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Chapter Text

   Commander Cody didn't bother to knock. He strode into Rex’s office on board The Resolute and put his hands on his hips. Rex could feel his brother’s amber eyes practically burning holes into his blonde hairline but pretended not to notice.

   "Come on, Rex!"

   Rex sighed and pushed himself away from the desk to face him. He knew Cody all too well, and he figured that he was here to drag him out tonight. He already had his excuse prepared.

   "Commander, I really should do these reports-"

   "Don't 'Commander' me. We're not in battle, and those aren't due for another four rotations."

   Rex sighed again. "Cody."

   "Rex."

   They stared at each other, both stubbornly refusing to back down. Cody seemed to search for something in his brother’s face, then softened and took the seat opposite him.

   "You doing okay?"

   Rex clamped up immediately.

   He didn't want this to turn into some kind of heartfelt talk. He just wanted to be alone to finish his reports. He didn’t enjoy paperwork exactly; there were definitely clones who were far better with all the admin stuff than he was. That wasn’t to say he was bad at it, just that he knew what his strengths were, and they were on the battlefield. Nevertheless, sitting in his office doing this was better than going out there and facing everyone after…

   Well.

   It was just another day on the job, and he wouldn’t let himself go down the very tempting road of wondering why he’d been handed such a cruel fate. This was how his life was, and that was that.

   "I'm busy," he insisted.

   "Uh-huh."

   Rex clearly hadn't convinced him. Knowing each other too well worked both ways. It wasn’t just because they shared the exact same DNA template and upbringing, either. Cody was one of his closest brothers. He was also a higher rank, so he knew exactly how busy Rex actually was. There were always things to be getting on with, but they both knew that he wasn’t exactly swamped with paperwork right now.

   Cody changed his approach. "It was a hard victory," he said gently.

   Rex noticed how he made it a statement rather than a question, acknowledging the cause of his low mood without asking questions. He was trying to bait Rex into choosing to talk about it by himself. Rex considered himself a good leader for the most part. But Cody’s emotional intelligence and his willingness to use that to his advantage was something that both impressed and infuriated him.

   "It was," he agreed carefully, avoiding the trap Cody had set up for him. "That's what we were created for."

   He went back to his datapad, determined to put the conversation to an end before it got too painful.

   The device was plucked from his grasp before he could start on the next report.

   “Hey-!”

   He reached across the desk for it, but Cody backed away from his outstretched hands with a mischievous smile.

   "If you're gonna play the ‘good soldier,’ Captain, then as your Marshal Commander, I order you to come out and have at least one drink. Come on, it doesn’t even have to be alcohol."

   Rex glowered at him, incredulous that he pulled rank on him for something so utterly ridiculous.

   "Oh, relax,” said Cody. “You’re worse than the generals half the time.”

   "I don't want to relax," Rex snapped. "I want to finish these reports so we have more time to prepare for the next campaign."

   Cody's smile faded, and his features settled into a concerned frown. "We're men, not droids. I like efficiency as much as the next clone, but it’s good for us to have a break sometimes. The boys rarely get a chance to enjoy their leave."

   "I'm not stopping anyone else from going," Rex shot back.

   "No," said Cody reproachfully. "You're just cutting yourself off again."

   "I'm not. Commander Tano is on duty tonight. I should stay and help her-"

   "They sent a couple of Jedi to help cover. Besides, you’re always singing her praises. Surely, she will be able to handle things for one night."

   Rex set his jaw and folded his arms. Cody regarded him, then tossed the datapad back with a resigned sigh. Rex caught it, nodded at Cody, and settled himself at the desk once again. He opened up the page that was filled with tables of statistics that displayed data gathered from the mission reports, all laid out in a way that was easy to report during meetings. Essentially, it turned the shiny trooper Riptide into CT-3745, and then CT-3745 became a percentage in the casualty rates for strategy B. Satisfied that it was all still there, he began filling out more details.

   "If that's all, Commander."

   "Fine. But Bly and Wolffe have just arrived back, and they're trying to get Fox to tag along.”

   Rex glanced up and gave an amused smile despite himself. “You sure you want Fox around so much alcohol?”

   “That’s why I got Bly and Wolffe on it. Anyway, that’s all in the past,” said Cody dismissively. “Fox and I are professionals, and he’s our vod. Also, some of the generals are out tonight, including Kenobi and Skywalker. We'd like you to be there… but if you don't want to go, I'll tell them you said ‘hi.’"

   Rex cursed himself for even considering the idea that Cody would admit defeat. Ever the tactician, Cody had given him precisely the information that he couldn't ignore. He’d assumed that the generals had gone to the Temple for a council briefing and that they would return to their Venators the following day. They must’ve decided on a whim to join the boys instead.

   And if General Skywalker was out drinking-

   Someone had to go and watch his back.

   His general had a tendency to be just as reckless off the battlefield as he was on it, and alcohol did not help matters. His mind flashed to the last time Skywalker had made a trip to 79's and he’d tried to pick a fight with a gang of passing Trandoshans. From what Rex remembered, Skywalker had accused them of snatching padawans, which they hadn’t taken too kindly to.

   Contrary to popular belief, Kenobi's presence didn't always deter trouble either. The older Jedi had stood back, making unhelpful commentary and even remarking that his life might have been easier if they’d taken Skywalker off his hands when he’d been his padawan. After some back and forth, one of the largest lizards had lunged at Skywalker. His general’s attempt to leap over the entire group went wrong when he overshot it and crashed into a wall, knocking himself out cold. A brawl had ensued. They’d been lucky to reach Skywalker before the reptiles could close in with their blasters and claws. Rex was now bound by duty to make sure Skywalker stayed alive before the next campaign began. There was no point in working on strategies that only Skywalker would approve of if he woke up with a new Jedi general in the morning.

   He had to go out tonight.

   He groaned and ran his hand down his face. "Alright,” he relented. “I'll meet you there after I've got some work done."

   Cody's face brightened again. "Good."

   Before Rex could change his mind, Cody gave a pleased nod and left. Rex stared back at the statistics on the datapad. Just under half of his forces, mostly shinies, had perished in the latest campaign. He'd gained a new scar along his ribs too, where a commando droid had slid its vicious blade through a weak point in the side of his armour. Every mission seemed to chip away at them all physically and mentally, and he found himself wondering how much of him would be left by the end of it all if he somehow survived the war. How well would his training hold up in the face of all the horrors that awaited him? The galaxy was so vast and dangerous. There seemed to be an endless stream of terrible things that the Kaminioans hadn't thought to put in their programmes. Which was saying something because they had been very thorough when designing their training regimes.

   Rex was just so tired.

   Tired of shinies dying before he’d even learned their names if they even had one yet. Of taking one step forward and two steps back, locked in a deadly dance with the Separatist forces, which threatened to go on forever. Of picking his way through rubble that once marked bustling cities and seeing the fear on the faces of the civvies as he and his troops marched onto the next battle. Tired of winning on the scoreboard but losing pieces of his heart every time more of his family fell in battles they had no say in.

   He knew Cody was right. They didn't get much time on leave. Even less time to be on leave in a place like Coruscant. Usually, it was some outpost to refresh themselves as they kept watch. It was even more common to simply remain on the Jedi cruisers, but being trapped on the ship with thousands of his brothers could quickly lead to cabin fever. He knew from experience.

   Kamino was even worse nowadays. Although they were always glad to be back on their watery home world, the Kaminoans' strict adherence to regulation frustrated his brothers- and himself- more and more. Spending so much time with the Jedi made it difficult to slip into the same levels of compliance that the longnecks always expected of them, and the bright, sterile environment became jarring after seeing so many different worlds. Moons with clear starry skies and neon cities, planets covered in vast green forests that stretched as far as the eye could see, worlds with beautiful cliffs that shone pink like pearls. To see the galaxy made them all yearn for more than the lashing rain and murky dark waters that battered Tipoca City. It was still home. And yet, when they returned now, it felt suffocating.

   Coruscant, by contrast, was always a novelty. With the Republic fleet positioned above and the city itself teeming with probes, security droids, and members of the Coruscant Guard, it offered a chance to feel safe and enjoy leisure time. The clones who made up the Corries weren't as up-to-date on battlefield tactics as he was, but they were drilled just as hard. Instead of focusing on breaking blockades, pushing past enemy lines, or taking command posts, they trained in managing civilian unrest, handling prisoners, and preventing terrorism. They watched for spies, helped guard the Senate, and provided a reassuring presence for the people. He wasn't sure if he personally had the patience for it, but he had to admit that it was a good designation for a clone to have.

   Kamino was good for recuperation. Coruscant was good for living.

   There was always new street food to try, music being performed, bright arcades, fancy art exhibitions, and more. The streets were vibrant, and the sky was filled with flashy speeders that made the boys gasp, point, and whistle. Bright stalls beckoned them with trinkets and treasures, and street performers did things Rex couldn’t even fathom. His brothers would sometimes wander off to explore the city's charms and return with completely unique tales of their latest experiences. Coruscant was in a constant state of flux, never the same twice.

   But mostly, they went to 79's, and that part never changed.

   The clone bar was a space designed especially for them, where all the drinks were covered by Republic funding. Because they didn't get paid, troopers relied on civilians offering them things for free as a means of supporting the war effort. But this was charity and certainly not a guarantee. Even when it was offered, there were some clones who didn't want to accept it. Of course, some didn't mind playing up their heroism for freebies, and Rex didn't blame them. They were created to die for these people's freedoms, so what was the harm of accepting what they offered? The other option was using credits won via gambling, but only some of the men did that.

   So, 79's was the best place for them to go during their time off. It was a space carved out just for the GAR, and truthfully, he liked being there. It was a place for them to be together without being under fire. His men liked it, too, and he enjoyed how the alcohol dulled his senses and helped him forget the weight he carried on his shoulders. The burden was getting heavier as the war dragged on, becoming harder to block out with his willpower alone. He usually looked forward to the few times he was off duty and got to go for a drink.

   He just wasn't feeling it tonight.

   Sometimes, it felt wrong to enjoy the things so many of the shinies never got to experience in their short, violent lives. Then he reminded himself that this might be his last leave before he was marked down as KIA in someone else’s report, and that made him feel less guilty about taking the night off. He finished a few more pages and pressed submit. Once the data had been transferred, he put the datapad away and left the office. It had taken around an hour, and now it was time for him to catch up.

   Before leaving, he headed to the bridge to check in on the Commander. He found her standing next to Barriss Offee and another Jedi who he recognised to be Depa Billaba. Her young Padawan, a scrawny boy whose name he couldn’t remember, was absent. The three Jedi women were watching the monitors and sipping hot, sweet-smelling drinks as they talked quietly among themselves. Commander Tano's face lit up when she saw him.

   "Rex! I heard you're going out tonight."

   "That's right, Commander."

   He almost called her ‘little ‘un’, but he maintained his professionalism due to their present company. He wouldn’t risk undermining her authority. She was a Jedi, and his commanding officer, and he didn’t want to accidentally belittle her in front of the other Jedi by treating her like the kid she actually was.

   "Well, don't get too drunk," she teased.

   Somehow, General Skywalker and Commander Tano managed to completely slice through the chain of command and make him feel like they were more akin to family than their stations suggested. He hadn't known how to feel about this at first. Now, he appreciated the warmth.

   "To be honest, Commander, you should be more worried about the General."

   "Oh no," she rolled her eyes. "I'll handle things here, and you keep him out of trouble. Deal?"

   "Deal," Rex agreed.

Chapter Text

   Fives was feeling himself tonight.

   He didn't mind standing out in his ARC gear, even if Echo was a little more reserved with all the shinies and civvies who approached as soon as they noticed their distinct armour. 

   Oh yeah, the double pauldron and kama combo really worked wonders. 

   It wasn’t just that. One of Coruscant’s perks was being able to try out the extra luxuries scavenged and shared around by the other clones. He'd gotten hold of some beard conditioner for his goatee, and now it smelled like pine trees. Or, what he imagined pine trees smelt like when tanks and aerial bombardments weren't blowing them up. There was also a hint of some kind of citrus fruit. He’d take it over the stale sweat that he usually stank of during a mission anyway, though it was Echo who had the more sensitive nose of the pair. 

   His twin was fussier than he was with a lot of things. He didn’t like new food all that much, and he stuck to the GAR supplies even when he didn’t have to. He couldn’t even stand the feel of facial hair and kept himself smooth, which was fine by Fives because there hadn’t been much of the conditioner left by the time he’d got to it anyway. All the more for him. It had been well worth getting off the Venator and crashing at the barracks. 

   A successful mission, a proper hot shower, and food that didn't taste like cardboard? Unlimited drinks waiting for him and potentially the company of someone as pretty as he was later that night? 

   All in all, he was in a good mood and ready to take on the city. 

   They had arrived early because of Echo. If it was up to Fives, he’d have strolled in fashionably late and relished the way he made heads turn in the packed bar. Alas, Echo had insisted on leaving early so that they had a chance to get one of the decent booths before the place filled up, so it was quiet when they first arrived. They chose a booth, one near where the officers liked to sit so that they could see Rex and Cody when they came in, and Fives tapped the holomenu to bring up all the beverages waiting to be sampled. They had everything set for it to be a good night, and he intended to make the most of it before they shipped out to whatever hellhole was next for them. 

   “New drink on the menu,” he told Echo. “Durindfire. Hey, isn’t that the stuff that glows?”

   Echo wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Ugh, no thanks. I’ll stick to Ne'tra gal.”

   “You have that every time.”

   “I have it every time,” agreed Echo. “Exactly. Why change something if it works?”

   Fives didn’t understand his twin sometimes. They already had enough of the same boring routine when on duty. There were so many things to try in such little time. Even if they did survive the war, their accelerated aging cut their expected years in half. Fives intended to live so hard that his artificially short lifespan wouldn’t matter. 

   Shaking his head at Echo, he flagged down one of the waitress droids to order their drinks. He asked for a Durindfire for himself and Echo’s usual, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to change his brother’s mind anyway. Echo was Echo, and he might not agree with him, but he accepted him. The droid walked off and returned a moment later with a tray and two glasses, which she placed on the table.

   “Wow, this stuff is bright,” said Fives, staring into the green liquid in front of him. 

   Echo was aghast. “You’re actually gonna put that in your body?”  

   “Damn right, I am.”

   He picked it up and chugged it with an over-the-top enthusiasm that he knew would irk Echo. Some of it ran down his chin. So much for pine and citrus; now his goatee smelt like Durindfire. Probably tasted like it, too. He tried to lick at it to test his theory, and Echo’s eyebrows traveled up his forehead.

   “What?” Fives demanded.

   “So undignified,” Echo sniffed and raised his own glass to his lips to sip politely at the dark liquor. 

   Fives wiped his mouth dramatically, then gave a wicked grin. “Fancy another handprint?” he asked.

   “Don’t you dare.”

    He’d spent half an hour polishing his armour and touching up some of the paint earlier that day, so he recoiled from Fives’ sticky palm like it was a toxin. Fives had given his own armour a quick scrub before coming out, but honestly, he kind of liked the dirty, weathered look. He made a show of reaching over and trying to slap Echo’s chest plate as his brother leaned away from him. Unimpressed, Echo gave him a sharp kick under the table, and Fives yelped louder than either of them expected. Echo looked around as though he was embarrassed to be seen with him in public, and gave a long-suffering sigh. 

   “I can’t take you anywhere,” he said.

   “You love me.”

   “Only because I have no choice,” said Echo drily. 

   “Don’t be like that, vod’ika,” Fives pouted.

   “You’re the ‘vod’ika.’ I was decanted before you, di’kut.”

   “But I grew faster,” said Fives. “And I have bigger muscles.”

   This much was true. Echo was leaner than he was, with shoulders a little smaller. The difference was minuscule but definitely there, just enough that Fives felt justified in teasing him for it. 

   “Right,” said Echo, folding his arms. “Because I prioritise stamina as well as strength, and you prefer lifting heavy objects and skipping laps. And which of these approaches came in more useful during our last mission?”

   He raised an eyebrow and waited, looking rather smug. Fives couldn’t argue. He’d been in a tight spot, and it had been Echo that had got him out of it. And by tight spot, he meant that he’d definitely be dead without him. 

   That didn’t mean he was about to back down.

   “Fine, you got me,” he said. “But had you been injured, I’d have been able to carry you to safety.”

   “And you don’t think I could carry you to safety?” Echo demanded, clearly stung.

   “Of course, you could. But I’d do it better, thanks to my bigger muscles.”

   “Or you’d get tired quicker because bigger muscles need more oxygen, ” said Echo.

   “Still bigger.”

   “Still doesn’t help your tolerance,” Echo retorted.

   “What’s that supposed to mean?”

   “It means you better be careful with how fast you’re drinking that shit, or you’ll be on the floor within the hour, and this time I might just leave you there.”

   Fives clutched at his chest as though Echo had genuinely pained him and pulled a wounded expression. “Echo, are you accusing me of not being able to handle my alcohol?”

   “Oh, I’m not accusing you. The case is already closed.”

   “Now I’m going to have to prove you wrong,” Fives declared, finishing the drink and looking around to get another as Echo groaned. “You asked for this.”

   “I really didn’t,” Echo huffed. 

   “Whatever happens next is on your conscience.”

   “No, no, no, now wait a minute! I am not responsible for-”

   “Too late-”

   “ Fives!”

   Ignoring his protests, he got two more Durindfires plus a Starshine Surprise, and more of the Mandalorian ale for Echo. It wasn’t long before they were both feeling it, Fives admittedly quite a bit more. He soaked up the atmosphere, enjoying the thumping beat of the music and watching as more people sauntered in through the bar’s entrance. There were troopers of all ranks, along with the usual regular civvies who he recognised. He spotted some of the Wolfpack sitting with a couple of the Senate Guard they were friendly with, and two of Bly’s men were talking with a grizzled bounty hunter who often came in to play them at cards. Clones in naval and engineer uniforms had taken up most of the far corner and half of the dance floor, standing out among the assortment of armour. He recognised most of them by sight, if not by name.

   There was plenty of fresh blood, too. 

   Shinies excited to experience a taste of the city fun were out in droves, and there were groups of natborns who had decided to try the bar for the first time. Fives spotted humans, Twi’leks, Pantorans, and a few Rodians among the crowd tonight. He could always spot the civvies who were new to 79’s. They hung back a little more shyly, curious about the troopers but afraid to make an approach. It wouldn’t take long for some of the clones to notice and take them under their wing for the night. 

   Even as he watched, two troopers invited a Rodian for a game of darts and one of the 212th swept a Twi’lek away for a dance. He wanted to make a few moves of his own, but that could wait. He wanted to spend time with his brothers first. Besides, it was only sporting to give the shinies a chance. They’d never have an opportunity to gamble with the bounty hunters or strike up a conversation with one of the trooper groupies if he hogged all the attention. 

   That could come later. 

   For now, he was content to drink and watch the numbers swell. The armoured crowd was a sea of orange, grey, and dark mustard, shifting under the strobe lights. But it was the colours of his own battalion that stood out most of all. The 501st had come out in force tonight, outnumbering the others two to one. The victory celebrations were well underway, and Coruscant was theirs. 

   Time to paint it blue. 

Chapter Text

   The messages said to meet them tonight at 79’s.

   Wolffe’s was short and to the point, whereas Bly had sprinkled a little more ‘hope you’ve been well’ and ‘we’d like to see you’ around the request. Commander Fox tapped the surface of his desk with a stylus pen as he stared at the open messages and wondered how he should respond. Part of him wanted to go and see them, and part of him didn’t know what he would say to them if he did. He ran a hand through his dark hair that was already streaked with grey, his red helmet removed and set down next to the datapad in front of him. He did have the night off and he did miss them. It’s just he wasn’t so sure he fit in with them anymore. He hadn’t felt like one of them for a while. Being stationed on Coruscant hadn’t been what he’d expected. Growing up on Kamino, he had been fully prepared to be thrown into the meat grinder alongside the others when the time came.

   Only, he hadn’t been.

   Instead, he was separated from them and placed in a special training programme that was all about social etiquette, anti-espionage and apprehending criminals. Instead of a Jedi general like all the others, he ended up being assigned directly to the Chancellor. The battlefields he’d expected turned into patrolling the streets of Coruscant, watching over the prison and standing guard on doorsteps as Palpatine went about his business. It wasn’t the existence he’d imagined for himself but he was proud that he’d been chosen to look after everything that represented the Republic. He told himself he was still just as much of a trooper as the others were, even if he wasn’t on the frontlines.

   He certainly had the workload for it.

   Sometimes, he was so tired making sure everything ran smoothly that he found himself asleep on his feet. Which always led to giving himself a hard time because good soldiers didn’t fall asleep when guarding the Senate. Luckily, his helmet meant that he was never actually caught doing this, and he would take these shortcomings to his grave. He didn’t like it when his competency was questioned. It was something he was working on, because his brothers liked to joke and his defensiveness usually made him a target. He wished he could laugh back and poke fun at them in return, but really he hated being made a fool of. He was always thinking that somewhere hidden in their banter was a veiled criticism of his leadership. Which was stupid, he told himself, because they’d never actually think like that. He was their brother. This was his own problem, his own insecurities that he was all too aware that he was projecting.

   Awareness didn’t make it any easier.

   He didn’t know why he had such a short fuse, or why he doubted his part in the war so much. He hadn’t always been like this. There was a time where he loved spending time with all his vode. He never realised how bad the distance between them had become until things like this happened; and he found himself wishing he had an even busier schedule just to avoid the awkwardness of being in their presence. The war had changed them all, had kept him away from them as they bonded over missions and fought side by side. They went out into the galaxy and got to be heroes, and he was left preventing imprisoned gangsters from killing spiceheads in the Coruscanti prison system. Maybe that was what had caused such distance between himself and his brothers.

   No, he realised.

   It had changed as soon as they left Kamino, it just got worse the longer the war went on. The cracks first appeared when the incident with Cody had happened. Neither of them hadn’t been at the first Battle of Geonosis. Instead, when the others went to war, he and Cody and some others had been sent by the Kaminoans to Coruscant. They had been instructed to begin organising the battalions with a makeshift war council that Palpatine had put together, and make a start on fortifying existing territories. They hadn’t wanted to risk losing all of their top officers in the first battle, so it made sense. Fox and Cody had been part of the contingency plan if the Battle of Geonosis ended in defeat.

   Fox had been so anxious about the safety of those who had been sent directly into the conflict that he’d started drinking alcohol for the first time. There was no alcohol on Kamino, but he found it startlingly easy to come across in Coruscant. The first time he tried it was when they’d received word that they’d won their first battle. War was now inevitable, there had been too many losses on both sides, too much at stake for there not to be. Fox remembered drinking himself into oblivion as he waited for their surviving forces to return to Coruscant. After that, he would take a drink whenever he could get it. Especially during those first months, where everything was new and overwhelming. Cody had noticed, though he pretended he didn’t at first. Then came the questions if he was okay. Fox remembered being irritated at the suggestion that he couldn’t do his job.

   Of course he was okay.

   Why wouldn't he be? This was what they had been waiting for their entire lives.

   Then one night, only two months into the war, he and Cody took advantage of the Republic’s generosity and went drinking in one of the VIP areas of a private club often visited by the Senators. Fox knew that it was just a way of getting the civilians used to the idea of the GAR by having them out in public. It made them look more normal, less frightening. To present them as the type of people who could drink in a sophisticated private club and less like something grown in a lab whose purpose was to kill on command. He knew why and he didn’t care, and neither did Cody. The two of them took full advantage of the open bar that night.

   That’s when it had happened.

   The first time he’d damaged the sacred bond of brotherhood.

   They were deep in their drinking session when Cody mentioned how much more Fox was drinking than he was. How the war hadn’t even properly started and Fox had already developed the sort of unhealthy coping mechanism that the Kaminoans would never approve of. Fox had tried to laugh it off, he really did. But his mind was clouded from the effects of the drink, and he was still reeling from the losses of close brothers who would never come back from their first battles. His mood dipped lower still when he noticed some of the civvies staring at them and muttering among each other with disapproving looks. Luckily, the natborns hadn’t stayed long, and he and Cody were left completely alone when it had happened. Which was for the best because what followed would have certainly not done clones any favours. In fact, it would have been the opposite of what the Senate had intended when they had offered them the luxury of a night off.

   “You know what they say,” Cody had said vaguely. “About people who drink too much.”

   “What do they say?” Fox had asked.

   “Someone who drinks like that-” Cody had indicated to Fox’s empty glass “- must be a Separatist.”

   Cody drained his drink in one as Fox had pretended that blood wasn’t pounding in his ears at the comment. Annoyed, he’d taken a new bottle and topped them both up as Cody remarked on how he probably didn’t need anymore.

   "I was made to be a good soldier," Fox insisted. "And to this day, I am one-"

   Cody had muttered something under his breath about how he was already talking like a veteran, but Fox ignored it to continue.

   "-And I would never betray the GAR," he’d declared, giving Cody a sloppy finger jab with the hand still clutched around the bottle. He necked back the remaining contents, ignoring his glass entirely. Cody had gaped at him for a moment, then leaned forward and swiped up his own refilled glass.

   "You're no good soldier," he’d laughed. "The GAR always fought against drunkenness and you're an alcoholic!"

   He had emphasised his words with a finger point of his own, his lips twitching into a teasing smile. Perhaps it was the implication that he was a traitor, even if it was in jest. Fox wasn’t exactly sure what made him snap at that moment. It might’ve been the fear of being decommissioned or it might’ve been the effects of the drink on his better judgement.

   All he remembered was suddenly being on his feet as Cody looked up at him, startled.

   "Get lost!" he’d said.

   Then hurled the bottle right at Cody’s face.

   Cody had thrown himself backwards, chair tilting dangerously on its hind legs as his arms came up to protect himself, but it was too late. The bottle made contact, and Fox hadn’t expected it to shatter like that.

   He hadn’t stopped to think.

   Glass and blood had been everywhere.

   His anger evaporated as quickly as it arrived. He had rushed over to where Cody was lying on the floor unconscious, blood pooling around his face. He'd began apologising, pleading with his brother to wake up, horrified by what he had done. It still made him wince even now, the guilt rushing back whenever he thought about it. The only saving grace of that night was that they didn’t have any witnesses, so no PR or damage control was needed. Fox had helped Cody get to the infirmary as soon as he came round, and Cody had told them some bantha shit excuse as they picked glass out of his face and cleaned the wound with bacta. Fox had almost confessed what really happened, but Cody had twisted his arm when the medical droid wasn’t looking and hissed at him to go along with his version of events. Reluctantly, Fox had agreed to do so. It took Cody a few days of recovery before he was shipped out to serve as Marshal Commander under General Kenobi, and that was the last Fox had seen of him for a while.

   Fox had felt like he deserved to be disciplined at bare minimum. The offence was bad enough to undergo reconditioning, or even decommissioning. Instead, Cody had returned several months later, having been rotated back to Coruscant. General Kenobi had needed to return for Jedi business. Fox had been surprised when Cody had turned up and pulled him aside to talk.

   It was the first time Fox saw the new scar he’d given him.

   It was curved and jagged, a messy knot of white tissue that marked his temple and curved around his eye, ending at the top of his cheek bone. It reminded Fox of a scythe. He’d been lucky not to lose an eye. He’d never apologised so profusely in his entire life, but Cody had just shrugged and said he rather liked the look of it. They’d parted on good enough terms, and hadn’t spoken about it since.

   Yet the shame lingered. Fox had long suspected that some of the other officers had come to learn about the incident, though he never did end up getting punished. In fact, nobody mentioned it at all. He felt it though, sensed it in the way the others looked at him, and some of the sly comments they made. It was always just vague enough for plausible deniability, but he knew that they knew. It made it hard for him to be around them, knowing that they knew that he was capable of such a thing against another clone. He felt tainted, like he’d let them all down. And so the distance between them had remained, and grew until it was a vast gulf, with Cody and the others on one side and Fox on the other.

   Fox threw the pen down and got up. He closed the shutters to hide the city, darkening the room and locked the office door. He mulled it over as he paced around with his arms behind his back. He longed for things to be as they had been on Kamino. He’d been an advanced child and an exceptional cadet, to the point of taking the admiration from his brothers for granted. He thought he would always be like that in their eyes. And then he’d been thrust out to prove his greatness and crumbled at the first hurdle.

   Cody had been the beginning. After that came a string of regrets.

   There was brushing off Ponds and pretending he was too busy to see his brother, only to find out three days later that Ponds had been killed thanks to the actions of a young clone called Boba. When he’d heard Boba was now in the prison system, that had led to another mess. He’d gone to see the traitorous cadet, to demand to know how Ponds had died. He took an immediate dislike to the boy, who’d rebuffed him when Fox tried calling him brother. It had gotten worse from there. He’d been furious upon learning that Ponds had been shot in the back of the head whilst bound and gagged, and that his body had been dumped into space. He’d seen red and actually struck the younger clone. His fist had drawn blood, and Boba’s eyes had filled with tears before growing so cold that it had almost sent a shiver down Fox’s spine. He assumed learning about what really happened to Ponds would give him some closure, but it had only made him feel worse.

   Then there had been Rys.

   Rys had been somewhat difficult as a shiny, too stubborn for Fox’s liking. Fresh from a mission with Yoda, Rys had decided to stop focusing so much on the enemy and look to the others for help, which had initially made working with Rys a lot easier. In fact, all three of those who accompanied Yoda that day had come back renewed. Jek and Thire had returned with their own bursts of inspiration, and their approach to work improved too. Thire was already a solid member of the Coruscant Guard and held the rank of lieutenant, but he became invaluable with his newfound patience and clarity. Regretfully, he’d had to let Jek go when he’d requested a transfer thanks to the Jedi’s unwarranted words of wisdom, which was the first time Fox remembered disliking the Jedi’s interference with his vode. He’d since come to see them as arrogant, thinking they can do anything they wanted, and military knowledge or logistics be damned. He’d lost Jek first, then Rys had paid the price for listening to the backwards parables of the wrinkled green Jedi. And unlike Jek, he’d really lost Rys.

   They’d been sent to raid a Separatist spy hideout in the lower levels and it hadn’t gone as smoothly as they had planned. Rys- the old Rys anyway- would have seen the potential threat for what it was and acted on instinct. The new, more mindful Rys hesitated for a few seconds too long and turned to Fox for orders. Fox, trapped in an active fire fight at the time and nursing a wound of his own, had made the completely wrong call. He had found Rys afterwards, sprawled on his back, perfectly still. His helmet had rolled off and his unseeing eyes were still wide in surprise. The spies they had managed to capture alive turned out to be Coruscant civilians who’d never even set foot on a Separatist world. Sympathisers of the enemy and absolute fools who were taken in Count Dooku’s false promises. The memory still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

   It seemed that Fox spent more of this war fighting the Republic’s own people and hurting his brothers in the process rather than fighting Separatist forces. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d faced any Seppie droids. It was all civilians; criminals, smugglers and filth from the lower levels who didn’t deserve the sacrifices of his brothers. They were dying for the sake of them. And frankly, it disgusted him.

   The Jedi weren’t much better.

   They might have his brothers believing they were gods who didn’t have to bow down to anything, but he wasn’t convinced. They were reckless and disrespectful and they were hypocrites. They thought their abilities to move things around with their minds and their ownership of a lightsaber gave them some sort of moral high ground. This war was a game to them, a game where the rules applied to everyone but them. Their constant presence, and the never ending idolisation towards the Jedi from the rest of the clones, made Fox feel odd. His brothers told tales of Jedi brilliancy, yet all Fox saw was how detached and meddlesome they were. How indifferent they seemed when one of their own fell. Try as he might, he could never understand how such supposedly compassionate people could be so cold. It was one more difference that made it difficult for Fox to spend any sort of time with the other clones, with the exception of his very own Coruscant Guard. He just couldn’t relate to their awe of the Jedi.

   And finally, there was something about the Chancellor that Fox disliked.

   Fox didn’t care about politics, but something about the old man unnerved him. Fox saw him feign helplessness and point blame at one planet or another constantly, yet he always seemed to get his way in the end. He simpered and smiled, and kissed hands and cheeks whenever Fox saw him meeting with other senators or the Jedi. He played the role of a benign old gentleman to perfection.

   Fox knew better.

   He saw how the Chancellor disregarded the troopers and servants when there was nobody influential around to see it. Fox had witnessed the Chancellor drop all his graces to become needlessly patronising and cruel on more than one occasion. Fox also caught glimpses of the telling glares and sly smiles that the Jedi never seemed to notice during their visits. It always seemed to happen in the seconds where the Jedi glanced at something else, or when the Chancellor had his back to them. But Fox saw enough, his own face as unreadable as a droid’s under his helmet. To the wider Republic, Chancellor Palpatine was the Jedi Order’s biggest supporter and the feeling was mutual. The Chancellor claimed personal friendships with the likes of Anakin Skywalker, Yoda and Mace Windu; they were a unit fighting for freedom and justice for the galaxy.

   That was an illusion.

   Fox wasn’t sure exactly what ‘it’ actually was, but whatever the reality, it wasn’t what people thought. It was hard for him to understand natborns, and he had no interest in making his life more complicated than it already was, so he hadn’t ever tried to find out more. He hadn’t looked deliberately for it in the first place, it was just something he couldn’t help noticing after spending so much time around the Senate. Guard duty left him with little else to do other than observe the elites of hundreds of worlds interacting. Fox concluded based on the evidence that Palpatine didn’t like the Jedi, with the exception of his strange fondness of Skywalker. And the Jedi, despite their cordial politeness and all the accommodations they made for the Chancellor, were frequently unhappy with what he had to say.

   Something wasn’t right with the Republic.

   Whatever the situation was, it was above his pay grade. Which, considering he didn’t get paid at all, was the case with most things. He was on Coruscant to arrest who he was told to arrest, stop the spies and keep the Chancellor safe. He had no room to care for the finer details. The Coruscant Guard had to manage a city the size of a whole planet plus act as escorts for ambassadors and envoys during wartime. They covered such a dense population, and civilians were so much more difficult to manage than battle droids, that they even had multiple commanders. He didn’t have time to be distracted by conspiracy theories. The other Coruscant commanders, Thorn and Stone, were the only two he felt really understood the pressure they were under. If they also noticed something was off with the Republic, none of them had mentioned it to him.

   Then again, Fox hadn’t spoken a word about it either.

   Fox opened a locked drawer under his desk and pulled out a bottle of T’ssolok, part of a supply he’d confiscated from a Twi’lek smuggler. A commander was always prepared. He opened it and took a swig. It tasted bad, but it got the job done and gave him a nice buzz. Protocol was to report and destroy all black market goods, not hide half of it around his office and private quarters. Fox justified it by telling himself that he wasn’t paying for it so he wasn’t actually supporting any criminal activity. Besides, it would be a waste to dispose of it, and his brothers drank just as much at 79’s. What if he wanted a quiet drink alone? It’s not like he could just go to a shop, what with his lack of credits and all. And the Chancellor had never called him out on the drink affecting his duties. As far as Fox was concerned, so long as the sneaky old man was happy, he wasn’t worried. He’d come a long way since the incident with Cody. He could now drink and still function without losing control, and made a frequent habit of it, which was progress in Fox’s book.

   He sat drinking alone in the dark as he decided how he should respond to the messages.

Chapter Text

   The clone bar came into view, with its purple and yellow logo and the faint sound of electro music. When they touched down on the platform in front of the bar, it was already crowded with clusters of clones, their slurred voices rising over the stream of traffic drifting past. It didn't take him long to find Cody and Wolffe, who were conversing near the entrance. He spotted the orange paint job first through the sea of shiny white armour and grey naval uniforms, and headed over.

   Clones didn't have many spare clothes to go out in, and it felt safer and more natural to wear their military gear. It also helped them identify each other at a distance and distinguish their rank or battalion. He'd gotten to the point where he could recognise many of the men from their scars, voice, or tattoos, but there were still plenty he didn't know. It helped the shinies, too. So, usually, their battle outfits were the same as their drinking outfits, except for the helmets. He'd left his own in his quarters. It saved them carrying around all night and potentially losing them when everything became blurry.

   "Rex!" Cody called, noticing him as he made his way towards them.

   "Thought you'd bailed on us too," Wolffe growled.

   "What do you mean?" asked Rex.

   "Fox called ten minutes ago. He's got to sort something out at the prison, so he's not coming," said Cody.

   Rex was disappointed. He never seemed to catch Fox nowadays, and he wasn't the only one. The others didn’t see much of him either. The last time they'd got to spend any time together was the ARC refresher training for all the qualifying officers. They'd gone on separate days to make sure some of them could cover for others. Rex had been placed on the same training schedule as Fox and Bly, with Cody taking over the 501st whilst he was gone, and they had worked well together. When Skywalker had Rex accompany him to Senate visits, they usually only had time for small talk and nods of acknowledgement, so it had been nice to work together properly for the first time since their cadet days.

   "You'd think that being stationed on Coruscant would mean he gets more time for these things," Wolffe grumbled. "But I swear he has more work than we do."

   "I wouldn't trade places with him," said Rex sympathetically.

   “Or maybe he’s just worried he’ll lose his temper again and give Cody another scar,” Wolffe mused. “I heard he still cries about it.”

   “I don’t-” Cody began, affronted.

   “I mean Fox still cries about it,” Wolffe teased. “Allegedly.”

   Cody threw him a warning look and indicated for them to follow him inside. The bar was busy. They weaved through the crowd and found Bly, who had claimed a booth in the far corner. As soon as he saw them coming, Bly called for a round of drinks to be brought to their table. The service droid nodded her head and drifted off.

   "Where'd the generals go?" asked Cody.

   Bly nodded towards the bar, where Rex saw General Skywalker standing between Kenobi and Secura. Next to Kenobi, Rex recognised Waxer and Boil. Waxer seemed to be showing Kenobi something, and Boil looked sullen as he sipped his drink. Plo Koon was talking to a group of shinies to their right.

   "They said they were gonna mingle around for a bit, check on the men," said Bly.

   Rex understood. It was a fine line for a leader to be present enough to be approachable and supportive and, at the same time, give enough space so that they didn't stifle their men. He learned a while ago that it was healthy to ease off sometimes and let the boys get up to their mischief and speak freely. He supposed the generals felt the same and was giving them time to speak more privately with each other. He doubted any of them would have minded; they were all pretty close to their Jedi, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Making a mental note to check up with them later, he shuffled into the booth, and Cody joined him. Wolffe sat next to Bly, and a few moments later, the droid brought their drinks on a circular tray. Rex took his and downed half in one go. He was three or four behind as it was, judging by the empty glasses that had gathered in the middle of the table. He threw back the rest of the liquid and pushed the glass aside, catching something in the corner of his eye as he did so.

   Echo and Fives were waving at him from across the bar, standing out in their new ARC gear. Well, it wasn't so new now; they'd actually been promoted a little while back. But they were still shinies in his eyes, and it still struck him as odd when he saw them sporting the double pauldrons and kamas. His heart swelled with pride. He didn't get to see them often enough now that they were only called out for specific types of jobs. Half of their time was spent guarding Kamino rather than on the Jedi cruiser with the rest of the 501st. He'd been glad to have them along for the latest campaign, and not just because they had been calm and reliable throughout the entire mission. It had been nice to spend time with them again- even if they had driven him almost to madness with their frequent bickering on the way there and back.

   He smiled and returned the wave. Fives brandished a full glass of a luminous green cocktail and pointed at it before grinning and giving him a thumbs up. Echo sat back, shaking his head at his twin. Rex shrugged, not really knowing what response Fives expected. They were interrupted by two pretty Twi'lek women who decided to join the pair of ARCs at their booth. Fives wiggled his eyebrows at Rex, then turned his full attention to them as Echo seemed torn between embarrassment and pride. ARC troopers were certainly popular with the civvies.

   Rex looked pointedly at Echo, who gave him a sheepish smile before averting his gaze. Rex had never seen Echo take anyone back to the barracks and knew the woman wouldn’t get much luck with him. Fives, meanwhile, was a whole different story. He’d take them both back if he could, plus whoever else he managed to convince on the way. And it wasn’t just women he returned with, either. Rex’s lips twitched into a smile at the pair of them, and he returned to the conversation at his own table.

   "-always get the relief missions," Wolffe was complaining. "And it's always to help the strangest people. Not that I don't think we should help. I mean, we should. But last time, I had to learn an entire dance routine that I had to perform for their leader before we could even unload the supplies. Apparently, they would've seen it as a challenge instead of help otherwise."

   Cody and Bly shook with laughter, and Rex couldn't help but join in. Wolffe must've hated making a big scene in the middle of a vital mission.

   "Did-did-" Cody struggled to get his words out in between his laughter. "Did your kama swish about?"

   Wolffe crossed his arms and grunted. "It involved a couple of twirls," he admitted reluctantly. “So, yes.”

   Bly thumped the table, and Rex made a sympathetic groan as Cody clutched his sides.

   Wolffe gave a wry smile and finished his drink. "Glad you get so much pleasure out of my suffering.”

   "Might I know the joke?" A cheerful, familiar voice came from behind Rex.

   "General Kenobi!" Cody sat up straighter, wiping his eyes and composing himself. "Do you want to sit down, Sir?"

   "If I could," said Kenobi. He perched on the edge of the bench next to Cody, who budged up to make room for him and turned his attention to Wolffe. "What's this about your suffering?"

   "Wolffe was telling us about the time he faced his greatest fear, Sir," Cody smirked.

   "Having fun," offered Bly, and the table dissolved into laughter again.

   Wolffe scowled and beckoned for another drink. "I know how to have fun," he said sourly.

   "Wolffe," said Bly. "I've known you all our lives, and I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen you having fun."

   Cody turned towards Kenobi. "How're the men, General?"

   "Well, they seem in high spirits. It's good to celebrate a hard-earned victory."

   Cody nodded and picked up his drink.

   "How're Waxer and Boil?" asked Rex, leaning past Cody to see the Jedi better.

   Rex was fond of the two members of Ghost Company. He often thought it was a shame that they'd not been assigned to the 501st, though they slotted in so perfectly with their 212th brothers that it was hard to argue that they should be reassigned to him. And it was even harder to imagine such a request going through. Cody would never part with them. Kenobi's eyes twinkled with amusement at the mention of two of his best men.

   "Waxer showed me a card trick, and Boil isn't happy because someone told him that his moustache made him look like a porg.”

   Cody snorted into his drink and, in his haste to recover, inhaled the liquid, causing him to end up in a coughing fit. Rex thumped him on the back, chuckling. So that’s why Boil had such a sulky expression on his face earlier. General Kenobi stayed a little while and shared a drink with them, injecting his usual brand of sarcasm into their conversation. Soon, someone else called for him, and he excused himself, leaving the clones to their own devices once more as the alcohol continued to flow. A double was placed in front of Rex.

   "To the fallen," said Cody.

   "The fallen," the other three repeated.

   More shots came after. These were reserved for their closest brothers, the ones whose losses cut deeper than the rest. The toasts of honour Bly had called it once, and the tradition had stuck. Tonight, Rex had nobody new to add to the toast of honour. He had counted no close brothers among his most recent losses. His heart suddenly felt heavy. If losing most of his shinies whilst his inner circle remained intact meant a personal victory, he didn't want to ever learn what total defeat tasted like.

Bly raised his next glass. "Ponds."

   Wolffe lifted his and said, "My first lot."

   Rex knew that to mean the casualties of Grievous's attack with his warship, The Malevolence, most having died before Wolffe even got to know their names. Wolffe had changed that day.

   Cody tilted his glass next and said, "Havoc and Colt."

   Rex almost sighed with relief. All old losses for all of them. He added his glass to the air.

   "Denal and 99."

   They clinked the shots together and threw them back in unison, slamming the glasses down and shoving them into the centre of the table with the other empty cups. Cody took the lead on the last toast, the one they did for themselves.

   "May the Force be with us," he joked, lifting the shot to the table at large.

   Wolffe looked around at them ominously, which wasn't difficult with his scar and white cybernetic eye, and mirrored Cody’s movement.

   "No stupid deaths," he added. “Heroic last stands only.”

   "Hear, hear," said Bly, clinking his glass to Wolffe's.

   “Cheerful,” muttered Rex to Cody as he raised his to join the toast.

   The night turned to a blur of bottomless drinks, shouts, laughter, and song bursts from groups of his rowdier brothers. Usually, it was Vode An, but sometimes they launched themselves into renditions of Mandalorian warrior songs that they half-remembered from their youth or space shanties they’d come across during the war. Finally, they seemed to sing themselves out and dispersed to join in the card games being played across the bar or found themselves on the dance floor. The music over the speakers changed from the usual electro to something more soft and sensual, and the more forward troopers took their cue and turned to the civilians for a dance. Rex spotted Fives go to join them and watched Echo haul him back to their booth.

   "Would you like this dance, Commander?"

   General Secura appeared out of nowhere and extended her hand across the table to Bly. His tattooed cheeks reddened profusely, visible even under the strobe lights. Cody and Rex exchanged amused looks. Wolffe grumbled playfully about being forced to move as he scooted out to enable Bly to slide over and take her hand. She pulled him to his feet, her lekku bouncing in time with her steps as she led him to the middle of the dance floor. He swayed slightly as he followed, leaving the three of them chortling behind him.

   "He's got it bad, hasn't he?" said Wolffe.

   "Oh yeah," said Rex. "He's screwed."

   "Ah, he'll be fine," said Cody, grinning as he accepted another round of drinks from the droid. He slid one across the table for Wolffe and nudged one towards Rex, who accepted. It was hitting him now; he was definitely drunk. He’d successfully caught up after all.

   Mission accomplished.

   A steady stream of drinks continued. They grew bored of making fun of Bly’s dancing, and soon, Wolffe and Cody were absorbed in a heated debate about the worst planets they’d ever been on while Rex stared into the depths of his latest beverage. Not long after they’d both agreed that Geonosis was the worst so far, Plo Koon materialised at the table. Wolffe moved over to make space for him as Rex and Cody nodded polite greetings. General Plo replied with a nod and a word Rex didn’t recognise before leaning across the table as though he wanted to tell them something discreetly. Rex edged forward to listen.

    “It appears that General Skywalker has had a few more than is wise."

   Rex looked over his shoulder, and his heart leaped into his throat.

   Hardcase was floating upside down in midair. The culprit was immediately obvious. General Skywalker was in front of him with his arm outstretched. Jesse sat on the bar laughing loudly and slamming his fist on the counter as the flustered Pantoran bartender tried to serve drinks around him. Kix was at Jesse's shoulder, and even through his drunken haze, Rex could make out his medic's appalled expression. Around them huddled a small crowd of shinies. Rex groaned and scanned the bar.

   Where was Kenobi?

   He spotted him sitting with Echo and Fives, sandwiched between the ARC troopers. The women were gone, and in their place were Waxer and Boil, the five of them absorbed in a game of Sabacc. Kenobi was either oblivious to Skywalker's antics or was actively choosing to ignore them. Which was more likely, Rex decided. It was almost impossible for a Jedi to be unaware of his surroundings, even when they’d had a fair bit to drink. So it seemed that Kenobi was absolving himself of being responsible for any Skywalker antics tonight. Which meant that it fell to him, just as he’d suspected.

   "I think perhaps you should call him a shuttle," suggested General Plo lightly.

   Rex turned back to apologise on the 501st’s behalf but found that Plo Koon wasn't mad. It was hard to read certain species, but Rex was sure he detected an air of amusement about General Plo. Rex smiled and nodded, understanding the assignment.

   It was time to get Skywalker out of here.

   He slid out from their booth and made his way over, the crowd of shinies parting easily for him once they spotted the kama and captain’s pauldron or recognised his blonde head. There were some good things about being notorious.

   "General Skywalker," he saluted.

   "Rex!" Skywalker threw his metal arm over his captain’s shoulders a little too hard, and it clanked against his armour as he continued to levitate Hardcase with his other hand.

   "Look, Captain!" said Hardcase. "I'm floating!"

   "Yeah, I know," said Rex, furrowing his brow to demonstrate his disapproval.

   "Do you want a turn?" asked Skywalker.

   He put Hardcase down and turned to Rex with a grin, and Rex recoiled in horror at the mere suggestion that he was next. He already got enough of all that during missions. And his head was spinning from the alcohol he’d consumed. The last thing he needed was to be thrown around in 79’s and embarrass himself in front of all the shinies and officers who were present.

   He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

   "Oh no, Sir, it's fine, really. I think I'll give it a miss," he said hastily.

   "What? You don't trust me? When have I ever dropped you?" demanded Skywalker.

   He was certain that the General's scandalous expression was in jest, but he wanted to steer the conversation away from that as soon as possible before Skywalker got any ideas. In the corner of his eye, he saw Jesse had leaped down from his perch to clap Hardcase on the back as Kix began to berate the both of them for finding it funny. At least he knew that one of his men had a sensible head on his shoulders.

   He took Skywalker’s arm and lowered it away from him before he began to march them both towards the exit. Thankfully, the General allowed it, and they managed to escape the thickest part of the crowd and get to the exit before anything else could happen. Together, the two of them stepped outside and were hit by the cool Coruscant air.

   "Back to the Jedi temple or The Resolute, General?" Rex asked.

   "Padme," Skywalker mumbled.

   Rex looked around frantically and was relieved to see that nobody was paying them much attention. He lowered his voice, trying to think properly through his intoxication.

   "Are you sure that’s a good idea, Sir?"

   "Yes," said Skywalker firmly, nodding.

   He staggered to the side, and Rex steadied him.

   "You want me to send you to Senator Amidala's?" he hissed.

   "Yes. Want to see Padme. I miss her so much, Rex. She's really everything to me-"

   "Alright, alright," Rex interrupted. "Fine, just keep it down. As long as you're absolutely sure that's what you want to do, I'll call her for you."

   "I always want to see Padme. If I could, I'd never leave her apartment. She's so beautiful. Her hair is so soft, and her skin is so warm. Her eyes are just... And her kisses. Her kisses make me want to-" 

   "Perhaps too much information, Sir," said Rex, cutting him off quickly before he could finish the sentence.

   He really didn’t want him to say anything that compromised them too badly. To his relief, General Skywalker got the hint, seeming to realise that there were some things he needed to keep to himself. He stared dreamily into the distance, lost in thoughts of his beloved. Then he snapped his attention back to Rex.

   "Tell Snips to help you cover for me," he slurred. “And call Padme!”

   "Yes, General," said Rex. He took Skywalker's wrist and selected Amidala's private channel.

   "Hello?" came a sleepy woman's voice.

   "Padme!" exclaimed Skywalker, all cross-eyed and beaming.

   "Shhh!"

   "Rex, let me talk to my wi-"

   "Sir, you must be quiet-"

   "Ani?"

   "No, uh- hello, Senator," said Rex awkwardly as he clamped one hand over Skywalker's mouth. "It's Captain Rex, Ma'am."

   "Rex? Hello, what is it?"

   "It's uh..." he paused and cleared his throat. "The general wants to see you. He's... quite intoxicated."

   This entire situation was too humiliating. He, a decorated captain in the Grand Army of the Republic, was helping a Jedi general drunk dial a Senator. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. Luckily, Senator Amidala’s tone was still friendly and warm despite having clearly been rudely woken up in the middle of the night.

   "Thank you, Captain. I'll send a shuttle. 79's, isn't it?"

   "Yes, Senator. Thank you."

   "Take care of him until I can," she laughed, and the channel closed.

   At least she didn't seem angry. That was something.

   "Where'd she go?" demanded Skywalker.

   "You'll see her soon," Rex reassured him.

   If they thought Bly had it bad, he wondered what the others would think about how Skywalker was with Senator Amidala. Not that he would ever tell them or anyone else. He wondered if he would've had he found out earlier in the war when he was still prone to stringent rule-following.

   He'd changed a lot since that first battle on Geonosis.

   To his relief, the shuttle the Senator had sent to collect Skywalker didn’t take long. He recognised the distinctive uniforms of Senator Amidala's Nabooian security and patted Skywalker’s shoulder before being forced to grab him as he teetered sideways again.

   "This one's your ride, Sir."

   He guided Skywalker to the shuttle and watched as he climbed clumsily into the passenger seat and slumped forward as it took off. Rex waited until the shuttle was out of sight, then headed back inside to return to his brothers. Before he even made it through the doors, he saw the orange armour and the curved scar that belonged to Cody emerge from the bar.

   "I think I should get this one back, too," he said reluctantly, tilting his head to indicate the bearded Jedi tucked under his arm.

   "Commander, please! We both know I'm the one escorting you back. You're far too drunk," Kenobi protested.

   "If you say so, General," slurred Cody.

   Rex wasn’t sure which one of them he believed. They were both hazy-eyed, and their cheeks flushed red from the alcohol, though it was more obvious on Kenobi’s pale skin. It was hard to tell which one was truly worse off. Rex had no doubt that both would be feeling it the next morning.

   “Let’s get you back to The Negotiator,” said Cody, hefting the general up to steady them both better.

   “I’m the Negotiator.”

   “No need to remind me, Sir.”

   The prospect of an impending hangover didn’t seem to dampen General Kenobi’s spirits. Maybe Jedi didn’t even get hangovers; maybe they could just meditate it away or something.

   Kenobi grinned and threw Rex a cheeky salute, his movements still smooth despite his obviously drunken state. "It was nice to catch up, Captain."

   "Likewise, Sir," he said, saluting back automatically. General Kenobi stumbled sideways, and Cody pulled him back into his side.

   "Shall we, Cody?"

   They made their way past him, Cody throwing Rex a last apologetic look before they disappeared out of sight to find a shuttle of their own. When he got back inside, he found Wolffe sitting alone at the booth where they’d left him. There were more empty glasses than when he’d left to carry out the intervention on Skywalker. He apologised for leaving, and Wolffe waved it away like he was swatting at an irritating insect before draining his latest glass. Rex looked around at the bar and saw that it was emptier than it had been earlier. It was still just as loud because the ones who remained were the noisier clones, and they were more than making up for the dwindling numbers.

   Wolffe stretched and yawned. "Well, I'm off too. If I have to watch those two any longer, I'll gouge out my other eye," he said.

   Rex followed Wolffe's glare to Bly and General Secura, who danced as though they were the only two in the entire bar, eyes fixed on each other as they moved in unison. Wolffe had a point. Rex doubted he'd get his brother back anytime soon. He walked with Wolffe to the exit, said his goodbyes, and wondered if he should head back himself. The floor had become sticky from all the spilled drinks. Everyone still here was lost in the throes of their intoxication. He might be glad that Cody convinced him to come out, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be around when the night entirely derailed.

   “Captain!”

   An arm slung around his shoulders. Rex swore, caught completely off guard, and turned his head to come face to face with a very drunk Fives. He grinned goofily at him, his breath smelling of some fruity beverage and his eyes unfocused. Before he could even respond, another arm came from the other side, and Echo was there.

   “Captain, we haven’t spoken all night!”

   “Hello, boys,” he said, detangling himself from the twins so that they would stop shouting into his ears. “Having a good time?”

   “All good here,” said Fives cheerfully.

   “All good! Where’s Cody?” asked Echo, glancing around.

   “He’s gone back to the ship,” replied Rex.

   Both made noises of disappointment. Then Fives spotted a pretty Twi’lek with pale green skin and purple and pink markings on her headtails and matching tattoos on her exposed shoulders. He moved in, stopping only to swipe two drinks from a passing tray before approaching her.

   Echo made to stop him, then shrugged. “I should just let him embarrass himself,” he said.

   “How much has he had?” asked Rex.

   “You know Fives. He’s a lightweight,” said Echo.

   “So, how’d you think this is going to work out for him?”

   Echo pretended to mull it over, chewing his cheek in mock thought. “I’d wager that he’ll either throw up on her shoes or fall on his face in the next ten minutes,” he said eventually. “Though it could be just another bad pickup line.”

   Rex laughed, and the two of them settled down at a nearby table. He wouldn’t be long, but he would always have time for Echo and Fives, so he decided just one or two more drinks wouldn’t hurt. They accepted another round sent their way by Boost, who gave them a nod and a wave from where he stood at the bar. It seemed that Sinker and Comet had left, too, because Rex couldn’t spot either of them. He waved his thanks to the Wolfpack member and turned back to Echo.

   His vod’ika looked a little troubled. His face was softer and more boyish than Fives, probably because of his clean-shaven look and more subdued demeanour. The twins were complementary opposites, each balancing out the best and worst traits of the other. And yet they were eerily similar, even for clones. Like a single soul split into two. If something troubled Fives, he would announce it loudly and passionately to anyone who would listen. Echo would sit with his problems until it was pried out of him, and even then, he had a habit of withholding a certain amount to brood over alone. Rex had long since discovered that they required very different things from his leadership. He decided he should coax what he could from his brother.

   “What is it?” he asked.

   “I just…” Echo trailed off and shook himself, forcing a smile. “Nothing, Captain.”

   Oh, how similar they all could be. Now look who was using rank and titles to not talk about their problems. In the wake of being faced with his own avoidance tactics, he decided to take a leaf out of Cody’s book to counter it.

   “Just Rex. We’re off duty.”

   “‘Off duty,’” Echo repeated. “Right, yeah.”

   “Something’s bothering you,” Rex prodded, acutely aware of the hypocrisy considering his earlier behaviour. “You can tell me about it if you want.”

   Luckily, Echo was more forthcoming than Rex, especially when faced with authority. He only hesitated for a moment before speaking, and Rex hoped it was because of their brotherhood rather than any sort of obligation Echo felt due to his rank. He knew what Echo was like with orders, though he had relaxed quite a bit since his earlier days in the 501st.

   “This war. It doesn’t seem to stop. And every time we survive, I think the next mission will be…” Echo swallowed and stared down at his drink. “I’m not a coward, but it scares me.”

   “Dying?”

   “No.” Echo looked up. “That doesn’t bother me. I’m afraid I’ll be alone. That I’ll lose him. Or… or maybe I’ll be the one to go first. All I know is that the more battles we face, the bigger the odds are of one of us losing the other, and I don’t know which I’m more afraid of. What will happen if I’m not around to watch his back?”

   Rex wasn’t sure what to say to that. He understood with perfect clarity what Echo meant. The problem was that his mind was far too drunk to really respond with anything comforting or profound. Echo seemed to understand because he gave a sad little smile and drained his glass. They both looked over at Fives, who had removed pieces of his armour to better flex the muscles under his blacks. The woman laughed and asked him to join her for a drink. He sat on a stool at the bar next to her and tried to lean closer, but his kama got caught underneath him. In his haste to fix it, he tipped the drink over the woman’s lap. Rex and Echo exchanged mortified looks, their somber conversation swept away by a wave of secondhand embarrassment.

   “I can’t do this anymore,” said Echo. “I thought I could turn a blind eye, but I can’t let him tarnish the ARC reputation like this.”

   “Yeah,” Rex agreed, cringing and checking how late it was. “Time to call it a night.”

Chapter Text

   The barracks had been taken over by blue and orange for the last five rotations, and Fox was sick of it. The military base was mainly for the boys in red, but it was large enough that it also housed a constant flow of unassigned reserve shinies and any battalions who were on leave. Usually, this was perfectly fine with Fox.

   This time, he was not fine because it was his third sleepless night in a row.

   Their initial arrival hadn’t been so bad. The men had been tired from battle, too weary from their latest mission to cause much trouble. Now they were all refreshed and recovered, and they made that far too well known for his liking.

   Hadn't anyone told the 501st how to conduct themselves properly?

   He supposed it was to be expected, considering the Jedi leadership they had. General Skywalker and Commander Tano were a pair of rogues, and Captain Rex wasn’t entirely blameless either. This never happened with Fox’s men. Or Bly’s, Gree's or Wolffe's. The 212th wasn’t quite as bad as the 501st, but even they got sucked into the rowdy antics of Anakin Skywalker’s battalion in the absence of Commander Cody or the Captain. Unfortunately, they were both accompanying their generals for a meeting on board The Negotiator currently stationed above Coruscant, and they weren’t expected back until later that afternoon. Commander Bly had already been redeployed, and the 104th were on blockade duty, their men having cleared out their bunks and set off the night before.

   Which left the 501st almost completely unchecked and the 212th ripe for corruption.

   It didn’t help that after finally managing to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, Fox had woken up with a pounding headache and the intense nausea that marked alcohol overconsumption the previous night. For that particular problem, he only had himself to blame. Even better, he was due for Senate duty for most of the day, after dealing with the heap of paperwork that had somehow found its way to his desk overnight. It wasn’t a recipe for a good morning. Sometimes he envied the clones who just got to shoot at things somewhere far away from the constant demands of the Coruscanti.

   He ate breakfast in silence, glowering at a cluster of 501st troopers who were being too loud for how early in the day it was. Every time there was an uproar of laughter, it made him wince as pain threatened to split his head open. If it didn’t wear off soon, he’d have to make a quick stop at the infirmary for painkillers and he didn’t want to waste their time over something he’d inflicted upon himself. Unfortunately, the louder the 501st became, the more likely it was that he would have to.

   At least the other Corries knew that he needed to be left alone for the first hour of the day and had steered well clear from him. Although Thorn had casually placed an extra cup of caf on the table in front of him with a sympathetic wink, which he appreciated. He finished his food, discarded his tray and shoved his helmet back on, hoping to discourage any and all interaction as he left the mess hall. As he reached the exit, he heard a thunderous crash followed by indignant shouts and gleeful jeers. He sighed and forced himself to keep moving, not bothering to look back.

   He didn’t even want to know.

   Fucking 501st.

   When he reached his office and settled down, his day took another turn for the worst. Firstly, he noticed that the cup he’d been sipping from was marked as decaf.

   Pointless.

   Why would anyone choose to drink caf without the caf anyway?

   He scowled down at it, furious that he’d been fooled by the placebo, and threw the whole thing into the trash chute. He hoped it was a genuine mistake by Thorn, and not a prank at his expense because he had no patience for it. He went to his locked drawer instead, and found only dregs left of his latest liquor supply. He finished it off before depositing the bottle in the trash chute too. Heaving a sigh, he checked his outstanding tasks on the datapad, and his heart sank at all the messages.

   There were report reminders, crime statistics and pending authorisations waiting for his attention. GAR logistics had messaged to inform him that they would be short of grenades in the next shipment due to manufacturing issues, and ‘needing to prioritise the current stock for military operations.’ That really pissed him off. It was so typical of Logistics to give them the shit end of the deal.

   Commander Stone had put out a reminder that the barracks were off limits to civilians, and anyone caught sneaking them in would be disciplined, including ARCs. The Vice Chairman wanted a quarterly report on their crime reduction rates. And Thire had posted a base-wide warning that any experienced trooper caught convincing shinies to break rules in exchange for survival tips would find themselves on sanitation duties for the remainder of their leave.

   Fox let his head fall into his hands and prayed for strength.

   He wasn’t sure how it could get much worse.

   He realised he shouldn’t have wondered when his comms beeped and left his ears ringing uncomfortably. He gritted his teeth and lowered the volume before answering.

   “Commander Fox here,” he said curtly.

   “The Chancellor has requested your presence immediately.”

   Immediately?

   He wasn't scheduled to be at the Senate for another two hours. This wouldn't leave him nearly enough time for all of the paperwork he had, or the chance of grabbing that cup of real caf he still wanted.

   He didn't say that though.

   "Understood, Sir. On my way."

   He got up, locked the office and made arrangements for a shuttle to meet him at the landing platform near the war memorial. It wasn’t a long walk. On his way, he reassigned one of his men to take over some of the reports so that he didn't fall too far behind, and wondered what the Chancellor could possibly want. It could be anything from basic guard duty to being informed about a Separatist plot that had dire consequences for them all. So either it was incredibly boring or really urgent. He wasn’t sure which one he wanted it to be. Boring meant he could’ve got the paperwork done after all and urgent was, well, urgent. And that meant it was his duty to stress about it.

                                                                                                                                  ***

   It turned out to be the boring one.

   Fox had been waiting for over twenty five minutes. So much for needing to be seen immediately. Trying to contain his impatience, he stood dutifully outside the Chancellor’s office, knowing not to enter until he had been called in. He could’ve got a decent amount of admin done by now. He could have definitely got himself suitably caffeinated. The only positive was that his headache and nausea had subsided without needing to bother anyone. So that was something.

   Eventually, the doors opened and out stepped Senator Organa. He held a file and a data stick in his hands and was thanking the Chancellor for his time. Palpatine assured Organa that he could come to him with any concerns, stating his admiration for Organa’s dedication and intelligence. Organa responded in kind, replying that it was his pleasure to serve the people of the Republic. Fox thought there was something rather forced about the entire thing, a strange sort of duel using only friendly words and impeccable manners. Finally, they said their farewells and Organa swept off down the red corridor, his blue robes brushing his ankles behind him.

   Politicians were strange beings.

   They never seemed to be forthright about anything. Fox didn’t know how they possibly got anything done when so many things were left unspoken. In this wealthy corner of the galaxy, attacks came disguised as false warmth, the daggers came in the form of well-meaning advice and allies changed to enemies at whim. Fox suddenly felt a little bad for the weary old Chancellor. It must be hard to be in such a powerful position. At least Fox didn’t have to worry about Thorn or Stone trying to pin blame on him or the rest of the men trying to usurp his position. They were loyal to each other, not like these backstabbing senators. Fox preferred it right where he was, a cog that kept everything functioning. He couldn’t imagine clawing for power like they did. He was already so conscious of the responsibility he already had. They were welcome to the top, he didn’t want anything more to worry about.

   His sympathy didn’t stop Fox from loathing something about the Chancellor that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

   “Come, Commander.”

   As usual, the Chancellor’s sickly sweet mannerisms dissolved away and became cold indifference, as though Fox was nothing more than a pet. Less than a pet, really. Didn’t the natborns who had pets actually care about them? The tone Palpatine used when he addressed Fox was devoid of any sort of fondness, more akin to the way people spoke to maintenance droids. Fox tried to stamp out the thought as Palpatine retreated into his office, not bothering to look back. Fox followed obediently and the door closed behind him, sealing them inside the room together.

   “I have an assignment for you.”

   “Sir?”

   “It seems that there is an occupant in the prison system who has valuable intel regarding corruption within the Republic, including links to the Separatists. Some senators believe that this intel is legitimate, including myself.”

   Fox waited in silence for his objective, disinterested with the circumstances surrounding it. He just hoped that whatever it was didn’t take too long.

   “Senator Organa has just pushed to have his trial date brought forward so that it may enlighten us,” Palpatine’s mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “Unfortunate, really. I need you to take care of the situation.”

   Fox frowned under the cover of his helmet.

   Take care of it?

   What sort of objective was that? There were numerous ways to decipher such a vague statement, yet the Chancellor’s tone dripped with malice.

   He couldn’t mean…

   Could he?

   “Execute Order 56.”

   What?

   Fox blinked away his confusion. He was glad that his face was covered so that the Chancellor didn’t see his reaction.

   “Yes, Sir,” he found himself saying. “What are my orders?”

   “You will go to the prison and kill Prisoner 48273. You will make it look like an accident. Suicide perhaps, or a fight with another inmate. Use your secondary clearance.”

   Fox never questioned his orders, but none of this made any sense to him. What secondary clearance? This didn’t sound right. He opened his mouth to protest, to ask why he should kill a prisoner who might help with the war effort. A prisoner who was still awaiting a trial, who hadn’t actually been found guilty yet. He wanted to say that it sounded like an undemocratic thing to do. That if Fox wasn’t mistaken, the Chancellor himself was behaving as though he was corrupt.

   None of these thoughts made it to his tongue.

   “Understood, Sir,” he replied instead.

   He tried again and found that he couldn’t form the words that he wanted to. He stood mutely in front of the Chancellor’s desk, utterly bewildered. His arms were rigid at his sides, his shoulders held stiff as he tried to force his voice to work.

   What was this?

   “Leave now,” said Palpatine.

   And Fox, without realising he was even doing so, turned and left the office to complete his task.

                                                                                                                              ***

   Fox arrived back at the barracks when it was already dark, sipping a cup of caf that he didn’t remember picking up. He must’ve stopped to get one when he’d left the Senate. He headed straight for his office, then remembered glumly that he didn’t have any alcohol left there. He changed route to his private quarters instead, which hid some of his remaining supply. He’d need another raid soon to replenish his stock. He took the long way, avoiding the mess hall and hopefully everyone else along with it, and found himself deeply troubled.

   He couldn’t really recall the window of time between his arrival at the Senate earlier and his return to the barracks now.

   As he struggled to bring forth even the most basic details of anything he’d done, he began to realise that this wasn’t the first case of memory loss he’d ever had. There had been other days just like this, where he’d been in one place and turned up in another without knowing how or why. He’d always put it down to the drink before. So why was he experiencing it now, when he’d only had a few mouthfuls of liquor that morning? It didn’t make sense.

   A horrifying thought struck him.

   Maybe he was defective.

   Fox recoiled from the idea and immediately tried to soothe himself, trying to think of ways to explain it. Perhaps it was just stress. Maybe it was a temporary illness of some kind, or maybe the day had been so boring that he’d just eradicated it from his mind entirely.

   None of that sounded very convincing. A clone who blacks out and cannot say why? Who didn’t even notice until now because he’d been drinking on the job for over half of the war? They wouldn’t trust him ever again. He’d be stripped of his command, and sent back to Kamino if anyone ever found out. Cody had been right after all, joking or not. He was a bad soldier, and had been the entire time.

   He couldn’t tell anyone.

   He’d have to deal with this on his own. He’d figure it out without having to be tested by Kaminoans or losing his position. He’d never failed as a cadet, he couldn’t return for reconditioning. He would fix this himself. Perhaps if he could find-

   “Fox!”

   Fox froze in his tracks.

   Oh, for the love of the Republic.

   He really didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Especially not-

   “Cody.”

   “We missed you the other night,” said the other commander.

   “It’s been busy,” said Fox. He walked forward again and Cody fell into step next to him. Looks like he was getting company whether he liked it or not. And it had to be the one clone who seemed to sniff through everyone’s facade.

   Fantastic.

   “Did you really have things to deal with at the prison?” Cody asked shrewdly.

   Fox felt himself begin to sweat under his armour.

   “I wasn’t at the prison today,” he said automatically. “I was on Senate duty.”

   Not that he could remember any of it.

   “I meant the other night, when we asked you to come for drinks,” said Cody.

   “Oh, that. Yeah, I had to handle a riot among the prisoners,” he said, remembering his lie.

   “And what about since then? We haven’t seen you around much. Anything been going on?”

   “Just the usual,” Fox said cagily. Despite them being the same rank, Fox felt uncomfortable, like a subordinate under questioning. “Prison duty, spies, neverending piles of admin. Nothing I can’t handle. Why do you ask?”

   “So you’re not avoiding us because you still feel bad about-” Cody gestured to his scar and Fox flushed.

   As embarrassed as he still was over the incident, and as much as he hated to show any sign of weakness in front of Cody, Fox found that he was glad for the cover story now. Cody was relentless, and Fox didn’t have the energy to evade him. If his brother had drawn up his own conclusion already, Fox would rather play along than admit what was actually bothering him. He hung his head a little and let his shoulders slump. It was easy for him to put on a show of humility when the memory of throwing the bottle in his face still brought on so much shame. He didn’t need to speak, just let Cody assume that he was right about his theory.

   If there was one thing he learned from politicians, it was the usefulness of half-truths.

   Cody looked at him sideways, the familiar calculating look on his face, and Fox let the silence hang there between them. Cody seemed to decide something and got in front of him. He held Fox with outstretched arms, gripping each shoulder and forcing them both to a standstill. Fox couldn’t do much without dropping his helmet or spilling the caf, so he allowed it.

   “Fox, you can’t let this affect you anymore. We talked about this.”

   So Cody didn’t suspect what was really going on. Good.

   “I know, I know,” Fox replied, dipping his head. “I’m sorry, I should have come out the other night.”

   “We’re okay, Fox, I promise. You’re my brother. We fight sometimes, but we always get over it. It was a mistake and you really need to let it go.”

   Fox let the ghost of a smile pass over his face and it was just enough for Cody to visibly relax.

   He released him with a smile and an affectionate pat. “Good. I don’t like the thought of you beating yourself up. You should come out with us next time, it’ll be fun. The boys would like that.”

   “Yeah,” said Fox. “I will.”

   Neither of them added what both of them knew the other was thinking. The reality was that the offer of a next time was an ‘if’ rather than a ‘when’. It all depended on if Cody was lucky enough to survive his next battle, and if Fox managed to avoid death by Coruscant. Their tomorrows were not guaranteed.

   It was best to leave that kind of thing unsaid.

   There were three things Fox cared about at that moment. Firstly, Cody hadn’t suspected the real reason for his desire to be alone. His missing memories remained his secret problem. Secondly, he was far too sober and desperately needed a drink. Thirdly, Cody really did forgive him.

   And that made him feel a little lighter inside.

Chapter Text

This is it, Tup! We're finally off to war," said Dogma.

"Aren't we just going to morning drills?"

“Well, yes. But we’re not on Kamino! We’re part of the war effort now.”

"We’re just reserves.”

"You know troopers don't spend long in reserve."

"Yeah," said Tup gloomily. "Because so many of us die out there."

"It's our duty," Dogma reminded him. “But never mind that, we get our battalion colours soon. We can finally belong somewhere.”

Tup mulled it over and then shrugged, causing Dogma to scowl disapprovingly at him.

“Don’t you want to serve the Republic?” he demanded.

“What clone doesn’t? Does it mean I have to be excited about going out there to die?”

“Maybe we won’t die,” said Dogma optimistically. “If we’re good enough and listen to orders, we will be fine.”

Tup shrugged again and ran a hand through his hair. He’d grown it out far longer than was regulation, but since the Jedi had sent representatives to Kamino, they’d been forced to relax a lot of the rules. It was reaching the top of Tup’s shoulders now. Dogma didn’t really approve, but it wasn’t up to him. He’d kept his own cropped short like it had been recommended when he was a cadet, though his wasn’t military standard anymore either. A Wolfpack member had given him a sharp, jagged hairline that made his face look harsher, which he liked because it made him feel less like a shiny. He also enjoyed how much easier it was to tell him apart, which was probably also the reason he accepted a face tattoo from a trooper called Hardcase. According to everyone, Hardcase had the cleanest line work and had even done some of his own tattoos. Dogma had opted for a V shaped design that extended from his forehead to his nose. Tup had been more cautious, getting a small teardrop under his eye.

“Maybe,” said Tup. “Maybe not.”

Dogma changed the subject. He was excited to have finally graduated, to finally be off Kamino, and was eager for his first proper deployment. He didn’t want Tup to overthink it. That sort of thing made Dogma feel uncomfortable.

“What battalion do you think we will end up with?” he asked to distract them both from such thoughts.

“I heard that the 212th and the 501st are staying on Coruscant a little bit longer, so probably one of them when they next ship out,” said Tup. “Or the 104th.”

There had been a steady stream of grey, blue and orange paint moving through the barracks lately, though most of them seemed to have returned to their Venators now. Dogma had been excited to catch a glimpse of Commander Wolffe a few rotations ago, and even a pair of ARCs arguing in the mess hall. But he hadn’t seen Commander Cody or Captain Rex yet. Neither had he managed to spot any of the Corrie commanders. He saw the notorious red armour as the members of the Guard went about their day, but no sign of their leaders.

They joined a group of other reserves on their way to morning drills, and by the time they arrived at the training hall, the group had grown to a crowd of shiny white armour. He glimpsed some orange and blue among them today. The assigned soldiers had access to a private gymnasium on the other side of the base, and duties to be getting on with. But occasionally, some of them chose to join in with their exercises too. Whenever they did, Dogma watched them all keenly, hoping to pick up ways to improve his own form. He’d been particularly excited a few rotations ago when a group of 212th and 501st had come along. Among them were a few sergeants and a lieutenant called Waxer, who Dogma had taken an instant liking to. Dogma had grilled him for ages and hung onto every piece of advice Waxer had offered, following him around even after the drills ended until Tup eventually dragged him away for lunch. He hoped that he would see Waxer again, because his insight had been very helpful.

Dogma got something even more impressive now.

An ARC in blue and white armour stood near Coruscant’s drill sergeant, arms clasped behind his back and looking important. He’d enjoyed speaking with Waxer, but an ARC was something else entirely. They were elite, serving as both the home guard and the ones who slipped past enemy lines for covert missions. Not only were they the ruthless defenders of Kamino but they were also formidable on the frontlines, and creative in the control rooms too. Dogma pointed him out to Tup as they got into their starting formations. This ARC must be one half of the pair Dogma had seen in the mess hall.

“The markings on the helmet,” Tup said in a hushed voice.

“I know,” said Dogma.

Parallel lines on armour, or even shaved into hair, was a way for a clone to honour the fallen. A sign of respect and grief. The ARC had used blue paint for his, and they came down from the helmet’s fin to just above his visor. Dogma wondered what the war had put him through to make him add such a symbol of mourning to his helmet. He must have lost vode he loved very much.

Tup nudged him and Dogma tore his eyes away from the ARC to see the drill sergeant glaring at them all to get into proper formation. They immediately moved to comply. The drill sergeant waited, stern and silent as they arranged themselves into the usual neat rows. When they all stood to attention, he finally addressed them.

“We have a guest today, rookies. This is ARC trooper Echo of Torrent Company. He’s agreed to come in and give you a taste of how an ARC trooper prepares for battle, so he’s running morning drills today. Pay attention to him, and you might stand a chance of surviving this war.”

The ARC stepped forward and looked around at them. Dogma noticed he had a blue handprint on his chest plate; and that his ammunition pack had been clipped to the opposite side than was standard. The plating had tones of grey among the white and blue.

“I won’t lie to you,” said the ARC. He had a softer voice than Dogma expected. “It's hard out there, so the best thing you can do is be prepared. Strive for consistency and you won’t go far wrong. Are you ready?”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” they said in unison.

“Good. Let’s begin.”

It was deceptively easy at first, mainly stretches and running laps, which was more basic than Dogma expected from an ARC trooper. He needn’t have worried. The exercises became gradually more intense and difficult until he began to doubt if he could ever finish the circuits. Just as they were all on the brink of collapse, the ARC ordered them into pairs and told them to spar. Dogma and Tup paired up together, glad that the session was almost at an end and that they were finally moving on from the brutal circuits that almost defeated them.

They were wrong to be relieved.

The ARC included a few different stipulations which made it far more challenging. If they were hoping for an easy finish, it quickly became obvious that they weren’t getting one. Anyone who got pinned to the floor or got caught in a submission hold had to run a lap and lift weights before restarting the timer. Anyone who got hit in the face had to do sit ups, press ups, planks and burpees before resetting the timer. They could go once they both survived a full five minutes. Anyone caught not trying their hardest had to do both and increase their timer to ten minutes.

They were all sloppy from fatigue, and mistakes were made often. By the time they finished, Dogma ached all over and dreaded what it would feel like later.

“That’s what ARCs have to do every day? It was the hardest morning drill I’ve ever had,” said Tup, wiping sweat from his brow.

“I want to be assigned to the 501st,” Dogma decided.

Tup looked surprised. “You? Why?”

“What’s wrong with the 501st?” he asked defensively.

“Nothing. They seem cool, but aren’t they… a little lenient with rules and regulations?”

Dogma knew what Tup was suggesting. He didn’t get his name for nothing. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he liked rules. That didn’t deter him, though.

“They’re supposed to be the best. You saw that ARC. And I want to be part of the best battalion, don’t you?”

Tup thought about it and smiled. “Yeah. I can see us in blue.”

Chapter Text

The last morning on Coruscant was cold, and Fives didn’t want to get out of bed. He nestled deeper into the mattress and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, determined to get an extra hour of sleep. After all, what was the point of being an ARC trooper if he couldn’t bend the rules just a little? They didn’t need to go running drills with the reserves. Besides, their ship back to Kamino wasn’t due until the afternoon. They had plenty of time, which was a rarity he intended to fully enjoy.

Unfortunately, Echo had other ideas.

“Get up!” he ordered, rattling the bed frame with a kick.

“Get fucked,” Fives mumbled.

Something heavy hit his head.

“Kriffing hell!”

He emerged from the covers rubbing his temple and saw what had been thrown at him.

“My helmet, Echo, really?”

Echo was already in his full gear including his own helmet. His kama was crisp, and his pauldrons were perfectly straight on his shoulders. The blue handprint had been polished until it practically gleamed. Fives sat up and yawned loudly as he took in Echo’s appearance.

“Of course you’ve even ironed your kama,” he muttered. “What’s the occasion?”

“I ran morning drills with the reserves,” said Echo. “ARCs should set an example.”

Fives shoved his helmet on and let himself fall back into bed with a groan.

“A good example,” Echo clarified.

Fives waved a middle finger in Echo’s direction without bothering to look at him.

“Nice,” said Echo. “But you really should get ready. We’ve been called to the Jedi temple.”

Fives sat back up and took the helmet off, completely awake and serious now. “We have a mission?”

“Looks like it,” said Echo. “Now come on!”

“So much for going home. Guess they cancelled our shuttle then?”

“No talking. Get ready!”

***

Less than half an hour later, they were in one of the conference rooms in the Jedi temple with Commander Cody and General Kenobi, awaiting the arrival of the others. Rex was still on board The Resolute. General Skywalker was running late and had commed to say he was trying to sort something out. And General Plo was in the Jedi archives, searching for something that they might need for the mission. In the meantime, Cody had filled them in on what to expect.

“We’ve got a member of the Jedi Council to rescue?” asked Echo.

Kenobi stroked his beard and his face settled in a concerned frown as he nodded.

“Master Piell has been captured. He is in possession of highly sensitive intel,” he said.

“We’ve done extractions before,” Fives said. “Should be easy enough.”

“Not like this one,” said Cody darkly. “We’re awaiting confirmation but we believe General Piell has been taken to the Citadel on Lola Sayu.”

“We did a Citadel challenge for our final test,” said Echo. “Perhaps the simulation was based on this place on Lola Sayu.”

“In that case, it’ll be fine,” Fives asserted, reassured at the idea that they’d already proven themselves capable for this particular situation.

“Perhaps some aspects of it were, but this mission won’t be anything like the simulations,” said Kenobi.

Fives was about to point out that it never was, when Kenobi and Cody exchanged grim looks. Something was up, and Fives refused to be left ignorant. He wanted to know what they were facing.

“Alright, what don’t Echo and I know?” Fives demanded.

“Yeah, what is it?” asked Echo, catching on too.

“It’s an old prison used by the Republic before the war. It was designed to hold Jedi who fell to the Dark Side,” General Kenobi explained.

Designed to hold Jedi?

Fierfek. That did sound pretty serious.

“Lola Sayu’s terrain is also exceptionally hostile. Sulfur rivers, lava pits and wind conditions which we don’t think will be suitable for jet packs. There will also be heightened security with such a valuable prisoner,” Cody added.

“Since Lola Sayu ended up in Separatist hands, they’ve also blockaded the entire sector. It won’t be easy to get in or out,” said General Kenobi.

“So not a standard extraction,” Echo surmised.

“It doesn't sound like the simulations, either,” said Fives, apprehension creeping in.

“Unfortunately it won't be like anything any of us have faced before. Master Plo and Anakin should be here soon so we can go over everything properly.”

“Who’s coming along?” asked Fives.

He wanted to know that they had a good team ready for this mission if it was going to be as dangerous as they were saying.

“Myself and Anakin, two squads from Ghost and Torrent Company, Cody and Captain Rex. We also need droids to help us infiltrate their outer security, so we’re bringing R2-D2 to assist us,” said General Kenobi.

“No Commander Tano?” asked Echo, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“I’m afraid that Anakin and I decided that it would be best that she gave this one a miss,” said Kenobi.

Commander Tano had proven herself before, and he would feel better having an extra Jedi along. The rest of the team they’d assembled seemed fine to him. Even Skywalker’s R2 unit had accompanied them into battles before and was incredibly capable, even if Fives wasn’t particularly fond of working with droids. If he had to rely on one though, it might as well be the feisty little astromech. Yet the exclusion of Ahsoka Tano didn’t give him any comfort. If she was sitting this one out, it just proved how risky they believed the mission to be. Fives glanced sideways at Echo, and caught his eye. Neither had to speak to know what the other was thinking. General Kenobi was tense, one of the Jedi’s own was in danger and Fives didn’t need to be a Jedi to sense Kenobi’s eagerness to get going. Commander Cody, usually stoic in the face of a new mission, seemed especially serious now.

The stakes were high for this mission.

A few minutes later, General Plo arrived with the confirmation they needed. Piell was indeed at the Citadel and the rescue mission had been authorised. The General had found the schematics he had been looking for in the archives, though they were outdated by now. They were grateful anyway, all agreeing that it was better than going in entirely blind. Not long after, a holographic image of Rex appeared in the room. He nodded at them, and saluted the two generals.

“Sorry I couldn’t come down in person,” he said. “I got the rest of the team on standby, I’ll brief them on my way to meet you.”

“That’s quite alright, Captain. Now all we need is Anakin and we can begin,” said Kenobi.

“I’m here!” Skywalker strode in, looking rather pleased with himself and completely unapologetic about how late he was. He patted Fives’ shoulder as he passed by, folding his arms and jutting his jaw as he took his place in their circle.

At least someone was confident about this mission.

“About time. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten us,” said Kenobi drily.

“Sorry,” said Skywalker, clearly not sorry. “I was looking into something that might help. Artoo is getting things ready. So, what have you got for us?”

General Plo Koon inserted the data stick into the panel and brought up some blueprints and maps as he began to outline the mission details. He led the brief with Kenobi and Skywalker chiming in every now and again. Rex expressed doubts about whether it was worth risking their lives without being sure that the person they were being sent to save was still alive. The Jedi seemed certain that he was, and that closed the subject. By the time the briefing was done and they were dismissed, Fives understood why Kenobi and Cody had been so uneasy about it all. Even Rex had surprised him by questioning the necessity of the mission, and that was very unlike him.

With the briefing over, Rex’s hologram dissolved away and they dispersed from the room. The Jedi went to finalise the details with their Council, and Fives and Echo followed Cody to the hangar, where they were to meet with Rex, Artoo and the others.

“A lot rests on this mission,” said Cody. “We cannot risk the Separatists getting hold of those co-ordinates. I don’t even want to think about what happens if we fail today. I need you both at the top of your game.”

“C’mon Cody, we always are,” said Fives.

“We won’t let you down, Sir,” said Echo.

Chapter Text

The only part of Senate duty that Fox liked was that sometimes he got to see Senator Chuchi. Everything he assumed about politicians, the reasons he disliked them, all the ways they confused him; none of it applied to the pretty Pantoran delegate. It didn't matter if the time they shared was only a smile as she went about her day, or if it was escorting her back to the safety of the apartment she stayed in whilst on Coruscant. He enjoyed it all. He didn't often get to play bodyguard for her, on account of his duty to Palpatine and the prison. Besides, she had her own security brought from her home world. Though she didn't often require his presence, the shifts she did were always his favourite.

This was one such occasion.

His foul mood had instantly lifted when Chuchi had greeted him in the corridor. She informed him that some of her security had fallen ill, meaning that she required a guard to accompany her for the day. Even better, it was already cleared with Palpatine, and Commander Stone was taking over his duties for that shift. So instead of lingering around the doorways of offices at the Senate building, he found himself wandering the streets of Coruscant with her as she browsed. Their objective for the day was to find a gift to send to her family. She wanted to post it to Pantora in time for a native holiday which she wouldn’t be able to return home for. It wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but once given a brief description of the types of things to look out for, and a deadline for finding it, he soon got into the swing of things. As they explored, he found himself forgetting about how much he longed for a drink.

Fox liked Senator Chuchi because he found that he could talk to her, really talk to her like a person was supposed to to be able to with friends. He was always respectful, always remembered his manners around her, but she had a way of putting him at ease so he wasn’t quite as rigid as he usually was with other natborns. It was just so refreshing to speak with someone who actually seemed interested in what he had to say. His brothers loved him, and he loved them, but war was so ingrained into them that he struggled not to think of it around them. So many of them relied on him.

Meanwhile, the other politicians' treatment of him ranged from indifference to outright hostility. Not all of the senators were for the war. In their eyes, the clones were a reminder of the hard times they lived in. Or something more akin to a droid that took up too much of their credits for their liking. He paid them no mind. He didn't care what they thought about him, he was still going to do his job. Anyway, it wasn't all senators. Some were nice enough. Senator Amidala was always kind, though Fox had to question her judgement with the amount of faith she placed in the Jedi. And her relationship with General Skywalker left him wondering what was actually going on there, because something certainly was.

But Riyo, as she often told him to call her in private, was completely different to anyone else he'd ever met. For some reason, he felt able to confide in her. More than most of his brothers and any other natborns he knew, at least. Perhaps that’s what made him turn to her with some of his troubles now. Not the full extent of his worries, of course. He still knew his place, and he knew the risks too. But something made him want to talk to her about what was bothering him.

He waited for a lull in the conversation before he voiced his concerns in a way that downplayed how concerning it actually was. 

“You must be just as busy as I am, being a senator,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Sometimes the days all blur together and all the details are just gone, you know?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded. “There’s no rest for the likes of us. We have many responsibilities.”

His heart lifted at the way she’d spoken of them as a collective, as if they were equally important and not a senator and a clone.

“How do you keep track of it all?” he asked, hoping her words might give him an idea.

“You can keep a diary on the GAR database,” she suggested. “I keep logs of everything on my datapad so that I don’t forget anything.”

“Nah. I’d end up clogging up the whole thing,” he said, disheartened.

He didn’t mention that the real reason he couldn't was because all of their online activity was monitored by the GAR and the Kaminoans. If he logged any of what he was actually worried about, he’d find himself slated for decommissioning. It wasn’t a bad plan of attack otherwise. Keeping some kind of journal might help him pinpoint what was triggering the blackouts he’d been experiencing. He was now certain that it wasn’t alcohol-related but keeping notes would be a good way to test that theory. 

They made a stop to get takeaway caf before heading to the marketplace, and Riyo got two, even though Fox hadn't asked her to get him one. They found a bench and sat, sipping at their caf as they watched the crowd shift and swell. Chuchi was one of the few politicians he knew who enjoyed being around the people of the Republic. Most of them enjoyed private booths or VIP areas where they could ignore those not from the topside of Coruscant. As he savoured the hot beverage, Chuchi told him about how a joke that morning had caused such a divide that two senators had almost come to blows. Apparently, one senator had taken it poorly and insisted that it had insulted his life partner.  

"Haat o'r an nuhune," said Fox, without thinking.

Riyo tilted her head. "What's that?"

Suddenly he was a little embarrassed.

"It's a Mandalorian saying," he said. "It means many truths are spoken in jest. Literally translated to Basic it's 'there's truth in all jokes.' We picked up some Mando'a on Kamino."

She shifted to sit facing him more directly, interested.

"I thought you were raised by the Kaminoans?"

Fox hummed an agreement. "We were. ARCs and officers were trained by Jango and his Mandolorians, so we learned some words and phrases here and there."

"So," said Riyo, sipping her caf. "What other words do you know?"

Fox shrugged. "Vod is brother, or sibling. Mando'a is a gender neutral language. Vode is the plural. Ori'vod is like a bigger or older sibling, and vod’ika is what you’d call a little or younger sibling.”

“That’s sweet,” Riyo smiled.

“Heturam means mouthburn, like when you eat something too spicy."

He had no clue why that had sprung to mind, but she laughed anyway, encouraging him to continue. Being sober really wasn't so bad when he was with her.

"Ram'ika is a raid. Ba’balut means on patrol.” He paused for a moment, taking a sip of caf as he tried to think of something more fun than work-related words. “Di'kut is a common one among the boys."

"What does that mean?"

"Idiot," admitted Fox.

The Senator laughed again and finished her drink. She dusted her lap off, threw the cup in a nearby recycling pod and began to walk through the crowded streets. Fox leapt up to follow her, discarding his own as he did so.

"I'd like to learn more words, and maybe I can teach you some of my native tongue," she said as he caught up.

He complied, giving her a stream of words and old sayings that the Mandalorians who had trained him as a child had taught him. Finally, he hesitated. He had a handful more, but quite frankly they were rude words, military jargon or inappropriate jokes that he didn't feel that he should say in front of someone as esteemed as a senator. He had a couple more that weren’t crude or insulting, but he wasn't sure they were fitting to say to someone like Riyo Chuchi either.

A sudden boldness took hold of him when he glanced sideways to see her eagerly awaiting the next words.

"Mesh'la," he said before he could stop himself. “And cyar'ika.”

"What do those mean?"

The boldness evaporated as quickly as it appeared, and a panic seized him. That had been a bad idea. What was he supposed to tell her now? He considered making something up and decided against it. Silently cursing himself, he composed his face.

"Beautiful," he told her stiffly. “And… darling.”

A long silence stretched out between them and Fox kept his eyes straight ahead as they walked. He didn't dare look at her. Despite arranging his features to look impassive, he felt his cheeks burning and wished he'd had the sense to replace his helmet when he finished the caf. It would be too obvious to put it on now. The heat of his blush was excruciating, and he prayed it wasn't very noticeable.

The quiet grew heavier until it was too much and he felt compelled to explain himself.

"I mean, I know other words too, but they really aren't suitable for your ears. As a senator. Not because you're a woman, because you know in Mandalorian culture, it's totally neutral- Not that you’re not womanly, or beautiful because you are-”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“No! I mean... Yes. Which is besides the point. I meant no offence, Senator, I just didn’t think. I overstepped and I apologise-"

Fox had no idea what he was saying. He fell over his words in his haste to smooth out the mistake, stuttering so much he wondered if he was even fluent in Basic after all. Maybe he should just stick to Mando’a. Then he realised Riyo was laughing and snapped his mouth shut, utterly perplexed.

"I'm sorry, I couldn’t help teasing you," she said, nudging him with her elbow. She barely came up to his chest. "I was hoping you'd spill more secrets. At ease, cyar'ika."

Alright, the helmet was going back on. He couldn't stand how much he was blushing. He made to put it over his head, and she stopped him with a gentle touch to his arm. He couldn't feel it with all the armour but it was enough to make him pause.

"You don't have to hide from me. Maybe I think you're mesh'la too."

"I have the same face as millions of others," he mumbled, but begrudgling tucked the helmet back under his arm and felt the colour in his cheeks mercifully return to normal as he cooled off in the chilly evening air.

Luckily, Riyo knew exactly how to make him feel comfortable again. She quickly breezed past the moment, pointing out some new street art and mentioning which restaurant they should check out, before asking him about how his week had gone. Soon, he forgot all about the embarrassment as they lapsed back into their usual comfortable dynamic. They spent the next hour wandering around the stalls, until Riyo found a gift to send to her family. To his surprise, she also picked up a small notebook she’d spotted at the same stall, and handed it to him. It was the old kind that needed a pen to mark the words manually onto paper, and it had a small vulptex on the front.

"An ice fox," he said, running his hands over the hardcover. It felt nothing like a datapad.

"One of Pantora's moons is covered in snow," she said wistfully. "It's lovely to look at, but harsh. I learned a lot there. Maybe this notebook will help you keep track of things without clogging up the database."

"Thank you," he breathed.

He received rations and supplies from the Republic, and civvies donated to them all the time. His brothers swapped supplies and luxuries all the time, and he was often presented with caf or weaponry in exchange for something else. But this was the first gift anyone had ever got him just for the sake of it. He was momentarily overcome by her thoughtfulness. She picked up some pens to go along with the purchase, smiling softly at how moved he seemed over it all.  

When she was done, Fox escorted her back to the apartment. He'd been here before, so he knew the routine. Usually it just meant standing watch outside until other security personnel came to relieve him. He placed his helmet on and positioned himself at the doorway with his arms clasped neatly behind his back, waiting for her to turn in for the night. To his surprise, she paused at the door this time.

"Would you like to come in, Commander?"

"I, uh..." he was taken aback. She'd never invited him inside before. "I couldn't, I'm on duty."

"As my security for the day," she reassured him. “I couldn't think of anything safer than having you next to me.”

He dropped his gaze to his boots, and scuffed them a little on the ground, his heart pounded against his ribs as he tried to think of what he should say. He was desperate to spend more time with her, and yet too afraid to take her up on the offer. It felt like something that was forbidden. His need to follow protocol rooted him to the spot as he battled with himself. 

"You don't have to look so worried, Fox," she said, her face geniune. "You can stay out here if you're more comfortable. I didn't mean to make things awkward."

“What do you want me to do?” he asked apprehensively. 

“Whatever you want to do. We just can have a caf and talk more if you want. Or…”

She trailed off, leaving it unspoken but clear what she meant. 

He really shouldn't.

"Alright," he said quietly.

He made to enter and she put a hand on his plated chest, halting him.

" Only if you want to. It's entirely your choice."

He took the helmet off and looked her in the eye. 

The war could wait on him for once.

"I do want to," he promised.

They smiled tentatively at each other. Then he stepped into the warm and the door closed behind him.

                                                                  ***

When he reached the barracks that night, he was in a better mood than usual. Which was lucky for the two 501st troopers waiting in his office for a scolding. According to Thire, they’d been caught scribbling in blue pen over the walls in the supply area. Allegedly, they had also been among the troopers who had been convincing shinies to steal extra rations, which is how they'd been caught in the first place. Thire had been looking for them to ask about the shinies' accusations and had caught them in the act.

“Why isn’t Captain Rex handling this?” Fox asked, sounding more petty than he wanted to. He wasn't ready to give up his blissful high so quickly. 

“Captain Rex isn’t here, Sir,” said Thire. “And I can’t do it because one of them is the same rank as me.”

Fox stared at him.“Their lieutenant was involved in this?”

“501st,” shrugged Thire, unsurprised. 

“What about Commander Tano, then?”

“Unavailable.”

“Or General Skywalker?” he demanded, losing patience. 

Fox wouldn’t normally pull a general into anything quite so small or mundane, least of all a Jedi. But they weren’t Fox’s men, and truthfully, he was getting sick of minding them. He had enough on his plate as it was. 

“Also absent. When I tried to get hold of them, I was told that their whereabouts are classified. They’re all on a clandestine mission by the looks of it. Their ARCs are gone too, or I’d have got one of them to deal with it.”

“Fine,” Fox sighed. “I’ll handle it. Thanks Thire, you’re dismissed.”

He watched the trooper’s back as he disappeared, then turned to his office. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could have a drink and make his first journal entry. He had a pattern to identify. If he got that out of the way quick enough, he could spend time recalling every detail of his time in Chuchi’s apartment. He was irritated that his previously elated mood and evening plans were being interrupted by two clones who would rather behave like boys than soldiers. He didn’t have time for such childish antics. Steeling himself, he approached the door so that it hissed open automatically. 

Two bald tattooed men clad in blue and white turned to look at him. They were sitting in front of his desk and were clearly expecting his arrival. One had blue lines and dot work inked around his head and covering his chin, and seemed entirely unbothered by Fox’s arrival. The other trooper, the one with the Republic logo etched over his face, at least had the grace to appear sheepish about the whole thing. Fox strode across the office and folded his arms as he towered over them. 

“I’m disappointed, Lieutenant Jesse. I expect this from someone like Hardcase, but you should know better than to behave like a cadet.”

They both opened their mouths to speak and he quelled them with a glare so fierce they felt it through his helmet.

"We are trying to fight a war here. A war! I don't want to hear your excuses, though it seems you want to hear me explain how much GAR time you're wasting with this crap. Valuable time that could help with protecting this Republic!"

"I don't see how-" Hardcase began, but Jesse stamped on his toe before Fox could get there first.

"I'll be writing you both up and sending everything to Captain Rex. And don't smirk Jesse, I know Rex is lenient but I outrank him, remember that. I don't want to hear you exploiting the shinies or vandalising the base, or anything else that breaks any rules. Else there will be more than just an unpleasant conversation, got it?"

"Yessir," said Jesse, averting his gaze from Hardcase.

Fox swivelled his head to fix Hardcase with a stern look. "Hardcase, am I understood?"

"Absolutely, sir," Hardcase nodded, doing his best to look apologetic now.

"Good. Because I have better things to do with my day  than filling out reports on your misconduct. You're soldiers of the Republic, act like it."

"Sorry, Commander," they muttered in unison. 

After reprimanding them, he kicked them out of his office. Watching them leave, he noticed the 501st medic outside looking like an angry parent who was there to pick up a pair of misbehaving children. Fox didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed that they both seemed more afraid at the sight of him than they had of Fox. Hopefully they wouldn't be getting up to no good from now on, though Fox never knew with the 501st. It was just as likely that he'd see them back in his office as early as their next leave.

Providing they survived.

That made his anger disappear, and he swallowed painfully as he locked the door behind them. Finally alone, he sighed and slumped at his desk. His hand slid down to the bottom drawer and he unlocked it, pulled out the bottle and popped open the stopper. He drank deeply, chasing the fuzzy edges around his vision and that numbness he liked so much. It definitely wasn't the taste he was consuming it for, because it wasn't very good alcohol. Hopefully next time he'd get hold of something better.

He set the notebook and pen down and considered where to begin. The little vulptex face looked up at him and he gave it a small smile before he flipped it open, revealing pages of smooth, lined paper. It took him a moment to realise that he had to click the ink pen to activate it, then he began to summarise his day with a clumsy scrawl. It was more difficult than typing on the datapad or writing with a stylus, his hand unaccustomed with the movement or the feeling of paper. He wrote partially in abbreviations and acronyms that should be too confusing for anyone else to understand if they somehow managed to read it.

Though, considering the journal was to be kept with his liquor stock, he would have more to worry about than a notebook if that ever happened. Hopefully this method of investigation would reveal some kind of answer without needing to bring it to anyone’s official attention. He was determined to get to the root of the issue. He included everything except for the details of his time with Riyo, and scribbled ‘N.M.L.’ for ‘no memory loss’ along with a summary of where he’d been and when. Then he snapped the notebook shut and tucked it safely away before downing more of the bottle. 

It was a start at least. 

For now, he intended to end his day-long sobriety.

Chapter Text

Alarms wailed over the sound of blaster fire. Droids swarmed the platform from ahead and above. Lightsabers flashed through the chaos as they attempted to hold their ground, the blue and green glow cutting through the air as they deflected enemy bolts. Echo swore as one whizzed past his head, and he ducked back behind cover. 

They were going to need more firepower than this. 

Fives kept shooting as Echo pulled out a grenade and threw it as far as he could, using the full extent of his back and shoulders to place it nicely under a spider droid. It exploded from below and crumpled in a heap, taking out another droid along with it. It wasn’t quite the dent in the enemy lines he’d been hoping for. They needed a clear path to the shuttle. The Jedi could cover them, but they still needed more space if they were all going to get back in one piece, including the shuttle. He was acutely aware of the damage it might sustain in the crossfire. They had to get rid of those neat rows of droids blocking their way before it was too late. They had no choice, the only way out was to break through the enemy lines. 

Fives made a noise of frustration and retreated behind the giant container.

"They keep coming!" he yelled over blaster fire.

"So keep firing," Echo urged, grabbing another grenade. 

He popped out and lobbed it, tucking himself neatly out of harm’s way before it exploded. Fives jammed a new ammunition pack into his rifle and edged out to get a better view. He picked off some of the B-1s, then turned his attention on another spider. Commando droids joined the fray, all holding shields that rendered their blaster fire useless on them. 

Echo checked their supply of grenades and grimaced. They didn't have much left but it would have to do. He sent out another grenade, hoping to scrap them before they got a chance for close-quarters combat. From experience, Echo knew it could get pretty ugly if they managed to get too close. It was a good throw, landing right in the middle of their formation and scattering them upon detonation. Three were down for good.

A fourth got up.

It was now shieldless and looked over in their direction. Its large glowing eyes picked him out, identifying its attacker. For a moment, Echo thought it might rush right for him, and he braced himself, gripping the blaster ready.

Then it did something far more consequential. 

It turned and ran. He tried to follow it with his rifle, but it leaped and flipped its way up to the turret with an agility that would make a Jedi envious, and suddenly he lost sight of it. He snapped down his viewfinder and made visual contact as the droid took a seat behind the turret controls. It began tapping at something, and Echo decided he had seen enough. He didn't have the right angle to take it out from here. Flicking the piece back up, he immediately got on his comms.

"General Skywalker, a droid is manning one of those turrets. They're gonna blow up the shuttle, Sir."

He hoped the General wasn't too tied up to respond. He fired a shot at a B-1, and it clattered to the floor. He turned his attention back to the commando-controlled turret, trying to make out what was going on. He spotted Skywalker and Piell streaking through the air on a speeder, going right for the commando droid, their lightsabers flashing in the dark, smoky sky. 

He wasn't the only one who noticed. 

The droid turned the turret gun to face the Jedi and started firing. Each burst of green that came from its cannon was accompanied by a low reverberation, which was punctuated by the light-pitched pew of the speeder's own gun as the Jedi returned fire. Then a shot connected with the speeder bike, and it crashed in a fiery heap. 

"Dank farrik, Skywalker's down," said Fives.

Echo watched as Skywalker tumbled across the dirt. He was exposed, along with the other Jedi who'd landed beside him. Fives redoubled his efforts, sending out a spray of cover fire to buy the two generals time to retreat. He let out a stream of curses as he did.

Echo took in the situation. 

They weren't doing well at all. 

It wouldn't be long before they were overrun entirely, and the shuttle was still vulnerable. Their window of opportunity was closing in on them like a fist, and soon they’d be crushed. As he watched, the commando droid manning the turret turned back toward the Jedi. Green bolts peppered at General Skywalker’s heels as he scrambled up and dove for cover, Piell not far behind him. To the side, General Kenobi and Commander Tano were defending a group that included Commander Cody, Captain Rex, and Piell’s Captain Tarkin. 

They were running out of time. 

Echo eyes fell on one of the shields which was abandoned on the floor, surrounded by shrapnel where his last grenade had gone off. And he made a snap decision. As Fives retreated behind cover, Echo moved forward and they swapped places. He readied his rifle, heart thudding in his chest as he collected himself for what he was about to do.

“This is our only chance,” he heard himself saying. He wasn’t even sure if Fives noticed him speak amid the chaos of battle. “We’ve got to stop him.”

Echo ran. 

He thought he felt his twin’s presence behind him, but he had no time to check. A second later, blue blaster fire soared past his head, confirming that Fives was still there. The bolt took out a droid in his path, and then Echo had his hand around the shield’s handle and he hefted it up to cover his body without breaking his run. He fired as he went, determined to reach the shuttle. It was right in front of him-

“Echo! Watch out!”

Why did Fives sound so far away? 

He’d been right behind him. It wasn’t like him to fall behind. The ground under his feet rumbled as the turret let off more rounds, and he knew he couldn’t stop to check how close it had been or where Fives had gone. He had to get to the shuttle. He kept focused on that and not the fact that he was caught out in no man’s land.  

It was do or die. 

A second later, he reached the ramp and turned, keeping the shield between him and the droid forces that surged all around him. He took aim and fired at the enemy lines, hoping to give Fives enough cover to reach him. If Fives hurried, they could get the shuttle secured. They were almost there-

Oh.  

Oh, shit. 

Echo finally saw what Fives had been trying to warn him about. 

The turret was pointing in his direction, and his pause on the ramp had given it enough time to get a lock on him. It fired, and missed him by a fraction. He felt the heat of the green bolts as they surged past him, and tucked himself behind the shield, knowing that it couldn’t possibly hold up against such powerful cannons. His only hope was to shoot the droid before it shot him. He had a better angle here, but it still wasn’t the best. He ducked into a half crouch and fired in rapid succession, the heavy shield and the speed of his shots making his aim sloppier than usual. 

More bolts flew over his head and found the shuttle. 

Green light tinged the air, then an immense rush of heat and pressure hit him in the back. It launched him off his feet in a blast of hot pain as a roar filled his ears. Smoke and pieces of metal were all around him, and he lost his vision entirely as the bright flames licked at his visor. The world spun grey and orange.

“Echo!”

Then the world was gone. 

Chapter Text

Something big was happening.

Dogma could tell by the urgency of the soldiers loading up supplies, readying them to be sent to the Venators above. Three battalions were being sent out on an emergency mission into Separatist territory, and all the reserve troopers had been instructed to help with the preparations. Dogma and Tup were tasked with loading emergency fuel for the Y-wing bombers and extra oxygen for the escape pods.

"Is this normal?" Tup asked anxiously.

Dogma helped him roll a barrel up the ramp and into the ship and rushed back down to retrieve another. Tup followed, looking concerned, and they began to shift the next one. Dogma didn't want to slow himself down by speaking. He wanted to get the supplies loaded up so that the emergency attack could get underway. Timing was vital in wartime. It could mean the difference between success and failure, and he didn't want any part in causing a Republic failure. He hadn't stopped for a break once, even though his muscles ached and protested. He would rest when it was done. Then he caught sight of Tup's worried face and slowed slightly. He didn’t stop working, but he sensed that his brother would only end up hindering their progress anyway if he didn't address the question.

"I do not know," he admitted. "We should finish the work we’ve been told to do."

Tup began to work faster at this, though he continued to look fretful. They didn't talk again for a while, working in silence to get everything moved. As they worked, the troopers assigned to the three battalions left the barracks in an endless stream of gunships until the Coruscant base was left bare of anyone but the white and red of the reserves and Corries. Dogma and Tup finished loading the last few barrels and watched as the ship set off to take the supplies to the Republic fleet hovering in the sky above them. Not long after, the fleet moved away from the atmosphere and disappeared behind the clouds, ready to depart. When they reached the stars, they'd make their hyperspace jumps and be halfway to their destination before Dogma and Tup managed to grab lunch.

"What was that all about?" asked Tup, wide-eyed.

Before Dogma could answer, a voice called him by his CT number.

“CT-6922?”

He whirled around with an automatic “yessir” and saw one of the natborns from GAR Logistics making their way over with a datapad.

“You’re being assigned to the next deployment. Once this operation has concluded and General Skywalker returns to Coruscant, you must report to the war memorial where a ship will take you to The Resolute. Congratulations, you’re now part of the 501st.”

Dogma couldn’t believe it. This was exactly what he’d wanted, what he’d been waiting for. He turned eagerly to share his excitement with Tup.

 “What about me?” asked Tup.

Dogma held back, holding his breath. He really wanted to allow the excitement to bubble over but he knew he couldn’t until Tup got his answer. The logistics worker consulted the datapad.

“What’s your number?” they asked. 

“CT-5385.”

“Hmm. No, I’m afraid you’re not on the list for the 501st. Maybe they have you down for the 212th instead, let me just check.”

They tapped rapidly at the datapad and scanned the screen as Dogma and Tup exchanged nervous looks. The 212th wouldn’t be so bad. The 501st worked with the 212th a lot, so if Tup ended up there instead it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. But it wasn’t what they had been hoping for. They wanted to serve together, side by side, just like they’d always envisioned as cadets. 

“No. You’re not down for the 212th or the 104th, either.”

“I’m not being deployed?” asked Tup, panicked.

Dogma couldn’t believe it either. Tup did perfectly fine in all their drills. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t on the list. He didn’t like speaking against authority, but he mustered the courage to do so now, for Tup’s sake. 

“Can you check again, please?” 

“Yeah, there must be a mistake,” insisted Tup.

The logistics worker peered at them sympathetically through their reading goggles.

“I’m sorry if you wanted other news, but you’re still in reserve. Maybe next time.”

And they left, leaving Dogma and Tup staring bleakly after them.

Chapter Text

Fives hadn't spoken a word since they'd evacuated Lola Sayu. 

He'd got himself through the mission but as soon as they jumped to hyperspace and left the cracked lava planet behind, it hit him. 

Echo was gone. 

Fives had seen it all, seen him go up in the explosion and his body laying there through the smoke and splinters of the shuttle. He had so badly wanted to rush to his side, all his training and instincts screaming at him to go and drag him from the rubble before the fire consumed him entirely. The scorched helmet rolled towards him, its usual polished white and blue now completely unrecognisable. Then he’d been ordered to go, and he had wanted to protest, to refuse because that was his brother, his last batch mate, and orders be damned. Until he spotted limbs laying amid the wreckage and knew Echo wasn’t coming back.

Fives couldn't remember the last time it had been so quiet. 

He disliked the quiet anyway, it made it too easy for thoughts to go unchecked. Now he found it outright disturbing. He desperately wanted to break the silence, only he was more afraid of what would happen if he didn't get Echo's usual dry comment or repetition in reply. If he spoke anything aloud now, it would just be to an empty room. And he didn't know how he was going to cope with that, so he didn't try and find out.

For the first time since the war began, Fives was angry at the Jedi. 

All of them. 

They'd had four Jedi on this mission and their losses had still been high. Commander Tano had put the mission in peril sneaking along without being briefed fully, though admittedly she had adapted well. Without her, they might have all died before they'd even penetrated the outer walls. Yet it bothered Fives that she’d still risked compromising the mission by coming along without having all the details. And that was the least of it. He wasn’t angry about the way they’d fought. Their prowess had been as extraordinary as ever. He was angry at their poor decision making. 

How had it gone so badly?

It shouldn't have come down to a whole space battle to get them out of there. The entire mission had been a disaster from the beginning. And then it had been utterly thrown off course as soon as the shuttle had gone up in flames, Echo along with it. All that, and General Piell hadn't done them the decency of staying alive when the entire mission had been to rescue him in the first place. Echo had sacrificed himself for him, and he'd insisted on playing rear guard instead of staying safely with the rest of the group. 

To pour salt in the wounds, his death had meant stopping to give him a funeral when he'd been forced to leave Echo and his other brothers behind. They strewn in bits around the fortress, no funerals for them. Generals Kenobi and Skywalker and Commander Tano were people he usually admired but what were they thinking when they decided to halt their retreat to pay their respects? That was a luxury they couldn't afford. It was a luxury the Jedi themselves reminded his vode when they ordered them to abandon the lost. Fives had been forced to leave every single one of his dead, and never questioned it. Their corpses were scattered across the galaxy, left to rot or feed the native wildlife, and he never complained because it was the right thing to do. He'd left them behind with nothing to mark their final resting places, and he never questioned it because it was just the way things were. Going back for the living was one thing, but the dead were never worth the risk. They could only be collected if it didn’t jeopordise the mission or the survivors. 

And yet, the Jedi went through so much effort to make sure that their friend was properly put to rest.

To the detriment of the surviving party. 

Perhaps more of them would still be alive now if they treated General Piell like they had Echo, and left him where he'd fallen. The funeral they'd given him, which he'd been forced to bear witness to, had slowed them down considerably, and allowed the droids to catch up. They'd almost thrown away the very sacrifice Echo had given them only hours before. They had been forced into another stand at the extraction point, where even more clones had died. If they'd carried on moving, they could have set up their defences better. The Jedi spoke a lot about compassion, and about how everyone was equal in the Force, yet they had treated the clones and General Piell so blatantly differently this mission that now he wasn't sure what to think. They made them feel like their friends. That they valued him and his vode. Was that really true, or did they see them as just tools in this war after all?

Why didn’t Echo matter as much as Piell?

Snarling, he punched the wall. Pain shot through his hand and he shook out his fingers to ease it, realising that he’d left a dent in the panel. He scowled and turned to sit on the bunk, rubbing his knuckles. He thought he would be used to losing people by now. He always knew it was a possibility to lose Echo. The galaxy didn’t care how much he mattered to Fives. Why should it? The whole universe treated the clones with total apathy. They were disposable by design, and their deaths meant nothing to anybody but each other. 

The door hissed open and Rex came in. He took off the helmet, and the devastation was plain on his face. Fives noticed a new bruise on his captain’s cheek, and the smell of soot and chemicals from the Citadel still lingered in the air around them. Rex’s eyes drifted to the dent in the wall panel, and Fives half-expected a lecture on how this was General Plo's Venator and that he couldn't treat it like he did The Resolute .

"How're you holding up?" Rex asked instead. 

Fives managed to make a small, non-committal noise. Somehow, Rex not taking the chance to scold him made it all seem even worse. He didn’t want pity, he wanted rage. 

"He'd do it all again, you know."

"Maybe he wouldn't if he knew we'd get extracted by a full fleet anyway," said Fives bitterly.

"He would’ve," said Rex, his tone as soft as Rex ever got. "He wouldn't have risked a full fleet if he could help it."

Fives didn't argue. He knew it was true.

"Do you think it hurt? That he was scared when it happened?"

He managed to keep his voice even but it cracked slightly at the end, and he looked away, not wanting to see his own grief mirrored on Rex’s face. 

"No,” said Rex firmly. “I think it happened too quickly for him to feel anything."

Fives nodded, grateful for the assurance but unconvinced. He didn’t feel any better and he didn’t want to feel better. Another batch mate lost in an explosion to save his life. It was a hard pill to swallow. He was now all alone, the last of Domino Squad. 

He hadn't thought he'd make it this far.

Sure, Cutup and Droidbait had always performed worse than him in the simulations, but one never knew with war. Fives had seen some of the best in training go down to the first wave of droids, and he himself had become an ARC after failing to graduate multiple times. He had once been certain that Hevy would last longer than him, but he hadn’t even got past his first encounter with the droids. And he'd always thought Echo would outlive them all. Echo was the one who listened, who stayed up late to help draw up the battle plans and made sure he was the best soldier he could possibly be. Echo was careful and tenacious and smart. He was the one who was meant to survive to see the end of the war.

Suddenly, he was furious with his twin, his anger at the Jedi turning on Echo. How could he have done this? Fives was the reckless one, not him. It was Fives who was supposed to make all the bad choices that paid off, and Echo who was supposed to sweep up after him. Why didn’t Echo just stay in his lane, and not try to play the hero? He should’ve let the Jedi call the shots instead of taking such a risky decision upon himself. What he’d done was utterly foolish.

Guilt hit him out of nowhere.

Echo had tried to leave it to the Jedi, and it hadn’t panned out so well. He’d told General Skywalker that a droid had got to the turrets and was attempting to blow up the shuttle. It was all a blur, the way memories of battle sometimes were, but he remembered that part vividly enough. He’d been busy firing to keep the droid lines pressed back to prevent them from being overrun, and Echo had called Skywalker. A few moments later, Skywalker had been shot out of the sky, and forced to run back behind cover. That’s when Echo had-

The di’kut . 

Fives buried his face in his hands and blocked out the world. This bunk belonged to one of the 104th, but the thing about Venators is that their layouts were all standardised. The room he was sitting in looked exactly the same as the bunk he shared with Echo back on The Resolute, and he didn’t want to see it anymore. Why hadn’t he grabbed Echo when he had the chance? He could’ve stopped him from making that run and pulled him back behind cover. If he had acted a few seconds faster, Echo would still be by his side instead of being ripped apart and left in a heap at some old prison swarming with droids.

“Fives?”

He let his hands drag down his face and fall into his lap. He was suddenly desperate to be away from the way Rex was looking at him. 

“Can I just be left alone?” he asked.

Rex wavered. He was clearly unhappy with the request, but to Fives' relief, he didn’t protest.

“I’ll let the men know not to bother you. Comm me if you need anything, alright?”

Fives nodded numbly, still avoiding his gaze. Rex made sure the doors closed behind him, and he faintly heard him telling one of the men to make sure nobody came in to see him. He didn’t move for a long time, until he became conscious of the way the bed underneath him was far too comfortable. He shifted and frowned down at it, angry that it could be so soft when the galaxy was so harsh. What use was anything being so pleasant?

He got up, not wanting to touch the soft, scratchy fabric anymore. 

He paced until his aching muscles reminded him that he’d just been through an intense mission, and that he was completely and utterly exhausted. He reluctantly ceased his laps around the room and found himself a spot in the corner. He huddled there, imagining that he was in a makeshift dugout in the cold dirt instead of inside the warm safety of the Venator. For some reason, that seemed to help. He drew his knees up and hugged them, like he used to do when he was a cadet. Closing his eyes, he dozed, not wanting to think of what was next and too wrecked to sleep properly. He’d carry on and make Echo proud, but right now he could do nothing but sit with the crushing absence.

It was going to be a long trip back. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Echo noticed was floating rocks drifting through clouds of ash in the dark, purple sky. 

It was everywhere. Echo tasted it in his mouth and felt it coating his eyelashes. He cracked his eyes open wider and looked around the best he could but all he could see was the open airspace above. He lay motionless, nothing more than an insignificant speck on a broken rock far away from Kamino, and wondered why he was even here at all.

He should be dead. 

What had happened?

Why was it so quiet? The alarm had stopped blaring. He couldn’t hear the sounds of battle anymore either.

He tried to move and found that he couldn’t. He lay flat on his back, completely exposed to whatever danger was around, and he couldn’t even roll over. He tried again, but the effort was futile. This wasn’t good. 

Where was everyone? 

He managed to tilt his head slightly. It fell weakly to his shoulder and the effort alone threatened to wipe him out. Shutting his eyes for a moment seemed like a good idea, so he let his eyelids close and gave himself over to the comfort of darkness for just a moment. 

No.

No, he couldn’t do that. That was dangerous. He had to stay awake. He had to figure out his status and find the others. Get back to Fives. He couldn’t just lay here when his vod was out there somewhere. It just wasn’t an option to give up. If he stayed where he was, he would definitely be dead soon. 

Why wasn’t he dead already?

The air was hot and humid against his skin, and he vaguely realised he wasn’t wearing a helmet anymore. He wasn’t sure why that hadn’t registered sooner. Where had it gone? He didn’t remember removing it. 

He forced his eyes back open and made himself check his surroundings. 

Debris, mostly. Droid pieces were scattered everywhere. The ground was blackened and burnt, still smoking in some patches. That explained why the air was so thick and impenetrable. He couldn’t see any clones or Jedi, not even bodies. No shuttle either. It was all rather strange. 

Then he remembered. 

He’d been on the ramp, ready to defend the shuttle. He wasn’t quite sure what his plan had been exactly, but it was safe to assume that it had gone horribly wrong. The shuttle had exploded. He remembered the heat on his back, the force of the blast as it threw him forward. He’d felt muscles rip and skin tear as he was flung like a rag doll, the shield disappearing from his grasp. The flames had engulfed his entire body, cooking his flesh within the armour before spewing him onto the ground. 

And somewhere far away, someone had cried his name.

Fives. 

It had been Fives. 

He knew that as sure as he knew his CT number.

He stirred and tried to move his legs or raise his arms, but he couldn’t feel anything at all. There was pain, but it danced around the edges of his consciousness. It couldn’t seem to reach him, but he knew it was there, waiting. Whether it was adrenaline, nerve damage, shock, or all three, he just couldn’t take it in right now. 

He felt like he was floating away from his body. 

This was bad. 

Dissociation, according to the first aid manuals, wasn’t good when it came to injuries. It could mean heavy blood loss, too much exposure to the elements, shock, or a range of other unpleasant things. He had to get himself up so that he could inspect the damage and see what he could do about it. He needed to find some cover, a safe place where he could check his wounds and hopefully patch them up well enough to continue the mission. Then he could work on locating the others. He was in no condition to fight, but perhaps he could sneak around out of view and that would be enough to keep him alive-

That all sounded very sensible in his head. 

What actually happened was his eyes fluttered closed again and he was pulled willingly back into oblivion. When he next came around, he noticed that it was darker than it had been before. He tried to work out how long he’d been here, then he realised he could faintly hear something. First, it was just the low whistle of the humid air as it blew across the platform and over his body. 

Then, it was a noise that he knew too well: The soft clanking of commando droids.

They grew closer and closer with every muted, mechanical step. They must be conducting a sweep of the area.

He was finished. 

There was no way he could come out of this alive.

"Uhm, Commander?"

It was the tinny voice of a B-1 battle droid just out of view. Echo wondered vaguely how it managed to sound almost nasally without a nose or lungs or throat. Surely they could've given it a better voice, any voice they wanted. Or no voice at all, and just let it beep and chirp as a means of communication. Perhaps a bit impractical for wartime when communication was vital. But then again, most of the time, they took their orders from tactical droids instead of a living being anyway.

He would've laughed if his situation wasn't so dire. 

If he could feel anything, he might've. He was minutes away from his demise, and he was thinking of how the battle droid voices irritated him. It was quite absurd, really.

"What did you just say?" The tactical droid sounded furious. 

Echo made himself focus. He had to know what had angered his opponents so much. Perhaps it would be something good enough that he could die with a smile on his lips.

"Uh- well... the prisoners have escaped on a Republic ship, sir."

They'd done it. They'd completed the mission. 

The tactical droid said something he didn't quite catch, and he strained to listen to the rest of the conversation.

"- along with the Jedi," said the B-1. "They fled like cowards. We tried to stop them but they jumped straight to hyperspace."

"You had access to multiple valuable targets and you failed to apprehend or take out any of them?"

Echo had never heard so much fury come from a droid before. He had never really got this close to a tactical droid to know what they were like. He knew the basics, what they went through in training and that was it. He had no proper experience with this type of droid. Even so, it was clear that the tactical droid wasn’t pleased at all. In his current position, Echo can take the tiniest victory.

"Well..." He couldn't see the B-1, but he heard its eagerness to please, and its hesitancy at what it was about to offer. "We did kill someone."

Echo's stomach dropped like a missile, turning from spiteful joy to sinking dread. They'd killed one of his party. But who-?

Please don't be Fives.

Or Rex, or Cody, or Commander Tano, or General Skywalker or Kenobi, but most of all don't let it be Fives.

"A Jedi. The little one."

The little one? His thoughts immediately went to the Commander. She was just a kid.

"The one who had the coordinates we were after?" demanded the tactical droid, evidently outraged.

"Uhm. Yeah. That's the one," said the B-1, resigned.

Relief overcame him, then faded. 

His Jedi were fine, but what about his brothers? Would the droids even bother to note any of the clones, even if they had managed to kill a captain, commander, or an ARC? What did the droids know of their ranks? Did they even care? They'd never given any indication that they did. Maybe Fives was lying dead somewhere, and they just didn't think it was important enough to inform their leader about it.

He couldn't think like that, though.

He had to believe that Fives was alive and among those who had retreated on the Republic ship. He didn't think too much about the Jedi who had been killed. He couldn't bring himself to feel sad about it, only sorry that they hadn't managed to fulfill their objective of extracting him safely. If the people he cared about had escaped, and the Separatists hadn't got the intel, it wasn't exactly a win but it didn't feel like a loss either.

“Count Dooku is on his way. Where is Sobeck?” demanded the droid leader.

“The Warden is dead, Sir,” said the B-1.

Echo didn’t have time to delight in this fact, because metal steps shuffled quickly in his direction and the commando droids nearby began to warble as though they’d suddenly become aware of something. He heard the clicks of blasters being readied. He still couldn’t move to look, his head still resting on his shoulder, completely paralysed and helpless. 

“I am detecting signs of life,” said a commando droid. 

His heart thumped traitorously. 

So this was the end of the road. 

A commando droid’s faceplate appeared above him. Its white eyes gleamed in the dark, its sleek metal body almost invisible in the gathering shadows. Echo didn’t look away. If he was going to go out like this, he would not cower. 

Goodbye, galaxy. Goodbye, Fives. 

The blaster pointed to his face.

“There is a clone still alive,” it said. “I will eradicate him-”

He braced himself. 

“Wait.”

Echo wasn’t sure whether he or the droid was more surprised. The blaster in his face dropped by a fraction as clanking footsteps grew closer, and then he was looking up at the tactical droid too. It was an ugly lump of metal with a flattened head and a beak-like speaker for a mouth. It looked down at him impassively with red eyes and a silence stretched out as everyone seemed to wait on its next words. 

“This is highly irregular, this clone has sustained injuries of the flesh, which are incompatible with survival,” said the tactical droid. It thought for a moment, then added, “Have him stabilised.”

The commando droid paused, blaster hand twitching. Echo wondered if it was thinking of defying orders. He’d been told droids couldn’t do that because they were programmed, but this one seemed disappointed that it couldn’t finish him off. It reluctantly pulled the blaster back to its chest then turned and walked away, pointing and warbling to the other droids out of sight. 

Stabilise him?

Why?

He didn’t have time to ponder that because a few minutes later, a commando droid approached carrying a small box that looked similar to the one Kix had. He wasn’t sure if it was the same one who had just been pointing a blaster at him or a different one, and decided that it didn’t matter. It stooped wordlessly, withdrew a needle from the medikit, and jabbed something into his neck. He felt the skin break and hissed as a fluid was injected into his veins. It was like he was being carbon-frozen from the inside out. The cold spread through him, making it difficult to breathe. 

Then his nerves finally, ruthlessly came alive and the pain flooded from the edge of his awareness, its wait finally over. 

It was beyond anything he ever thought possible. 

It tore through his body and left him gasping and retching. He was still on his back, he was going to choke. His eyes watered as he struggled and thrashed, movement finally coming to him but no strength accompanying it. He began to panic.

“Get him inside,” said the tactical droid, and stalked off, leaving him with three commando droids.

They observed him coldly, then he felt himself hauled up and something was very wrong because his legs didn’t follow. He didn’t feel his feet drag across the ground as they maneuvered him. His torso lifted, yet nothing past his waist seemed to register. 

He was so light. 

He pulled in mouthfuls of the warm air, and his throat felt raw when he did, but at least his chest loosened a little. He found himself deposited on a stretcher that he hadn’t noticed arrive, and the droids formed an escort around him as he began to float towards the dark, looming building that they had been trying to escape from in the first place. His arm flopped uselessly off the side as his stomach and neck contorted from the pain that wracked his body. 

He gritted his teeth against the pain. 

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

He twisted slightly, and his head rolled limply onto his other shoulder.

He froze, the scream dying in his throat from the pure shock of it.

He was staring at a bloody, wet stump where his arm had once been. The remains of his pauldron had splintered and melted into the flesh, his blacks left in tatters. Bone jutted out from the end like a rotten ham joint. The exposed skin, or what was left of it, was charred and covered in a crust made of dried pus and blood. 

It’s just an arm, he told himself faintly. 

He could live without an arm. General Skywalker lost an arm during the first battle of Geonosis, and he was one of the Republic’s best warriors. He saw injuries like this all the time, he was in a war. He just had to stay calm. He had to-

His eyes drifted away from the stump and down to his torso, where he saw cracked, blackened armour and scraps of kama splattered with dried blood, and finally, he realised the extent of his injuries. 

Because there was nothing beyond that. 

His legs were entirely gone.

Only strips of flesh that marked where they’d been ripped away from his body. 

Fuck. 

Blood was pooling from the open wounds and soaking the stretcher, though large parts seemed to have been sealed shut by the heat of the fire, semi-cauterized in odd places, patches of blackened skin next to raw red flesh. The scraps of skin and muscle that were left looked like minced meat. 

Oh, fuck -

Breathing got hard again. 

He managed to lean sideways over the stretcher and hot, sour bile burned his throat as it came up. It splattered onto the floor and over one of the droid’s feet. It warbled angrily and jabbed its blaster at his head, but he scarcely noticed. His vision spun dangerously. Everything was agony. The taste of vomit filled his mouth. A burst of manic laughter broke through his gasps as he realised that his sacrifice was far worse than the death he’d been willing to give. He’d gambled for their lives, and he’d won them. Now he had to see how much it was going to cost him. 

A metal hand gripped his shoulder and forced him to lie back down flat on the stretcher, and he had no strength to resist.

It was dark, yet all he saw was a ceiling. 

He should be able to see the stars…

And then he felt a needle stab into his neck again and spiraled into a black well of unconsciousness.