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kkrazy256 · 3 years

Note

“ i thought i lost you. ” with my fav bros Fox and Thorn? <3 (all the sentences are soooo good)

Hey Amiko <3 Hope you don't mind that I used this prompt for CommanderFoxWeek @loving-fox-hours

Title: Redemption Inside the Grave

Prompt(s): Day 2: Hope | Forgiveness, "I thought I lost you"

Warnings: None

Characters: Commander Fox and Commander Thorn

Additional Tags: Post- Scipio, Commander Fox Needs a Hug

Word Count: 1821

[On Ao3]

The amount of datawork that sits on Fox’s desk after a mission is usually a good indicator of how it went.

Good missions start with stacks of blueprints, detailed strategies, and the files of his best troops. These missions end with minimal thanks (it’s expected, it’s what they’re made for. What need is there to show gratitude?), and most troopers on the file with their status update still green and labeled functioning. There isn't much datawork for these types of missions.

Bad missions start hurried by time and Senators, with minimal preparation, and not enough vode (never enough vode). They end with everyone important mad. Mad at him (of course, who else? He deserves it. He deserves it all. He fucked up. He’s always fucking up). It ends with spitting insults about incompetence and hurling threats of decommissioning. But none of it hurts. At least it never hurts more than the blocks of red (deceased) on the files he has to read through and sign off on. These missions end with more vode coming back in bodybags than on their feet, and Fox can’t help but think, I did that to them.

The worst missions? It’s the ones where he wakes up underwater, a weight heavier than an anvil over his chest, stealing every breath and pushing him deeper and deeper into the dark. Missions where he does things he doesn’t fully comprehend beyond I followed my orders, I am a good soldier. Only to look back and think, is he?

It’s holding up his blaster with still hands and perfect calm. It’s taking deadly aim even when he sees the resignation in Rex’s eyes and feels nothing. Nothing until the body hits the floor and he can’t take his own helmet off to pay respects because what right does he have? Because his hands are finally starting to shake, the weight of his actions hitting all at once and dragging him to the bottom of the ocean floor.

But this,

Fox looks down at the stack of datapads on his desk. The room is dark, the desk lamp unplugged and on the ground. There are no windows. The air is stuffy and stagnant; he wonders if they are cleaning the vents again.

The top datapad lights up when he lifts it. The halo of blue illuminates his immediate area. The helmet sitting at the corner looks purple, the visor staring back at him like a void. Every time he blinks, it burns from somewhere behind his eyes. Fox doesn’t remember the last time he truly slept. (Before the ARC trooper, before Scipio —)

It’s a mission summary report, written hastily enough for there to be a few typos. It’s short, barely a few paragraphs long, and his eyes glide over the words without retaining anything. His focus is on the attached list of updated statuses.

It’s all red. Red Red Red Red.

He thinks these types of missions are even worse than the ones where he doesn’t have control.

Red Red Red.

These missions should not end like this. They go prepared, they go with their best.

Red Red Red.

So why do they end like this?

Red Red Red —

Green.

The stack of datapads shift slightly, and the desk trembles as a shadow settles on the edge.

“If it breaks, I’m stealing your desk.” He pinches the bridge of his nose hard, and the throbbing ebbs away into something dull.

“Does that mean you’ll do my datawork too?” Thorn’s voice is light and teasing, but something’s off. He leans forward to pick up the helmet and the blue lights up his face. His eyes are tired, but the crinkling around the edges always betray his mirth. There’s no crinkling there right now; Thorn just looks exhausted. His hands turn the helmet around, fingers tracing over the painted wings on the temples.

“I’ll do it for Scipio.” Fox blurts out, and the fingers pause.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do,” Fox doesn’t know why he does, but there’s something pressing in the back of his brain, telling him that he shouldn’t let Thorn do it, “you should get some rest. Remedy would kick your sheb if he finds out you came here instead of to medbay.”

“Well, you don’t have to snitch.” Thorn sniffs and Fox shakes his head with a scoff. He picks up the stylus to start going over the report in detail.

A gloved hand lands on the corner of the datapad, and Fox looks up. Thorn’s eyes reflect the blue glow, flickering to read the upside-down words.

“Hawk found me.” Thorn whispers.

Fox remembers the pilot during one of the 501st’s shore leaves. Thorn’s batchmate is slightly more serious than Thorn himself, but they share the same air of wild freedom, unable to be tied down. He remembers them taking off their helmets with matching grins, showing him their twin emblazoned wings.

“How’d he look?”

“Horrified. Scared.” Thorn’s laugh is humorless, “I thought he was going to kill me himself if I wasn’t a—.....it wasn’t pretty, Fox.” he swallows hard, “there wasn’t much we could do.”

“...You went with less than two platoons. None of us were expecting the level of activity you got.”

The hand pulls back, leather creaking under the pressure of a clenched fist, “I lost them all, ori’vod.”

“But you’re here.” Fox places his own hand over Thorn’s. Everything feels cold, “I...it’s not your fault.”

“I think if any fingers are to be pointed, it would be towards the commanding officer during the mission, Fox. Which would be me.”

“You weren’t supposed to be the one leading Scipio.” Fox snarls and the aftermath of his outburst echoes through the room. He takes a shuddering breath.

“I was.”

“Fox…”

The air gets stuck in his lungs, and he kneads his palms into his eyes hard enough to see sparks behind the lids.

Scipio was supposed to be his mission. But he was—still is, a complete and utter wreck. After the incident with the ARC trooper, he hadn’t had a chance to stop. It became a blur of meetings. With the Chancellor, with Skywalker, with Rex, with his Guard. All with little variation. Everyone just wanted to know, what happened?

And Fox didn’t have a good answer for any of them.

He’s so tired.

And Thorn had found him in his office then, just as he did now. He had found Fox sitting at his desk with the stylus in a death grip, staring at plans and contingencies. Found him running on fumes that not even caf could fix at that point. Found Fox in his arms immediately to steady him when he stood and started careening to the side.

I fucked up, Thorn. I fucked up so bad.

I’ll go to Scipio. We’ll talk more when I get back, alright? Please get some rest, ori’vod. Please.

And Fox had agreed. Because he was tired.

Tired of seeing the ARC trooper’s bone-white armor out of the corner of his eye every time he started to slip. Tired of the Chancellor’s oily praise for a job well done in killing a vod for the Republic. Tired of Skywalker’s needling curiosity. Tired of Rex not blaming him. Tired of everyone telling him, it’s—

“Fox, it’s not your fault.” Thorn’s words from before the mission mesh with the words that Thorn’s repeating right now.

“Well, who’s is it then?” Fox snaps, slamming his palms back down on the desk. His vision blurs with random patterns from the prolonged darkness, and Thorn’s image swims in front of him. He had gotten about an hour of unconsciousness before his comm beeped with urgent matters from the Chancellor. He’s been on his feet ever since.

He should’ve just stole some stims and gone to Scipio.

“Why aren’t you all angry?” He continues, the plastic of the datapad strains under his grip, “not you, not Stone, not Thire. Not—” He stutters, “not Rex. None of you are, and I don’t understand .”

“Why do you want us to be, Fox?”

He falters, heart stuck in his throat. It beats erratically and his stomach turns.

If they’re mad, there’s something to work with. He can apologize (even if it means absolutely nothing). Amends can be made (how. You fucking bastard, how?) He can fix it. He has to fix it.

How?

“You want us to be angry because you’re angry with yourself.” Thorn sets his helmet down, leaning forward to study Fox with dark eyes that see through his very core.

His lips curl upwards.

“Oh, ori’vod. You want us to forgive you.”

There are tears in Thorn’s eyes. (Or are they his own?)

Thorn’s forehead presses against his, and Fox presses back with a sobbing exhale.

“You already have it. We’re not the ones you’re looking for forgiveness from.”

A strand of long hair slips from Thorn’s ponytail and brushes against his cheek. It hits Fox with a sudden urge for how things used to be. Back when the war had only just started, and they were all shiny and thought things would get better. Back when he had enough time and energy to sit in the command lounge and braid Thorn’s hair clumsily.

Hound’s better at this than I am, you know.

Mmm, yeah but I want my ori’vod to braid my hair.

Spoiled little kih’vod.

“I thought I lost you.” He manages between hitched keening breaths ( when had he started to break down? Just now? Months ago? Two years ago?)

“I’m never gone, ori’vod.” Thorn hums, reaching up to squeeze the back of his neck. It’s so cold, “Just marching—”

Far away.

The door to his office opens, and Fox jumps back.

“...You alright, Fox?” Stone stands at the entrance, a datapad in his hand.

Fox blinks, glancing down at the one in his own hands.

The list of troopers stares back, every name in red.

The Separatist Blockade was successfully broken through. Senator Padmé Amidala was safely extracted from Scipio under the command of Jedi General Anakin Skywalker and the 501st Legion.

No other Republic survivors were extracted. Recovery efforts have been approved and engaged.

— CT-4991 (Hawk)

“Fox?”

“...What is it?”

“The recovery mission on Scipio just returned. We’re heading to the crematorium right now.” Stone shifts on his feet, “you coming?”

“...Yeah.” Fox reaches for the helmet on his desk, red and black without any wings. His eyes feel crusty and swollen. At this point, he has no idea if they’re even open and seeing the right things anymore.

He’s so tired.

Fox slips the helmet on and stands. The world spins, and he bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood. He walks towards Stone.

“You sure you’re alright? I could have Thire take the next shift. He’s—” Stone’s breath hitches, “he’s up for promotion now anyway.”

“I’ll be fine,” Fox says as he passes his Second, stepping out into the hallway.

He’ll be fine.

[ao3] if you wish to drop a kudo/comment :)

#commanderfoxweek2021 #commander fox #tcw #star wars #sw mine

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trixree · 3 years

Text

Countdown to Halloween: The Graveyarder

Counting down seven days till Halloween, the Graveyarder is a collection of thriller/horror-style drabbles about the Coruscant Guard. On the last day before Halloween, the full mini-story (all 7 drabbles) will go up on AO3. Follow the tag #thegraveyarder or #7daystillhalloween for daily updates on tumblr!

<< Previous installation || Next installation >>

Content warnings: memory loss, clone reconditioning

2: POSSESION

He is unlike any graveyarder they’ve gotten before. Perhaps it is because Dogma was not one of theirs—not a Corrie, but a front-line trooper of some sort. Perhaps it is because Dogma, according to the medics, was clearly reconditioned at length. “It’s a miracle that he’s not a zombie,” Steady relays, quiet and grim-faced.

Whatever the reason, the simple fact of the matter is that their usual protocol cannot cut it. Not with Dogma, who has not a single batchmate throughout the CG. There is no one that knows him well enough to ride herd on him throughout the day; no one to make sure he eats or showers; no one to invite the vod into their bed to ensure he’s sleeping and not just staring blank and hollow eyed at the walls through the night-cycle.

Fox only has to exchange a look with Thire before he knows what they are going to do. When Fox turns back to Steady, his mind has already been made up.

“We’ll take him.”

The CG Commanders are busy, but between the four of them, they manage to have someone with Dogma at all times those first few days. If, by rare occurrence, all four of them are on duty at the same time, Fox tracks down Eso, who has become invested in Dogma’s recovery and doesn’t mind playing baby-sitter.

“I can’t stop thinking about how difficult that must have been,” Eso relays to Fox one night. There’s been an “emergency”—what looks like an attempted break-in at a Senator’s apartment, but is most likely nothing but a political stunt to frame the man as an underdog needing silencing—and Fox is needed on-scene. They’ve met right outside of Fox’s quarters, shadowed oddly in the dimmed night-cycle lights. “To go through all that and still hang onto your name?”

Fox has thought about that, too.

Dogma is clearly strong. The enormous facial tattoo aside, he has a will to him that they don't tend to see in graveyarders. Not for awhile, at least. Steady says the brain needs time to heal before they can expect any progress. Dogma, although he’s said nothing, is already bucking this trend.

Usually, the graveyarders are pliable. Fox figures that it makes some sick sort of sense. What did the Kaminoans most value about them if not their malleability? Reduced down to their most basic conditioning, each one of the clones comes out as something that takes direction like a duck takes to water. They are easy to direct. Easy to manipulate.

Some of the graveyarders are jumpy. Many can’t settle without a vod nearby—a trusted vod, even if they can’t remember knowing them—and most need the constant reassurance that only being surrounded by other clones can give them.

Dogma is not pliable. Those first few nights after Dogma had been discharged from the medbay under Steady’s direction, Fox had dragged a spare cot into his bunk room for the kid to camp out on. He hadn’t expected any issues. Most graveyarders won’t even need to be told to stay nearby their designated watcher. They’ll stick by their vode like glue.

Fox had woken abruptly without knowing what it was that woke him. His bunk was silent and the cot beside his bed was empty, blankets thrown carelessly aside, heaped on the floor in a tangle. Cold dread had settled in Fox’s stomach like a stone. He hadn’t even thrown on a shirt before he rushed out looking for Dogma.

He’d found him outside in one of the barrack halls, thankfully not very far from Fox’s own quarters. Dogma moved erratically, pacing up and down a length of about ten feet, picking at his own fingers until they bled, eerily silent. Looking into his eyes gave Fox the impression that Dogma was somewhere very far away, lost in his own head. He hadn’t spoken, not even when Fox approached him and started up an attempt to soothe him with little mindless reassurances. Udesii. You’re safe. I’ve got you. He’d let Fox steer him back to his quarters with a hand on his back, a deep frown carved into his face, silent yet cooperative.

That first week, Dogma kept escaping their watchful eye. Thorn lost him at first-meal. Stone lost him in the showers. Thire had better luck, but then again, Thire was much better at the minding thing in general than the rest of them. Thire has kinder bones than Fox. And Fox? He kept losing Dogma during the nights. The dark would descend and Dogma would make like a startled rabbit.

They’d never had a graveyarder so intent on dodging other vode.

(They’d never had a graveyarder look so fucking haunted.)

The first moment of lucidity came during one of those nights. Dogma had woken Fox when he left his quarters, the whoosh of the door closing enough to wake him. Fox had only sighed and gone searching for a tunic to throw on before following, knowing from experience that Dogma wouldn’t go far.

“C’mon, vod’ika, back to bed,” he’d said when he’d found him.

Fox had nearly jumped out of his skin when Dogma’s head swiveled right towards him, something like alertness in those eyes for the very first time. Dogma was focussed, his gaze landing right on Fox and not letting go. Fox realized that both of their chests were heaving—his with adrenaline from being startled, Dogma with… something else.

Dogma gripped him around the arm, tight but not bruising. His mouth worked for a moment, lips moving but making no sound. His eyes flickered restlessly down the length of the dimly-lit hall, tracking shadows that Fox could not see. The alertness of him put Fox on edge. Realistically, rationally, Fox knows these hallways. Fox knows they are secure. Knows they are safe. But with Dogma acting like there are things lurking in them, just waiting to attack, Fox couldn't help but grow hyper-aware of the shadows in the corners. “Are we safe?” Dogma whispered. It was the first thing he had said since his own name; the first sound he’d made in nearly a week.

“Gar morut'yc, vod’ika,” Fox replied. Slowly, so as not to startle him, Fox had wrapped an arm around Dogma’s hunched shoulders—drawn so tense they were as unyielding as durasteel—and led him, shivering, back to bed.

That night was the breaking of a dam. Day by day, little bits of the person that Dogma must have been before shows through. First in his alertness, then in his growing awareness for the world around him, then in his tentative responses to things, his hesitant questions, his ability to stay awake for longer periods of time.

Still, it startles Fox when, out of nowhere, Dogma straightens up from where he’d been hunched over a pad reading while Fox plows through his never-ending pile of flimsiwork. “Who does the Guard’s ink?” Fox startles so badly he nearly sends his own cup of caf careening for the floor. Only CC reflexes save it from disaster. “What?” Fox says after he’s saved his drink.

Dogma is stone-still but he strikes Fox as the type to fidget, before. Something about his bearing is just… missing. An inexplicable wrong-ness to the way Dogma carries himself.

“Who does the Guard’s ink?” Dogma repeats.

“Flinch does. Why? You want something done?”

“Yeah,” Dogma says, quietly. “I do.”

Fox checks the duty-roster. Flinch should be off-duty and Fox has a decent idea as to where his usual haunts are. He stands from his desk, cracking his shoulders and neck as he goes, and prompts Dogma to stand with a wave of his hand.

“C’mon,” Fox prompts.

Dogma blinks at him, surprised. “What, now?”

This is the first time in nearly three weeks that Dogma has voiced a desire for anything. Steady would call this progress.

Fox rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Yes, now. If you’d rather wait…”

“No! Now is,” Dogma swallows. “Now is good.”

Dogma’s facial tattoo is an intricate work of art. Fox has marveled at it before, at the patience and pain-tolerance required to sit through an inking like that. This tattoo has next to nothing in common with that one.

Just above the crease of his elbow, in a dark blue-ink that matches the shade of the mark on his face, a line of thin, simple text now reads: your name is Dogma.

Flinch throws a tegaderm plast over the fresh ink. Fox watches Dogma stroke the letters underneath with his thumb, lips moving silently. A reminder, Fox thinks.

A possession. Self claiming self.

#the graveyarder #7 days till halloween #Dogma #Commander Fox #coruscant guard #reconditioning #coruscant guard dogma #trixree writes

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lilhawkeye3 · 4 years

Text

dead man walking

Character: Commander Fox.

Summary: Everything crumbles once Fives dies.

Trigger warnings: depression, suicide. It’s not happy.

A/N: please don’t read this if you’re having a bad day.

AO3 Link

~~~

His heart may keep beating the first time he pulls the trigger, but his life ends then.

~~~~~

He can only remember flashes of what happened that day, little snippets of the moment his world finally crumbled. The shout of his brothers, the shaky words of a dying vod, the recoil of his blaster.

He can’t remember, but no one lets him forget.

~~~~~

It starts out small, at first. Murmurs and whispers from visiting battalions and the shiniest clones in the Guard.

Murderer.

Brother-killer.

It’s followed by cold looks, by orders followed to the bare minimum, by shoves and tripped-up feet as he walks in the halls.

He manages to take it all without flinching, until the day one brother sneers back at him and calls him CC-1010.

“You’ve no right to a name, to call yourself a vod, 1010.”

The words fall from the lips of a drunk 501st trooper the Guard had picked up for disorderly conduct. Fox leaves his cell without a word to inform Rex that he has a wayward trooper.

~~~~~

Rex finds him in his office. He signs a form to collect his man, and leaves Fox with a brutal right hook and cracked jaw.

Stone finds Fox hours later sitting with his head in his hands and his back against his desk, mumbling about how he deserved every bit of it.

~~~~~

It’s no surprise the Chancellor finds out.

His words, while sympathetic on the surface, leave oily trails in Fox’s mind. They find his cracks and fill them with poison, saying how sorry he is to hear of Fox’s recent difficulties, but neither side can be blamed. The troopers, who are such basic, animalistic creatures that they would attack one of their own, or Fox, for completing his sworn duty to defend the Republic.

Fox can only stand there and listen to it all—

~~~~~

He leaves the office with a hazy mind, not truly recalling the events of the meeting, but feeling more beaten down than before.

~~~~~

She is the only good thing in his life.

Riyo holds him protectively in her arms as he shakes under the weight of it all, despite her being much smaller.

She accepts him despite not knowing what’s wrong. He can’t spill all his burdens onto her. They’re his to bear, to continue to roll up this incline even if they slip from his fingers before he reaches the top. This is his punishment, not hers.

He’s failed her, even if she refuses to hear him say such a thing.

He shouldn’t be near her. Shouldn’t let her touch him. She’s so pure, so precious— he can’t let his sins taint her light.

She says she loves him, but he knows that’s not true. A thing like him isn’t something anyone can love.

He allows himself to kiss her forehead one last time before he leaves while she sleeps.

~~~~~

There is a call to 79’s to break up a fight on his patrol. When he and his squad arrive, it is to find the matter at hand was him. One of his Corries stood up for him, and it was all downhill from there.

Fox remains outside while his squad handles it. If he goes in, he knows he’ll only make things worse.

All he ever does is make things worse.

He looks up as an armored figure approaches him. He doesn’t have time to register anything about them, other than it’s unmistakably a fellow clone trooper, when their blaster is drawn and a searing pain shoots through his shoulder. He falls to his knees as the shot is followed by two more: one to his right hand and one to his left thigh.

He’s left on the cold ground.

~~~~~

He comes to in the medbay. He wishes he hadn’t.

What a waste of resources. It could have been used on someone else.

“You’re awake.”

He turns his head to find Wolffe sitting beside him. His face is unreadable, but his brown eye burns with fury.

Fox doesn’t say anything. He simply returns to staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Vod—”

“Don’t call me that.” His voice is raspy, unused. When is the last time he spoke to anyone outside of his shifts? “I’m not a brother. Not anymore.”

Wolffe is silent. Maybe he’ll leave him alone now.

“Who did this to you, Fox?”

His smile is like broken glass. “Didn’t you hear? I did, of course.”

“We both know you didn’t shoot yourself.”

“Not yet.”

Wolffe’s growl draws Fox’s gaze again. “That’s not karking funny, Fox.”

“You know what is funny?” Fox laughs brokenly. “That you’re here. Rex broke my jaw. Bly blocked all transmissions from me. Cody was in a conference call and didn’t once acknowledge me. Just said, ‘Commander of the Guard.’” His eyes are tired as he meets Wolffe’s. “Bet you’re here so you can tell them they still have a disappointment in the batch.”

Wolffe sighs as he runs a hand down his face. “Fox... I lost a battalion of men. All of them, except for two. I heard them cry out to me as they were slaughtered one by one in what should have been their saviors. I listened to them scream as they were murdered, as they listened and watched their brothers die around them.” Here he leans forward, his hand reaching up to clench Fox’s uninjured shoulder firmly. “I can hear your screams too, Fox’ika. I will not sit and do nothing as I listen to a brother dying. Not again.”

Fox flinched and tore his eyes away from his batchmate, finding a fixed point over his shoulder to stare at instead. “You’re too late.”

~~~~~

The Chancellor calls for him once he’s released.

Fox idly wonders how broken he truly is when he finds himself back in his office, not able to coherently remember if he ever made it to the meeting.

~~~~~

Only his fellow commanders in the Guard interact with him now outside of what is required for duties.

A part of him wonders why Stone keeps asking when he last ate. It doesn’t matter anyways.

He’s not sure why Thire counts the hours he’s been awake. At least in the waking world, he can bury himself in work. When asleep, he’s left to the mercies of his ghosts, the ones that whisper that his time is far overdue, that he’s only causing more problems being alive.

He knows they’re right. It’s only a matter of time, he supposes.

~~~~~

So he writes.

He’s never been one for writing, thanks to all the reports he’s had to draft, edit, review and sign off on. But... he’s a clone. He’ll have nothing left to his name anyways besides these words. It’s selfish, yes, but it’s all he has left.

So he writes.

He writes to Rex about all the memories he has of them whispering quietly at night on Kamino, dreaming about their lives when they finally got to see the stars. He wonders where it all went wrong— probably somewhere at the start. He tells him that he’s one of the best commanders out there, even if he never formally received the rank yet.

He writes to Bly, saying that while he isn’t worthy of love... Bly is. He shouldn’t let it slip through his fingers.

He writes to Cody, outlining the lack of memories he has about the Chancellor. How he thinks he’s investigated something, but can never remember what. Files mysteriously erasing. Men sent on missions that didn’t exist. His blaster— it should’ve been set to stun. He gives him one last mystery to solve, knowing Cody won’t accept any weak, mundane attempt of an apology.

He writes to Ponds, even though he’s long gone. It’ll go to his general, because Fox knows his brother still lives on in him. He asks if he’ll be forgiven, if there’s an after where they’re all waiting for him. He asks if they’d welcome him, even if he’s broken and can’t remember what he’s done anymore. He says he’s glad Ponds had a General who cared, because he was glad that his brothers were taken care of even if the universe punished him with the Chancellor’s oily words in return.

He writes to Stone and Thorn and Thire, and says he’s sorry he couldn’t help them. He tried to keep the weight off their backs as long as he could... and he now had to pay the price. He tells them he’s proud of them.

...He writes to Riyo, his starlight, the one who taught him of a different type of love. He says he’s sorry. He hopes she keeps shining bright for everyone around her to see. He tells her how every smile, every laugh, every crinkle of her eyes in happiness gave him something to keep living for, if only for a while. She’s the most precious thing in the world, and he’s sorry to have ever burdened her with his inconsequential self.

He writes to Wolffe.

Well, he stares at the datapad for countless minutes, and then he writes to Wolffe.

He gives Wolffe every bit of spark left within him. He gives him every happy memory, every trying moment, ever second of calm he’s ever had. He tells Wolffe how everything went wrong, how his mind had betrayed him just as he’d betrayed his brothers, how he didn’t know who he was anymore. He tells Wolffe of the reason behind each scar and tattoo on his body, how his hair had become peppered with gray, how he’d done his best to live up to the name Wolffe had given him.

He thanks Wolffe for being his vod. He tells him he’s proud, and to keep fighting.

~~~~~

When he’s finished, he sends his words out across the galaxy. Maybe one of them will read his final thoughts, and keep him alive in theirs, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

He sets the datapad on his desk and reaches for his blaster.

The cold durasteel against his temple is fitting, he feels. It matches the emptiness within him.

~~~~~

after.

#commander fox #star wars the clone wars #drabble #foxiyo #commander wolffe #captain rex #commander cody #commander stone #commander thire #riyo chuchi #unhappy ending #angst and pain #no comfort #hawk's rambles #i’m tired #dead man walking

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11

Characters: Fox/Mouse (reader), appearances from Hound, Thire, Rule, Mace Windu, Yoda, and Padmé Amidala.

Warning: angst (y’all want me to hirt you right?)

A/N: so get ready to read nearly 6000 words of Fox’s self loathing, the CG being supportive vod, Jedi being Jedi, and Mouse being hurt yet again.

Current

The choices had been fresh ink or gut-rot barracks hooch. Fox chose the ink.

He’s down in the levels, he can’t remember which one exactly, far enough from prying eyes and questioning vod, that was all that had really mattered. The artist, a pantoran with a nice portfolio, was busy laying out the design. He can feel the cool transfer as it’s pressed over his heart and he drags in a ragged breath. This was penance. This was the closure he needed. He’d messed up. For two weeks he’d messed up and now any chance he had was gone along with her.

“You wanna talk about it, man?” The tattoo artist asks as he peels away the flimsy leaving the outline on his skin.

“No”

Two weeks earlier

Fox hates the sterile smell of the hospital, the beige walls, the gleaming metal all around. It reminds him of Kamino and a medbay he’d spent more than enough time in. He was never quite as strong or quite as fast as the other CCs in his batch, men that would go on to bear monikers like Gree and Bly and Wolffe. He made up for it in other ways. His mind was sharp, quick to come to a plan of action, he could think on his feet.

He remembers Sargent Kal coming into the CC classroom one day for a talk on urban combat- something that had piqued CC-1010’s interest from the word go- and how by the end of the lesson he’d ended up the star of the day. His observations as they’d talked through scenarios had left Kal remarking that he was “Sly as a Fox” and that the Triple Zero would be a good place for the likes of him. He was only the second in his batch to earn a name and he wore it around like a badge of honor.

Now he didn’t feel so honorable or so sly. He felt a lot of other things though. The psych droid, a loathsome device of he'd ever seen one, had talked him through what had happened in the Supreme Chancellor’s suite. It had questioned him over and over, maybe expecting the answers to change, about what his part in the assassination of Sheev Palpatine had been. He was tired. He wanted to wrap himself around his cyar’ika and pretend the whole day had been a nightmare.

That was impossible, she was somewhere else in the hospital being treated, shoved into a bacta tank. It had only been Rex’s firm voice that had convinced Fox to let the medic’s anywhere near her. When he’d let them take her limp body away from him-

Fierfek.

The handprint- a bloody partial across the left side of his breastplate, was still there.

“Commander Fox” a familiar voice cuts through the silent world of the room“ Much to think about you have“

He recognizes the Jedi Master, Yoda, immediately. There was no one else the ancient green Jedi could be mistaken for.

“I prefer to not“ being around a force wielder was not high on Fox’s current list of things to do.

“Such Is life”

“With all due respect sir,” he can hear the petulance in his own voice but he has neither the energy nor will to rein it in “I didn’t ask for this life.”

“But given to you it was, nonetheless. Choices you must make with what to do with it.“

Fox is quiet and the small Jedi Master matches it until the door opens again and General Windu joins the pair. Fox meets his gaze and the Jedi nods solemnly.

“Much discussion Master Windu and I have had these last few hours-“

“So it’s back to Kamino then? Reconditioning or Termination?” Fox can’t hide the bitterness in his voice. He doesn’t want to. He wants the world -or at least the two Jedi in the room- to see his pain. To feel it like he was.

Yoda sighs and moves to him, walking stick clicking in time with his steps. He hops up on the cold metal table next to Fox in a way that makes Fox think that the walking stick was not really necessary. He fights the urge to move away.

“A great disservice has been done to you, Commander. No, Kamino is not where you belong, deserve punishment you do not.”

The words burn. Fox is trapped between relief and a slow simmering rage, one that demands he be punished for his inability to protect those most vulnerable. First Fives. Now Mouse. He failed because he was weak-

“Stop” General Windu’s voice is firm. The look on Fox’s face must read pure terror because the Jedi huffs softly, “I don’t need to see inside your head to know what you're thinking. It’s all over your face. Do you know the kind of power Sidious possessed? To fight off that kind of insinuation would have been nearly impossible and that was before the chip-“

“The chip?” Fox attempts to rise to his feet but three green fingers press down on his arm. He looks down at the tired, ancient face of the Jedi Master and sits back down. “What of the chip? What has it got to do in all of this?”

The answer is simple. Everything.

Fox sits in cold shock as the Jedi describe to him what they’d learned of Palpatine’s- no, Sidious’ plans for the clone army. He stops them once to go to the bathroom and vomit. It wasn’t just Tup and Fives and him. It was all his vode. The entire clone army programmed to turn on their leaders, their friends with the utterance of a single phrase. He thinks of the hints Bly had made about his Jedi when they’d last spoken.

For a moment it’s more than he can fathom, and he holds a hand up for quiet. The Jedi allow it. He gives himself a minute, just one, before he pulls himself together, before he sits up straight and pushes the anguish, hurt, and the dirty feelings deep down.

“What now?” The implications of what has happened are finally becoming clear “The Republic can’t know the truth. There’ll be chaos in the streets. They’ll turn against the clones entirely” Fox worries more for his brothers than ever before. If the citizens knew…

“Correct you are, Commander” Yoda agrees..

“It needs to stay under wraps. The only people that will ever know it was anything other than an sudden death by natural causes will be us and the others that were in that room. Skywalker, Captain Rex, and-“

“Don’t say her name” it comes out as a growl, “leave her out of this.”

“There she was, Commander. Secrets she must learn to keep.”

Fox’s nails bite into the palms of his hands, “you won’t-“ he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“We will not force thoughts into her head.” Mace clarifies. “From what I’ve heard of her I think she’ll understand our reasoning for secrecy. Her injuries will be said to come from a mugging. You’ll fill out the report. Wrong place wrong time”

Wasn’t that the truth.

Fox nods slowly, “and what of my brothers?”

“Come out the chips must.” Fox flinches when a green finger taps at his temple, “but uncomplicated and quick it is.”

“We will let it be known that the chips are faulty and to continue to use them puts the clones in danger of having unforeseen medical problems.” Mace’s eyes narrow as Fox scoffs. He raises a brow challengingly, “do you think they’d rather know that they were all ticking timebombs? That at any moment they’d be triggered into mindless killers? Pawns?”

A tense moment passes with the two men glaring at one another. Of course Fox doesn’t think that would be any better.

“We’ll begin rotating troops through the nearest medical units capable of removal immediately.” Mace explains. “We can have the entire Coruscant Guard done by the end of the week and it appears with minimal down time. A day, tops.” He explains.

A quick nod is all the acknowledgement Fox can muster. He doesn’t like the idea of keeping the Guard in the dark and he hates having them undergo any medical procedure even more. He wasn’t the only clone who had lingering emotions when it came to the medbay, not by a long shot.

“I’ll go first.”

The Jedi at his side makes an agreeable hum. General Windu nods.

“As I would expect a good leader to do.”

Fox isn’t sure how much he buys into their approval.

13 days earlier

The official story was that Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine had succumbed to a sudden illness. The holonews was ablaze with stories: from the official release to the tabloid fodder. Fellow politicians waxed poetic on him as a man and a leader, someone who stepped forward when the Republic was in its darkest hour to take control of the chaos.

It was said his last words were, “and sorry I couldn’t give more for my people and the galaxy.”

If Fox’s eyes rolled any harder he was sure they’d fly from his head and ping around in his bucket. Sidious was dead. He didn’t deserve the adoration of billions or the high honors of his burial. He was a hu’tuun. The skanah was better suited as feed for the carrion birds than the marble burial chamber he’s laid to rest in with military honors provided by clones he’d have used as weapons against the very Republic they swore to protect.

10 days earlier

Four days without Mouse and Fox feels twitchy. It’s been over a year since he’s gone more than two days without laying eyes on her. Knowing that she was recently released from the bacta tank doesn’t make it any easier. He’d not wanted to see her floating in the tank for a plethora of reasons, the least of which was his own guilt. That didn’t stop him from setting up a guard rotation at her door as soon as he was cleared to return to duty. It also didn’t stop him from demanding regular updates on her care from the kits he was setting up at her room.

Ryk had been present when she’d been taken out of the tank and said she’d seemed in good spirits as she’d slowly come too.

Wren had gently indicated that she’d love some company while she was on bed rest.

Rule had given him a look that screamed, ‘don’t be a scum sucking piece of nerf fodder.’ As he’d explained that Mous’ika had been asking for him.

She’d been asking for him. Even after everything she wanted to see him.

And he couldn’t do it.

He’d made his way twice to the nurses station before turning and making an excuse to leave.

He couldn’t look at her. Sidious’ words still swirled in his head. even though General Yoda had reassured him that he was no longer under the sway of the Sith, the thoughts still lingered.

You were supposed to use her to fuck your baser urges out.

She’s using you to obtain a foothold in the guard.

She’s fooled you all.

The underlying message was unmistakable.

Why would anyone choose to care for a clone?

Fox almost wishes the headaches would return so he could focus on the pain in his head vs. that dull empty ache in his chest, a black hole behind his rib cage, but he hasn’t had one since both the Sith Lord and the chip were removed from his life.

9 days earlier

Bail Organa is voted into the Chancellorship by an overwhelming number of his peers.

It’s the best choice, as far as Fox is concerned. With Senator Amidala announcing a leave of absence to give birth to the best guarded secret since the clone army, it’s the only choice Fox finds acceptable.

Not like anyone would ask his opinion.

Organa is a good man, even if he is a politician. He’s only ever looked out for the Republic, never given in to self indulgent whims, never taken more than he deserved.

Fox touches the fresh scar on the right side of his head gently as Holonet News continues to replay the new Chancellor's inauguration from earlier. Barely more than a week and everything has changed.

General Windu was correct, medical had been able to get through the entire guard in rapid fire. All of his men were sporting matching scars, many were more than a little curious as to the actual reason their chips had been removed. He’s both insanely proud and horribly frustrated at the theories being bandied about. Some far too close for comfort.

They can never know. Nobody can ever know.

But somehow Bail Organa knows.

He’s only had one meeting, early this morning before the inauguration, in private with the new Chancellor but he’d alluded to things that left Fox speechless. He’d known Bail to have friends in high places, but he hadn’t realized how high.

“Think he’ll do better than the last one?”

Thire hovers in the doorway, unmoving until Fox inclines his head toward the open seat across his desktop.

“Can’t be any worse.” There’s no humor in his tone but Thire huffs out a quiet laugh.

There’s a lag in the conversation, not like one has truly begun, and Fox takes a breath before setting down his datapad and flicking the holo off. “How long have we known one another?” He asks looking up at his lieutenant.

“Long enough.”

“So, you and I both know that you're here for something else and It's not just to make quips about the new Alor.”

“I suppose that’s true” Thire’s face gives nothing away. Fox liked that about the shock trooper. He was reserved, yes, but also pragmatic. A problem solver, not ruled by his emotions. Which was all well and good but something about the way he’s staring makes Fox feel like he’s the problem needing solving.

“Spit it out.”

“Go see her.”

Fox raises a brow in his vod’s direction. “Is that an order”

“Respectfully sir” the corner of Thire’s mouth quirks almost imperceptibly before it falls away.

The little shit.

In reality, Fox had known this one going to come from one of his men. He’d expected Rule or Hound, the more brash and aggressive boys, to be the ones but Thire is not a complete shock. He’d never seemed particularly close to Mouse but the lieutenant did play things close to the chest.

“She had a nightmare last night while I was on watch. Woke up crying your name.”

Inside Fox crumbles. No amount of talking to a psych droid was going to fix that feeling. No amount of time would make him feel ok about what he’d allowed to happen to the woman he loved. Thire continues.

“A clone's lot is not much. They decant us. They train us. They ship us out to fight in their war. We live, maybe. We die, more likely. Nothing is given to us.” Thire runs a hand over his head, fingers scratching at the crown. “Sometimes though, a di’kut like you gets a break. That woman in that bed cried in my arms. Talked to me like I was you for over an hour and I let her. You know why?”

Fox has to unclench his jaw, work past the jealous ache rising up in his chest to respond, “why?”

“Because it’s the closest I’ll ever have to feeling that kind of emotion. I’m not ashamed to say I pulled your girl into my lap, held her close and said soft things I didn’t even know I knew into her pretty hair until she calmed down. I was happy to pretend to be your atin’shebs but you know what the real kicker is, Vod?”

Fox’s hands are like vice grips on the edge of his seat, knuckles pale white as a shinies armor. The thought of Mouse hurting is one thing, but to have someone else be the one to comfort her? It tears at him. “What?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“When she calms down she says, “I know you're not him. Thank you for letting me pretend for a minute”.

7 days earlier

He pretends like he doesn’t know where he’s going. Like talking to the kriffing psych droid really had him so out of sorts he didn’t realize he was getting on a turbo lift and heading up three flights after his appointment.

He tries to act like he doesn’t know his feet are carrying him to the room with the familiar red and white sentinel outside the door.

Rule quirks his helmet before snapping to attention.

“Commander Fox, sir?”

“At ease Sargent.” It's late, well past visiting hours but the few sentient nurses and the droids assisting them make no move to rush him along. Perks of the armor.

Rule relaxes and glances through the small transparisteel window on the door behind him before turning back.

“She just had some medicine.” He explains, “pain was getting pretty bad again.”

Fox’s bucket hides his cringe, allowing him to outwardly remain impassive and aloof, his voice even as he asks simple questions about visitors and any possible issues arising.

“No problems here sir. I think I heard her Doc say something about discharge tomorrow. She’s doing ok” what isn’t said hangs in the air.

She’d be doing better if you were with her

“That’s good. That’s good” Fox agrees, readily avoiding the things left unspoken. “Have you been relieved for dinner?”

“I have a ration bar in my pack sir.”

“Do I need to say it?”

The sunny tone of Rule’s voice tells him everything he needs to know. He can imagine the shit eating grin that accompanies it. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, sir?”

A quick glance up and down the hall shows nothing but gleaming white tile. No staff. No visitors. No one but Rule to bear witness to his moment of weakness.

“Take the night off Sargent. I’ll cover the watch.”

He stares at the emotionless visor for a beat waiting for his kit to argue, for him to make a smart comment.

It doesn’t happen.

Rule rolls his shoulders, stretching slightly as he makes his move past Fox. At the last second, Rule's hand shoots out, resting over Fox’s vambrace. The moment lingers without either speaking until Rule gently pulls the Commander in and knocks his bucket against Fox’s, pressing his forehead to his Commander’s.

Fox, claps a hand behind the sargents head and they sit there frozen for a moment in time, Rule offering more comfort in that one gesture than he’s felt in days. A Keldabe kiss to ease his fragile psyche.

“Alverde.” Rule offers quietly when the pair finally part.

“Sargent” Fox gives a minuscule nod. “Enjoy your night.” He watches the youngster head down the hall until he turns a corner and is gone from sight.

Fox manages to avoid looking in the room for five minutes exactly. He’s able to fight off the pull to enter it for another twenty. The draw of her is too much in the end and he finds himself slipping into her room before the first thirty minutes are even past.

The lights are low and the monitors and electronics surrounding her hum and buzz steadily. Everything is white and stark. His cyar’ika is nearly the same color as the sheet she lays under.

She looks small, and so achingly fragile Fox is afraid the weight of his look alone will break her. She shivers lightly and he lurches into motion, dragging the itchy comforter over her legs and tucking it around her shoulders. Her body stirs as his gloved hand grazes along her cheek.

He freezes as her eyes flutter open. Her pupils aren’t quite right. It seems to take her a moment to piece together what’s going on but when she does the realization that washes over her is visible.

“Fox” his name sounds like a long lost friend rolling from her lips. She struggles to sit up. A look of pain flashes across her face as she twists under the blankets.

“Stop that” he demands impotently, his gloves moving to press gently against her chest. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”

She blinks owlishly up at him in the way only a person on good pain meds can, like she doesn’t quite understand what’s been said and she’s not sure whether she should comply or question it. It’s somewhere between bemused and scared.

He cups her cheek in his hand, “easy precious girl.” He soothes. Mouse relaxes into his touch as his gloved thumb rubs softly. Her eyes flutter shut and he can feel the soft sound she makes against his palm.

This was already far past what he intended. He just wanted to see her, to prove to himself she was really alive and in one piece despite him.

Now, he finds himself already slipping into old habits.

More focused, her eyes open. Her hand slips up and grips his vambrace. Slowly she pulls his hand away from her face. She lets her fingers slip down into and through his. Her voice is thick with sleep when she speaks and Fox has to lean in to hear her.

“I knew you’d come”

Of course she had. Fox wonders if she knew him better than he knew himself. This was always going to happen no matter how many times he’d lied to himself. He pulls his hand away. Mouse’s hangs empty in the air for a moment before she sets it down over her chest.

The quiet burr and hum of the monitors around her are the only sound between them until he reaches up to his bucket and lets the seal pop with a soft hiss.

Her eyes scan his face as he sets the helm off to the side. There’s a question there he can’t decipher. “What can I do?”

A harsh laugh escapes Fox’s lips and Mouse frowns at him.

“I think you’ve done enough, cyar’ika.”

“Fox-“ it’s a scolding tone that holds no weight when she looks like a battered doll in a too big hospital bed. She closes her eyes when he doesn’t give in and offer her more.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge of it. “I just wanted to make sure you were, ok. Alright?” He holds back from touching her again. It takes an enormous amount of will.

“I’m ok, Fox. Because of you.”

It’s a lie. All of it. It can’t be anything else. “You're in a hospital bed,” he growls, pushing up to his feet and stalking toward the window. He can’t look at her. “You spent days floating in bacta. You-“

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not because of me.”

He hears the ruffle of sheets as he looks out over Coruscant. The lights of the buildings and speeders in the sky lanes, like stars in the polluted evening light.

“Fox-“ her hand touches his arm and he spins to steady her. Anger swells up in him.

“Kriff- Mouse, get back in bed” he orders lowly, “you’re going to get hurt.”

She sways gently on her feet in the too big hospital gown but her jaw is set, “will you listen to me?”

“Will you get back in bed?” Fox pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath before looking at her again. “Get back in bed and I’ll listen. Please.”

Mouse stands, arms crossed, glaring pointedly. Fox has had enough. Quick and smooth like a tactical insertion he scoops her up. Mouse makes a small noise as his arms slide behind her knees and his other arm cradles behind her shoulders. She breathes heavily as she looks up at him.

“You’re going back to bed.” He covers the small room in just a few steps. When he goes to set her down she slips her arms around his neck and holds on for dear life.

“I’m not getting back in that bed unless you come with me.”

“You’re not in the position to make demands.” But that’s a lie because, with him, she was always in the position to make demands. She just never had to.

“Please, Fox. I just want one good night. You can leave as soon as I'm asleep.”

It’s hard to say if it’s the tired tone of her voice, the smell of her skin so temptingly close, or just his own beaten down need to be close to her, regardless Fox gives in.

“The armor stays on.” He says as he settles into the bed, he tries to keep his boots off the bed the best he can. Mouse curls tighter against him. It can’t be comfortable against the plastoid but to look at her he’d never know. One hand rests along his jaw while the other wraps around his back keeping him from easily disentangling himself.

Fox can’t help himself as he slips one glove off and cards his fingers through her hair, stopping every so often to work out a tangle. Mouse sighs against him.

“Precious girl,” he hums lowly as her fingers trace along the stubble at his jaw, “go to sleep.”

“You're going to leave once I do.”

“Yes, that was the deal.”

“You’re not going to come back.”

Again, he’s struck with how well she knows him. “No, cyar’ika. I’m not.”

6 days earlier

His knuckles are wailing in pain and it feels so kriffing good. His hands, wrapped in protective tape are held tight and safe as he tenderizes the heavy bag in front of him. A low, guttural growl works its way up from his chest with each landed blow.

It’s the first time he’s felt in control in days. Even if it only lasted for his duration in the sparring rooms he didn’t care. When he closes his eyes he doesn’t see Mouse at the end of his blaster, the way her body recoiled and convulsed at the first shot. He doesn’t hear the scream that rips through her when the second bolt burns through her side. He doesn’t dwell on the voice in his head demanding the kill while Fox did everything to drag his near perfect aim away from center mass.

He pictures Sidious’ face on the bag and the pile of sloppy mash his fists were making it into. There’s catharsis in the exertion that a psych droid couldn’t give him.

“Commander, sir?”

Fox turns to see Hound stripped down to just his black under armor pants. He was a burly boy as far as clones went, thicker and more muscular through the torso, next to Hound, Fox looks almost lithe.

Fox pants lightly as he dips to grab a bottle of water and straighten back up. “What can I do for you?”

“I- do you need to-“

Fox watches as the man chooses his words carefully, finally gesturing first toward the mat.

“You wanna go a few, rounds? Looks like you could use it?”

A roll of tape is flipped through the air in answer. Hound catches it smoothly, giving Fox a happy grin as he begins wrapping his hands.

5 days earlier

There’s a neat hole in his wall, fist sized and fresh, less than a week old. Fox pretends like he doesn’t see Chancellor Organa eyeballing it with some amount of apprehension. What he can’t pretend is that a visit from the newly minted Chancellor to his office isn’t a surprise.

“Commander, you can drop the title with me.” The Chancellor says for the second time since his arrival.

“Sir, it’s frowned upon-“

“-not by me”

Fox huffs and closes his eyes to hide the roll of them. “Ok, fine. Can I get you something to drink? Some caf?”

Bail waves off the offer, “I won’t be long and it looks like you're woefully underserved.” He tips his head back toward the door and the empty desk.

A bristle of irritation tingles down Fox’s neck. “She was in the hospital. She was…” the words trail off. Part of protecting his little Mouse was keeping her involvement in the Sidious event quiet.

“I know, Commander.” Bail says quietly, “we share a friend on the council who’s made me aware of many interesting things.”

It feels like he’s being baited. He likes to think Organa wouldn't try to try to weasel information from him but his trust is a very delicate thing at the moment and he’s not willing to give an inch. His loyalty is to his men and the republic, after that only one other person had earned any devotion from him and that was not Bail Organa. At least not yet.

“If there’s anything I can do for her, anything she needs we can make that happen.”

Fox glances at the picture on his desk. It had come by courier earlier in the day. It’s been neatly matted and framed to be hung, a children’s drawing of a small green twi’lek child and him holding hands. He’d stared at it on his desk in silence for far too long before he felt something ugly bubble up. Now he had a hole in the wall. He hoped the picture would cover it.

Fox continues to look at the picture. He needs a second to pretend like he knows what Mouse needs. He doesn’t listen to the nagging voice inside of him saying it to him. He hates that voice, would smother it if he could.

“She needs time to heal.”

“I can make that happen.”

“Thank you.”

Earlier this day

“Senator Amidala” Fox greets the senator at the door, “this is a surprise. If I keep receiving politicians in my office I’m going to have to have it made more suitable.”

The senator gives him a bright smile, “it’s good to see you Fox.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “it’s good to see you too Padmé.”

They were friends, of a sort. They’d seen enough together that Fox would gladly file her under battle buddies in his short list of friends. She looks lovely, as always, absolutely glowing. Her hand rests softly over the growing baby bump she was now proudly displaying.

“You look wonderful. Congratulations on the coming Ik’aad.” He offers gesturing toward her belly. His eyes linger and he remembers laying Mouse across his bed, placing kisses in a ring around her naval and imaging what it would be like someday when he-

Fox gives his head a quick shake and refocuses on the senator.

“Thank you.” He watches her eyes travel to the child’s drawing on the wall behind his desk before returning to him. “And how are you doing?”

“As well as can be expected. Chancellor Organa keeps a busy schedule and he’s insistent that I go with him. He’s got a lot of ideas and he asks my opinion. It’s different… but it’s nice.”

Padmé slips into the chair across from him.

“That’s wonderful” but she doesn’t sound like it’s wonderful. She sounds like she was here on a mission that he hasn’t been briefed on. He raises a brow at her. They’ve known each other long enough that she should know to just come out with it.

“We’re leaving for Naboo today. I want to have the baby in the lake country. It’s beautiful and peaceful.” She lets out a tired laugh, “and far away from the prying eyes of the holonet news.”

“They’ve been very… interested in you as of late” he offers diplomatically.

Another small laugh, “to say the least” Padmé sobers. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok with her going?”

Confusion must show on his face. Her?

Padmé frowns gently, the look of pity is out of place on her serene features, “you weren’t told, were you?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to speak clearly.” Fox tries to bite back the tension but it slips into his voice.

She says Mouse’s name. Her real name.

“The Chancellor asked if we would take her with us. That she needed a place to finish recovering.” Padmé is watching his face. She’s trying to gauge his reaction.

He tries to give her nothing.

“She’s an amazing woman. She said if she went then she had to be useful. She’s going to be my assistant while I’m on leave-“

Fox holds up a hand. “She’s excellent at what she does. You’ll never be in better hands.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not her keeper. Mouse deserves to be safe and happy.” He shoots her a forced smile. “That’s not with me.”

Current

He had the rancor etched into his arm after Thorn had been killed in action on a mission Fox was supposed to have led. It was an inside joke they’d heard as shinies. Something about a Jedi and a rancor walking into a cantina. He can’t remember the punchline. It wasn’t funny anyways.

The Pantoran works the needle over his freshly shaven chest. Back and forth, outlining and filling. Pressing the ink into his skin to permanently mark him with another mark of regret, penance. Everytime he looks in the mirror, stripped down from his armor and his blacks he’ll see the reminder of what never was supposed to be, the thing that he went after when he knew it wasn’t allowed. The love that nearly destroyed the person he cared for beyond all others.

“So, this picture is pretty wicked” the Pantoran says conversationally. He glances back and forth from the reference picture Fox gave him, a partial hand print pressed against his armor, the fourth and fifth finger only partially visible and the heel of the hand smeared red. “Was it done in ink?”

“No. Blood.”

The Pantoran makes a sound of understanding. The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the quiet.

Seconds, minutes, hours it’s all the same as Fox sits still as stone in the chair, the press of the needle intimately familiar.

He thinks of Mouse on a shuttle to Naboo.

This was what he’d needed. Mouse far away, somewhere safe. Somewhere no one could hurt her. Where he couldn’t hurt her. No matter what he’s told he still doesn’t believe there isn’t something in him that can be persuaded, to be flipped on, that won’t harm her.

He needed to focus on his job, his men, the Galactic Republic. There was no world in which he and Mouse would work and it was better that she wasn’t there to know that.

“Alright, mate.” The Artist sets the gun down and claps his hands once before rubbing them together. “You’re all set. Why don’t you take a looksy in the mirror while I grab the bacta gel and a dressing?”

Fox nods and pushes himself up. His back is stiff from laying still and he takes a moment to stretch and twist before stepping in front of the mirror. His eyes trace the ink. It’s a perfect replica of the picture, deep vibrant red fingers pressing into his armor, only now pressing into his heart. A reminder of what happens when he becomes selfish. When he wants more than the greater design allows for.

“It’s perfect.”

#fox and mouse #commander fox/reader #cc 1010 #commander fox #fox fanciers #tcw

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redrobinhoods · 3 years

Text

Kamas and Commanders | the clone

AO3 Link | 4,200 words (approx) | Chapter 2

A/N: There wasn’t meant to be a romance here when I planned this out, but then there was when I was working on dialogue, so I ran with it and it opened up a bunch of opportunities for the plot going forward. This was also supposed to be a one-shot and here we are with a multi chaptered fic.

The open ending to this story will set up ‘seconds and years’, my next Foxiyo fic, the first chapter of which will release on the same day as the end to this one. So this fic will have an open ending, but the story will reach a conclusion.

Story Summary: As far as the galaxy is concerned, Fox is dead. As the last remaining commander of the Coruscant Guard, Thire has taken his place as commanding officer, promoting Jek and the stormtrooper Seeley to serve as his commanders under him. With tensions running high between the clones and the stormtroopers under his command, Thire tries to keep those under him safe as best he can.

Thire closed his eyes and leaned back into the warm water that ran from the shower tap above him. For a few moments, with his eyes closed, he could go somewhere else. Somewhere where his body didn’t ache, where he didn’t flinch when he moved from the scars that cut through his skin, where he still felt whole. In that place, he wouldn’t have been marked like cattle for market by his commanding officers. But only for a few moments. Life always came rushing back.

“Have you been having nightmares?”

“No?” Thire straightened up and turned to face Jek. “None that I can recall at any rate. Pass the soap?”

Jek sighed as he obliged. When Thire had taken the bar of soap from his hands, Jek gestured to a mark on his rib. “See this bruise? You did that, last night.”

“I’m sorry.” Thire turned away from Jek as he began to wash himself, cringing as he passed over the healing brand that wrapped around his left calf. He could feel Jek’s gaze on him, or at least on the same brand that marked his right shoulder blade. If Thire had looked over, he would have seen the same marks on his brother. Just in case they ever forgot what they were.

“Seeley is beginning to worry about you.”

“I don’t quite care for his opinion on the matter.”

“I’m beginning to worry about you.”

Thire closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of the water for a few moments more as the traces of soap ran off before turning off the tap and crossing the room to the bench that held his and Jek’s towels.

Jek followed after him. “I’m serious, Thire.”

“I know you are. It’s just the job getting to me, Jek.”

“That’s a lie. You’re carrying less responsibility now than you did when it was just you and Fox. What’s really wrong?”

Thire took a moment to bury his face in the towel and sigh. “I’m fine, Jek. Really. I’ll be fine.”

Jek was about to protest when another clone entered the showers, nodding to the two men as he passed by. “Commanders.”

“Impulse.” Jek acknowledged, giving Thire time to escape from his questions. Though Jek still followed right on his heels, there were too many men in the barracks for them to continue the conversation. It wouldn’t bode well for their commanding officers to be seen bickering over one’s health.

It had been six months since Fox was shot. Five months since Thire had last seen him face to face. Three days since they’d last talked. But only he and Jek knew about that. As far as the galaxy was concerned, Fox was dead. He’d died guarding Senator Riyo Chuchi from an assassin. Only six beings knew otherwise, that Fox himself had been the assassin’s target. Of those six, only four knew he still lived. Jek had faked Fox’s death by switching him out for a dying brother and counting on the new rotation of medical staff to be none the wiser to their differences. It had worked. Fox was dead. Then CT-5851 was dead, ‘killed’ in a munitions incident. There was no body.

With Fox’s death, the Emperor had turned over the leadership of the Coruscant Guard to Thire. He’d had no choice, Thire had been the last commander of the Coruscant Guard. But he had changed that. He had promoted Jek to the position that Commander Stone had once held, putting him in charge of the riot squad. There had surprisingly been no calls about favoritism. Jek was the highest-ranking officer who had served under Commander Stone as a riot trooper and he had often been the one to lead the squad under Fox’s command. Thire had also promoted the stormtrooper he knew only as Seeley, who had gained his former rank of captain due to his excellence in the stormtrooper training and, mostly, his father’s economic power, to take over Fox’s duties. When Thire had first voiced the promotion to Fox, he had protested, having spent almost the entirety of one year trying to prevent the two from quarreling. Thire had told him that Seeley would keep him in line better than any other man under his command. And Fox couldn’t argue with that.

After the promotions were made official, Seeley had waited in Thire’s office until they were alone. ‘Why me?’ He had asked.

‘I wanted a new perspective, someone who isn’t afraid to call me out.’ Thire had shrugged. ‘And you’re the only stormtrooper who knows how to aim his blaster.’

Seeley had merely glared at him in response. Thire was familiar with his father from the Emperor’s parties back in the days when he was the Chancellor. He was also familiar with the rumors, that some of the good banker Seeley’s children were illegitimate, mothered by the Umbaran secretaries that worked in his banks. Thire thought that was bullshit and that Seeley was just a grey-eyed asshole, Umbaran genetics unnecessary. But he had been right. Seeley had stayed behind in his office after many meetings to call him out, some things rightfully so, others merely pedantic. But he had never argued with him in front of their men. He, Jek, and Thire could have any honest conversation behind closed doors, but they’d made an unspoken pact that they would never disagree in front of the men they led.

Seeley was not in the Guard offices when Thire and Jek arrived, and one of the sergeants informed him that the commander was taking the lead in a spice trafficking bust.

“Good man. Thank you, Sergeant.” Thire had nodded at the trooper as he and Jek parted ways to their own respective offices. While their private quarters in the barracks had been taken away under the Empire, their office spaces remained. Their last bit of privacy. When Thire stepped into his office, he locked the door behind him and removed the stormtrooper helmet, setting it on the desk. This room hadn’t changed at all since the first day he stepped into it, a wide-eyed lieutenant recovering from the injuries he had sustained on Geonosis. It had been Thorn’s office then. Then it had become their office. Then Thorn was gone, and it was only Thire’s. The room was not meant to be the office of the commanding officer of the Guard, but neither was Fox’s, and Thire couldn’t bear to give it up after all this time.

He sunk into his chair, kicking his boots up into the chair beside it that had once been his, and booted up the computer terminal before him, ignoring the onslaught of messages from senators and their staff that opened up before him, and going straight to the folder that contained the messages from his men. How he and Thorn had once scoffed at the idea of a written message. The Empire now required transcription of all comm messages, for ‘recordkeeping’. But it gave Thire something to read while he waited for the onslaught of datapads and the first catastrophe of the day.

The catastrophe came sooner than he expected when the sound of a commotion in the office foyer caught his attention.

Thire sighed and flung his legs from the other chair to stand up, roughly grabbing his helmet as he strode out of his office. There, seven stormtroopers were shouting at a clone captain, who visibly relaxed upon Thire’s entry. “Commander.”

“What’s going on?” Thire asked, leaning against the edge of the desk nearest the group.

“Commander Seeley has been captured.” The sergeant in charge of the squad answered. “They got between us in the fight.”

“So you left him.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I would.” Thire turned around to glance towards Jek, who had also come out of his office upon hearing the commotion. “I’ll be back in an hour. You lot, with me.”

“Where are we going?” The sergeant asked even as he and his squad fell in behind Thire.

“To take back my commander.”

---

Commander Ilven Seeley of the Coruscant Guard pulled against the binders that held his hands behind his back. He had not been blindfolded, and his eyes tracked the trandoshan stalking back and forth before him in the small, damp chamber he had been brought to.

“Who’s the rat?” It prodded him again.

“There wasn’t a rat, you idiot.” He hissed. “You think that you can operate out in the open and nobody will notice?” The room didn’t have a door. If he could somehow get the shackles off his ankles, he could flee.

“I think that pretty soon, we will be able to do whatever we would like.” The trandoshan didn’t turn where it had before and made its way to the side of the room. Carefully, it selected an electroprod from a bench that lined the wall. Ilven swallowed hard. “No stormtrooper can stand in ou-.” The trandoshan’s body fell limp to the ground and Ilven’s head whipped around to make eye contact with the blank visor making its way out of the shadows of the doorway. He was almost as disappointed with the sight as he had been at the sight of the electroprod.

“You.”

“Me.” Commander Thire looked over his shoulder as he switched out the magazine on his rifle before making his way around to Ilven’s back. “Your squad is waiting for us outside.”

“You brought them with you?” Ilven pulled his wrists free as Commander Thire loosened the binders, rubbing life back into chaffed flesh.

“Don’t see why I shouldn’t have.” Having loosened the binders from Ilven’s ankles, Commander Thire slipped an arm around his chest and hauled him to his feet before he could protest.

“They’re a bunch of chickens.” Ilven unwillingly threw his arm over Commander Thire’s shoulder and leaned on him as they made their way towards the exit.

“All nat-borns are. You would have never won the war without us.”

He was right, but Ilven didn’t have it in him to concede to a clone. He took in a breath to respond but was saved by a burst of blasterfire and Commander Thire shoving him to his knees on the ground as he fired back, kneeling down to protect him. Ilven had never been this close to a clone before, pressed up against Commander Thire’s chest he could smell the cheap soap that he himself knew from boot camp. When the blasterfire stopped, Thire’s supporting arm fell from his rifle back to Ilven’s waist as he hauled him back to his feet.

He stumbled alongside Thire until they exited the building into a large courtyard, where the seven men who had initially accompanied him sat sullenly in a waiting speeder.

“I will leave the punishment of your squad up to your discretion.” Thire murmured before they reached the vehicle.

Ilven glared at the stormtroopers in the speeder as he climbed in. “Ten men.” Not enough time could have passed for them to forget that they’d lost fellow soldiers that day. “One clone.”

Thire slid into the driver’s seat of the speeder. “Like I said, you would have never won the war without us.”

But while Ilven expected to feel the cold rush of anger in his gut, as per usual when Commander Thire spoke, it never came. The man had used his own body to shield him without a second thought, after coming to save him when none of his own men would. He could have taken the opportunity to let Seeley die and be rid of him. And yet.

---

Thire flipped through the datapad Seeley had provided him on the gang whose leadership he had almost entirely wiped out the day before. One of his sergeants had been keeping track of them months ago until they fell off the radar, rebranded under a new name that one of Jek’s lieutenants had been collecting data for from his sergeants. The files would have to be combined.

Thire grabbed his helmet from the desk and put it on out of habit as he walked out of the door. Not wearing it in his office was rule breaking enough, he wouldn’t flaunt it in front of his men, or give them reason to file complaint against him. Jek’s office was on the far side of the room from Thire’s, with Seeley’s office in the middle. For that reason, Thire was crossing in front of it when he heard his name and froze midstep as Seeley’s voice carried out to him.

“… Thire and I, we’ve never gotten along. We’ve been at each other’s throats since my first day here. But you know what, that doesn’t matter when it comes down to it. We can set aside our personal difference for the sake of Coruscant. And he’s a damn fine leader. I hate the man, but if I could choose, I’d have him be the one to guard my back every time.”

Suddenly very grateful for his helmet, Thire turned and walked back into his office as if he had forgotten something. The door had barely shut behind him when his helmet hit the desk once more and he inhaled sharply as he ran a gloved hand through his hair as he tried to reconcile his thoughts.

This felt wrong.

“Thire?”

Thire’s head snapped around to find a helmetless Seeley standing behind him. “Seeley. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s only been a few seconds.”

He’d done it again.

“Your headache is back?”

“Yes.” Thire lied. Not entirely untrue. The headaches and the forgetfulness that had persisted under the control of the Emperor had died down now that he no longer served the man day and night, but they had never fully gone away. “How did you know I’ve been having headaches?”

“I asked Jek what the hell was wrong you with. He said you’ve been having migraines.”

“Something like that.” Thire gestured to his guest chair as he walked to his own. “What did you want to speak about?”

Seeley reached into his helmet before setting it down beside Thire’s. “I know you don’t have much access to medications.” He pressed the bottle of anti-inflammatories into Thire’s hands. “Consider this my thank you for yesterday.”

Thire made the effort to shut his jaw before Seeley realized how stunned he was. “Seeley.”

“That’s not all.” Seeley shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Thire, could we spar sometime?”

Thire blinked for a few moments as he processed Seeley’s request. “Why?”

Seeley found a spot over Thire’s shoulder to stare at. “I never liked you. You’re the best shot in the Guard, you’re cocky, the Emperor favors you, and you’re a clone. You’re like, the perfect clone.” He closed his eyes. “And I cannot reconcile that version of you with the man who saved me yesterday.”

Thire fumbled for a response. “I’m not cocky.”

Seeley opened his eyes to fix Thire with a look of disbelief. “You ran into a building full of criminals to save me just because you could.”

“Anyone in my position would have.”

“I wouldn’t have. If our roles were swapped, I would’ve let them kill you.”

“Ah.” Thire fell silent as he tried to understand. “I guess that’s the difference between clones and everyone else.”

“I guess so.” Seeley shook his head before standing. “I should be going.”

“Tomorrow after work?”

Seeley blinked blankly at him.

“To spar.” Thire elaborated.

“Yes. Yes, I would like that.”

When the door shut behind Seeley, Thire let his guard down, falling back in his chair and bringing up the bottle of anti-inflammatories to examine it. When he concluded that it was a far stronger dose than he could have ever hoped to receive without grievous injury, he set it down and buried his face in his arms.

---

“You’re telling me that you spar, work, and sleep in the same clothes?” Seeley couldn’t have kept the disgust out of his voice if he tried, and he wasn’t trying.

“They’re not the same blacks.” Thire scoffed, continuing to strip his armor off. “I have five pairs, fresh pair every morning.”

“You wear underwear, right?”

Thire stopped to fix Seeley with a look of repulsion. “Of course I do, what, do you think we clones-?” He stopped when Seeley held out a handful of fabric towards him.

“They’re clean. I forgot to take out my clothes from yesterday, I’ll wear those.”

Thire hesitantly took the clothes and unfurled them in his hands. “Thank you, but I can’t wear this.”

“Why not? We have a similar build.” Seeley continued to undress without glancing Thire’s way. “The pants may be a little big on you, but there’s a tie.”

“Not the pants, the, um.” Thire stopped when he realized he didn’t know the name for the shirt he now held.

“Tank top?” Seeley stopped, taking a step over towards Thire, who kept his eyes lowered for fear of having to look at the disdain he imagined in Seeley’s gaze. “Because of the brand.” He spoke far softer than Thire had heard him speak before. The Empire’s marking of their clone troopers wasn’t public knowledge, it would have made even some of the more inclined citizens cringe, but shared showers and shared workout spaces had made them common knowledge to the stormtroopers.

“They’re healing poorly.” Thire confessed. “I don’t want to risk mat burn on it.”

“I’ll wrap it for you. Take your shirt off.”

Thire obeyed silently, sitting down on the locker room bench and grimacing once his chest was bared. He’d never wanted to admit weakness to Seeley, and here he was, baring his scars for him. He imagined that Seeley’s gaze would be tracing the deep knotting on his lower back when he returned with a long wrap of thick bandage. If Seeley did notice, he didn’t say anything as he passed the bandage around Thire’s torso and shoulder, forcing him to move a few times to ensure that it wasn’t too tight. When the wrap was secured, Seeley paused for a moment as if he wanted to say something, before moving away as if he had thought better of it. Thire sighed and lay a hand on the bandage poking out from under the fabric before moving to take off the pants of his blacks. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“I wish I knew.” Seeley scoffed. “I think I liked it better when I hated you.”

“Then why not continue that?” Thire pulled on the sweatpants, tucking the tank into them. Despite it, the clothes still felt too loose.

“I don’t know.” Seeley walked around to stand before him. “I guess it feels wrong after you saved my life. Besides, I’ve learned more about you in three days than I learned in a year.”

“And what have you learned?” Thire asked as he rose to stand before him.

“You’re not infallible for one. You’re kind, even though you don’t think you are.” Seeley’s eyes darted down to Thire’s inner arm. “And you have tattoos.”

Fox had once allowed a piece of contraband to be kept. A few weeks after his ‘death’ Thire had found himself laying on a brother’s bunk as they traced out outlines of a triangle, a fox’s head, and a circle side by side above the crease of his elbow. “My brother did them.”

“For Fox, Commander Stone, and?”

“Commander Thorn. He was my mentor. He’s the reason I’m where I am today.” He was also the reason Thire’s ARC kama lay in his desk drawer, too painful to look at.

Seeley’s brows drew together as he thought over the implication. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad he and Stone are dead, they never had to watch our Republic fall.” Thire spat out before he could stop himself. When the gravity of what he said hit him, he closed his eyes and took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Let’s go spar.” Maybe Seeley was feeling friendly enough to not turn him in for treason.

“How many people have you lost? Loved ones that is.” Seeley asked when they were on the floor.

Thire scoffed before answering with a fist. “Nearly all of them, not that that’s unusual for a clone. All of my batchmates except Jek, my first squad, Thorn, Stone.” He hesitated. “Fox.” Seeley tried to use the moment of hesitation to strike a blow to Thire’s rib, only for Thire to block the punch and kick his foot out from under him. “Foundation, Seeley.”

Seeley scrambled back to his feet. “Damn, you’re strong.”

“You’ve never sparred with a clone before, have you?”

“No.” Seeley threw another punch towards Thire’s torso, only to find himself on the ground once more.

“We can take a hit.” Thire held out his hand, pulling Seeley to his feet. “Hold up your arms in a defensive position, watch how my feet move when I strike.”

“Remember I’m not a clone, I can’t take a hit.” Seeley chuckled nervously as he obeyed.

“I’ll just tap you. Watch my feet.” Thire halted his motion before he struck Seeley. “Watch again. Line of movement. If you can understand it, you can predict your opponent’s moves through watching their hips.”

A look that Thire didn’t understand washed over Seeley’s face. He concluded that it was disgust. “Is there anyone else I can look besides your hips?”

“Anywhere, if you don’t want to improve.” Sensing an opportunity for revenge when Seeley’s gaze fell, Thire struck a gentle blow against Seeley’s neck, sending the man stumbling to the floor in a coughing fit. “But you also have to watch your opponent’s hands.”

“You’re an ass.” Seeley coughed out.

“And here I thought you said that I was kind.”

“Kind of an ass.” Seeley rejected Thire’s extended hand to push himself back to his feet. “Is that what they teach you commanders, dirty tricks?”

“I wasn’t made a commander.” Thire took Seeley’s hands in his and pushed his feet into a stronger stance. “I came to Coruscant a lieutenant. But Commander Thorn disagreed with that, and here I am today.”

“That’s more human than being assigned your rank, isn’t it?”

Thire’s lip curled as he glared at at Seeley before taking a step back. “That’s an anti-clone sentiment. We are human. We still bleed if cut. We break, we shatter, we bleed out; that’s pretty human.”

“That’s not what I meant-.” Seeley let his arms drop as he tried to speak, only for Thire to use the opportunity to send him crashing to the floor once more, Thire’s leg pinning his shoulders down.

“No, it’s perfectly clear what you meant, and I’ll concede to the point you were making. We clones are human, but we don’t have humanity in our bodies.”

“Thire.” Seeley protested, still unmoving under his leg.

“Don’t. I’ve accepted my place in the galaxy.” Thire stood, allowing Seeley to sit up. “But I don’t think you have. Get up, let’s go again.”

---

Thire slowly took off the shirt of his blacks, careful not to disturb the bandage that Seeley had placed there earlier that day. The first one had been discarded after sparring, but after they had showered, Seeley had insisted on another one and Thire had lost the strength to argue with him over it. Now, he was almost grateful that he hadn’t protested. The chaffing of his blacks on the wound had been impeded, and for once his shoulder wasn’t burning like it did at the end of the day.

“Riyo called today, while you were gone.” Jek approached with a content smile. “They’re doing well. Says they’ve even got a proper kitchen table now.”

“Good, the heathens.” Thire said as he tossed the shirt into the laundry bin under his bunk.

“Who wrapped you up?” Jek inclined his head towards the bandage. “This is not our grade of fabric.”

“Seeley did, after sparring.”

“Now that just proves my point that you two can’t be in a room without fighting.”

Thire shook his head as he chuckled. “He’s okay. Though we did argue, while we were fighting.”

“Sounds about right.” Jek reached over to clasp Thire’s bare shoulder. “Do you want to share a bunk tonight?”

“Not until that bruise goes away.” Three days later, the mark Thire had made on Jek’s chest was still dark and purple.

Jek nodded gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Jek.”

Thire watched Jek walk away before he lay down on his side, pulling up the thick blanket that he had slept under for the past five years. The pillows in the barracks were new, the same ones that the barracked stormtroopers had received, but new blankets had not been deemed necessary. At this point, Thire didn’t think he wanted to give it up anyways. He knew exactly where his fingers fit in the threading seams, where he could run the bare threads between his finger pads and think about the new side of Seeley he was seeing. Before he fell asleep, he came to the conclusion that this charade of friendship would be up the moment Seeley’s gratefulness had run its course, and there was no use in getting attached to things he could never have.

#commander thire #original character #clone trooper jek #my fics #kamas and commanders fic #i wrote most of these words this weekend so i think i'm feeling better

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redrobinhoood · 4 years

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no choir | chapter 9, to be still

AO3 Link | 2200 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 8, Chapter 10

Chapter Summary: Riyo, Fox, Jek, and Thire find a moment to talk about the future and to reflect on the past

Riyo glanced back into her living room, taking note of the steady rise and fall of Fox’s chest in the light of the sunset that streamed through the window. He was turned away from her, staring out onto the city, nearly silhouetted in the light. She checked the temperature of the stove a last time before walking over to the couch and sinking into the material beside Fox.

“How does it feel?” She asked as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her head over his sternum so that she could hear his heartbeat.

“Boring. What do beings do all day?” He tenderly wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, keeping his other hand pressed against his torso. None of the painkillers Riyo had were of the potency that he needed.

“Guess we’ll find out. I’m officially off the Pantoran ballot now.”

Fox sighed and leaned his head against hers. “It feels like a betrayal.”

Riyo knew that he was speaking for them both. “Yes, it does.”

They sat in silence, watching the sunlight bounce between the glassy windows of Coruscant in a kaleidoscope of warm color. Riyo would almost be sad to leave it behind. Almost. She couldn’t help but see every building as a potential sniper perch waiting to be filled. Then she reminded herself that every assassin so far had failed. She was still alive; Fox was still alive.

There was a knock on the door, and Riyo rose to answer. She ushered the two stormtroopers inside, trying to ignore the gasp of shock from one of them. She shut the door.

“Hey, Thire.” Fox’s voice carried across the room to them.

“I thought you were dead.”

Riyo turned around to watch the men embrace, cringing at the sound of discomfort Fox made when Thire wrapped his arms around him.

“I thought I was too.”

Riyo stepped forward so that she stood next to Jek, who had remained relatively in the doorway, and threw an arm around his waist, pulling him in for a side hug. “Thank you.”

“I did my duty, Riyo. Nothing more.” He looked from his brothers to her. “What are you going to do now?”

“Return to Pantora, then find some backwater planet where they won’t recognize us.”

“What biome?”

“Why?”

“So I know where to picture you two in my head.”

Riyo looked up sadly at Jek. She felt some of the pain that Fox did at leaving behind his brothers. She’d have given almost anything to take Jek and Thire with them, more if she could’ve freed the whole Guard. They had been like family to her before the Republic fell. “Some form of forest. Somewhere with trees.”

Jek nodded. “That sounds lovely.”

Riyo turned her attention back to Fox and Thire. She remembered a different time when Thire was here. When they had first learned of the mole, the night she had almost lost Fox and had fallen asleep with the two men on the couch. That had been a year ago. That night had been full of pain. Today, watching the way the men clung to each other as if they were the other’s lifeline, she felt a small rise of hope.

---

Fox sat down gingerly at the small table that was pushed into the far corner of the kitchen. There was the light touch of Riyo’s hand on his shoulder, but she didn’t reach out to help him down. She knew that he was determined to be self-sufficient once more. Across the table from Fox, Jek was hesitantly raising a spoonful of soup to his mouth. Fox grinned at the perplexed look on Jek’s face at the empty spoon lowered.

“It has flavor.” Jek managed.

The other three beings laughed, though Fox found his cut short by a stabbing pain in his chest. Too much too soon.

“Yes, it does.” Riyo grinned. Fox loved to see her life this; relaxed, smiling, getting along with his brothers. He couldn’t imagine how she saw them. Did she see the same face copied and pasted with varying hairstyles like most beings did, or could she tell each one apart by the small quirks in their mannerisms? Fox was certain it was the latter. She could tell them apart in uniform, helmetless should be no problem.

“I don’t know what to think.” Jek laughed. He’d had soup before, they’d all had, and he’d on occasion eaten outside of the dining hall, Fox had taken him and Thire for caf at Mariela and Sienn’s café, but to the best of Fox’s knowledge Jek had never had any soup outside of the tasteless protein-water that passed as soup in the barracks dining halls.

“It’s very good.” Thire swooped in to cover for Jek. He was less shocked by the flavor, having occasionally eaten with Fox and Riyo over the past years throughout their investigation into the mole. “Thank you, Riyo.”

“Anything for the Commanding Officer of the Guard.” Riyo raised her drink to Thire, who slowly raised his own to touch hers. “I read the bulletin that went out this morning.”

“You deserve it, Thire. You have my utter faith that you’re the man for the job.” Fox raised his glass to join the other two. “Make sure someone keeps me updated on how well you’re doing in a few months.” While Fox still felt the guilt of leaving behind his brothers, it had lessened from before when it had been fully his choice, and he felt more at ease knowing for certain that Thire would take his place. He would have been comfortable leaving most of his staff officers in charge, but if he’d had a choice, it would’ve been Thire. He was the only commander on the guard who had not been designated such by the Kaminoans, earning his rank through his own prowess. Fox couldn’t think of a better man in these times.

Thire looked down sheepishly. “I could never replace you, Fox.”

“Don’t. The office is yours. Make it yours, and don’t worry about the things that I’ve done.”

Jek spoke up from behind a full spoon of soup. “Fox, this is exactly the inspirational osik that he’s talking about. Is he like this with you too, Riyo?”

“No comment.” She laughed. “He’s right though, do keep in touch.”

“We will.” Jek promised. “So, Thire, how are you going to make the office yours?”

"Well, I’ll increase your workload for one.”

Jek laughed, but his grin quickly faded when Thire didn’t laugh with him. “You’re serious.”

Thire took a slow, dramatic sip of soup before he answered. “I think I’m going to take us back to a three-commander system. Me, Jek, and Captain Seeley.”

“You’re promoting me?”

“But you hate Captain Seeley.”

Thire scoffed at his brothers and moved his spoon around in the soup. “Seeley will keep me in line. Besides, having a nat-born in command will bring a new perspective.”

“Is this what the Emperor wants?” Riyo asked.

“The Emperor doesn’t know yet.” There was a hint of rebellion in his voice. “I don’t plan on asking his permission either. The paperwork has already been signed anyways, it’ll be official tomorrow.”

Fox scoffed. “You’re turning into me, Thire.”

“I suppose.” Thire looked to his brother. “Fox?”

“Thire?”

“What happened when we went to talk to the Emperor?”

Fox bit the inside of his lip in concern. “We told him and Lord Vader about the mole, then we decided to further discuss it in the morning. He dismissed me but asked you to stay behind.”

“I don’t remember that. I remember walking in the door, then I woke up on his couch. Darth Vader was there?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t….” Thire’s voice trailed off as his brow knit into a look of concentration.

"Thire?” Riyo reached across the table to lay a hand on his arm.

Thire scoffed and shook his head. “I thought I had something. It’s gone now.”

Fox was horrified when he realized that he couldn’t tell whether Thire was lying or not. Before, he had always known Thire’s thoughts. Now, he realized that Thire really was turning into him. He would’ve been upset if he wasn’t so proud of him.

“There is one thing I do remember, from after you left. The Emperor and Darth Vader know about you two. They’ve known for a while now.”

Fox’s breath caught in his throat.

“He’s lying.” Riyo gasped.

“Vader had a hologram. He showed me it. I didn’t remember until that night or I would’ve said something earlier. But now, Riyo, you can’t let them know that he’s alive. Staying home from the Senate, working odd hours, everything that you’ve done over the past few days, this needs to become your routine for the next month.”

Riyo nodded tersely. “I can do that.”

“Ri.” Fox found his voice.

“I can, Fox.” She turned to him. “Let me protect you for once.”

“What about my new CT number?” Fox turned to Jek. “Can I go with her?”

“I’ve already ‘killed’ CT-5851, Fox. Improperly stored munitions, there was no body and no way he, you, could have survived.”

“I can’t do nothing!”

“You are literally regrowing an organ, Fox. That’s not nothing.” Jek shot back. “You gotta be able to eat solid foods before you throw down with the Emperor.”

“Fox, I’ll be fine.” Riyo threw her arm over Fox’s shoulder and leaned against him, rubbing her hand down his arm in an attempt to calm his outburst. “I’ll be here with you for most of it anyways. I just need to clean my office and perhaps say goodbye to old friends in the Senate, the few that are left. There’s no votes being held this month, maybe a few private meetings but I don’t have much of a reason to be in the Senate now anyways.”

Thire spoke up again. “I’ll give her an escort, Fox. One of the boys who she knows. We’ll keep her safe.”

Fox looked back and forth between the three of them. “Okay. I give in.”

“When have we ever let you down?” Jek asked.

Fox shook his head and reached for his glass of water in response, letting the conversation continue without his input, allowing the opportunity to recite the list to him slip away.

---

Riyo took a deep breath as she stepped off the ramp of the starship, breathing in the air of her homeworld for the first time in forever. She wanted to close her eyes and let the chilly air envelop her, but she had one last duty to perform.

There was so much she wanted to say to the new senator. So many things. How to navigate the personal ambitions of the other senators, finding like-minded beings that share your desires, how to avoid burnout, where the Pantoran market on Coruscant was if one ever missed home, knowing which tasks were trivial and which would prove to be vital, all of the knowledge and wisdom Riyo had accumulated over the past four years. But she couldn’t. She was to greet the senator this one time and then the stormtrooper guard were to escort them immediately back to Coruscant. Not a moment for mentoring. Not a moment for sentimentality. She had been told that it was to minimize danger to the two of them after the failed assassination attempt that had taken the life of Commander Fox. But she knew better. Thire had let slip something beyond her worst nightmare on her last day in the Senate before swearing her to secrecy. The new secret burdened her shoulders every time she looked at the stormtrooper who currently stood on her left side. He could never know that the man who he had placed his utter trust in was the same man who had ordered his death. Riyo had found herself to be thankful for the Emperor’s treachery in that it had saved Fox’s life. But she knew that he wouldn’t see it the same way.

She shook hands with the young man who stepped up to greet her. They’d barely had time to exchange formalities before they were both being moved away. Riyo nearly protested before the light touch of Jek’s hand on her arm pulled her back to reality. She almost reached out for Fox, not realizing that in the heat of the moment that he had slipped away.

Once she was inside the statehouse she did reach out to Jek. All sentimental goodbyes had already been said out of the sight of other beings, but she clasped his hand tightly as she shook it.

“Thank you, Commander, for everything.”

“It’s been my honor, ma’am.” She was no longer a senator.

She stood where he had left her as she watched her escort march away. Back to Coruscant, back to the Empire. As she watched the painted pauldron fade out of sight in the crowd of white plastoid she hoped that they weren’t marching back to their graves.

If one less stormtrooper escorted the new senator to Coruscant, nobody noticed.

#foxiyo #commander fox #riyo chuchi #commander thire #clone trooper jek #my fics #no choir fic

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