the waves would crash over him, drag him under. But he swims to the shore every time.

You can’t go yet, he reminds himself, as a shiny huddles in his embrace, sobbing into his arms after the loss of their whole squad. There is someone who depends on you.

You can’t go yet, he tells himself sternly, when Thire ends up in the medbay and his workload balloons in response. There is still work to be done.

You can’t go yet, he vows, when the Chancellor sends him to the floor once more, lighting coursing through his veins and burning his vision white. Not before him.

But one day, the war will be over. Perhaps then, Fox will finally be able to see that vision he’s always dreamed of.

Chapter Text

In another universe, nothing bad has ever happened to Fox. 

He is still a clone, because being a clone was not the first bit of cruelty in his life, but this time he is created by loving hands. They lift him, gently, from the tank where he was gestated and monitored with care, and they hold him close. They let him cry.

He is raised with many, many clones, but they are all loved individually, even as they love each other communally. He is allowed – and encouraged! – to make mistakes. He makes many. He laughs about them, and everyone else laughs along.

The fears he holds are simple, childish. He fears not being loved enough, and is assured that he is loved plenty. Loved more than he can handle, even, and sometimes he has to hide away from it, just to reassure himself that he deserves it.

But the hiding is rare, and more often he is simply content with being loved. 

In this other universe, Fox is allowed to want things without being shamed for it. Even silly things, even things he does not need. They’re given to him freely, simply because he has asked for it. In this universe, simply asking is enough. 

He is kinder, there. He is allowed to be. There is no one who will hurt him for it, who will take advantage of his kindness to target those under his protection. He learns so much more about the galaxy, simply by virtue of it opening before him, ready to welcome him in.

There’s no hidden price to any of it. The Universe is what created him, and every moment he spends in it is repayment enough.

That is not this universe.

“ – ox! Can you hear me? Fuck, I think he’s going into shock. He’s lost so much blood – where’s the medic?!”

Here, in this universe that Fox has fought and bled for, he gains close to nothing from all that effort. 

And still – he fights desperately not to leave it behind.

This is not a fantasy that dwells somewhere in the back of his mind, always too hazy and distant to truly touch. Fox lives in reality – an ugly, dark place that is nonetheless filled with the most wonderful people he has ever known, all the clones he serves beside that give everything to a galaxy that gorges itself on their corpses.

“Please, Fox! Just hold on!”

The worst part of this universe is not the cruelty – it is the indifference. His men die, and he can do nothing to stop it. It takes, and takes, and takes.

What does Fox have left to give?

“Fox, please!”

Fox breathes; in, and out. 

He slips away, and a kinder universe greets him.

Chapter Text

Fox is already on the ground by the time Cody reaches him, and it drives a spike of terror through his chest that he hadn’t thought he was capable of anymore.

He’s lost so many troopers over the course of this war, and he’ll always keep them in mind, locked away in his heart, and it feels like a betrayal to think this way – but none of them were Fox.

Not Fox, who Cody hasn’t known nearly long enough, the years behind them be damned. Not Fox, who walked away from Cody years ago, deployment clenched in his fist, and never looked back.

Not Fox, who Cody wants to sink his teeth into, who has always been strong and brave and confident, the kind of soldier Cody wanted to be so badly that he ached to stitch them both together and see what kind of amalgamation came out in the aftermath.

Your love is harsh, Cody, Rex had told him once. It’s… not easy to bear. 

And yet, you do, Cody had replied.

He and Fox are alike in that way.

Cody wraps his arms around Fox, cradles his body close as the office rapidly becomes chaotic. The Chancellor – the Sith – is fighting against the Jedi, troopers providing backup as needed, but Fox is dying, and Cody holds him close.

He hasn’t held Fox like this since Kamino, when his vod would still grudgingly allow it.

Kamino was a death sentence. It was a balm. It gave Cody everything he needed to become who he is, then ripped it away from him and told him to fight for it, if he wanted it so badly.

On Kamino he could stand beside Fox – here, he can only hold him as he dies.

So preoccupied with that knowledge, the realization sinking into his bones, Cody barely even notices when the fight is over, General Windu left standing tall, exhaustion lining his face and the Sith’s decapitated body at his feet.

“Commander,” he says, turning to Cody. “Help is on the way. Keep him stable for as long as you can – he may yet survive.”

Fox is gasping for breath, choking on his own blood as the Sith’s torment takes its final toll, but Cody only holds him tighter, refusing to relent. 

He rips off his helmet, tossing it aside without a care as he bends his head, pressing his forehead against Fox’s.

Fox smells like blood. It’s dripping from his mouth, collecting along the edge of his chestplate. It’s part of Fox, so Cody loves that too.

“Hold on, Fox,” he murmurs. “I’m not done with you yet.”

It’s a promise and a threat. Fox shakes in his arms, throat gurgling as more blood passes through his lungs. He’s trying to speak – Cody already knows what he wants to say.

It doesn’t matter. It’s Cody’s turn to talk.

“Did you have fun?” he says. “We were away for so long, you must have forgotten. You don’t get to leave.”

Cody has so little in this life. But Fox is his.

“You don’t get to leave,” he repeats, assurance flowing through him as more Jedi flood the room, medics heading straight for them as Fox fades by inches. “I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

Don’t give me that look, Fox had said.

What look?

That look like you want to rip open my chest and stuff yourself inside, you little freak.

Cody laughed. You’d do the same, if you could.

Fox had sighed, shaking his head. 

Learn to control it, Cody. Or you won’t be able to withstand the loss of it.

Chapter Text

It was rare for a clone to bleed on Kamino. 

Or at least during discipline. It was always easier to just have cadets run laps until they collapsed, or threaten their performance reviews. If a trainer was more brutally-minded, they might beat a cadet until they were black and blue, but blood – real blood, the kind that drips down through your fingertips and pools on the floor – was rare.

Fox was well familiar with that kind of blood, now. 

Chancellor Palpatine didn’t care about improvement. He did not administer discipline because he hoped for Fox to learn from his mistakes – he did it because it amused him, and he wanted to see the bounty of his work.

“Commander,” Palpatine sighed, shaking his head. Fox’s vision was blurry, tinged gray with pain, but he could recognize that gesture from movement alone. “You’re making such a mess.”

“Yessir,” he slurred out, feeling the plip plip plip of blood trailing down his back, staining the carpet.

“Are you going to clean it up?” the Chancellor asked, a false sort of sweetness in his voice. It wasn’t a question – or at least, not a question that had more than one answer.

“Yessir,” Fox repeated. It was about the only thing he was capable of right now.

“Good,” Palpatine nearly purred, and his eyes seemed to flash yellow in the low light of the evening. He was enjoying himself; he always did. He seemed to feed off Fox’s agony – the despair that just built up inside him with nowhere to go, no way to alleviate it. “I’ll be retiring for the evening, Commander. I expect this office to be spick and span in time for my early meeting tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening.”

He swept out of the room, aura still as viciously smug as a well-fed tooka, and a pair of Red Guards fell into step behind him.

When the door finally slid closed, Fox collapsed. He’d held himself up by his elbows before, but now he barely even had the energy to breathe.

There was no winning, in this scenario. If he showed too much weakness, Palpatine would only doubledown, happily taking his pleasure at Fox’s expense. But if he tried to tough it out, and grit his teeth through the pain, it would displease the Chancellor, and cause him to lash out with even more cruelty as a response.

Even Fox’s pain was a game, now – a carefully written play acted out by the same two participants, time and time again.

Fox wouldn’t ever say that he missed Kamino – even now, he didn’t. But it was certainly simpler, back then. He knew the rules, and how to carefully break them. Now, it seemed like no matter what he did, good or bad, he would face some kind of retribution for it.

And, back on Kamino… He’d been one of many. He hadn’t been anyone’s ‘favorite’.

He would never subject anyone else to Palpatine’s little games; that was why, even now, he remained mute on the subject no matter how his medics tried to push. 

But he wondered, faintly, what his life would have become, if he hadn’t caught the Chancellor’s eye that day, newly assigned to the homefront and brimming with patriotic pride.

His blood pooled around him, following the grooves in the carpet.

Fox almost thought he could make out the Republic symbol, gear and sword, slowly staining the ground around him.

You will bleed for the Republic, they’d told him, and he did. He did.

Chapter Text

“The thing about the universe,” Fox begins, gazing out into the fading light of a Coruscant sunset, his cig nearly burned down to his fingertips, “is that there really isn’t any punishment. For like, anything.”

Wolffe raises a brow, taking another sip of his beer. He’s sitting, unlike Fox, slumped in the shitty little garden chair that Fox dragged onto the balcony of his apartment. 

“I can think of a fair few punishments we’ve faced, frankly.”

Fox snorts. “No, I mean, like – cosmically. There’s no grand punishment from the universe for being an asshole. Or reward for being a saint.”

Wolffe hums, glancing upwards as he considers it.

“That’s kinda what the Force is about, I think. A sorta… ‘you get what you give’ scenario. That’s how Master Plo describes it, anyway.”

“I’ll trust your expertise on that,” Fox murmurs, and flicks the butt of his cig into the ashtray on his balcony railing. “I guess I’m just thinking, like. I don’t know. Kinda existential.”

“That’s obvious,” Wolffe remarks. “Just normal Taungsday thoughts, or what?”

Fox shrugs. He doesn’t have an explanation, not really. 

“Therapy,” he offers. “Gives me something to think about.”

“I should damn well hope so,” Wolffe huffs. “You need it.”

“What, therapy, or thoughts?” Fox snarks, and laughs when Wolffe kicks the back of Fox’s knee, expression indignant.

“You know what I meant, asshole.”

“Yeah,” Fox mutters, looking back out into the golden rays cutting through the buildings around them, painting Coruscant in an almost ethereal light. “I do.”

I’m afraid I’ll never be able to make up for it, he’d said.

For what?

For everything I didn’t do. For all the suffering that happened under my watch. For the days I spent serving a madman while my troopers died on his orders. On my orders.

Well, Fox, tell me this. What is the  reward for your suffering? You and the Guard were hurt by the former Chancellor. If your fellow troopers in the GAR, unaware of this, benefitted from the work you did on Coruscant, what was the punishment for that?

I…

Your suffering is not quantifiable, Fox. The fact that others were hurt does not negate your own pain. And it does not earn you a punishment, either.

“Guess I’m just used to everything blowing up in my face,” Fox says, dragging himself back to the present. “Maybe it was easier that way.”

Wolffe shrugs. “I mean, maybe. But was it better?”

Fox watches the sky paint itself pink and orange, the sun dipping below the horizon at last. He’d never had the time to just… sit and watch the sun go down, before.

“Nah. This is better.”

Chapter Text

“Recovery will be slow, Fox, but it will happen,” Nightingale assured him, and Fox sighed.

“Well, it’s not like I don’t have the time,” he muttered, and tried to relax. It was a fairly futile effort, considering the tense muscles of his back, but this was the path towards recovery. He would just have to grin and bear it.

“I’ve got a meeting with the Healers,” Nightingale said, grabbing her supplies from the bedside table. “If you need anything – ”

“Ask a Padawan, I know,” Fox interrupted, waving her off before she lingered too long and caused herself to be late to yet another meeting. “I’m a fully grown vod, I know how to press the help button.”

“But will you?” Nightingale asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at him.

Fox just huffed, rolling his eyes. “If I need it? Yes.”

Need was subjective, of course, which Nightingale knew quite well, but she was running out of time. She gave him a threatening ‘got my eyes on you’ gesture and backed out the door, immediately setting off at a fast pace that caused her heels to click against the floor, before the door shut and the sound was cut off. 

Silence was unusual in Fox’s life, but he enjoyed it every now and again.

“Fox!”

Not that this was one of those times, apparently.

Hound poked his head in the door, perking up when he saw Fox was awake. He promptly trotted inside, Grizzer following by his side. No wonder he’d snuck in at this time – Master Che would never allow it if she was still on the floor.

“How’s physical therapy going?” he asked, plopping down to the chair by Fox’s bedside. 

Grizzer promptly crawled onto the bed, making himself at home directly between Fox’s legs, which was about as inconvenient as it was adorable, so Fox decided to allow it. Just this once.

“It’s going,” Fox answered, finding himself stroking the long quills along Grizzer’s spine in an absentminded motion. “I’m never – I’m never getting back to where I was. But I’ll reach a point where I’m not in pain all the time, and that’s enough, frankly.”

A year ago, that would have been absolutely unacceptable to him – the idea that he may lose his edge like every frontie bastard accused him of felt abhorrent.

After months in Palpatine’s loving hands, kept trapped in a tiny box of a cell that forced his limbs to remain in cramped, bent positions, Fox was just grateful that he was all in one piece, relatively.

“Have you given my idea some more thought?” Hound said eagerly.

Fox couldn’t resist a grin, even as he shook his head.

“I don’t know how useful a therapy massif would be, Hound,” he said. “It’s not something I need, really. And there are plenty of vod’e who would benefit from having a companion like that around.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you,” Hound said, shrugging. “I’m allowed to play favorites, I think I’ve earned it. And I really do think you would benefit, sir. You’re always a lot more relaxed when Grizzer is around.”

Fox opened his mouth, ready to refute, before realizing abruptly that the continual motion of stroking the massif’s head had lulled him into a false sense of security – he could feel the slumber creeping up on him, ready to strike at any moment.

Hound’s awful, smug little face was the last thing he saw before his eyes finally dragged themselves closed. Entirely against his will, of course.

“Have a good nap, sir. We can discuss this again after you wake up.”

Chapter Text

“He did not intend any disrespect,” Fox says, keeping his head bowed. It’s insufficient, but it’s the only thing he can possibly say – calling him ignorant and foolish will cause the Chancellor to ask why he’s even alive, then, if he’s so useless, and trying to justify his actions will only cause that anger to flame higher.

“Are you suggesting, then, that my response is an overreaction?”  the Chancellor says coldly, folding his hands together in front of him. He’s staring down at Fox, and he knows that gaze intimately; the cold, deep-buried anger flickering behind the surface.

“Of course not, sir,” Fox demures. “And as Commander, I believe it is only fitting to take on the responsibility of discipline for this incident.”

Palpatine scoffs, getting to his feet. Fox keeps his head down, and next to him, Dogma is discreetly hyperventilating. 

“Commander, I’m not much in the mood for one of our little games today,” he says. There’s a dark edge to it, something that sends a shiver down even Fox’s spine, and he’s dealt with this man for years.

“Yessir,” Fox says, swallowing. “May we be excused?”

There’s a hushed silence, and Dogma audibly sucks in a breath, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

Fox wished he could have gotten Dogma out of the room for this, at least, but at least Palpatine hasn’t transitioned to corporal punishment yet. He tries to play it off around other people most of the time, even Fox’s fellow troopers.

But he sounds well and truly pissed, this time. Fox may not get out of this unscathed.

“You’d like to leave?” Palpatine says quietly. “Beg for it.”

Fox doesn’t hesitate.

He drops to his knees, plastoid cracking uncomfortably against the carpeted flooring. He bends forward, pressing his forehead to the ground, making himself as small and pathetic as possible.

“Please allow us to cease disturbing you with our presence, sir,” he begs. “I’m too ashamed to show my face, knowing that I’m wasting your time like this. Please, let us go, and I’ll make sure to serve you with even more gratitude in the future. I swear it, Chancellor, sir.”

This is just another kind of game, of course. But this is the kind that Palpatine wants, right now, and because Fox is a good soldier, he’ll deliver.

Palpatine hums, finally sounding pleased. “Well, if you insist, Commander. Do leave my sight. And don’t let this happen again.”

Palpatine is already turning away, done with them, by the time Fox springs to his feet and grabs Dogma’s arm, dragging him away.

“Sir, I – I – ”  Dogma stutters, sounding absolutely wretched, guilt dripping from his voice, but Fox just shakes his head, pulling the younger clone along.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Pride is an easy thing to lose, and something that the esteemed Chancellor values a lot more than I do.”

He’d be willing to pay a lot more for Dogma. For all of them.

Chapter Text

Rex — no, it’s CT-7567 now — tilts his head, just slightly.

“CC-1010, I wasn’t informed you were on this planet. Working with rebels, now, are you? And here I thought you couldn’t sink any lower.”

“There’s no rebels here,” Fox says, and pointedly steps in front of Reva, who sinks back into the shadows at his words, despite the furious glare Fox can feel aimed at his back. She won’t be happy with this, but better unhappy than trapped in one of the Emperor’s sith academies – or dead. “These people didn’t know who I was. They just offered me shelter. Leave them be, and take me instead. I’ll go quietly.”

CT-7567 considers Fox for a long moment, hesitating, before finally holstering his blaster. Fox takes another careful step forward, keeping his hands raised in surrender.

There’s too many civilians around for Fox to consider taking out an armed opponent right now. He needs to wait until they’re in a more isolated spot.

This isn’t the kind of opportunity Fox was looking for, but it’s a damn good one. CT-7567 has been a damn thorn in their side since the (real) war began, and if Fox can take him out of play – can get Rex back – it’ll all be worth it.

“I’ll accept that deal, CC-1010,” the purgetrooper says mildly, reaching out to grip Fox’s wrists firmly with one hand, pulling out a set of cuffs with the other. “Lord Vader has been looking for you.”

Fox grimaces. Of that, he has no doubt. 

Fox’s former General never had much luck with things like ‘letting go of grudges’ or ‘moving on past perceived criticism’, which had made their time together a living hell, and might have soured Fox’s impression of Jedi as a whole if Kenobi hadn’t also been around. As secretly dramatic as the man luxuriated in being, at least he knew how to keep his damn mouth shut.

“Skywalker is perfectly welcome to come kiss my ass, if he wants me that bad,” Fox says, unable to resist one last jab at his shitty boss. “Not like his wife wants him anymore.”

CT-7567 twitches, and if that was Rex, he would’ve gotten a laugh out of him, Fox knows that much. The motion causes something to relax in Fox’s shoulders, letting him walk easily in front of CT-7567 as he begins directing his prisoner towards the shipyard.

Rex was still in there somewhere, held prisoner. 

Fox has had plenty of time to curse himself, to say that he should have known something was wrong when Rex cut off all contact with the rest of them, became increasingly withdrawn and sullen, until he refused to even entertain their attempts at visiting.

Fox couldn’t save his vod’ika from a threat he couldn’t see. But now, everything is out in the open. 

And the Rebellion is almost ready to strike.

Chapter Text

Fox nearly lunges forward, barely keeping his stance non-confrontational as he puts himself between Cody and the Senator.

“Sir, this trooper belongs to the 212th,” he says, almost stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out. “If you require service, I would be happy to provide.”

You can’t touch this one, he implies. It doesn’t belong to you.

Cody has a Jedi. Cody has someone who would cause a fuss if he was broken beyond repair, or even injured at all.

Fox doesn’t. Fox is safe for them to use, and they know it. 

The Senator turns to him, releasing Cody’s arm – who steps back, looking between the two of them with a concerned tilt to his helmet. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. With any luck, Fox can get him out of here before he has to learn. 

“The 212th?” they ask. “Who is that, Kenobi? Hm. I suppose you’re right, then. I do wish Krell’s group would come by more often. That’s a man who knows the value of connections.”

Fox hates them. It’s not sudden, or new, but still, it builds up in the space under his jaw until it's nearly spewing out of him, molten lava boiling his throat.

“Of course, sir. Please, step aside with me and we can allow – ”

“No, here is fine,” the Senator interrupts. Their tone is almost bored. This is just a bit of entertainment on their lunch break. It means nothing to them. “On your knees, clone.”

Fox drops to his knees. If he cooperates just enough, he may be able to spare Cody from witnessing –

“Just what is going on here?” Cody says, voice sharp with disbelief and the edge of something harder.

The Senator sneers, raising a brow as they look at Cody. There is a cool disdain in their eyes – as if the interruption of this seasoned Marshal Commander is the equivalent of a mutt pissing on the carpet.

“I’m being serviced, clone,” they say crisply. “You ought to get used to it, if you plan to spend any time among the capital. We do require some compensation for the ridiculous expenses you clones require.”

Yes, of course. It’s so hard to provide the Guard with food and ammunition, Fox knows. He learned that lesson the first day he landed on Coruscant, faced with an empty cupboard and an ultimatum. 

“CC-2224, I suggest you leave,” Fox says stiffly, though he knows he’ll be punished for it later. He hadn’t been permitted to speak up, after all. “Your General must be looking for you by now.”

It was a reminder to them both – leave, Cody. You don’t belong here.

“No, I think I’ll stay,” Cody says, the absolute bastard, and crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know much about life on Coruscant, and I see that I could stand to learn more.”

Not like this, Fox wants to beg, and for the first time in a long time he can feel the sting of humiliation pricking him, trying to blink away his tears. He’s not wearing his helmet – can’t – and it’ll be too obvious if he cries now.

He doesn’t want this Senator to see that. He doesn’t want Cody to see it. 

“Stay, then,” the Senator says, a smile finally tugging at their lips. “And I shall teach you.”

Chapter Text

“We’re not going to be able to get off-planet,” Thorn said grimly.

Fox closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”

All around them, the unhappy murmurs of their fellow Guards were beginning to rise, and Fox had no way to quell it. What could he possibly say? 

This was what he’d feared from the beginning, but he’d hoped that with enough time to melt into the background, they’d be able to go under the radar for long enough to escape. Instead, the traitors were only tightening the net – it wouldn’t be long now before that noose choked them all to death.

“Lord Sidious will be displeased,” Nightingale said anxiously, rolling a piece of gauze between her hands over and over again.

Fox could understand the worry – Nightingale was the one to deal with patching them all up from the Lord’s punishments, after all. But in this case, he didn’t think it mattered.

“We’re not gonna get that far,” he said quietly, trying not to alert the increasingly restless trooper around them.

Nightingale grimaced, and Thorn nodded, face lined with exhaustion.

“We’re gonna have to figure out how we want to handle this,” he said, and every implication tore at Fox like an open wound. “Stone said the patrols are circling in on his location. One of his shinies only barely avoided capture a few days ago, and it’s been over seven hours since he last reported back. And we haven’t heard anything from Thire for nearly three days.”

Splitting up had been their best option, but fuck if it didn’t hurt. Fox was hoping that at least some of the men would be able to steal a ship and make it off-planet, but there’d been no luck. 

The traitors were persistent, if nothing else. Their insurrection had forced Lord Sidious to flee the planet, and with every day that Fox and the Guard didn’t join him, he knew that the Emperor would take it out of his hide.

If there was really no escape…

“We can’t afford to be captured,” Fox said. His voice was low, cold. It was a voice not his own, and he was just numb enough to not care.

He had his orders. All he could do was follow them.

Nightingale blinked rapidly.

“We could still move further down,” she said helplessly. “No one has even come close to Ike’s position.”

“And risk compromising that?” Thorn pointed out, though he was at least apologetic about it. “We have the bastards right on our tails. We try to flee to Ike’s little hovel, and we lead an army right to them.”

“No one knows about the Lower Level command, and we should keep it that way,” Fox said firmly. “They might be able to actually get out, someday. Especially if the traitors think the rest of the threat is gone.”

If all of them were gone, he didn’t say, though it lingered in the air between them. 

Nightingale breathed in, then out. By the time the motion was done, her face was an impeccable mask of serenity, unphased by what she was asked to do. Fox hated to put the burden on her, but he trusted no one else.

If none of them could escape Coruscant without being caught by the Jedi and their lackeys, then they would have to ensure there was nothing left to capture.

It might even be better this way, honestly. Unlike Lord Sidious, Nightingale, at least, would ensure that Fox did not suffer.

Chapter Text

“I hope you know that I really didn’t want to do this,” Fox says softly. “I wish you’d given me another option.”

Rex groans, clutching his bleeding side with a pained grimace.

“A-Another option?” he stutters out, glaring fiercely. “You’re a traitor! You aligned yourself with the Sith! What other option do we have?”

Fox just sighs, shaking his head. “I’m not working with Sidious, Rex. Or Maul, or Dooku, or any of them. I just want to protect myself and my men, and this power helped me achieve it. You should’ve left us alone.”

“The dark side corrupts,” Rex spits out, and he pushes himself up against the partially-collapsed wall behind him, getting back on his feet. “It doesn’t matter what your intent is. In the end, it will drag you down, and you’ll destroy everything around you, even the things you care about. Even your men.”

Fox’s eyebrow tics up. 

“Been listening to Kenobi, have you? I suppose you haven’t got much of a choice, with your General indisposed.”

Rex snarls, and Fox rolls his eyes.

Sooner or later, Rex will realize that Fox did him a favor with that. Sidious’ little apprentice was getting too arrogant, and too powerful. Too willing to throw around Fox’s Guards when he couldn’t have his way. It was inevitable that he would turn on the 501st at some point, Fox had just spared them the drama.

Skywalker had already learned how to deal with one prosthetic limb, three more shouldn’t be too much of an ask. And some time off the battlefield (and away from Fox’s vode) will do him some good. Why, Fox is practically a saint for thinking so far ahead!

“You’re a monster,” Rex says, voice thick. “I thought there was something of Fox still in there, but he’s gone. You’re not him anymore.”

Fox flicks on his lightsaber, taking a moment to enjoy the steady thrum in his hands, the Guard-Red light that reflects against the front of Rex’s shattered helmet.

“I’m more myself than I’ve ever been,” he says, a sense of utter contentment flowing through him. He’d never had a peace like that before. It was… rewarding. “And it’s fine if you don’t see that. I’m doing this for the Guard, Rex. For myself, too. And if you hadn’t followed the orders of a madman to chase me down, I wouldn’t have to hurt you.”

“The Chancellor is an arrogant coward, but he’s not a Sith,” Rex growls, proving that he has been spending a lot of time around Kenobi, who recognized shitty politicians well enough, but seemed remarkably blind to the presence of the darkside for someone with the title of ‘Sith-Killer’. “Everything you’ve done, every punishment you face for it, you brought it upon yourself. How many troopers are dying today, all because you couldn’t resist the temptation of the dark?”

Fox tilts his head to the side, lightsaber still pulsing in his hand like a heartbeat. 

“I gave you every opportunity to retreat,” he says quietly. “If your troopers die at the hands of my Guards, who do you have to blame?”

And Fox lifts his blade, stolen from a man who thought himself Fox’s master, and he strikes.

Chapter Text

“I think our best bet is probably to just die,” Cardy says, with delightfully false cheer, and Dogma dutifully smacks Cardy on the back of the head since Fox is too far away to reach.

“Enough of that,” Fox growls over Cardy’s betrayed cry. “If you can’t run, walk. If you can’t walk, get carried. If no one can carry you, crawl. Understood?”

There’s an exhausted murmur of assent from the squad, dutifully carrying on despite their aching limbs.

It isn’t that Fox can’t sympathize – if he saw a bed in front of him right now, he probably wouldn’t even blink before he found himself passed out facedown on top of it. 

But they don’t have the luxury of rest – not while the Chancellor is on such a rampage. That near-miss must have frightened him more than he let on, because Fox had never seen the old man that vehement about executing someone. Usually, he likes to be a bit sly about it, speaking more in implications than orders. 

When Fox had been told to ‘gun down that miserable wretch if it’s the last thing you do’, however, that had certainly been an order.

“We’ll find him,” Fox promises the group at large, tone grim.

“And do what, shake his hand? Tell him to get some more time in the range?” Cardy mutters, and this time Fox doesn’t even have to give the warning glare before Dogma retaliates, and Cardy’s bitten-off yelp is the most satisfying thing that Fox has heard in hours.

“Please don’t discuss treason on open comms,” Fox says wearily. “I ask so little of you.”

Cardy makes a harrumphing noise of protest, but obediently quiets down.

This would all be a lot easier if the other bastards around were willing to cooperate, but apparently everyone and their goddamn tube had forgotten what this trooper looked like.

Fox has already wasted time going through the motions of asking for identifiable features, armor patterns, or any suspicious changes in behavior. It was all for show, of course, because Dogma had once known the trooper personally and had been more than willing to extrapolate on what he remembered, but the Chancellor didn’t know that, nor did any of the GAR, and Fox is determined to keep this whole thing as on-the-books as possible. 

It has to be extremely obvious that he’s doing everything right, everything exactly as it should be, and there’s no room for blame on his end should things go wrong.

Of course, a lot of that hinges on managing to find ARC Trooper Fives in the first place, which is looking increasingly difficult by the moment. That’s what he’s been telling himself, at least.

“Sir, we’ve been running for almost seven hours,” Rosary says, and the reminder does cause Fox’s heart to twinge with guilt. Rosary sounds weary – and as someone who learned very early in their career on Coruscant that complaining solved nothing, that was a very notable thing. “At this point, I think it’s safe to say that the trail’s gone cold.”

Which is, of course, the point. Not that he’s going to tell them that. 

“We’ll keep looking,” he says, stern and uncompromising. 

There’s no one who will find fault in his investigation. And if somebody else finds Fives first…?

Well. No one can say that Fox hasn’t been following orders.

Chapter Text

Fox wakes with a start and a clenched fist, lashing out at the blurry figure leaning over him.

Thorn yelps, slapping a hand over his nose as he leans back. “It’s just me! Shit, Fox!”

“Fuck, sorry,” Fox gasps out, hand to his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. “Didn’t realize you were – were right there. Fuck.”

There’s a bit of blood dripping from his face, but not too bad. Fox is no medic, but he doesn’t think Thorn’s nose is broken, at least. He didn’t fuck up too badly, then. 

“Sorry, Thorn,” he apologizes again. “I wasn’t really awake yet. Had a nightmare, I think.”

Thorn’s face twists, that damnable empathy shining clear, even with a busted nose. “What did you dream about?”

“It was…” Fox trails off. 

It was nothing, probably. Or it was everything – a blend of every nightmare he’d ever had, every dream where his face peeled off or his body marched forward towards an invisible, inevitable end, dragged along by strings that he could never untangle.

Fox dreamt a lot – more than he felt was fair, considering how little he sleeps in the first place.

They all seem to be coalescing in his head now, morphing into one giant, many-headed monster that preyed on his moment of weakness. 

“It was nothing,” Fox dismisses, and swings his legs over the side of his bed, preparing to get up. 

“Hey.”

Thorn’s hands land on his shoulders, and Fox glances up, startled. They’re close, sure, but Thorn has never quite had the courage to be so direct with him, even if Fox quietly wouldn’t have minded it.

Thorn squeezed Fox’s shoulders, gripping him firmly, as if preventing an escape. 

“You’re okay,” he assures Fox, even with the thin line of blood drying on his skin. “Even if you’re not, um, okay , you know? We’ll all be here for you no matter what. Don’t forget that, okay?”

Fox nods, slowly, still a bit bewildered. “I… sure. Do we need to get you checked out for a concussion or something?”

Thorn shakes his head, a rueful smile on his face. 

“Nah. I just don’t want you to forget, if I’m not around to remind you.”

“You’re never not around,” Fox huffs, irritation entirely for show. “Even when I want you gone – ”

The grip on his shoulders tightens, cutting Fox off with a grunt of pain. “Thorn, what – ”

“You want me gone?” Thorn says, voice shaky.

Fox looks back up, and the blood is flowing in a river down Thorn’s face, body visibly decaying before his eyes.

“Do you really want me gone, Fox?” Thorn is saying, and the stench of rotting flesh is so heavy in the air, the hands holding onto Fox are nothing more than bone , and he – 

Fox wakes with a start. He stays completely still, frozen in his bed. It’s quiet, for once. Stone is on-shift, and Thire is off on a mission.

He’s alone.

He rolls over, facing the wall.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I had a nightmare.”

No one answers.

Chapter Text

“If I’d known that saving your life would result in you pestering me day after day…” Fox trailed off, and Fives blinked up at him with far too innocent eyes.

“Yes, sir? What is it?” he chirped, fluttering his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

Fox rolled his eyes, but couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. It wouldn’t be entirely honest, anyway. There were worse things in the world than to have a friend.

“Don’t call me sir,” he said instead, exasperated. He shoved Fives face away, putting them at a respectable distance – intent on not allowing the man to tease him any longer. They weren’t kids, damn it. “I was never your superior officer, and we’ve been out of the GAR for years. People are starting to give us weird looks.”

“You never complain when Echo forgets!” Fives pouted, hefting the bucket of bait up to cradle it in his arms as they approached the river’s edge.

“Echo at least pretends to be respectful about it,” Fox said, rolling his eyes.

Fives grumbled under his breath, but didn’t bother to refute it. 

The two meandered towards their usual fishing spot, taking their time. It was a lovely day out, and Fox was looking forward to a few relaxing hours. With Fives around, it was just enough entertainment that Fox didn’t fall asleep, which was about the level that he was looking for, these days.

Chairs set up and fishing rods deployed, Fox took the time to drink in the sunlight, letting his eyes flutter closed. After a good hour of quiet enjoyment, even Fives was content to sit in relative silence, with only a few joking anecdotes thrown in here or there when he recalled them.

On days like these –

Aren’t you enjoying yourself a bit too cavalierly? 

Fox’s eyes shot open, but all he saw before him was blurred light, everything fading away under the voice that had suddenly come to mind, completely unbidden.

He hunched over in his – chair? No, he was – he was kneeling, Coruscant’s setting sun reflecting in his visor, panting into the thick carpeting of the Chancellor’s office as he writhed in pain, trying not to disrupt his master’s work, don’t disturb me Commander you know I don’t have the patience for your constant failures –

“Fox?” Fives said, eyes wide, expression drawn tight. He looked… scared.

Blinking rapidly, Fox grunted to show his awareness.

Fox flexed his hands in his lap, trying to modulate his breathing. His fishing rod had landed directly in the mud, and the bottom of Fives’ pants were thoroughly drenched. He was on his knees in front of Fox, one hand wrapped around Fox’s ankle as Fives tried to keep him grounded.

Fox glanced up at the clear sky above them, nothing like Coruscant’s smog, and took a moment to breathe in and out through his nose.

“I’m fine,” he said, swallowing heavily. “It’s – don’t worry about me, just get up. You’re all wet.”

“You think I care about that?” Fives huffed, but obediently got to his feet. “But you’re right about the pants. Nothing’s biting, anyway. Mind if we start heading back? I’d like to get changed.”

It was an obvious distraction, but Fox was thankful for it nonetheless. 

“Yeah, let’s get going.”

Fives offered a hand, and Fox took it, pulling himself up.

This is reality, he reminded himself. That was in the past.

Oh, my dear Commander. Are you sure?

Chapter Text

“You live like a man whose wife left him,” Biteback said judgmentally. 

Fox was too exhausted to do more than glare. “Why are you here? Don’t you have civilians to torment, or something?”

“We’re all civilians now, Fox,” Biteback shot back, raising a brow. He stepped inside the small studio apartment that Fox now occupied, confidently letting the door slide closed behind him. “And I’m here because the others are too pussy to get the job done.”

Fox scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a sigh.

“Alright, what is this about?” he said tiredly. “I haven’t – I’ve only been sitting at home recently. The others haven’t been getting on your case about anything, have they?”

Biteback plopped down next to Fox, throwing one long arm over the back of the couch.

“No one blames you for wanting some alone time,” Biteback said bluntly. “God knows we all need some of that, after living in each other’s pockets for so long. The problem is that you’re living in squalor like a divorced dad who’s behind on his childcare payments.”

“I’m fine!” Fox said indignantly. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Sure, he had chosen to live a more modest life than most of his fellow troopers, who had congregated in the area of Coruscant that used to be the business district, before Palaptine and all the cronies throwing money at him were ousted. 

BIteback looked around the apartment, every inch of it visible from where he was sitting, and turned back to Fox with a raised brow.

“You have a long string attached to your conservator because the handle broke off,” he said mildly. “And one of the windows is sealed with duct tape.”

Fox winced. “That’s… look, those are mild problems. I’ll get around to fixing them at some point.”

“Oh, right after you return all those missed calls?” Biteback retorted. “How about the deliveries that you keep sending back?”

Fox bit back a frown, his temper held under control by a single thread.

“I sent all that shit back because I’m not a child, and I don’t need anyone else to be providing for me,” Fox spat out. “Especially not them. I don’t care if they feel guilty, their pity only makes it worse!”

And that was the crux of the matter, truthfully. 

Fox wasn’t doing well. He felt tired all the time, often nauseous and dizzy, could barely drag himself into the kitchen to make food, let alone leave his apartment, but that was his own problem. He didn’t need his old squadmates to be poking their noses in just because they felt bad about the suffering he’d endured at the hands of the Sith.

All the pity in the world wouldn’t make those experiences go away, after all.

“If they didn’t care before, why bother now, right?” Biteback quipped, shifting to cross his arms over his chest. “Someone running in after the fact to try and play hero really sucks, huh?”

Fox scowled, looking down.

“Wouldn’t have quite phrased it like that…” he mumbled.

“Fox, I know shit’s bad right now,” Biteback said bluntly. He was hardly capable of being anything else. “And it’s well within your rights to be pissed off at the way people have treated you. I’m pissed off constantly, and I have no plans of stopping anytime soon. But driving yourself into the ground isn’t revenge, it’s stupid. Get up. You need to see a Doctor, and I’m gonna clean this goddamn pit and get you some groceries, clear?”

Fox groaned, the realization hitting him all at once. 

“You weren’t actually sent by Cody and the others, were you?”

“Never said I was. Besides, you think I’d listen to those brats? Please,” Biteback scoffed. “Nightingale sent me. She has a list. Better hurry up, before it gets any longer.”

And a part of Fox really wanted to shove his head under a pillow and go back to sleep, but…

It wasn’t so bad, being cared about. This time, at least, there weren’t any strings attached.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck is a psychic wound?” Fox complained, tossing the datapad back down on the table. “Can’t they just say that I’m fucked in the head or something?”

“In my understanding, limited as it is, the problem isn’t with your brain,” Nightingale said, raising a brow. “It’s with your mind.”

“What’s the difference?” he asked, disgruntled. “Where exactly do they think my mind is housed, huh?”

“I honestly don’t know, Fox,” Nightingale said, letting out a heavy sigh. “There’s papers and studies published on the subject, but a lot of that research depends on factors that I can’t sense. Without the Force, I’m going in a little blind here. All I can recommend is that you follow the words of your healer.”

She was clearly kicking herself over this, and Fox softened.

For a moment, Fox actually felt a little bad about whining over this, when he should just be happy that he’s receiving treatment at all. But, then again, Nightingale had seen him in far worse situations, so this wasn’t the end of the world. 

“I’m not angry,” Fox said gruffly, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to ward off an oncoming headache. “I’m just… frustrated. I wish they could just give me some medication and tell me to fuck off.”

Nightingale huffed out a little laugh, briefly brushing her hand against his cheek as she stood up, heading for the door.

“That was my dream, during the war. I would’ve loved to have medication to throw at you.” 

The words were nostalgic, almost, with a wistfulness that finally forced Fox to concede, ceasing his complaints. 

“Alright, alright,” I get it,” he sighed.

“So long as you know,” Nightingale quipped, pausing by the door to smile over her shoulder at him. “I’ll go let the healer know you’re ready. It’ll be fine, Fox.”

“...I know,” he said quietly, and looked away as the door gently slid shut behind her.

Truthfully, there was no better place in the galaxy for Fox to receive treatment. The Jedi were kind, understanding of his circumstances, and dedicated to assisting with his recovery without expectation of repayment – which isn’t something he’d be able to find anywhere else. It was just… upsetting, to have one more aspect of his life be beyond his understanding.

The treatment plan that had been outlined to him was solid, and he found no fault in it, but so much of it relied on aspects of the Force and the energy surrounding it – something that he had no control over, and no possible way to truly influence.

He’d been… surprised, really, by how much that bothered him. He’d spent most of his life with no control over anything, after all.

Someone wounded you quite intimately, the healer had told him. They touched a part of you that should never have been laid open before them. It was yours. Feeling upset and violated in the face of that is only natural.

And now, he would have to face it all over again, just to heal the damage that had been inflicted on him.

Fox took a deep breath in, and out. He had enough strength to face this.

He would be healed, and leave this place even stronger than before.

Chapter Text

I have no use for a servant with a lying tongue.

At the time, Fox had been worried that the Chancellor was about to pluck out his tongue entirely, so, as inconvenient as it was, this curse was by far the better alternative. 

“Fox! What do you think?”

“I think the play is trite and unimaginative in its portrayal of such complex individuals,” Fox said immediately. “And if they were going to make it into a musical, they should have at least made the music enjoyable.”

He then frowned, whipping his head around to glare at Bly, who had a sheepish grin on his face.

“What did I tell you?” Fox scolded. “I don’t care how innocuous you think the question is! Please do not address me directly right now!”

“Well, I didn’t want you to feel left out, and since it was only a question about the show, I figured…” Bly trailed off, eyes darting to the side in a clear show of a guilty conscience. 

“I thought the play was pretty good,” Wolffe muttered under his breath, and Fox rolled his eyes.

The words that spilled out of his mouth were unbidden, but they were also entirely truthful, which was really more of the issue here.

“Of course you would enjoy it, Wolffe. You care about the drama, not the historical accuracy. We haven’t forgotten the way you used to follow the trainers around to try and get the latest gossip, you know.”

Cody cleared his throat, covering his grin behind his hand as Wolffe sputtered indignantly.

“Let’s not start throwing accusations around,” Cody said, as if he wasn’t the worst gossip hound of the bunch. “Fox, be nice to Wolffe. He’s delicate.”

Wolffe’s outraged cry was just enough to cover Fox’s words (“Nice? This is me being nice.”) which he was grateful for, at least.

He settled back in his seat, letting the worn synthleather of Dec’s diner give his aching back some relief.

It was nice, being here – watching them bicker, laughing together, giving himself moments of joy and comradery that he’d long thought were lost to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be here. He just wished the Jedi could hurry up and find a way to fix him already, because always saying exactly what was on his mind could be a real hazard sometimes.

“Well, maybe this play was a bust for you, but aren’t you glad you came, Fox?” Bly said cheerfully, before his eyes widened and he held his hands up in surrender. “Wait, I didn’t mean to — “

“Of course I’m glad,” Fox said quietly. This was a truth that he didn’t mind saying, even if it was a bit embarrassing. “I love you guys. I always want to spend time with you.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Wolffe cleared his throat, Bly looking impressively gooey-eyed as Cody shifted, pressing his thigh against Fox’s under the table.

“Right,” Wolffe said gruffly. “Same to you.”

“I know,” Fox said, hiding a grin. It was the truth, after all.

Chapter Text

“It’s not – it’s not that I’m not glad he’s alive,” Bly said. “It’s just – you know.”

He knew he was fumbling his words, meaning lost in the myriad of shapes he was desperately trying to twist them into, but what else could he do? What was there to say, really, to express something like this?

That Fox had been used and abused by a Sith who tortured him, and now Bly wasn’t sure he liked the person his vod had become as a result? Fuck, how could he even think that?

Cody hummed thoughtfully. He’d only recently returned from the front, stuck dealing with cleaning up the Republic's mess once again, and so he was the member of their old training group who’d been the least involved in the fallout of Palpatine’s treachery, and how it affected them all.

How it affected the Guard, most of all.

“He’s changed,” Cody acknowledged, and Bly cling to it like a lifeline.

“Exactly! And we all change, of course, that’s just the way of things, but…” he trails off, lost once more.

It’s not that Fox had become more violent, more unreasonable, or in any way unrecognizable. He was even smiling more often than before, more free with his time and affections now that there wasn’t a literal Sith curse hanging over his head. 

But.

“He scares me, a little,” Bly said. His voice was quiet – wilted. “And I don’t know what to do about that.”

Maybe the worst part of it all was that Bly had no idea which changes had come about because of Palpatine’s torment, and which were just the result of being on Coruscant. Certainly, none of the Coruscant Guard seemed to bat an eye at how Fox’s laugh had taken on a particularly sharp edge, or the way he prowled the halls at night, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the corridors.

Fox never seemed to sleep, now. Those deep bags were still under his eyes, but his physical condition was better than ever. He’d been given a clean bill of health by a bewildered Jedi healer, but Bly couldn’t help but wish they’d kept him for a bit longer.

Surely there was something they could do, given Fox’s whole… situation.

“What about him scares you?” Cody said. It was with that casual, purposely non-judgemental air that Bly knew he’d assimilated from General Kenobi, for better or for worse.

Right now, Bly wasn’t exactly appreciative. He didn’t need to learn a moral lesson from this, thanks.

“He just – he’s off, okay?” Bly huffed. “I know that isn’t a good enough excuse. But I’m a Marshal Commander too, and I’ve seen enough shit on the field to trust my own instincts. Palpatine may be dead, but I don’t think all the Sithy-ness went with him.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, Bly snapped it shut, barely able to recognize his own voice. 

How could he say that? About Fox, his friend and vod?

But, at the same time, he let it linger in the air, unwilling to take it back.

It cut straight to the heart of the matter, whether he liked it or not. 

Cody raised a brow.

“That’s a serious accusation.”

Bly thought of the way Fox had stared at him, only yesterday, the very beginnings of these thoughts brewing in his mind. 

Fox had looked at him like he knew.

“Yes,” Bly said, swallowing heavily. “It is.”

Chapter Text

“Kark, is that a trooper…?”

“Looks like it. I mean, I can definitely see a resemblance. Kriff, we gotta call someone.”

“We need to get him out of here first!”

“Y-Yeah! Come on, let’s go!”

Fox’s eyelids fluttered open, the light before him dizzying and abrupt in its intensity. He let out a rusty, pained groan – someone was moving him. Didn’t feel like droids, this time, but he was hardly enthused about being transferred to a different cell. Again. How many times had it been, at this point?

“He’s awake!”

Fox managed to open his eyes just enough to get a better look at his newest handlers, only to see something entirely unexpected – a pair of natborns, both wearing uniforms of the Medical Corp. 

…This had to be a trick. There was no way, after all this time, that he was finally back with Republic forces.

“He’s awake!” one of them said, hushed, and the other attempted a smile, awkward on the permanently downturned mouth of a Gamorrean.

“Don’t worry, sir,” they assured him. “We’re with the Republic. You’re safe now.”

They both had lightsabers on their belts, and Fox had yet to meet a darksider who would bother with such a disguise, so (for lack of any better option) he decided to take them at their word. Even if this was all a deception of some sort, it wasn’t like they could possibly take him anywhere worse than he was currently.

Fox just grunted in acknowledgement, letting his eyes fall closed once more. The sudden burst of energy from being lifted out of his cell had fled him, and he felt every inch of the wounds that carved through his flesh, completely immobilizing him.

The Jedi were gentle, at least. That was enough to allow him rest.

…

When Fox woke again, he was breathing significantly easier. He was on a small outpost, clearly used as only an emergency stop for the most critical cases that the MedCorp came across.

It wasn’t much, but there was food, medicine, and a porthole right next to his bed that allowed him to look out into the vastness of space, watching ships drift by as he laid there and tried to regain his strength.

The two Jedi that had rescued him were not the only members of the Corps aboard, but they were the ones who visited him the most, besides his assigned healer.

His ID chip was beyond repair, apparently, and they hadn’t been able to identify him until after he was awake and aware enough to tell them himself.

“Commander Fox,” he’d said. “Of the Coruscant Guard.”

Their reactions had been… discouraging, to say the least. 

“Oh,” the Gamorrean had said, wringing their hands together. “I think the Guard has been dissolved for… a while now. Did we hear anything about a missing trooper from that sector?”

Fox pushed away the sting, having faced far more grievous humiliations in his time.

“I was only stationed there for about six months,” he said gruffly. “I displeased the Chancellor, so I was reassigned. Got picked up by traffickers along the way. I’m lucky I didn’t end up in a body farm, frankly. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be looking for me.”

Who would even miss him? He’d been so busy in his short few months on the planet that he’d barely even had time to get to know his fellow Commanders, let alone any of the men under his command. 

Of course they’d forgotten him. Fox doubted he’d left much of an impression in the first place.

The two Jedi exchanged a look, before they both nodded firmly, and the human reached out, carefully placing one of their hands over his.

“That may be so, but it’s all in the past now,” they said quietly, expression firm. “We found you. And if something happened, we would find you again, okay?”

Simple as the reassurance was, Fox still felt himself blink back tears.

“Mhm.” He managed to hum in reply.

Maybe, if he stuck around here for a bit longer, he would even be able to believe it.

Chapter Text

“Fox,” Ike said, speeding around the corner in an entirely panicked manner, slamming his hand against the wall to bring himself to a stop, already panting. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

Fox frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off his incoming headache.

“What? What are you talking about? The Senator won’t want to leave for at least another two hours, you know how she gets.”

Amidala was fairly tolerable so long as her husband wasn’t around, but by god could she drag on a conversation. Fox understood the utility in it, considering how much useful information she managed to gather in the guise of a friendly chat, but when it was a suit-and-tie event at a private residence where he wasn’t even allowed to carry a blaster, let alone wear his armor, he thought he could be excused for being a little on-edge.

“No way, you couldn’t fucking pay me to hang around here,” Ike blurred out, eyes wide. “Fox, this guy has a secret room with a giant birdcage in it.”

Fox paused. “…I’m sorry?”

That was certainly… unexpected.

“Maybe he has an exotic pet,” Fox offered hesitantly. Considering his job as security detail, it said something that he was considering that to be his best option right now.

“Fox.” Ike slammed his hands down on Fox’s shoulders, deadly serious. “The entire room is plastered with Jango Fett’s wanted posters.”

Fox blinked.

“That’s, uh,” Fox managed to start, before trailing off again.

A room with a human-sized birdcage that was covered with photos of someone was… not an encouraging sign.

“Didn’t you say that he specifically requested for clone troopers to attend this event?” Ike said, sounding increasingly paranoid. “As many as possible, or something like that?”

Fox winced. At the time, it had seemed like the selfish request of a natborn intent on misusing military support to safeguard their belongings from thieves at this large, highly-attended event.

Now, the request had taken on a far more sinister edge.

“We need to do a headcount,” Fox ordered, turning to march back towards the main ballroom. “I managed to arrange for every squad leader to have a comlink, even if it was banned for the rest of us.“

“Another really normal request,” Ike said sarcastically. “Man, I’m so glad that you pulled me up from the lower levels for this. How exciting.”

“I can tell that you’re thrilled,” Fox said, rolling his eyes. “Just help me find the others. That’s what's important right now.”

Whether this was a madman obsessed with Fett or some kind of astronomically strange coincidence, Fox wasn’t interested in finding out at the expense of his men.

This was supposed to be a relatively easy mission. He’d brought shinies with him!

Fox picked up the pace, irritation twisting his mouth into a scowl that had party-goers nearly diving to get out of his way.

If this bastard thought he was gonna get his hands on one of Fox’s Guards, he had another thing coming.

Chapter Text

“Well now,” Fox rasped out. “Don’t you look familiar.”

The Youngling tilted his head, letting out an inquisitive chip. Grogu waddled forward, reaching out a tiny clawed hand to brush Fox’s face. As he did so, the fog seemed to clear from his expression, and he laughed, as bright and mischievous as Fox remembered it, bonking his head against Fox’s shoulder in an old imitation of the troopers’ farewell.

It’d been many, many years since anyone had greeted Fox with such enthusiasm, and his eyes stung at the reminder, forcing him to clear his throat to avoid any tears.

“Hello, Grogu,” Fox greeted, dipping his head in as close an approximation of the Jedi bow as he could manage, chained as he was. “I’m glad to see you alive.”

Truer words had never been said, frankly. The rise of the Empire had seen Fox thrown into Sidious’ care full-time, when the former Chancellor had seen a chance to use his favorite tool as a permanent lab animal. With his control chip long disabled, Fox had been forced to only hear rumors of how things developed in the outside world – the massacres, the atrocities, the way so many of the Senators he’d protected with his life had watched it happen, had cheered and stepped into their new roles with glee.

It was in those moments that Fox truly understood why the Jedi said that hate was a dark, all-consuming thing – because Fox had never hated anyone more than he had in those days, and he’d never felt more wretched.

The few happy memories he’d had – days spent with the Guard, with his friends – all of that had served as his anchor, throughout these long, long years. The fading memory of Thire dragging him along to entertain the Jedi younglings was one that he revisited often, if only to remind himself that there had been kindness, once. He’d been a good man, if not a smart one.

Regardless of what his scores on Kamino said, if Fox had really been smart, he would’ve been able to see the insurrection coming. Or at least, he would’ve seen the Chancellor for what he truly was, before the man had gotten bored with his experiments and abandoned him altogether.

The gentle coo of Grogu still nuzzled up against his side brought him back to the present, and Fox surged with a sudden and fierce ache to embrace the child. If only these chains were gone…

And as if hearing those words, Grogu suddenly shuffled back, his eyes squinting with determination. He held up a hand, and there was something almost physical – the air warping around his little claws, showing the force at work.

“H-Hey, don’t strain yourself!” Fox warned him, startled at the sudden change. 

But Grogu persisted, brow furrowing as he concentrated. Fox’s chains began to shake, clattering against the worn stone wall that had long been his prison. Just when Fox thought he would finally be free, hope springing unbidden from his chest, Gorgu let out a grunt, and plopped backwards to sit on the ground, panting heavily.

Fox bit his lip, trying to send some comfort the child’s way, like they’d been taught at the Temple.

“It’s alright, kid. Don’t worry about me. This place has been abandoned for a long time, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe. Do you have anyone else with you? Someone who can get you something to eat?”

Force knows Fox hadn’t eaten in a few decades, at this point. If not for Sidious’ experiments, he’d be a shriveled corpse by now. 

Hearing those words, Grogu perked up, and flapped his arms excitedly.

He cooed, loud and satisfied, just as the sound of boots pounding against the ground turned the corner, and Fox looked up to see just about the last thing he expected – a fully-armored Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian looked down at Fox, coming to a stop at Grogu’s side, who hugged the warrior’s leg with a happy chirp.

“You… are you Boba Fett’s son?”

Immediately, Fox found himself wishing that Sidious had saved them all the trouble and just executed Fox right away. It would’ve saved him this pain, at least.

Chapter Text

“I told you to keep your fucking helmet on,” Fox says harshly, hands balled into useless fists by his sides. “Under no circumstances were you to ever take that off. Is that hard to understand, trooper?”

“No, sir,” ‘42 mumbles, ducking their head. “‘m sorry, sir.”

Nightingale shoots him a quelling look, pursing her lips unhappily at his tone, and Fox looks away. His frustration has been steadily building since he first got the report, but it’s not really the kid’s fault, and he knows it.

‘42 is still hiding their face from him, like it will diminish the attention to their bloody scalp, a large clump of hair yanked out at the root, and the swollen lip that a truly spectacular bruise is beginning to bloom around.

Fox sighs, plopping down on the unoccupied stool by the kid’s bedside. He’d managed to shoo their squad back off to the barracks, which left only Nightingale and himself to flutter around uselessly, trying to relieve ‘42’s pain. Bacta is in short supply again, which means that it needs to be saved for when someone is bleeding out, even though Fox would happily donate his own share to the cause if that was even remotely possible.

But, as Nightingale would argue, Fox can save a lot more troopers by staying alive to look after them, rather than sacrificing his own medical treatment to help one or two in the present.

Not that he’s doing much ‘saving’ these days. Case in point.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says sternly. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

Nightingale gives him a flat look, entirely unimpressed, and sniffs loudly before she returns to patching the kid up.

“In the moment, you did the right thing,” she coaxes. “Without anyone else around, you did what you had to do to keep the situation from escalating further. That’s correct! That’s exactly what you should do! Glad that civilian management training is showing results. But there could have been steps taken before that to ensure that you didn’t end up in that situation to begin with.”

“Never get separated from your squad, even if someone asks to speak with you privately,” Fox jumps back in, leaning in to look ‘42 in the eye, entirely serious. “The helmet is harder to enforce, true, since it’s an unwritten regulation, but it is policy for privates to never be alone with a member of the public. Natborns will try to skirt that rule — to threaten you, to bribe you, whatever. Do not let them. That way, even if something does happen, you’ll have a witness there to help validate your side of the story, okay?”

‘42 nods woodenly, the blood finally clotting, turning into tacky streaks that stained their skin.

“Sorry, sir,” they repeat. “I was just trying to — to do what I thought was correct.”

And Fox — for a moment, he hates himself, hates the Republic for bringing them here, hates the Senate for abusing his men and walking away without consequence. 

If things were different, he wouldn’t be in here scolding ‘42 for not being vigilant enough — he’d be piling assault charges on the bastard and throwing away the key.

He puts a hand on ‘42’s shoulder, pulling them closer — careful not to disturb any of their wounds.

“Coruscant isn’t what they taught us it would be, on Kamino,” he says; boy, did he learn that one quick. “But we’ve adapted. And we’re all still here, looking after each other. I don’t want you to stop being yourself. I just want you to be safe about it.”

“You’re very kind, ‘42,” Nightingale says fondly, looking on with an indulgent expression on her face when ‘42 blushes, trying to hide themself behind Fox’s bulk. “We need more of that around here.”

Yeah. They really do.

“So follow my rules, and stick around as long as possible, got it?” Fox says. “That’s an order, Private.”

Even as sore and twisted up as they are, ‘42 manages a salute. “Yessir!”

Fox smiles. “I’ll hold you to it, trooper.”

Chapter Text

The second the Chancellor had gotten his hands on that mask and taken one, long look in Fox’s direction, he’d known he was done for.

It was almost comical, really – the glee on Palpatine’s face was entirely malicious, and the fact that no one had caught on to what a horrible person he was seemed impossible to Fox. Did no one else notice the cackling? The weird Sith shit he kept around? His clear disdain for the Jedi, and every botched mission or incorrect intel that seemed to come as a result?

Truly, Fox sometimes felt like he was the only sane man on Coruscant – or he was completely mad, and no one’s had the heart to tell him yet. 

Regardless, the Chancellor had seen an ugly, restrictive mask with dark energies practically leaking off of it, and had promptly decided that it would be the perfect fit for Fox’s poor face. As if his face hadn’t taken enough hits during this damn war.

The first time was agony, of course – he hadn’t been able to breathe, instinctively clawing at his face to get it off, a primal terror unlike nothing he’d ever experienced before. The mask whispered to him, showed him all his deepest fears, tried to persuade him of the power and influence he could gain if he just gave in.

This was, of course, far less impactful the second time, and every subsequent time Fox had been forced to don the mask, he’d been less impressed by it.

You should be screaming right now! The mask said, indignant.

Try harder, Fox advised it. You already showed me the one with maggots infesting my skin.

What, I did? When?

Last week, Fox replied, trying not to sigh. Remember? It was right after the one with all my loved ones abandoning me because they realized what a horrible person I was.

Oh yeah, that one’s a classic, the mask said, tone dripping with nostalgia. A little uninspired, maybe, but it works!

You need some better material, Fox advised. Too much gore just desensitizes a person. Everyone’s made of meat. Eventually, confronting that isn’t so scary anymore.

You saying more psychological horror would be a good shift? The mask said thoughtfully. Well, I can’t say I disagree. A good thriller is hard to replicate in the short time I have before my victim suffocates, though. You’re running out of air, by the way.

Yeah, well, either he’ll take you off of me or he won’t, nothing much I can do about it either way, Fox shrugged.

Even that didn’t seem so scary anymore. For someone who had fought his entire life to have even the tiniest bit of control over himself and his presentation to the rest of the galaxy, having his life in someone else’s hands wasn’t as intimidating as he’d thought it would be.

Maybe he was just used to it, after Kamino. Maybe he really was the perfect specimen to land in the Chancellor’s lap.

I hope he doesn’t kill you while I’m gone, the mask said cheerfully, as Fox felt a pair of thin, bony hands begin to pry it from his face. I do so enjoy our little chats.

Yeah, Fox thought, and maybe something in him really had broken, the first time that mask had latched onto his soul. Me too.

Chapter Text

Fox tossed and turned in bed, for once thankful that the sheets on Coruscant were about as thin as flimsi. His cot had never felt more restrictive, and he’d slept in a literal pod before.

“It’s hitting you hard, huh?” Thorn mumbled, sitting up in his own bunk across the room from Fox. He rubbed his eyes, clearly still half-asleep, and Fox felt a twinge of guilt at waking him, but he was too uncomfortable to do anything about it.

“S’rry,” he grunted, shifting to be closer to the wall, wondering if that would somehow help. Maybe having the pillow over his head would help? Even if it didn’t cool him down, it may just suffocate him, which would definitely be preferable at this point. 

“Anything I can do?” Thorn asked, careful concern in his voice. He knew better than anyone just how much Fox despised being seen in a vulnerable state, and there was about nothing more vulnerable than this.

“Nah,” Fox said, voice muffled from beneath his pillow. He cursed his body, the Kaminoans for making it, and Jango Fett for giving his damn cells in the first place. “I’ve got water. Just gonna let myself cook, I think.”

He could hear Thorn shifting uncertainly, clearing wavering between offering more comfort or trying to get some rest before his upcoming shift (twelve hours – if he was lucky, and nothing unexpected happened). Fox made the decision for him by finally throwing his pillow to the side, crawling out of bed and getting to his feet.

“I need some fresh air,” he grumbled, stumbling towards the door, trying to ignore the sweat that seemed to have drenched his entire shirt. “Don’t follow me.”

Thorn let out a token protest, but Fox just waved him off, firmly shutting the door to their quarters behind him.

Clearly, he wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight. There was no point in keeping Thorn up as well.

His feet took him towards his office, almost by muscle memory. Luckily, there was only the night crew around to see him stumbling along the hallways, panting and cursing to himself, and they were all smart enough to keep any such sightings to themselves. 

Fox slapped a hand against the door lock, forced to make three attempts before it would finally open. He was dizzy, now, and lightheaded with the effort it’d taken to get this far, but maybe he could take a nap at his desk or something. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

He managed to make it through the doorway, but it was enough to sap the rest of his energy, and he pitched forward, nearly falling onto his face – if not for the hand that wrapped around his waist at the last moment.

Silver raised a brow, glancing over Fox with concern. “I’m still on shift, you know. Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Fox squinted at him, befuddled at the sight of his night shift Commander, before his brain finally caught up with him and he groaned, remembering that Silver always took his office when he wasn’t out patrolling.

“Urgh… Just leave me on the ground to rot,” he mumbled, and Silver easily hefted him up.

“I think not,” he said pointedly. “C’mon, you can take the couch. I could use some company, anyway.”

Well, if Silver was going to be awake anyway…  

Some company certainly wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Chapter Text

“Fox,” Cody says, mouth pulled into a tight grimace. “You don't have to do this.”

CC-1010 doesn’t waver. He holds his blaster steady, pointed directly at the traitor’s unarmored chest.

Cody’s wearing an odd little poncho. Fox has no idea where he got it, or why the hell he would think it’s a good idea to wander around without his armor, but it doesn’t matter. 

“You are a traitor to the Republic, and traitors must be eliminated,” CC-1010 says. “Now, are we gonna do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

Cody barks out a laugh, sharp and cutting. “Traitor to the Republic? Fox, are you even listening to yourself? You’re following the orders of an Emperor! There’s no Republic left!”

“Don’t try to confuse the issue,” Fox shoots back. Good to know that Cody is as infuriatingly contrary as usual. “You’ve gone against orders, and I’m here to take you in. Surrender, or be eliminated.”

“Fox,” Cody says, and there’s a note of pleading in it that makes CC-1010 pause. “We were made for the Republic. For the Jedi. Surely you haven’t forgotten what that means.”

Fox remains unmoved. 

“There are no more Jedi,” he says, and shoots Cody in the head.

It’s a stunner, which is more than the traitor deserves, but Lord Vader had been insistent on that. Something about luring out an old foe, someone who could be tricked into revealing himself with a sufficient amount of sacrifices.

The 212th has scattered to the winds with the Emperor’s coronation, but CC-1010 and his men have been faithfully tracking them down, along with any other traitors in need of elimination. 

It’s not easy work, by any means – sometimes his own men go missing, lost to the mission, and no one looks for them. None of their superiors care. But Fox remembers them, when all else is gone. 

He leans down, grabbing Cody by the arm, wrenching him up to carry his sorry ass back to the ship. It’s strangely familiar – it’s been a long, long time, but he can still faintly recall what it was like to drag a drunk, grumbling Cody back to his barracks. 

It’s not the same. This no-name planet on the outer rim barely has infrastructure to begin with, nothing even remotely the same as Coruscant’s, but still. The thought sticks in his head all the way back to his transport, strapping the traitor in with a bit more care than he would have otherwise.

“CC-2224 is in custody, sir,” Fox reports faithfully to Lord Vader’s flickering image over the holoprojector. “We shall be traveling to the nearest sector base, sir, unless you have any objections.”

Cody is high-priority, after all – Fox can’t afford to treat this like any random prisoner transport. 

“Oh, no,” Vader chuckles. His voice is raspy and dark; Fox’s men had been the ones to drag him off that molten planet, and Fox knows quite well who the man behind the mask is, but he cares little. It’s just as he told Cody – there are no Jedi, not anymore. “Bring him to me, clone. We shall see how long Obi-Wan can continue to hide away like a coward when I broadcast the good Commander’s torment to every starbase in the galaxy.”

“Yessir,” CC-1010 says. “We shall await your coordinates and depart immediately.”

It wouldn’t be the first time that someone got their punishment displayed in public. Sometimes, when the Emperor was angry, he would call Fox into his office, and –

Well. It really isn’t anything new. Republic or Empire, it’s all the same.

In the end, what does it even matter?

Chapter Text

“We have two choices here,” Fox began, folding his arms over his chest. “We can go out there and beg for forgiveness, or you can tell me what the fuck you were thinking, and I’ll decide whether it was worth it.”

At the moment, Fox was leaning heavily towards not worth it even a little, but he was feeling generous today. He might even let Cardy go through with his explanation before he snapped the little bastard in half over his knee.

Cardy huffed and rolled his eyes, proving once again that Fox’s kind intentions were misplaced and he should just go with the violent inclination immediately. 

“Sir, you couldn’t pay me to apologize,” Cardy said boldly, staring Fox right in the eyes. This was a lot of confidence for a man that was about to be sent directly to heaven. Or hell, more likely. “We have citizenship now. When someone says gross shit, we’re allowed to tell them to fuck off. Doesn’t matter who it is.”

“You’re a brave man, soldier,” Fox said. It was not a compliment. “I really wish you were a smart one.”

Proving once again that good sense must have skipped him over in the gene pool, Cardy only scoffed.

“Sir —“

“What’s going on over here?” A deep voice interrupted, and Fox gave Cardy a warning look as General — no, Master Koon approached.

He had his hands folded behind his back, and a relaxed air, but Fox wasn’t particularly reassured; everyone here at this banquet was a friend and ally of the Jedi — that was why it was so important that everyone fucking behaved.

“Nothing, Master,” he said formally. He barely avoided a salute, knowing the Jedi’s subtle aversion to such things, and took a deep breath instead. “There was a slight… incident in the hall, but we’re going to handle it. Apologies for any disruption.”

“Master Koon, one of the assholes in there was trying to hit on the Commander,” Cardy said bluntly. “He told them to go away — “ Politely, he was polite about it! “ — and they wouldn’t stop. They offered him credits.”

Fox winced. 

It wasn’t — it really wasn’t that serious. It was mostly a joke, he was sure. After all, as scarred up as he was, he knew that he frightened most civilians. 

“Don’t pay it any mind, sir,” Fox said hastily. He stepped in front of Cardy, elbowing him subtly.

He… appreciated the sentiment. It wasn’t like his men had ever really had a chance to stand up for him during the war. He didn’t particularly need it — he wanted to be the shield for them, not the other way around. But Fox also understood the dreaded helplessness that came with not being able to protect a vod who needed it.

Koon’s brow furrowed. “That behavior certainly is not acceptable. Commander, if you could point the offender out to me, we could ensure that no one else is approached in such a manner.”

Fox froze, caught. He didn’t want to, you know. Cause a fuss. But if it could prevent one of the other troopers from being harmed –

“Yessir,” he said, amused and resigned.

He should have known that they’d team up against him. Honestly, he was rather proud.

Chapter Text

“I trusted you once,” Fox rasps out, hands shaking with the effort it took to contain his rage. “It fucked me over. What makes the situation different now?”

Cody’s brow furrows, frustration lining his face. “Fox, I know shit went downhill fast with that op, but – ”

Fox laughs, the sound tinged with hysteria. He’s on the tail end of a thirty-six hour shift, and the idea of standing here and listening to this man defend himself after that is absolutely unthinkable.

“I don’t wanna hear it. You told me that you had important information about terrorist activity, and then you led my men into a slaughter. I don’t care where the leak happened – whether it was the 501st or the 212th, but someone opened their damn mouth, and my troopers died as a result.”

The Chancellor had also been pissed coincidentally, which had resulted in Fox being disciplined and another three of his men dying in mysterious accidents shortly after. Not that Cody would know that, considering he never comes to see Fox for anything but business, these days.

“Fox – ”

Fox cuts him off, waving a dismissive hand. “Save it. Just tell me what you want now, and I’ll tell you what I can do.”

“This doesn’t have to be a fight,” Cody says, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’re all on the same side here.”

But Fox has lost nearly everyone from the original Guard. Only Stone remains, and he’s in a coma, struggling to survive under the care of their well-meaning but completely inexperienced new medics.

Fox loses troopers at a rate that he never has before – they’re too young, too naive. He doesn’t have the older troopers there to guide them anymore, and he just doesn’t have the time to watch over every single one himself.

All because Fox trusted the word of an old friend, and they were all condemned for it.

The worst part of it is, Fox doesn’t even blame Cody, not really. It’s not Cody’s fault the intel was shoddy, and his Guards paid the price. But Cody was the one to bring the issue to him, to tell him that there was something worth looking into, and right now, Cody is looking an awful lot like the face of the Senate, and the Jedi, and the rest of the goddamn GAR, who never raise a finger for the Guard without getting something in return.

“Tell me what you want,” Fox repeats. He’s afraid if he says anything else, it’ll be something he can’t take back.

Cody breathes in deep, eyes fluttering closed. When he opens them, there’s a fire that Fox has long forgotten – that’s been stolen, somehow, somewhere along the way. 

“The Chancellor is a Sith,” he says seriously. “We have the evidence. We have a plan. We just need your help.”

Fox stares.

“You’re asking me,” he says slowly, “to choose between the Chancellor of the Republic, my direct supervisor, and some unquantified ‘we’? What, your Jedi? The one who’s been involved in scandal after scandal, whose line has resulted in the death and assault of my men on multiple occasions?”

Cody grimaces, but nods.

No, that wasn’t even true. By telling Fox this, Cody has already forced a choice on him.

Years ago, Fox would have chosen his friend without hesitation. Now…? Things aren’t so simple.

He has vod’ike to protect. A duty to fulfill. Orders to follow. 

He knows what he has to do.

Chapter Text

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

I literally just watched you get tortured by a Sith for the last two hours, how is this worse? the voice in his head says indignantly.

“The Esteemed Chancellor doesn’t live in my head,” Fox retorts. 

His brisk walk through the Senate halls remains interrupted, thankfully – there are only skeleton crews on patrol at this time of night, since no one else is in the building, and Fox knows exactly how to avoid them. Most people probably wouldn’t notice anything different about him, but his own troopers were like damn sharks; they pounced on him the second they caught a hint of blood.

You’d be surprised, the voice says wryly. Sith have a tendency to show up regardless of their invitation. A mind is no different.

“I suppose you would know,” Fox says sharply. He doesn’t try to contain his temper – there’s no point, not when this idiot is stuck in his head for Force knows how long. There’s nothing he can hide from them, anyway.

I would know , they agree, infuriatingly calm. I’ve been tortured by Sith, and I’ve been a Sith. Seems like their methodology hasn’t changed much, over the centuries.  

Fox just grunts, slamming a hand against the lift’s control pad, directing it to take him down to the basement level. He’s starting to get shaky, and he knows that he doesn’t have much longer before the bloodloss catches up with him. He’d like to at least be sitting down when that happens. 

“What’s it gonna take to make you leave?” he demands. This is hardly the desired circumstance for either of them, after all.

I wish I knew, the voice says ruefully. Truthfully, I have no idea how that man even managed to dredge me up from my slumber to begin with. He didn’t strike me as particularly inspired, to be honest.

Fox snorts, unable to help himself.

“That’s one thing we can agree on,” he says.

Regardless of his Sith status, Palpatine is a politician through and through. Being on Coruscant has not given Fox much reason to be impressed by politicians. 

We might need to outsource, the voice suggests, and Fox holds back his immediate refusal, taking a deep breath as he allows them to continue. If my memory is correct, there is a Jedi Temple on Coruscant, is there not? Might be a good place to check.

“I’m Guard,” he grunts. “We’re not allowed within thirty yards of the Temple unless we’re on orders, or we’ve obtained a special mission permit. Senate mandate. Supposedly, it’s more important to keep the Jedi ‘Consultants’ and the military police separate than it is to have open communication between different facets of the damn army.”

Ah, politics, the voice observes, entirely too amused. Well, I’m sure we can find a way around that. I think I can still access my Force abilities, even using your body as a vessel.

Fox frowns, unease tingling up his spine. “Are you sure about that? The last thing I need is to get mind-whammied into a coma because you tried to use magic powers with my non-magic brain.”

It’ll be fine, they say in a cheerful tone. Probably, anyway.

“...Right. As you say, sir,” Fox says warily.

The voice laughs. It is not a warm or comforting thing – it’s a high-pitched giggle, reminding Fox exactly of what kind of ritual caused them to get stuck together like this.

Just trust me, Fox, they say. And please, call me Revan.

Chapter Text

“To be honest, Commander, I’m getting quite worried,” Palpatine sighed, folding his hands in front of him as he leaned forward against his desk. He stared up at Fox imploringly, brow wrinkling with concern. “You’ve been so… forgetful recently.”

Fox blinked rapidly, never so grateful to be wearing a helmet.

“I understand, sir.”

“Oh, please don’t take this as a reprimand,” Palpatine hurried to say, holding his hands up in surrender. “You do excellent work, as always. You’ve just been rather absentminded, and I was wondering if there was anything I could do to assist. Anything that’s within my powers, at least.”

He capped it off with a little chuckle, inviting Fox to share in the joke.

Haha. I’m the Chancellor. There’s nothing that is not within my power.

Haha.

What could Fox possibly say to that? 

‘Sir, we need more supplies. We need more men. We need more authority – real authority, something that will let us actually take action against those that seek to do us harm, rather than simply endure. Sir, we need help. Sir, we need a fucking break.’

And he knew what the Chancellor would say. He would hem and haw and talk about budgets and be so sympathetic, because he cares about his troops, he really does. 

Just not more than he cared about his own reputation, anyway. If the problem came down to ignoring the Guard or making an unpopular decision, Palpatine would chose to wave aside their concerns every time.

Fox didn’t even fault him for it, not really. As Supreme Chancellor, he had far more important things to worry about than the fate of some easily-replaceable troopers. 

He just wished that the man would stop asking about it, if he wasn’t going to do anything.

“I need some more sleep, sir, that’s all,” he said gruffly. “Not much to do about it right now.”

Festival season was upon them, which meant that Fox was working double time – his already packed schedule was bursting at the seams, and every time he turned around he seemed to be confronted with another drunk idiot ready to make a mess.

The Chancellor laughed, folding his hands together.

“Oh, indeed! Perhaps it would be best to lay off the midnight jaunts for a spell, Commander,” he joked.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

As if Fox hadn’t been held up for the last week and a half preparing for the damn midnight ball the Chancellor was planning –

Fox breathed in, and out. Whatever. As far as politicians went, Palpatine could certainly be worse. At least he never actively harmed anyone, even if his incompetence in certain matters was enough to make Fox tear his hair out.

“As you say, sir,” Fox bowed, and with Palpatine’s jolly dismissal, made a graceful exit.

Doesn’t matter how bad it is, he reminded himself. It can always be worse.

Chapter Text

Fox hit the door chime, waiting impatiently as the occupants of the room groaned and began to shuffle around, murmuring amongst themselves.

“ – too early – ”

“ – think he’ll notice the – ?”

“ – won’t know unless we try.”

Fox rolled his eyes. As far as inspections went, Fox was very generous. He gave them an ample amount of warning (three months ago, to be precise), and he even promised not to kill them for any contraband he found. Only light maiming.

Better that it was him than someone from a Senate commission, anyway. Those bastards not only reported everything as contraband, but they also took it away. Poor ‘42 had been crying for days after the last one, where someone had stolen their little homemade Massif doll. It didn’t matter how many times Fox appealed for their shit back, it never went anywhere.

So now, he taught them how to hide it better.

“I’m coming in,” he called out, and put in his override to unlock the door.

He heard a loud squawk from poor ‘20 as Bob shoved them aside, stuffing an old pillowcase in their arms as she crossed her arms and pretended to be looking studiously to the side. The rest of their squad was no better, all positioned around the bunkroom with the awkward posture of a vod who’d been caught with their pants down, whistling and upside-down newspaper included.

Honestly…

Fox sighed, rubbing at his face.

“What do you all have to say for yourselves?”

“Um…” Lookieloo began, blinking innocently. “We’ve missed you, sir.”

“I’m sure,” he said dryly. “Now, move out of the way. Can’t do an inspection if you’re bodily blocking off the area in need of inspection.”

“It’s just nice to spend time with you,” Bodyshop interjected hastily, giving ‘20 another little nudge behind his back. “We don’t get to do that too often, these days.”

Fox would not soften. He would not give in to their wily ways. That’s how the shinies win.

“We can all hold hands and sing around the campfire as soon as – “

“You wouldn’t mind if we all rest together, right?” Bob jumped in, making her own valiant attempt at pleading eyes. “Just for a little while.”

“We can make sure you’re comfortable,” Catto9 added. “Nightingale would be mad if we didn’t. But, I mean, we also want you to be safe, sir.” 

“It’ll be nice, sir,” ‘20 said quietly, finally emerging from behind the group to reveal their secret – a big pillow, freshly stuffed, to go along with the veritable fortress of a cozy den they’d created that Fox had been kindly ignoring. “I – I want to be close to you right now.”

And with that, Fox folded like a cheap suit.

“Just for one minute,” he grumbled, and the little idiots cheered, instantly dropping to cuddle in together. 

“It’s alright, sir,” Catto9 coaxed, scooting over to give Fox some more room on the pile of blankets and mattresses. “We’ll stand guard. You can relax.”

Fox grumbled, but allowed his eyes to slowly fall shut, settling into sleep. He could continue nagging them some other time. For now… It was nice to relax among his vod’e.

“...Do you really think he can hear us?”

“I know he can. So we gotta keep calling him, okay?”

“Yeah. We will.”

Chapter Text

Fox glanced over at his guest, thoughts turning thick and slow. Master Windu was frowning, lightly, but Fox knew him well enough to say that it wasn’t out of irritation.

Not that Fox would be able to do much about it if it was – his brain felt like it’d been dumped in a big vat, and he couldn’t connect it to the rest of his body.

In the medbay, everything seemed washed out, gray. Nightingale did her best, but nothing could fully erase the fact that this was a military base that had never been intended for use as a medical facility, and the spartan setup was just another example of that.

“You didn’t need to come here,” Fox said dully. 

If his head was in better shape, he’d be absolutely kicking himself for acting so cavalierly with a General of all people, but. It’s been a long day. A long war. Fox was fucking tired.

And Windu was a good commanding officer. A good man. Fox knew there was nothing to fear from him, not in this.

“Perhaps not,” Windu said quietly, deferential to the beeping machines that were still going on about them, troopers fighting for their lives while Fox just laid here and – “But I am happy to do so. I enjoy our talks, Commander. I see no need to reschedule our usual time simply because the location has changed.”

“Kind of you,” Fox said, and shifted to look up at the ceiling. “Can you tell me the date?”

He held his breath as Windu went through the routine, and blinked rapidly as he remembered that there was a routine, as Mace began to tell him about the weather outside, and the most recent antics in his little theater class.

The beeping that seemed to resound in his ears slowly faded away, echoing against the beating of his heart. When he breathed in, it came easy, and the air wasn’t stale the way it had felt mere moments ago.

The Jedi healers always had so many plants around. After breathing in Coruscant’s fog for so long, just walking in the healer’s wing of the Temple always managed to calm him down.

Fox swallowed heavily, blinking as Mace’s words came to a gentle lull, pausing when Fox turned to him.

“‘s everything okay? I didn’t scare anyone?”

Mace’s eyes softened, and he shook his head.

“No, Fox,” he replied, and reached out to squeeze Fox’s wrist reassuringly. “The children were concerned, certainly. But only for your health and safety. You did not frighten them.”

Fox nodded, letting the words sink in. “Okay… Okay. That’s good.”

He’d never thought about working with children before – he’d thought Coruscant and Kamino had beaten all that tenderness out of him. But he was good at it. And being there, helping the younglings research their projects and seeing all the passion and excitement they held?

It was worth it all. All the devastation and heartache he’d faced during the war – he could see, now, the true weight of everything he’d been fighting for. And he knew he would do it again, if he had to.

Fox wasn’t in a war anymore, though. He was a researcher, working in the Jedi Archives, and he had an appointment to keep.

“Don’t suppose you brought the tea with you?” Fox said, managing a smile, and Mace laughed.

“I’ll see what I can do, my friend.”

Chapter Text

Fox was determined not to open his eyes. The cloth draped across his forehead was now soggy and uncomfortable rather than soothingly cool, but he didn’t give a shit right now.

“ Dad would’ve let me do it,” Boba griped.

“Maybe he would,” Fox replied, and moved not one single inch from the refuge of his couch. “But I won’t.”

There were a lot of things that Fett would’ve been okay with that Fox had absolutely zero interest in, the main one being ‘allowing himself to be cloned in a secret government project’.

When the JEDI Association of Magic Users had found the base, they’d torn the whole thing down. No genetically engineered soldiers, and no war to put them in.

Fox had been nearly grown by then. Not an adult, but old enough that he saw how the tides were turning, and promptly picked a side. Besides – someone had to look after the donor’s kid, since the infant had seemed perfectly willing to get into all sorts of trouble before he could even crawl.

The biggest pain in the ass that Fett ever gave him was Boba, but Fox was willing to cut him some slack on that – Boba had been barely a year old by the time that Fett ‘mysteriously died’, so it wasn’t like the man knew that Boba would grow up to be an absolute menace.

The last time he’d said that to Thorn, complaining lightheartedly and hoping for some comradery in this trying time, his friend had laughed in his face and told him that Boba was exactly what he deserved.

“I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Boba tried, which was a new tactic, considering he’d previously been hyping this up as the biggest, most important thing to ever happen in all of existence. 

“If it’s not a big deal, then you won’t mind skipping it, will you?” Fox countered, and Boba groaned so loudly that Fox felt it vibrate in his chest.

“You’re killing me! You want me dead!” he complained, and Fox finally cracked one eye open, getting a prompt eyeful of Boba’s most venomous pout. No one does it like a nine-year old does it.

“Boba, if I wanted you dead, we would not be having this conversation,” he said exasperatedly. “It’s one theme park, Boba. You can wait until we all have time to go together, as a family. Not just you and your friends. How are you gonna get there, anyway? Walking?”

“We could take a bus,” Boba said mulishly, crossing his arms over his chest.

With what money? Fox wanted to ask, and refrained at the last moment. 

He sighed, propping himself up and ignoring the light that flickered at the edge of his vision, a tell-tale sign of an oncoming migraine.

“Look,” he said, attempting to be gentle. “It’s a little too early for me to be comfortable with you going out of the city without adult supervision. There’s still a lot of people out there who don’t want to see a vod around, and I don’t want you to be caught unawares. Does that make sense?”

Boba’s expression crumpled, and a deep, old grief stirred in Fox’s chest. How hard had he fought to get rights to Boba in the first place? To get rights for himself?

“But we can go together, can’t we?” he said, voice small.

Fox nodded, reaching out with one hand to pull Boba in, giving the kid a hug. “You, me, your friends, and one of the others, okay? Maybe Thorn, he’d like to visit a theme park, I bet.”

Boba sniffed, clinging tightly. “...Okay. Do you want me to go get your painkillers?”

Fox softened, giving him a kiss on the head. “Yeah, thanks bud. That’d be great.”

Watching Boba scurry off, he knew this – it wasn’t easy, but damn, it was worth it.

Chapter Text

Thorn stared blankly ahead. With his helmet under one arm, he knew that his hair was probably a mess. He didn’t have the energy to care about it.

He didn’t have the energy for much of anything right now. 

Neyo clapped him on the shoulder on his way out of the room, catching Thorn’s attention for just a moment. 

“He fought well,” Neyo said seriously. “And he died on his feet.”

Thorn nodded sharply, blinking rapidly to rid himself of the tears that were beginning to form, clinging to his eyelashes. If he spent all that time teasing Fox for being a crybaby, he had no right to start bawling now. 

“That’s all we can ask for,” he said hoarsely. 

It was completely inadequate for the storm of emotion that was currently wreaking havoc in his brain, but it was about as much as he could manage.

Clones didn’t get funerals. They didn’t get buried, or burned, or sent on in any possible way that they preferred.

Right now, Fox’s body was rotting, deserted, on a planet far away from here. Thorn would never, ever see him again.

It still hadn’t sunk in, not quite.

Neyo squeezed his shoulder once, hard, before letting go. He gave Thorn a quick salute, a sign of respect to the Guard’s new Marshal Commander, and headed off.

The actual ceremony was over. Palpatine had stood there and said all the right things. He spoke about Fox’s valor, and how much his expertise among the Guard would be missed. He gave Fox a coffin, laden with medals. It would be buried with honors, Fox’s resting place in spirit, if not in reality.

Just as there were troopers who grieved with Thorn, there were even more who resented it. Who asked what Fox had done, exactly, to earn a right that no others had. Even if Thorn wanted to explain it, he didn’t have the words.

The Chancellor had not done this out of mercy, or sympathy, or anything so kind. This was just another in a long list of ways that he had hurt Fox, isolated him, used him. For weeks, the newsreels will rave about how generous the Chancellor is, to care for even a clone.

And Thorn will be left with the aftermath.

Amidala is next. Her eyes are dry, just like his, but there is a deep sympathy within them. She has compassion for Thorn, for what he’s feeling right now, but she isn’t guilty. How could she be? Fox died doing exactly what he’d been made to do.

Saving the life of someone who stood above him simply by the privilege of their birth.

“You have my condolences, Commander,” Amidala said, holding out a hand.

Thorn shook it, stiffly. There was no other possible response.

“Glad you returned safe, Senator,” he said evenly.

She doesn’t quite wince, but Thorn can tell the temptation is there. 

Amidala swanned back onto Coruscant with nary a scratch, and Fox was dead.

Dead on a mission that Thorn should have taken.

He isn’t angry at Amidala, truth be told. He’s too busy being angry at himself.

Chapter Text

When Fox woke up, he was already bleeding, collapsed onto his hands and knees. Head spinning, he tried desperately to comprehend what had happened, what had shifted in the space between more moments ago and now.

He’d had the ship set on auto, right? He’d only needed a moment’s rest. Had his ship been hijacked, or gotten into a crash? Why hadn’t the alarms woken him?

…And why was he staring down at his own gloved hands, wearing some kind of plastoid armor?

“I hope you understand the consequences of your actions now, Commander,” a silky voice said above him, amused and arrogant. “You are no longer on Kamino. I will not show you such leniency again.”

…Kamino? What the fuck was this guy going on about? 

Last Fox had heard, that planet was a tourist trap that catered to those in search of an underwater experience. Some kind of high-class sushi destination. It wasn’t exactly to Fox’s tastes, so he’d never bothered to learn more.

Fox chanced a glance up, and there was an elderly man with a wrinkled, sneering face looking down at him, hands folded behind his back. If it was possible to have the opposite of laugh lines, that was the exact manner in which time had carved across this man’s face.

“See yourself out, Commander,” the old man said, turning away to sweep out the door with an imperious manner. “I have another meeting to attend to.”

The door slid shut, and Fox blinked.

Okay. Step one: assess.

He carefully pulled himself back onto his feet, fumbling with the helmet by his side.

Looking down, Fox caught his reflection in the visor, and – paused.

This… wasn’t him?

Well, it was, certainly. But it was a version of himself that seemed to have aged a decade, new stress lines decorating his skin, white woven through his hair.

Had he been thrown into the future, somehow? Force knows that stranger things had happened in this galaxy.

But, still, he couldn’t possibly imagine a future for himself in the military. He did good work with his little one-man shipping business, able to live freely on his own schedule and chasing his own desires. He’d seen planets the likes of which most could never imagine, the most beautiful and magnificent sights in the galaxy.

Fox couldn’t imagine giving that up for a job that left him looking like this, bruised face and bloody knuckles on a body that could barely stand, he was so exhausted.

The comm on his arm blinked, and Fox opened the message without thinking. It was a priority report, mentioning something about a ‘shiny’ in trouble, and a location. Well, he had some coordinates now, that was worth something.

He’d go check this out – someone being in trouble seemed like it was right up his wheelhouse. Just how many stupid smugglers and overconfident kids had he dragged out of the fire over all these years? Piece of cake.

And maybe, just maybe, he could get some answers at the same time.

Chapter Text

His vision flared white.

Fox breathed in, and he could hear the wet inhale, the stuttering in his chest. What was happening…? Why was he on the ground, suddenly? He’d been –

He’d been doing something. Something important.

(“Commander, if you want those worthless troopers of yours to have a chance to prove their competency, now is the time. Do not let me down.”)

“Commander!”

Someone was gripping his arm, trying to get his attention. Damn, couldn’t he have one moment of rest? Was that too much to ask for on this wretched planet?

“‘m ‘ere,” he managed to mumble out, the words thick and heavy in his mouth. It felt like he was trying to speak through a mouthful of cotton.

He could hear Cardy speaking rapidly into his comm, mentioning something about casualties – fuck, was someone hurt? Fox tried to force his limbs to move, but he felt like someone had filled his armor with lead.

Someone was yelling – something about a shield? A blaster?

“Stay awake, Commander!”

His helmet was ripped off with brutal force, and Fox groaned at the light that hit his eyes, trying not to squint as his headache ratcheted up another notch. 

“Medics are enroute! Someone get that bastard in cuffs!”

He could hear an angry voice – was that Skywalker? What was that bastard doing around here? Fox really needed to get up. It wasn’t safe to leave his men to the whims of a psychic warrior who spent far too much time cozying up with Palpatine.

The doors to the warehouse were slammed open, the forceful sound echoing through the floor and rattling Fox’s brain. He drifted, and by the time he’d managed to drag himself back into some semblance of awareness, someone was screaming.

“You think the MARSHAL COMMANDER OF THE GUARD is worth less than ONE ARC TROOPER?! FUCK YOU, MOVE!”

Fuck, somebody sure pissed Nightingale off. Fox had only seen that level of vitriol from her on their very worst nights, in private quarters. Never in public, not where someone else could see and report her. She always had to stay calm, always in control, because they had absolutely no one who could replace her skills if she was ever reprimanded.

Fox was damn grateful that he wasn’t the target of her ire.

He wasn’t… right? It was a bit hard to tell.

And then Fox choked, his body slammed against the ground with unbelievable force – and he could feel blood spilling out of his mouth, he must have bitten right through his lip, and –

And his vision was going dark and there was so much screaming –

Nightingale, don’t be angry, okay? I’ll help, I promise. Just… give me a minute to get back on my feet.

Chapter Text

“Fox, we didn’t know,” he whispered. “We really didn’t know.”

There had been some suspicions – but, for the most part, everything had been washed away with Fives’ death. His warnings were dismissed as the ramblings of a madman – or, to those who loved him, someone who was sick and afraid and needed help. And got shot for his troubles. 

It had been… hard to face Fox after that. 

Cody had done it, because he believed everyone deserved to be on the same page, and surely Fox would understand their grief and offer any information he could to alleviate it, but…

The man that Cody had seen that day – gray-haired and cold in that crowded, stuffy office, had not been the Fox that he remembered.

He’d been biting. Dismissive.

‘I don’t have the time to care about what happens to one trooper, Cody,’ he’d said. ‘Come back when you have something useful for me.’

Cody hadn’t reacted with anger, even though it simmered inside him, slow and maddening. He’d come here for an answer, and he’d gotten one. It was his own damn fault if he’d expected more of Fox than the man had been willing to give.

The whole farce had resulted in one thing, though. When the curtains had been pulled away over Palpatine’s deceit, the Republic at last made aware of the puppetmaster pulling all their strings, it had been… easy to look away, once people started pointing fingers.

Honestly, Cody couldn't imagine that Fox had much control over what happened on Coruscant, not directly under the traitor’s thumb, but he hadn’t spoken up about it, either.

Didn’t speak up when the voices got louder, angrier, demanded justice that Palpatine – dead and fully buried as he was – couldn’t answer for.

Fox, Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard, was the perfect target. And Cody didn’t say a damn word about it.

Not when Fox was marched away, forbidden from speaking with any of his former subordinates (his family, all the men who’d been there for his old friend when Cody had been unable to – unwilling to) and left to rot in a cold, dark cell.

Evidence was found to clear him. The chips, the truth of Fives’ words – reports from the rest of the Guard, spilling stories of atrocity after atrocity from their mouths, desperate and willing to do anything to help exonerate the man who’d sacrificed everything to protect them.

Cody had listened, then.

Too late.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized to the air. “I think I did know. I was just too much of a coward to admit it.”

The air was crisp and cool, as it was everywhere on the frozen planet where Fox had been jailed. By the time they got to him, there was barely anything left. Neglect had killed him. Maggots and vermin had done the rest.

None of the former Guardsmen had been allowed on this retrieval trip. Cody thought he’d be lucky to make it back to Coruscant without having an unfortunate ‘accident’ at this point.

That’s what had happened to Palpatine, after all.

Cody laughed, shaking, head in his hands.

There was no going back now. He was already too late.

Chapter Text

“You could have killed me,” Fox said, remarkably calm. Considering that he was still sopping wet, on the edge of a lake with Viktor knelt by his side, trying to get Fox’s prosthetic leg back in working condition, he felt that he was being quite generous in his attitude.

The vod at the front winced, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He was one of Rex’s, Fox believed – Jesse? Yeah, Jesse. 

“Sorry, sir,” Jesse apologized, and he did seem genuinely regretful, unlike the sniggering group of retrobates that were hiding behind him. “I didn’t realize there was a problem with your prosthetic. I should have told them to stop.”

“While I appreciate that, I hope you understand that isn’t the real issue,” Fox said, raising a brow. He’d heard all those whispers and laughs about getting him to ‘loosen up’. He wasn’t anywhere near comfortable enough with these troopers to require their help in that department. “The problem is that when I told you all to stop, you didn’t listen.”

“It was just a joke!” one of the others burst out, and was immediately hushed, Jesse clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“You’re right,” he said hastily. “I’ll inform Captain Rex of what happened. We’ll make sure this never happens again.”

Fox sighed, and held up a hand when Viktor bristled, preventing the hot-headed medic from saying something that he couldn’t take back.

“Talking to Rex is a good start, but this has to come from you,” Fox said bluntly. “We’re not a military force anymore. We’re all here on a goddamn vacation to begin with. If you need to rely on your former commanding officer to tell you what’s moral, we have a completely different problem on our hands.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” someone muttered mutinously, and this time, when Viktor got to his feet, Fox didn’t bother to hold him back. 

“Hey, hey, I completely understand where you’re coming from,” Viktor said, voice just a touch too sweet. “We’re all finally able to let loose, right?”

There was some uneasy shifting on the other side, and slow nods.

“Right!” Viktor clapped his hands together. “So, if I bind one of your legs to a tree branch and throw you in the lake, that’s fair game, right?”

Fox saw more than one face blanch.

“Uh…”

“Because we’re all just having fun here, right?” Viktor said slowly and deliberately. “It still won’t be as much of a deadweight as having a busted prosthetic like that. So actually, I’m being very generous, aren’t I?”

He took another step forward, entirely menacing, and Fox rolled his eyes as he grabbed Viktor’s own prosthetic leg, preventing him from continuing to advance on the troopers. He didn’t recognize most of them. Younger officers, feeling ballsy and adventurous, and a little too confident for their own good.

It happened. Better that it happen here than a battlefield, frankly.

“Don’t do it again,” Fox ordered, and received a series of hasty nods in return. “When someone says stop, you stop. Or I’ll let the medics have you.”

Viktor’s bright, cheery grin was warning enough.

Chapter Text

“I really do like you, Senator,” Fox says softly. “But this has gone beyond me. This is treason, sir.”

Amidala lifts her head, swallowing heavily. Her makeup is smeared, the most chaotic that Fox has ever seen it, and the skin visible underneath it is drawn and pale.

“Commander, it’s – we never intended any harm,” she says, voice choking up. “We’re in love. It’s not – we – even if the galaxy doesn’t accept it, we can’t change our feelings.”

She sounds… fragile. Not at all like the proud, uncompromising Senator that Fox has dealt with, day after day. All of this, for Skywalker? He couldn’t possibly be that good in bed.

Fox sighs, reaching up to take off his helmet. He rests his bucket against his knee, giving Amidala a sympathetic look.

“I understand that, Senator,” he says. “We all serve the Republic, but that doesn’t mean we receive fair treatment in return. Loving someone could never be a sin.”

Of course not. Fox loves his men, his vod’e, all the troopers he’s had to sacrifice for a war that's eating this planet from the inside out.

That’s why he’s doing this, after all. He understands.

Amidala blinks rapidly, and manages a shaky smile. “Thank you, Commander. But I know your position. What… What measures should I expect, if I may ask?”

This is the moment.

Fox bites his lower lip, letting his gaze dart away for just a split-second.

“Well, to be honest, Senator… I haven’t reported it yet.”

Of course he hasn’t. He’s not stupid. The Chancellor will shut down anything negative about his darling little prodigy before it has the chance to make a fuss, and Fox can hardly send this information to the Jedi. The best they could do with it is expel Skywalker from the Order, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t stay in charge of his own legion – now pissed, and fully in the Chancellor’s hands.

No, that wouldn’t help. Fox has other plans.

As expected, Amidala perks up, just a little.

“You haven’t?” she breathes out. “Oh, Commander…”

She thinks that he empathizes with them. With the treason they’ve committed. As if true love was ever enough to wave away trading General Grievous for Skywalker, letting him run free to kill more of Fox’s vod’e.

As if the betrayal of Skywalker’s vows – the innumerable petty cruelties he inflicts on those around them – are a simple matter, easily pushed aside. 

Fox takes one step closer, and holds out a hand. Amidala takes it, squeezing gently. She’s looking up at him with such hope.

“I want to help you, Senator,” he says quietly. “But it would be a huge risk for me. And right now… I just don’t know if I could afford that. The Guard is stretched thin as it is.”

Amidala frowns, compassion lighting up her face. “Could you speak on that with more detail? Perhaps there is something I can do to help lessen that burden.”

Yes, there certainly is. And Fox will help her remember that, over and over again, for as many times as it takes.

Amidala owes him now, after all. Regardless of whether or not she recognizes it.

Chapter Text

“Fox.”

A hand brushed against his cheek, and Fox tensed instinctively before the voice caught up with him – Wolffe’s rough timber, recognizable despite all the time and distance between them.

“Mrm?” Fox mumbled, indistinct, blinking up at him. “W’as wrong?”

He’d forgotten that he’d spent the night in Wolffe’s quarters, the two finally setting some time aside to catch up after the official end to the war. Even with treaties finally going into effect, they’d both been busy with their respective duties, and it was only recently that there’d been any time to breathe.

“You were crying in your sleep,” Wolffe whispered. “Not – Not thrashing around or anything, but. I didn’t know if you were having a nightmare, so I just…”

He trailed off, shifting to remove his hand, and Fox reached up to catch it, giving Wolffe a sleepy smile.

“S’alright, thanks for waking me up,” he said, and used his grip on Wolffe to pull himself up, shifting in bed to face his vod properly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He used his other hand to wipe at his face, scrubbing away the drying tear tracks.

Wolffe shrugged, a little uncomfortable. “I wasn’t asleep.”

Ah.

Fox didn’t remember his dream, or what could have been happening to cause his tears, but Wolffe clearly wasn’t having a great night.

“Bad dream?” he said lowly, moving closer. He released Wolffe’s hand, but quickly nestled into the open space by his side, firmly wedging himself between Wolffe and the door. 

It really was like being on Kamino all over again – the good parts of it, as fragile and small as those had been. 

“Always,” Wolffe laughed, darkly amused, before looking up at the ceiling. “Don’t… don’t worry about it. I’m just not used to being on my own. It’s a lot quieter now.”

“It’s only quiet because your pair of idiots is away,” Fox said, rolling his eyes. He snuggled closer, instinctively. With Sinker and Boost off-planet, Fox had invited himself over without bothering to be polite about it. “Soon enough, you’ll be begging for some silence.”

“Not like you’re helping with that much,” Wolffe griped, squishing his face against Fox’s gray-streaked curls. “Don’t know why I bother to keep you around.”

“My charming personality?” Fox offered. “My ability to wake you up in the middle of the night with my silent, manly tears?”

Wolffe huffed out a tiny laugh. “Yeah, that must be it. Can’t think of any other reason, after all.”

Fox let out a sound of protest, but continued to card his hand through Wolffe’s hair, transitioning into a sort of luxurious petting. These quiet moments had been rare during the war. He’d almost forgotten that he missed them.

“Thank you,” Wolffe mumbled, nearly silent. “For staying with me, I mean.”

“Well, lucky for you, I have some free time on my hands,” Fox said indulgently. “Sleep. We can kill each other in the morning.”

Wolffe snorted. “Promise?”

Fox grinned. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

When Fox neared his front step, head down as he dug through his bag looking for his keycard, he nearly missed the figure that was already standing there. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a blurry individual and lifted his head, ready to greet a neighbor that was out having a smoke, or had gotten locked out of their apartment, only to stop dead at what greeted him instead.

Standing there, sheepish, Rex raised one hand in a little wave.

“Hey, Fox,” he said, eyes darting to the side, already looking uncomfortable with whatever expression was on Fox’s face. “Uh, long time no see.”

Fox nearly bit through his tongue with the effort it took to hold back his first response, and instead he slowly pulled his hand out of his bag, crossing his arms over his chest.

“How did you know where I live?” he said evenly.

Rex winced. “It was, uh, Thire. He mentioned that he saw you nearby when he was at the cafe down the street, and then, uh. Things kinda… dissolved.”

“Dissolved,” Fox repeated. “How?”

He hadn’t thought it would be particularly noteworthy to anyone if they managed to catch a fucking glimpse of him out of the corner of their eye. What, was he expected to sequester himself away in some kind of cave? Live in the fucking sewer, like a rat?

Rex rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, grimacing. “Well, Cody caught wind of it, and you know how he gets. I figured it would be a good idea to warn you before the masses descended.”

Fox liked to think that he hadn’t always had a temper. He’d been known for staying calm and collected during his training on Kamino, and his time on Geonosis. That’s how he’d landed his position as head of the Coruscant Guard, after all.

But damn if his mental state the past few years wasn’t trying to prove him wrong. 

“Why would anyone want to see me?” he said harshly, stepping past Rex to open the main door, grabbing his keycard. “I thought our last meeting was very clear.”

Yeah. That meeting when they’d kindly informed Fox that he wouldn’t be charged with war crimes, thanks to ‘extenuating circumstances’ of being tortured by a Sith, but he wouldn't be welcome in any of the vod’e spaces that were being built after the war. 

Apparently it didn’t matter how hard Fox had worked to keep all those ungrateful bastards alive – the fact that he’d done it while obeying the whims of a monster was enough to condemn him.

It shouldn’t have hurt the way it did – Fox had never been very close to the other troopers he served alongside, courtesy of that aforementioned monster, but still. It had hit him in an unexpected, entirely too painful way. 

Rex had the nerve to look surprised at Fox’s anger, and his brow furrowed.

“I mean, things were… bad, right after the war. But that was a long time ago. We’ve all had some time to cool down and get some clarity. We’ve forgiven you, Fox. Is it so strange that we would want to see you again?”

Fox stilled.

“...Forgiven. You forgive me?” he said slowly.

Rex nodded, slow, hesitant.

Fox smiled. It must have reflected the truth behind the emotions roiling in his mind, because Rex flinched, backing away.

“I don’t need your forgiveness,” he said, clear and concise. “And if any of you come to my fucking home, I’ll get a restraining order.”

And he slammed the door in Rex’s face.

Chapter Text

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you stopped disappointing me,” the Chancellor sighs.

The sound is thin and wavy – Fox can barely hear it over the pounding of his heart, pulse thudding in his chest like it’s a physical weight. He’s on his knees, bent over and completely still. He couldn’t move if he wanted to; every muscle in his body has locked up, keeping him trapped in place.

He wants to speak, but his mouth won’t move – and it’s filling with blood from where he’d bitten into his cheek, caught off-guard by the Chancellor’s sudden wrath.

There’s no rhyme or reason for these things. Fox doesn’t even know what he fucked up this time – as his direct supervisor is happy to remind him, Fox doesn’t need a reason to be disciplined. He only needs to obey.

The lightning tapers off, and Fox can still smell that ozone in the air, feel the tingle along his skin.

His muscles feel like they’re about to dissolve – he’s shaking suddenly, body feeling liable to collapse from the abuse he’s put it through.

“Now get up,” Chancellor Palpatine says. 

It’s a simple order, but still, Fox struggles.

His armor does nothing to protect him in this, but at least it offers some kind of brace, allowing him to prop himself up as he drags himself back to attention.

When he’s finally standing in front of the Chancellor again, hand held up in a trembling salute, Palpatine smiles.

It’s soft and approving. Like Fox has finally done something right, after great effort was expended to correct his behavior.

It’s the kind of look Hound gives a new massif, and Fox hates that he can see the connection. There is a collar around his neck, and the Chancellor is the one who holds the leash.

“Good, Commander,” Palaptine says simply. He folds his hands in front of him, leaning on his desk. “And in the future, we’ll know better, won’t we?”

“Yessir,” Fox says through gritted teeth. He’s trying not to spit out the blood pooling on his tongue, and he knows that it’ll take more than one scrubbing to rid his helmet of the smell.

“You’re dismissed,” the Chancellor says, and pulls out a datapad from the drawer in his desk, suddenly and pointedly disinterested. “And do remember to be quiet in the halls. Our esteemed Senators have a great deal of work to do, and they mustn't be disturbed.”

“Yessir,” Fox repeats, finishing the salute and walking out on stiff, aching legs before the Chancellor can change his mind.

It’s the middle of the day. There’s nothing special about it. All around him are offices, carefully maintained and kept safe by his men, who flow around him as he walks through the Senate halls.

Like him, the rest of the Guard also keep to a pattern. They are seen, not heard. 

It’s not enough to save them, of course. It never is.

But for now, Fox allows himself to bask in the anonymity, letting a nearby squad absorb him into their formation without a passing word. 

If they guide him towards the center, careful not to jostle his aching limbs, keeping his limping gait from being noticeable to the outside eye…

Fox can only be grateful. He may never be able to repay that care, but he’ll keep on fighting. At least, for as long as his body lets him.

Chapter Text

Fox worked his jaw, staring down at his meal with distant eyes.

It was easier when everything was just ration bars. That shit was so vile that it barely even counted as food, and Fox was able to choke it down without much issue. 

Something like this – with its colors and smells and just. Ugh. It was too much.

Fox moved his fork around on the plate, and wondered how polite it would be to sneak out before the second course was served.

Someone nudged his elbow, and he barely refrained from flinching. Turning a scowl on the perpetrator, Vos only laughed.

“Not to your taste?” he said, motioning to the plate – though he at least had the decency to be discrete about it.

Fox shrugged.

His time as a Separatist prisoner had forced a great deal of indignities upon him. The food – the method of delivering it to him… had been a lesser one, truth be told. But it had still left its mark on him, even now, months out from his release.

It wasn’t like they’d served him anything near as fancy as this, Senate galas being what they were, but… It wasn’t rations. That’s what always stuck out to him. He’d been eating rations his entire life, after all, carefully calculated for the perfect calorie intake.

The slop they’d given him, the way they’d – they had – like he was an animal –

“Fox?”

Fox breathed in, discreetly relaxing his grip on his fork. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, not daring to take another look at Vos and see the concern that would dart across his face.

He was used to being dehumanized. That’s just what existence was like, as a clone. Not human enough to be worthy of a grave, but just human enough that they were better than droids. 

…Maybe the difference was that, at least to the Kaminoans and the Senators on Coruscant, he’d been useful. No one had given a shit about him as a prisoner. Regardless of his rank or expertise, he’d been as worthless as any other body on the pile.

Fox… didn’t like to think about that.

He blinked. The food on his plate had been shifted around, but not a speck of it had touched his lips. He could hear the speaker at the front of the table, going on and on about something or other, so Fox still had some time, but eventually, someone would notice his preoccupation, and then there would be questions and just. Ugh.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fox saw Vos’ hand move, just briefly, and by the next time Fox blinked, his plate had changed.

Glancing at Vos, who now had a full plate of food that he was happily demolishing, Fox let out a shaky breath.

He nudged his foot against Vos’ in thanks, and took the pleased hum the man let out as a reply.

He’d be okay again, someday. But today, he would just be grateful for the help.

Chapter Text

“You’re such a fucking bore, you know that?” Aniti snarled, yanking his helmet off to glare at Jonah. Jonah flinched, eyes burning as he looked down at the ground, shoulders hunching. “If you’re going to be annoying on top of being useless, what’s even the point? Might as well just – ”

“Why’re you yelling?” a new voice interrupted, tinged with a mixture of boredom and irritation. “Some of us are trying to actually decompress, you know.”

“Stay out of this, ‘10!” Aniti snapped, throwing the other cadet a truly poisonous glare.

‘10 – Fox, Jonah reminded himself, raised a brow, expression rapidly cooling.

Gati tugged Aniti’s sleeve nervously. “Come on, it’s not worth it.”

Gati was from the first ‘10 generation, just like Fox and Jonah. He knew perfectly well just how nasty Fox’s temper could get when he was properly provoked.

“We’re fine,” Jonah blurted out, and shifted, uneasy, when the attention returned to him. “Sorry to um. Disturb you. We’re fine.”

Maybe if he repeated it enough, it would actually be true. Though, by the disgusted huff Aniti let out, that didn’t seem to be happening any time soon. 

“You keep quiet,” he said dangerously. “Since you don’t have anything useful to say.”

Fox’s eyes narrowed, and Jonah winced.

“You’re his squadmate, aren’t you?” Fox said, crossing his arms over his chest. “If he’s not keeping up, isn’t that a reflection of your lack of skill?”

The temperature in the room went arctic, and Jonah swallowed heavily.

“Excuse me?” Antili said softly. It wasn’t a question, not really.

Fox tilted his head to the side, unapologetic. “Did I stutter? When a squadmate is falling behind, it’s your job to help them catch up. We all support each other. That's the point. If things have devolved so much that you’re this frustrated, you must be a shit teammate.”

Antili shouted, an inarticulate burst of anger, and surged forward, fist raised.

Jonah caught his wrist, halting him in place before this could go any further. Squabbles between cadets were perfectly fine, but the second it actually turned to violence, a trainer would get involved. No one wanted that, especially Jonah, underperforming as he was.

He wrenched Antili towards him, keeping his body between his squadmate and Fox. Looking over his shoulder, he gave Fox an apologetic look.

“Sorry again for the disturbance,” he said quietly. “We’ll move this back to the barracks.”

Fox nodded once, sharply, before turning away.

Jonah wasn’t sure why Fox had decided to interfere. 1010 and 1069 – their batches had been close, but not that close. 

Still, he appreciated it. And returning peace to the common area was as obvious as he dared to be in that gratitude.

“C’mon,” he muttered to his still struggling squadmate, ignoring the curses spilling out of Antili’s mouth. “Let’s go.”

Gati trailed behind them, the rest of their squad already long deserted them.

Jonah would face consequences for this, certainly. But… he would remember that kindness, small as it was.

It was about as much kindness as Kamino allowed them, after all.

Chapter Text

Fox clawed at his throat, choking, trying desperately to drag in more air.

Before him, standing nonchalantly with one hand behind his back and the other held aloft in the air, the Chancellor watched Fox with a distinct pity in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you simply followed orders,” he sighed, shaking his head. Fox’s vision was turning gray, but he could still see every move the man made, like it was burned into his eyeballs. “Truly, Commander, I wish you didn’t make things so difficult for me.”

“S’rry,” Fox managed to grunt out.

If he didn’t say anything, or tried to simply endure the pain, Palpatine would only strangle him until he passed out. Fox had learned that lesson quick.

Sure enough, as soon as the stilted, half-choked words escaped his lips, Fox was dropped onto the ground, landing on all fours as he hacked and wheezed, trying to clear his lungs.

Next to Palpatine, standing rigidly and staring straight ahead, Rex swallowed heavily. He did not move.

“Get up, Commander,” Palpatine ordered softly. Fox obeyed, pushing past the ache in his shaking limbs. “Now, what did you do wrong?”

Fox bowed his head, making a show of his subservience. “I questioned your will, my lord. I presumed to know better, despite my ignorance.”

“Indeed,” Palpatine murmured. He placed a hand on Rex’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. The fabric of Rex’s dress uniform crinkled under his grip. “And what do you have to say to our guest?”

Fox bowed to Rex, to the vod on Kamino that he’d once taught how to dual wield pistols.

“I apologize for my misstep. Please, tell me what I can do to make up for this error in judgment.”

Palpatine turned to look at Rex finally, his typical grandfatherly smile affixed in place. 

“Well, Captain? Will you forgive him?”

Rex twitched, finally returning to life – a marionette directed on a stage. 

“Sir, I’m unaware of what disciplinary measures would be acceptable within the premises,” he said woodenly. He was still staring somewhere above Fox’s head. “What would you suggest?”

Palpatine’s smile thinned, but he said nothing more to Rex on the matter, simply turning back to Fox with a raised brow.

“The good Captain is looking for a recommendation, Commander. As he is a guest with us today, so kindly loaned from Anakin, we must show him our best selves. Would you care to detail the appropriate punishment for your actions?”

Fox managed to get one hand up in a salute, bound to protocol even with his limbs shaking.

“A step above standard disciplinary measures would be necessary in this case, sir,” he said. “Several retraining sessions with the Red Guard, half-rations, and reduced leave would be a good start, sir.”

Rex twitched under Palpatine’s hand. The Chancellor didn’t react to his movement, only smiling at Fox.

“Yes, a decent start. But we must not only punish, Commander. We must also provide guidance. And I believe that some time in solitary would do you some good, after the stunt you pulled today.”

“Yes, sir,” Fox bowed at the waist, staring down at Rex’s boots. “I will report promptly.”

Whatever. It didn’t matter. His shinies were out of danger, and Rex hadn’t even seen anything too humiliating.

All Fox had to do now was endure.

Chapter Text

Of all the indignities that Fox had dealt with throughout his life, this was possibly the worst.

He mewled, squirming when the civilian tried to pick him up under his front legs, letting his back legs dangle towards the floor.

Unsafe!! Not secure!! He didn’t need tooka instincts to tell him that, though they certainly helped.

“Aw, buddy,” his kidnapper cooed. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Oh, you’re a tiny thing. And your fur is all matted! Someone hasn’t been very kind to you, huh?”

Fox tried to snort in disdain, but it came out as a little sneeze, which – to his abject horror – only prompted more cooing as the civilian cradled him against their chest.

He had to get out of here. Any longer and they’d be trying to pet him and feed him and just – ugh! Despite every attempt that had been made to delegitimize the clones’ personhood, Fox was a fully-grown man, thank you very much. Whatever cosmic wrath he’d incurred to face this was punishing indeed. 

Fox squirmed again, trying to sink his claws into their hands – not enough just to draw blood, just enough to make them let go, but it seemed like this one was more crafty than he’d expected, because before he could even blink, they’d managed to bundle him up securely in one of their head-wraps, pulling it free from their lekku without a second thought.

He cried out, indignant at this new restraint. 

Treason!! Treachery against the Guard!!

“It’s okay, little guy,” they soothed. “I’ll take you to someone who can help you out with all those nasty tangles, okay? Get you some nice food, too. Might have to be formula – gosh, you’re so small.”

Noooooooo!! This was his worst nightmare!!

Fox languished in despair as the traitor brought him onto public transit, where even more civilians were able to coo over him and try to pet him and offer advice – Fox didn’t need advice! He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much!

Just because he’d fallen into a cardboard box in an alleyway and been unable to claw his way back up the sides didn’t mean he was helpless! He had a plan! If this wretch hadn’t dared to reach in and snatch him out of there, he would have already chewed his way to freedom!

Soon enough, he was off of the speeder bus and now trapped in yet another building – an office waiting room, it looked like. It was a little hard to peek his head out through his current binds, and, well. He was getting a bit sleepy. It really wasn’t his fault, though. Who knew the repetitive rocking motion of the bus would be enough to lull him into slumber?

No one had ever… No one had ever held him like this before. He hadn’t realized just how easy it was to surrender to something like this… What a dangerous weapon.

“Is this the little guy?”

“Yeah, poor thing seems like it was abandoned. Not in great shape, either. I have some suspicions that I’m gonna have to follow up on.”

“Mhm. And while you do that, we can make sure our new friend here makes a full recovery!”

“Absolutely. No one deserves to be treated like that.”

Not even a clone? Fox thought, before he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

“It’s like you don’t care at all.”

Fox stood there, face blank, accepting the accusation without comment. Another trooper quickly hustled the crying vod away, but Fox didn’t turn to watch them leave. He leaned against the fence, instead, looking up at the memorial statue.

It was a trooper, in plain armor – not saluting, not standing at attention, not faceless among many. The statue had him sitting down in a field of carefully maintained flowers, staring at the helmet that sat in his lap. It clearly wasn’t his own helmet – the stone was deliberately weathered, chipped and worn, while the trooper’s armor was pristine. There was a smile on the trooper’s face – faint but fond, with the tiniest hint of grief. 

A small plaque adored the bottom of the display – “The Long March Has Ended.”

As far as memorials go, it was a nice gesture.

Fox had fought hard to even get the idea of a memorial for the clones onto the Senate floor, and there’d been nearly six months of debate on it before they’d finally relented and let it go forward. Because god forbid those bastards have to spend money on something after ‘investing’ so much in the clones to begin with.

A lot of things had changed with the Chancellor’s sudden heart attack and the resulting peace treaty. Blind greed, unfortunately, was not one of them. 

But this proved, too, that it could be pushed back on. Fox could force change through, if he rallied hard enough. 

It’s what he’d spent almost all his time on Coruscant doing, after all. It was finally beginning to show some results.

There’d been debate too, among the clones, of what the memorial should look like, what it should say, all of that. Fox hadn’t been involved in much of that, since he hadn’t wanted to influence any decisions. He’d be the one presenting the final concept to the Senate, and hadn’t wanted to be accused of any favoritism on which design was picked.

He was grateful that Stone had managed to subtly nudge out any reference to the Jedi, however. He had nothing against them, and hadn’t blamed any of the brothers that wanted a reference to their beloved General (or simply the Force) included in the memorial, but Fox knew plenty of clones who would’ve hated the inclusion, some of his fallen Guards included. 

At least this way, the memorial for the lost troopers would only have representation from the troopers. It had gone better on selling it to the public and the Senate, too, who wanted little reminder of the Jedi who had kindly refrained from saying ‘I told you so’ when the war was revealed to be a giant, two-headed scam.

Fox had pushed it through, as stubborn and unrelenting as always. He’d spent hours upon hours pacing his tiny apartment, practicing his speech and ensuring every legal argument was airtight.

As a result, however, he hadn’t been publicly involved with anything on the Clone side of things. This was the first time he’d seen the memorial in-person, actually. The unveiling ceremony had been yesterday, but he’d been fielding a dozen phone calls from complaints about the diverting of traffic, possible terrorist threats, and every other issue under the sun.

Fox was exhausted, worn thin, and missing his lost men (missing Thorn ) like an open wound.

But he hadn’t looked sad, and that was enough to have his status as a ‘Homefront Commander’ thrown in his face, used as a weapon against him in the same damn way a natborn would, latching onto anything that could be used to discredit him, dehumanize him.

Fox hadn’t shed a single tear in his entire life. That was how he’d always been, though. 

If there’s nothing to be done, he might as well move on. And if something could be done, he would damn well see it through.

Fox pushed off the fence, taking one last look at the memorial. It cast a deep shadow in the afternoon sun, and the scent of flowers in the air settled that last bit of uneasiness in his stomach.

He turned, and marched away.

Chapter Text

“Leave me be,” Fox said wearily. He didn’t bother to look over his shoulder – only one person would bother to barge into his tent at this time of night.

He was awake, of course, bent over the tiny portable desk he’d managed to drag down from the ship, pouring over the battleplans for tomorrow as he tried to figure out what he could possibly salvage. 

Parasite snorted and kept going anyway, just as Fox knew he would.

“You never came to the medtent,” he said, irritation coating his words. “This is a wellness check.”

Fox sighed.

He wanted to say don’t you have anything better to do? but the truth was, Parasite did have better things to be doing. Plenty of them, in fact. It wasn’t like there was ever a shortage of injuries in need of tending in the 119th.

Parasite was here because he worried, despite his abrasive demeanor. Fox didn’t want to put any more of a burden on the medic’s shoulders, considering the amount of stress they were already under.

“It’s not anything serious,” he commented lightly, turning around to face him. “I would have come to see you if it was.”

Parasite rolled his eyes, dropping to his knees in front of Fox as he dug through the medkit at his side.

“That’s what the Captain says,” he retorted. “And whenever I finally get my hands on him, he’s always a hairsbreadth away from death.”

An exaggeration, but not a massive one. Fox pursed his lips, that old frustration coursing through him.

Everyone suffered under General Krell – from the most experienced Commander to the shiniest of Privates – but Captain Harbor had the ‘fortune’ of being the General’s favorite.

From the first moment that he had been reassigned here, thrown to the dogs after displeasing the Chancellor, Fox had seen the signs. Krell was cruel and manipulative in a casual, easy way – he wasn’t a man who truly luxuriated in the pain he caused, because he hardly noticed it at all. 

His fascination with Harbor came from that same place of privileged arrogance; he liked being looked up to, obeyed, and Harbor did all of that and more without complaint. 

Not out of any great affection for the bastard, of course. The rest of the 119th were hostages in this great play – and Harbor was the human shield that kept the General’s more personal attention far away from them.

“I know that I haven’t exactly proven it so far, but I am planning to do something about that,” Fox said. If he was going to be the new Commander of this battalion, bastard General or not, he refused to let anything happen to the men under his watch. “Captain Harbor has worked extremely hard, and I aim to repay it.”

Parasite paused, for just a moment.

“...When you joined the 119th, sir, you became one of us,” he said slowly. “No one doubts you. We want you to be safe. Both of you.”

Fox nodded, letting out a deep breath.

This wouldn’t be easy, but it was something that had to be done. All this time in Coruscant’s underbelly had to be worth something, after all.

Chapter Text

Fox tipped his head forward, cupping his bleeding nose with one hand.

“Shit… that’s one hell of a right hook on you, kid,” he said, despairing of the nasally tone that his voice had taken on.

“I’m so sorry!” the youngling wailed, wringing their hands together. “It was just - just instinct!”

Which, yeah. Understandable. They’re in a war, and Fox is a soldier — has been surrounded by soldiers his entire life. He was hardly angry about a perfectly natural reaction.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, amused despite himself at their frantic look. “Is your Master around?”

It was unusual for Padawans to be so far away from the Temple, especially unsupervised.

The Padawan froze, expression inching towards caught. “Well, I, um.”

They hesitated for a split-second longer, probably wondering just what level of lie they would be able to get away with, before they threw all caution to the wind and decided to just go wild.

“Master? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” they declared, hands on their hips. “I’m just, uh, a simple schoolchild. No need to pay me any mind!”

“Oh, is that all,” he deadpanned. As if he couldn’t recognize a Padawan braid from a mile away. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to detain you, then.”

They blanched. “What?”

“Truancy.” Fox raised a brow. “A ‘simple schoolchild’ should be in school right about now, isn’t that right?”

“Well, um,” they were properly sweating now, eyes darting around wildly as they scrambled for an excuse.

“Padawan Rev.”

Even Fox jumped at that, not to mention the way the youngling – Rev? – yelped and spun around, instantly pointing an accusing finger

“I told you to stop doing that!” they admonished.

The one responsible only snickered. It was an alien, big and round, of a purple-ish shade of blue, with little lopsided wings that remained perfectly still even as it drifted gently through the air. It turned to Fox, small pink mouth (was it a snout? what was the proper terminology here?) turned up in a smile.

“Marshal Commander Fox, yes?” the large.. floating orb(??) said, tilting towards him in what he could only assume was meant as a bow. “Thank you for looking after my troublemaker.”

“Master!” Rev whined, face flushing.

Oh. So that was a Jedi.

The Jedi laughed, whole body vibrating with the force of it, and patted Rev’s head with one of its little stubby limbs. 

“Come along now. We’ve taken up enough of the good Commander’s time, I believe.”

“It was no problem,” Fox said gruffly, finally shaking himself back into awareness. “Just… be more careful, kid. The next person you punch may not be an undercover trooper.”

Though it was nice to know his plainclothes attire had been enough to catch even a Jedi off-guard.

Rev’s embarrassment redoubled, and they swatted at their Master’s giggling amusement, who responded by levitating the Padawan with the Force and beginning to drift away.

“Master! Not in front of the Commander, please!”

“Oh, is my shameless Padawan finally experiencing some regret? Perish the thought.”

“Master!”

They bickered lightheartedly all the way until they were out of view, and Fox had to stand there for a moment to take it in. How dark had Coruscant seemed, these days? 

It couldn’t be that bad, if there were people like that living on it.

Fox blinked, shaking his head. 

“Guess there’s all types in this galaxy,” he mused, and – heart feeling just the tiniest bit lighter than before – started heading back to base. 

Chapter Text

“Life’s a lot easier when you don’t have to think about anything, huh?” Fox said, tone light.

The creature – looks like it used to be one of the Aides from Mon Calamari originally, that’s a damn shame – only snarled, a wet tentacle smacking near the ground by Fox’s feet. Pinned as it was under the rubble, it couldn’t get any closer, but Fox shot it anyway, just in case.

“This is what I get for taking the day off,” he complained, continuing to pick his way through the remains of his boss’ secret Sith lair. “Look away for one second and the whole place goes to shit.”

He hadn’t actually been on vacation, of course – he didn’t get paid, and there was no such thing as ‘accrued hours’ for clones. And being on Coruscant, he didn’t even get to take leave, since that was a courtesy extended only to those that were stuck with extended travel times, like the outer battalions. 

None of that explained why he was here, of course, rather than snuggled up in his bunk at the Guard barracks, sleeping the day away like he’d intended. 

As it turned out, having the Senate collapse in on itself when your evil boss’ experiments all start busting out of their cells is definitely one way to ensure that you don’t get a full night’s rest.

Fox had tried really really hard to pawn this one off on CorSec – he figured it was the least he was owed, after how many cases they’d shoved at the Guard over the years (as if they were trained investigators – like, hello??), but no dice. Instead they’d all just screamed and cried and tried to flee the planet, which Fox thought was a little bit of an exaggerated response. 

Sure, the whole situation was unpleasant to say the least, but the creatures really weren’t any more dangerous than the ghouls in the lower levels, and considering that Fox had been expected to deal with those bastards from day one without any knowledge or backup, he thought the CSF could stand to be a little more proactive about these things. 

“Should I be getting overtime for this?” he mused aloud. “This seems to be out of the bounds of my described position.”

Of course, that position seemed to mainly boil down to ‘do whatever the Chancellor tells you’, but considering how that was turning out right now, Fox wasn’t very impressed. 

He’d managed to get the rest of the Guard put on evacuation duty, but now it was his unfortunate duty to go digging around the scene, looking to see if the Chancellor(‘s body, hopefully) was anywhere to be found.

Frankly, Fox didn’t have much hope in that regard, and he was really anticipating that new power vacuum. Whoever replaced the Chancellor wouldn’t know the rules yet, after all, and Fox might just be able to snag a deal for himself before the dust all settles.

In the end, Fox was more than happy to be leisurely with his pace going through this place. This was supposed to be his day off, after all.

He might as well find some reason to enjoy it.

Chapter Text

“I think Senator Ooma is cheating on her wife,” Cardy reported with great relish, lips curved up into an evil little grin. “I went in to inspect her office earlier and she was getting awfully close to the third floor secretary. I mean, what reason would she have to be in the Senator’s office, anyway? Delivering flimsiwork? That’s what the aides are for. This is a conspiracy, I’m telling you!”

“That’s nice,” Fox mumbled absently, squinting down at his datapad. Was that a four, or a two? God, Deadshot’s penmanship was terrible. Why couldn’t he just transcribe his reports like a normal person, instead of taking holos of them and sending that instead? “That’s the one with the awful taste in pets, right?”

“Close!” Cardy said cheerfully. “Senator Wyvie is the next office over. And no, despite our best efforts, we have not been able to convince them to leave their giant lizards in the Senatorial apartments. I think they just like watching Senator Chaney scream and cry and threaten to call the exterminator, honestly. I’ve noticed that they always leave the door open right around when Senator Chaney always goes to pick up lunch.”

“Charming,” Fox snorted. “Good to know the office drama is as consistent as always.”

He appreciated the reports, even if they were rarely useful, in the strictest sense. Fox, himself, wasn’t allowed to work in the Senate anymore. He’d pulled himself off duty when it became clear that his memory issues were getting worse, not better. 

As much as he despised feeling useless, he would be more helpful for everyone if he wasn’t in full view of the Senators at all times, ready to make a mistake at any moment. He was still tapped for escort duty, but that was with a whole squad to watch his back. Senate patrols were often done individually, and he would almost certainly manage to fuk something up. 

A bitter pill to swallow, but Fox had never been afraid of the truth.

Cardy seemed to sense the downspiraling of his thoughts, because he cleared his throat, clearly jumping straight into the ‘distraction’ part of the playbook for keeping an eye on Fox that they all thought he had no idea about.

His brain may be leaking like a sieve, but that hardly meant he was stupid, thank you very much.

“Hey, sir?” 

Fox breathed out through his nose.

“Yes, Cardy?” he said, as patiently as he could.

“If I died, would you eat my body?” 

Fox stopped dead, and turned to look directly at Cardy, who blinked innocently at him. 

“What? It’s a simple question.”

Fox sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, Cardy, to be honest, I haven’t thought about it. Forgive me for not having an immediate answer on my opinions regarding cannibalism.” 

“Well, you’ve always gotta be prepared, sir,” Cardy said seriously. 

Fox rolled his eyes, turning back to his work. “We’re on Coruscant. There’s a fast food place around literally every corner. I don’t think we have anything to worry about, kid.”

“I don’t know, sir…” Cardy said mysteriously, waggling his eyebrows. “Desperate times!” 

“Fine, Cardy,” Fox said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “In this wonderful world you’ve created where we have no supplies, and you have just conveniently died in a very neat and sanitary manner, I would eat your body. Happy?”

“I’m honored, sir,” Cardy said, entirely too smug.

Fox swatted at him, ignoring Cardy’s snickering as he made his escape.

These damn troopers… If Fox didn’t love them so much, he might just be tempted to kill them. 

Chapter Text

If Fox has to listen to them complain one more time, he is going to scream.

He’ll scream until his heart gives out, and then he’ll collapse dead on the ground. That’ll give them something to really talk about.

“I just – I just worry, you know?” Bly is saying, and Fox is trying to listen, trying to be a good friend, but there’s some kind of block in his brain, some barrier that he can’t cross. “General Secura is amazing, seriously. Even beyond being a Jedi, she’s just – she’s so strong! And I hate seeing her treated like that, like she isn’t worth anything just because of her species.”

Wolffe snorts, low and bitter as he takes another sip of his drink. “We all know how that feels.”

There was a collective sigh at the table, and Fox blinks rapidly. He knows that his friends all face their own varying levels of discrimination by natborns, and it isn’t fair to compare his own situation to theirs. But.

At least on Kamino, there were rules, and you were told exactly what they were.

On Coruscant, they can punish you for anything, and they never have to explain shit. They don’t need to justify it.

But, really. He has no idea how other people are living – he has no reason to try and judge his own situation based on a fabricated version of theirs that he’s made up in his head. He just needs…

Fox just needs to take a break, honestly. He’ll be fine after that.

“The Jedi do so much,” Cody says quietly, swirling his drink around, expression pensive.

“I don’t know what I’d do without the General,” Bly agrees. There’s a soft look in his eyes, marked by the deep respect he seems to hold for that natborn, and something inside Fox seethes. “I wish I could do more, find some more ways to support her. She never asks for much, but. You know.”

For her? Bly wishes there was something he could do for her?

“We’re all going through shit,” Fox spits out, venom dripping off his tongue. “You don’t see me begging for scraps.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. 

Bly recoils, and the hurt on his face – it cuts through Fox, a wound of his own creation, and he immediately ducks his head, avoiding Bly’s gaze as he desperately tries to regroup.

He hadn’t meant to say that. Why did he say that? He doesn’t mean it. It’s one of those fleeting thoughts that may drift under the surface of his consciousness, but it’s never something he gives any weight to.

“Fox,” Bly croaks out, clearly at a loss for words himself, and Fox twitches, balling his hands into fists. “Fox, look at me.”

Fox nearly leaps to his feet, hands shaking as he tries to stack his plates as quickly as possible.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he says numbly. “Sorry, I – I didn’t mean it. I have to go.”

He shoves his way out of the booth before anyone can react, yanking his coat off the rack next to them as he makes his escape.

“Fox! Wait!”

Fox only moves faster, shame bringing heat to his cheeks and swiftness to his steps. 

He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear it.

“Fox!”

He kept going. Fox didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

“Are you getting sleepy? Like… at all?”

“No,” Fox said, entirely unimpressed. “And the second you start getting weird about this, I’m out.”

Sherlock winced. “Sorry, sir. I, uh. Really don’t know what I’m doing.”

His tone was plaintive, and he was glaring at the small booklet in his hands like it had personally offended him. 

Fox took a deep breath and forcibly relaxed his shoulders, well aware that his tension had nothing to do with his poor medic, and he should really lay off the lad.

“You’re not a hypno-therapist, Sherlock, you’re a mortician,” he said plainly. “I’m not upset with you. Let’s just give it a go and see what happens.”

Sherlock chuckled, a touch nervously. “Yeah, uh. My patients don’t usually need much persuasion, you know. Not a very talkative bunch.”

“I can imagine,” Fox replied dryly.

It wasn’t like either of them were really here by choice – this was Nightingale’s last ditch effort to convince Fox’s damn body to stop causing him so much trouble and just rest once in a while, since every other option for them had long been exhausted. 

Fox had tried everything to help deal with his insomnia – at one point, there had been a sleep aid that worked fairly well for him, but as with all things in his life, it was ruined when the planet it originated from was put under new export restrictions, and Fox wasn’t able to get his hands on it without paying an exorbitant fee. 

Considering he’d been getting it under the table to begin with, the mark-up would’ve been absolutely insane. He just couldn’t afford it.

“Okay, let me try this again,” Sherlock muttered, brow furrowed in determination. “We’ll make this work, sir, one way or another.”

He sounded a bit like if the hypnosis didn’t work he would just knock Fox unconscious and call it a day, which wasn’t exactly preferable, but there was definitely a point in the day where he reached that level of exhaustion. If they could just get it out of the way now, that may even end up better for him. 

“Alright, sir,” Sherlock began again, fumbling with his supplies. “Just lay back and um. Try to relax.”

“I’ll think of the Republic,” he said sarcastically, ignoring Sherlock’s embarrassed little ‘meep!’ as he tried his best to obey orders.

If this wasn’t enough to get Fox some rest, he really wasn’t sure what he could do about it. 

Maybe there wasn’t anything to do, really. He just had to… keep making an effort. Keep enduring. Ignore whatever horseshit the Chancellor came up with next, and just do his damn job.

It wasn’t the most relaxing thought in the world, but it was something. 

“You are getting very sleepy…”

He’d close his eyes, count his breathing. Maybe he’d even get some rest out of this, who knows?

If Sherlock asked, Fox would tell him that it worked. He owed the man that much, at least.

Chapter Text

“Kriff, this is grim,” Milia muttered under her breath, nudging the corpse’s leg with her boot. “Isn’t this like, the third one this month? Completely mutilated, just like all the rest.”

“It’s such a pain,” Pina complained, her ears flicking back in displeasure. “We have enough on our hands without having to deal with the karking clones, too!”

Milia shot her a quelling look, lips twisting in a frown.

“It’s hardly their fault they’re being hunted by a serial killer, Pina.”

Pina rolled her eyes. 

“If they weren’t here in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this problem, would we?” she retorted, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, let’s just call this in and let someone else deal with it. There’s no way I’m touching one of them, I just had my claws done.”

Milia hummed noncommittally, turning back to the body.

Pina’s opinion wasn’t that uncommon, unfortunately. Milia had no issues with the Coruscant Guard – the few she’d crossed paths with on patrol had been kind and professional, which was more than she could say about some of her fellow CSF officers.

Which was a major part of why this pattern of killing was so disturbing to her. The Guard knew how to keep together, and they were never seen alone or isolated on the streets of Coruscant. So how was it that so many of them kept being murdered and abandoned here in these back alleys?  

Crouching down, Milia gently shifted the body, trying to get a better look past the gore and blood to see if there were any identifying features that she could report back, only for her eyes to widen.

“This is bad,” she said urgently, swallowing heavily as she looked back at Pina. “This Guard has a different paint pattern than the others!”

Pina raised a brow, tapping on her comm. “So?”

“So, this must be a high-ranking officer!” Milia shot back, frustration rising. “They’re the only ones with unique armor. And that’s a pretty quick escalation from this killer!” 

“A clone is a clone,” Pina shrugged. “Isn’t the whole point that they’re all the same?”

“That’s not the point,” Milia said, trying to keep her temper under control. “Logistically speaking, there’s a difference between a Private and a Lieutenant. And the fact that this assailant has grown comfortable enough to go this far should be worrying to anyone!”

Pina finally turned to look at Milia again, and there was a coldness in her gaze that sent a shiver down Milia’s spine.

“It’s a clone. So what?”

So what? Doesn’t the stability of Coruscant’s military force matter? Doesn’t it matter that their security is being attacked, killed, without any recourse?

This is someone’s life. Doesn’t that matter?

Milia swallowed heavily. “...Escalation rarely stops at a single point. This killer may be only targeting clones right now, but you never know when that could change. What if they have a grudge against all security personnel, and start going after us next?”

There was a flare of alarm in Pina’s eyes, and she sputtered. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Kriff, I’m going to send in the report right away, I wanna get out of here.”

She began diligently tapping away, and Milia sighed, looking back down at the body.

Sorry, soldier. I think this is all I can do.

Chapter Text

“Here.”

Fox gratefully took the smoothie that was presented to him, nodding at Nightingale to express his thanks.