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#sw fox
clownbloody · 10 days
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Fox fans... its dinner time That's your (🫵) hand pulling down his collar how scandalous of you ;)
Coruscant Guard: WIP
ALSO! If you want to be tagged when I post one of YOUR favourite boys let me know!
Tag List: @bigbi4322
@eyecandyeoz
@padawancat97
@yeehawgeek
@argentinian-witch
@atomickidsoul
@keantha
@mybrainislostinagalaxyfarfaraway
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ryr-art · 3 months
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Wanting to make another Fox charm but stuck in which design feels better: Tooka on top of helmet or curled around the helmet.
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muguathepapaya · 2 years
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Shiny!Commander Fox and Shiny!Commander Bly vs. real food for the first time. (Featuring space dango)
5/? of this series
why are they in the same space? because ive read too many fanfics where they’re batchmates. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
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Taking A Step
A Fox Oneshot :)
Should out to my lovely beta @yeehawgeek for being the final push to actually publishing this since it sat for about...a year I think in my drafts WHOOPS
Enjoy >:)
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yellowocaballero · 2 years
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The Force blared in front of him, oozing in through the smallest crack that Ben couldn’t patch up no matter how hard he tried, and he narrowly skidded to avoid two clones walking down the halls with their blaster rifles slung over their backs. 501st blue - they had caught him - they had stopped, they were looking at him - they were looking concerned, radiating worry into the Force.
“Commander?” the left clone asked, reaching out a hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Do we have an intruder?” the right one asked, hand flying to his weapon. “Is -”
Ben screamed.
Yet another installment in a series that doesn't need to exist. You might want to read about what Fox has been up to since the Empire fell before you read this, but it's not completely necessary.
This is not canon to the AU at all. It feasibly could, so feel free to mentally think of it as canon, but it absolutely isn't.
This was written because More Than Zero didn't have space for a LOT of Cody & Ben stuff I really wanted to write, I am stressed and I should rename this AU 'Relentless Self-Indulgence', and it's not Star Wars unless there's a time travel fix-it fic. And it's not me unless I point out the insane horror of time travelling into this panopticon when you know exactly what's about to happen and there's nothing you can do about it.
30K in a published google doc above of PTSD, misconceptions, Qui-Gon actually having lines, and the indignities of being fourteen.
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suzukiblu · 2 years
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Star Wars comms for @aces-to-apples, @amillionstarsandyouchoosethisone, and @beckyh2112.
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razzbberry · 7 months
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So, I kinda love rendering armor now.
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chiliger · 7 months
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See what Fox doesn’t remember is that it was his idea.
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dragon-subway · 1 month
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Average day with the coruscant guard
quick n silly inspired by this post and @//ddeck’s tags on it
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enththeqqa · 24 days
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Fox and Riyo sketch
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jedi-enthusiast · 8 months
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*during their monthly check-in call*
Fox: Alright, I'm bored, let's have a little competition. What's the weirdest thing your generals have done or can do?
Bly, dreamily: General Secura doesn't do anything weird, she's great... Fox: Bly's in love with his general, in other news water is wet, moving on! Rex: Sometimes General Skywalker just straight-up eats bugs. He doesn't cook them or anything, he just finds a bug and eats it. Fox: Now that's the kind of garbage I'm looking for! Next! Ponds: Sometimes General Windu will be about to make a decision and just stare really hard at whatever he's making a decision about for an uncomfortably long time. Then he'll shotgun like 10 space-Advil and keep going. Fox: I am both concerned and impressed, next! Wolffe: General Koon has made Separatist generals straight up surrender just by using his Disappointed Dad Voice™️ on them. Fox: Wow, that's- Cody: My general can talk to the dead. The Rest of Them: ... Cody: Get fucked.
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jejejijiju · 14 days
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ryr-art · 3 months
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Made some Fox Charms <3
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cobaltbeam · 18 days
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u got something on your face there buddy-
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Small writing exercise featuring Fox and Rex is up!
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yellowocaballero · 2 years
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No Chip AU: Mace Asks All The Wrong Questions
Mace was developing a headache.
When he was younger he felt guilty for using the Force to ameliorate petty pain like a headache or a sprain, but age had thoroughly cured him of that. He now considered pain the Force’s way of alerting him to a disordered mind, and letting the Force soothe a disordered mind was very practical. Prevented a reliance on pain medication too. 
Headaches were his constant friend lately. They began to abate as his body finally desensitized to the automatic alert at the sight of the Imperial Guard - nonstop exposure will do that to you - but they tended to pop back up during emergencies. 
He had once found the clones relaxing people due to their unflappable nature in the face of danger. Their calm and focus even under blaster fire was comparable to a Jedi’s. This attribute was no longer relaxing, and Mace now understood the sheer percentage of highly neurotic clones. On the battlefield they were as professional as ever, no matter whose side they were on - off was always another story. 
Mace POV of Fox's Vacation, which is absolutely necessary to read before this. I wrote most of this as a way of solidifying what was actually happening most of that story in my brain, but I just got back around to finishing it (sometimes things happen to help you write other things). It says quite a bit that the Mace POV is a completely different story than the Fox POV. Mace is also a tremendously fun POV. It's great writing an actual older adult with his shit together.
Short 18k fic under the cut. Serious content warning for the same themes of the other story, including discussions of end of life care. Please be careful if dementia is a sensitive subject for you.
Mace was developing a headache.
When he was younger he felt guilty for using the Force to ameliorate petty pain like a headache or a sprain, but age had thoroughly cured him of that. He now considered pain the Force’s way of alerting him to a disordered mind, and letting the Force soothe a disordered mind was very practical. Prevented a reliance on pain medication too. 
Headaches were his constant friend lately. They began to abate as his body finally desensitized to the automatic alert at the sight of the Imperial Guard - nonstop exposure will do that to you - but they tended to pop back up during emergencies. 
He had once found the clones relaxing people due to their unflappable nature in the face of danger. Their calm and focus even under blaster fire was comparable to a Jedi’s. This attribute was no longer relaxing, and Mace now understood the sheer percentage of highly neurotic clones. On the battlefield they were as professional as ever, no matter whose side they were on - off was always another story. 
They were in Stone’s office, not so much having a meeting as piling in one after another and yelling at each other. All comms and projectors were firmly switched off, as if the Marshal Commander was capable of randomly popping up and interrupting a conversation. Mace wondered if the Marshal Commander had tapped their communications before the thought gave him an even worse headache. 
“We can threaten him all we want, he’s going to tell them!” Thorn slapped a hand on Stone’s desk, ignoring the other man’s poisonous look. The room was a bit cramped for all four of them - Mace was the only one slouching on the chair in front of the desk as Thire and Thorn crowded around him in a move that resulted in a great deal of adrenaline released into the Force -  but Stone had refused to use Fox’s office. They had locked it up tight, and only Stone went into it to retrieve necessary datapads. “And then where are we going to be?”
Stone rubbed his forehead, grimacing. “They knew too much about the situation anyway,” he said. “Tano -”
“That bitch -” 
“I can’t believe we never got her,” Thorn said darkly. He clenched his hands, as if he could imagine her neck between them now. “All those years and I’ve never snapped her little orange neck. She’s an insect that’ll survive the apocalypse and the sight of her makes me want to throw up.”
“And she’s a bad mother,” Thire added.
“And she’s a bad mother!”
“Yeah, Tano’s traitorous filth, fuck her.” Stone said it rotely, as if he had to get the mandatory sentence out of the way. “But we gave Bly and Wolffe permission to ask her for help.” The process had taken two hours and was somewhat like pulling teeth. “She hasn’t betrayed us but she already knows too much. Wolffe and Bly -”
“Traitors!”
“ - know that our lord Emperor messed with Fox’s brain, which they had to know, so they could ask Tano for help, which we need.” Stone’s jaw clenched, muscle bulging. “Now the issue is they know Fox is like…that. And that he’s here.”
Angry, tense silence fell over the room. Mace sensed that it was the right time to speak, so he gently cut in. “Why is it such a danger that the Alliance knows where Fox is?”
Thorn groaned. “Seven hells, Jedi don’t know anything.”
“It’s okay, Mace,” Thire said supportively. “You’re really nice for a Jedi.”
“Thank you,” Mace said.
But Stone just looked stressed, rubbing anxiously at his temples. He had found out too late that Fox had done the job of five men - even five clones, which was ten regular men. There were at least twenty other lieutenants under Thire and Thorn that needed supervision, and all of them were confused and anxious. The entire Guard was collapsing, and Stone was thoroughly convinced that it was his fault. Mace rather thought it was his own, but that wasn’t relevant in terms of regrets. 
“Fox is completely helpless,” Stone stressed. Mace rested an elbow on each arm of the chair, lightly steepling his fingers. “He can’t protect himself. Even more than physically - you could tell him anything and he’d believe it.”
“It’s pretty handy,” Thire said weakly, scrubbing the back of his neck. “We used to take advantage…of it…sometimes…”
“We still take advantage of it,” Stone panned, before looking back at Mace. “Don’t pretend we aren’t each other’s mortal enemies, jetii.” Yes, Mace had picked up on that. Many times. “This is just a temporary alliance. Every jetii and Rebel would shoot Fox the minute they got a look at him. They’re probably setting up his war crime tribunal right now.”
“Everybody hates him,” Thorn said heatedly. “You jetii - you blame him for all of it, don’t you? It wasn’t his fault!”
“Out of everybody in the Guard,” Thire agreed evenly, “it is Fox’s fault the least. We could have disobeyed our orders at any time, but he couldn’t. Even without it being the freaking Emperor, I don’t…think he knew how. Maybe at the start, the first few years, but by the time the Empire rolled around…” He sagged a little. “But he protected us anyway. He barely even knew he was doing it, but he did. He never reported a single leak no matter how many we had. You natborns don’t know about that, so you’re going to blame him…”
No, the ‘natborns’ did not know about that. Nobody had. Mace suspected that not even the clones in front of him had understood until afterwards. 
What happened in that throne room had shaken him to the core. Out of everybody, every clone in the galaxy, to do such a thing…Fox had been last on the list. Sometimes Mace was humbled by his own hubris. 
“So we can’t slack off when it comes to protecting him!” Stone said heatedly. “But we don’t have the manpower for a constant guard and this is a big palace. Anything could happen! If the natborns catch whiff of this then there’s going to be assassins all over the place. He trusted me with this Guard, with him, and I can’t let him down like this!”
“And that’s putting aside the political stuff,” Thire said morosely. “Marshal Commander Cody would lose his shit if anything happened to him. He’d crush the Rebels, surrender or not.”
“The Marshal Commander didn’t even want them thinking Fox’s name,” Thorn muttered, staring at the floor. “We messed up a job that the Marshal Commander gave us…”
Everybody shivered - in fear, shame, or a strange combination of both, Mace didn’t know. It was difficult to tell at the best of times, much less these.
It was all language Mace had heard before. The rhetoric had slowly shifted from the beginning of the ordeal, in a way that was almost fascinating. 
At first they had all clearly interpreted the issue as yet another bizarre facet of a work emergency. Mace hadn’t had much time to watch Fox interact with his subordinates before his condition began rapidly progressing, but their obedience had been absolute. It was typical for clone authoritarianism, and the undercurrent of genuine respect had been palpable, but the way they spoke of him painted a picture of a man who was never questioned. A man in an absolute: he said to do something, it was done. Nothing less and nothing more. In rare moments of insubordination, the word ‘droid’ had been thrown around with great frequency.
The respect and obedience had been so absolute that Fox’s declaration of alliance with their greatest enemy went unremarked upon. It had been impossible to read any of their feelings or impressions of the Emperor’s death, or any of their opinions about Fox’s decision. They all hid everything they could from Fox, and they all obeyed Fox absolutely. 
But as time wore on the situation changed. Respect became worry; obedience became protectiveness. The power dynamic changed completely. It was obvious none of them had ever been in an analogous situation, and they were all reacting differently. Mace didn’t know if they were reacting well, or in the best possible way for Fox, but maybe there were no good situations.
Or maybe they were simply difficult to see. Mace leaned back in his chair, steadily meeting the eyes of each clone. “May I pose a question.”
Thire gave him a skeptical look. “Is this another riddle…? I hate your riddles.”
Gree had almost beat him over the head after one koan too many. Mace knew. “Why do you assume the Jedi would not want to help?”
All three clones stared at Mace blankly. He was beginning to grow accustomed to the sight. The Guard weren’t used to Jedi, and their peculiarities confused and frustrated them.
Slowly, as if Mace was Fox, Stone said, “We have killed…so many of you.”
“We tortured Rebels for your wherabouts,” Thorn added. “You do remember that, right? Your whereabouts, specifically?”
Yes. Mace did remember that. He packaged it up and released it into the Force, like a bobbing boat down a river. 
“It’s insane enough that the Rebels are willing to work with us,” Thire said. “That you’re putting peace above revenge. But asking you to help us - help Fox, of all people…”
“Wolffe and Bly talking to Tano was one thing,” Stone said, “but this…”
Well. Mace tapped a finger on his hand. They almost had it. They were taking steps. It was the most any of them could ask right now. 
“To establish something very important,” Mace said slowly, “the Alliance would not vote to harm a man in Fox’s situation. It would be against every value we have.” Thorn opened his mouth indignantly. “Yes, even Fox. As you’ve pointed out, he’s no danger to anybody. It would be cruel. We would not do it. I can’t promise that any of us like him as a person, but a Jedi does not have to like somebody in order to uphold the values of our Order.”
The three clones, fully aware that they were more than willing to kill the infirm without a second thought, looked awkwardly away.
“Second,” Mace said, mind working furiously trying to phrase the statement in a way that they could accept, “our shared goal is in dismantling the Empire. Our shared…passions are our hatred of the Emperor. The Jedi have been warring with the Sith for thousands of years.”
“You lost this one,” Thire added helpfully, as if Mace did not know. Mace stared at him. “Sorry.”
“We would like to remove all traces of the -” Depa’s voice rang in his head - use words they know, don’t get pretentious! “ - evil magic. You know we’ve been hoping to help remove it in you all.” And hadn’t that taken days to explain. “Healing Fox would remove Sith influence and power from the world. It would be a…fuck you.”
The clones relaxed. They all understood the value of a good fuck you.  Mace believed in adapting to other cultures, but he couldn’t help the tinge of mortification over cursing. He half expected to turn around to see an impressionable eleven year old with wide eyes. Master, did you just say -
 They looked between each other, engaging in one of those little microexpression debates that they thought Mace didn’t understand. Granted, he wasn’t fluent, but he could catch the gists. Apparently everybody else found it impossible. It was all in the eyebrows.
Finally, Stone looked back at him. He set his expression firmly, leaning forwards on the desk. “Cody says nobody takes a look at him. So nobody’s taking a look at him.” Mace masterfully swallowed the groan. How did authoritarianism stick so closely to somebody who they hated that much? “Once all of this is over, then we can talk about it again. We don’t think it’s out of the question.” Filtered through protocol talk, that was a rousing acceptance. Stone’s lips thinned anyway, looking steadily at Mace. “But to make one thing really clear. This is clone business. Anything you or the jetii or the Alliance does - you have our permission to do.”
If there was one thing Mace had picked up, it was not to question that the clones were in charge. They were very set on that. Mace figured it was a defense mechanism. They clearly didn’t know what to do with ‘in charge’, but they wanted it anyway. “Of course.”
“We’re his family,” Thorn said, crossing his arms and glowering down at Mace. Mace blinked up at him innocently. “Natborns don’t get a say in him anymore. Jedi, Rebels, whatever - all of you just leave him alone. We’re taking care of him, and all of you can stay out of it.”
“You can stay,” Thire assured him. “We’re talking about all the rest.”
“Yeah, you’re fine.”
“It’s an honor,” Mace said, with a straight face. 
“He just deserves better,” Stone said. “That’s it. So if he can just stay in his freaking room, then everything would be fine - ”
Thire looked a little uncomfortable. “Stone, he doesn’t really know any better…”
“If the door’s locked then it means you’re supposed to stay inside,” Thorn said flatly. “He knows that. He’s just doing it all the time because he’s bored.”
“Yeah, and he doesn’t get that we have bigger problems than his boredom.”
“I think we should just give up and activate the security,” Thorn said. “It’d be actually impossible for him to escape if we just locked it down.”
“Then he’ll think he’s in prison,” Stone said, “and we’ll have more problems -”
“If it’s Fox’s discomfort or death by Rebel assasination we should probably go with his discomfort.”
“Yeah,” Stone said, exhausted. “He’ll…he doesn’t have to understand.”
Mace hummed. 
*******
Mace visited Fox the next day.
The meeting hadn’t improved from there, and a few hours later Stone emerged from Fox’s rooms crushingly embarrassed. Apparently he had lost his temper and said some things that he refused to disclose. Mace somehow ended up giving him the usual little spiel given to padawans about what it meant to lose your temper and how to identify what they were feeling, which turned out to have mass market appeal. 
  He knocked on Fox’s door, unlocking it so Fox could open it himself. Every time Fox saw that the door was locked he, in order: wondered why it was locked, got pissed off that it was locked, remembered why it was locked, got pissed off that they had locked him in a room again, and then broke out. To his credit, he usually stopped before the ‘breaking out’ part. Sometimes he stopped at the second step and then jumped immediately to the breaking out part, which usually resulted in a much more freaked out Fox tracking down the nearest guardsman in the hallway and frantically informing them that someone had locked him in his room. They would make some noises about how they’d totally fix that situation, don’t worry sir, right this way. They would then stay with him until the situation stopped bothering him, at which point they would lock him back in his room. 
Hopefully there would be another few days before the situation bothered him again, but the time window grew shorter every time. It was hard not to notice the deterioration, and even harder to hide it. It increased everybody’s stress exponentially - as if they were now on a time limit, and that the time was running short.
Fox opened the door after only a few seconds of knocking, squinting in his usual vaguely irritated manner. Mace waited, subtly checking his presence in the Force. As usual, it was unhelpful: even to Mace, Fox was a black hole in the Force. All clones were muted - the only Jedi who had ever been able to reliably tell them apart without distinguishing marks was Ben Kenobi - but Fox had always been on another level. He was black, in the supreme sense of the word: absorbing all color and reflecting nothing back.
After a long assessment, Fox finally proclaimed, “Do you actually do anything around here?”
The corner of Mace’s mouth ticked upwards in a smile. “Not particularly. May I come in?”
“Sure.” Fox stood aside, letting Mace glide inside. “Dejarik?”
“And tea, if you have any.”
“I don’t know why you drink that crap.”
Mace smiled fully this time. “My healer said my heart was overtaxed enough.”
“You natborns have weak bodies,” Fox said, with no trace of irony. “No such thing as a clone with a heart attack.” He paused a second, thoughtful. “There was that one time with the worms, but I'd call that an environmental hazard.”
“I’ve never known a clone without an environmental hazard.”
Fox snorted, gesturing loosely to his quarters. “You see one in here?”
And Mace had to admit that he did not.
Mace visited Fox for many reasons. He was an interesting man, for one - if only interesting in how uninteresting he was. He had a talent for picking out the meaning behind somebody’s words and reading between the lines. He was astute when he wanted to be and always straightforward. He hated entertainment, had no appreciation for beauty or art, disdained philosophy or introspection, and never sought social relationships. The only things he enjoyed were silence and an unobtrusive workday. 
He was very different from any Jedi Mace had ever known - or any sentient being -  but in the last three years Mace had grown to appreciate those different from him. A part of him had always been uncomfortable with the different and the irregular, and it was only in the last few years that Mace had motivation to examine that part of himself. There were very many different and irregular people in the galaxy, and they had been the highlight of his life on the run. Mace’s understanding of kindness had been provincial and narrow - now he understood the great depths it could take, or the strangest places in which it could be found. 
A part of him was disturbed by how he saw himself in Fox. Many of them were the parts  he did not like, or the parts others had never liked about him. It was sentient nature to draw away from these people, or to hate them with the intensity that one might hate themselves. It was an unkind habit that many people had, and Mace did not wish to foster it in himself. He and Fox were similar people, and Mace disliked that he disliked it. 
It scared him. But it intrigued him too. Maybe that was why he kept on coming back. It was a puzzle fit for the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order: to puzzle out what life experiences of someone who could not remember them created a self of someone who had been robbed of that self.
Caleb would have called him a nerd. Caleb would have also said that he was over-rationalizing and over-intellectualizing his decisions. But what simple and elegant reason Caleb would find, Mace didn’t know. How could he?
They were all compelling reasons to spend time with Fox. There was, however, one other reason.
Mace used the procured hot water dispenser and tea - pointlessly checking to see if the stove was still deactivated - as Fox rustled through the cabinet and pulled out the board. After a few minutes he heard the sound of rustling abruptly stop.
“Dejarik board.”
“Oh. Man, fuck this.”
Mace secretly wanted to start cursing too. Maybe this was the corruption of the Dark Side. Maybe he should. Master cursed. If Master cursed then Mace should be able to curse. Nobody believed Mace when he said that Yoda cursed, but a crucial aspect of Yoda’s eternal schemes to hide the fact that he was a chronic liar was to make everybody around him seem like a liar. He never used this skill for anything important. It was exclusively for highly trivial things. 
“Last time you told me about ancient Sith Temples,” Mace said finally, after the tea was delivered and the board was arranged. Fox, of course, did not touch the tea. It was the principle of the thing. “You described them as ‘quite boring’.” Fox described everything as quite boring. 
“Was I?” Fox said vaguely. He swiped a hand over the board, activating it and letting the holographic figures fizzle into life. “The Emperor wouldn’t shut up about that shit. Anything the Emperor wouldn’t shut up about was boring.”
Mace hummed. “What were his most boring topics?”
“Oh, some garbage about Shrine in the Depths. I listened to that one, actually, since it was my problem.”
“Your problem?”
Fox scratched his chin, looking down at the board. “Yeah, had to put a few men to protect the vergence site. Haul them all the way to the other side of Coruscant…”
“Interesting. The Emperor talk about vergence sites often?”
“Nope. He tried to explain it to me, like, ten times. Lord Vader’s a vergence site this, Temple of Eedit on Devaron that. Too many details, I zoned out.”
“Really. Did you ever order any military to Devaron?”
“Nah, the Grand Inquisitor did all that shit himself. Hated talking to me. Said I nagged him too much.”
This was, of course, the second reason Mace visited Fox: the man knew everything. 
Everything. The Emperor talked, and he talked to Fox. The Emperor gave orders, and he delivered them through Fox. Fox never paid attention, and he had likely always assumed that he didn’t know anything about any of this because the wall was very interesting that day, but a clone’s situational awareness and memory were perfect. Fox always knew; he just didn’t care. In a genuine moment of lucidity he had written down every password and unlocking mechanism for all of his files, which was a treasure trove the Rebel splicers were still combing over, but if one was willing to sit down with him over dejarik for a few hours his apathetic answers could be quite illuminating. 
Mace had confessed the entire thing to Fox early on, in a moment of guilt and the forced realization that overzealous use of wartime tactics during peacetime was a path towards Darkness. But Fox had just squinted at him over his caff, mildly surprised. 
“What, you aren’t even torturing me for it?” Fox had asked, baffled. 
“I try not to torture people if it’s not necesary,” Mace said. It was an unhappy sentence. “No lives currently ride on your answers, so if you’re uncomfortable with it then there’s no need for me to ask.”
But Fox had just shrugged. “Would the shabuir want you to know?”
“Definitely not.”
“Interrogate away.” Fox took a long swig of the caff. “If you stay out of my brain and don’t actually start torturing me, you got my permission to do whatever. Just use it where it hurts.”
He would.
Fox hadn’t remembered the conversation the next time - or the time after that. He hadn’t yet recollected it. Sometimes Mace wondered the rhyme or reason for these things. If there was a rhyme or reason. 
Some officials in the Alliance wanted Mace to push harder, to help himself to the information. The first time they asked he told them no; the second time he turned off his comm. It was quite liberating. He should hide from his organizations more often.
Halfway through a meandering story Fox did not realize was utterly horrifying he stopped short. He blinked down at the board, where Mace’s vanguard split Fox’s defense in two. He looked up, registering Mace. He looked around, registering his rooms. 
“You were telling me about the fire in the Wookie Embassy,” Mace prompted. 
Fox grimaced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ah. Mace made a defensive move on the board. “I’m happy to change the subject. Has anything been on your mind lately?”
But Fox didn’t settle. He took another look at the board, and somehow on the second glance his eyes looked even blanker. “What am I doing wasting my time with dejarik?”
“You like to humor me when I visit.” Mace kept his expression open. “Would you like to go back to the game, or are you finished for the day?”
“Back to the - I don’t have time to waste on that recreation crap.” Fox abruptly stood up, expression settling into a familiar scowl and already turning away from Mace. “I have work to do. I’m behind on my reports again, I need to catch up.”
He turned around and started stalking towards the exit. Mace hastily stood up and followed him, closely beating him to the door. The man could move startlingly fast when he wanted to - or when he had work to do. Mace occasionally thought of the apocryphal man who jolted back to life during a resuscitation when the med droid beeped the sound of his morning alarm for work.
“Lieutenant Stone and your men are taking care of the reports,” Mace said. He drew on every ounce of his legendary skill with the Force to subtly block the door. “They’ve asked that you stay in your rooms for the time being.”
Fox tried to duck around Mace, who utilized an ancient Jedi skill of redirection and managed to turn him away. “They don’t have the clearance to sign off on the reports, I need to take care of it.”
“Lieutenant Stone currently has the authority, so that isn’t an issue.” Unsaid: Lieutenant Stone was currently the highest authority on Coruscant, so he could ascribe himself his own authority. “Why don’t we go back to the game, Fox?”
Fox stopped short, squinting at Mace in a monumental effort to parse what he was saying. It was likely that many parts of the sentence didn’t make sense. 
“But I have to work,” Fox insisted. “Why are you trying to keep me from my job?”
“Lieutenant Stone and your men are taking care of the reports,” Mace repeated, slowly and carefully. “Your job right now is to stay in your rooms. That’s how you can help Stone right now. Do you remember agreeing to that?”
“No!” Fox was clearly growing more agitated, and Mace released his impatience and weariness into the Force. “I don’t want to stay here!”
“I’m sorry, Fox. I know this is stressful.” Mace would try and offer some physical reassurance if Fox wouldn’t react very badly. Words always felt like platitudes, and reassurances that everything was alright somehow always felt like a lie. “May I sit with you?”
Fox didn’t look any happier, but he subsided. “Why would you do that?”
Despite himself, the corner of Mace’s mouth ticked upwards into a smile. “I’m reliably assured that I have nothing better to do.”
And, clearly despite himself, Fox let Mace sit with him. He didn’t go back to the table - he went to the bed instead, sitting down heavily on the foot of the bed and leaving Mace to lean against the bedpost. He glanced at the door once every few seconds, upset, but after a few minutes he calmed down. He untensed and stopped looking at the door, switching his focus instead to that strange place that only Fox ever visited. He relaxed, staring at the opposite wall in a way that Mace had first been convinced was the brain damage before he had been assured that Fox was just like that, and Mace watched him carefully for signs of agitation before he stood up. He might have pushed too hard earlier. Yesterday had been difficult - for all of them.
He didn’t bother saying goodbye, as Fox never wanted or expected it. He quietly exited the room instead, locking it securely behind him. 
It had only been three years, but Mace felt ten years older. He was alone in the hallway, so he allowed his shoulders to slump and let himself run his hand over his face. 
He wasn’t going to react well to Stone increasing the security on his room, but Mace couldn’t argue that it wasn’t necessary. He had never said that word so often a decade ago - ‘necessary’. Back then Mace had always done what was right, followed some philosophy or law or the Force or even his own heart, but the right thing had become a luxury in the past ten years. 
Was it possible to do the right thing here, now? Would Mace even know what that looked like? A part of him was scared to even try, as if whatever answer he gave would inevitably be wrong. But that was why one did not try.
The jolt of his comm ringing startled him, as distant as Fox, and Mace looked down at the caller ID. An Alliance leader, undoubtedly asking for a status report on the clones. He scrolled down through the rest of his call logs: an Alliance leader, wanting Mace’s assessment on the continued survival of the Senators. An Alliance leader, wanting Mace to come reign in the newly arrived ship composed heavily of the youngest clones, who were…lively. One of his Jedi, who had needed advice on an urgent Order matter. 
Mace rejected the call. His comm rang again. He rejected it again. He set his comm to do not disturb. 
Guilt attacked him immediately. He had responsibilities. He had a job. He couldn’t put it all on the others, no matter how exhausted he was from the death match. He had to get up, get moving, he had work…
Mace stared at the locked door in front of him. He thought about med droids beeping like alarms. 
Flaunting the supreme skill in compromise and diplomacy only a lifetime of study could bring, Mace retreated a healthy distance from Fox’s room and called Depa. 
The palace was obviously cavernous, but out of respect for the last scraps of his sanity Mace stayed within the most highly trafficked areas. The clones had stomped thoroughly over those imprints of Darkness - with their own selfishness and xenophobia, but with their own love and hope too. It was not a shining beacon of Light, but in the more popular gardens the Force reflected the hearts of those who inhabited it - which, Mace had learned, was a beacon in its own way.
It took a few rings, but Depa eventually picked up. It was audio only from both sides, but Mace could hear the distinct sounds of very heated arguing and yelling in the background. 
“Am I calling at a bad time?” Mace asked wryly.
“No, no, hold on!” Depa barely covered the receiver, lowering it slightly and allowing Mace to hear her bellow perfectly. “Shut up, idiots, Grandmaster’s calling!” She raised her comm again, back to cheerful. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”
Did he really only call her when something was wrong? “It’s a…social call,” Mace said, somewhat embarrassed. Embarrassed over saying the words social call. He really did only call on her for work matters. “But I see that you’re preoccupied. I’ll let you return to -”
“No, no! It’s fine, it’s just game night.” Mace caught scratched and fumbled sounds on the other end of the comm, as if Depa was standing up very quickly and leaving the room. His feelings of embarrassment intensified. “I wanted to get out of there anyway. Grey and Zeb have been arguing about the validity of ship rules for the last ten minutes. What’s up?”
Mace let himself drift into the palace gardens, nodding at the stray clones relaxing or stretching in the artificial sunlight. As usual, there was a large group in the corner smoking and a larger group cleaning each other out at sabbac. It was nauseatingly nostalgic. Although that may have just been the toxic fumes from the plants.
He cautiously sat down on a wrought durasteel bench in the corner, reflexively checking for eavesdroppers before letting himself settle into the seat. “Maybe I just wanted to talk to somebody who wasn’t a frustrated clone.”
“Well, you’re saving me from listening to a frustrated clone argue over rules. You know how long they can argue over rules, Grandmaster.” Mace was intimately acquainted. Fox often forgot his own age, but never the most niche dejarik rules. “You aren’t getting enough non-clones dealing with the other brass all day?”
Ah. “I may have…” In for a drop, in for a wave, as Thorn would say. “I may be…avoiding them.”
Silence stretched over the line.
“Sorry,” Depa said, “avoiding them?”
“I’ve assigned myself an independent mission as a Jedi.”
“...in the Imperial Palace?”
“Yes.”
“Have you told the brass about the mission?”
“No.”
“...are you going to tell them?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Is this even authorized? Have you told anybody but me?”
“No and no.”
The long silence elongated.
Finally, Depa proclaimed, “Is this your way of telling me that you’re taking a vacation in the middle of the Empire’s collapse and the formation of the new government? And that you’re taking your vacation in the Imperial Palace, surrounded by fascist clones?”
“Yes, that is my way of telling you that.”
“I see.” Depa paused again. “I always wondered what your nervous breakdown would look like. I’m kind of ecstatic that this is it. I knew you wouldn’t be boring and buy a new starfighter or something.”
“Thank you. Can you do me a favor and lie to the other officials that my signal is jammed? Or whatever you can think of.”
“Sure, want me to tell Master Koon that everything’s his job now?”
“Yes. Place Luminara in charge of making sure Ahsoka’s formwork gets done.”
“And what should I tell Grey when he starts panicking about you being out there with no backup?”
“Tell him that I’m playing by ship rules.” Mace couldn’t help but smile. He hoped she heard it - she was the only one who could suss out his amusement these days. She said it was all in the vowels. “Now that we’ve established the Alliance will be in safe hands in my absence, may I ask you for some advice?”
“Wow, you should kill Emperors more often. You’re ignoring your work and asking me for advice?”
“The student often teaches the master.” But Mace found himself sobering, leaning back and looking upwards at the orange sky. It had once been so comforting. “When you were a child, Depa - and you wanted to help somebody, and you did not know how. How did you try and help?”
Depa, bless her, accepted the question without comment. She hummed thoughtfully, voice crackling over the line. “I think I usually gave them whatever help I thought they would want. But that didn’t typically work out so hot - turns out not everybody wants to cross-reference their problems in the Archives.”
What Mace wouldn’t give for the Archives right now. The closest they still had was the box full of holocrons gifted by repentant clones who had stolen them from the Temple or from their Jedi’s belongings. Many of them had been highly empathetic that they hadn’t taken them as souvenirs, but they hadn’t been able to answer why they had taken them at all. Some returned family holos or clearly sentimental objects, with an equal lack of excuse. Others returned lightsabers, stone faced. 
Sometimes Mace wondered what had happened to Caleb’s lightsaber…but there was no use in such thoughts. It had to be long gone.
“And how do you try and help people now?” 
“I try to ask them what they need,” Depa said cheerfully. “If I know them well enough I can usually guess, so I just go for that, but sometimes you don’t know as much about a person as you think you do. Sparring with Sabine works about one hundred percent of the time for her, though.” Mace carefully fought the grimace. Yes, the Death Watch woman. The Captain of Depa’s little…team of hooligans. “Master, the Force tells me you’re pretending not to grimace and you’re thinking the words ‘Depa’s little team of hooligans’.”
“I simply do not know what you’re talking about,” Mace said, taking a page out of his master’s book and blatantly lying. But he couldn’t fight the sigh this time, and he almost felt Depa’s alarm. “What if you can’t ask them what they need? Or if they do not know what they need? Or if…I do not know. I am left with many questions and few answers, Depa.”
“And you don’t know what to do with it, huh?” Mace’s silence was answer enough, and Depa sighed too. “When I don’t know what to do - if I had the questions you’ve having right now, Grandmaster - then I ask myself what my grandmaster would say. And I decide that he would tell me to let the Force guide me.”
“My grandmaster died a thousand years ago,” Mace said dryly.
“Last time I checked you have a Mace Windu on call, though!”
“Mace Windu is being particularly unhelpful today.” But he paused anyway, thinking her words over. He did not have a Mace Windu, or at least one that wasn’t riddled with doubts and insecurities - but he did have a Depa, and maybe that was enough for now. “If the Force is guiding me, it is only towards more questions. Which is fairly -”
Mace stopped short. Fox’s scowl echoed in his mind -  What am I doing wasting my time with dejarik? Where am I? What am I doing here?. The man was nothing but questions. Maybe…
“Thank you, Depa, I think I understand. You’ve been a great help.”
“I’ll never be as wise as you, Grandmaster,” Depa said miserably, “because I have no idea how you got anything from that.”
“It was the student who taught the master today, padawan.” Mace didn’t fight the smile this time. “If Marshal Commander Cody ever allows the negotiations to end we’ll have to meet again. Maybe you can bring your…pilot. Partner. Young Hera.”
“That’s not necessary,” Depa said quickly, “really, we know how busy you are, there’s absolutely no need for that - sorry, Cody? Cody’s part of the negotiations? Our Cody?”
For some reason, Depa and her team felt a sense of ownership over hating Cody. Apparently they had a history. Mace didn’t know how to break it to her that most Jedi had somewhat of a history with Cody. He was, apparently, a far more contentious topic among the clones - some thought he was cold and cruel, others felt as if he always cared about the important people (other clones). Some called him sadistic, others said that he was only sadistic to the bad guys (non-clones). Many comparisons to Mandalorian cultural and religious figures were drawn, all of which were lost on Mace. All opinions were strong and deeply held, and Mace had seen more than one fight over Cody’s honor. He had a cult in the 501st and a forever enemy in the Wolfpack. The only universally shared opinion was that he was pants-shittingly terrifying. 
“He was rather insistent,” Mace said. “He’s taken the lead on behalf of the Imperial Military. Weren’t you told?”
“They’re not giving us a lot of detail on the negotiations, and the clones are weirdly tight lipped about it. Even Grey…” Depa fell silent, and Mace could almost see her lips thinning in concern. “You’ve been talking with him?”
“More than I would like, yes.”
“What’s he said about Ben?”
The question was almost completely unexpected, and Mace blinked in surprise. “Ben Kenobi? Nothing. Why would he?”
Silence stretched over the line.
Finally, Depa said, “Cody hasn’t mentioned Ben at all.”
“He hasn’t mentioned Qui-Gon Jinn either,” Mace said evenly. “I understand that he and Ben were once close, Depa, but remember that the Emperor wove many lies during the Clone Wars. Many Jedi engendered genuine affection from their armies, but I assure you that no such affection is within Cody. From what I can tell he only cares for other clones.” If it wasn’t for Fox, Mace would suspect that Cody wasn’t capable of caring for anybody. Perhaps it was a good thing - even Fox could do without Cody’s form of love.
But when Depa spoke again her voice was tense, and Mace found himself straightening in his seat. “Grandmaster, listen. You can’t trust Cody. He always lies about what he wants.”
“Depa, I assure you that I’m not taking the man at face value.”
“It’s more than that,” Depa insisted. “He has this - this fixation on Ben. Trust me, he’s obsessed. If he hasn’t mentioned Ben, then it’s because he’s hiding something from you.”
That was - highly alarming. Mace found himself standing up, eyes skimming the garden. The scene was still calm, but from the corner of his eye Mace was suddenly hyper-aware of the armored guards still stalking the perimeters. “Fixation? For how long?”
“Who knows. I think it’s been for a really long time, longer than three years. He - all of the 501st, think - have some weird delusions. I don’t know.”
“Delusions?” Mace was well and thoroughly alarmed now. If the man was unstable - no, more importantly, if the leader of the genocidal 501st had a fixation on a Jedi padawan for years, then - “Depa, what kind of delusions?”
For the first time, Depa sounded a little uncomfortable. “It seemed kind of private. I don’t think I should say.”
“Depa, if this is a matter of Ben’s safety -”
“There’s nothing we can do about Ben’s safety,” Depa said flatly, and Mace stopped short. “Look, the kid was a brat back then and he’s a jerk now. Don’t you remember how he always acted? I don’t think he came up with that all on his own.”
Mace did remember. Quite well. 
The boy had always been impossible. Caleb hadn’t always been a respectful, attentive child either, but he had at least tried. Ben had an excess of talent as an Initiate, and Mace remembered well how eager, studious, and serious he had been. But something had changed as the war progressed, and after the age of fourteen or so the only times Mace had ever seen him outside of debriefing rooms was during yet another reprimand after reprimand.
The boy who had once scored perfectly in all of his classes stopped participating at all. He never attended padawan meditations and only trained with other padawans to beat them in grudge duels. He had apparently stopped socializing and began spending all of his time out of the Temple. When Mace asked Skywalker where he went, Skywalker shrugged and said something about how he was an adult. Mace’s personal opinion that Skywalker hadn’t been ready to be a master was reinforced. Ben seemed perfectly aware that his behavior was inappropriate and disrespectful, but he did not seem to care. 
“If this behavior continues, padawan,” Mace remembered warning him, “then your future as a Jedi is doomed.”
The cataclysmic words would have shook any padawan to their core. Even the boy’s master would have been ashamed. But Ben had, to his face, rolled his eyes. “Oh no. Not my future. Sorry, Master, am I excused? My doomed future holds the training salle too.”
Mace had approached Qui-Gon about his words later that day, but Qui-Gon had only sighed and said something vaguely exasperated before changing the subject. Mace couldn’t believe it - just a sigh, just a look of resignation? He was his own grandpadawan. If he had caught Depa acting like that then he would have yanked her into solitary meditation for a month.
No - if he had caught Depa acting like that, he would have asked her what was wrong. No child acted out like that and cared so little for the consequences if there wasn’t something wrong. But Ben was Qui-Gon’s responsibility, not Mace’s, and Mace had too much on his plate to harangue every misbehaving padawan in the Temple.
Mace had been far too busy to ask where Ben always disappeared to. When he saw him outside of the Temple, on the rare occasions they crossed paths on the field, he was always surrounded by a thick crowd of clones. 
Very slowly, Mace said, “I haven’t received reports of any other Jedi’s battalion purposefully separating them from the Order.”
“Like I said,” Depa said, “obsessed.”
The sensation slowly falling around Mace’s shoulders was altogether too familiar - the feeling that he had irrevocably failed a member of his Order. He knew that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t have known, that a lot of people went through extreme lengths to keep it from him - but it never felt any better.
“Why are you the only person who’s warned me about this?” Mace asked. “Surely Rex or Bly…”
“I think all of the clones know,” Depa said frankly. “I don’t know why none of them talk about it to us. I think the only person who really gets them is Ben.”
They said their goodbyes soon afterwards, Depa beckoned by the allure of her partner and her team, but when she hung up the comm Mace found himself feeling strangely bereft. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but it had become rarer of late. When he reached into the Force, he felt only dissatisfaction and a creeping sense of dread. 
But a sense of rightness surged as well. Mace couldn’t fight the feeling that he was finally asking the right questions. 
********
Mace could not say that his vacation was relaxing.
It was a vacation in the same sense that Fox’s forced retirement was a vacation, which was a joke Fox liked to tell. Apparently the concept of Fox telling jokes was almost as scary as the memory loss. Mace found it remarkably humanizing, for lack of a better word. He also found it somewhat disturbing that they had the same sense of humor.
He justified the time and irresponsibility by viewing it as an independent study project, or perhaps field work observing hitherto undiscovered cultures. Abjectly fascinating and somewhat impeded by the undiscovered culture barely tolerating him. But Master had always called Mace far too stubborn for his own good, usually while beating him on the shins, and he knew he had dug his heels in on this one.
He was succeeding, by some definition of succeed. The clones had progressed from tolerating his presence to viewing it as a strange and vaguely interesting novelty, like a group of Initiates poking a dead Tooka with a stick. Mace didn’t appreciate being the dead Tooka in any situation, but he welcomed the unprecedented opportunity to gain an unfiltered insight into the inscrutable and tumultuous minds of clones. They were surprisingly supportive of his endeavors - or, rather, they were supportive of Mace abandoning all responsibilities for a vacation. 
“Vacations sure seem like fun,” a clone said wistfully. Mace was fairly sure his name was Longstreet. “Love to take one someday.”
His friend, who was probably Tuco, elbowed him in the side. “You want to snort ten sticks of spice on a Scarif beach? What a waste of time. What would you even do with hookers?”
Mace made a habit of stopping to speak with the clones on the more boring guard duties, who were willing to tolerate almost anything for some novelty. Tuco and Longstreet rarely cursed at him and had a finely attuned sense of fun, which they exercised in strange and vaguely disturbing ways. 
It occurred to Mace that the only ‘natborns’ Tuco and Longstreet had ever been exposed to were senators and Moffs. Mace carefully added the information to his mental file. It explained much. 
“Vacations can have other things,” Longstreet protested. “Mace’s on vacation and he hasn’t hired a single hooker yet. He’s…uh…” He looked at Mace. “What are you doing?”
What an excellent question. “Enjoying an interesting conversation, I believe.”
Both clones straightened. Tuco elbowed Longstreet again, but this time he was smiling. “See? I told you the Jedi don’t beat their hookers or anything.”
Tuco reappraised Mace with a gimlet eye, peering into his very soul. “So who do you beat?”
“We beat up dissenters,” Longstreet volunteered helpfully, as if Mace needed a prompt. 
Mace had been exposed to many lifeforms over the course of his travels that had only ever witnessed the worst of the galaxy. It was easy to call to mind the emancipated orphan children starving to death on the street, the legions of slaves toiling for cruel masters under the whip. They sent ripples of pain and sorrow rippling in the Force, but there was something easy about their pain. He could feel it as his own, and the empathy was always easy to give. 
The pain of the clones was far more difficult. They had lived brutal and short lives in sideways slavery, and they had never been privileged with kindness. But it was tremendously difficult to feel sorry for Tuco and Longstreet, who turned around and used the pain inflicted on them to beat dissenters and brave Rebels into the ground. 
Nothing in the Force was either good or bad. Putting aside many simplistic understandings of the Light and Dark, there was nothing inherently good or bad in the universe. Everything in the Force simply was, and it had the right to exist as everything else did. Value judgements were a delusion, a distortion of the Force that every sentient used to simplify it into something understandable and easy. 
There were questions Mace couldn’t stop asking himself. To what extent were the clones coerced or brainwashed? To what extent were they responsible for their actions? Were they good or bad? Was any of it important when Mace’s family was still dead, would always be dead, when no amount of these questions and investigations would ever bring them back?
But they were not the right questions. Mace had not yet begun to understand. This was a humbling experience.
“A Jedi does not kill an enemy without a weapon in their hand.” It was a very Mandalorian sentiment, chosen purposefully, and both clones nodded in respect. “We believe hurting others unnecessarily poisons our hearts and clouds our judgment.”
“What does that matter?” Tuco asked, baffled. “You have to hurt people anyway.”
Mace could only shrug. “It matters to me. It is important to me. I chose what was important to me, and I chose that.”
Both clones stared at each other, eyebrows twitching in those peculiar micro-conversations. Mace picked up a general sense of ‘do you know what he’s talking about?’.
Finally, on some silent consensus, Tuco turned to him and said, “Like how you decided where to vacation?”
And Mace couldn’t help but smile. What a good question. “Exactly like that.”
Clones were very, very difficult. Every conversation with one was agonizing. He was forced to defend his right to exist ten times a day and remain friendly in front of those who easily admitted to killing his siblings. But Mace always found that the most valuable lessons were the most difficult. 
His comm remained off. He busied himself helping Lieutenant Stone with the negotiations and restraining Captain Thorn from simply killing the more annoying senators - the ones who kept on asking silly questions like ‘why have you detained us’ and ‘what’s going on’. In the spirit of Jedi empathy he would have done the same for the Imperial Moffs, but their necks had hit the chopping block even before Mace recovered from his injuries. Many clones were aggressive in reminding him that he only lived because Fox wanted it, and in that moment Mace understood it was true.
Several productively unproductive days later, productivity came knocking again. Mace had been meditating in his room, wading through the putrid miasma of Darkness in the vague hopes that it would cleanse his own soul, when he heard a knock on the door. As usual, it was only a token gesture of formality - a clone popped his head in anyway, heedless to the interruption. 
“Ey, jetii. Captain Stone wants you. Make yourself useful and deal with this di’kut natborn. We’re halfway to killing ‘im and the Captain says it would cause an incident or whatever.”
Mace arched an eyebrow. He couldn’t say that he had been enjoying the meditation, but the Force was blessedly free of clones. “Since you asked so politely, how could I refuse?”
“Don’t give me that pretentious crap,” the clone complained, opening the door fully and already turning away. “We’re only keeping your shebs alive ‘cause the Captain asked.”
Exhausting. Mace stood up, instinctively reaching out for his robes and finding none. Even after all this time, he still reached out for the familiar. “It seems the Coruscant Guard keeps their promises.”
The clone looked backwards, scowl cutting harsh grooves into his face. “It was his last fucking wish! No way the jetii care about that, but Mandos know honor.” He looked forward, stalking down the hall and leaving Mace to catch up. “Wasting his last wish on you…the Captain’s a thousand times the guy you’ll ever be.”
Mace hummed. 
He formed a suspicion over the course of their walk towards one of many drawing rooms. The suspicion was proved accurate when the grumpy clone shepherded Mace into the room, leaving Mace surrounded by five guard clones and one remarkably composed Bail Organa. He was even drinking tea.
Bail placed his teacup down and stood up when he saw Mace, admirably masking his relief under the guise of a genteel host. He carried himself in the room as if it was his own, as if every guard in the room didn’t hate his guts. Mace sensed a drop in hostility when he entered, which was gratifying.
“Master Windu. It’s wonderful to see you again.” He walked forward and bowed in Alderaanian style to Mace, who bowed back as a Jedi. It was clear how long he’d worked closely with the Order - most choose a handshake. In fairness, it could have been the hand thing. “How have you fared since we last spoke?”
They last spoke over holo near the beginning of the whole disaster. It had probably been the most momentous holo of the man’s entire life  - when Mace told them that the Emperor was dead, and Lieutenant Stone standing next to him told them that the Coruscant Guard would work together with the Rebellion for the peaceful dissolution of the Empire. Admiral Ackbar had to sit down.
He had missed Bail’s disastrous visit to the palace a few days ago. He had to release a lot of annoyance into the Force that nobody had called him to help facilitate the negotiations. The mess definitely wouldn’t have happened if he’d been there. Not enough trust, and as a result trust had been lost.
Of course, Bail’s words were closer to ‘blink twice if you’re being held captive’. Mace settled for a wry smile, fixing his hand to his belt. “As well as possible, I believe.”
“We haven’t heard much from you,” Bail hinted desperately, gesturing for Mace to take a seat in an armchair across from his spot on a particularly austere couch. “Your grandpadawan has informed us that you’re taking…a vacation.”
“I am,” Mace said serenely.
“That’s lovely. How are you enjoying your time?”
“Meditation. I have much to reflect upon. Interesting conversations with my hosts. Walks in the garden, although I’m afraid most of the foliage is quite poisonous.”
Bail was clearly convincing himself that Mace had some secret plot to achieve a mysterious Jedi goal. Mace could not adequately express that he was absolutely doing nothing productive, since Bail would believe it to be code. That was fine. Depa would head off any genuine concerns. She supported his endeavors to relax. 
The grumpy clone stepped forward, omnipresent rifle rattling. “Will you two traitor friends cut it out with all of your stupid doubletalk?”
They were quite subtle in their own way. But not in Bail’s way. Bail took a sip of his tea as Mace looked up at the clone. “What are we double talking about?”
“I don’t know! Traitor things!”
“Use your words - what’s your name, soldier?”
The clone bristled. “You haven’t earned that.”
A clone standing by the door groaned. “You’re making everything worse, Way.”
“What did I just say, Walker!”
Another clone threw in his two cents. The clone by him thunked his helmet repeatedly against the wall. “Organa’s just being super sketchy and it’s freaking us out. He’s not even sketchy in the normal way.”
Alright. “Have you tried asking him not to be nice?”
“He won’t stop being nice,” Way complained. “It’s wrong! It’s bad!”
“In what way is it bad?” Bail asked, distantly curious. 
“It’s not the way things work,” Walker said. “Nothing works the way it’s supposed to anymore. It’s so annoying.”
“We have a jetii in the Imperial Palace and now you’re worried that things aren’t working right?” One of the clones said flatly. 
The clone thumped his helmet against the wall again. “I miss the Captain.”
“He doesn’t miss you,” the clone standing by him said, somewhat snidely. “He doesn’t even know you exist.”
“Stop talking about the Captain in front of the natborns!” Way barked, and all the natborns fell guiltily silent. Bail Organa’s face hadn’t shifted out of a politely interested mask. “I don’t know why we didn’t kill you for snooping around and harassing the Captain. It’s your fault that he’s in danger now. After everything he’s done for you, that's a hell of a way to pay him back.”
Bail’s eyebrow ticked in sheer incredulity. The man had the best sabacc face Mace had ever seen. “What did he do for us?”
“The Captain’s the only reason we’re being nice to you,” Walker piped up. “It was his last order. Before he went all…you know. Like that.”
“Then I regret I didn’t thank him,” Bail said evenly. “That was a very kind thing for Captain Fox to do.”
The room fell awkwardly silent. Nobody knew what to do with the words kind and Fox in the same sentence.  
The clone beating a hole into the wall eventually piped up, “Why is everybody nice now?”
Silence descended again, even heavier. 
In a small, uncertain voice, Walker said, “I dunno. But it’s not bad.”
“Way’s still not nice,” one of the clones pointed out.
“Yeah, Way’s still a jerk.”
“Oh, fuck you -”
The door opened, cutting every clone into instant silence. Mace soon realized why - Lieutenant Stone was walking inside, datapad in hand and bags under his eyes. His assistant was right on his heels, carrying even more datapads and typing something into a comm. As usual, the man looked far too tired for everything.
Bail stood up again, extending a hand. “It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant.”
Stone stared at the hand for a second before realizing he was supposed to shake it. His attempt was awkward, but judging from Bail’s hidden grimace surprisingly firm. Mace just nodded at him, watching him sit down heavily in a chair across the caff table from Bail and closer to Mace. 
“You’re all dismissed.”
The clones saluted neatly and filtered out. The neatness was a strange contrast to their bickering, but the clones were always studies in contrasts. The assistant quirked the corner of his mouth at Stone, who just waved him away. He saluted and exited too, leaving the door to close behind them with an echoing and climactic groan. 
Stone launched into it without preamble - a Mandalorian’s direct nature and a clone’s practicality. “Since we were interrupted last time by Organa’s convenient search for the fresher, we have to start again. Organa and I are coming to an agreement in person before we report to Cody. Mace, we need you to interpret politician.”
“Happy to help, so long as you interpret clone.”
The half-joke elicited a half-smile, which Mace counted as a job well done. “We’ll try. The dissolution of the military is up to Bacara, Cody, Wolffe, and…” Stone masterfully swallowed the grimace. “Ackbar. But they’re stuck trying to convince us not to kill the rest of the senators and I want to see what we can get in return. We need to continue to delay Alliance presence on Coruscant. Diplomats only.”
“Speaking of diplomats,” Bail jumped in, unusually inelegantly. “I have to lodge a complaint on behalf of the Alliance. We won’t accept Marshal Commander Cody’s condition for the peace talks. We are choosing our own representative. Anything else is an imbalance of power.”
“He’s the most powerful rep you’re gonna get,” Stone said wryly. 
“He is barely eighteen. He’s not even an adult by his own home planet’s standards. It’s blatantly exploitative.”
 “I’m sorry,” Mace cut in smoothly. Their words stirred up the Force oddly, making it crackle with potential. “The Marshal Commander appointed the Alliance’s spokesperson for them? Who is it?”
But he knew even before Bail’s mouth twisted unhappily. Even before Stone sighed. He had known since Depa told him of Cody’s one priority, his obsession.
“Ben Kenobi. He is demanding we send Lady Amidala’s brother straight into the 501st occupied Theed without any support. He’s the only one the 501st will discuss terms with.” 
Mace was developing a headache. His familiar friend. For some reason, only one note stood out. “Ben was raised a Jedi. He is not Padme’s brother.”
But Bail just shook his head as Stone scoffed. “She’s adopted him. She says it's for legal reasons, but she takes that very seriously. Regardless of Ben’s familial attachments, he would be attending as Padme’s brother. Asking the family of our leader to enter occupied territory alone is far too big an ask, Lieutenant Stone. The kidnapping risks alone -”
“I’m not the one you have to convince, Senator.” Stone didn’t seem particularly invested in the fight. The safety of Ben Kenobi was likely low on his priority list. “You already made these arguments to him and you already lost that fight. You won’t win it on the second round.”
“If the Guard stands with us -”
Stone just shook his head, scrolling through his datapad. “I like Cody about as much as I like toxic sludge, but there’s no mandor’kala in taking your side in this one.” He tsk’d under his breath, scrolling further on the pad. “Amidala’s brother. That’s cute. Like Hound trying to domesticate a nexu.”
 There was a lot unsaid in that, but there was no use pushing. Mace looked at Bail, who was still flummoxed. “You won’t get any further. Move on.” 
If Padme viewed Ben as family - strange, considering how thoroughly she had distanced herself from Skywalker - then Bail had to view him as family too. But he knew how to pick his battles, and everybody understood that Ben Kenobi was not the most important issue here. Mace felt a twinge of shame in his gut, fully aware that he was throwing Ben to Hound’s nexu without hesitation, but he could investigate the matter later. The Jedi would have to fail Ben again. It must feel like destiny to the boy. 
“I’m going to assume you already told the Rebels about Fox.” Stone didn’t bother sounding angry or spiteful, like many other clones would. He just sounded tired. “He’s in danger now. So thanks for that. Should I expect the Rebel assassins this week or next?”
Bail straightened at Fox’s name, and when he spoke he chose his words as precisely and carefully as a wise Jedi. “How would killing Fox possibly benefit us now?” 
“How would forcing Kenobi into the arms of the 501st possibly benefit us now?” Stone parroted. “Sometimes people act for personal reasons, Organa. There’s a lot of people out there with a grudge against Fox. Natborns. Clones. The only people on his side are the Guard.”
“He’s in the heart of the current Guard headquarters,” Mace said evenly. “There’s no better place for him.” Stone shrugged unevenly in half-agreement. Mace changed tacks. “This could be a good thing. Jedi healers could help him.”
“And why would they do that?” Stone asked. Mace twitched an eyebrow, and Stone sighed. “Inherent Jedi goodness. Obviously. Rylothian saints, the lot of you.”
“Alliance members put the good of the galaxy above their own grudges,” Bail cut in. His brow was furrowed; left constantly on the back foot by the scraps of information he was given. Clones were close-lipped people, and only Mace’s semi-insider position allowed him to recognize the extent. “Maybe it would help if we were more informed about the situation. If that’s not crossing any boundaries, Captain.”
It obviously was. Stone wanted to tell Bail to shut up, to get out of there. To stop thinking about Fox, the man whom you had to hate so much. He couldn’t control the hatred or resentment - only how much of it they all were forced to endure. 
But he chose a different path. He jerked his chin at Mace, who had settled back in his chair in faux-easy rest. “He’d know better than me.”
The trust rippled in the Force, strangely powerful for how small the gesture truly was. It was far more trust than Mace had expected. He was allowing Mace to shape the narrative of the story. Clones, more than anybody, understood the importance and power of the narrative. Stone understood how important it was that Bail Organa walk away from the palace with the correct narrative, and he was allowing Mace to tell it. 
It was a responsibility he wasn’t sure he wanted. He wasn’t certain he understood it himself.
But when Bail turned to him, face mild but eyes cutting, he knew he must. He drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm before forcing himself to lay them still. “Bly has informed you that Fox held the highest authority in the future Imperial military.” Bail nodded once, clearly unsure where this was going. “This was due to his strong connection with Palpatine. In his role as the Captain of the Guard, his close proximity to Palpatine was never questioned. Palpatine never believed the clones would betray him, but he was a careful man. He disseminated his orders for the Seperatist army directly to Dooku, but he disseminated his orders to the GAR directly to Fox. Fox would deliver them to the Marshal Commanders, who would command the men as the Emperor wished.”
“That’s what Bly said,” Bail said. “He said it was like Fox would grow possessed. He seemed to know what Palpatine wanted without being told.”
“Yes. He was a conduit for the Dark. More of a puppet. The Dark side of the Force is…” It was like explaining color to a blind man. Any metaphor would be inept, but he could try. “It is corrosive. It cannot create life; it only destroys. Everything it touches, it turns to dust. It is an insidious, slow acting poison. By the time you realize that it’s eaten you alive it is already too late.” Mace thought of his master’s words before banishing them. It wasn’t the time for philosophy. “Fox’s affliction is not psychic. There is no purification or cleansing we can do. The repeated intrusions into his psyche simply damaged his brain. It’s not human dementia, but it is close. The Dark was the last power holding him together. He deteriorated rapidly after he killed the Emperor.” Mace exhaled softly, almost invisibly. “He wasn’t aware that by saving me he doomed himself. But I believe, on some level, he did know. He made the choice regardless. You understand why I’m invested in his fate.”
Bail did not say anything for a few long moments. He ran a thumb over his light stubble, staring into the depths of his tea as if they held answers more appealing than the ones he already knew. Softly, he said, “The Empire destroyed everything it touched.”
“Yes,” Mace said, “it did.”
“Is it terminal?”
Stone sighed, placing the datapad on the table. “He’s deteriorating. If it continues, then…I’ll make the choice I have to make.” He stopped harshly before speaking again. “How am I supposed to make these decisions? What he would want? Fox didn’t want a single damn thing. Let his next of kin do it? Closest is Wolffe, which is a joke. What minimizes suffering? Death would minimize anybody’s suffering. I can’t stop asking those damn questions, and there’s no good answer to any of them. And then you’re left wondering if someone who’s killed that many people deserves to live anyway. At the end of the day he’s just another clone. All we do is die and nobody gives a shit.” He shook his head, as if shaking off the dark and persistent thoughts, and picked up a different datapad. “Don’t ask about this again. Whatever happens from now on is none of your business.”
“Aren’t Wolffe and Bly his batchmates?” Mace asked, not at all pointedly. Batchmates seemed to be their equivalent to genuine siblings. Bly, Wolffe, Cody, Ponds, and Fox seemed to be especially close, and they remained close until adulthood. So far as anybody could be close to Fox. 
“Right. We should arrange a visit. While he’s still…a goodbye or…something.” Stone stopped himself short, and with the unique precision of the Guard he shoved everything away and returned to complete professionalism. “What regulations are we going to set about air space?”
And they talked no more of Fox, to everybody’s relief. 
********
Stone had a point: who cared about Fox?
Clone died. Even important ones. The day Ponds died had been just another day. Mace had woken up with no sense of dread, felt no warning in the Force. He hadn’t even been there. It hadn’t even been in a battle. He had simply felt it, a familiar life extinguished, and perhaps he was the only one who did. He thought young Luminara may have cried, but even at fifteen she was the sort of Jedi who didn’t like to speak of such things. Bariss had always despaired of her, convinced that one day Luminara would face a sorrow she could not hide. It had been a self-fulfilling prophecy in the end.
The only truly notable things about him were his station and his disease. It was unique among clones, or the clones who had survived Kamino. Defects were culled early. None of the clones spoke of the matter with any weight, but the scars were clear between the lines. Young clones, derisively nicknamed D batches by the veterans, frequently anxiously approached Mace to ask when they were going to, you know, the Captain. It had taken a while before Mace did, indeed, know. 
None of the clones understood why it was happening. Mace had tried to give them the explanation he had given Bail, and it had proved so incomprehensible that they only grew angry. Eventually he had to settle for a more simplistic description which left out all mention of the Dark or the Light. It left the explanation vague and unsatisfying, but they didn’t seem to mind. Through their eyes, in a galaxy without the Force, bad things seemed to happen for no reason. It was a fact they all accepted without argument, satisfied by the lack of answers. 
Mace did not have the luxury. After the meeting with Bail he had stressed to Stone that he deeply desired to be present in the room whenever they spoke with a member of the Alliance. At least when they made important decisions, such as seemingly irrational demands to kidnap an ex-Jedi. Stone had pointed out that they had tried to tell him about the Kenobi thing, but he had turned off his comms. Mace did not appreciate this reminder of the truth. 
He had failed Ben in almost every way possible. The knowledge sat heavily in Mace’s gut, but it was not unique. He had failed every padawan. A suspicious amount had survived Order 66, but many had chosen the intelligent option and disappeared into the wind. They were still recollecting their lost children. 
Few of them felt like Jedi anymore. The older ones were traumatized but intact, eager to fight and revenge themselves against the Empire. But the younger ones, especially the unlucky group that served as young wartime padawans before transitioning into gencide survivors and refugees, were tumultuous. Their makeshift masters and guardians could not stop their fights, outbursts, panic attacks, and conduct problems. Quinlan Vos was one of the most well-adjusted out of the group, and his master had married a clone. 
Maybe it was Qui-Gon who stuck in his memory - Qui-Gon, who had been so proud of his grandpadawan but who had never understood him and had never known how to help. Or known that he needed help.
He thought of Commander Cody as he dialed the comm in the hallway outside of Fox’s quarters, but he thought of Qui-Gon when Ben picked up. 
Ben picked up on the fourth ring. His holoimage flickered into view, grainy and distant. He appeared to be sitting cross-legged on the floor, smoke held between two fingers as voices chattered around him. It took a second - and the glimpses of several clones in the corner of the field of vision - for Mace to recognize the language as Mando’a. 
A large group of Rebel clones always took smoke breaks in the corner of the hangar, isolated and usually gambling. Mace did not know that Ben joined them. He settled for arching an eyebrow at Ben, who did not have the decency to look embarrassed getting caught holding smokes with dice in front of him. Tellingly, he was not playing. 
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Mace said archly. 
Ben looked pinched, clearly reading ‘and why did I pick up the comm again?’. “Nayc. Me'vaar ti gar, Gra - what’s the emergency?”
“It’s about your upcoming trip.”
Ben pulled another face, but he rolled to his feet anyway. The clone next to him caught sight of Mace’s image, who elbowed his friend and said something that sounded fairly disparaging. From offscreen, another clone said something, and several other clones laughed. Ben rolled his eyes and turned off the video feed, snapping something extensive and impatient before he muted himself. 
A few minutes later Ben turned his video and auditory feed back on, face blank and even. Judging by the loud mechanical thumping in the distance he was still in the hangar, but Mace trusted that he had secured privacy. 
“I take it your friends aren’t big fans of me?” Mace asked. He was very used to it by now.
“They got here a week ago and they hate everybody involved,” Ben panned. His smoke was gone, but his Basic remained heavily accented with the choppy Mando’a syllables that made him sound like the pirate he still insisted he was. As he spoke he audibly wrangled his voice back into a more neutral Coruscant Temple accent, struggling to code switch. “I’m working on them. I got an in - Menace’s batchmate’s best friend’s joined one of the Outer Rim clone pirate gangs years ago, and I’ve known Oddball for ages. And Eopie owes me money, so push comes to shove - what do you care, anyway?”
“I’m discovering a sense of curiosity,” Mace said flatly.  “Do any of the Coruscant Guard happen to owe you money?”
Ben scratched his chin, actually thinking about it. “Never spent any time on Coruscant, but I got a guy who runs most of the nexu pit fights in Sector 453B and I think he has Lieutenant Wallop on the take, so if you need blackmail -”
“That was a joke, Ben.”
“You joke?”
“Did you know Captain Fox very well?”
Ben stared at him - silenced not by the topic change, but by the question. He dug a hand in his coat pocket and pulled out the tube of smokes again, shaking another into his hand. “What’s that have to do with my trip?”
“A surprising amount. Did you?”
Ben rolled a shoulder in a limp shrug. “Nope. I was told the guy hated me.”
“He hated you?” Fox didn’t have strong opinions on anybody. It was hard to imagine him hating a padawan. Even Ben. “Why?”
“I didn’t say he hated me.” Ben stuck the smoke in the corner of his mouth, tearing the end off and letting it ignite. He stuffed the torn butt into his coat pocket, taking a long drag of the smoke before exhaling. “We barely talked. If you want blackmail on him you’re out of luck, my friend.”
“That hardly seems necessary,” Mace said coolly. “Have you been briefed yet?”
“Oh, nah. They haven’t even told me about my field trip. Not telling us shit, really.” Ben took a drag of the cigarette, glinting blue eyes pinned on Mace. “So Fox finally smoked his master? Good for the bastard, honestly. Nobody deserved that more than him. Yammering on all the time - Emperor says this, Emperor says that. Apparently it was creepy as hell.”
“So I’ve heard.” Some of the men’s stories were spine chilling, even for Mace. “I see a briefing would be somewhat redundant.” 
“I make my own fun. Is Stone’s bald ass getting grey hairs yet? Is he insecure about it? I bet he’s insecure about it.”
“I’m sorry, how many clones do you know?”
“What are you, a cop? Don’t answer that.” Ben took another drag of the smoke, pointedly ignoring Mace’s eyebrow. “Why do you ask? They aren’t shipping me off to negotiate with that space case.”
“If your information network’s so good,” Mace said, “then you’re aware why I’m asking.”
Ben was silent for a long moment, exhaling slowly and blowing staticy smoke out of his nose. Finally, he said, “Most everyone would say it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
“And what would you say, Ben?”
Ben fiddled with the smoke a little, pressing his thumb lightly over the glowing orange end before releasing it. “I just told you, I barely knew the guy. I got no opinion on it.”
Mace was highly skeptical of that, but he dropped it. It seemed that Ben wouldn’t be much help - not from incapability, but unwillingness. Whether he didn’t like Fox enough to help him, didn’t like Mace enough to help him, or truly didn’t see it as any of his business, Mace didn’t know. 
He wouldn’t say anything about Cody, even if Mace asked. That was already obvious. It was far too late to get any honest answers out of him, and far too late to help. Whatever had happened between the two of them was in the past, and the only present concern was preventing it from happening again. 
If something had happened, whatever that something may be, then Ben would never speak to Mace about it. If he had confided in one of the other clones about it, then they would never tell Mace about it. He hoped that the boy was speaking about it with somebody - Quinlan or Padme, ideally - but he knew it was unlikely. Ben kept secrets almost compulsively. Little surprise, considering the company he kept. 
Evenly and carefully, Mace said, “Do you know who requested you to serve as the Alliance diplomat on Naboo?”
Ben took a drag of the smoke. He exhaled through his nose, letting the smoke drift, before taking another drag. He looked just to the left of Mace, eyes a little distant. 
“Yeah,” Ben said. It was all he said. 
“Do you know why?”
“Do you know how many people have asked me that?”
“What did you tell them?”
“The obvious. Everybody knows how insular the 501st are. ‘Cuz they’re all…” Ben spun one finger in a circle around his temple - crazy. “They don’t know why nobody else agrees with them that the Sith are the greatest thing since hyperdrives. If you aren’t 501st you don’t think like them. Who else would they wanna talk to except ex-501st?”
“Rex and Echo are available,” Mace said. Ben rolled his eyes. Mace tactfully didn’t comment on it. “Is it your connection with Skywalker?”
“Twenty five gods, go get the interview transcript from Sato. I’m not rehashing this.” His thumb tapped the end of his cigarette, sending glittery ash spiraling on the ground. A little too fast and even to be idle. “If this is the only reason you called, Grandmaster, then your time’s better spent talking to someone else.” Went unsaid: my time’s better spent at my dice game.
The dice game he was not even playing. The questions he was side-stepping. The technically true answers that did not tell the truth. Ben held more secrets than Mace could ever understand. After so long spent with the Guard, he now understood that Ben was a member of a secret culture that Mace hadn’t even known existed. No wonder nobody could understand the boy. Order 66 hadn’t taken Ben from the Jedi. They had lost him a long time ago. 
He wished that he was speaking to Ben in person. Jedi relied on the Force as a sixth sense, and it felt impossible to read Ben’s doubletalk without reading him. But maybe even that wouldn’t help -  Ben’s shields were the tightest Mace had ever seen in his life, almost unnaturally so. He had closed himself off from the Force so completely every other Jedi had assumed he died, and even when he reappeared he felt like a spacer as Force-null as a rock. Most of the Jedi hadn’t even recognized him. Mace hadn’t recognized him.
“No,” Mace said, and he hadn’t realized it was true until he said it. “I just wanted to apologize.”
Ben covered his incredulity with raised eyebrows, mild and impatient. “Blame the person who made the demands, not the people who had to give in. I’ll be fine. I know how to handle the tough jobs.”
But Mace just shook his head. “No. I’m sorry you cannot tell me the real reason why Marshal Commander Cody wants you on Naboo. Whatever that reason is, whatever happened to you in the past, I’m sorry I was not there to prevent it.” 
Ben stared at him. His cigarette hung limply in his hand, forgotten. He had a strange look on his face. It was familiar in the faces of the younger children, in Fox, in the mirror, but he had never seen it in Ben. He looked lost.  
Finally, as if realizing that Mace could see what he was feeling and knowing that he couldn’t allow it, Ben said, “I wouldn’t have let you. I made my own choices too, Grandmaster. I knew what I was doing.”
“You were a child.” The words hurt to say. Did Ben not know that? Did Ben think a thirteen year old was an adult, a fifteen year old? An eighteen year old? “You weren’t responsible.”
“Nah,” Ben said. “But I’ll take responsibility.” He grinned at Mace, lopsided and cold. “Don’t worry, Grandmaster. Cody would rather die than hurt me. Nobody out there loves me more than he does. I’ll be fine.”
Loves? What had happened? What had Mace missed? “There’s more than one way to hurt someone.”
“Sometimes that’s the best any of us can do.” Ben’s smile was crooked and broken, like a nose that had been punched one too many times. “Cody an’ me - our fates are intertwined. So long as we’re alive we’ll find each other again. If I got a destiny, it’s that.”
“Ben -”
“Wow, I think the guys are calling me. Back to card sharking. Bye!”
And, without further ado, Ben hung up on him. Mace was left staring at a dead signal, trying hard to stifle the swell of loss in his chest, failing. 
Depa had been correct. Ben was a bad kid. He had been a bad kid when he called himself Obi-Wan Kenobi and Ben Kryze was almost worse. There wasn’t an ounce of Darkness within him - they had all checked, extensively - but there were things missing within him that the Temple should have given. He couldn’t get them back. He never would. Mace wondered if Ben even knew that they were missing. Or if he only felt their absence - if he only knew that he couldn’t trust anybody but didn’t know why, if he never felt safe and subsequently saw only danger all around him. 
Mace stashed the comm back into his pocket, centering himself as he walked down the hall to Fox’s quarters. Before he could think too hard about it, he rapped on the door with three neat knocks.  He swiped his thumb and input the passcode into the door, waiting as it swung open to reveal Fox standing at the door frame.
He didn’t conduct his usual once-over of Mace: checking his belt for his lightsaber, noting any blasters (“An uncivilized weapon,” Qui-Gon would say, “but an effective one”), interpreting his stance and face and how he held himself. He just squinted at him. 
“Who’re you?”
Mace released his emotions into the Force. Fox always, always remembered him. He always remembered the Emperor was dead, and he always remembered Mace. He released his emotions into the Force again, then again.
“My name is Mace Windu. Is this a bad time?”
Fox’s brow furrowed. “You aren’t a clone.”
“No,” Mace said, “I am simply your friend.”
“Oh.” Fox scratched at his stubble, looking around the hallway for anybody new, before finally shrugging and stepping aside. “Sure.”
The room was messier than Mace had left it. Pieces of armor were left at random spots on the floor, intended for some purpose but abandoned once the purpose was forgotten. The sink was full of dirty dishes and the couch was cluttered with abandoned datapads. None of it seemed to bother Fox. He walked straight for the cabinet instead, rustling around inside and pushing away holodiscs. 
Mace made tea in silent observation of the ritual. He’d see if he could wash the dishes later. Would Fox react well to a cleaning droid? Definitely not. The man seemed to detest technology. 
The rustling stopped. “Dejarik board.”
But when Mace brought out the tea, Fox still hadn’t found the dejarik board. He had grown distracted by a datapad on a table, scrolling through it with interest. 
“What do you have there?”
“It’s not formwork,” Fox groused. He frowned at Mace’s mug of tea. “Why do you drink that crap?”
“Calms the nerves,” Mace said serenely. “Sit at the table. I’ll fetch the board.”
Mace set up the board for both of them, picking out the four monsters Fox tended to favor as the man watched with a sort of distant confusion. Was he eating enough? How often was he eating? If only the man wouldn’t destroy any droid they gave him. 
They would figure it out somehow. Mace activated the board, letting the monsters roar to holographic life. “It’s your first move.”
Fox stared at the board - stared, not squinted. He looked up at Mace, then back down at the board, before finally shaking his head. “Why are we playing this?”
Mace leaned back in the chair, letting his hand rest in his lap. “It’s similar to the tactics simulations you ran on Kamino. And it relaxes me. Would you like to do something else?”
“Tactics simulations…right.” Fox looked around the room, as if something new would pop out from behind a corner. “Where’s 3636? I told him I’d help him with these.”
Mace wracked his brain for who 3636 was and came up empty. He had never gone out of his way to memorize their serial numbers. “I’m sorry, but he’s not here. I’m sure he’ll be along soon.”
But Fox was beginning to look stressed. Not panicked - Fox never panicked - but lost. Like Ben. “Is he late? Prime’s going to kill him if he’s late one more time.”
“He’ll be right on time, Fox.”
And Fox just stared, uncomprehending. 
Mace released it all into the Force, but some of it just wouldn’t leave. “He’ll be back in time for class, 1010.”
“It’s just Tens,” Fox said, distracted. He looked down at the board, oblivious to Mace’s shock that Fox once had an adorable nickname. As adorable as it could be, considering the circumstances. “Maybe he’s dunking some cadet’s head in the fresher again. Cody keeps telling him to stop doing that. I don’t know the rules of this one.” The stress returned, stronger. “Am I supposed to know the rules of this? Is this graded?”
This wasn’t working. Mace emptied it all into the Force, but it just wouldn’t stop coming. “Never mind. You’re right, it’s the…wrong game. It’s - it’s unwinnable.” He reached over and flipped the switch of the board, letting the soft whine of the holos die and the board go dark. “Or maybe I already lost.”
“That why you look like you’re about to cry?” Fox asked, with the usual tact and grace of a man raised among teenage boys in a military academy. “Prime says you have to get back up again after you lose. If you stay down, you’re weak.”
“And how many times can I get back up?” Mace asked. He was not truly speaking to Fox. He didn’t know who he was speaking to. “We won. We accomplished the impossible. But I cannot fulfill a Jedi’s duty and reconcile our two people. I can’t even keep one of our own children safe. They want me to rebuild the Order, but I cannot do so until I understand the mistakes that destroyed us. I still don’t understand. I did something wrong, and…” Mace didn’t know where these words were coming from. He didn’t know how to say anything else. “...and I don’t know how to stop.”
Mace forced himself to stop speaking, and they sat in heavy silence. He was already ashamed of himself. Unloading on Fox when he was in this state wasn’t right. At best he’d only confuse him, at worst he’d distress him and make everything else worse too. Mace had a particular talent in making everything worse. 
He should go. Let Fox live whatever life he believed he was living, in whatever spot in his life he still remembered. Where Marshal Commander Cody stopped another clone from bullying others, and where Prime’s word was gospel. Whoever Prime was.
He was about to stand up when Fox spoke again, and Mace realized too late that he was looking directly at him. “Anybody ever tell you that you’re a bit of a drama queen, Mace?”
“Oh, all the time,” Mace said dryly. 
Fox rolled his eyes, the familiarity of the motion allowing Mace to breathe a little easier. “Have you seriously been doing nothing but sitting around here all day thinking about your problems?” Mace shrugged, a little helplessly. “Jeez. Breaks are overrated. What are you doing taking your break here, anyway? This is the corpse of your house filled with people who killed your family. Why aren’t you doing anything with that kid of yours, the one who bothers Cody all the time - Depa? Where’s she?”
“Busy.” Mace meant to say busy with the Rebellion or with the new Order, but he found himself saying something else. “With her team. I can’t intrude on that.”
“What, she say she didn’t want you there?” A guilty silence stretched. “Rational of you. So, what is it? Your friends are dead, you’re awkward around your family. You’re in charge of making sure your entire religious order doesn’t die again. And what - you come to me about it?”
“I didn’t come to you about it,” Mace said, somewhat tetchy.
“Then why are you here?”
“I just wanted to visit you. That’s it.”
“Why are you visiting me?” Fox cried, confused on a primal level that Mace could not understand. That he could only hope he would never understand. The horror was almost worse second-hand. “Where’s 3636? He’s supposed to be here. He said he’d be here.”
Mace was too tired for this. Fox was right - this wasn’t accomplishing anything. His insecurities and fears weren’t useful. “He’ll be along soon,” Mace said dully. “Just wait.”
“He left!” Fox yelled, voice cracking the still air. He banged the table, sending the board rattling. “He said he’d stay and he left! Why did he leave me here?”
He could practically hear Tahl’s voice in his ear - fantastic interpersonal skills as usual, great job calming down civilians, you are truly a genius. If only Tahl was here - but she was as far away as 3636 probably was, and she wouldn’t be coming back.
“I think we’ve had a long day.” Mace arranged the board neatly back onto the table. “Why don’t you get some rest? You’ll feel better.”
But Fox just shook his head, increasingly distressed. “He left. He left for that damn Jedi. Filled his head with those stupid ideas about…I don’t even know. He left. I knew he would. He knew it would hurt me and he did it anyway. Why did it hurt so much?”
“It always hurts when the people we love leave us.” Mace’s chest panged, a young voice echoing in his ears. “Parents. Children. Brothers. You, Fox. It’ll hurt when you leave. Many people in this galaxy love you.”
“Of course they do,” Fox said, as if it had never even been in question. “3636, Cody, 5052. Ponds, I think. Probably. 5052 says Prime does, but that’s just another of his stupid fantasies.” Fantasies - he was naming his batchmates. 5052 had to be Bly. That made 3636 - “If 3636 isn’t back soon he’s going to get in serious trouble.” He stood up, chair scraping against the hardwood, and Mace hurriedly stood up too. “Better go look for him. Kriffing di’kut.”
If he found out that he was locked inside then this would only get worse. “I have 3636’s comm number. Do you want me to call him for you? He can tell you where he is.”
Cody wouldn’t be happy about it, but he was last on Mace’s priority list right now. Fox just froze, expression creasing. “Call him? Why do you have his comm number? Who are you? You aren’t a trainer. You only got one arm.”
“I’m Mace Windu,” Mace said evenly. “I’m your friend.” He gestured at the dejarik board, left abandoned. “We were playing dejarik. Do you want to get back to the game?”
“Why were we playing dejarik?” Fox asked blankly.
And that, of all things, halted Mace in his tracks.
It was the third time he had asked the question. Why was Mace here? In this palace, with these clones, visiting Fox every other day? Why were they playing dejarik? 
They were questions only a confused man would ask. Mace was here because he and Fox had killed the Emperor. He was in the palace because he decided he was needed on Coruscant more than Yavin IV. He visited Fox and played dejarik with him because they were friends. They were friends because Fox said he looked lonely, and he was. 
There were other reasons. Better ones. Duty, shrewdness, empathy. Jedi compassion for all living things. But somehow Mace kept on returning to Fox’s face, tears running silently on his cheeks, telling Mace that he looked lonely. Mace hadn’t even known that. He hadn’t even known he was lonely.
Was that the question? Was that the beam of Light that would illuminate the answer, chase the Darkness away? Would that show Mace what he was looking for? 
They played dejarik because they always played dejarik. Because the routine comforted both of them. It was the first thing Mace had found that passed Fox’s ‘I hate entertainment’ tests. It was fun, but just enough like work that he could stomach it. It was a good way to pass the time. And they passed the time together because…
“Because I like your company,” Mace said. “I…don’t believe there’s another reason.”
That satisfied Fox. He huffed, sitting back down. Mace dumbly sat down across from him. “That’s the first time I’ve heard I was good company.”
“You are,” Mace said, surprising himself with his honesty. “Never a dull hour with you.”
Fox snorted, easy and loose. His tense shoulders had relaxed - all problems forgotten. “First time for that too. You’re a weird guy.”
“I don’t hear that very often either.” Mace switched on the board, letting the holo monsters flicker to life. Fox didn’t seem to mind that the game had already begun, so Mace didn’t wipe it. “People have always found me quite boring.”
“Really? Damn. You seem like a bit of a freak to me. One arm and all.” Fox scrutinized the monsters, poking at one and making him roar. “You should own the arm thing. My batchmate lost an eye, and he purposefully picked out the scariest bionic eye he could find. Man is so insecure.”
“Terrifying bionic arm. I’ll make a note of it. Any other changes you think I should make?”
Fox hummed, thinking the matter over as best he could. “Talk to your grandpadawan? Shit, how am I supposed to know. Dunno who your fuckin’ grandpadawan is. Beat me in dejarik and I’ll tell you.” 
“It’s a bet,” Mace said lightly. Jedi weren’t meant to place bets recreationally, but he could almost hear Tahl laughing in his ear. “You’ll make a good friend out of me yet.”
“Yeah, you look like you need it.” Fox shrugged. “Sad guys like you look like they could use some company.”
And, of course, Fox had known. Even when Mace hadn’t. Fox had always known. “Thank you for keeping me company, Fox.”
Fox smiled widely, his eyes creasing with the motion. Light and free. Unburdened. “Thank you for keeping me company.”
Fox made the first move, and Mace made the next. They played the game for the next ten minutes until Fox began to flag. Mace maneuvered him into his blanket nest on the floor, ignoring his tired bitching, and started in on the dishes as Fox’s irritable grumbles trailed off into silence. 
The room was dirty. He would clean it this time, and tomorrow he could approach Thire regarding the matter. They could devise a solution later - for now, Mace could clean it up easily enough.
Fox fell asleep, and Mace stayed until he awoke. 
*********
Mace knocked on the door in three short raps.
He waited patiently for the invisible scanner to double check his identity before scanning him again for weapons. Mace checked his comm for the time. The system beeped uncertainly at the cybernetic arm before it automatically overrode itself, and after a few seconds the door opened. 
 Sabi raised an eyebrow, choosing not to grace him with a smile. Mace had no idea what he had done to tick the woman off so thoroughly, but she had never forgiven him for it. Perhaps she simply found him annoying. “How are you always exactly on time?”
“A Jedi is never early or late,” Mace said serenely. “Rather, he appears precisely when -”
“Holy God, shut this man up.” She turned around, beckoning him inside. “Take off your robes and coat, you’re always covered in mud.”
Maybe she did find him annoying. It was difficult to tell. 
It was a comfortable house. Especially comfortable considering how most clones were still living in apartments. One of the benefits of high command, Mace supposed. Wolffe even had another apartment on Coruscant, where he spent most of his time. He was far more involved in New Republic leadership than clone leadership, but he made an effort to return to Concord Dawn when possible.
There were several reasons why Mace left Coruscant or Yavin IV for Concord Dawn. This was one. 
He abandoned his accouterments to join Sabi in the living room, who chose the most professional method of grabbing Fox possible. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Fox! Mace is here!”
“Good day, then?” Mace asked. 
“Wouldn’t have let you in if it wasn’t. He should know you’re coming. I’ve been reminding him for a week.” Sabi’s eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe I should actually go grab him…”
“Oh? And do your job?”
Her worry was unfounded - Fox appeared at the top of the stairs, disgruntled at the interruption. His eyes skipped over Sabi before landing on Mace, automatically checking him over for weapons, before dismissing him. The sight of him in a regular sleeveless tunic and pants never failed to feel slightly strange, but the galaxy held strange things these days. 
“Don’t you have anything better to do than visit me?” Fox bitched. He thumped down the stairs, expressing every ounce of his happiness at seeing Mace by clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. Sabi rolled her eyes and left for the kitchen.
Mace didn’t hide the smile. “Not particularly.”
Fox rolled his eyes, not dignifying that with a response. “Dejarik?”
“Unless you have another idea.”
Fox snorted. “Please. I need another sentient to play with desperately. The computer’s too predictable.”
“There’s another way you can play dejarik against a sentient!” Sabi called from the kitchen. The familiar hiss of boiling water underscored her words. “Think about it!”
“I don’t have to think about it. The answer is no.” Fox passed Mace, stopping in front of the small set of drawers underneath the holovision and opening them. “The answer is always no.”
“You need to talk to more people. You need to socialize,” Sabi called back. Mace had the sneaking suspicion that Sabi had read this in a manual and was determined to implement it. “It’s good for you.”
“Socialization rots the brain,” Fox said, completely serious. He withdrew the somewhat battered board and tossed it onto the caff table, battering it further. “I refuse.”
“There are dejarik boards in the park,” Mace suggested mildly. He sat down on the couch, cuing Fox to take the spot opposite. “That’s getting out of the house.”
“What if someone wants to play with me? I can’t take that chance.”
“Your glare’ll scare them away,” Sabi called. “Fruit tea or herb tea, Fox?”
Fox fell silent, considering the matter with heavy focus. Finally, he said, “Fruit. The red one.”
Sabi walked out with both mugs, setting them next to each man. Tellingly, she had not asked Mace for his preferred tea. The mugs were light but durable plasteel, the kind that suited a hot drink but wouldn’t break if you dropped it. Most of the dishware was plasteel and the sharp knives were locked carefully away.
“Here you go. Careful, it’s hot.” She gave Mace his mug with much less fanfare. “I’m going to go practice at the range upstairs. You two keep an eye on each other, alright?”
Despite her continued hostility and complete lack of professionalism in all things, it was indicative that she left Mace alone with Fox. She didn’t even allow it with Stone. Mace was of the private opinion that no home should ever have Sabi’s word as law, but needs must.
But Fox just squinted at her. “What are you doing at the range?”
“Practicing my shooting. We both have to keep in shape, don’t we?”
He squinted further, and Sabi carefully moved his mug next to Mace’s and outside of accidental spill range. “Keep in shape for what? You aren’t a soldier.” Fox’s squint of confusion deepened into concern. “What’re you getting me tea for, then?”
Sabi crouched next to him, open and friendly. “I’m getting you tea because I’m your care assistant. Care assistants make tea and practice at the range. I can’t come close to outshooting you, though!”
Fox huffed, waving the board to life. He looked up at Mace, did not recognize him, and returned to the board. “Of course you can’t. Didn’t you say Mace was coming over?”
“Sure did. I said he was coming over at 1300. Look at the clock.” Sabi pointed at the clock on the wall, which helpfully informed them that it was 1310. “That means Mace is sitting across from you.”
“Thanks for the introduction,” Mace said dryly. 
But the chain of logic seemed to help. Fox gave Mace a second look, scowling again. “Damn. Sorry, Mace.”
“No harm done. I’m intrigued by Sabi’s definition of personal care assistant.”
Sabi straightened, giving Fox a final smile and before murdering Mace with her eyes. “If sniper experience is in a job listing, it’s in the definition. Call me if you need me.”
Sabi was, obviously, ex-Rylothian Special Forces. 
It had been tough to find her, which explained the relative confidence in her job security. Fox was a high value target for about five different reasons - from his relationship to Wolffe and Ben to the ex-fascist thing - and they couldn’t hire a civilian for the job. There was no shortage of trained warriors and competent bodyguards on Mandalore, but Wolffe had wanted a nurse first and a bodyguard second. And they had needed a specific profile, one the average Mandalorian warrior couldn’t fill. 
It derailed Fox hard if he believed he was still in the military. They had needed somebody who he could never mistake for a soldier - a woman, because there had been no non-Jedi women in the GAR, and a non-human, because there had been no aliens in the Imperial military. Young and pretty Twi’lek girls were the least threatening people around, if you didn’t know any young and pretty Twi’lek girls. He had never mistaken her for an enemy, which had been a quiet reason why they needed somebody who could defend herself. 
There was no shortage of Twi’lek refugees on Concord Dawn. The moon was mostly populated by the vestiges of Death Watch, refugees, and clones. The undesirables, as Wolffe tended to say. Most refugees moved away once they had secured full citizenship, but contrary to popular opinion citizenship was quite difficult without a clan sponsor. The planet needed new blood, and the Duke was successfully pushing forward bills to streamline the citizenship process. After six years the Mandalorians had finally understood that they must change or die, and the only ones left alive were the ones who had chosen change. 
Most Twi’lek refugees who doubled as highly trained military personnel had enrolled in the planetary  militia, a far easier path to citizenship, but Sabi wanted to stay with mother and young sisters. Most Twi’lek refugees wouldn’t even look at Fox, but said family meant that Sabi wasn’t picky for clients. 
She was more professional than Mace usually gave her credit for. If she found it difficult to smile so openly and easily at the man who signed the orders to massacre her people, it was impossible even for a Jedi to tell. 
She respected the desire for privacy, at least. She left them alone, and Fox and Mace settled for setting up the board and choosing their pieces in relative silence. 
As always, Fox made the first move. “How’s Depa? Sabi won’t shut up about that girlfriend of hers, the Heroine of Ryloth or whatever.”
Mace sighed in his own version of a groan. “I am highly concerned. She’s formed a strong connection with one of the students in our partial program.” Read: our ‘We’ll train your small child for a few months out of the year so their Force sensitivity doesn’t blow anything up and once they get old enough they can decide if they want to be a Jedi full time’. It went against everything Mace had been raised to believe, but everybody involved seemed happy. Maybe that was the important thing. “I think she encourages him to steal artifacts from the vaults. Encourages! I don’t know what she thinks she’s doing.”
“Upset you’re getting a great-grandpadawan, huh?” Fox asked. Mace grunted and made his own move. “You’re getting old.”
“So Ezra sees fit to continually tell me. I know Depa teaches him that.” The child had never even met Master Yoda, but somehow every infant from the program convinced themselves that Grandmasters had to be a thousand years old. Mace did not envy Cal’s job. “He’s impetuous. Sassy. He and the Nabierre twins are three terrors. He is the Prince of a planet and he knows it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he can talk to animals. That is not normal behavior.”
Fox made an elegant move, scoring a hit on Mace’s monster out of the gate. “He’s just like Caleb, isn’t he.”
Mace made his turn in silence, and Fox let the silence rest. It took five more moves and a deceased warrior until he spoke again. 
“I had a strange dream the other night. I believe it was a vision. Not one of the future or the past. Metaphorical, perhaps. Perhaps.” He inattentively made another move, lost in the memory. “It was of Caleb. He was wearing those casual clothes he favored, with that ridiculous nerf tail. He was demonstrating a Shii-Cho lightsaber stance to a young teenager. Elbows in, foot out. They were saying something to each other. I could not hear it. I could only see that they were smiling, mirroring each other. There was a strong bond between them. Between Caleb and Ezra. Strong, like the bond between Depa and Ezra. They were tired, but they were happy.” 
Fox made another move, seemingly half attentive.
“Those who spend their lives searching for visions lose themselves. The images they show us are meaningful, but illusionary.” The holo on the table flickered, growing grainier and faded as the board aged. “It was only an illusion. But that bond…it was real. I wish to see it again. See it come to fruition, perhaps. Or see what beautiful and unknown forms it may take. After all this time, Caleb still gives me hope for the future. That something lost may be held again.” Mace picked up a piece, letting the illusionary monster freeze between his fingers. “Do you ever feel that hope, Fox?”
“That’s a stupid question.”
“Of course. My mistake.”
Mace made his move. 
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