Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was little on the city-planet of Coruscant that didn’t feel artificial: the sea of fluorescent lights, the scent of the smog-choked air, the nonstop cacophony of trillions of life forms eking out an existence on the most populous planet in the galaxy, the words spoken in the Senate Building on a daily basis. Only the wind felt real as it whipped through Riyo’s hair and made her eyes water, as she stood at the edge of Landing Bay 412-Peth, looking down at the world below her feet. Just one misstep and it would be a long way down—they said that there were thousands of levels to Coruscant, so deep that some low-level dwellers never saw natural light. She squinted into the hazy gloom, where the columns of winking lights converged onto a distant point like into the maw of a black hole. How long, she wondered, would it take for her to fall all the way to the bottom?

Not that she seriously had a death wish, although the past three days of this Senate session was enough for her to consider jumping. Had it been only three months since she had arrived in Coruscant so bright-eyed and ambitious, armed with her naive idealism and grand plans to change the galaxy for the better? Riyo felt like she had aged twenty years since the start of her tenure as the Senator of Pantora, not that she had anything to show for it. Every bill she had helped draft, every vote she had cast—all of it meant nothing in the face of the impenetrable majority in the Senate. Her one, small voice had been swallowed up by the loud, overpowering voice of the masses.

Her vision blurring, Riyo forced herself not to blink as to let her tears fade away. It was so hard keeping up the brave face and stiff upper lip all the time. Nobody had told her that things would be like this as a freshman senator on Coruscant: senior senators talked down to her like she was a child, her comments were routinely ignored during committee meetings, not to mention she regularly got nasty calls from constituents back home who were dissatisfied with everything she did. They didn’t seem to notice—or care—that she was a person with feelings when they treated her so hurtfully.

It was the main reason she was hiding out here—to get away from the commlink in her office. By now, she had developed a conditioned fear of the thing, and she found herself flinching involuntarily every time it rang. Were she just Riyo Chuchi, she would have just let her commlink keep ringing, but the senator of Pantora always had to pick up.

Goddess, how she missed Pantora. Missed her parents, missed her friends, missed the natural beauty and serenity of the homeworld she left behind. Why did she ever think she had any business coming to Coruscant in the first place? Riyo felt the tears spill over at last, but she roughly rubbed them away. She couldn't be crying now—she had just cried barely three months ago.

“Ma’am?!”

She started at the noise, swaying slightly on her feet.

“Ma’am, I must ask you not to move!” Even modulated through a vocoder, there was no mistaking the panic in the voice addressing her.

At the entrance to the landing bay stood a clone trooper. It was the first time she has heard one speak, and she was surprised at how deep its—his, the voice sounds male—voice is.

His armor had been painted with red accents, with the crest of the Galactic Senate splashed proudly across the chest. Riyo often saw troopers around the Senate building, but they always made themselves scarce in the presence of dignitaries. For the most part, they chose to hover in the shadows of Senate chambers and hallways, standing silent sentinel in a way that they blended into the background with the rest of the furniture. She had found their presence unsettling when she first arrived, but her peers had told her just to ignore them.

“Just let them do their jobs,” they’d said. “It’s what they’re created to do.”

Created, Riyo thought. It was an ugly word to use for someone made of flesh and blood. Yet what else could be said about a being whose sole reason for existence is war?

“Please move away from the edge,” the trooper insisted. “It’s not safe.”

Embarrassment suffused her as she realized the reason for the trooper’s panic. “I…I wasn’t planning to jump,” Riyo stammered, as she backed slowly away from the edge of the landing bay. She must have looked a sight—unkempt, teary-eyed, perched on a ledge high above the city. Small wonder the trooper thought she was suicidal.

The trooper stalked purposefully towards her, and Riyo couldn’t help her faint trill of surprise? anticipation? as he approaches. He was built tall and broad under the armor, and she saw the many weapons that bristled from his person, the rigid set of his body like that of a predator ready to spring. But despite the raw power emanating from his person, Riyo didn’t think he would harm her. He drew to a stop a respectable distance away from her, his demeanor radiating concern.

“If you want to talk to someone, I can contact a doctor or counselor for you,” the trooper offered.

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary, Trooper…” she trailed off expectantly.

The trooper inclined his helmet towards her. “CC-1010, ma’am, at your service.”

Years of instinct and deportment lessons urged her to extend a hand in greeting, but her mind spluttered to a stop when it came to giving her name.

“I’m…Maya.” The name fell, unbidden, off her tongue. Riyo didn’t know what occurred for her to give that name, of all fake names to give him. This was the name of one of her cousins, who had run off to Canto Bight and never returned. Maya had never been particularly nice to her while they were growing up.

The trooper stared at Riyo’s proffered hand like he had never seen such a gesture before. She was getting ready to drop her hand when he unexpectedly reached out—and grasped her forearm, just above the wrist. Riyo belatedly mirrored his greeting, fingers curling around the cool plastoid of his vambrace. Though he wore gloves, she could feel the searing heat of his skin like it was a brand on her skin. While Riyo was considered a good height on her homeworld, she felt utterly dwarfed by the size of this clone trooper.

But not for a moment did she feel unsafe in his presence. She knew he was many things, but dangerous was not one of them.

The awkward silence between them stretched a hair too long before the trooper—CC-1010—dropped his hand and addressed her again.

“It’s not safe for you to be out here alone, ma’am. The landing bays are exposed and unguarded. Let me escort you back inside, where it’s secure.”

“I don’t want to,” Riyo blurted out.

Going back to her office meant returning to the existence and all the troubles she had tried to escape. She came out here to be alone for a reason.

The trooper looked like he wanted to say something else, but Riyo cut him off—all the while cringing inside at her rudeness. Normally, she knew better, but she just couldn't go back yet.

“You’re here now,” Riyo added. “I think I’m plenty safe with you.”

Though it was hard to tell what the trooper was thinking, Riyo thought he might be gawking at her underneath his helmet. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. In hindsight, her comment could come off as...flirtatious. Could clones even register that type of speech? But since she made no attempt to move, neither did he.

“I’ve had...a rather trying day,” she confessed. “I want to get away from work, at least for a little bit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Riyo sighed. She shrank into herself, as if trying to make herself as small as possible. “It’s just...nothing I do here seems to matter. Do you ever feel that way, sometimes?”

The trooper seemed taken aback at her comment, and it took him a few moments to answer.

“I serve the Republic, ma’am. Everything I do has purpose.”

“But what you do actually has purpose!” Riyo exclaimed. “You and the rest of the clone army are fighting the Separatists and freeing worlds from their grasp! You’re defending the Republic! Whereas I—I’m—“

“I’m just one clone commander, ma’am. And I’m stationed on Coruscant, not in the Outer Rim.”

Riyo knew, dimly, that the clone army must have some kind of command structure, so it made sense that there would be ranked officers in their midst. Come to think of it, she had noticed differences in the way the troopers’ armor was painted: many of them sported splashes of red, but never in the same pattern or location. Were the painted ones the officers?

“I’m sure you still accomplish a lot more than I do,” Riyo sighed. “Nothing I’ve done in the Senate resulted in anything.”

The trooper shifted his weight onto his heels. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Go ahead. You don’t need to ask.”

He slipped easily into parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back and helmet canted upward as if he were gazing ponderously into the distance.

“There are millions of clone soldiers in the GAR, but all of them have different assignments that are all crucial to the war effort. Would you say that a galley cook is less important than a radar officer or field medic?”

“N-no.”

“Then you shouldn’t be so harsh on yourself. Though your part seems small, your work helps keep the Senate—and the Republic—running.”

There was something benevolent about the trooper’s tone, even though his modulated voice was as toneless and artificial as the landscape. Riyo peered intently at the T-visor of the trooper’s helmet, trying to imagine what his expression might look like underneath. She wanted to imagine that his face was as kind as his words.

This encounter had proved to be the opposite of everything that she has ever heard about the clones. This trooper had been genuinely concerned for her safety, and had done his best to raise her low spirits, even though he did not know her and undoubtedly had far better things to be doing. He was not the feral animal or soulless droid the stories made him out to be; if anything, Riyo thought him far better than most of the senators she worked with.

“I suppose so,” Riyo acquiesced. “I try to do what’s best for my people, for the galaxy, but it’s hard to remember that when we’re so far removed from them.”

“Our work may be far from the front, but it is no less important.” His voice was softer now, as if he was trying to convince himself of the truth of his own words.

“For sure!” she agreed. “You took the time out of your busy schedule to comfort a senatorial aide who had a bad day. That’s plenty important.”

“Yes, even that,” he said, with all seriousness.

Despite her glum mood, Riyo found herself cracking a smile.

“The Republic is lucky to have you,” she said fervently. What she really meant, though, was, I’m lucky to have met you. Perhaps people in Coruscant weren’t so awful, after all. Well…in a manner of speaking. Clones legally were not considered people, which put a slight damper on her improved mood. It didn’t seem right or fair, not when he had treated her so kindly and expected nothing in return, unlike most of the people she interacted with on a daily basis.

”I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”

“Please, I’m just an aide. Call me Maya.”

Fox found it rather odd that the Pantoran senator gave him a false name and identity, but he didn’t dwell too long on it. He had been around senators long enough to know how devious and two-faced they are, smiling even as they betrayed each other behind their backs, making promises that they never meant to keep. As far as the senators were concerned, the clones guarding them and fighting their war were nothing more than droids made of flesh and blood—below their notice and unworthy of their attention or respect.

But from their conversation, Fox did not get the sense that Senator Chuchi was like the rest of them. If anything, she reminded him of his vod’ike when they were cadets on Kamino, unsure of themselves and looking to him for reassurance. The life and motivations of a clone cadet were simple and uncomplicated in every way those of a nat-born were not, and Fox could not say if his words had been what the senator wanted to hear.

He could scarcely believe the interaction he’d just had with her. She had offered him her hand in greeting, like she saw him as a person. She had spoken to him as an equal, which no other senator or nat-born had done before. She had listened, as if she genuinely valued his opinions.

And when she smiled at him...the only word that came to mind was sunshine.

Her little lie was probably to save face, Fox decided. Widespread knowledge of her suicide attempt—off the side of the Senate building, no less—could put a serious dent in her reputation and put her budding political career at risk. As a clone, and as a member of the Coruscant Guard, Fox had no business or desire to spread gossip; he didn’t have anyone except his brothers to share it with, and nobody of import cared about the word of a clone. Her little secret would be safe with him.

Although...if she made a regular habit of hanging out alone on the landing bays, appropriate adjustments would have to be made to the Senate compound’s security. Fox made a mental note to add this observation to her dossier, for future reference.

Chapter Text

Riyo could barely contain her glee as the courier entered the office with her long-awaited package. When her mother had commed her, telling her that the first crop of the season was ready for harvest, Riyo had all but squealed at the prospect of a care package from home. She could already taste the tangy juice of rinzefruit on her tongue. Home, that’s what home tastes like.

“Just put it on the side table, please,” Riyo directed. “Thank you so much.”

As the courier straightened, she took him in. He was big enough to make her look comically tiny, and she realized he was wearing very familiar white plastoid armor. Her courier wasn’t a regular deliveryman, but a clone trooper.

“I didn’t know clone troopers made deliveries,” she observed.

The trooper started visibly. No doubt he was not used to being addressed by people while working. “M-ma’am. The protocol…all incoming packages addressed to the Senate must be vetted by the Corrie—Coruscant—Guard. Then we bring them in personally from the security checkpoint. To prevent tampering, you see.”

“Oh. That’s a lot of effort for a crate of rinzefruit.” Riyo popped the crate open and admired the treasure trove of golden-skinned fruit, each painstakingly wrapped in bubble wrap to prevent them from getting bruised in transit. Her mother had truly outdone herself this time.

“Would you like one?” Before waiting for his answer, Riyo picked out the largest fruit she saw and held it out to the trooper. “These are my favorite—they’re a specialty from Pantora.”

“No, ma’am, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Consider it a gift for all your trouble. The senator won’t mind,” she assured him with a wink. “Besides, there are so many, she won’t be able to finish all of them.”

The last bit was a lie; Riyo knew she could finish the entire stash, if she wanted to. But there were so many, and she wanted to share a taste of her homeworld with others.

After her encounter with the trooper on the landing bay, Riyo began to pay closer attention to the shadowy clone troopers throughout the Senate building. They worked so diligently and tirelessly, without even a whisper of gratitude in return. She’d seen how they stood guard along the periphery of Senate meetings, standing statue-still for hours without even a break to rest or use the ‘fresher. She’d seen them escort senators to and from the Senate Building without even being acknowledged by their charges. In fact, on one occasion, she had seen Senator Orn Free Taa shove a trooper in his security detail for having the gall to walk in front of him. While Senator Taa was a distasteful person at best, the poor trooper was simply doing his job, and didn’t deserve such treatment.

Riyo felt for them—the clone troopers worked harder than anyone, but unlike the senators and Coruscanti citizens they served, they didn’t even get time off or even a salary. Sharing some fruit was the very least she could do for them.

The trooper took the rinzefruit. “Th-thank you, ma’am.”

"No need to be so formal, I’m...just an aide. Call me Maya."

“No. Yes. I’ll—thank you. M-miss Maya. For the gift.” He cradled the fruit gingerly in his cupped hands, examining it like he had never seen such a thing before.

“And what do I call you?” Riyo put on her kindliest voice, one she used when meeting children on community days.

“I’m CT-15-4271. But my brothers call me Beck, ma—Miss Maya.”

“Your brothers…I’m guessing these are your fellow troopers?”

The trooper—Beck—bobbed his head eagerly. “That’s right, Miss Maya. We grew up and trained together on Kamino.”

“It must be nice, having so many brothers,” she mused wistfully. Riyo was an only child; her parents had struggled for years to have her. While she was close to some of her cousins, it wasn’t quite the same as having siblings.

“They…certainly keep things interesting,” Beck said. “But we always have each others’ backs.”

“Tell your brothers that they’re welcome to help themselves to the fruit,” Riyo said, smiling warmly at him. “This is from the first crop of the season; there’ll be plenty more to come, if my mother will have her way.”

“I’ll certainly let them know, Miss Maya.”

“Please take care, Beck,” Riyo said, raising a hand in farewell.

Beck mumbled something under his breath that wasn’t quite picked up by helmet mic, before beating his hasty retreat from her office.

Fox arrived at the mess hall that evening in a foul mood, wanting nothing more than a steaming cup of caf to help him get started on his long night of flimsi-work ahead. Usually, his brothers on the night watch would make some before starting their shift and leave some for him, but when Fox approached the caf station, he found only bitter, gritty dregs left in the pots. There wasn’t enough left to even fill a single cup.

The bastards.

As Fox set the caf machine to brew a fresh pot, he did quick sweep of his surroundings. About two dozen troopers were chowing down on latemeal: protein blocks, carbo gruel, and rehydrated veg sticks—a typical meal for clone troopers in the GAR. They’d had it today for breakfast and for lunch; they’d had it every day, three times a day, since they were old enough to chew on their own.

Oddly, on some troopers’ trays were golden, spheroid objects Fox knew instinctively to be fruit. Fox had never seen fruit before, unless you counted the holos from his field survival study modules on Kamino. Where could his men have gotten their hands on fresh fruit? Certainly not from the commissary; GAR soldiers were only issued the standard rations.

He accosted a passing trooper, who had one of the fruit perched on the corner of his tray, next to his bowl of gruel.

“What’s that on your tray, trooper?”

Fox had instituted a rule that there would be no saluting in the mess; everyone had to eat, and there was no point wasting time with formalities and letting their food get cold. It was easy to tell how new a shiny was, based on how they acted towards an officer in the mess hall; it always took some time to shake off some of that conditioning they’d acquired on Kamino.

“Sir!” The shiny—he was so new that he didn’t even have paint on his armor yet—snapped to attention, gruel sloshing precariously in his bowl.

“At ease, trooper. I just wanted to know what you had there.”

“It’s a rinzefruit, sir," the shiny said carefully.

Now, Fox had never seen a rinzefruit before, and he doubted any of the other troopers had either. He, however, had heard of it, and he knew exactly where he had learned of it—from the manifest of an incoming package for the Pantoran senator.

“And did you by chance get it from a package addressed to the senator of Pantora?”

“No. I mean, yes, sir! She—well, it wasn’t the senator herself, just an aide—gave Beck one and invited the rest of us to help ourselves. Beck said the senator didn’t mind.”

“An...aide?” Fox repeated, a niggling sense of foreboding filling him. “Did you get her name?”

“Yes, sir, her name’s Miss Maya! She’s very nice, took the time to talk to me and even asked me my name. And…” Here, the shiny’s tone became sheepish. “She’s quite pretty. Sir.”

That she was, but Fox wasn’t going to acknowledge that last comment. The regiment did not need to know that Fox still saw that warm smile behind his eyelids as he drifted off to sleep. Or that he constantly replayed their serendipitous encounter in his head, remembering the feel of her thin arm in his grasp, the way she had trained those luminous golden eyes on him, how she drank in his words like they somehow held the secret to the universe. How fortunate that he had come across her before she jumped and such brightness was lost to him.

What he did want to ask, though, was why she still insisted on using that fake name and identity of hers, even with the rest of his men. But it wasn’t like this shiny would know any more than Fox did.

Nat-borns were incomprehensible at times.

The caf machine beeped, indicating that it was done brewing Fox’s caf. He cleared his throat to rid his mind of distracting thoughts, and poured himself a tall cup. Fox allowed himself to take a sip; it was hot enough and strong enough to burn a hole in his stomach, just the way he liked it.

“Very well. Enjoy your meal, trooper.”

As he left the mess hall, he overheard the tail end of a conversation between a group of troopers sitting nearest to the door.

“Hey, you know how to eat this thing?”

“You think I’d know, di’kut? Go look up a tutorial on the HoloNet.”

With all the time she had poured into the draft of the latest trade bill, Riyo had not been out on the landing bay in several weeks—the little free time she had remaining went to seeing to her basic needs like sleeping, eating, and personal hygiene. But now that the bill was on the agenda to be discussed and voted upon in three days, Riyo finally had some time to take a little breather. She missed being out under sun and sky, and while the landing bay wasn’t the most comfortable place to take time to herself, it was the closest she could get to being out in nature on Coruscant.

Settling down comfortably on the duracrate floor, Riyo reached into her pockets and pulled out the last of the rinzefruit. She peeled one and took a big bite, sighing happily as the familiar flavors of home exploded on her tongue. It was hard to find rinzefruit on Coruscant; few stores carried exports from Pantora, and she was no longer able to explore the various specialty shops that dotted the city.

There were so many things she could no longer do as a Republic Senator. As per protocol, she couldn’t go anywhere without her security detail, but having them around was the equivalent of having a spotlight trained on her, wherever she went. Low-key trips to the grocery store or a quiet evening at the bar were out of the question, not when it was clear to those around her that Riyo was a public figure or celebrity. She used to disparage the senators who had aides run their errands for them, but she had become just that. It was rather helpful, though, when she got too busy to do them herself. How strange life could be—Riyo had never imagined she would become a fancy, big-city girl with someone to buy tooth gel and meiloorun snacks for her.

At least work was going much better than the last time she came out here. Riyo had befriended Senator Amidala, who had in turn introduced her to her closest friends and colleagues: Senators Organa, Mothma, Tills, Farr, and Yarua. Now that she had people she could rely on, maybe trust, in the Senate, she no longer felt so lonely or disconnected from the politics of the galaxy as a whole.

Riyo heard the sound of a door closing. A clone trooper—her clone trooper, she realized, recognizing the markings on his armor—stood at the entrance to the landing bay, looking straight at her. For several moments, Riyo stared dumbly at the trooper, self-conscious of the sticky juice smeared on her chin and the unladylike way she was sitting. The lowest levels of Coruscant were not deep enough to sink her embarrassment. She quickly drew her wits back about her and summoned up the confident senator persona she usually adapted while speaking in the Senate.

“Hello there, long time no see.”

He drew closer, again stopping at the same respectful distance as he did last time. Since Riyo was sitting, he towered over her. Perhaps sensing the obvious power differential in their positions, the trooper knelt so they were closer to eye level.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“I thought I'd come out here to enjoy the fresh air with my snack,” she said, holding up her fruit. “Would you like one?”

Even though he did his best to hide it, Riyo sensed his curiosity towards the fruit. While she had extended the open invitation to all the troopers in the Coruscant Guard, she didn’t recall ever seeing her trooper enter her office. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed him her last rinzefruit, which he easily snagged from the air with one hand.

“Regulations state that our helmets are to remain on while we are on duty," the trooper duly informed her.

It would be a lie to claim she wasn’t disappointed. Riyo had spent an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about what her trooper looked like underneath his helmet. She had seen the holos and the newsreels; she knew how the clones looked, and she knew that, as clones, every one of the troopers would have the same face. However, she wanted to imagine that her trooper somehow looked different, for purely selfish, possessive reasons.

“I won’t say anything if you don’t,” Riyo promised. “Besides, there’s nobody out here but me.”

It didn’t stop the trooper from glancing around before hesitantly raising his hands to his chin. With a click and hiss, he removed his helmet and set it on the ground.

Riyo’s heart stuttered in her chest.

He looked nothing like the leads of the Zeltron holodramas that she used to swoon over as a tween, but one had to be blind not to see how handsome the trooper was.

The trooper had the look of a man weathered by life, but not broken by it. From beneath his proud forehead peered deep-set, thoughtful eyes the color of honey. Fine strands of silver at his temples shone through the mop of thick, dark hair atop his head, which he kept slightly longer than regulation. Despite the sharpness of his facial features and the stern set of his mouth, he exuded warmth, his presence calling to Riyo’s mind sun-warmed earth during the short summers on Pantora. The trooper looked like he could be her age—although Pantorans physically aged more slowly than humans, resulting in no shortage of misunderstandings over her perceived age. Riyo was well past eighteen years Standard, and yet she was still getting stopped at bars and pulled over in her speeder for seeming underage. This trooper would have no such concerns; he was very obviously a fully grown, Human or near-Human man.

Riyo rapidly blinked several times to clear the stars from her eyes. “You…I—never got your name.”

“I’m Fox,” he said simply. After a moment's consideration, he shucked off his gauntlets and gloves and began prodding at the fruit with his bare hands. Riyo tore her eyes away from the way he was abusing the fruit and forced herself to make eye contact with him.

“Do you come up here often?” Stars, Riyo sounded like a blushing schoolgirl on her first date.

“Not until recently.”

It took Riyo a moment to notice that Fox was struggling to peel the rinzefruit. Small wonder he was having trouble; his fingernails had been trimmed to the quick, and could not find purchase on the slippery skin.

“Here, let me.”

Riyo neatly peeled the fruit and gave it back to Fox, suddenly reminded of the countless times her mother had done the same for her when she was a child. After glancing sidelong at her, he took a tentative bite—and his mouth puckered up in the universal expression of disgust. It was a testament to his self-control that he didn’t spit it out immediately. The bottom dropped out of Riyo’s stomach.

She hadn’t meant to give him sour fruit; smaller rinzefruits tended to run sour, which was why she mainly saved those for cooking and baking. Now, he probably thought the worst of her—he probably thought she was like the rest of the senators and that her fruit was a cruel prank at a hapless clone’s expense.

“Oh, Goddess! I’m so sorry!” She cast her eyes about desperately for something to alleviate the situation. Before she could fully reconsider the action, she shoved her rinzefruit at Fox. “You could try mine, my fruit is sweet.”

Fox just stared, eyes flicking between her face and the half-eaten fruit in her outstretched hand. Riyo felt a blush crawl up her cheeks as she realized the implication of her words. She hoped desperately that clones didn’t understand innuendo, either.

You just asked him if he wants to put his mouth where your mouth had been. In some cultures, that’s basically kissing.

His neck straining from the effort, he swallowed his mouthful of fruit. “It’s fine, ma’am. I’ve eaten plenty of terrible things.”

That was no consolation to Riyo, who wanted to show him the best of her homeworld, and by extension, herself. But the more she apologized, the more flustered he seemed to become, until he finally put up a hand to cut her off.

“You don’t need to keep apologizing to me,” Fox said. “It’s…I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“What do you mean? You’ve never had anything sour?”

“Sour? Is that what the taste is?”

This devolved into an explanation on what sour meant, and what foods tasted sour. Fox and the troopers had never eaten anything outside of bland Republic rations—and now, for some, Riyo’s rinzefruit. Mentions of food items like vinegar or pickles or yogurt only elicited a politely blank look from Fox.

“If that’s what sour tastes like, I don’t like it, ma’am,” Fox told her. The somber tone, contrasted with the unexpected sulkiness of his statement, made Riyo giggle.

“Okay, admittedly I do like sour things, but they’re not all bad!” she said. “On Pantora, there’s this popular dish...”

Fox didn’t say much in the conversation that followed, preferring mostly to listen. Mainly it was because of his lack of input on the subject—Fox knew very little outside of war. But as he listened to her expound on arcane workings of the universe, watching her wave her hands animatedly, he didn’t mind learning more about things like that.

They talked until the sun disappeared fully behind the buildings on the horizon, casting the Senate Building into darkness. Still, Riyo was loath to leave. Back inside the Senate Building, she would again be Senator Chuchi of Pantora, who had to be cool and distant and formal with everyone, especially the clone troopers that oversaw her security. Out here, in the warm anonymity of twilight, she could just be Maya stealing a shared moment with a handsome suitor away from prying eyes.

But as with so many good things, this too had to come to an end. Fox at least was nice enough to walk her back to her office. It took her somewhat by surprise that he knew to take her to the office of the Pantoran senator.

“How did you know this was where I had to go?” Riyo asked, amazed.

Though Fox was wearing his helmet again, she could almost hear the wry amusement in his voice. “You have blue skin and gold facial tattoos. And you also spent most of the afternoon telling me about Pantoran customs.”

Oh, right. Flushing again, Riyo placed her hand on the access pad to open her office door. Though the door unlocked, she did not enter immediately. She lingered at her threshold, searching for the best words to say. How did she send off someone she wanted nothing more than to stay? But because at heart she was still a senator, she defaulted to courtesies, as she always did when she didn’t know what to say in a difficult situation.

“Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Fox,” she said, daring to use his name aloud. “I do hope we’ll see each other again.”

This was said softly, addressed to Fox’s boots. Mainly to hide the growing blush on her cheeks.

“I…The pleasure was mine. Have a good evening, Se—Maya,” Fox said, inscrutable again behind the barrier of helmet and vocoder. She allowed herself to imagine that maybe he felt the same way about this afternoon as she did.

Riyo watched him walk away until he disappeared from her view. She didn’t notice she was smiling the entire time.

That night, Riyo could not get the events of that afternoon out of her mind. Mostly, she lingered on the memory of his face, the cast of the fading sun on his warm bronze skin and the way the wind had swept his hair into disarray. Had he smiled at all? Honestly, Riyo couldn’t remember. She probably wouldn’t be here if he had—she would still be up on the landing bay, as a happily melted puddle of gooey feelings.

What would it take, she wondered, to get him to smile? Fox must have led a hard life, as all the troopers had. He didn’t have the luxury of enjoying simple pleasures in life; there was no room for softness in a soldier expected to be more machine than man, born and bred to live and die for the Republic. But she had seen it in Fox, and she wanted to show him the universe so he could show him that burning humanity within him, in return.

Humming absently, she opened her conservator and saw the rinzefruit she had freeze-dried for a later date. Her weekly grocery delivery had arrived earlier that day, and her kitchen was now fully restocked with essentials such as rock sugar and sticky rice. Riyo loved the sweet rice cakes from home, and while they took a lot of effort to make, she decided she would do it, for Fox. Rolling up her shirtsleeves, she pulled out a measuring cup and set to work.

When Riyo arrived at the Senate Building the next morning, she felt oddly refreshed despite having only slept about 4 hours. In her hand, she carried a cloth-wrapped package containing the rinzefruit rice cakes she had toiled over, deep into the night. She had even taken the time to stamp them into the shape of Pantoran night lilies, as her mother used to do when giving these rice cakes as gifts.

Instead of taking the side entrance that led straight to the lifts, she made a beeline for the security office off the main lobby. Inside, the two clone troopers on duty were relaxed and clearly not expecting visitors: neither of them had their buckets on, and one had his feet propped up against the wall. When she entered, they immediately straightened; she waved off their attempts to put their buckets back on.

“What can we do for you, Miss Maya?” one exclaimed. This trooper had a comet painted on his left shoulder pad—his name was Cosmo. The other trooper was unfamiliar to her; he introduced himself as Spur.

“Could make sure this gets to Fox, Cosmo?” Riyo asked. She pushed the package towards him. “He never got a proper taste of rinzefruit.”

Cosmo’s body went slack with shock. “F-Fox? You mean...Commander Fox?”

“Yes?” Riyo didn't understand his trepidation. “I believe his designation is CC-1010, if that helps any.”

Spur and Cosmo exchanged a look she couldn’t decipher. “Miss Maya, that’s...he’s our commanding officer. Of the entire Coruscant Guard.”

Chapter Text

Fox was still trying to wrap his mind around the nature of his interactions with Senator Chuchi when she served him yet another surprise in the form of two trembling troopers and a package wrapped in indigo-patterned fabric, waiting for him at his office door the following morning.

“What’s this, Cosmo?” Fox demanded, eyeing the package suspiciously. If this package was able to pass the security scanners in the Senate Building, it shouldn’t contain a prohibited substance. But judging from how terrified the troopers looked, he couldn’t discount the possibility that it contained something dangerous—or life-threatening.

Cosmo thrust the package towards his commander, unable to meet Fox’s eyes.

“Miss Maya—she’s the senatorial aide we told you about, the one giving out fruit, sir,” Cosmo explained. “She came to the front security office this morning and told us to give this to you.”

Fox fought to keep his face neutral, even though the mention of the Pantoran senator brought an unexpected glowing warmth in his chest. “Did she give a reason?”

“Uh…something about ‘a proper taste of rinzefruit,’ sir,” Spur said.

Fox gingerly took the package. It was much lighter than he expected. While he could think of no fewer than seventy-four different ways to improvise an explosive of this size, he didn’t think that Senator Chuchi would do such a thing; she did not stand to benefit from destroying the Coruscant Guard office, or taking him out of commission. The GAR would just promote another clone to his position. Like any other clone, he was expendable.

He looked up at the two troopers, who were practically vibrating with exhaustion and nerves. “Go get some rest, troopers,” he told them, “you’ve had a long night.”

“Thank you, sir.” The two troopers saluted and skittered off, leaving Fox alone with Senator Chuchi’s mysterious package. He retreated into the privacy of his office and sat down heavily in his chair, setting the package squarely in front of him on his desk. With almost ceremonial care, Fox untied the fabric wrap—it was surprisingly coarse, a universe away from the sleek synthetic fabric his blacks were made from—and found himself looking at a curious flat box made out of some kind of organic material.

Must be another Pantoran thing, he thought, as he jimmied the box open.

Inside, each in its own separate compartment, sat sixteen flower-shaped…somethings, white and almost pearlescent under the harsh lighting. They emitted a light, fruity fragrance. Fox poked one gently with a single finger, and found it to be smooth and yielding to the touch. His finger made a small dimple on the surface; when he drew his hand away, the thing sprung back to its original shape. If he had to guess, this was something edible, but unlike a fresh fruit, was not something taught by a Kaminoan training module. Fox lifted one of the confections out of the box and let it roll around the palm of his hand. Then he popped it whole into his mouth.

It was soft and chewy and a tiny bit sour, but in a pleasant way that provided a nice contrast from the delicate sweetness of the confection. Fox registered something with a fibrous texture in the center; as he chewed it carefully, he recognized the notes of the rinzefruit he had tried the day before.

He had never had anything like it, and it was the best thing he’d ever eaten since being decanted. Granted, that bar was low, but he didn’t think he would ever be able to look at his rations the same way again. Fox ate another six of the sweets in rapid succession, barely leaving time to breathe in between, before he forced himself to stop. He wanted to make her gift last, something that wouldn’t happen if he was gulping them down like a sarlacc.

To prevent the further temptation, he replaced the lid on the box and sat back in his chair. While immensely grateful for the gift, Fox had to wonder what prompted such generosity. A senator had a million better things to do than be nice to a clone—he had learned to expect at best indifference from nat-borns. Those who had shown him something beyond that tended to want something from him.

Not until Senator Chuchi, at least.

A subconscious smile quirked up Fox’s lips at the thought of the little senator from Pantora. Senator Chuchi was as sweet as the treats she gave him. A part of him wondered, fleetingly, if she was as soft to touch as the treats were, too.

Riyo spent the rest of that morning distracted and more than a little discomfited, unable to shake her conversation with Cosmo and Spur from her mind. Fox wasn’t just any regular clone trooper, but a commander—and the highest ranked one here on Coruscant. And to think all this time she had been so informal with him, and never properly acknowledged his rank or any of his accomplishments for which that rank must have come predicated.

Small wonder poor Cosmo and Spur had been so shocked by her request. Riyo supposed it was the equivalent of her getting asked to relay something to Chancellor Palpatine. But they had promised her that they would get her gift to Fox, even despite being clearly intimidated by their commander, which was far more than they were obligated to do for her.

She wondered how Fox would react if she told him she was actually the senator from Pantora, and not just her aide. Riyo hoped her little lie wouldn’t affect the way he saw her.

When she saw him next, two days later, she was jittery with nerves, like she was expected to give a speech to the Senate.

“Did you like them?” she blurted out, just as Fox said in his deep, steady voice, “Thank you for your gift.”

They both paused. “You first.” “After you.”

“I’m sorry.” “My apologies.”

Riyo laughed. “Let’s try this again? You go ahead.”

Fox had not expected Senator Chuchi to have him speak first. She was a Republic Senator, one of the most important people in the galaxy, and he was…just a clone. He cleared his throat as he removed his helmet. The cityscape around them seemed brighter and warmer without the barrier of the visor.

“Thank you again for your gift. I enjoyed them,” he said gravely.

“I’m very glad. They’re traditional Pantoran rice cakes. One of my favorites.”

“You also said that about the fruit itself,” he observed, kneeling next to her.

“Well!” she sighed softly. “Now that I’m so far away from home, I realize that there’s a great many things from Pantora that I do like, very much.”

Fox couldn’t relate; there wasn’t much about life on Kamino that made him nostalgic. Of course, part of it could be simply from having Jango Fett as his progenitor; he wasn’t known to be a sentimental man.

“Do you have favorite things from home that you miss, Commander?”

“Clones are discouraged from having preferences, ma’am.” Kamino was the closest any clone trooper had to home. But as Fox had learned, home meant something more to a nat-born than their planet of origin.

“Oh. I suppose not.” She seemed to deflate slightly, shrinking in on herself as to make herself smaller than she already was. “I’m sorry, that was a rather insensitive question, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not offended.”

She couldn’t have known. In truth, despite the regs and their carefully curated upbringing under the watchful eyes of the kaminii’se, cadets found their individuality by, well, having preferences. Some preferred to shower in the mornings, others at night. Some spent their limited rec time playing strategy games on their datapads, others stole naps or formed fight rings to prove their brawn. Some swore that the green protein blocks they were served were superior to the red ones. They all tasted the same, at least to Fox, but he learned to exploit that knowledge to trade for contraband in the smuggling ring on Kamino.

The senator seemed rather amused by the story of the protein blocks; thankfully, she didn’t ask what Fox traded for in the smuggling ring.

“What was it like, growing up on Kamino?”

“Noisy. Not a moment of privacy, when living alongside thousands of brothers,” Fox grumbled. He didn’t talk about his life on Kamino very often, nor did he like talking about it, either; he didn’t consider it a high point in a life otherwise filled with low points. Something about Senator Chuchi made him talk, regardless of how he felt about it, and to his surprise the stories rolled off his tongue with ease. Though Fox didn’t consider himself to be good with words, the way she gasped and laughed and asked questions made him feel like the best storyteller in the galaxy.

“I’m an only child,” Senator Chuchi told him in parting. “I spent a lot of time alone growing up.” There was a certain old melancholy in her expression that Fox could not put a finger on. “Having so many people in your childhood…it really sounds special.”

Fox only had his stupid stories about his stupid brothers getting into stupid scrapes, but if they brought her enjoyment, he would keep sharing them with her until he was out of stories to tell. And if he ever ran out, well—he had thousands of brothers from whom he could ask for more.

Riyo began to look forward to her little meetings with Fox. As of late, she had begun to schedule this time onto her calendar, so she knew not to be disturbed or contacted while she was away from her desk. She never asked him what his guard duty schedule looked like, but as of late, she knew she could expect to see Fox whenever she went out to the landing bay.

One time when they saw each other, Fox removed his helmet to reveal a fresh, angry scar that stretched from cheek to ear.

“What happened?” Riyo cried. She resisted the urge to reach out and hug him, as if physical touch could take away the pain he had suffered.

“Attempted kidnapping of a senator,” he replied curtly. “It’s all been taken care of.”

It was too easy to forget who Fox was, and what he did. He regularly put his own life on the line to defend the city and the Senate from danger. Riyo wished things didn’t have to be that way for him.

That he still had such a prominent scar after seeing a doctor concerned her; did they not give him any bacta? Complete bacta treatment should leave behind little to no scarring.

“Does it hurt?”

“No more than it usually does.” She could hear the shrug in his voice. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been injured in the line of duty.”

The commander made it clear that the subject was dismissed as he knelt beside her. Riyo had a bag of milk candies today; she wordlessly held out the open mouth of the bag towards Fox, who took a fistful. She had noticed that Fox had something of a sweet tooth, so she had made it her new mission to introduce to him as many treats as she could. While Fox kept his expression carefully schooled whenever he took his helmet off, she saw that self-control slip whenever he liked something he tasted: his eyes would light up in a childlike wonder and the hard planes of his face would soften at the edges, in the unassuming way a flower bloomed in the moonlight. Riyo could see that he liked the milk candies very much. Hiding a smile, she wordlessly held out the bag to him again. Her commander was very much like this candy: he had a hard exterior that hid a soft heart. And he was sweet and unexpectedly wholesome, all the way through.

The commander was not particularly talkative today, so Riyo did most of the talking, telling him about her day and sharing anecdotes from her life on Pantora as they came to her. She was too shy to ever ask him if these disjointed ramblings bothered or bored him, but Fox never seemed to complain about them. He was an excellent listener and always let her finish before asking questions—far more than could be said about the average Republic Senator. Riyo got the sense that he was probably very good at keeping secrets.

When his commlink chirped, summoning him back to his duties, Riyo sadly watched Fox climb back to his feet and straighten his kama. With these actions, his poise became rigid and formal again, like he was transforming back into the unfeeling droid the galaxy saw him as. But he couldn’t help the hiss of pain that escaped him as he slid his helmet back over his head.

It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, Riyo realized, wearing a tight helmet all day over his injured face. It also seemed that the physical act of donning and removing his helmet pulled painfully at the edges of his still-healing wound.

“I have pain pills back at my—the office,” Riyo said abruptly. She kept some around in the off-chance she or one of her staff had a headache. So far, one of her aides had taken a few for backaches from sitting too long, and the bottle of pills mostly remained untouched.

Inscrutable again behind the barrier of his helmet, Fox tried to refuse.

“Please. I insist.”

Back at her office, she ended up giving him the entire bottle. Fox did not voice any further objections as he took the gift and stowed it in his utility belt. While Riyo didn’t think Fox would take any of the pills for his own injury, she was sure the men in the Coruscant Guard would find better use for it than she would.

The next day, just as Fox was about part ways with Senator Chuchi after another meeting on the landing bay, she stopped him with a hand to his wrist. He had been so startled by the unexpected gesture that he went stock-still, as if someone had jabbed him with an electrostaff.

“Commander Fox. This is for you.” The senator shyly produced something from a hidden pocket on her jacket. It looked to be a necklace or pendant of some sort. She dropped it into his hand.

The pendant was scarcely larger than his fingernail and looked to be made of the same organic material as the box the rice cakes had come in. Etched onto its surface was an inscription in an unfamiliar, flowing script. It hung off a woven blue cord tied off into an ornamental knot at the end.

“It’s a Pantoran talisman. It protects the wearer from harm,” Senator Chuchi explained.

Fox examined the bauble intently. Though it seemed like a single flat piece upon first glance, he noticed a tiny latch to one side that he immediately tried to pry open.

“Don’t open it!” the senator squawked. “If you open it, the protective powers will disappear.”

Were this coming from any other person, Fox would have snorted with laughter. But since it was from Senator Chuchi, who was staring up at him with wide, earnest porg eyes that no sentient being could resist, he swallowed his skepticism and closed his fist around the talisman.

The attached cord was too short to go around his neck, so he wore the talisman on his wrist, under the sleeve of his blacks. When he put on his vambraces, he could feel the little square press into the flesh of his arm. While it got uncomfortable after a long day spent in his armor, he liked the reminder that there was someone out there who cared about his physical well-being, and maybe, by extension, him.

As time passed, Fox became increasingly convinced that Senator Chuchi was trying to spoil his men. Seeing rinzefruit on meal trays became a commonplace occurrence in the mess hall. She greeted every trooper she saw by name, and Fox was grudgingly impressed that she made a point to learn every one. Troopers assigned to guard her floor—or even passing by—were invited into her office to rest their feet and enjoy a snack or caf. She was always happy to talk to the troopers about anything, and she remembered everything they told her, big or small.

His men adored her, unsurprisingly. Few nat-borns deigned to acknowledge the existence of clones; those who did, only ever did so to berate them or mistreat them. As far as they were concerned, “Miss Maya” was a literal godsend, even though the Kaminoans had raised them to be nonreligious. Fox couldn't bring himself to tell off his men for their lapse in professionalism while on duty, not when they had so little to look forward to everyday.

Even his fellow commanders were not immune to her charm. While Fox refused to bend and allow himself the lapse in discipline while on duty, Thorn and Stone had no such compunctions helping themselves to her hospitality and chatting her up while on duty, like the rest of their troopers did.

“She’s a sweet little lady,” Thorn told him, half-eaten rinzefruit in hand. They were at their weekly commanders’ meeting, discussing upcoming assignments and logistics planning. “She noticed my limp when I went to her office, and even asked if she should call her doctor to check on me.” Thorn had tweaked his knee apprehending a rogue bounty hunter earlier that week, so Fox had relegated him to Senate duty with their shinies. While dull, at least the job gave him something to do that wasn’t endless flimsi-work.

“Nat-born doctors won’t treat clones,” Stone, ever the pragmatist, pointed out.

“Well, it’s the thought that counts,” Thorn said. “But I don’t doubt she’d make it happen. She seems very plucky and determined.”

For some reason, hearing Thorn singing the senator’s praises irritated Fox. “If you have nothing better to do than to gossip, let’s get on with our scheduled meeting,” Fox said pointedly. “We need to start preparing security protocols for the Annual Address.”

The Chancellor’s Annual Address was one of the biggest events in the Senate. Every senator and major dignitary in the galaxy could expect to be in attendance to hear the Chancellor give this speech, which was equal parts political update, pep talk, and game plan for the upcoming year. For Fox and the rest of the Coruscant Guard, it was a month-long headache that started long before the Chancellor even stepped foot onto his podium. Fox hated the Annual Address with a burning passion. It was nothing but a glorified propaganda event where the Chancellor and politicians blew smoke into each other’s asses and exchanged empty words about ending the war and unnecessary deaths of thousands of his brothers. And Maker, the security nightmare that came from the guest list for the event. It felt that every bounty hunter in the galaxy also converged on Coruscant to participate in the event—in their own, unwelcome way.

His fellow commanders sighed and pulled out their datapads, ready to take notes. The general dread of the event was shared by the rest of the men of the Guard.

The Pantoran Chairman Chi Cho was on Coruscant, and Riyo was doing her best to hide from him. Riyo had known Chairman Cho since she was an intern at the Pantoran Assembly, and neither his manners nor his disposition had improved since. If she could avoid him in any setting that didn’t require her to interact with him, she did. Her aide, Sarika, did the same.

Sarika was Riyo’s cousin, and had previously served as an aide to Riyo’s predecessor in the Senate. Sarika was often mistaken for Riyo, which amused the two of them to no end. They looked little alike: Sarika was slightly taller and thicker, had hair that was a duller purple color, and had a decade on Riyo. It was probably the tattoos, which other species tended to rely on to distinguish Pantorans. As a Chuchi, Sarika also had the same markings on her face that Riyo did.

“Why do the clone troopers sometimes call me Miss Maya?” Sarika asked Riyo.

“I wouldn’t know,” Riyo lied.

“Maya...Aunt Minu’s daughter is named Maya,” Sarika mused.

Riyo raised her data pad higher so Sarika couldn’t see her scowl. “Maya is a very common name in the galaxy. I think they’ve just mistaken you for someone else.”

Sarika didn’t seem to mind the sudden uptick of clone troopers in Riyo’s orbit, once she got over her surprise that they came and talked to them. Like most of the galaxy, she had previously assumed them not to speak unless spoken to.

“They’re very nice boys,” Sarika said. “They’re so polite, which is much more you can say about most kids these days.”

“And Chairman Cho,” Riyo muttered. The older man never missed a chance to lord his age and experience over her. He had endorsed his former chief-of-staff for Pantora’s Galactic Senate seat, but it was Riyo who had won over a majority in the Pantoran Assembly and earned the appointment to Coruscant. Riyo suspected that Chairman Cho still had not forgiven her for her victory.

Thankfully Chairman Cho wasn’t on Coruscant to speak in the Senate—that would be an unmitigated PR disaster for their system that Riyo didn’t want to think about. Sarika had advised Riyo to invite Chairman Cho as a guest to Chancellor’s Annual Address, in an attempt to smooth over the rift between them. She liked the idea as much as Riyo did, but they were nothing but professional and pragmatic. Riyo could handle Chairman Cho for a week; at least Riyo didn’t really need to talk to him or discuss policy during this event.

Fox stood unobtrusively in an alcove on a middle level in the Senate Chamber, between repulsorpods 394 and 395 (containing Senators Sedran of Chalacta and Zar of Sern Prime, respectively), watching senators and dignitaries take their places. An assassin had hidden in his very spot and taken shots at the Chancellor during a routine Senate session a few months prior; during the Guard’s investigation into the incident, they had discovered that this vantage point had a clear view of 80 percent of the Chamber, making it the ideal location for a sniper—or a lookout.

He still carried his DC-15A, just in case. Fox was one of the best marksmen in his batch; he had received perfect marks in sniper training on Kamino. In his position, he could see and take out any potential assassin within the Senate Chamber, easily.

Fox scanned his surroundings, taking note of the positions of the troopers stationed around the chamber, the dignitaries present, and any potential security gaps. From his position, he could see Senator Farr in conversation with the junior representative from Rodia (what was her name, Lola?). He could just barely make out Senator Amidala next to the Queen of Naboo, whose massive feathered headdress obscured his view of half of the Naboo delegation. And three pods down, he could see a shapely Twi’lek sitting in Senator Taa’s lap. Fox couldn’t look away quickly enough. His line of sight drifted across the columns of repulsorpods, only to come to an abrupt stop on a pod in the lower levels.

Fox did a double-take—there were two Senator Chuchis inside the repulsorpod for the Pantoran delegation. Since when did Pantorans employ decoy handmaidens like the Naboo? No, that couldn’t be right. He had committed the face of every Republic Senator and their staff members to memory; while he didn’t bother with remembering the names of the aides, he never forgot a face. Focusing the scope in his helmet, he confirmed that there were indeed two different Pantoran women in the pod, and only one of them was Senator Chuchi. The other must have been an aide; Fox had seen her around before. It was easy to mistake the two Pantoran women, especially from afar. They had similar facial features and identical tattoos on their faces, but that was where the similarities ended. Fox, like all clones, was very good at telling similar-looking people apart.

The comm channel crackled to life inside Fox’s helmet. Even though there was nobody watching, he snapped to attention.

“My men are all situated, sir,” Stone announced. “Awaiting further orders.”

“Seconded,” Thire added. “What’s the go status, sir?”

“We’re waiting for confirmation that Carmine has entered the holding room,” Fox replied. “Holding for verbal from Thorn.”

“Carmine on his way to holding room from office. ETA 3 minutes,” Thorn said. “I’ll keep everyone posted.”

Fox shook his head to rid his head of thoughts of a certain Pantoran senator. He was on duty, and today’s assignment was far more critical than the average guard shift. As the commander of the Coruscant Guard, he had to be extra-vigilant, not just because he had to set an example for the rest of his men, but also it was his duty to the Republic. Just because he resented being away from the front didn’t mean he had any excuse to shirk in his responsibilities here on Coruscant. Remembering the words he’d once told a crying Senator Chuchi, he set his jaw, straightened his head, and gave himself fully to the job at hand.

The address started and ended precisely as scheduled. Fortunately for Fox and the rest of the Guard, nothing catastrophic occurred as to disrupt the Chancellor’s speech. A shiny manning the security scanners at the main entrance confiscated a flashy new vibroblade from a member of the Neimoidian delegation. One of Stone’s squad apprehended a suspicious Bothan who was found to be carrying a crudely made explosive device fashioned out of a scrapped droid. Thorn stopped an unidentified janitor from entering the Chancellor’s holding room during the address. The attendees inside the Senate Chamber were none the wiser for these near-misses.

After allowing himself to bask in the rain of applause for several minutes, the Chancellor retreated back to the holding room. The attendees began to disperse to their homes and hotels and fancy afterparties. Fox did a final sweep of the Chamber before leaving his lookout post.

He made a quick check-in with the troopers stationed at the exits, who were running the headcount, as ordered. Thorn’s squad was escorting Carmine—the Chancellor—to his speeder. The rest of the men were hard at work keeping foot traffic flowing through the corridors, and securing unoccupied sections of the building. Fox joined the columns of men in the grand lobby, watching the glittering dignitaries sweep down the stairs and out into the night.

And then he saw her. Senator Riyo Chuchi, walking down the hall with three other blue humanoids who made up the Pantoran delegation.

Fox felt his throat inexplicably go dry at the sight of her.

Like the rest of the event attendees, the senator was in full blazing finery tonight. She wore a golden headdress he had never seen her wear before, draped with strands of jewels that gleamed like stars on a clear Kaminoan night. The cut of her formal gown exposed more of her skin than he had ever seen: her collarbones and most of her shoulders were on display. A golden necklace dangled from her slender neck, pointing to the shadow peeking from the low neckline as if hinting at the secrets held therein. She was elegant and delicate like a crystal figurine, but her eyes blazed with purpose and she looked every bit as regal as a queen.

She looked very good in red.

Fox knew it was not his place, nor was it the place to address her. Though he was the commanding officer of the entire Coruscant Guard, to the average Republic Senator and citizen, he was just another nameless, faceless clone trooper. If there was a night that the Coruscant Guard should really try to blend in with the furniture, it was this night, but some restless feeling in Fox’s chest refused to simmer down and allow him restraint. He wanted some kind of acknowledgement, some kind of affirmation of the tenuous bond of circumstance that had formed between them—that there was a basis for his confusing, intemperate thoughts about her. He knew that he shouldn’t open his mouth, but he did anyway.

“Senator Chuchi,” he hailed her.

The senator cast her eyes about her, gaze sweeping over the exiting dignitaries and the twin columns of clone troopers lining the hallway like ornamental statues. She did not stop, or even slow her pace. There was no sign that she registered his presence.

She didn’t know that it had been Fox who had addressed her, he realized. Troopers all had the same voice, as well as the same face under their helmets. Both relief and shame curled in his gut. Had he overstepped, in thinking that she saw him for himself, as his own individual? Or was it that despite all the time she spent in his presence, in his brothers’ presence, she still found them indistinguishable?

As she strode past him, fabric whispering on the floor behind her like a breathy sigh, he found that he could not find any answers to his unvoiced questions.

Chapter Text

Ahsoka’s comm came in unexpectedly on a slow afternoon during a Senate recess. There had been so little to do that Riyo had sent her aides home early for the day, leaving her alone in her office. She had thought to get a head start reading up on the Banking Clan, in preparation for her next Finance Committee assignment, but once Ahsoka’s ghostly figure appeared on her commlink, Riyo knew immediately that she would get no more work done today.

Riyo had unexpectedly befriended the young Jedi Padawan at a gala hosted by the Chancellor earlier in the year, a glittering, star-studded event where the city’s elite got to rub shoulders with war heroes and Republic Senators. Ahsoka had tagged along with her Master, but quickly found herself bored out of her mind by small talk and spent most of the night lurking by the dessert table. Incidentally, that had also been what Riyo was doing. The two young women had bonded over their mutual love of chocolate éclairs and dislike for large social events, and had been friends ever since.

“I’m back on Coruscant for shore leave,” Ahsoka told Riyo without preamble. “Let’s hang out; I’m tired of being stuck in the Temple.”

As promised, Ahsoka appeared at Riyo’s apartment an hour later, where she immediately made herself comfortable on Riyo’s couch. They ordered Corellian food and put on a trashy holodrama that neither of them paid much attention to—they had so much to catch up on. Ahsoka told Riyo about all the missions she had been on since her last deployment, all her near brushes with death, her Master’s questionable military tactics, and the ridiculous pranks the clone troopers had been up to while on the ship.

“You cannot believe how nice it is to be away from the boys,” Ahsoka said emphatically. “I love them to pieces, but they’re…men.” Evidently, towards the end of every extended deployment, the common spaces on their ship inevitably began to stink. “But at least Rex isn’t gross like the other guys.”

Riyo quirked an eyebrow at that. She knew a lot about this Captain Rex, at least by reputation. According to Ahsoka, he was the best friend anyone could have. Strong, clever, incredibly skilled with a blaster, reliable, easy to talk to, brave—Ahsoka’s litany of his praises could go on forever. Evidently, he was also so superior to the other clones that he did not produce body odor.

“It’s not like that, okay?” Ahsoka huffed, upon seeing the expression on Riyo’s face.

“You don’t talk about any other clone like that. Or any other person, for that matter.”

“Fine. I do have a teensy crush on Rex, but like, who wouldn’t? But since now we’re on this topic, what about you? Any cute guy catch your eye?”

Riyo thought wistfully of her own clone commander, how his skin glowed golden in the sunset, before she forced herself to put a lid on that flight of fancy. “No.”

“I can tell you’re hiding something from me,” Ahsoka accused Riyo. “I can sense your feelings, you know.”

Riyo had forgotten that Ahsoka, unfortunately, was a Force-user. If Riyo didn’t clear up the matter in her own words, Ahsoka would just pluck it out of her head, and misinterpret the situation during the process. “I…there’s this person I met at the Senate,” Riyo said, ripping off the proverbial bacta patch.

Ahsoka’s mouth dropped open mid-chew. “Senate? Is this a fellow senator?”

“No, he works security.” That much was true, at least.

“A security officer? How’d you meet him? When did you meet? Why haven’t you told me anything about it?”

“As you say, it’s just a teensy crush.” And that was all it could ever be—she didn’t doubt that clones were forbidden from fraternizing with civilians. The power differential in such a relationship would be disastrous. Not to mention the scandal it would cause, if word came out that a Republic Senator were involved with a clone. Riyo’s political career would be over, sure, but she could go home to Pantora and start anew. For a clone trooper, who was brought into existence for one purpose alone, if he was expelled from the GAR, there was nowhere else for him to go. Never mind that Riyo secretly, selfishly, foolishly wished that circumstances could have been different for both of them.

“Whoa. I sense there’s a bigger story behind this,” Ahsoka said.

Riyo put her head in her hands. “I lied to him, the first time I ever met him. I…I told him I was a senatorial aide.” It had been a spur-of-the moment decision, borne of fear and an overwhelming desire to blend in. She didn’t like the insincere attention she got as a senator; she just wanted Fox to see her as an equal, which she knew he would never do when her vocation remained as a wall between them. “And now, I don’t know how to tell him the truth.”

Ahsoka hummed in understanding. “There was no malicious intent,” she assured Riyo. “Everything will sort itself out, in due time. The Force will find a way.”

“I hope so.” Riyo knew that she would have to come clean to Fox at some point, and accept the consequences. But for now, she would wait until she was ready.

Now that their little secrets were out in the open, the two young women talked about handsome men they knew, ranging from favorite holodrama actors to people they saw and interacted with on a daily basis. Of the Human and Near-Human senators, Riyo thought Senator Organa was rather handsome, but it felt wrong saying that about someone who was happily married. Instead, Riyo hesitantly volunteered her opinion that she found General Skywalker attractive, at least based on the holos of him she’d seen.

Ahsoka groaned. “Force. Not you, too.”

“What? The ladies love seeing him on the newsreels here on Coruscant.”

Her Padawan friend rolled her eyes. “Ugh! Skyguy is like a brother to me, I’m not going to look at him in that way, it’s just weird! But…you know which Jedi is actually hot? Master Fisto.”

Riyo shook her head. “I don’t believe I know who he is.”

“Master Fisto is a Nautolan, he’s on the Council. Now, he is fine. One of my fellow Padawans saw Master Fisto take his shirt off in the shower and he said that Master Fisto had an eight-pack. That Master Fisto was shredded.”

Now it was Riyo’s turn to roll her eyes. “You’re allowed to say such things about a Master on the Jedi Council, but I can’t make an objective observation about your Master? You shouldn’t be thirsting for your elders like that.”

“Okay, but if you ever meet Master Fisto, don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

After finishing their takeout and their physical evaluation of all the Jedi Masters they could think of (they agreed that Master Yoda was an ugly little gremlin, Master Ti was absolutely stunning, and Master Windu was too scary to be objectified), they sat back on the couch in silence, pondering what to do next. The chrono on the wall showed that it was barely past 2000.

“We should go out,” Ahsoka suggested. “It’s still early.”

Privately, Riyo had to agree. The following day was Benduday, which meant Riyo didn’t need to go to the office if she didn’t want to. It felt too early for the night to simply end here.

“What do you want to do?” Riyo ran through the possibilities in her head. They could go to the cinema, or perhaps go to a dessert shop. She also recalled seeing something about a traditional festival happening in Little Alderaan, happening this week. Of course, Riyo would have to request a security detail, and she hated inconveniencing her security officers with last-minute requests.

“I want to go to 79’s.”

Riyo, like the rest of Coruscant, knew about the infamous clone bar on the mid levels. It was supposedly a lawless, dirty place where fights broke out frequently and dubious things happened in the ‘freshers. Nice young ladies, especially senators, were dissuaded from going, even though it was open to everyone. As with most places she was warned against exploring, Riyo had always been curious about the 79’s, but never had the time, a reason to go, or a companion to go with.

“Won’t your Master have something to say about this?” Riyo said archly. “Are you even old enough to drink legally?”

“Skyguy always disappears whenever we’re back on Coruscant, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, I’m old enough to fight in a war but somehow I’m not old enough to order my own tihaar? Isn’t it hypocritical?”

Ahsoka had a point. And so Riyo allowed Ahsoka to raid her closet in preparation for their outing to 79’s. Riyo picked out a wine-red halter dress she had last worn at a university formal years ago, back on Pantora. She was busy applying her makeup when Ahsoka appeared at the threshold to the ‘fresher, wearing a cobalt blue minidress that Riyo forgot she had. Pantorans generally avoided wearing blue, for obvious reasons; Riyo didn't remember why she even owned this dress in the first place. But on the Ahsoka, the dress brought out her eyes and contrasted very nicely with her ochre skin.

“You look so pretty!” Riyo gushed, picking lint off of Ahsoka’s collar.

“It’s the only blue dress you had,” Ahsoka admitted, sounding a bit sheepish. “Blue’s the color of the 501st.”

"Well, Captain Rex will definitely love it,” Riyo promised. “Come now, let me do your makeup.”

Ahsoka was rather startled when she saw her reflection after Riyo laid down her brushes. She hadn’t done too much, since Ahsoka had the fresh natural beauty of youth: just a dust of shadow on her eyelids, some shimmery powder to highlight her facial markings, and a neutral lip gloss. The Jedi were known for living an ascetic lifestyle, Riyo remembered. They wouldn’t waste time with makeup or self-beautification, not when they were tasked with the all-important job of maintaining peace in the galaxy.

Riyo was on the verge of calling in to request a security detail when Ahsoka stopped her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not going to be in any danger there,” Ahsoka assured Riyo. “Besides, my friends in 501st will be there. I’ll be there; it doesn’t get any safer than that.”

On that note, they headed outside the building and called an air taxi to take them to 79’s. While their destination raised an eyebrow, Coruscanti taxi drivers had seen worse, and their driver chose to say nothing. On their way there, Riyo reminded Ahsoka of three things: one, that Ahsoka was under no circumstances to drink any alcohol; two, that Riyo was going by Maya for the night; and three, that Ahsoka would stop touching her face and ruining her makeup. Thankfully, Ahsoka didn’t question Riyo on any of those points.

The bar turned out to be…surprisingly normal. It looked like any other such establishment Riyo had been to, except most of the clientele shared the same face. There were clones sitting at booths around the room, nursing drinks and talking quietly among themselves. There were clones at the bar, cheering and swearing at the ball games and pod races shown on the holoscreens on the walls. There were clones dancing in the cleared space at the center of the room—some alone, some with pretty women of every species.

Ahsoka led Riyo straight to a booth along the far wall, where five clones were already sitting with a forest of empty glasses on the table. Ahsoka slid easily into her seat next to a clone with short, buzzed blond hair; the clones across the booth made room for Riyo, who found herself sitting by a trooper who sported a neat goatee and a tattoo on his temple.

“Are you even old enough to be here, Commander?” one of the clones teased Ahsoka. He had his hair pulled into a topknot and a teardrop tattooed underneath his right eye.

“If we’re going by standard years, none of us should be here, Tup,” Ahsoka pointed out.

“What?” Riyo gasped. Was this institution even legal? Had she somehow stumbled upon a clone trooper speakeasy?

“It’s true, if they checked ident cards, not a single clone would be able to come in,” the clone beside her piped up. He had a lazy grin and eyes that danced with mischief.

“Really? Why?”

He gestured vaguely around him. “We’re engineered to age twice as fast as a normal Human. We look like grown adults, but the whole lot of us are what—eleven, twelve years old?”

“And you act it, Fives!” someone shouted from the booth behind them.

Everyone at the table laughed except for Riyo, who was too horrified by the implications of what the trooper had just said. The trooper—Fives—also seemed unbothered by the reality of his unnatural existence.

“It just means I’m young at heart,” he said, without missing a beat. He turned to Riyo, tapping the tattoo on his right temple. “The name is Fives, by the way. Like the number.”

That necessitated proper introductions around the table: Ahsoka introduced the clones as Fives, Echo, Jesse, Tup, and Rex, all of them members of the 501st Legion. Riyo found herself examining Rex carefully, as if assessing his worthiness of Ahsoka’s affections. It was clear that all the clones at the table loved Ahsoka, ribbing at her in the easygoing way siblings did, but Rex always stayed out of the teasing. If anything, he tended to jump in to defend Ahsoka and tell off his brothers for saying something inappropriate in her presence. He was nothing but polite when talking to Riyo; though he had the same voice as the rest of his brothers, he had a calm, no-nonsense demeanor much like Fox.

Oh, dear. Seeing all these clones was making Riyo think about her clone commander. It wasn’t fair to keep comparing them to Fox; it dehumanized them, reduced them to their inevitable similarities, and Riyo knew better than to do that to the clones.

As the night wore on, their group slowly fragmented. Jesse was summoned by some fellow troopers to referee the arm-wrestling contest going on upstairs. Echo and Tup drifted over to the bar to watch a bolo-ball game on the screens. Ahsoka challenged Rex to a game of darts. Before Ahsoka left the table, she stopped and whispered something into Fives’ ear. Her hand tightened on Fives’ shoulder before he nodded tersely, whereupon Ahsoka flounced away without another word.

“What did Ahsoka tell you?” Riyo wondered aloud.

“Not to keep you up too late,” Fives said smoothly.

Riyo doubted that was what Ahsoka told him, but she didn’t pursue the topic. Fives turned to her, adjusting his sitting position so that his body fully faced her. He shot her a playful grin.

“Looks like it’s just you and me now?”

“Looks like it.” Riyo was on her second Bespin Sparkle, and felt very pleasantly relaxed. She was having a good time; coming to 79’s had been a fantastic idea.

“So, Maya—what is it that brings you to Coruscant?”

She told him about working in the Senate, very careful not to reveal anything that outed her as a senator. What Riyo had her aides do thankfully wasn’t too different from what she herself did on a regular basis. Fives regaled her with carefully curated war stories that Riyo was sure he embellished to impress her. As their conversation deepened, Fives moved closer and closer to Riyo in the booth until his leg was brushing hers under the table. Though his glass was nowhere near hers, his arm would nudge her whenever he reached out to take a sip of his drink. He would place his hand on her knee to punctuate some of his sentences, but never let it linger in a way that felt unseemly.

Riyo wasn’t born yesterday—Fives was acting just like any other man in such a situation, with a singular, uncreative objective for the night. She let him, though—Fives was mostly harmless, and Riyo knew Ahsoka and her trusty Captain Rex would prevent Fives from doing anything untoward.

Later, she would reflect that the Bespin Sparkles had loosened her tongue, because she started talking about the troopers she saw in the Senate—how nice they all were, how eager they were to talk to her, how happy and excited they were when she gave them treats and caf. Fives seemed rather surprised to hear about this.

“Why do you do it?” he asked.

Riyo shrugged. “I just…they don’t get to have much, and I feel so bad for them, you know? It’s so unfair that the Republic treats clones the way it does. They’re more than just police droids or disposable soldiers—they’re individuals, with distinct personalities. People. They deserve dignity and respect, too.”

Fives was looking at her very intently now, in a way that made Riyo feel a bit self-conscious. His eyes were closer to brown than Fox’s honey-gold. Perhaps there were more minuscule physical differences between the clones than she once thought, genetically identical though they all were.

“You really think so?” he asked.

“I talk to them everyday. I see how they’re treated. They deserve better.”

Fives’ hand returned to touch her knee, but this time, his touch was lighter, almost hesitant. He peered at Riyo through his lashes, his eyes smoldering like coals.

“You have anyone, Maya?”

She shook her head. “Too busy with work. I hardly have time to meet anyone.”

“Pretty lady like you, single? Everyone on Coruscant must be blind, or stupid.”

Riyo giggled at that. “That’s not a nice thing to say about so many people.”

Fives grinned crookedly. “You’re cute. Let’s dance?”

“I’d love to,” Riyo smiled back.

Fives looped an arm around her waist and pulled her to the floor.

At the far corner of the bar sat Fox and Gree, who was also on Coruscant for shore leave. Gree and the 41st were scheduled to ship out the following day, after their Jedi general finished up some business at the Temple. Fox did not like coming to 79’s, but it was one of the few places clones could legally obtain alcohol on Coruscant. Gree had insisted, and Fox had not seen him since leaving Kamino, and so grudgingly agreed. Coming to 79’s wasn’t so bad with company; Fox could no longer bring himself to come alone.

While Fox considered every clone a brother, he was closest to Gree—whose designation number, CC-1004, was also the closest to his of all his currently living batchmates. He and Gree had literally shared a cradle pod as newly decanted tubies, and been changed and fed by the same nanny droid. As cadets, they had shared bunks, shared contraband sweets and toys, shared secrets and hopes and dreams, shared each other’s worries and pain. When they had received their deployment assignments, Gree had been the first to comfort Fox, who had stormed and raged when he saw that he had been assigned to Coruscant to guard the kriffing Republic Senate. Fox had pushed himself to his breaking point during ARC training and command school, hoping to prove himself and stand out among his brothers. He had matched Kote and Wolffe and Bacara, score-for-score, on all of their final evals. He had fought and bled and watched good men die on Geonosis.

And yet now his batchmates were now practically Republic heroes, while Fox was stuck as the glorified babysitter to some of the most ungrateful wretches in the galaxy. Fox didn’t want to talk about the war—he had nothing against his batchmates, he just hated the constant reminder that he was sitting on his shebs in Coruscant while his brothers were fighting and dying in the Outer Rim.

Besides the war, there was little for clone troopers to talk about besides gossip about their batchmates. Bly was a favorite topic as of late; he had become the butt of all the jokes in the command chat ever since he let slip some comments about General Secura that were better kept to himself.

“Have you ever felt that way about anyone? Your…general?” Fox said carefully. Bly was not the only clone commander hopelessly infatuated with his general; Kote’s adoration of General Kenobi bordered on obsession.

Gree huffed a laugh. “Maker, no. Things aren’t like that with General Unduli. Like, I’d happily die for her. Obviously, that’s what I’m bred to do, but…at least I know she’ll remember me after I die.”

Fox glared at his brother. “Vod, don’t say shit like that.”

Still, Gree’s words sent his mind roiling. Brother would mourn brother, the clones would always have each other, because they were the same flesh and same blood. For Gree and the rest of his brothers who served under Jedi generals, they also had someone else who acknowledged their value as people. No nat-born would care if he died, Fox thought sullenly. This was yet another thing he would lack, as part of the Coruscant Guard. The mental image of Senator Chuchi smiling popped up, unbidden, before his mind’s eye.

In the week since the Annual Address, Fox had been unable to get the senator out of his head. He had spent hours dissecting that incident in the Senate Building hallway, but was still none the wiser about the workings of Senator Chuchi’s mind. Fox felt like a bantha throwing itself repeatedly at a wall whenever he tried to make sense of whatever it was between him and the Pantoran senator. Had he misinterpreted her intentions? Was he so desperate for her attention that he was trying to manifest something that didn't exist?

“Something’s been bothering you, brother,” Gree observed.

Fox stared glumly into his glass, as if the solution to all his troubles could be found there.

“I...met someone. And I can’t make sense of what to feel about them.”

Ah, Gree thought. It was about time that this happened to Fox.

It was practically a rite of passage for cadets on Kamino to have a crush on Shaak Ti. When they hit puberty, their raging hormones caused them to fixate on the only female on the planet with a normal-looking neck. Obviously she was also beautiful, but she was also the only person they regularly interacted with who treated the clones with any semblance of kindness. Fox was one of the few who never mooned after General Ti—he was too busy running himself ragged looking out for their vod’ike—but Gree knew that unlike Bacara or Neyo, Fox had a gentle heart under the plastoid and scars. He loved fiercely, even if he couldn’t put a name to the emotion, and put others first often to the detriment of his own well-being.

“What brought this on? I thought you hated everyone on Coruscant,” Gree said gently.

Fox was too far lost to his thoughts to snap at Gree, as he once would have. In a low, tight voice, Fox told his brother everything: their serendipitous meeting, the false identity she’d inexplicably given him, the stolen conversations on the landing bay, her steady stream of gifts, her unexpected kindness to all of the troopers in the Guard. He recounted how beautiful, how regal she’d looked on the night of the Annual Address, how his reaching had gone unanswered and unacknowledged. Fox couldn't make sense of what he felt about her, because he had never felt this way before.

“Sounds like someone has a crush.”

“Don't lump me in with Bly.”

“Is it such a bad thing, though? To have feelings for someone? We are human.”

“Not to the Republic. Not to the rest of the galaxy.”

“But from what it sounds like, she sees you as human, too.” Gree absently ran a hand along the stripes of hair atop his head. “I think it means a lot to you, but you refuse to admit it to yourself.”

“It’s against regulations,” Fox muttered.

“It’s not stopping Bly. It’s not stopping Cody. Hell, we all know that Skywalker and his men make it a point to violate every reg in the manual, and nobody bats an eye. Nobody is going to care enough about your little crush to court-martial you.”

“I guess.”

Not wanting to look at Gree and his infuriatingly calm face, Fox distracted himself by performing a sweep of his surroundings. Though he was off-duty, habits died hard. He had an odd, prickly feeling in his gut, like he had a bad feeling about something to happen.

One of the troopers was dancing with a slender, blue-skinned woman across the room—if it could even be called such. Their bodies were completely pressed up against each other, and their writhing looked like something out of a porno rather than something to be done in public. Like Fox, the trooper was also in his soft-shell. Fox took stock of the trooper’s appearance: a swatch of blue sloppily sewn onto his sleeve (so one of the 501st, hardly surprising. That legion has some of the most undisciplined soldiers in the GAR), top buttons of his uniform jacket undone (against regs, although everything about this situation is against regs), the number 5 tattooed on his temple (odd choice, but it must have some significance to the trooper). He wondered if the woman knew any of this—she probably didn’t, nor did she care. The nat-borns who frequented 79’s only wanted one thing, and given that they were all clones, they weren’t choosy about who they took home for the night, or took into the ‘fresher. Fox mused that the woman looked a lot like Senator Chuchi, then sternly chastised himself for comparing the good senator to a bucket bunny from the undercity of Coruscant.

Gree followed his brother’s gaze, raking his eyes appreciatively over the woman’s body in her form-fitting red dress. “That’s one lucky vod,” he murmured. “She’s beautiful.”

Fox only grunted in assent, not taking his eyes off the couple on the floor. He watched the trooper bend down and whisper something to the woman, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. She laughed and swept her silky mauve hair out of her eyes, revealing a face that haunted Fox’s waking dreams. It felt like someone had doused Fox with cold water when he realized that she was, indeed, Senator Chuchi.

What was she doing here, alone at 79’s? How on earth did she get down to this level of Coruscant without an escort? Where was her security detail? And why the kriff was she dancing so obscenely with that trooper? Fox had to consciously tell himself to loosen his death grip on the glass. The trooper had his hand on Senator’s back—her bare back. Little gods, she looked so radiant that it made Fox’s chest clench.

“Is that her?” Gree’s eyes were full of pained understanding. “Shab. I’m sorry, Fox’ika.”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing.” Fox had knowingly overstepped. He was a clone, he wasn’t allowed to want. He should have known better than to desire the affection of a nat-born, especially one as prominent (and accomplished and beautiful and kind, his mind unhelpfully supplied), but it couldn’t stop him from feeling like he was drowning.

Fox threw back the rest of his tihaar and slammed the empty glass on the table. “Let’s get out of here,” he growled. He stormed out of the bar, resisting the urge to shoulder check Senator Chuchi’s trooper on his way out.

She could have that vod, since it was clear that she saw no difference between him or Thire or Gree or that nibral 501st trooper. Kriffing lucky bastard. She was getting what she wanted tonight; she didn’t need Fox, not when any clone would do. Everything made horrible sense now, why she always pretended to be somebody else whenever she interacted with clones. His intuition had been right; Senator Chuchi was just like every other sleazy bucket bunny who frequented 79’s.

Fox hated how weak he had become to her smiles, hated that he had allowed himself to be won over, hated that he allowed himself to imagine something he couldn’t even have in the first place. He would not make the same mistake again. Though temperatures in Coruscant were typically mild, Fox could not help but shiver as he set off on the lonely walk back to the barracks.

Riyo’s feet were starting to hurt in her heels, so she asked Fives if they could go sit down. With exaggerated gallantry, he led her to a quiet corner of the bar, where he ordered himself another beer.

“Anything for you, m’lady?”

“Just water, thank you.”

She suspected Fives had something to do with the unnecessary decorative umbrella perched on the edge of her glass. If Riyo ever wanted proof that clones were people, this thoughtful—if silly—gesture reinforced it. She twirled it absently in her fingers, a distant smile playing upon her lips as she thought about her clone commander, and when she might see him next. A gentle nudge brought her back to the present.

“What’s on your mind, mesh’la?” Fives regarded her with a soft look on his face, head propped up on one hand.

“I have a confession to make,” Riyo blurted out.

The trooper’s eyes twinkled playfully. “Oh? Have you fallen in love with me tonight, as I have with you?”

Riyo blushed up to the roots of her hair. Fives told horrible jokes she knew not to take a face value, but she couldn’t help but react to his honeyed words. “No. I mean, no offense to you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful, but…there is—I do have someone." With those words, the temperature in the room seemed to plunge by 30 degrees.

“Trouble in paradise?” Fives asked somberly.

“What?”

Now Fives looked uncomfortable. “I figured…since you were here, uh, with me tonight. Looking for a distraction. I mean, if it’s what you want, I’d be happy to—”

She didn’t think it was possible to blush any harder than she already was doing; any more blood to her head and it might just explode. Riyo knew what Fives was implying, and she hated that he thought so lowly of himself as an object to be used. Fives’ throat bobbed visibly as she laid a reassuring hand on his.

“I’m sorry if you misunderstood,” she said, as gently as she could. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment but I, well, have feelings for someone…else. I didn’t want you to think I was using you.”

Relief settled over Fives’ features. “That’s all right. I didn’t think you would,” he replied. There was that burning intensity to his gaze again. “Care to tell me more about your mystery crush, Maya?”

“Well!” There were just so many things she admired about Fox; she could talk about him for days. He was always respectful of her. He always listened patiently to her little nonsense stories, and he knew what to say to make her feel better whenever she was frustrated with the Senate. Plus, he was so handsome—Riyo had found herself daydreaming about his eyes during more than one overlong Senate assembly.

“But he doesn’t think of me in the same way about me,” she finished.

“He’s a fool not to,” Fives said stoutly. “Kind, sweet, not to mention gorgeous woman like you? I still stand by my earlier statement that everyone here on Triple Zero is blind and stupid.”

Riyo felt the need to defend Fox. “He’s very intelligent. And capable. He simply has a lot of other things to worry about.” Like protecting the Chancellor, the Senate, and the citizens of Coruscant. Fox did so much for the city, for so little in return.

Fives still looked skeptical. “That’s an excuse, not a reason.”

“None of it matters,” Riyo sighed, shaking her head. “Nothing can come of it anyways.”

Tilting his head, Fives contemplated the ring of foam on his glass. “He’s one of us, isn’t he?” he said bluntly. “A clone.”

She startled violently, water sloshing over the edges of her glass. The little umbrella fell off the rim and flopped onto the bar. “I’m so very sorry, Fives. Please...don’t take it the wrong way,” she begged. “And please...don’t tell anyone.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to get him in trouble,” Riyo whispered. “On Coruscant, clones are treated so poorly. If anything happens and people find out...I don’t want him to take the fall for something that’s my fault.”

Fives took her hand in his, calloused fingers curling around delicate ones. His hand was much larger and rougher than hers, and so, so warm. Though Fives had been nothing but wonderful, she couldn’t help but wish it was Fox sitting next to her, holding her hand.

“You’ve a good heart, Maya,” Fives told her. “That trooper of yours...he should know he’s the luckiest vod in the GAR.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Why would I be? We’re genetically identical in every way. If anything, I’ll take this as a compliment.” Though Fives spoke in a jovial tone, his eyes were serious. “My only regret is that he met you first.”

Senator and clone sat together in comfortable silence, hands clasped in quiet solidarity mourning things they could not have, wishing that circumstances in the universe had been different for both of them.

“You know, Maya, if you tell me his designation, I might be able to help you put in a good word,” he abruptly suggested.

Riyo’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh no, please, don’t do that!” she begged. The last thing she wanted was for Fox to find out about her hopeless infatuation; she didn’t want to burden him with her unwanted affections. She also didn’t want to get Fox in trouble. Riyo could live with her crush, and it would be her secret to bear in silence.

“Aw, okay. Offer still stands, though.” Fives’ picked up the fallen umbrella and set it back onto Riyo's glass. She grinned happily at him, and Fives was powerless but to smile back.

That was how Ahsoka and Rex found them, talking under their breaths and sharing a look that suggested to any outsider that they had a little secret to hide from everyone. If Ahsoka were less tired, she would have remarked on it, but she didn’t have much patience left for Fives’ usual brand of impertinence. Rex was still keen and alert, and he made a mental note to have some words with the trooper once they were back in their barracks.

“You ready to head out?” Ahsoka drawled.

“Yes,” Riyo chirped, hopping off the bar stool. She was barely taller standing than she was sitting, and it was only because of her heels. Glancing around, she realized that she had no idea where Tup, Jesse, and Echo went.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to the others!” she panicked.

“Those di’kute are already too far gone to notice,” Rex assured her. “They’ll be fine.”

“Will you let them know that it was a pleasure meeting them tonight?” she asked Rex. Riyo didn’t know why Ahsoka and Rex were looking at her like that; they had been a fun group to hang out with and she wanted them to know.

“Um. Will do, ma’am,” Rex finally said.

Riyo turned to Fives, who had a rather self-satisfied smirk on his face. “And thank you for your fine company this evening, Fives. I had a great time.” It felt like the right thing to do, given that she had dumped such a big secret on him: Riyo kissed Fives on the cheek. She thought he looked a bit pinker than before when she drew away, but it was hard to tell under the dim lights.

“‘Twas my pleasure, Maya,” Fives said hoarsely, wetting his lips.

“Please take care, wherever you go next,” she said sweetly. “May the moon goddess watch over you and your brothers.”

Fives mumbled something that Riyo couldn’t quite catch over the pulsing music, before Rex saw Ahsoka and Riyo out. He called them an air taxi and helped them both into the speeder.

“You do know Fives is going to be insufferable for the next month,” Ahsoka muttered, on their ride back to Riyo’s apartment. “You really didn’t need to stroke his ego like that.”

“That wasn’t my intention? He was so nice.”

Ahsoka snorted. “Never change, Riyo. You really do think the best of everyone.”

Riyo didn’t see why there was anything wrong with that, but she let herself settle against her friend’s side with a happy sigh. She’d had a good evening, and while she still carried the secret of her affections within her chest, the burden now seemed much lighter after sharing it with someone else.

Chapter Text

He didn’t come.

Riyo nibbled nervously on her lower lip, sternly reminding herself not to jiggle her leg. Her mother had often repeated an old Pantoran adage to prevent her from developing that graceless habit. Her mother’s words had worked for the most part, but Riyo still did it whenever she got anxious whenever her mother wasn’t around to see.

This was the third time she had gone out to the landing bay and not seen Fox. The first two times she had chalked up to poor timing, or maybe an unexpected change to his schedule. But now, Riyo was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

Had he gotten injured again in the line of duty? Was he gone on an extended assignment? Worse, had she inadvertently upset him? Try as she might, Riyo couldn't think of what she had done that could have offended him. Granted, giving him a protective talisman was rather forward, but Riyo had so many of them and she wanted him to have something more permanent and meaningful than food. Plus, he had accepted it, which had to count for something, right?

After waiting until the sun went down fully, Riyo pocketed her untouched jogan fruit turnover and returned to her office. She wasn’t going to hyper-fixate on his absence. Fox was a busy man, and his existence didn’t revolve around her.

Even if it was beginning to feel like she marked the passage of time by their meetings.

The same dismal pattern repeated over the next tenday, by which time Riyo was ready to lose hope. She must have done something. Fox had to be avoiding her, but why? The lack of warning worried her the most; if anything, it felt like her commander up and decided to ghost her. The realization left her so despondent that she could not sleep that night, or the following three nights.

She kept the sadness and exhaustion out of her mien, as not to worry the people around her. It was easy to smile and pretend all was well whenever the troopers came around; their excitability and joy were infectious, and they never failed to raise her spirits. But the moment her office was empty again, she was left in the desolate landscape of her own thoughts, wondering what exactly went wrong.

A few days later found Riyo having caf with Commander Thorn in her office suite’s reception area, where Riyo preferred to sit when not taking official calls. (It also had the added benefit of making her seem like her own aide.) Across from her, the commander was sitting completely relaxed: helmet off, legs spread, and arms thrown around the back of the chaise.

Riyo had become very comfortable with Thorn, and by now considered him a friend. She had initially been surprised to learn Thorn’s rank—he was laid-back and informal in every way Fox wasn’t. Under his helmet, he kept his shoulder-length hair tied up to reveal a bleached under-layer, and he always had a cheeky smile and irreverent joke for Riyo whenever he stopped by her office.

Riyo sipped delicately at her caf, not sharing the same enthusiasm for the drink as most of the troopers did. Thorn was already on his second cup. In Thorn’s words, after tasting what Riyo served them, nobody could consider the GAR-supplied bilge water caf.

“Commander Thorn, do you know where Commander Fox has been?” she asked.

“He hasn’t gone anywhere,” Thorn said. “Why do you ask?”

“Is...has he been doing alright?” Riyo had spent so many sleepless nights worrying about Fox, and came to the horrifying realization that she didn’t know him nearly as well as she thought she did. She knew that he had a sweet tooth and disliked sour things, but she didn’t know anything about his current life, or what thoughts went on behind that perfectly schooled face of his.

Thorn’s eyes gained a keen, knowing glint. “He’s his same old self. I didn’t realize you knew him.”

Belatedly, Riyo realized her mistake. Of the commanders of the Guard, Fox never visited her in her office; only Stone and Thorn did. By rights, Riyo shouldn't know Commander Fox personally, or have any reason to ask about him.

“We’ve met. I haven’t seen him in a while, and I was just wondering how he was.” It was an immaculate save, if Riyo could say so herself. She wasn’t a politician for nothing.

Thorn set down his mug. “Just between you and me, Maya,” he began, “he’s been grumpier than usual. I could swear Fox has barely slept ever since the night of the Annual Address.”

“That’s nearly four weeks ago! He needs to rest!”

“Yeah.” Thorn rubbed his temples. “At the rate he’s going, he’s going to burn himself out and I’ll end up having to take his job. Don’t want that.”

Riyo absently swirled her caf around in the cup, already thinking about what to do for Fox in his current predicament. She wished he would take better care of himself; his cavalier attitude towards his physical injuries and his lack of rest worried her. Even though she hadn’t seen him in a while, Riyo still cared deeply about his welfare.

Thorn finished his caf, thanked her, and stood up. “Best be on my way. Work waits for no one.”

“C—could you tell Commander Fox I said hello?” she said shyly. While she was still disappointed that she didn’t get to see him, at least she could rest assured that nothing bad had happened to him.

“Anything else you want me to tell him?” Thorn said, waggling his eyebrows.

Riyo blushed. “No, that’s all. I just want him to focus on himself.” She would not ask any more than that from him.

Fox was neck-deep in flimsi-work—as usual—when his office door thudded open without warning.

“What do you want?” he growled, without looking up from his datapad.

“A certain Pantoran lady has been asking about you,” came Thorn’s overly chipper voice.

“I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

“She seemed rather bereft. Have you done something to upset her?”

Upset her? And why would she have any reason to be upset? Fox’s lingering hurt was getting swiftly overshadowed by his mounting irritation.

“Again, irrelevant.”

“So you did do something,” Thorn said, with a certain smugness that made Fox want to put him in a headlock.

Fox finally looked up from his datapad to glare at Thorn. “If you don’t have anything better to do than make idle gossip, get out of my office."

Thorn remained unbothered by Fox’s aggressive tone. “Honestly, she’s wasted on you, ori’vod. You wouldn’t mind if I shoot my shot? Ladies like her may only come around once in a lifetime.”

“Get out!” Fox roared.

He could hear Thorn laughing the entire way as he exited the office and turned down the hall.

Two days later found Riyo speeding through hyperspace on her way to Orto Plutonia. The call from the Speaker of the Assembly had come unexpectedly; the Republic outpost on the ice planet had gone radio-silent, and the GAR were coming to investigate. The Pantoran Assembly had requested Riyo’s presence to observe the legality of the proceedings as a representative of the Republic, since Chairman Cho had insisted on overseeing the investigation. Riyo couldn’t think of anything worse than being stuck on an uninhabited planet with Chairman Cho, but as the Senator of Pantora, she couldn’t say no to the Assembly. Ironically, she was nothing more than a figurehead in her home system.

She hoped that the situation at the outpost was normal, and there was nothing the Republic had to worry about. Maybe it would just be a case of malfunctioning equipment, or a careless trooper who had been negligent in manning the comms systems. The more likely culprit was far more sinister, and she tried not to think about what horrors awaited her on the planet.

Before she had left, Riyo had asked some visiting troopers (Hammer and Flare) to take a package to Fox for her. In light of what Thorn had told her, Riyo had given him a box of sweetsleep tea, in hopes that Fox would be able to get some proper rest. She had dithered for nearly an hour over including a note, but ultimately chose not to write one. Riyo decided that whatever words she had for him, she would tell him in person when she got back. She would also make him another box of rice cakes, as a proper apology gift; she remembered that he liked those.

The console chimed, indicating that her ship was dropping out of hyperspace in three minutes. Riyo took a deep breath and refocused her attention towards the displays in front of her. Her flying was only serviceable at best, and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of some of the best pilots in the galaxy. Fox was safely on Coruscant and wasn’t going anywhere; she would spare him a thought once she was safely docked and out of the pilot’s seat.

Twenty minutes later, Riyo touched down in the hangar bay of the Resolute without further incident, where she was met by Jedi Generals Kenobi and Skywalker. General Kenobi exuded warmth and calm, while General Skywalker felt like a barely restrained cyclone in Human form. (He really was just as handsome in real life as he was in the holos.) After exchanging basic pleasantries with the two Jedi, she glanced around and realized what—who—was missing.

“Where is Padawan Tano?” she ventured.

“She is delivering supplies for General Koon,” General Skywalker replied. “Given the potential risks in this investigation, I thought it best for her to sit out this mission.”

It made sense; the GAR was fearing the worst, hence the deployment of two Jedi Generals to the investigation. Riyo kept her chin high and resisted the urge to shiver; she was the Senator of Pantora, and no matter how unprepared she felt in her position, she would put up her strongest front and do her best. She was here to represent the Republic, and she could not show fear.

General Kenobi seemed to sense her misgivings, and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, my dear, we won’t let any harm come to you,” he told her. “Come now, you’ll need to be briefed. Then I’ll show you to your quarters.”

They headed down to the planet’s surface the following rotation. It was a thoroughly uncomfortable ride—LAATs did not have seats or safety restraints—and Riyo spent the entire journey worried she would vomit on Chairman Cho’s shiny new boots. Their ships touched down outside the outpost entrance to an eerie quiet; there was no sign of activity, no sign that their arrival had triggered any sort of reception or even acknowledgement.

The interior of the outpost was equally eerie; the silent, darkened interior gave Riyo the impression of entering a tomb. Riyo shivered when she saw the neat row of helmets on pikes. Even though she had yet to see the bodies they belonged to, she knew with a surety that the troopers were all dead.

Up ahead, General Kenobi declared the outpost clear. The dignitaries and their escort were allowed to enter the observation deck level. There, they were met with a scene of utter carnage: dead troopers lay everywhere, draped over the consoles and lying on the floor like pieces of cordwood.

There was something deeply unsettling about the scene—Riyo saw no blaster scorch marks, or any sign of a struggle. It seemed to her like some invisible hand and reached down and snuffed the life out of the troopers like so many candle flames. Chairman Cho was convinced it was the doing of the Separatists, but when Riyo quietly pointed out her observations to him, he had torn her down without listening to a single word. It had been hard swallowing back her protests—and tears—as Chairman Cho scolded and belittled her. Only after he disappeared back into the lift did Riyo surreptitiously lift a hand to dry her eyes. She could not cry; she was a Republic senator with a job to do.

“Senator. Are you alright?”

Riyo saw a clone trooper standing nearby, watching her intently. She had discerned earlier that he was an officer from the way General Skywalker issued orders to him, which he in turn disseminated among the ranks. He had painted stripes of blue around the T-visor of his helmet, as well as two triangles that oddly reminded Riyo of raised eyebrows.

Slightly embarrassed to have been caught, Riyo mustered up a weak smile. “I’m fine. Got something in my eye.”

The officer was polite enough not to question it.

“The Chairman is not wrong,” he began, causing Riyo to droop, “but he should not have spoken to you like that. Intimidation is not teaching.”

“I suppose not, but he’s like this with everyone.”

The officer inclined his head in silent agreement. He and his men had already spent several days in Chairman Cho’s company, being bossed around and treated barely better than droids.

“Pardon me for being so forward, ma’am,” the officer suddenly said, “but I believe we’ve met. At 79’s—you're Commander Tano’s friend.”

Kriff. She should have made that connection long ago, but she had been so preoccupied worrying about other things that she'd forgotten about that night at 79’s. Ahsoka was General Skywalker’s Padawan. Her friends were Skywalker’s men. This was Skywalker’s legion. Someone was bound to unravel her little deception at some point.

“You’re correct. I'm sorry that I lied about who I was," she sighed. “I…also don’t know who you are.” Of the clones she met that night, she’d recognize them by face, but not in their armor.

“I’m Captain Rex. And there was no harm done," he said, shrugging. “I'm sure you had your reasons."

“Well,” Riyo began hesitantly, “I did it so I didn’t have to bring a security detail.”

Rex chuckled. “Sounds like Commander Tano is rubbing off on you, too. Any friend of our Commander is a friend of ours. You’ll always be safe with us.”

“That’s what the Jedi Generals told me.”

“I’d believe it if it came from General Kenobi. From General Skywalker, not so much.”

Riyo couldn’t help but laugh at that. Ahsoka’s Captain Rex really lived up to all of the hype. If he was trying to make Riyo feel better, he was doing a spectacular job of it.

“Do you need any help?” she asked. Riyo hated sitting around while others were busy around her. “I don’t really want to spend any time around him—” she cast her eyes towards the lift doors—“if I don’t have to.”

Rex seemed to understand her implied meaning, and after some deliberation, called over a trooper named Hardcase. Hardcase had been tasked with collecting and identifying the dead troopers' scattered equipment. As she trailed after him, standard-issue GAR datapad in hand, she got the sense that Hardcase didn't actually need her help. Still, he was patient with her, answering her questions and explaining finer nuances of clone trooper customs to her. He had been oddly uncomfortable handling the dead troopers’ armor, at first.

“On Kamino, our trainers taught us that our armor is an extension of ourselves,” Hardcase said. “Our armor is very personal to us.”

“I didn’t know that.” Riyo picked up a helmet, cradling it gently in her arms like it was a sleeping child.

Poor, poor man, she thought. From what Hardcase told her, these outposts were usually staffed with shinies—new troopers—fresh from Kamino. The trooper who had worn this helmet lived a tragically short life; Riyo wished she could somehow give him a hug, tell him he did good and that his life was not lost in vain. She hoped he hadn't suffered in his final moments.

Hardcase read off the serial numbers on the blasters and armor pieces they collected, which Riyo entered dutifully into the datapad.

“Why are we cataloging the equipment in such detail?” she asked.

“The GAR collects it back if it’s not being used,” Hardcase replied.

That made sense; the war was expensive enough as is, and the GAR was being frugal wherever they could. “The armor too?”

“Yep. If it’s in good condition, it’s sanitized and reissued. Damaged armor is melted down and recast into new pieces.”

This reality seemed at odds with what Hardcase had just told her about how clones treated their armor. If armor was so personal to them, would troopers be comfortable wearing something they knew was stripped from the bodies of their dead brethren? Then again, she wasn’t raised as they were, and it didn’t seem right to apply her opinions to GAR standard operating procedures.

When she and Hardcase finished IDing the last of the equipment, Generals Kenobi and Skywalker returned. On their scouting trip, they discovered a primitive tribe known as the Talz living on the planet, and had organized a meeting with their chieftain.

They really shouldn’t have let Chairman Cho talk at this meeting—but none of them had expected him to start a war.

“Isn’t there anything you can do to stop it?” General Skywalker demanded.

If Riyo knew, she would have already said something, but like the Jedi, she was grasping at loose ends. The queasiness from earlier had returned with a vengeance, and Riyo was beginning to regret the ration bar she had eaten earlier. “I’m afraid not. He has proclaimed the conflict an internal affair.”

“You could petition the Jedi Council for an intervention,” General Kenobi suggested.

That sounded like a good idea. She had the most famed negotiator of the Jedi Order on-planet with her. If anybody knew how to settle this mess Chairman Cho had created, it was General Kenobi. But she would have to contact the Senate, call an assembly, allow both sides to present their arguments, call a vote, and then have the Chancellor issue the formal order, assuming such a motion was passed…They didn’t have that kind of time. Besides, the Chairman had declared this an internal Pantoran affair. Which meant they had to turn to the Pantoran Assembly for a workaround.

“There has to be someone on your moon who could approve it,” General Skywalker pressed.

Inside her head, Riyo frantically riffled through years’ worth of law textbooks she had studied at university. She didn’t graduate at the top of her class for nothing. “The Speaker of the Assembly,” she recalled. “He has the power.”

While the Speaker of the Assembly gave Riyo the authority to intercede on his behalf, General Kenobi made it clear that Riyo would be doing the talking, not him. Though his voice was stern, his eyes were gentle, encouraging. I'll be there with you, they seemed to say. Or maybe he was actually saying it inside her head, using the Force. It was hard to tell with the Jedi.

Riyo was so nervous that she wanted to throw up. She couldn’t do this. She was just a freshman senator from an insignificant moon in the Outer Rim; she couldn't even get a bill passed in the Senate, how could she be counted on to negotiate peace with a tribe whose language she didn't even speak? Most days, Riyo barely felt like a Republic Senator; she just felt like a girl playing at being one.

She looked around her, at the fallen troopers lying in the snow. These good men had died for the Chairman’s folly. If she didn’t fix the mistakes he’d made, more innocent men would die.

Riyo swallowed her misgivings and called over the protocol droid, innately grateful that her voice did not shake. Every step she took strengthened her growing resolve. Chairman Cho had been right about one thing—a leader had to be willing and ready to die for those they led. Riyo was ready to die for her people, the Republic, the clones, if it meant that no more lives would be wasted—but she would try to live for them first.

All her prepared words flew right out of her head as she made eye contact with the Talz chieftain. She thought of Chairman Cho’s scorn, his callousness, his cruelty. Intimidation and scorn was not her way—she would speak with kindness, with patience, with respect. Instead, Riyo opened her mouth and let her heart find the right words to say.

After their mission debrief with the Chancellor and the Jedi Council, General Kenobi gently suggested that Riyo return to her quarters to get some rest. She’d had a trying few days, no doubt she was tired. But despite her physical exhaustion, Riyo was too keyed up to sleep. Instead, she went for a walk, pacing aimlessly through the sterile durasteel halls of the ship. She had no idea how long she wandered; the lack of natural light aboard the cruiser made it hard to judge the passage of time.

Her pacing brought her to the mess hall, where some troopers were tucking into what could possibly be latemeal. Riyo wasn’t hungry, but since she was here, she decided she would get a cup of tea to help her relax. She got a few looks when she entered and walked up to the service counter, but nobody said a word.

The tea was absolutely dreadful—she shuddered to imagine what the caf tasted like, if the tea was so bad. She thanked the serving droid behind the counter anyways and went to sit down at one of the long trestle tables. It reminded her of her early school days, when she sat alone in the cafeteria during midmeal. Riyo had come a long way since her lonely girlhood, she mused, but the old insecurities still lingered, like splinters buried deep under her skin.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone dropped something on the table across from her. Looking up, she saw a gaggle of troopers sit down around her, meal trays in front of each of them.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Senator.”

Her attention snapped to the clone who had spoken. He had geometric blue line tattoos across his face and was staring at her with an expression that was two parts trepidation, one part confusion, and one part unadulterated shock.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave—” she began.

“Hardcase, what’s wrong with you, that’s no way to talk to a l—Maya?”

Riyo turned very slowly, careful not to jostle the mug of tea clasped in her hands.

“Hello, Fives.”

Fox should have expected that the Senator would try and get through to him, in one way or another. He suppressed a sigh when he saw the troopers outside of his office door, holding another fabric-wrapped package.

“Is this from the Senator?” he sighed.

“Senator? It’s from Miss Maya, sir,” the trooper, Hammer, corrected.

“Yes, yes, that’s who I meant.” One of these days, Fox was going to call a regiment-wide meeting and put this whole charade to rest; it was getting ridiculous. Fox took the package and gave it a little shake. It was a lot smaller and lighter than the box of rice cakes. “Did she tell you what this is?”

The other trooper, Flare, looked terrified, as if he thought Fox was going to bite his head off. “It’s a sleep aid, sir. Some kind of tea.”

Fox was suddenly acutely aware of how awful he must have looked, to the two privates’ eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept, he had not shaved or combed his hair in several days, and probably looked like a gundark come out of hibernation. The irritation left him as quickly as it came.

“Thank you, troopers, you may go.” Fox retreated inside his office and unceremoniously slammed the door behind him.

The Senator was stubborn, he had to give her that much. Nearly as stubborn as he was. He had tried to make it clear to her that he didn’t want to see her, and yet she insisted on pushing through to him nonetheless. Fox unwrapped the package with slightly shaky hands. He told himself that his hands were shaking from the extra-strong caf he just drank. Not for any other reason.

The package only contained a tin of sweetsleep tea; she had left no note. He wasn’t expecting one, and yet…Fox let out a pent-up breath he didn’t know he was holding and scrubbed his face in his hands. The talisman he wore under his blacks pressed into the flesh of his arm with every flex of his left wrist.

He thought he had Senator Chuchi figured out, but her actions left him even more confused than before. If she was like any other bucket bunny, she would have already moved on—she wouldn’t waste time and effort getting him gifts. His brothers at 79’s would entertain a lady for far less.

It almost seemed like…she cared. About Fox.

Nat-borns didn’t just…care. Not like that.

Fox would never admit it, but even though he was avoiding Senator Chuchi, he still went about his regular Senate sentry duties that also took him out onto the landing bays. Immediately following the Annual Address, Fox considered shunting the task onto Stone, but then Stone had gotten injured during a speeder chase and the idea slipped Fox’s mind entirely. Day after day, Fox continued patrolling the landing bays, always careful to stay out of Senator Chuchi’s sight but at the same time making sure she was within his. He had seen her wait for him, without fail, and seen how her bright smile died with each passing day he did not show. He had told himself this was for the better good, for his own good, but he had ever meant to hurt her.

Fox knew he had to make things right, somehow, but he didn't know where to start. He was just a clone, created to fight and die for the Republic. He didn't know the least about the intricacies of nat-born interactions and friendships and gift-giving and all that bantha poodoo. But he still felt like he had to try.

For the most part, Fives and the other troopers took the reveal of her real identity fairly well. Once the initial shock and reverence wore off—none of them had personally met a Republic Senator before—they embraced her presence and settled into one of their favorite activities: heckling Fives.

“So you’re Fives’ girl?” Echo asked, with his mouth full.

“His what?” Tup and Riyo spluttered.

“What girl would like him for his obnoxious personality?” Hardcase said.

“What girl would like him in spite of his obnoxious personality?” Jesse huffed.

Fives flipped them a very crude hand gesture and proceeded to enumerate to them the many facets of his winning personality.

“He hasn’t shut up about you for a karking month,” Jesse complained to Riyo, as Fives pontificated in the background. “I’m sorry that this is happening to you.”

“—and she called me wonderful! Wonderful! Clearly, none of you dikut’la mirsheb’se appreciate me for what I’m worth! You tell ‘em, Senator—I’m nothing but a gentleman—”

“Fives, stop harassing the senator,” Rex said wearily, sliding onto the bench next to Echo. He carried a steaming cup of caf and nothing else.

“Can you tell him to stop harassing us too, Captain?” Jesse asked, rubbing his ears. “I think I’ve gone practically deaf from a month’s worth of bragging.”

Riyo was starting to feel bad for Fives; his brothers were really dogpiling onto him. “Fives isn’t being a bother, Captain,” she told Rex. “The others were teasing him.”

Rex took a deep pull of his caf, shaking his head. “That’s enough, all of you. You’re in the presence of a senator, and you ought to behave as such.”

Suddenly, the troopers began tucking into their forgotten meals as if they had not eaten in days. Their table manners also became much more prim and proper than before—Tup even swapped his knife to his left hand, but now was struggling to cut his food. Riyo sipped quietly at her tea, trying not to wince at its bitterness.

“Sir, will you tell us about your mission?” Echo piped up. “It’s been dreadfully dull up here, and I’ve already read our blaster maintenance manual four times.”

Something shuttered in Rex’s expression. “It’s not a happy or glorious story, Echo. War isn’t like that.”

“W-we know, sir. We saw the, ah…cold storage units fill, and we wanted to know what happened,” Tup said, eyes as big as saucers. “The men told us it was bad down there.”

Rex sighed. “It was. What do you want to know?”

As the troopers peppered Rex and Hardcase with questions, Fives turned to Riyo. “How are things going with your lucky vod, by the way?” he murmured.

Riyo shook her head miserably. “He’s avoiding me."

“What?! Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Underneath the table, Fives patted Riyo’s knee. “Offer still stands,” he said. “My brothers can make him see sense, if you tell us who he is.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think he wants anything to do with me, and I don’t want to push him.”

Fives muttered something under his breath that had to be an oath, but Riyo couldn’t catch what it was. It was probably in that secret language the clones sometimes lapsed into. She made a mental note to ask Thorn about it, when she returned to Coruscant.

“—sent me to guard the Chairman of Pantora,” Rex was saying.

“Wasn’t he the one who got us into the mess in the first place?” Jesse pointed out.

Riyo felt all eyes at the table track towards her, before swiftly drawing away. “No, it’s true,” she said. “Chairman Cho needlessly provoked the Talz, even when General Kenobi promised there would be no conflict.”

“The Senator stepped in and negotiated peace before the situation escalated,” Rex said warmly. “It was masterfully done.”

“Our beautiful and competent senator did? That's hot,” Fives said, a bit dreamily.

“Fives…” Rex began in warning.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stop harassing the senator,’ heard it the first time.” Despite his outward contrition, Fives tipped Riyo a very unsubtle wink.

“How many casualties?” Jesse said softly.

“Eleven dead, nine wounded. That’s on top of the twenty-five dead troopers stationed at the outpost.”

Riyo had heard this information earlier during the mission debrief and thought little of it, but hearing the deathly quiet that settled over the table now felt like a gut punch. They often talked about war statistics in the Senate, carelessly tossing about numbers like abstract ideas as they argued and lied, flattered and swindled to advance political agendas. It was easy to speak that way about a war that they hardly saw, a war that felt little more than an elaborate game of dejarik.

But these were dead men they were talking about, men who had unique identities and ideas, men who were devoted above all else to a Republic that did not show them the same devotion in return. Men who would die unacknowledged because of the callousness and willful ignorance of politicians like her. These were good soldiers, good men, brothers all. They were more than just numbers or warm bodies to fill the ranks of the Republic’s army.

A lump formed in Riyo's throat. Carefully setting aside her now-lukewarm tea, she turned to Rex. “Is there any way to pay my respects to the dead? On Pantora, we say a prayer over the bodies, but…” She didn’t know what had been done with the bodies of the dead troopers, but it didn’t seem like the right time to ask.

Fives and Rex exchanged a look. “I was going to say my remembrances after this,” Rex said.

“We’ll go with you,” Fives said somberly.

After the troopers cleaned off their trays, they left the mess hall and followed Rex to a room on the outer perimeter of the ship. Judging from the padded floors and the faint stale odor of sweat that hung in the air, the space saw regular use as a training area. Several troopers were already there, kneeling on the floor quietly as if in prayer. Riyo drew several surprised looks from the troopers already present when she knelt to join them.

“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Rex said. His voice rang powerfully through the room. Around her, his brothers echoed the words like a chant, before they began to recite the names. There were so, so many names.

To anybody else, it sounded like a list of nonsense words and numbers. To the troopers around her, it represented an unending catalogue of loss. One of the troopers near her wept openly, shaking with the force of his silent sobs. Feeling tears pool in her own eyes, Riyo reached over to draw soothing circles on his back. These brave troopers looked death straight in the eye every time they donned their armor to fight, but privately wept all the same for their fallen brothers when the armor came off again.

As the voices rose and crested around her, Riyo shut her eyes and let the grief and solemnity of the ceremony wash over her. She did not notice how her tears stained the mat she knelt upon, or how her free hand curled into a fist at her side.

Riyo had been so wrong about the clones. They deserved more than just kind words and smiles and cups of caf. They deserved everything the galaxy had, if only someone cared enough to will it into existence for them.

They were Republic soldiers, and she was a Republic Senator. They were her people, and she had sworn to live for them. If nobody else would fight for them and their basic human rights, she would, or die trying.

Chapter Text

Fox didn’t consider himself a particularly intelligent clone, but he immediately knew that he had kriffed up when Senator Chuchi stopped going out to the landing bay. He should have said something, anything, when he still had her attention. But he had hesitated too long, and now she was done waiting for him. She had moved on.

That night, he went to the commissary and bought the strongest bottle of tihaar they had in stock. Fox had little memory of what happened after that, but the searing headache that greeted him the following morning was enough to make him want to forget his entire existence. He refused to touch the bottle of pain pills the senator had given him—he wouldn’t use them for something as trifling as a hangover when his brothers were bleeding and dying at the front. Fortunately, he had a full morning of flimsi-work ahead of him before going on prison duty, allowing him some time to recover and reflect on his mistakes.

There wasn’t much to reflect on, though. Fox had been a massive idiot. End of story. He had thrown away the regard of the only nat-born who might have genuinely cared about him as a person.

The hangover headache cleared early that afternoon, and was swiftly replaced by a headache of an entirely different sort, when one of his men on Senate duty informed Fox that the Pantoran senator had gone off-world without informing the Guard.

While in theory the Senate Guard was in charge of the security of Senate facilities on Coruscant, following several close calls with senators and bounty hunters across the city, the Chancellor had unofficially expanded the duties of the Coruscant Guard to include personal protection of the senators, both on- and off-world. For them to lose a Senator was unheard of. The Coruscant Guard had just one job—which Fox could proudly say they did very well—but if something happened to a Republic Senator on their watch, they may as well get on a transport to Kamino and turn themselves in for decommissioning.

Fox called a meeting with the officers to debrief on the Senator Chuchi situation. As it turned out, Thorn knew something about that.

“She went where? Doing what?” Fox barked.

“She went to Orto Plutonia to investigate a radio-silent GAR outpost,” Thorn repeated calmly.

Fox’s first instinct was to panic. What in the Sith hells was the GAR thinking, sending a civilian into such a situation? And a senator, no less! He reminded himself to take deep breaths through his nose. Perhaps Senator Chuchi had indeed taken the usual steps in the off-world travel protocol, only Fox had not been notified of her absence. Knowing Thorn, Fox had a good idea where a breakdown in communication might have occurred.

“Who did you assign to her escort? I don’t recall seeing the personnel request come across my desk.”

“She said she was fine going alone. Flew her own ship and everything.”

“And you let her?” Fox had half a mind to demote Thorn on the spot for gross negligence.

Thorn shrugged. “What can I say, she’s one tough little lady. Once she puts her mind to something, there's no stopping her.”

Meanwhile, the troopers in the guard worked themselves into a collective panic when word came out that their beloved Miss Maya had unexpectedly gone missing. A pair of troopers coming off their guard shift in the Senate Building had dropped by the Pantoran senator’s office as usual, and had been bewildered when they were met by a woman that almost looked like Miss Maya—but not quite. The woman had been equally bewildered when the troopers asked her for Miss Maya’s whereabouts (“There’s no Maya Chuchi here! Just Sarika and Riyo!” she’d said shrilly).

After the initial panic subsided, one of their smarter lieutenants put two and two together with the help of the Senate directory and figured out there had never been a Miss Maya in the first place. Their Miss Maya was actually Miss Riyo, who was actually Republic Senator Riyo Chuchi of Pantora, who was undisputedly an actual angel. Senators were not known to be nice people, but Senator Chuchi was the nicest person ever to walk this planet and had to be protected at all costs. Which started the regiment’s rumor mill spinning, speculating about the possible reasons why she had lied about who she was in the first place.

“I honestly don’t know how they didn’t figure it out sooner,” Stone muttered, shaking his head at the troopers’ state of disbelief.

“You knew? This whole time?” Lieutenant Decker exclaimed. He had been the one with the directory, the one to break the momentous news to the regiment. It was not so momentous, after all.

“It’s pretty obvious, once you spend any time around her in her office,” Stone scoffed.

“You would have known if you studied the security dossiers like you were supposed to,” Fox pointed out.

“I figured it out after a day or two, sir,” Lieutenant Thire said, after an awkward silence. “The persona didn’t add up.”

Good trooper, that Thire. He was long overdue for a promotion.

The furore among the ranks eventually died down (the old threat of sanitation duty never failed to get unruly troopers to behave) and with the senator formerly known as Miss Maya off-world, morale among the troopers of Coruscant Guard took a nosedive. Things settled back to how they were before, but even Fox couldn’t deny that there was a gaping hole left behind in her absence. He hoped, for his men’s sake—definitely not his own, his own wants were irrelevant—that she was okay and would return safely to Coruscant soon.

The senator reappeared as mysteriously as she left: one day her aide was still fluttering about apologizing to the troopers for the senator's continued absence, and the next she was back in her office like she had never left in the first place. The troopers were just overjoyed that she was back—likely, they just missed her snacks.

But they noticed something…off about her. She was just as warm and kind as before, but she seemed tired. And distracted. When asked about her current state of mind, she apologized profusely and told the troopers that she had been busy working on a new bill that was taking up a lot of her time and attention. The troopers didn’t care about or understand politicking in the Senate, so they just left it at that.

Those who knew about her off-world trip speculated on what could have happened, what she could have seen on Orto Plutonia. While they did not have the security clearance to view the mission report, scuttlebutt on the GAR internal chat network said that it had been a crisis narrowly averted. Many good men had died.

Fox had seen how trauma haunted his brothers following the battle of Geonosis. They were never the same people they were before; shadows lingered in their eyes and gave them a wariness of even the familiar. While nat-borns had psychiatrists and counselors who helped them smooth the jagged edges of their broken minds, clone troopers were not afforded any such treatment. Their only recourse was to turn to vice, but since they lacked the time and funds to over-indulge in alcohol or spice or sex, all they had was their right hands. Fox hoped the senator was able to find a good coping mechanism for herself; he knew from firsthand experience that jerking off was not particularly effective.

The simplest thing to do was to have her talk about how she was feeling, but Fox didn’t know how to broach the subject. Not to mention how presumptuous he was, to think she might talk to him about them. He was just a clone with a clone’s stilted understanding of the universe, but she always listened to him. It was still worth a try; Fox had nothing to lose at this point.

During her short stint working in the Pantoran Assembly, Riyo had learned one cardinal rule when it came to successfully passed bills: small, undemanding bills are more likely to get passed than big transformative ones. People and lawmakers tended to vote with their gut, and gradual changes were easier to swallow and stomach than sweeping ones.

There was just so much that could be done for the clones, Riyo didn’t even know where to start for her bill. In a perfect universe, the clones wouldn’t have to fight and die for the Republic, if they didn’t want to. But that was a moot point to consider, because they would not even exist, if not for the war.

She stared blankly out onto the cityscape, lost in thought.

Riyo did not like a great many things about this war—the senseless killing and destruction topped that list, but a close second was the callous mistreatment of millions of good men. If the practice weren’t illegal in the Republic, she would call the use of the clone army slavery. How could the Republic justify it? Moreover, how could the infamously honorable Jedi allow it to happen?

Before returning to Coruscant, Riyo had stopped briefly on Pantora to return the Chairman’s body to his family. His funeral had been a grand, well-attended affair, a universe away from the furtive remembrances the troopers said for their fallen brothers. Even someone like the Chairman was memorialized—even as a warning of how not to proceed in diplomacy—while good honest men were relegated to being statistics in this galaxy-wide war of attrition. Even the cranes in the marshes of Pantora performed mourning rituals for their dead. What did the living clones do to remember their dead brothers by? All that the troopers had were loaned to them, considering the GAR collected it back if they died. She shivered. It was as if GAR standard operating procedures were designed to treat its clone soldiers as expendable tools.

This realization had been bothering her since Orto Plutonia. Riyo wanted to believe that it was just the product of an overly active imagination, but the uneasy gut feeling lingered. But if there was someone who could shed some light on the situation, it was Senator Burtoni of Kamino. Even though she and Senator Burtoni rarely agreed on policy and had little reason to talk to each other, the Kaminoan senator was the best person to ask about anything related to the clones.

Riyo swallowed her unease and opened a line on the secure Senatorial chat server. After exchanging basic pleasantries with the elderly statesperson, Riyo got straight to the point.

What happens to troopers who die in combat? Riyo wrote.

If not considered biohazardous, the bodies are collected and shipped back to Kamino, replied Senator Burtoni.

For autopsy?

No, for biomass recycling.

Riyo retched violently into the flower pot on her desk after reading that message.

She was disgusted, yes, but she was furious with herself for not realizing sooner. The Kaminoans were nothing but pragmatic, and they did not operate by the same moral code as most of the galaxy did. Their whole cloning industry was the case in point. What other nefarious practices were the Republic turning a blind eye to?

There was one way to find out.

As Riyo soon learned, the complete GAR regulation manual was not publicly circulated. The office of the defense ministry was happy to provide a curated brochure for anybody who asked about the Republic’s army, but any request for more information was quickly shut down. Common citizens, as it happened, didn’t have the appropriate clearance to view the GAR reg manual. So Riyo tried to pull rank as a Republic Senator, resorting to every compliment, trick, and threat she had in her book, but the defense minister’s secretary remained unmoved.

“Stick to things you do understand, Senator. Politicians have no business poking their noses into military affairs,” he drawled.

As a last resort, Riyo threatened to take her complaints to the defense minister himself, but the secretary replied wearily that the next available appointment with his boss wasn’t for another two months. In a mood, Riyo commed Ahsoka. Do you have a copy of the GAR reg manual? she asked without preamble.

Ahsoka didn’t question Riyo; she was deployed on a mission to Naboo, and was probably too busy to ask why Riyo wanted it. A few hours later, Riyo had a full, un-redacted copy of the reg manual in her inbox, all 1,697 pages of it. Reading it brought back memories of studying Galactic law textbooks in university. Except reading about tort law didn't make her nearly as angry as reading the GAR reg manual—Riyo wanted to throw her datapad across the room.

Whoever had drafted the reg manual had been a monster, systemically stripping the clones of their humanity and effectively reducing them to nothing more than droids. Riyo had started out highlighting the most egregious bylaws, but when she ended up with whole pages blazing neon after her read-through, she had given up entirely on that endeavor. The clones endured a lot of dreadful, dehumanizing things they had accepted as their lot in life. They were the ones already sacrificing so much for the Republic. To take everything from people who had nothing—it simply wasn’t right.

Standing in front of Senator Chuchi’s door, Fox felt like a cadet before his final graduation eval on Kamino. He knew he was overreacting, over-analyzing, overthinking. Objectively, the senator was not intimidating: she was half his size, spoke with such a sweet lilting voice, and probably couldn’t harm an ant. He had talked to her dozens of times before this, and not once had his stomach twisted into knots like it had now. Fox told himself to treat it like a briefing—he had done hundreds of those. Squaring his shoulders, he took several deep breaths and pressed the chime button on the door panel.

“Come in!” he heard her call out. “Door is unlocked!”

Here went nothing. Fox palmed open the door and stepped inside.

While he had never been inside the Pantoran office suite in the Senate Building, it had one of the five possible floor plans, all which Fox had memorized. The space was furnished in a minimalist style that still somehow felt cozy and welcoming despite the sparse furniture. The senator had switched out the standard-issue fluorescent light fixtures for irregularly shaped pendant lamps that cast the room with a soft, warm light. A stylized landscape painting hung on the wall, showing a field of some kind of flora painted in shades of gray and lurid scarlet.

Senator Chuchi stepped out of the doorway leading to her office, hurriedly smoothing down the front of her pantsuit jacket. “I’m sorry, I was just—”

Upon seeing Fox standing awkwardly in her reception area, she froze. The senator recovered quickly; it only took a split second for her to regain a steely, composed calm.

“Commander.”

Fox felt himself snap to attention at the cool professionalism in her voice. “Senator.”

They regarded each other warily for several moments, and Fox was suddenly very glad for his helmet, that she could not see the expressions flitting across his face.

Senator Chuchi looked…terrible. Her appearance was as impeccably put-together as usual: her maroon pantsuit was perfectly pressed and steamed, and not a single hair was out of place in her elegant updo. But her eyes were an eerie shade of blue like she’d been on an extended spice bender, and the deep bags under them were nearly black against her pallid skin. She looked like she had not slept in a tenday.

She should be drinking that tea of hers, came his first thought, before he remembered why he was here.

“Please, sit down,” she said, motioning to her reception area.

Fox moved over to one of the chaises, but made no move to sit yet. The senator was still standing, after all. She seemed to realize this and lowered herself down onto one of the armchairs across from him, delicately crossing her ankles in front of her. Fox followed in short order, settling down on the chaise that turned out to be much firmer than it looked, even under his skid plate.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, Commander Fox,” she began formally. “I’m glad to see you’re well.”

Though she could not see his face, she was making direct eye contact with him through the visor. It felt unnervingly like she could see right through him. Could she tell how hard his heart was pounding under the armor?

“Likewise, ma’am.”

“How have things been while I was gone?”

A part of Fox wanted to tell her that it was the same old shit, different days, but it didn’t feel right for him to speak so crassly to a senator. Instead, he gave her a summary of the past three weeks, succinct and impersonal like he was actually giving her a briefing. Little gods. Everything about this conversation felt so...wrong. Too stilted, too formal. He had talked to her normally so many times before this, why was it so difficult now? It felt as if she was a different person entirely.

But some things about Senator Chuchi remained the same, whether she was masquerading as Miss Maya or not: she listened attentively like he was the only person who mattered, and when she looked at him Fox could see the entire galaxy reflected in her eyes.

“Th—Commander Thorn told me you went off-world to Orto Plutonia,” Fox said.

“Yes, I did. The Pantoran Assembly asked me to oversee an investigation of a radio-silent Republic outpost.”

“I heard. I’m...sorry about what happened.”

Those porg eyes that could melt a Trandoshan made a reappearance. “Whatever for? If anything, I should be the one apologizing. If I had done something sooner, good men wouldn't have died.”

Fox gaped at her. Why was she apologizing for the actions of the Separatists? Every clone knew that the Separatists were evil—the only way to reason with them was with blasters, not words. He knew Senator Chuchi had a heart of gold and would empathize with even the lowlifes on the deepest levels of Coruscant, but surely she wasn’t blaming herself for the war. The trauma must be affecting her more deeply than he thought.

The senator suddenly leapt to her feet, eyes widening in horror. Instinctively, Fox’s hand crept towards the blaster holstered to his hip.
“Goddess, I’ve been such a poor host!” she exclaimed. “Would you like something to drink? Water, tea, caf…?”

Fox had heard much about Senator Chuchi’s storied caf maker. The troopers raved about the caf it made; Thorn was convinced it contained some kind of Sith sorcery, because there was no way such good caf could exist on this astral plane. He straightened and tried to make it seem like he hadn’t been reaching for his weapon.

“Caf would be nice.”

Senator Chuchi busied herself at the machine, allowing Fox time to gather his thoughts. His eyes sightlessly traced the strokes of the painting on the wall.

“How do you take your caf, Commander?”

“Black is fine, thank you.”

She set the cup in front of him on the low table. He took off his helmet and was awarded with the incredible aroma of the infamous Chuchi caf tickling his nose. Taking a generous sip, he suppressed an urge to sigh. The caf was good—better than good. The warmth of the caf leached some of the tension from his body, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. Fox noticed that the senator did not make herself any; instead, she sat watching him intently, her expression inscrutable. Something in her gaze made Fox feel hot and tingly all over, like he had swelled up too much underneath his armor. He had thought she wanted nothing more to do with him, but the look in her eyes felt awfully like affection.

Carefully, as not to chip the fragile porcelain, Fox set his cup back onto the table. A sharp corner of the talisman he wore dug into his flesh. He wasn’t here to make idle chitchat, not like his skiving troopers.

“I came here today to ask how you were feeling, Senator,” he said.

“Me?” she squeaked, a hand fluttering to her breast.

“I’ve seen how battle trauma affects my men,” he continued. “You’ve seen some things that will take a while to process. If you ever want to talk about it—I’ll listen."

She blinked rapidly, looking perplexed. Fox realized he must have kriffed up somewhere—as if he hadn’t already upset her enough already—and tried to beat a hasty retreat before he could embarrass himself further.

“I—Pardon me if I overstepped, Senator. I know you want nothing more to do with me, but I didn’t mean to presume…” Fox was already forming plans in his head: he was going to pass off his landing bay sentry duties to Stone, issue a regiment-wide directive to ban all social interactions with senators, return everything Senator Chuchi had ever loaned or given him. And he was never going to think about her ever again.

To his immense shock—and secret pleasure—she reached across the table to grasp his hand in hers. Despite himself, Fox felt his breath catch in his throat. Not for the first time, he wished he wasn’t wearing his armor. How did it feel to be touched by her gentle hands?

“You could never, Commander Fox,” she said fervently. Her words felt like a caress, and Fox resisted the urge to tremble from the powerful relief that washed over him.

She doesn’t hate me. She doesn’t want me to get out of her sight. Maybe, just maybe…He couldn’t bring himself to form those words, not even in the recesses of his own mind.

But Senator Chuchi was not finished. “However…I’m afraid I simply don’t follow what you're saying.”

Now it was Fox’s turn to be confused. Surely both of them had been talking about the same thing. Whatever confidence the caf and the senator’s regard had given him crumbled, leaving him with only the bitter sense of inadequacy that he carried into this meeting. He should have never come; he should have known to mind his own business.

Perhaps sensing Fox’s growing distress, she threw him a lifeline. “I think we’ve had a misunderstanding,” she said kindly, squeezing his hand. “Why don’t we start again at the beginning, and see where our thoughts diverged?”

Fox swallowed hard. He tried to say something, anything in response, but his tongue refused to cooperate. The senator was a deity. Even as he had stuck his foot in his mouth, not once but twice like a clueless shiny, she remained patient with him—understanding she didn’t have to show him, understanding he didn’t deserve.

He would do anything this woman asked of him, Fox knew. She just had to give the word, and he’d travel to the ends of the universe, move planets and whole systems at her pleasure. If she asked him to throw himself off the spire of the Jedi Temple—not that she would ever demand such a thing, but still—he would do it, and gladly. He was a good soldier, and good soldiers followed orders. Yes, it was that.

From the other room, Fox could hear her commlink ring. Riyo glanced in the direction of the sound, then back at Fox, her expression torn. Fox gestured towards her office with a jerk of his chin. He understood that duty called—for a clone trooper, duty came above all else.

“I’ll leave you to your work, Senator,” he said. He slipped his bucket back over his head and prepared to head out.

“Will I see you again?” the senator burst out. She looked so small and frail where she sat, but her eyes glowed bright like twin suns as she looked at him.

“I’ll see you on the landing bay,” Fox said carelessly over his shoulder.

He caught her slack-jawed look of shock just as the door shut behind him. Fox knew instantly what he had just done, and the realization made him halt in his tracks outside in the hallway. What was done was done, he told himself. The lie couldn’t continue much longer, anyways, not when the entire regiment had figured it out. The senator shouldn’t be too upset; if anything, the entire charade had somehow raised his men’s esteem for her.

Chapter Text

Riyo stared, dazed, at the door for several long moments after Commander Fox left, her thoughts whirring through her head at a parsec a minute. For the first time in weeks, she was very awake.

He knew. For how long, Riyo did not know, but even as she had spoken to him as Maya, he had known he was speaking to Senator Riyo Chuchi. She tore through her memories, trying to analyze every conversation she’d ever had with him, and realized with growing dread she had been extremely careless since her return from Orto Plutonia.

When Fox had turned up in her office earlier, all rational thought had left her. It had taken all her self-restraint not to fling her arms around him the moment she saw him. She had spent those weeks away from Coruscant thinking—worrying—about Fox incessantly. In her waking moments, he was never far from her thoughts. Riyo had other crushes before, but surely she never devoted this much energy thinking about them? Although her feelings did make sense in a twisted way; the more out-of-reach someone was, the harder she pined. If anything, a clone trooper was further out of the realm of possibility than the popular boys at school had ever been.

She was relieved that Fox didn’t seem outwardly upset with her, although she knew they were still overdue a proper discussion about everything going on. Whoever had told him about her off-world mission must have gotten something mixed up; from the way Fox spoke to her, he seemed convinced that she might need to see a counselor? Riyo was too confused to be offended; she was tired and overworked, and while her time on Orto Plutonia had been stressful, the Jedi and the clone troopers had gone out of their way to shield her from the worst of the carnage.

It was very kind of him, to offer to listen to my troubles, she thought. Did he do the same thing for his brothers? Fox seemed like a genuinely good person; any lingering doubts or resentment she might have harbored at this unexplained absence from landing bay dissipated. Plus, she still owed him an apology.

Goddess! Riyo smacked herself lightly on the cheek. She had been so caught up with doing research for her new bill that she forgot about her promise to make Fox rice cakes. This weekend—she was going to scrap her plans to go shopping and fulfill that promise she’d made to herself nearly a month ago.

Down the hall, Sarika poked her head out of her office. “Riyo, are you still there?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“The head of the Pantoran Shipwrights’ Guild is waiting on the line, should I tell him you’re unavailable?” Sarika asked.

Riyo sighed. She couldn’t afford to be a lovesick girl right now. “No, I’ll be there in just a second.”

Work stopped for no one, not even unfairly handsome clone commanders.

The following day, Riyo’s Finance Committee meeting ran overlong by nearly three hours, robbing her of her lunch break and forcing her to reschedule several afternoon meetings. By the time her calendar finally cleared, around 1600, Riyo was so hungry she could eat an entire nerf. She decided to order food from the little Pantoran eatery at the edge of the Bonchaka District. While the food wasn’t exactly like what her mother cooked back home, she ordered from there whenever she was feeling homesick or in need of comfort food.

After the food arrived, she carried the towering stack of takeaway containers to the landing bay. If she had maybe ordered slightly more food than needed—okay, who was she kidding, she’d ordered enough for four people—nobody needed to know. She knew that people tended to be more amenable and relaxed when well-fed.

To her surprise, her commander was already there, pacing along the edge of the platform. Riyo took a moment to admire his figure before announcing her presence.

“Good afternoon, Commander Fox!” she said brightly.

Her commander paused and turned. As she walked towards him, he took off his helmet and clipped it to his belt. With the sun at his back, Fox was limned with a golden glow, reminding Riyo of the paintings of the sky deities in the Pantoran temples back home. If the deities had looked any bit like Fox, maybe she would have grown up more pious…

And she was probably the color of a blueberry right now.

Plopping herself down on the ground, Riyo busied herself with unpacking the food containers. She had ordered her favorites: crispy seafood noodles, braised nerf ribs, steamed vegetables drizzled with squid sauce, and simmered squash with lotus seeds. The smells rising up from the containers reminded Riyo of Pantoran holidays past, of running amok with her cousins and stealing treats from the kitchen while her mother and aunts cooked up a feast.

“That’s a lot of food,” Fox observed, sitting down beside her.

“I haven’t had lunch,” she explained. “It’s been a long day so I decided to treat myself and order everything I wanted.” She paused, casting Fox a sidelong look. “Although it looks like I might have gone a bit overboard so I’ll need help finishing it all.”

Fox didn’t reply, although the way he gazed longingly at the spread gave Riyo the answer she was looking for. She pawed through the bag, looking for the utensils. The store owner had given her two sets, correctly assuming that one person couldn’t possibly finish all this food. Riyo was ready to hand Fox a pair of chopsticks when she remembered that he probably wouldn't know how to use them. He didn’t even know what pickles were, after all. She taught him how to twirl the noodles around his fork, and how to spit the bones from the ribs when he was done chewing them.

Once Fox figured things out, the food began to disappear quickly. Before long, they were scraping the bottoms of the takeaway containers, fishing through the sauce dregs for the last tasty morsels. Riyo stifled a burp and sat back contentedly. The food really hit the spot.

She glanced over at Fox and giggled. “You got sauce on your nose,” she told him.

Fox turned pink, even as the tip of his tongue darted out from between his lips. She knew he was thinking hard about licking it off, the indecision screwing up his face and making him cross-eyed. Doing her best to hold back her laughter, she passed him a napkin. “Here.”

“How long did you know I was the senator?” Riyo began casually, as Fox vigorously scrubbed the lower half of his face.

He crumpled the napkin into his first. “The entire time, actually.”

“The entire time?” she echoed faintly, feeling the flush crawl up her neck again.

“I have the security dossiers for every senator memorized.”

Sweet Goddess. “There must be ten thousand senators! You remember every one?” Riyo was just an Outer Rim senator from a very small, insignificant moon. Most of the Core World senators still didn’t know who she was, and she interacted with them on a regular basis.

Fox could not meet her eyes, and instead focused on shredding the napkin in his hand. “I’m engineered to have perfect recall,” he said quietly.

“I wish I had that. Law school would have been so much easier if I remembered everything I read.”

“It’s part of what makes me a good soldier—it’s what I’m made to do.” A caustic edge crept into his words.

Riyo’s first instinct was to deny it, but that was blatantly a lie. Fox did not seem the type to care for empty reassurances. She tried a different angle.

“It’s what you’re made to do, yes, but you’re more than that,” she said. “Your men look up to you as a good leader, and you sound like a great brother to your batchmates. And...you’re my friend.”

“Why do you do so much for me?” The real intent behind his question went unsaid. Nobody ever does anything for us.

A part of her wanted to throw sensibility to the wind, grab Fox by the shoulders, and shake some sense into him. Was he that willfully ignorant, or was he refusing to see what was right under his nose? But Riyo would never do such a thing, not as Senator Chuchi or as Maya, and she could only rely on the power of subtext to convey the true meaning of her words.

“You’re a person worth caring about,” Riyo said evenly, seeking out Fox’s gaze. “And please don’t say that you’re just a clone. You’re not just anything.”

Fox scratched the back of his neck, looking bashful. “No one ever says such things about m—us.”

“Well, they should. I think meeting you was the best thing that happened to me since I moved to Coruscant."

“I—I don’t know what to say to that, ma’am.”

“Just accept it!” she said sweetly, bumping him with her shoulder. “You deserve all the good things in life.”

By this point, Fox’s ears were the same color as the paint on his armor, and his eyes seemed glued to his lap. His napkin had been shredded to bits and could no longer provide him with any distraction. Good—she needed him fully present for this conversation.

“Commander?”

“Yes, Senator?”

“What do you know about what happened on Orto Plutonia? On my mission.”

She could tell that he did not anticipate her question. His posture, which had been so loose and relaxed, went ramrod straight like he was ordered to attention.

“Nothing official—I wasn’t able to view the mission report. But the men talk.”

“You keep in regular contact with your brothers in the attack battalions?”

Fox shook his head. “We have an internal comm network used to share messages across the GAR. There was some chatter about the mission, but I didn’t read too much of it.”

“You know, I really don’t get it. Considering how much you and your brothers are sacrificing in this war, the Republic should be doing more for you. The way you’re treated is disgraceful.”

“Such is the price of war, Senator. Soldiers die.”

She shook her head vigorously. “That’s not it. Doesn’t it frustrate you that you’re treated like—like cannon fodder? I watched good men die, and the mission report wrote off their deaths like it’s just a line on another expense report!”

At the start of the war, Senator Organa had started drafting a clones’ rights bill when word came out about the nature of the clones’ service and existence. When conflicts began to escalate and more pressing matters began to demand his attention, his draft bill had been abandoned. No senator had made any similar effort for the clones since. Riyo couldn’t believe it, herself. How much needless waste of life could have been prevented if Senator Organa had done something? Or if Riyo had decided to champion the clones’ cause the day she arrived on Coruscant?

All the what-ifs haunted her like the memory of those trooper helmets on pikes.

“There are two million of us, we’re meant to be expendable.”

“How can you tell yourself that?” she said thickly. To Riyo’s horror, she found her eyes burning from unshed tears. “Don’t you mourn your fallen brothers? Don’t you wish things could be different—better?—for you and those who remain?"

“We don’t have the luxury to wish for something that won’t happen.” This time, it was Fox that held out a napkin to her. Riyo took it and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, feeling embarrassed by the turn in the conversation. She hadn’t meant to pontificate, or get so worked up over her opinions.

“And what if it does?” she whispered.

Fox’s expression was gentle, but he clearly looked like he was humoring her to make her feel better. “That’s noble and all, but we clones have made peace with what we have.”

Fox returned to his office afterwards, where an enormous volume of requisitions and incident reports awaited his approval. He sat down heavily at his desk and spent several minutes staring at his blank datapad screen, unable to summon the willpower to begin his work. Signing forms was not a difficult job, but so dreadfully dull. A task made all the harder with how full he was. Fox was sure he had never eaten so much food in his life.

He shucked off his gauntlets and gloves, loosened his belt and stays on his breastplate, and sat back in his chair. His hands found the talisman hidden in his sleeve, and he allowed his eyes to drift shut as he rubbed the talisman between his fingertips, a meditative action he had picked up as of late whenever he thought about Senator Chuchi.

The senator had wept for his brothers. Fox had seized up when he heard that telltale catch in her voice that presaged tears. If it had been any one of his brothers, Fox would pull him close, muss his hair, and promise him that things would be all right. But she was a senator, and propriety had stopped him from doing the same for her.

No matter how much he wanted to.

There were other senators who treated clones with basic civility, but their actions always seemed performative, meant to drum up popular support and bolster their carefully curated reputations. Nobody had ever cared enough about the clones to shed tears for them. Of course, there was always the slim possibility that the Pantoran senator was a better actress than the rest, but Fox did not think she was capable of such artifice. She came off to him as genuine, if a little naive. Which made that night at 79’s all the more puzzling.

He was too scared to find out what actually transpired with that 501st trooper—Fox wanted so badly to know, but he didn’t want to risk alienating the senator or shattering his perception of her. Fox just wanted to be around her; he had no idea what she wanted from him, or why she still gave him her attention. All he knew was that he wanted it, would treasure every moment of it as long as she gave it to him.

Every minute he spent with her was both bliss and agony. No other nat-born made him feel alive, so achingly human. But at the same time, everything about his existence from the blasters at his hip to the features on his face he wore only served to remind him that he was just a clone. He couldn’t allow himself to imagine he was anything other than that, because the sobering weight of reality would eventually crush him, if the war didn’t take him first.

If things were different…Fox could not deny that he, like all the other clones, sometimes wondered about living in a galaxy without war. Only in private moments like these did he allow himself to indulge that avenue of thought, and this evening, he allowed his imagination to run free.

He’d travel the galaxy, see all the worlds his brothers got to see while he was stuck on this forsaken rock. Maybe he’d be a combat instructor and teach nat-born cadets, whatever they were called—he was always good with handling his vod’ike. And perhaps, like he had seen in a holodrama, he’d go home to someone who loved him. They would rub the knots from his shoulders as they asked him about his day, and they would hold him like he was someone who was irreplaceable in the universe.

As of late, that faceless dream figure had blue skin more often than not. Fox decided he wouldn’t dwell on it this particular evening. The room was so warm, he was so full, and his eyelids were so heavy. He would allow himself to relax for just a moment longer, and then…

It was finally the end of another long week. Riyo was the last person left in her office, sending out her last emails of the day before heading home to make the long-promised rice cakes. Sarika had already left for a hair appointment two hours before; her cousin had a date with a pretty Tholothian accountant that night. As Riyo re-read her memo to Senator Clovis for the third time, a pair of clone troopers burst into Riyo’s office, both of them with weapons drawn. She recognized them as Flare and Stryker.

“What’s going on?” she said.

Neither trooper made any move to pull off their helmets, so she wasn’t sure which of them spoke. “Senator, you need to come with us. We need to evacuate the building.”

Riyo needed no second bidding; leaving everything behind, she hurried out of the room after Stryker. Flare brought up in the rear. Stryker did a quick sweep of the hallway outside before letting her exit the office suite. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“A highly dangerous animal escaped containment,” Flare said. “We’ve received intel that it’s headed towards the Senate Building.”

“What is this animal? Nobody told me about it.”

“Some beast brought back from Malastare on the Chancellor’s orders,” Stryker said.

Something rumbled in the distance. “If it’s so dangerous, why did he want it brought back to Coruscant?” Riyo asked.

“Hell if we know,” Stryker muttered.

The overhead lights flickered ominously, then went out. The emergency lights kicked on, casting circles of harsh light onto the corridor at regular but sparse intervals.

“It’s pretty dark, Senator. Do you need me to guide you?” Stryker asked, extending out a hand towards her.

“I should be okay, I can still see.” Riyo politely chose not to comment that Pantorans had better night vision than Humans; she could still see perfectly with this level of lighting.

They kept going; Stryker kept up a relentless pace, and Riyo found herself getting out of breath trying to keep up with him. Why did the Senate Building have to be so big? She asked Stryker why they were going all the way around, to which he replied that the southwest exit—Riyo’s usual exit—had been cordoned off.

“Slow down, Stryker, the senator is having trouble keeping up,” Flare said.

“I don’t—it’s fine,” Riyo wheezed, but the troopers slowed down for her anyway. “I'm just terribly out of shape these days.”

“I’m sure Stryker can carry you,” Flare suggested, his mischievous tone audible even through the vocoder. “I’ve seen him deadlift two-twenty.”

“Excuse you, I can deadlift two thirty-five,” Stryker corrected. “Do you work out at all, Senator?”

“I used to,” Riyo said wistfully. Following her breakup with her long-term boyfriend from university, she had gotten into working out. She had never been in better shape in her life in the year she worked at the Pantoran Assembly. And then she had moved to Coruscant and lost all of her hard-earned progress.

They talked about fitness and exercise for a bit; the troopers had time built into their schedules to work out, outside of mandatory training and their regular duties. Unsurprisingly, with so many identical men each tasked with maintaining peak physical condition, even their regular workouts had become fiercely competitive. The clones were always trying to one-up each other, trying to prove to their brothers who was strongest, toughest, fastest.

“Who holds the squat record again? Was it Lieutenant Thire, or Hound?” Stryker mused.

Flare snorted. “Lieutenant Thire always skips leg day, and Hound climbs a lot of stairs so he doesn’t bother with squats. I’m pretty sure Commander Fox’s record still stands. Nobody’s ever gotten close.”

Now Riyo was very interested in hearing more about Fox’s ability to do squats. What other secrets did her commander hide under this armor? “Does Commander Fox work out with the men often?”

“Man is obsessed with pumping iron,” Flare said, shaking his head. “Said it’s his only outlet, since he can’t take things out on the senators. Sorry, ma’am, I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

Given how the Senate and most of the Republic treated clones, Riyo couldn't blame Fox at all. At least he was doing something productive with that bottled resentment.

Stryker suddenly stopped. “Is it just me, or is the ground shaking?” he asked.

Riyo could feel it too. It was a slow trembling from deep within the bowels of the building, like she imagined what an earthquake felt like; she had never experienced one before. She found it rather unsettling, like she could no longer trust the earth beneath her feet.

“Leth Squad just told me—” Stryker began, when the shaking beneath their feet intensified and the floor split open between them.

“Look out, Senator!” Flare warned, suddenly shoving her hard. Riyo staggered forward several steps, caught unawares by Flare’s display of aggression. Then the sky fell down around them, and everything around her disappeared in a burst of white-hot pain.

Riyo didn’t think she was unconscious for very long; it was still dark outside, and her body had not yet gone numb from the uncomfortable position it ended up in. She pushed a few pieces of plaster off of her, coughing from the dust the movement disturbed. Every movement hurt, sending throbbing pains through her skull.

“Flare? Stryker? Are you all right?” she croaked.

Her surroundings remained silent as a tomb.

Staggering to her feet, Riyo gave her eyes a moment to fully adjust to the darkness. Pantorans had good night vision, a product of long, sunless winters that lasted four months out of every year. When she was finally able to see, she saw that she had narrowly avoided getting crushed by the largest pieces of rubble—and what looked like one of the elaborate, wrought-iron chandeliers.

Flare might have saved my life, she realized. Had she been standing just a few steps further back…

She took a few tentative steps forward, bracing herself against the piles of rubble to support her weight. While her right leg felt sore, she could still stand. She had to, and she would.

“Is anybody there?” she said, more loudly now.

A faint groan cut through the gloom somewhere nearby.

Riyo coughed. “I’m coming!” she said.

The voice seemed to be coming from somewhere behind her. She pawed through the detritus, uncaring of the way the sharp edges broke her newly manicured nails and sliced open her fingers. Riyo nearly wept in relief when pieces of plastoid armor emerged underneath her hands. The jagged stripes painted across the crown of the helmet told her she had found Flare; there was no sign of Stryker anywhere.

“You need to get out of here, Senator,” Flare groaned. “Go on without me.”

“I’m not going to leave you here to die.”

“I…I’m just a clone.”

Riyo rarely raised her voice—it was frowned upon in Pantoran culture. But with the situation so dire and their lives in peril, she had no time or patience for her people’s usual brand of meandering politeness. Even though Flare was possibly mortally injured, she didn’t hold back.

“If you were in my position and Stryker was injured, what would you do for Stryker?” Riyo challenged. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you’d leave your brother behind to die.”

“You’re risking your own safety, ma’am,” Flare gasped. “It’s not worth—“

“You may be a clone, but you’re also a human being, a person worth saving,” she said fiercely. “We're going to get you out of here, okay? Hold on for just a bit longer.”

She pulled Flare into an upright sitting position. He groaned from the effort, clutching at Riyo’s arm for strength.

“Can you walk, Flare?”

“I don’t know, ma’am, but I’ll try.”

“Here, lean on me,” Riyo suggested.

Stars, Flare was heavy. Riyo staggered slightly when he put his full weight against her. He was a full head taller than her and built like an aurochs. Not to mention that he still wore his full armor. Flare realized this quickly, and asked Riyo to help him down so he could de-kit.

The metallic smell of blood filled the air, and Riyo fought back the urge to gag. Now was not the time to get queasy when Flare's life was in her hands. As she helped Flare out of his armor, hands skimming the planes of his body, Riyo noticed her hands came back wet with blood. She began breathing shallowly through her nose, as she considered her [lack of] options.

The most obvious thing to do was to ask Flare to take off his blacks and bind up the wound, but Riyo wasn’t sure that she could stomach the sight of Flare’s injuries. Just the smell of blood alone was making her perilously light-headed. Their best option was to get out safely into the care of a medic before both of them passed out.

Never more grateful for her father’s first aid lessons, Riyo shrugged off her suit jacket. Her blouse was the cleanest thing she had on, it would have to do. She tore off the lower half of it, and then wound it tightly around Flare’s torso where the blood seemed to be coming from. Despite her superior night vision, it was hard to judge the location of a wound on someone wearing black clothing in near-darkness. Riyo hoped she had guessed accurately.

Flare didn’t feel much lighter without his armor on, but he had nothing left to discard. Gritting her teeth, she pulled Flare back onto his feet and slung his arm over her shoulders.

“All right, let’s go,” Riyo rasped. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Through the haze of pain and blood, Riyo and Flare picked their way slowly through the ruins of the Senate Building. She could tell from Flare’s uneven gait that he favored his left leg. Riyo had no idea if Flare had sustained a head injury and no way of checking, but she decided she would try to keep him conscious as long as she could.

“Flare,” she began, “thank you for saving me. Back there.”

“’S not much,” he choked out. “I—did what…had to.”

“I would have never left you behind,” Riyo said. “A trooper never leaves a brother behind.”

“You…not a trooper.”

“But I care about all of you,” Riyo said. Though she did not personally know every trooper in the Guard, she felt the same benevolent kinship and protectiveness towards all of them.

“You—M-Maya…”

“I shouldn’t have lied to you about that. I’m sorry.”

“Not…no harm—”

Flare passed out, his dead weight collapsing onto her and causing her to fall. For a few charged moments, Riyo panicked that Flare had died. After shaking him frantically and shouting his name several times, she was relieved to find out that he still had a pulse. Only her pat-down of Flare’s body for injuries revealed that his right leg was soaked with blood.

Riyo cursed, took off the remains of her blouse, tore it into strips and used it to bind his leg.

Come on, you can’t die on me, Flare, she thought furiously. I won’t allow it!

She grit her teeth and hooked her elbows under his armpits to drag him along after her. The rest of the harrowing escape seemed to stretch on to an eternity. Riyo lost track of time and space; all that mattered was getting out of the ruined Senate Building. Some animal instinct for survival kept her going as she pushed her exhausted, aching body forward. She stopped noticing Flare's dead weight, the cramping in her muscles and back. All that mattered was getting out of here before the building crushed them like ants.

She thought of Fox. Thought of the way the corners of his mouth lifted up in his usual half-smile whenever he listened to her silly stories. Thought of the warmth of his golden eyes whenever he looked at her. Thought of how soft his hair looked, and imagined herself running her hands through those dark, curly locks. She hoped he was safe, wherever he was, and that she would see him again soon. There was still so much she had to say to him, so much she wanted to show him…

Noises. Shouting. Riyo was suddenly blinded by a beam of shocking white light directly into her eyes. Confused, she shuffled to a stop, eyes squinting against the light that turned out to be from the headlamp of a clone officer twenty paces off. He had to be, with his painted armor.

The light made her terribly dizzy. The cloying, metallic odor of blood didn’t help either. Bright spots pulsed in her vision as she tried to make sense of what was going on, who was standing there in front of her. As she trawled her memory for a name to go with the armor, she came up short. It was just so hard to think—all she wanted to do was sleep.

“Senator!” The officer rushed forward to take Flare from her. "You're covered in blood!”

“It’s not mi—” Riyo swayed unsteadily and felt her knees buckle below her. Oh dear, the pure adrenaline fueling her had finally run out. The last thing she heard was the sound of a clone trooper calling for a medevac, before darkness settled fully over her.

Chapter Text

Fox was only barely aware that he was running. He had a mountain of work waiting for him and a debrief for the Chancellor scheduled for later that evening, but at the first opportunity, he passed off command to Stone and took off like a slug bolt. His attention was focused solely on one thing.

Senator Chuchi was in the medbay.

He had barely paid attention to the rest of Thire’s sitrep after learning of the news. All he could focus on was that one, earth-shattering fact. The moment Thire finished his report, Fox had promoted Thire to captain on the spot, and then took off.

On his way to the medcenter, he hoped, prayed, cursed every deity and his makers and the Force—and the Prime, for good measure—that she was all right. She had to be—Thorn had always said she was one tough little lady, and Fox knew that to be true. The Pantoran senator couldn’t be brought down by the Chancellor’s frankly karking stupid decisions. Fox didn’t want to contemplate such a possibility; he wasn’t sure he could take it.

Even though clones were not wholly welcome in most establishments on Coruscant, there were no laws expressly forbidding their presence in public spaces or Republic-owned property. As senators and their staff were treated exclusively at this medcenter, Fox and the other clone troopers had every reason to be here. He staidly ignored the usual side-eyed looks and frowns that accompanied his entrance and strode right to the receptionist’s desk.

“Good evening, ma’am. I’m CC-1010, Commander of the Coruscant Guard,” he said. “I’m here to check on Senator Riyo Chuchi, on behalf of the Chancellor.” This wasn't strictly true, but the Chancellor would undoubtedly want to know these details once things calmed down.

The Human girl behind the desk sniffed. “Cresh Wing, room five-seventy-seven,” she said, not even bothering to return his courtesies. “Not sure why you lot are even here…”

Fox took the stairs instead of the lifts and got there in possibly record time. Outside her room, there was already a gaggle of troopers milling about in the hallway. Upon seeing their commander approach, they snapped to attention.

“Sir!”

He ignored them all and stepped past them. After giving a few perfunctory knocks, the door swung open. Thorn and Corporal Beck were already inside, hovering solicitously over the bed. The senator looked so small and helpless, lying between them on the hospital bed like some kind of test specimen in a Kaminoan laboratory. Thorn was holding a cup with a straw and encouraging her to drink, though it seemed he was having little success. When Fox strode in through the doorway, the senator pushed the cup away and tried to sit up.

“Fox,” she breathed.

“Take it easy, Miss Riyo,” Thorn told her. “No need to over-exert yourself for Fox’ika here.”

Fox shot his second-in-command a dirty look over the senator’s head. Even though she still looked a bit peaky and her hair was clumped from dried bacta, she was still the loveliest person he had ever seen. Senator Chuchi reached out to grasp Fox’s gloved hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” If anything, Fox should be the one apologizing. He should have been more diligent in the security protocols for containing the Zillo Beast. He should have established a more detailed evacuation protocol for the Senate Building. Fox could think of a thousand and one things he could have done, he should have done. If he had done his job properly, Senator Chuchi wouldn’t be in the medbay.

“I still owe you rice cakes,” she continued.

What. Rice cakes should've been the absolute last kriffing thing on her mind. She’d nearly died, and the first thing she worried about was some kind of snack? Fox bit back his frustration—this was Senator Chuchi, not a shiny he could chew out. “You should be focused on resting, Senator.”

Cue the porg eyes. “But I want to make them for you.”

“When you’re better,” Fox said distractedly, trying not to focus on how Senator Chuchi absently was rubbing her thumb across his knuckles.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, more softly now.

“I wish I could say the same about you.”

“Nothing the bacta soak didn’t fix,” she reassured him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fox could see Thorn hurriedly ushering a very confused Beck out of the room. While his fellow commander utterly lacked subtlety, at least he was smart enough to read a room. The transparisteel door shut behind them with a click, leaving him alone with the senator. Suddenly feeling self-conscious of his hulking frame, Fox crouched down at her bedside so they were closer to eye level. Senator Chuchi cracked a weak smile.

“Thank you for always doing that,” she murmured.

“Doing what?” Now that Fox was looking her straight in the eyes, there was a certain haziness about her that suggested she wasn’t all there in the present. He had seen this with some of his brothers, when they were woozy from fever or from drugs. The senator must have gotten a generous dose of the good stuff.

The senator gestured to herself. “I’m short, so people talk down to me. But you never do.”

“I try not to,” Fox said politely, but inside, he fawned over her words.

The senator seemed to take a keen interest in Fox's glove—or vambrace, he couldn't be sure, from the way she raised his wrist to examine his armor more closely. Fox wondered if she knew that he wore her talisman on that wrist; surely not, this had to just be coincidence.

“Don’t you ever take your armor off?” she asked.

Fox tried not to think of the unintended connotations of her innocent question. “I take it off when I sleep.” On the rare nights he made it back to his bunk in the barracks, that is. And when he showered, obviously, but he wasn’t going to say something like that to the senator.

For several moments, Senator Chuchi just looked at him, bleary eyes sweeping over Fox’s features.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Fox,” she said again.

He allowed a small smile to cross his lips. “You’ve already said that, ma’am.”

She pouted. “I mean it. The whole time…I thought—if something happened to you—” Her eyelids drooped, and she fought to keep them open. “But I’m so very glad you’re here.”

“And I’m glad you got out safely, Senator.” And Fox meant it. He could care less about most of the other members of the Senate, but Senator Chuchi was one of the few good ones worth protecting.

“You can call me Riyo, you know. Since you’ve now seen me basically naked.”

Fox's little brain shuddered to a stop at her words. His first thought was when? and his second was imagining what the senator actually looked like naked. Frantically calling to mind the most gruesome sights he’d seen on Geonosis, he tried to will away the flush rising in his face and the inappropriate thoughts filling his mind. Little gods, he could do better than this. He was a perfectly engineered specimen, not some dirty animal in heat.

“I really shouldn’t, Senator.” Fox did not even allow himself the luxury of calling her by her name in his thoughts. Going there and speaking her name for real was a very wide line crossed.

“But I call you by your name. We’re friends, aren’t we, Fox?” she asked plaintively.

“…Yes. Yes, we are…Riyo.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her eyes drifted shut again. “My name…I like it when you say it.”

Riyo. Riyo. Riyo. Fox repeated her name to himself several times, luxuriating in the sound of those two syllables. He wondered what her name meant. Did it mean something dainty and pretty like how she looked, or something proud and rigid that reflected her inner strength and courage? Riyo Chuchi was a strange, wonderful bundle of contradictions, and Fox thought both of these possibilities equally likely.

But it would seem that he would have to ask about her name some other time; from the way her breaths evened out and her grip slackened around his hand, Fox knew she had fallen asleep. His eyes traced the delicate features of her sleeping face, and not for the first time, he marvelled at her beauty, and how lucky he was to have her regard. He touched his brow to her knuckles, a pale ghost of a keldabe kiss. The talisman pressed into the skin at his wrist, like his kiss was acknowledged and returned in kind.

“Rest well, little lady,” he murmured.

Fox left the senator’s room, shutting the door again behind him. He found himself face-to-face with the entire gaggle of troopers, who had been not-subtly peeping on them through the transparisteel.

“What are you di'kute looking at?” Fox growled, fully prepared to assign all of them to sanitation duty. There were a lot of troopers, but there were also a lot of toilets that required cleaning. The ones in the barracks were especially appalling.

Hurriedly muttering their excuses and apologies, the overeager crowd dispersed like mist on a rare sunny day on Kamino.

Sarika burst in a few hours later in the early hours of the morning, still done up for her date but looking quite frazzled. “By the Goddess, Riyo, I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner! Why didn’t you comm me when you got here?”

Riyo pointed out that she had been put into a bacta tank upon arrival at the medcenter. “Besides, I didn’t want to interrupt your date,” she added pointedly.

Her cousin snorted. “It was hardly a date, not when we were ordered to evacuate the restaurant right after ordering our appetizers. But anyways, you! What happened? How did you end up needing bacta treatment?”

Riyo smiled weakly at her cousin. “Just a little accident at the Senate Building. By the way, your hair turned out great, Sari.”

“Stop trying to avoid the subject. You told me you were headed home not long after I left. Why were you still at the office so late?”

“I had a few more emails I still needed to send out,” Riyo said defensively. In as few words as she could, she told her cousin about the building collapse, and being narrowly saved by Flare. Riyo was rather chagrined that she only managed to save him.

“You have your father's same damnable sense of nobility,” Sarika chided Riyo. “You have to have a stronger sense of self-preservation than that—you’re a senator now, and you can’t put yourself in danger for just anyone.”

“But they’re living beings, too…”

“I don’t want to argue with you,” Sarika sighed. “But you should know it by now. Your parents won’t be happy to hear that you’re not looking after yourself.”

“Please, don’t tell my mother,” Riyo begged Sarika. That was the absolute worst thing she could imagine. Her mother tended to hyper-fixate every tiny issue, and the last thing Riyo wanted was her mother to come storming to Coruscant and getting underfoot.

“Fine,” Sarika huffed. “But comm your father, at least?”

“Fine.”

Her father was relieved to hear that Riyo had survived the Zillo beast attack; he was less than pleased to hear that she had gotten injured. It had taken nearly twenty minutes for Riyo to convince him not to drop everything and fly to Coruscant immediately to take care of her.

“I’m being treated at the Galactic Senate Medcenter, it is the best-equipped facility on the planet,” Riyo said pointedly. “The doctors are very good here, Aba.”

Thanks to her father’s meddling (“concern,” Sarika had corrected her), the chief of Human and Near-Human Medicine himself came down to treat Riyo. Dr. Evinala had been classmates with her father at the University of Alderaan, and the two could be considered old friends.

“And how is Makaru doing?” the Mirialan doctor asked. “Is he still running his little humanitarian missions?”

“He’s doing well,” Riyo replied politely. “Last I spoke to him, he was on Lothal.”

Dr. Evinala huffed a breath as he poked at his datapad screen. “A doctor of his caliber shouldn’t be wandering the Outer Rim, treating throat infections like a common medic. Especially not in these dangerous times. The Republic would be better served if he put his knowledge to use here on Coruscant.”

Her father often complained about his former colleagues and classmates trying to convince him to work at their medcenters on the Core Worlds. Dr. Evinala was the most persistent; he had been trying to get her father to join him at the Senate Medcenter for the better part of the past 12 years.

“I’ll let him know,” Riyo promised, even though she already knew what her father’s response would be.

Even though Riyo was well enough to be discharged, Dr. Evinala insisted on keeping her at the medcenter another day for observation. She decided to take a walk around the facility, as she had seen some other patients do. Perhaps while she was making her rounds, she could check to see how Flare was doing. But after doing a full lap around the medcenter, Riyo did not see a single clone anywhere. In confusion, she pulled over a passing orderly.

“Where are clone troopers treated?” Riyo asked the orderly.

The orderly wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Not here, thankfully.”

“No?” Riyo kept her expression studiously neutral, as she did when speaking to more disagreeable senators. “I thought this medcenter treated all Republic Senators and Senate staff.”

“That is correct, Senator, but clones are not Senate staff,” the orderly said. “They’re treated at Republic Central.”

That made sense, Riyo thought—the clones were part of the GAR, which was a separate entity from the Republic Senate. The military had their own facilities. It didn’t explain the orderly’s distaste for the clones, though, especially if she had no personal dealings with them.

Mainly out of politeness, Riyo thanked the orderly, although those who knew her would recognize her strained smile as one of ill-concealed distaste. She waved off the orderly’s offer to escort her back to her room, and resumed pacing, wishing for nothing more than the day to end so she could finally get out of here.

Dr. Evinala discharged Riyo without ceremony the following morning, although he advised her to avoid strenuous activities and as not to aggravate her still-healing leg. Sarika and Kinori, the head of Riyo’s personal security, came to take her back to her apartment, where Sarika made her rice porridge and steamed nuna egg. After eating, Riyo was sent to shower and go to bed, even though Riyo had spent most of the past 36 hours in bed at the medcenter.

“But—work—”

“You focus on resting. I’ve been taking care of affairs for you. Senate’s in recess until further notice, anyways.”

Riyo took a long, hot shower, scraping every bit of crusted bacta from her skin and hair, then went obediently to bed. She ended up sleeping most of the day away; when she awoke again, it was nearly 1700. Ravenous again, Riyo heated up some leftovers Sarika had left for her and ate them in front of her holoscreen, which she put on to watch the news.

Between the war status updates and ongoing reporting on recovery efforts on Coruscant, there was nothing to smile about in the galaxy: everything was death and destruction and suffering. She wondered if the death tolls reported included the numbers for clones; somehow, she doubted it. It was as if clone injury and casualty statistics simply weren’t real, as if the blood and pain of living beings could just be swept under the rug like a minor inconvenience. The scale of the Zillo Beast’s destruction worried her; if the civilian death toll was so high, Riyo could barely imagine the price the Coruscant Guard must have paid to defend the city. The food in her mouth suddenly began to taste like ashes, and she shut off her holoscreen.

She had been so absorbed with herself and her own healing that she had completely forgotten about Flare and the rest of her friends in the Guard. Who was there to care about them in their time of need? Who among the citizens of Coruscant even cared about their sacrifices…or even their existence?

Riyo dumped her dishes in the dishwasher and went to get changed. She was going out.

Out of sheer force of habit, Riyo picked up her commlink and got ready to call Kinori, but stopped just short of pressing the call button after she entered his frequency. A Republic-owned and -operated medcenter was surely a safe place for a Republic senator to be. She laid down her comm and decided to take her chances. Instead of taking her own speeder—she thought it most prudent, considering she was still recovering from a concussion—Riyo called an air taxi.

“Where to, ma’am?” the driver drawled, as she got in.

“Could you take me to the Republic Central Medical Center, please?”

“Republic Central? You don’t mean Grand Republic?”

“Republic Central,” Riyo repeated firmly. “I’m visiting a friend.”

The driver looked Riyo over, with her well-made clothing in an off-world style, then shrugged. “Alright, strap in. Pilots can be reckless on lower levels.”

The driver brought her to a massive, sprawling complex on the mid-levels below the Senate District. The shabby, peeling exterior outside the main entrance hinted at past grandeur, but tonight only filled Riyo with a growing sense of trepidation. Maybe she should have called for the security detail. She swallowed her misgivings, steeled herself, and marched in through the entrance.

The reception area was unattractive as the exterior: the walls had faded to an ugly off-white shade, the worn flooring might have once had some kind of interlocking geometric pattern but now just looked like dried spattered vomit, and the dilapidated plastoid chairs looked like they might collapse if someone sat on them. The room was utterly deserted, save for a single clone receptionist behind the battered plasteel counter who was typing away furiously at his computer. Riyo stood in front of the counter for several moments trying to get his attention before he finally deigned to acknowledge her presence.

“Did you need something?” he asked impatiently.

“I’m here to see a trooper—” she began, trying not to wilt in the face of the receptionist’s unimpressed expression. “He, uh, got injured during the Zillo Beast attack on the Senate Building.”

“Designation?”

“I don’t know,” Riyo confessed. The only designation she knew was Fox’s. “I only know that he goes by Flare, and that he’s in the Coruscant Guard.”

The clone receptionist shrugged. “That doesn’t help me. There are eleven thousand troopers in the Guard, and we don’t record chosen names.”

“Please, you must know something. I just want to see if he’s okay,” Riyo begged, her voice wavering. “Flare—he saved my life.”

Before her very eyes, the receptionist's posture relaxed and softened. “I’ll ask around to see if anybody knows him," he said, much more kindly. “Go ahead and have a seat. This could take a while.”

Riyo sat down tentatively on one of the chairs in the waiting area. Looking at them up close, the chairs might have been a pale gray color at some point, but were badly scuffed and now just looked dirty. Behind the desk, the receptionist began making calls, one right after another. It was probably fifteen or twenty minutes before he called Riyo back to the desk.

“I’ve narrowed it down to one of three possible patients,” he explained. It was either CT-8277 in Ward 3, CT-35-4841 in Ward 8, or CT-23-3924 in Ward 14. He gave her instructions on how to navigate the medical compound (Riyo’s head spun at the level of detail and complexity, and wished she had a datapad or even a piece of flimsi to write everything down), and then directed her to the hallway on the left.

“Thank you. I’m Riyo Chuchi, by the way.”

The receptionist shrugged. “Sure.”

“Don’t you need to log all visitors?” she prompted.

“We don’t do that here.”

“…uh, all right then. What…is your name?”

He seemed taken aback by the question. “See—I’m Steady.”

Riyo smiled beatifically, thanked Steady again, and left the sickly-looking reception area.

The hallway led to a foyer filled with turbolifts, each leading to different wards of the massive medcenter. Repeating the designations and ward numbers to herself like a chant, Riyo entered the one that led to Wards 1-4. When she mashed the worn button for 3, she gasped when the lift shuddered to life and began moving downwards. She had never gone so deep on Coruscant before, and something about the situation gave her an awful gut feeling.

With her father’s profession, Riyo had been inside many different medcenters in her life, from gleaming facilities with the best equipment credits could buy, to makeshift open-air tents supplied by with piecemeal donations. But none of her experiences prepared her for what she saw when the turbolift doors opened again. The first thing Riyo took in was the overpowering smell; the liberal use of disinfectant did little to cover up the stale stench of unwashed body and urine. Gurneys lined the wall along one side of the narrow hallway, each of them containing a wounded soldier. She exited the turbolift as quietly as she could, tiptoeing past the row of injured men so as not to disturb their uneasy rest. Few of them seemed to be asleep, however; Riyo could feel their inquisitive eyes on her as she passed by.

Inside the patient ward proper, things weren’t much better. The massive, windowless room was filled to probably double its normal capacity, gurneys crammed haphazardly among the stationary beds that left barely enough room to walk around between them. Like in the hallway, every bed was full. Riyo had never seen so many clones in one place—she estimated that there must be over a hundred in this ward alone. She looked around for someone in charge and saw a single nurse bent over a patient bed at the far side of the room.

“Hello, I’m looking for CT-8277,” Riyo announced. “He goes by Flare.”

The nurse turned to look at Riyo. The Zabrak was too tired to be surprised by Riyo’s unexpected presence.

“He should be in Quadrant Three,” the nurse said, pointing in the direction indicated.

“Thank you,” Riyo said, but the nurse had already turned away.

Most hospitals had name tags or dossier clips at the end of each patient bed to identify patients; only about every third patient here had a dossier clip, so in most instances, Riyo had to verify patient identity by wristband. She did see a trooper she thought she recognized, but because he was out of his distinct armor, she couldn’t be sure of his identity. After nearly twenty minutes, Riyo finally found CT-8277. But this trooper was not her friend Flare. He had a shaved head, a beard, and extensive burns on the left side of his body. Riyo adjusted CT-8277’s blanket, tucking it up around his chin, and hurried out of the ward.

Conditions in Ward 8 were similar to what she saw in Ward 3, except in this ward there were a pair of clone medical officers treating patients. They proved to be more helpful in identifying the patient of interest, and one even peeled off from his task at hand to assist her.

“Are you a doctor?” he asked abruptly. “Or a nurse?”

People always assumed that of Riyo upon meeting her, mainly because they thought she would follow in her father’s career path. But this clone couldn’t have known who her father was.

“No, I’m neither—why do you think so?”

“Clones don’t get visitors,” the officer replied. “So I figured you must be new staff.”

“Oh…well, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

The medical officer grunted and muttered something under his breath that Riyo didn’t catch. He none-too-gently yanked the blanket off one of the nearby patients to examine his wristband.

“Is this your guy?” he said.

The patient had a fade, with the same jagged stripes from his helmet buzzed into his hair. There was a small burn on the tip of his right ear, which tracked with the hair-trimming story Flare had told her about earlier in the week. This had to be him. She laid a hand against his cheek, and Flare’s eyes cracked open.

“How…Sen—” he groaned.

She cut him off quickly before he could give her away. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurts.”

“What’s his prognosis?” Riyo asked.

Reading off his datapad, the medical officer rattled off a long catalogue of injuries, but what caught Riyo was the spinal cord injury. Her heart dropped—what harm had Riyo done, dragging him bodily through the ruins of the Senate Building in such a delicate condition? She stroked Flare’s shoulder, and he stilled under her touch.

Riyo turned to the medical officer in desperation. “Won’t you give him something for the pain?”

The officer shook his head. “He already got his daily dose of morphine today.”

While Riyo never went to medical school, she was fairly sure that pain relievers were not administered just once daily. Clearly the rationed amount was nowhere near enough for Flare. “He needs more than that! His injury—”

His expression grim, the officer gestured to the patients around them: one was missing both of his legs below the knee, one was covered in shock burns from the neck down, and one had half of his face swathed in bandages. “There are too many patients, and not enough of anything. We do the best with what we have, ma’am.”

“Are conditions like this across all clone medcenters?” Riyo asked in an undertone. By now, the other medical officer had come to join them at Flare’s bedside.

The two officers exchanged an uncomfortable look. “This medcenter is run in accordance with standard operating procedures for GAR medical facilities,” an officer said.

“And who wrote the standard operating procedures?” Riyo asked archly. She was very intimately acquainted with PR non-answers.

“Doctors on Kamino, ma’am.”

“Is that so.” The Kaminoans were some of the best medical scientists in the galaxy; surely they knew better than this. If Riyo didn’t know better, she would think that the Kaminoans had set up this medcenter specifically to fail its patients, which she found unacceptable.

The medical officer with red-tinged hair elbowed his colleague hard. “Guts! Can’t you keep your mouth shut for once?” he snapped.

“Well, if something’s true, why can’t I say it?” the other clone—Guts—protested. Guts sported an impressive handlebar moustache that he kept twirling as a nervous tic.

“That—because it’s classified!”

“You know that’s not true, Cobb,” Guts snorted. “Besides, she obviously cares about one of us. She deserves the truth.”

“And what would knowing the truth do?” Cobb hissed back.

“It’s about the principle—”

“Oh, so is it about morals now—”

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Um, I’m Riyo, by the way.”

Cobb and Guts stopped bickering.

“I promise I won’t blab,” Riyo continued. “If someone does find out somehow, I won’t let it be traced back to you.”

“It’s fine, really,” Guts assured her. “None of it’s a secret, really.”

“Is there anything I could do, though?” Riyo hated the idea that the Republic was allowing this kind of negligence to happen. An idea was building slowly in her head. Could it be done? She had to try.

Cobb and Guts exchanged another look. “What you’re doing is enough,” Cobb said kindly. “It’s very kind of you to visit.”

“Well, if you could also somehow make five thousand units of bacta and a hundred crates of stim packs appear on our doorstep, that would also be great,” Guts muttered, earning him another glare from Cobb.

Clearly, neither clone suspected that Riyo might actually be capable of making that request happen. Such was a benefit of being appointed to the Senate’s Finance Committee, she had learned. As a member of the committee, she had a much greater say in bills pertaining to funding. While these bills didn’t address issues near and dear to her heart and were often painfully boring to read and review, Riyo had always been good at math.

Just then, Riyo’s comm beeped; she saw that she had gotten a message from Sarika, asking about her whereabouts. If Riyo didn’t respond soon, Sarika was going to report her missing and send out search parties to look for her—and probably call Riyo’s mother, not necessarily in that order.

“I need to go, but I’ll see you later,” Riyo said regretfully. “It was nice meeting you, Cobb, Guts.”

She was too distracted to notice the medical officers’ twin looks of shock that followed her out, or the way the beleaguered patients admired her retreating figure. Riyo was a senator on a mission now—she had an idea of where she could start with her bill.

Fox did not spend much time on the GAR chat network. He had too many other things to be concerned about, and most of the time, the channels were clogged with the most banal posts that he had no interest in reading, such as speculation about Separatist troop movements, blaster cleaning hacks, workout tips for better abs, Jedi gossip, or the best cocktails to order at 79’s.

Thorn, on the other hand, was almost always online. He always kept a window open in the corner of his HUD feed, and thus was extraordinarily well-informed about the goings-on of their brothers all across the galaxy, even those he barely knew.

“Some of the men down at the medcenter have been talking about a kind Pantoran woman who’s been visiting,” Thorn said early one morning, as the two of them were in the gym. Thorn was spotting for Fox at the bench press.

Fox did a final set of reps, then slotted the barbell back onto the catch. “You focus more on gossip than on training,” he groused.

“Do I really need to spell things out for you? My sources tell me it’s our lovely Senator Chuchi.”

Fox chose to ignore Thorn as he made his way to the squat rack.

“She dragged that injured trooper all the way through the wreckage of the South Face, despite her own injuries. Honestly, I don’t know how she managed to do it,” Thorn said. “Or why she even did it. He was just a private, five months out from Kamino.”

“I got a full sitrep from Thire,” Fox said shortly. He did not want to talk about Senator Chuchi with Thorn. He did not want to talk about her at all. Not just because he  feared he might say something that would betray his feelings, but because he didn’t like the overly familiar way Thorn talked about her. Thorn did not know Riyo Chuchi as Fox did.

“You know what they taught us, back on Kamino.” Thorn now moved to the weights station next to Fox and began curling 10-kilo dumbbells. “Never leave a man behind.”

“You don’t need to remind me.” Sometimes, he still felt the phantom ache of the blaster bolts he sustained on Geonosis while retrieving his fallen brothers. Fox didn’t regret any of his wounds; he’d take a thousand more shots for his vod’e, if he had to.

Thorn paused in his lifting, peering intently at his brother’s face. “You...are you jealous, ori’vod?”

“No,” Fox said quickly, too quickly.

This wasn’t jealousy—he would have done exactly the same for that trooper, had he been in the senator’s shoes. But he failed to understand why the senator put herself in the medbay with her reckless actions. She had been brave, yes, but incredibly foolish. How could be so careless with her own safety, her own life? Fox valued each and every one of his brother’s lives, but at the same time, there were millions of CTs and only one of her.

Something softened in Thorn’s expression as understanding dawned across his face. “You shouldn’t look at the situation that way. Just think—if she was willing to put herself on the line for him, she’s willing to do the same for the rest of us. For all of us.”

“We’re not worth it. None of us are,” Fox ground out. Clones were created to die for people like her, not the other way around.

Thorn hefted his dumbbells towards his shoulder with a grunt. “That’s not for us to decide,” he said sagely. “Cheer up, Fox’ika. Our lovely senator will live to fight another day, stop acting like she died.”

"Don’t call me that, I’m older than you.”

“By six whole minutes. Now, give me a demo of those juicy, Foxy glutes in action. I’m sure Riyo Chuchi would ap—oof!” A well-aimed towel to the face cut off the rest of Thorn’s sentence.

“Shut up, Thorn. And keep her name out of your mouth.”

Chapter Text

Sarika wasn’t kidding about Senate being in recess indefinitely. Structural damage to the South Face of the rotunda had been so extensive that the engineers advised full demolition and reconstruction of the affected area. The senators with offices along the South Face wanted the contractor to work all hours to get reconstruction done as soon as possible, but noise complaints quickly sprang up from the well-heeled citizens who lived closest to the Senate Building. The Chancellor soon scrapped the accelerated construction schedule.

Suggestions for virtual Senate sessions were soundly rejected; some senators insisted that the only effective way to work was in person and on-site, while still others claimed it was in bad taste to be legislating when the city was still in recovery. Riyo knew excuses when she heard them, but when the matter was put to vote, Senate recess it was. Many senators took this extended break to go off-world: Senator Organa went home to see his wife; Senator Amidala went on a diplomatic mission to Mandalore; Senator Tills returned to Dac to speak with Quarren leaders; Senators Bibbeck and Wallen went to Canto Bight for vacation.

Riyo remained on Coruscant, intent on working on her new bill. Now that most of her daily meetings were cancelled, she found herself with more time on her hands than expected. She made another batch of rice cakes—Riyo spent a lot more time on them than necessary, playing with food dyes and molds until she made about a hundred of them in every color of the visible spectrum and twelve different shapes. Riyo picked out sixteen of the ones she was most satisfied with and set them aside for Fox. As for the rest, she carefully laid them into a basket and set out.

This time, she took her own speeder to Republic Central. She felt a little self-conscious of how shiny and new her vehicle looked next to the others in the parking bay, but some things couldn’t be helped. (Her mother had insisted that Riyo purchase this model, because of all the safety features it offered. Riyo didn’t think she needed the self-flying feature, but she had grown more dependent on it than she cared to admit.)

Steady was rather bewildered when she went up to the counter upon entry. “You can go on ahead, ma’am, you don’t need to check in with me,” he said.

Riyo set the basket on the counter and invited him to take a rice cake. Steady looked rather dubious about the contents of her basket.

“Is this like candy?” he asked.

“Not exactly. But it’s sweet—like a dessert.”

“I’ve never had dessert before,” Steady confessed shyly.

“Dessert is one of my favorites,” Riyo stage-whispered. “So I think you’ll like it.”

Buoyed by Riyo’s encouragement, Steady took a pink rice cake.

When Riyo stepped off the turbolift in Ward 8, a palpable sense of anticipation thrummed in the air.  Today, the troopers she passed in the hall didn't even bother to hide their curiosity and surprise at her presence. Heads popped up from the gurneys like sprouts after rain.

“Hey Flare, your honey is here to see you!” someone shouted, when Riyo opened the door to the patient ward.

“Shut up!” Flare shouted, nearly turning the color of an aubergine.

This prompted a flood of catcalls and suggestive comments from his brothers, but they stopped when Riyo sat down at the foot of Flare’s bed and opened her basket of snacks. “I’m not sharing until you apologize to Flare,” Riyo said with mock sternness.

The troopers were all mock-contrition then, full of sorry-not-sorry’s and woeful puppy eyes, exaggerated solely for Riyo’s entertainment. After checking with Cobb, she eventually caved and let them have at the rice cakes; the clones descended on her basket like a cloud of locusts. After the ambulatory patients got their share, Riyo went around and distributed the rest to the patients who could not walk and returned to her spot at Flare’s bed.

The other clones were initially a bit shy around her at first, but Riyo knew just how to get them to warm up to her. She broke the ice with an off-color joke she’d heard from Thorn, and before long, they were gleefully sharing their brothers’ most embarrassing stories with her. Most of them were stories of boys just being boys; Riyo had not laughed so much in her entire memory.

But there was one trooper who didn’t participate in the gag fest: the trooper who had lost both of his legs. Despite Riyo’s best efforts to include him in the conversation, he refused to talk, preferring to spend most of his time staring blankly at the far wall.

“Vail lost his legs on Ryloth when he took his walker over a land mine,” Swiper explained. He was the trooper with the shock burns; he had been caught within range of a pulsing droid popper. “He hasn't been the same ever since.”

"Well, yeah," Flare huffed. "If we're here, we're clearly not the same as we were before."

The mood got decidedly somber after that. Before she left, Riyo made a point to leave a rice cake for Vail on his bedside table, wrapped in flimsiplast so it would still be soft when he ate it later.

Riyo never heard Vail talk, or even see him do anything besides stare at the wall. Outside of the bare-minimum medical care he was receiving at the medcenter, Riyo doubted that he had any access to the psychiatric care which he clearly needed.

“How often does a med droid come around?” she asked the troopers.

Swiper wrinkled his nose. “We’d rather not deal with any more droids.”

“But why? Med droids provide reliable medical treatment,” Riyo said, befuddled.

“No offense meant, ma’am, but most of us were sent here because of clankers,” Swiper spat. “Not to mention they’ve been shooting at us since we were cadets.”

“Oh.” Riyo hadn’t thought of the situation that way. All right, maybe clones didn’t take kindly to being treated by med droids, but shouldn’t there be someone knowledgeable supervising operations? Surely a Republic-funded and -operated medcenter had doctors on staff. She only ever saw clone medical officers and the occasional nurse weaving through the tightly-packed ward.

“Who’s in charge of your treatment, then?”

Flare just shrugged. “Mostly Cobb and Guts. Doc comes around once in a while, but they’ve got a lot to take care of.”

He was doing a lot better; he had gotten some injections and bacta patches on his back where he had his injury. While he still felt pins and needles in his legs, at least he was able to feel them.

Riyo’s mouth thinned into a line. What Flare needed was surgery and physical therapy, for something as serious as a spine injury. Riyo was no medical expert, but she knew that much. The standard of care at the clone medcenter was unacceptable—things had to change.

The next time Fox saw Riyo Chuchi, it was not in their usual meeting-place on the landing bay; instead, it was in the grand entry hall of the Senate Building that never failed to take the breath away of first-time visitors. Fox had stopped noticing the opulence of the chamber long agothis day, the visual reminder of where he was only served to worsen his already-bad mood. Meetings with the Chancellor always did that to him. Something about the Chancellor never sat well with Fox; though Chancellor came off as a kindly, frail old man, Fox always felt like a cornered prey animal in the Chancellor’s presence.

As Fox descended the stairs, ruminating over the newest set of orders the Chancellor had given him, he heard someone behind him call out his name. He thought he recognized the voice, but Fox thought he was just projecting his subconscious desires. Fox turned very slowly, fully prepared for the galaxy to continue disappointing him. Maybe the Prime was smiling down on him today, because it actually was the Pantoran senator on the stairs behind him. She beamed, and Fox felt his stomach do somersaults. Suddenly, his lousy day didn’t seem so bleak anymore.

“Senator—Riyo.” He paused on the steps to allow her to catch up to him.

“I’m on my way out for midmeal,” she said. “Would you care to join me?”

“I, uh—” Fox wanted nothing more than to go with her, to spend time with her, but there was the problem of credits. Fox could not pay for lunch at any restaurant a senator would frequent.

“I was thinking of going to one of the hawker stalls by the park, nothing too fancy.” She winked. “Let it be my treat.”

How could he say no to that? How could any sane man or clone resist the allure of her luminous eyes and her angelic smile?

It was a short walk from the Senate Building to the row of hawker stalls by the park; Riyo chattered about this and that, and showed off her nails while gushing about the wonderful new manicurist she’d found. Fox knew nothing about female fashion—in his opinion, the senator looked lovely in anything—but he made the appropriate sounds of approval at the sight of her pink-and-gold marbled nails and she seemed none the wiser. He noticed a few loose strands of hair had worked their way out of the senator’s intricate updo, and Fox had to resist the urge to tuck them away into her hairpiece.

Fox had passed by the hawker stalls by the park many times, but never had an opportunity to eat from any of them. His stomach gurgled noisily when he registered the scent of food cooking in the air. Little gods, he hoped the senator hadn’t heard that.

Riyo pulled him to a stall that sold some kind of grilled meat on a stick; she made small talk with the Togruta running the stall as he cooked their food. He piled the still-sizzling skewers on a flimsi plate with a small mountain of roasted legumes and a scoop of something purple. Riyo was about to reach for the plate when the Togruta gave Fox a pointed look and shoved it in his direction. Feeling rather flustered, Fox took the plate as Riyo handed a fistful of credits across the till and picked up two bottles of pop.

“Well, let’s find a seat, then?” Riyo said cheerily.

All around them, citizens of every species sat at the tables, enjoying their food in the shade of the veshok trees. Riyo recognized a pair of Ithorians sitting a few tables over, and paused to exchange pleasantries with them. If the happy purring sounds they made were any indicator, they seemed quite glad to see Riyo.

“Biwar and Aamaw are maintenance workers in the Senate Building,” she explained. “They’re the sweetest.”

Fox had never given a thought to the non-Guard staff in the Senate Building. Obviously, like the Senate Guard and the other clones, they were expected to do their jobs while keeping a low profile.

“How do you have conversations with them? They can’t even talk,” Fox said.

“They do talk, they just can’t speak Basic. I use a translator app on my datapad to understand what they say to me.”

Fox watched the senator roll up her sleeves with great fondness. The galaxy was a better place for people like her, who genuinely cared about everyone, even the citizens who always got overlooked.

Even clones.

The senator nudged the plate of food closer to Fox. “Go ahead and eat, there’s nothing formal about this meal.”

Gratefully, Fox stripped off his vambraces and gloves and picked up a skewer. The wooden stick was still warm from where it rested against the grill. Copying what he saw other diners do around them, he stripped the meat off the stick with his teeth.

The food was a revelation. Even better than that Pantoran meal and most of the snacks she’d ever shared with him—it could almost challenge the rice cakes as his favorite food. Piping-hot and aromatic and smoky and intriguingly spiced, the skewers could be his every meal for the rest of his short life and Fox would die happy.

“Togrutas really know how to cook meat, don’t they?” the senator hummed.

The tubers were not bad; in consistency they reminded Fox of the carbs served in the mess, but these had more flavor and richness. He could eat this alone, but the meat was still better. The pop was fizzy and sweet and made Fox’s tongue tingle like a beer. Then Fox tried a mouthful of the purple stuff and nearly gagged; it was so blindingly sour that he was sure it existed only to make people suffer. He glared at the offending food item.

“What the kriff is that?”

“Those are pickles,” she explained. “Try some with the meat; it provides a nice flavor contrast.”

If anything, Fox was sure the pickles would ruin the heavenly meat. But because it was Riyo Chuchi asking, he relented and dutifully tried some more with another skewer. The pickles were more palatable with the meat, but the acerbity remained.

“I still don’t like it,” he mumbled, after rinsing his mouth out with pop.

Riyo just laughed. “All right, that’s okay. You don’t have to eat any more of it.”

They talked of many things, their topics of conversation meandering with the usual logic that felt so natural to them at this point in their acquaintance. The outing was just what Fox needed; he could feel his earlier annoyance fleeing like clouds after rain. The senator’s presence never failed to raise his spirits; it was as if she somehow knew exactly what to say to improve his mood and bolster his confidence. She was the best part in his miserable existence, the only thing that kept him looking forward to the next day—and yet he wanted more. But what could he realistically aspire to? Clones weren’t designed to want, only to serve; they had no higher purpose than to die for the Republic. Nat-borns like Riyo Chuchi were meant for greater things than the love of a clone. Fox knew it was best to make peace with his reality; he would not be one to lecture the shinies on something he didn’t follow himself.

Before long, they finished eating the last of the meat and tubers; Fox resolutely refused to touch the pickles again so they had some left over. They wiped off their sticky fingers and mouths; Riyo wiped off their table with their used napkins and piled them onto their plate.

The senator had gotten a streak of grease off the corner of her lip that she had missed with her napkin. Fox pointed it out to her, but he realized belatedly that they were out of clean napkins. He raised a hand and gently swiped the mark off her face with this thumb. He could swear Riyo’s breath caught in her throat for a moment. Her eyes met his, and for a hair-raising moment, Fox felt that she could see right through him. He swallowed hard, wishing he could find something to hide behind. Though she had been gracious enough not to say a word, Fox knew he had grossly overstepped.

The senator licked her lips. “I…We’d better head back,” she said stiltedly.

“Yeah.”

Fox disposed of their food waste, and they walked back to the Senate Building in awkward silence, their easy companionship from earlier gone. The entire way, Fox berated himself for being so forward, for the uncharacteristic lapse in his self-control.

You had no business touching her without permission like that, Fox chided himself. She wasn’t one of the vod’e, who had grown up where constant physical contact was the norm, whether it be friendly fisticuffs from their brothers or the impersonal, clinical examinations conducted by the kaminii’se. Touch meant something to most nat-borns; Fox had neither asked for permission nor made clear his intentions. He shouldn’t have assumed she was fine with someone touching her; he shouldn’t have presumed she was fine with a clone touching her.

Despite his regrets, Fox could not deny that if given half the chance, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

On her fourth visit to see Flare and the other patients on Ward 8, Riyo saw someone new making rounds in the ward. With the white coat, this had to be a doctor, the first she had seen in the entire facility. The doctor was a tall, fair-skinned Human with a young, androgynous face. Riyo thought the doctor couldn’t be much older than she was—although the exhaustion added years to the doctor’s appearance.

“I’m Doctor Korr,” the doctor said, with a crisp Core World accent. “Preferred pronouns are they/them, by the way. I’m one of the attendings here.”

“I’m Riyo—she/her,” Riyo replied.

“I would shake your hand, but I’m wearing exam gloves and I’m sure you don't want to touch what I just touched,” Dr. Korr said bluntly.

“I thought you’re used to us by now, Doc?” a nearby clone piped up.

“I know for a fact you haven’t even looked at a bar of soap since you got here, Blight. That's what I'm sparing her from,” Dr. Korr quipped, as the clone’s neighbors burst out cackling.

As Dr. Korr made their rounds, the clones took turns joking with and teasing their doctor, who took it all in good stride. It was clear that the clones had a good rapport with them. Riyo was heartened to see that at least the clones had a doctor who seemed to care, even if the medcenter’s physical resources seemed to be lacking.

Dr. Korr finished looking over the last of their patients and went to wash their hands at the sink. “Why don’t we go talk someplace quieter?” they suggested. “There’s a staff break room at the end of this hall.”

The break room was nothing more than a windowless closet containing a table, chairs, and a caf maker. The caf warming in the machine was so strong that Riyo felt herself wake up just from the smell alone. Taking a dubiously clean cup from off the top of the machine, Dr. Korr poured themselves some caf, to which they added several drops of a stim supplement.

“A terrible vice, I know,” they confessed sheepishly. “My stim drops are the only thing keeping me sane, at this point. Would you like any?”

Riyo declined the kind offer of both caf and/or stim drops.

The doctor took a deep draught of their spiked caf. “So what brings you down to Republic Central? Certainly not the uplifting environment,” Dr. Korr began.

“My friend Flare—he’s in the Coruscant Guard—is a patient here.”

“Ah, you’re Flare’s guardian angel.” Dr. Korr smiled. “The boys talk about you constantly, you know.”

“Really?” Riyo tried to hide her growing blush.

“Yeah. You’re doing me a massive favor, you know. Well, two favors. They’re in much better spirits these days, and they try a little harder now with personal hygiene. Thanks to you, it no longer smells like a Hutt’s armpit in here.”

Riyo couldn’t help herself; an undignified snort at the last bit. Dr. Korr really had a way with words.

“They’re rambunctious pains in my ass, all of them, but it’s hard not to like them,” Dr. Korr added, their eyes twinkling. “But enough of that! I know you’re not here for purely social reasons.”

“I’m doing research on how the GAR operates their medical facilities,” Riyo admitted.

Dr. Korr seemed unsurprised by Riyo’s admission. “You’re a journalist, huh? ‘Bout time someone did a proper exposé on this place. What do you want to know?”

Riyo did not expect the doctor to be so forthcoming with their information, but she wasn’t going to complain about her good fortune. Pulling out her datapad, Riyo opened to a fresh page in her notes.

“Why don’t you begin by telling me about this facility?”

At the time Dr. Korr started working at Republic Central—and this was before the start of the Clone Wars, they added—it was a public medcenter that mostly served the city’s poor, and was notorious for being the deadliest on Coruscant. Dr. Korr insisted that it wasn’t because of the quality of the care; most of the patients admitted had been in advanced stages of illness, as they lacked the funds to start treatment earlier. Still, the medcenter could not shake its deadly reputation.

After the war started, the Republic realized they needed a landside medical center for their clone army on Coruscant. Some higher-ups in the health ministry looked at their medcenter registry, saw the failing evaluations for Republic Central, and decided to kill two birds with one stone and convert the facility into a GAR medcenter. A good portion of the staff left when the place became a clones-only facility. The Republic tried to boost hiring with better salaries and incentives, and brought in clones and droids to cover the clerical and logistical work, but most civilian medical professionals did not want to work with clones.

“I’ve been here for six years now,” Dr. Korr said. “The ones left here are the lifers. We have a love-hate relationship with this place, honestly.”

Dr. Korr didn’t look like they had even graduated from medical school that long ago, but Riyo decided she would save that question for another time. There were more important questions she should be asking. As one of the attending doctors at the medcenter, Dr. Korr knew more about operating procedures than the clone medical officers, and unlike the clones, was not afraid to express dissatisfaction with the way things were run. Riyo rather liked Dr. Korr; the doctor’s bluntness and dry sense of humor felt refreshing after the honeyed barbs and the thinly-veiled scorn in the Senate.

The topic gradually moved to the patients; from the way Dr. Korr talked about them individually by name, it was clear that the doctor cared deeply about them, and wished they could do more for the clones under their care.

“Unfortunately, most of the time, it feels like my hands are tied,” Dr. Korr sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“When the GAR took over, a new scope of practice was implemented. Instead of using our best professional judgment, we have to go by specific care guidelines for each patient. We’re only allowed to do so much, and not run a single IV more than that. Between you and me,” they added, their voice dropping to nearly a whisper, “I think it’s ridiculous. Medicine isn’t a checklist—we’re trying to heal the wounded, not fly a ship.”

“The Kaminoans wrote the scope,” Riyo realized, recalling her conversation with Cobb.

Dr. Korr nodded. “Most of the doctors here don’t follow the SOP if we can help it. But when our supply situation is below what I’d consider bare minimum, we don’t have much of a choice.”

“So...what do you think is the most critical thing that should be addressed to improve operations?" Riyo asked.

“Oh, stars.” They choked out a laugh. “Honestly, any change would be an improvement at this point. The place is barely held together with flimsi-clips as is. I’m barely keeping myself together.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Doctor.”

They shrugged. “Don’t be. I chose to work at the most notorious medcenter on Coruscant. If I wanted to sit on my hands, I’d have moved to Naboo or something.”

Something began beeping furiously; in the confines of the tiny room, the shrill sound beat unpleasantly in Riyo’s ears. She was all-too-familiar with the sound—it was her father’s reality for most of her childhood.

“Well, kriff, I’d better go,” Dr. Korr said, after checking their pager. “They need me on Six.”

The doctor stood, gulped down the rest of their caf, and carelessly placed the empty cup back on top of the caf machine. “Lovely to meet you, Riyo. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.” They strode purposefully out of the room, clogs squeaking on the floor out the way out.

Riyo remained in the claustrophobic break room for another hour afterwards, taking down the rest of her notes about her conversation with Dr. Korr. The doctor had confirmed many things Riyo had surmised about the medcenter’s operations. As appalling the information was, Dr. Korr had given Riyo a lot to work with. How could the Republic have allowed things to be so abjectly terrible right under their noses, at the center of civilization in the galaxy? She wondered how her father would react, if he knew what was going on here.

From a professional perspective, Riyo was doing very well. Her research was going smoothly, and she had begun drafting an emergency medical funding clause to add to the Republic budget due to be voted on in two months. She was in touch with various medical charities that her father worked with, in the process of procuring supplies and additional resources for Republic Central. Plus, she now made time in her schedule to work out regularly again; Riyo was one of the few senators who made use of the extensive fitness facilities in the Senate Building.

From an emotional perspective, Riyo was in absolute shambles. Which almost felt contradictory; she was seeing Fox regularly—if not on the landing bay, then around the Senate District where Riyo spent most of her waking hours. But they absolutely were not dates, even if her heart wanted them to be. Besides, did clones even know what dating was? Riyo had no right to presume that Fox would even want to go on dates with her...or if he was even interested in her that way. Plus, this whole situation was hardly fair to him. He was a clone, born to defend the Republic, and Riyo as a senator was the embodiment of the entity he was sworn to serve. She didn’t want to make him feel like he was obligated to her in any way, even if she selfishly wished he could belong to her, and her alone.

Riyo could no longer deny her own feelings: something always felt missing inside her whenever she watched Fox walk away. It had been so long since she’d felt this way about someone, and she both loved and hated it in equal measure. She had chosen a man who could never return her feelings, who probably wasn’t even capable of loving someone in that way. Her only hope was that this infatuation would burn itself out, but in her heart of hearts, she knew that would not happen. She had known and dated simple, uncomplicated men before Fox, but she had never met anyone who was so genuine and purely good as he was. Sometimes, she could scarcely believe that somebody like him could exist in this galaxy, and that she also had the privilege of knowing him and calling him friend. Except she didn’t want to be just his friend.

Ugh, none of this circular thinking will take me anywhere, she groaned. Riyo laid down her datapads and pushed back from her desk to stare out the expansive window. As a junior Outer Rim senator, Riyo’s office was located on one of the lowest floors of senatorial suites, overlooking the first few levels of shopping arcades and middle-class flats. She wondered what Fox was doing, where he could be somewhere across the city. Riyo hoped he wasn’t in any physical danger, whatever he was doing.

A gentle tapping at the door brought Riyo back to her office. Sarika poked her head through the crack.

“Riyo—I’ve got the GAR on the line wanting to speak to you.”

“The GAR? You mean the defense ministry?” she said, panic mounting. Was it someone who had caught wind of what she was doing on her regular visits to Republic Central? Riyo didn't think she was breaking any rules by being there.

Sarika shook her head. “No, it’s not them, I don’t recognize the comm code.”

Riyo did not recognize the incoming comm code either. It had an off-world prefix, which didn’t make sense for a call from the defense ministry since it was headquartered in Galactic City.

“Do you want me to forward the comm to security for review?” Sarika offered, sensing Riyo’s trepidation. Even though Riyo considered herself a low-profile politician, she’d once had an unhinged caller who had threatened to send a bomb to her apartment on Coruscant. (The resulting investigation revealed that the caller was actually trying to reach Senator Breemu of Humbarine, who had a comm code that was one digit off from Riyo’s. Nonetheless, Riyo and her staffers had been sufficiently spooked.) But Riyo couldn’t discount the possibility that it was a constituent or concerned citizen calling in from a borrowed comm. The last thing she wanted was someone to spread the falsehood that the Pantoran senator didn't care about the people. Riyo picked up hesitantly.

“Hello, this is Senator Riyo Chuchi,” she began.

The shouts that followed were so loud that she jumped. A gaggle of clones appeared on her holoprojector, each in varying stages of dress. There was a lot of exposed skin.

“What’s going on?” she squeaked. Was she getting pranked?

The clones jostled each other to get within range of the comm projector. In the flurry of movement, Riyo’s focus closed in on a massive tattoo of a Republic cog on a clone’s head, which she had definitely seen before. “It’s Jesse, right?” she asked.

Someone whooped. “Oi, Fives, you owe me five credits!” someone hollered.

“No fair, she just didn’t see my handsome face yet!” This had to be Fives.

“We all have the same face, Fives,” someone sighed.

“If you loved the number five as much as Jesse loves the Republic, maybe you could have won your stupid bet,” someone else snarked.

“Yeah, you could have tattooed the number bigger, right across your face like Dogma,” added another.

Riyo heard someone shout something from off-camera. She didn't need to be able to hear what was said to tell that it was some kind of insult.

“Anyways. How have you been, Senator?” Tup asked, over the chaos behind him.

“Wonderful, Tup, thank you for asking,” Riyo said. “But, um, how did you get my comm code?” Not to speak of the ominous way they announced themselves to Sarika.

“It was Fives!” This was Echo. “He got it off the Senate directory and told us he would try comming you directly.”

“Oh, right.” Riyo forgot that she was a public figure these days, and expected to be reachable. She would have to give them her personal comm code to call in the future; it wouldn’t do to use her official line for social calls. “Uh, how have you and your brothers been?”

”We were just on Kamino,” Echo replied. “We drove back a Seppie attack on the cloning facilities.”

“I heard about the attack. Is everyone okay? Are any of you injured?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Tup assured her.

“Can't fix stupid. Jesse broke his ankle because he jumped off a ledge to tackle a commando droid—and missed.”

“Yeah, who did you think you were, Commander Cody?”

 As the group of brothers began heckling each other again, Fives shouldered his way to the front near the holoprojector and tipped her a saucy wink. For some reason, he was naked from the waist up, and was flexing outrageously to show off his muscles. Riyo mused that Fives must have no trouble winning over girls.

“Glad to see you’re well and as lovely as ever, Senator,” he said. “We’re headed back to Coruscant for leave in a few weeks. Thought you might like to join us at 79’s when we get back.”

“Oooh, I would like that.” It had been a while since she last let loose and had a drink or two—it was probably on her last trip to 79's, months ago. The clones had been such fun company. It would be a good way to take her mind off from pining after Fox.

The troopers of the 501st were providing an effective distraction, even right now; they were a nonstop whirlwind of energy, tripping over each other to tell her their freshest stories and jokes. Riyo barely had enough time to make sounds of affirmation and ask leading questions—there was hardly a moment of quiet among them.

At some point during their call, Riyo heard a door slam on the other side of the line, followed by an authoritative voice that gruffly demanded what they were doing. This had to be Captain Rex.

“What did I have to say about bothering Senator Chuchi?”

“’Stop harassing the senator,’” the clones recited dutifully.

“Hello, Captain Rex,” Riyo said cheekily. “Are you looking to join us?”

“You’ve bothered the senator long enough,” came Rex’s disembodied voice. “If you’re lacking for things to do, the training salles could use a deep cleaning.”

“It really was no bother, I was just taking a br—” Riyo glanced out the window and saw that the sun had long since set. The unexpected diversion had taken a lot longer than expected, and Riyo had a dinner scheduled with the Asogian senator that she couldn’t afford to be late to. “Oh no, I do need to go.”

A chorus of awws and boos came over the comm. Riyo could almost hear Rex’s smug vindication oozing over the connection.

“Will we see you there, Riyo? At 79’s?” Fives asked.

“I’ll be there,” she promised. “I’ll see you all soon.”

After the men of the 501st ended the call, Riyo found that she was smiling. Even though nothing had fundamentally changed in the universe over the course of that conversation, Riyo knew things would be all right. Friendships were wonderful and fulfilling too, and she would be grateful for the friendship she had with Fox. She would learn to live with her feelings for him, and be respectful of boundaries that could not be crossed. Whatever came next, however fate and fortune would have things, she would accept.

I think I’m in love read the title of the most active thread on the GAR chat network when Fox logged on one night, after a long day spent training his newest batch of shinies.

His first thought was that Bly must have gotten drunk and decided to offload, but it made no sense; Bly was 100 percent certain he was in love within two days of meeting General Secura. His second thought was that Kote lost a bet with his men and was forced to post on the network—which he never did—but Kote was the kind of stubborn that would deny his feelings to himself even in his death throes. His third thought was that it was some shiny mooning after General Ti again; these posts about her appeared every few months, coinciding with the graduations of new cadet classes.

Despite himself, Fox selected the thread. The original post consisted of one sentence describing a certain senator he was too well acquainted with, and an essay rhapsodizing about her beauty, her grace, her kindness, her intelligence...While Fox agreed with the original poster on every one of their points, for some reason, hearing her praises come from someone else irritated him. Which one of his brothers wrote this? But when Fox checked who it was, the designation belonged to a CT he did not know.

Most of the comments were filled with pained understanding. It happens, brother. But you know things can’t happen, CT-7761 wrote.

Some encouraged him to ignore the naysayers and try his luck. Plenty of vod’e are in relationships with civvies, we’re not going to narc on you. Plus, life is short—and doubly short for all of us, CC-5576-39 wrote.

Better to try shooting your shot than to spend the rest of your life imagining what could have been. We’re rooting for you! added CT-06-4860.

Dunno, vod, if she’s that much of a catch, she’s probably already spoken for, wrote CC-4817. That was Thorn; Fox could hear it in his brother’s voice. Even though Fox wanted to throttle Thorn or put him in a headlock on most days, Fox grudgingly appreciated him at that moment. Fox upvoted Thorn’s comment, then shut off his datapad and flopped back onto his bunk.

He wanted so badly to see Riyo, never mind that he had just seen her two days ago on the landing bay. Or that he had spent some time this morning looking over her security dossier again—the desperate act of a desperate man who looked for absurd ways to feel closer to her.

Ah! He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Every time he thought about her, he got that familiar swooping feeling in his stomach and a certain restlessness under his skin. Nothing he did could make it go away. Seeing her made him forget it if only for a little while; the pangs returned with twice the ferocity the moment she left. None of these feelings were ever covered in a psychology training module on Kamino, but a slow realization was dawning in Fox’s head, and he was petrified by what lay in store for him at the end of this path.

Chapter Text

“Look who decided to show up, boys!”

As usual, 79’s was bustling with activity, although it was early enough in the evening that the place wasn't full yet. Riyo waved to a table of Coruscant Guardsmen she knew sitting by the entrance before heading upstairs to where her friends from the 501st sat. She slid into the booth next to Fives, who squeezed her knee in greeting.

“We’re glad you made it, Miss Riyo,” Echo said. “You look very nice tonight.”

“She always looks nice,” Fives said emphatically.

Meanwhile, Fives looked different from how she remembered him; it took Riyo a moment to put a finger on the changes. The men were all wearing their armor today, but Fives and Echo’s looked different from the rest. They carried extra gear and wore pauldrons that flared from their shoulders like ruff collars. Their specialized armor looked heavy. When asked about it, Echo puffed up his chest proudly.

“This is ARC trooper armor!” Echo explained, patting his breastplate. “Fives and I were made ARCs after the Battle of Kamino.”

There was a loud sigh from the far corner of the booth. “It only took them…two minutes and thirteen seconds since you arrived to mention it,” Kix said, pointedly looking at his chrono.

“It sounds like something to be proud of,” Riyo said generously. “Are we here to celebrate?”

“They’ve been ‘celebrating’ since Kamino,” Kix groaned. “Please don’t encourage them.”

“Well, I feel like I should do something. Tell you what—this next round is on me.”

Everyone cheered as Riyo called over a server droid and placed an order for a Hosnian stout for everyone at the table. After the droid rolled away, Riyo took another look around the table and noticed Rex was conspicuously absent tonight. Evidently, he had stayed behind to finish some mission reports.

“I thought our captain always finishes them the day after the mission…when everything’s still fresh,” Jesse said suspiciously.

“The general told Commander Tano these ones were hers, this time,” Echo said. “I think Captain Rex is sticking around to make sure she actually gets them done.”

“Hmm. Our captain always did have a soft spot for the commander.”

The men exchanged a significant look whose meaning was not lost on Riyo. Clearly, they had their opinions about the nature of the captain’s relationship with Ahsoka. Riyo sensed that it was the perfect opportunity to gather some intel on her friend’s behalf.

“Do you think Captain Rex, you know, likes Ahsoka in that way?” Riyo asked, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

Kix scoffed. “He’d rather swallow his own blaster than contemplate his feelings,” he said.

“Hey, do you remember the time when the commander was in the barracks while Captain Rex was doing surprise inspections?” Hardcase sniggered.

“Oh, Maker, we’re not talking about that again—” Echo groaned.

“So, our good captain,” Hardcase began eagerly to Riyo, over Echo’s protests, “decided to do a surprise inspection of the barracks aboard the Resolute a few months ago…”

At this point, Riyo could already anticipate the nature of the story Hardcase was going to tell her. She had spent enough time with clones to know where their sense of humor lay. Plus, dick jokes were almost universal throughout the galaxy. Hardcase seemed to particularly relish recounting Rex’s valley of humiliation.

“—And when the captain got to my bunk, I asked him, ‘Is that a blaster down your blacks, Captain, or are you that happy—’”

Kix cut Hardcase off by smacking a hand over the trooper’s mouth. “And ‘Case has been put on sanitation duty ever since,” he finished loudly, drowning out Hardcase’s sounds of protest.

“Yeah, that’s not an appropriate story to tell a lady,” Echo said, with great disapproval.

“I’ve had boyfriends, I know what a boner is,” Riyo said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, sometimes it happens for no real reason. Ahsoka wouldn’t have taken it personally.”

“Dunno, from the way the commander fled the scene, you’d have thought the barracks were on fire,” Jesse mused. “She couldn’t look the captain in the eye for days afterward.”

“Poor Ahsoka.”

“Poor Captain Rex. I think he tried to drown himself in the showers afterwards, he was so mortified.”

Fives took a deep swig of his Hosnian stout and turned to Riyo.

“What about you, Riyo?” he drawled, changing the subject. “How are things going with your mystery trooper?”

“I’ve decided that we’re better off as friends,” she said, affecting the lightest, airiest tone she could manage. It did little to hide her despair at her predicament.

Fives’ brow furrowed into a vee. “What gives? Personality red flags? Busy schedules?”

“I’m a senator and he’s a clone.”

“That’s not stopping—” Fives seemed to remember something, and cut himself off. “Anyways, why is that an issue?”

“I literally represent the Republic. I don’t want him to feel pressured into anything with me.”

“That’s the biggest pile of osik I’ve ever heard, pardon me for saying so. Isn’t that his decision to make? You’re taking his choice away by not allowing him to even make one,” Fives pointed out.

Riyo reflected that these were generous words coming from someone who didn’t even know Fox. Fives was probably just telling her such things to make her feel better.

“I don’t even know if he has the same feelings for me,” she said miserably, her voice cracking on the words.

Fives threw his arm around Riyo’s shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I won’t talk about him anymore,” he promised. “You’re here to have a good time. I may not be landside all the time, but you can always count on me to look after you.”

“You’re the best friend anyone could ask for,” Riyo sighed. “I’m sorry that I’m being such a downer.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind about your trooper, just know you always have a place right here, Riyo,” Fives said, patting his thighs.

“Gross!” Echo complained. “That’s the worst come-on I’ve ever heard!”

“This here is the best seat in the house,” Fives boasted. “Wouldn’t you like to try it out?”

“Ooh, I’d love to take a sit!” Hardcase exclaimed, clambering over Echo to get to Fives. This resulted in chaos in the booth as the troopers tussled with each other for the chance to sit on Fives’ lap. Riyo laughed so hard that beer came out of her nose. There was never a dull moment with the brothers of the 501st, and Riyo felt her earlier melancholy dissipate.

Partway through Riyo’s second beer, she found herself in need to go to the ‘fresher. She quietly excused herself, declining Fives’ offer to escort her there. As expected, every stall was occupied—Riyo waited patiently for her turn, trying to ignore the muffled sounds coming from some of the stalls. She knew about what happened in the ‘freshers in 79’s, but preferred not to think about it too much. The wait was so long that Riyo decided to touch up her makeup in the meantime.

One of the stalls burst open to reveal a giggling pink Twi’lek with smeared makeup. Riyo stood rooted to the spot when she saw a clone trooper stepping out of the stall behind her, acting like he clearly wasn’t in the wrong ‘fresher. She made eye contact with him in the mirror as he swiped a spot of lipstick off the corner of his mouth; Riyo hoped he didn’t notice the blush slowly rising in her cheeks. Dropping her gaze hurriedly, she intently focused on re-capping her lip tint brush.

“Hey, I had a good time tonight,” the trooper said to the Twi’lek. “Will I see you again?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the Twi’lek replied noncommittally. “Don’t get blasted into pieces when you’re gone, soldier boy.”

They kissed goodbye—it was a long, drawn-out affair with lots of tongue—before the Twi’lek smacked the trooper in the rear in a clear sign of dismissal. Nonplussed by the gesture, the trooper sauntered out. Riyo cleared her throat awkwardly and wondered what to do next, now that her face was fully touched up.

“Hey, you—” It took Riyo a moment to realize the Twi’lek girl was talking to her. “Do you have a wipe?”

“Wipe?” Riyo repeated stupidly.

The Twi’lek gestured to her face. “Yeah, I gotta redo this,” she said.

“Oh, yeah! Here.” Riyo handed the Twi’lek her package of makeup wipes. “Was that, uh, your boyfriend?”

“Stars, no, I just met him tonight!” The Twi’lek girl tittered loudly. “I’d never date a clone. But they’re always a good time. Plus…when they said genetic perfection, they really meant it.”

Riyo spluttered, feeling the flush make it all up to her hairline and ears. The Twi’lek girl blithely finished removing her makeup and went into her purse to retrieve her palette, letting the conversation lapse. Thankfully, another stall quickly opened up; Riyo went to relieve herself, and afterwards got out of the ‘fresher as soon as she could.

There was a different trooper standing around in the little hallway outside, probably waiting for one of his brothers. Riyo tried to side-step past him, but he moved in the same direction at the same time she did and they ended up bumping into each other anyways. The trooper’s hands came up to steady her.

“So sorry about that,” he said. “I—I’m Breaker, by the way.”

“I’m Riyo,” she said simply.

Breaker’s face looked indistinguishable from any other clone’s, but he wore his hair long, which he pulled back into a neat tail at the nape of his neck. Unlike most troopers, who had varying degrees of curly hair, Breaker’s dark hair was pin-straight. He flashed her a wide grin; the way his eyes crinkled at the corners reminded her disarmingly of Fox.

“Have I seen you around before?” he asked.

“Maybe? I’ve been here before.”

“Well, then…Could I buy you a drink, Riyo?”

“Oh! Well…” The offer was harmless enough, even though the connotations of it gave her pause. Riyo wasn’t interested in Breaker in that way, but he seemed nice. Every clone that she’d met had been nice. Maybe she could just pop over to his table for a little chat, say hello and meet a few new troopers. It was a public place, and she should have nothing to worry about.

Breaker stepped closer to her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. A little discomfited by his proximity, Riyo stepped back. He stepped forward into the space she vacated.

“Has anybody ever told you how beautiful you are?” he said.

“That’s, uh, very nice of you to say!” she said breathlessly. Maybe she should rethink the offer of a drink. Not even bother with the chat. Riyo wasn’t sure that Breaker thought she wanted, but she certainly wanted nothing to do with what he did. What was the best way to end this conversation and take her leave?

“You’re not like the other girls around here,” Breaker continued, “but you—”

Riyo nearly jumped out of her skin when Breaker laid a hand on her arm.

“Baby, you and me could really—”

Riyo hated interrupting people. Not just because it was the height of rudeness and went against every piece of etiquette she’d learned, but also because Riyo simply wasn’t a confrontational person. She had learned to pick her fights, and she knew stood no chance against a 183 cm, 80-kilo clone trooper, should things get physical.

“Breaker, so sorry—I don’t think I can take you up on the drink,” she said emphatically. “I need to go.”

“Come on, what’s the harm?” His grip tightened around her forearm, to the point of pain.

“Please let go of me,” she told him. But Breaker would not let go.

“It’s just one drink, come on.”

“My friends are waiting—”

“Just let them know you’re with me.”

Riyo cast her eyes desperately about, trying to figure out a way to get out of the situation. Her unexpected salvation came in the form of Fives, who came strolling down the hallway whistling a jaunty tune.

“Mesh’la, there you are!” Fives exclaimed, just a touch too loudly. “I thought you got lost, you’ve been gone so long.” He looped his arm around Riyo’s waist, pulling her away from Breaker. She felt herself leaning subtly into him, grateful for the reassuring solidity of his presence.

“And who might that be?” Fives asked, pointedly refusing to look at the other trooper.

“That’s Breaker. We just met a few moments ago,” Riyo said coolly.

“Is he giving you a hard time, cyare?” Though Fives’ tone of voice was carefree and unbothered, every muscle in his body was tensed for a fight. Riyo knew that she had to tread carefully with her next words, or risk worsening the situation.

“No, he was just leaving,” Riyo said, making direct eye contact with Breaker. She did not smile. “It was nice meeting you, Breaker.”

The trooper took the hint Riyo gave him and beat his hasty retreat. Breaker probably didn’t want to mess with an ARC trooper. The moment Breaker was out of sight, Fives dropped his hand from Riyo’s waist.

“You all right?” he asked. “He didn’t try anything more with you, did he?”

“No, I’m fine. He didn’t…” All Riyo could see, in her mind's eye, was the pink Twi’lek girl and the trooper from the ‘fresher. Nebulous, half-formed thoughts were beginning to come together, pointing towards one frightening conclusion. “In the ‘fresher...I saw a girl and a clone in a stall together. They—it was just a random hookup.”

Fives sighed. His deep-set eyes were shadowed in the dim light of the hallway. “This happens a lot,” he said quietly. “Especially here at 79’s.”

“Be honest with me, Fives…are a lot of troopers like that? Like Breaker?” She could still feel the ghost of Breaker’s hand on her arm. How could she have ever thought him similar to Fox in any way? Breaker’s touch had felt like a violation, and the memory of his greasy words in her ear made her feel like someone had doused her with speeder fuel.

“I won’t lie to you, some of us are horny bastards who’ll hit on anything that moves. But that’s not most of us,” Fives added emphatically. “We clones don’t get to have much. The bunnies only want us for quick flings, well, we’ll take what little we can get.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

But Fives was not done; this was a sore topic with him, and many other clones.

“…So yeah, pardon the rock-bottom expectations we have of any girl who gives us the time of day,” Fives continued, his voice rising steadily. “But we’re just like any other people. There are bad ones among us, but they don’t represent us as a whole. Don't condemn all of us for the failings of a few!”

Riyo placed her hands on Fives’ shoulders. The gesture felt somewhat awkward, mainly because of how tall he was compared to her. “I’m sorry that things are this way for clones,” she said solemnly. “And I’m sorry, Fives, for the misunderstanding I caused you.”

Fives took a deep shuddering breath, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment. When he opened them again, Riyo was momentarily mesmerized by how thick and dark his lashes were.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to shout at ya,” he said hoarsely. “That Breaker really was a piece of work, though. Next time someone like him bothers ya, give me a shout, hey? I’ll keep ‘em off your back.”

She smiled, patting him gently on the cheek. “They don’t stand a chance, do they? Now that I have an ARC trooper in my corner.”

Fives let out a full-throated laugh. “You really know how to make a man feel better about himself, Riyo.”

As he led Riyo back towards their table upstairs, his hand did not leave her waist the entire time. Riyo let him—she felt safer with it there.

Back at their table, Fives’ brothers had since moved on to a new round of drinks. Hardcase had bravely ordered a glass of Chandrilan bittermelon juice, for which the other troopers were giving him endless grief. Riyo felt compelled to jump in and defend his choice—bittermelon was popular back home on Pantora. Everything was going fine and the whole encounter with Breaker seemed to be forgotten until she reached across the table to steal a drink of Hardcase’s bittermelon juice. Fives suddenly closed a hand around on Riyo’s wrist, holding her arm steady.

“Riyo, what is this?” he suddenly asked, his expression darkening.

There were black spots on her arm where Breaker had grabbed her earlier. Riyo wouldn’t have noticed the bruising if Fives hadn’t pointed it out. Around them, their table fell quiet as their companions took in the bruises.

“Haar’chak,” Jesse said unhelpfully.

“I’m gonna beat the daylights out of that shabuir,” Fives growled.

“Fives, don’t—” Riyo began, but Fives was already out of his seat and halfway down the stairs. He strode over to a table on the other side of the bar, where a group of troopers in violet-painted armor sat.

“You just assaulted a senator, dipshit,” Fives said, his voice carrying over the din. At that, the entire bar fell completely silent and turned to gawk at the unfolding altercation.

“Oh, Maker,” Kix muttered. “We’d better get you out of here, Miss Riyo.”

“I think we should resolve—”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I think we’re past the point for your preferred method of conflict resolution,” Kix said, as the entire table of violet-painted troopers sprang to their feet. “Let’s get going.”

As the bar erupted into chaos around them, the last thing Riyo saw before being ushered out was a trooper getting his face slammed into a table.

The Coruscant Guard supervised the operations of two prisons on Coruscant: the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center, where the galaxy’s worst criminals were sent to rot, and the GAR detention center, where clones were brought in for infractions great and small. Supervising the GAR detention center was as close to a reprieve as any trooper could get here on this planet; Fox looked forward to a quiet evening in the guard office, sipping caf and daydreaming about Riyo Chuchi.

Everything was fine and peachy until a ruckus erupted at the front entrance of the facility at around 2230. Fearing the worst, Fox jammed the bucket back onto his head and ran out to see what was going on. He was greeted by the sight of a squadron of Guardsmen leading a group of cuffed troopers into the facility. At the head of the procession was Thorn, who was supposed to be off-duty tonight.

“What in the name of the Maker is going on?” Fox demanded.

“These osi’yaime got into a fight at 79’s,” Thorn grumbled.

Fox looked them over, noted that several of them were wearing 501st blue, and groaned. He did not look forward to dealing with Rex tomorrow morning. Was it too much to ask for the 501st not to get in trouble for once while on shore leave?

As the senior officer in charge at the GAR detention center that shift, Fox was tasked with intake questioning. This process was never pleasant; Fox hated playing the bad guy to his brothers, even if the questioning process was necessary. One by one, the delinquent troopers were brought into the interrogation room. They all told the same story: an ARC trooper from the 501st had come up and challenged the group from the 148th, seemingly unprovoked. One of the troopers in the 148th threw the first punch; the fight escalated when brothers from both sides tried to intervene and ended up coming to blows.

Fox saved the instigator of the fight for last. The others had called him Fives; as Fox examined him from across the table, he realized that he knew this trooper: Fox had seen him dancing with Senator Chuchi that night at 79’s. So he was an ARC trooper. An unpleasantly sour feeling prickled at Fox’s gut.

“What do you have to say for yourself, trooper?” Fox barked, more harshly than necessary.

“Nothing. I don’t regret any of it.” Somehow, even with the impressive shiner and split lip, the trooper managed to exude insolence. “Besides, shabuir tried to hit me first.”

“You provoked him,” Fox pointed out.

“He had the gall to harass and assault a literal angel. I couldn’t let that slide.”

Fox resisted the urge to roll his eyes. So this whole fight had been over a girl. If anything, those bucket bunnies who prowled 79’s weren’t worth that kind of misguided gallantry. As far as they were concerned, all clones were interchangeable tools.

“You should’ve known how many regs you’re breaking, starting a fight in a bar. This is going to go on your record.”

“Look, if you actually knew this woman, breaking the regs is worth it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

After Fives was taken away to the overnight cells with the rest of his brothers, Fox returned to the guard office. Thorn was sitting in Fox’s vacated chair with his feet propped up on the security console. An opened bottle of Concordian tihaar sat next to him.

“Did you know this entire shitshow was over a girl?” Fox said, shaking his head.

Thorn hesitated, which was very unlike him. “Vod, I was meaning to tell you, but…Senator Chuchi was at 79’s tonight. Breaker—that’s CT-03-4991—made a pass at her outside the ‘freshers. Didn’t take it well when she said no.”

Fox saw red. “He what.”

He had been so caught up in disciplining the troopers that he had neglected to ask about the root cause of the incident. In hindsight, the ARC’s comments about the girl in question made horrible sense. Except if Fox had been there…if he had been there—

“Shab!” Fox shouted, sinking his fist into the wall. The durasteel dented from the force of the blow.

“Calm down, ori’vod. Here, have a drink to settle your nerves.”

“I’m not karking drinking on duty,” Fox growled.

Thorn didn’t seem to listen, or he didn’t seem to care; he poured a generous serving of tihaar into Fox’s half-full caf mug, then took a pull straight out of the bottle.

“Senator Chuchi’s fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. I saw a 501st brother escort her out before the fight escalated. She’s back at her apartment now, safe in her own bed.”

“He put his hands on her. He assaulted her,” Fox fumed.

How dare he. That shab’la trooper had absolutely no right to touch her, to speak to her, to even think about her in that way. To think he had tried to come onto Riyo like she was some common bucket bunny… Why did Fox have to be on duty tonight? He should have been at 79’s, with Thorn, his distaste for the place be damned. If Fox had been there, that ge’hutuun wouldn’t have dared try anything.

Some commander of the Guard he was, unable to protect his charge. This wasn’t the first time something preventable had happened to her. If Fox had just done something, anything, she could have had a fun, unbothered night out. All Fox could see were the many ways he had failed Riyo Chuchi. Little gods, how did he ever think he deserved to love her?

“Look, Fox’ika, enough of the self-flagellation. None of this was your fault.”

“I’ve been charged with the protection of Republic senators on Coruscant. Anything that happens to her is my responsibility.”

“Mhm. That’s really what’s got your blacks in a twist. So when are you going to tell her?”

“Tell her what.” Fox pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no patience for Thorn’s usual brand of insolence. He took a sip of his caf; it burned all the way down his throat and up his nose—Thorn had gotten the top-shelf stuff. Fox was breaking so many regs drinking while on duty, but he felt that the situation called for such extremes.

Thorn muttered something to himself in Mando’a. “That you’re in love with her, you di’kut.”

“Say that again,” Fox challenged, his hands clenching into fists.

“I know you heard me the first time. I may be off-duty, but I also possess the authority to put you into the holding cell,” Thorn pointed out. “Which I am tempted to do, just so you have time to properly reflect on your idiocy.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

“Just kriffing tell her already. If just so I can stop seeing you like this.”

Fox whirled on Thorn, his eyes wild. “I can’t, Thorn. You don’t get it.”

“It’s Senator Chuchi. She’s the nicest person on the planet. What’s the worst that can happen?”

That was Fox’s biggest fear; knowing Riyo, she would be unfailingly kind to him, even in her rejection. Fox wasn’t sure if he would be able to bear it: he could endure her scorn and disgust, but her gentle understanding would wreck him. He wouldn't be able to face her again, having offered his heart to her and knowing she didn’t want it.

“I had hoped for a quiet night this shift,” Fox groused, gulping down the rest of his spiked caf.

Thorn grunted. “Now we don’t ever get what we want, do we?” he said pithily, pouring out another drink into Fox’s cup.

Thorn left just after 0100, with his tihaar bottle empty and Fox more than a little tipsy. Thankfully, the rest of the night passed without major event. Fox’s deputy for the night, Lieutenant Hero, put on a holodrama on his datapad to while away empty hours. Hero was particularly taken by the lead actress, a tall and statuesque Mirialan with tattoos on her chin and forehead. (Fox thought she was pretty enough, but his feminine ideal skewed blue and petite.) The holodrama was predictable and over-the-top, but it did the job of distracting Fox from his thoughts and he could feel his simmering rage fade away as he sobered up.

That was, until 0620. After supervising firstmeal service, Fox returned to the guard office to learn that someone had commed detention center command in his absence. Fox could feel his fury flare up again as Hero gave him a recap of the call. A senator had personally called to request clemency for all the troopers apprehended for the brawl at 79’s, in particular stressing that the entire incident had been a result of a misunderstanding they should have prevented. Fox did not need to ask which senator it was.

Un-karking-believable. The worthless shabuir Breaker had treated her no better than a slab of meat, and still she was trying to defend him. Why was she going out of her way to help those who did not deserve any bit of her goodwill? Why did she have to be so damned selfless? If Fox were the senator, he’d have asked for Breaker to receive the maximum punishment for his misconduct.

As expected, Rex and Grey came at around 0700. Rex looked disappointed but unsurprised at having to pick up his men from the overnight cells again; Grey just looked disappointed.

"The civilian involved asked that no charges be filed," Fox said to the pair. “Frankly, I don’t think any of these idiots deserve such leniency—” This was mainly directed at Grey—“but this civvie is in a position of power, and her word carries some weight around these parts.”

"Thanks, vod," Grey said.

“Your men should be thanking her, not me,” Fox grumbled. If Fox could have his way, he’d have the troopers locked up for ten years each. And demoted to shiny rank, for good measure.

“The civvie was Senator Chuchi, wasn’t it?” Rex asked. He could hear the sigh in the captain’s voice. Fox wondered how the 501st was so well-acquainted with Riyo, but filed away that question for later.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Fox ground out.

“I’ll speak to Fives,” Rex promised. “But I can’t guarantee this won’t happen again, though.”

Fox appreciated Rex’s honesty; he didn’t care for people making promises they couldn’t keep. One could only do so much with such an unruly battalion.

After completing the activity log for his shift, Fox handed off his duties to Stone at 0750 and returned to the barracks. There, he took a sonic and climbed into his bunk for some shut-eye. His beeping commlink woke him up at 1147; Captain Clash, who was in charge up in the Senate Building for this shift, notified Fox that one of his squads had found an improvised explosive planted in a ‘fresher near the offices of the Kuati senator. Fox confirmed that the entire wing had been evacuated and that the bomb squad had been called to do a more thorough sweep, then hung up. He lay in his bunk for a few more minutes with his pillow over his head, hoping to fall back asleep, but the bubble of tiredness was already gone. So Fox kitted back up, went to the mess hall to shovel down a bland meal of protein blocks and gruel, brewed himself some very strong caf, and headed back to his office.

Despite the mountain of work that awaited him, Fox found himself uncharacteristically distracted. What was Riyo doing at the moment, he wondered. She was probably already at the Senate Building, doing important work for the betterment of the galaxy. Fox considered messaging Gree or Kote, but the two of them knew Fox too well, and it wouldn’t take long for either to discern the cause of his restlessness. It would appear his only hope for diversion was to actually work. He huffed in frustration and pulled up the first batch of requisition forms that awaited his review. In his windowless closet of an office, it was impossible to tell how long he worked. Faint strains of music playing from an office down the hall blurred together into one endless melody as he mindlessly reviewed and signed forms.

The sudden blaring of the PA system alarm caused Fox to drop his datapad.

“Code Blue has been activated,” came the disembodied voice of their communications officer. “The Senate Building has been breached. All off-duty squadrons please report to your COs at this time.”

In the split-second’s silence that followed, Fox could hear the pulse of blood against his eardrums.

The Senate Building had been breached.

His first thought was not of the Republic or of the Chancellor, but of Riyo Chuchi.

Gods, Maker, Force, let her be alive.

His comm crackled to life as his reporting officers began calling in. Fox pulled on his helmet, took a deep steadying breath, and began issuing orders. He had a Republic to serve, a city to protect, and senators to save.

The next few hours passed in a vertiginous blur, as always happened with heightened adrenaline that came in every battle situation. Through Clash, Fox got a sitrep of the current situation: a group of bounty hunters had entered the East Wing of the Senate Building and taken several senators hostage in exchange for the release of Ziro the Hutt, currently imprisoned in the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. Predictably, the Chancellor refused to acquiesce to the bounty hunters’ demands. Fox and every other clone officer would have done the same thing, if faced with the same ultimatum; it was what they were taught in command school.

Except this time, Fox wasn’t sure he could bring himself to follow orders to the tee. To refuse to negotiate often put the hostages at risk, and he was scared—no, he was kriffing terrified—that Riyo could be one of them. Fox did not want to imagine what those bastards could be doing to her; he knew bounty hunters, and every passing minute gave those scum more opportunity to do something truly vile.

But he was just a clone, waiting on the pleasure of the Chancellor. Fox felt his adrenaline spike every time a comm came in, expecting the order to storm the East Wing to come at any moment. But the command never came; to Fox’s horror and the collective dismay of every officer in the Guard, the Chancellor caved to the bounty hunters’ demands and sent Senator Free Taa to the detention center to deliver Ziro.

“This is karking Sithspit,” Stone spat, over the officers’ closed comm. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

Thorn and Clash agreed, but orders were orders, and they couldn’t disobey a direct command from the Chancellor. Stone’s men released Ziro to the sentinel droid’s custody, who took off into the Coruscanti sky without looking back. Senator Free Taa, fearing the worst, ordered a squad to go secure the Chancellor. Fox did some quick math in his head, and decided to take two squads—his best squads—to the landing bay where the intruders had first entered the Senate Building. His ten best was worth thirty of those worthless bounty hunters, and his men would make them pay for turning the Republic into a laughingstock.

On the ride over, Thire reported that the Chancellor was now secured, so at least there was one thing that was going smoothly. Meanwhile, Clash, who was overseeing the building’s evacuation, had just completed the preliminary check-in of Senate staff.

“Who’s missing from the roll call?” Thorn asked.

“Um…Amidala, Farr, Organa—”

Great, the usual suspects, Fox thought. These were some of the most prominent and polarizing politicians in the galaxy, and always prime targets for assassination and kidnappings; they also created the biggest security headaches for the Senate and Coruscant Guards.

“—Robb, Philo, Chuchi.”

Fox felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He had been entertaining that idea as the worst possible scenario, but to actually have it confirmed...

“Commander, we’re closing in on the Crown,” came his pilot’s voice over his comm.

“Take us in slow, be prepared to engage with firepower on my signal, Trace,” Fox said.

“Got it, sir.”

Trace touched down beautifully on the Senate Rotunda landing bay; Fox and his men were out with weapons ready within moments of landing, just in time to see the bounty hunters come out of the building. His eyes narrowed when he identified their ringleader. Cad Bane.

Cad Bane had a reputation that far preceded him, but one that was well-deserved. He was one of the few bounty hunters who had a decent level of intelligence, and that put him well above the rest. And made him even more dangerous. Blasters were drawn and pointed before a single word was exchanged.

“Drop your weapons,” Decker told the bounty hunters.

“Now, now, troopers, we wouldn’t want to be too hasty,” Cad Bane said mockingly. He pulled out his commlink and called, of all people, the Chancellor. Fox was more shocked that the Chancellor actually picked up. And yet there he stood, flanked by two troopers on the holoprojector, looking like the image of sternness.

“You were foolish to think you could get away with this, bounty hunter,” the Chancellor said. “Now lay down your arms and come quietly.”

Cad Bane looked unimpressed. “No, Chancellor, I’m afraid it is you who have been foolish with your Senators’ lives,” he replied. “One false move and the east wing of the Senate Building goes up in smoke.”

No. No. No no no no no. Inside his mind, Fox was screaming at the Chancellor to do something, anything, for kriff’s sake. Riyo Chuchi was inside, in a building rigged to blow, and Fox could only stand there twiddling his thumbs.

An indeterminable amount of time seemed to pass before the Chancellor finally replied.

“You win, bounty hunter.”

No. He couldn’t. Fox’s finger did not move from the trigger, nor did he lower his gun.

“Holster ‘em!” Cad Bane growled at the troopers. “You heard your Chancellor.”

For a glimmer of a second, Fox considered shooting Cad Bane down, right then and there. Fox’s cause was justified and his reasoning sound; the resulting court-martial would only be a formality and Fox knew he would probably get off lightly.

The Chancellor’s voice came through on Fox’s helmet comm. “Tell your troopers to stand down, Commander.”

Fox was nothing but a good soldier, and good soldiers followed orders. Gritting his teeth as he did so, Fox ordered his men to lower their blasters. The Duros swaggered by them, even mockingly tipping his hat at the Guard as he got on their waiting speeder.

“Iba’skanah,” Decker growled, as the speeder pulled away.

There wasn’t a second to lose; Cad Bane could not be trusted to leave peacefully, just like that. Fox would not call Cad Bane’s bluff; he had to treat this threat as a real one, and an imminent one. All clone troopers underwent basic ordnance training, and while Fox and his best men weren’t munitions experts, they didn’t have time to wait for the bomb squad to get back to the Senate Building. Fox made for the nearest building entrance, heedless of the risk to his person—all he focused on was finding Riyo Chuchi.

A deep powerful trembling made Fox and the other troopers stop in their tracks as the ground swayed beneath their feet. He hadn’t imagined it; the tremors had come from the building itself. Cad Bane had indeed blown up the East Wing of the Senate Building.

Oh gods, oh Maker. This was turning out to be a failure of epic proportions.

“We need extraction teams, demo teams, medical, air transport, and the bomb squad on scene!” Fox shouted into his comms. “I don’t care what you’re doing, Sector Aurek units report to the East Wing of the Senate Building now! A bomb has just gone off there, with senators trapped inside!”

Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. The requested teams took what felt like an eternity to arrive on scene. Fox oversaw the rescue operation, but his body seemed to run on auto-pilot and he remembered very little of what he said or what he did. Only when he saw a pair of extraction troopers leaving the ruins of the East Wing carrying a body bag did reality and awareness slam back into Fox all at once.

He had to find her. He had to see her. He had to know for himself if she was alive.

Brushing off his officers and promising to hear them out later, Fox went to the rescue site. Incredibly, the bombs had taken out a perfectly round hole from the level above them. Medics were examining the senators, most of them who looked rather terrified by their ordeal but were otherwise unharmed. And there talking to a medic, standing on her own two feet, was Riyo Chuchi. Fox’s relief was so overwhelming that his knees nearly gave way under him. He surged forward and seized her by her narrow shoulders, looking her over for injuries.

“Are you hurt? Are you alright? Have those bastards done anything to you?” His voice came out ragged and harsh; he must have worn out his throat from shouting earlier.

Her golden eyes were wide as she regarded him. “C-Commander Fox, are you all right?” she asked.

Am I all right? Is that really what we should be discussing right now? Fox felt himself getting irrationally angry. She had just survived a kriffing life-or-death situation, and yet she still had to be so kriffing selfless, checking on others instead of worrying about herself. Did she think so little of herself and her own welfare?

“I’m not the one who nearly got killed!” Fox growled. Riyo shrank slightly at his forceful tone, but did not move out of his grasp.

“Fox, I’m fine. Really!” she insisted. “General Skywalker was there and—”

“And what if the Jedi hadn’t come? What then?”

A tiny, sensible voice in Fox’s head told him that he was overreacting, but these feelings had been pent up long enough. The problem wasn’t with Riyo, but with him. Fox had just one duty to protect her, and he couldn’t do even that. He’d never resented being a clone more than he did in that moment. In a kinder existence, if he hadn’t been grown in a tube, maybe he’d deserve to love her and worry about her. His thoughts ran wild in his frazzled mind, but he had nowhere else to channel all this anger.

“What has gotten over you, Fox?” Riyo demanded. If anything, she seemed more puzzled than irritated, but Fox still found himself trying to backtrack.

“You should be on your way to a medcenter,” he said. “You’ve survived quite the ordeal.”

“I don’t need—”

“Is there a problem, Senator Chuchi?”

Fox was momentarily shaken from his trance to notice who was standing next to Riyo. Everybody knew General Anakin Skywalker, if not by face then at least by reputation. He was the Republic’s poster boy for the war effort and the Chancellor’s favorite Jedi. Instinctively, Fox snapped to attention, as he was taught to do in the presence of a superior officer.

“Everything’s fine, General Skywalker,” Riyo stammered, her cheeks darkening slightly. “It’s…all under control.”

General Skywalker gave Fox this searching look that made Fox feel like he was being stripped naked for inspection. Fox thought he could feel something physically press against him, even though nobody stood close enough to touch. Must be that Force osik his batchmates were always going on about; Fox finally knew what it felt like, firsthand. Finding nothing of note with Fox, the general turned back to Riyo.

“Senator Amidala asked me to come and check in on you,” he said, all casual confidence bordering on cockiness.

“Oh! Is Pa—Senator Amidala all right?” Riyo asked, eyes widening.

“She’s uninjured, but she decided it was best to get checked out at the medcenter,” the general said. “I would recommend the same for you—falling down a story is still a fall.”

Riyo nodded vigorously. “Y-yes, I’ll definitely do that.”

Evidently, she was only receptive to concern from Jedi—but even Fox had to admit that the bastard was handsome. As General Skywalker and Riyo talked, Fox could have been invisible as far as they were concerned. Usually, he didn’t mind blending into the background (it was what the public had come to expect of clones), but today the expectation chafed at him. Fox wanted to be seen and heard; he wanted Riyo to pay attention to him. There were a thousand and one things Fox wanted to say, but he knew his words had no place in their conversation. She probably didn’t want to hear them. Fox was no gallant Jedi general, who was in the right place at the right time to save her, who was able to put Riyo at ease with just a look and a word. He was just a clone who had expected too much and reached too far.

When his commlink went off again, about some trifling matter like LAAT refueling protocol, Fox silently slipped away to respond to the call. He was not needed, nor was he wanted there. He would leave Riyo to better, more human company. Fox had work to do.

Riyo knew she had not imagined what she just saw.

When Fox came barreling into the rescue site, he had ignored his subordinates and other, more senior senators to make straight for her like she was the only person who mattered. The way he had spoken so forcefully to her frightened her at first, but when she looked into his eyes, Riyo saw the fear there, and knew it was why he spoke thusly.

Perhaps it was just happy coincidence that he wore neither helmet nor gauntlets, or perhaps some unexpected task had necessitated taking them off, but she was happy to see his face, unobstructed by the impersonal barrier of his visor. And Riyo could swear that she saw on his wrist, peeking out from under the sleeve of his undergarment, a piece of bamboo on a blue braided cord. Fox had worn her talisman all this time, and from the looks of the faded cord, looked like he never took it off.

It had to mean something. Riyo wanted it desperately to be so. She had meant to ask him about it had General Skywalker not shown up. Obviously she wasn’t going to rebuff the general, although she tried her best to keep her conversation with him short. But by the time the general finally left, Fox was long gone.

Riyo declined all offers to be air-lifted to the medcenter, instead devoting her energy to looking for Fox. As the most senior clone officer on Coruscant, someone knew where he was at all times, but whenever she followed a tip to his last known location, he was always gone on to his next errand, the next guard outpost. By the evening, she began to suspect that Fox was actively trying to avoid her. She would have to get more creative with her search efforts.

While cutting through Coruscant Green Park back towards the Senate Building, she passed by a squad of red-painted troopers, one of which whose armor looked vaguely familiar. They would do.

“Could someone tell me where I can find Commander Thorn?” she asked them.

They exchanged a look, as if to determine who should answer her question. A trooper with racing stripes painted on his helmet responded first.

“Senator Chuchi…you should contact Captain Clash. He’s in charge of Senate security today.”

“No, it has to be Thorn. In person,” she stressed. Thorn knew Fox best, and from the way he teased Riyo, knew much more about Fox’s feelings than he let on.

“Understood, ma’am. Let us ask around.”

Eventually, the troopers located Thorn and drew lots to take Riyo to him. (Riyo had a suspicion that the winner rather than the loser got the privilege of the task.) Thorn was at a mobile command center set up on Senate Plaza, where he was supervising the staging of construction equipment and droids for the East Wing’s reconstruction. He looked busy so Riyo got straight to the point, in a clear departure from her habit of observing social niceties.

“Thorn. Where is Fox?” Gone was Riyo’s usual affable, pleasant tone. She spoke with the same voice she used on the Senate floor, cold and forceful.

Thorn’s mouth curled into a faint smile. "You’re going to tell him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Riyo said. “I’m not going to let him run away this time.”

Thorn glanced around to check there was nobody eavesdropping on their conversation. “I have a suspicion he’ll be trying to hide from everyone," he said in an undertone, “but he has to return to office at some point to start his flimsi-work. You'll probably find him there.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Be patient with him,” Thorn added. “Fox is the best of us, but he’s always been the hardest on himself.”

“Thorn—” Riyo hesitated for a moment, before patting the trooper's shoulder. “Thank you.”

Though Riyo could not see Thorn’s face, she could hear the smile in his tone. “Best of luck, vod.”

Riyo took off resolutely towards the Coruscant Guard’s central office without looking back.

On Fox’s way back to his office, his HUD feed pinged with an incoming message from Thorn. After the long, terrible, no-good day Fox had, he was too done to have any patience with Thorn’s usual osik. He had the mother of all incident reports to write, security protocols to update and reissue, and a briefing to prepare for. If Thorn had sent him another meme, Fox would actually put him into a headlock the next time they saw each other. He pulled up his messaging interface.

CC-4817 (Thorn): You can’t avoid her forever. Also, she’s kriffing hot when she’s mad.

Fox barely had time to parse the two disparate sentences in Thorn’s message when he heard someone clearing their throat. His hand fluttered to the blaster at his hip before he realized, with something akin to horror, that he had nearly pulled his gun on Riyo Chuchi.

She did indeed look angry—he hoped the stunt with the blaster didn’t exacerbate that—and there was a frightening intensity to her countenance that made Fox feel like a shrinking cadet again. But as Fox approached her, some of the anger seemed to dissipate.

“Fox, I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “We should talk.”

Fox knew from the holodramas that those words, coming from a woman, never boded well.

Kriffing Thorn must have put her up to this. Fox subtly took a steadying breath and planted his feet squarely on the floor.

“I apologize for my behavior from earlier today,” Fox said neutrally, focusing his gaze to a spot somewhere behind Riyo’s head. “The stress of the crisis situation got to me, which I know is unacceptable and unprofessional. I promise you that it will never happen again.”

For several agonizing moments, Riyo did not say a word. She simply looked at him, not even breaking eye contact with him for a second; he was convinced that she wasn’t even blinking.

“Fox…you and I both know that’s not why I’m here,” Riyo said slowly.

He really didn’t want to have this conversation with her. Definitely not now, probably not ever. Fox would have been content spending the rest of his miserable existence loving her from afar, because at least that would keep him in her orbit. Once she knew, she would never want to see him again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fox stalled.

Riyo huffed loudly. “Shavit. Fox, tell me the truth.”

Little gods, Thorn was right. She was kriffing hot when she was all angry and authoritative like this. Fox had to remind himself that this wasn’t the time to allow his mind to embark on such diversions.

“So you want the truth?” he said, his voice half-sigh, half-growl. “I was kriffing terrified that something had happened to you—that those…those demagolkyc bounty hunters hurt you in any way. I know how those shabuire are, and what they’re capable of. I couldn’t—” His voice cracked. “There was nothing more I wanted than to find you and make sure you were alright. Because…I don’t think I could live with myself if someone hurt you.

“But none of this matters,” he mumbled hastily, trying to walk back his words that had betrayed too much. “I shouldn’t be telling you these things.”

“And if I want you to?”

This was exactly as Fox feared. In her kindness and willingness to listen, she would fail to recognize the nature of the feelings Fox harbored for her—or decline him politely by choosing to overlook it.

“Fox, look at me. Please.”

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. His eyes remained stubbornly fixated on anything but her face.

She raised her hands and lifted his helmet off his head. The intimacy of the action sent shivers down Fox’s entire body. He lifted his unworthy eyes towards her, and like he was drowning in Geonosian desert, he drank her in greedily. Riyo still wore the same grimy clothes she had earlier in the day, as if she had rushed straight here to find him. Dust still streaked her hair and flecked her face, and yet none of it diminished her beauty in any way. Beautiful, selfless angel—Fox never wanted to look away, especially since he didn’t deserve to look in the first place.

“I want to know these things. I want to know what goes on inside your head, because I care about you, what you think, and what you’re feeling.”

Between his overnight shift at the prison, his scant three hours of sleep, and the hostage crisis that filled the rest of his day, Fox was hallucinating, he was sure of it. Riyo Chuchi couldn’t be saying these things to him. Just like he had to be imagining her hand ghosting over his jaw, although maybe he was awake, because she stopped short of touching him.

“I know you still wear the talisman,” she continued. “I have to know…Please tell me that I am not imagining it, that it means you feel the same way I feel about you.”

Her words tore through him with the force of a slug shot. Surely she didn’t mean what she was saying. She, the most beautiful, most deserving, the most radiant nat-born in the galaxy. She wouldn’t care about the feelings of someone like him. She wouldn’t be encouraging them, giving him hope where there was none. Yet the way she looked at him simultaneously made him feel like the proudest man in the galaxy and the lowliest insect being ground underfoot. Incredibly, impossibly, ridiculously, his shot in the dark had been met and answered in kind. Fox felt like he was floating.

“How can you love a clone?” he said hoarsely.

What he really meant, though, was how could she love him—scarred and uncultured and unremarkable, indistinguishable among millions. She was rare and ethereal like the light of extragalactic stars, and he was common as asteroid rubble. And yet like he meant something to her, Riyo moved in closer and threaded her fingers through his, peering up at him through her fine lashes.

“You’re more than that,” she said fervently. “You’ve always been more than that to me. You always listen to me, you treat me with respect and patience, you make time for me, you’re very competent in what you do…And, well, I enjoy your company and, ah—you’re so very handsome. Aren’t those reasons enough?”

Fox thought privately that her enumerated list could describe just about every one of his brothers, not just him. And honestly, she could do a lot better than Fox, who had failed time and time again to protect her. Even that ARC trooper Fox had locked away last night had done more for Riyo.

 “You deserve better than…someone like me,” he said.

“Is the truth really so hard to accept?” She smiled up at him, filling his belly with a buzzy, pleasant feeling. “You did save me, the first time we ever met. How could I not fall for my gallant hero?”

Fox remembered the incident much differently, but who was he to contradict her when she was looking at him like that? He shuffled his feet awkwardly, all-too-aware of the burning in his face.

“I—uh, have romantic feelings for you, too,” Fox said slowly, careful with his every word. “But I don’t…I never…” He did not know how to finish his thought. Fox had been brought into existence for a singular purpose, and had no training on navigating the humanity in him that the kaminii’se left unacknowledged. All he knew was that he wanted Riyo and wanted to be with her, but for everything beyond that he drew a blank. Military training had come very naturally to him, but with emotions, he was entirely out of his depth.

The infinite patience and gentleness in her expression made his heart lurch as she stroked his face. Instinctively, he leaned into her touch, marveling at the softness of her hand that was like synthsilk.

“That’s okay. But will you let me show you?”

Fox was momentarily distracted by the way Riyo’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. Every nerve in his body was tingling, his instinct was raring at him to do something, and really, it would be so easy just to lean in and—

Fox’s comm beeped, and Clash’s too-loud voice echoed down the empty hallway, asking if the lab results from the bomb squad had come in yet. Fox considered turning off his commlink, but knew that would prompt many questions at best and land him with disciplinary action at worst. With great reluctance, Fox raised his commlink.

“I’ll go,” Riyo said apologetically. “I know you must have a lot going on.”

Stay, Fox wanted to beg of her, but she was right, and all that work waiting for him wouldn’t finish itself. Even though for just a moment he was allowed to feel like a man, at the end of the day, he was still a clone with orders to follow.

“Um. Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I completely understand. I’ll see you around.” Riyo cradled his face with her hands and pressed her lips briefly to his. For several moments, Fox was so shocked that he forgot how to speak or breathe.

“Good night, Fox,” she said. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t—I don’t plan on sleeping tonight,” he croaked.

She cast him a look that was both fond and exasperated, as if she expected him to say that. Squeezing his hand one last time, she flounced out of the Coruscant Guard office and into the glittering night. Fox watched her walk away, absently touching his lips and marveling at the great and wondrous thing that had just happened to him. The holodramas finally made sense to him now—he had not felt this light and joyful since the day he finished command school. He’d gladly follow that woman to the end of the galaxy, to the end of the universe, even.

Kriff. He should have at least walked her out to her speeder or whatever. That's what the male love interests did in the holodramas, at least. Fox was already off to a lousy start.

Next time, he told himself. He could get used to this feeling of being in love. Because now, he knew with a surety that though she had to walk away, he knew she would return to him soon. The night ahead no longer seemed so bleak, because once it was over, it would be a new day and he would be able to see Riyo again. And he could hardly wait.

Chapter Text

Fox wasn’t so sure that he was any good at this dating thing. Even after reading the six HoloNet articles Thorn had sent him on the subject, Fox still had no idea what he was doing. Fox had no credits, experiences, or hobbies to share that seemed prerequisite for every date idea he’d read.

Riyo had taken him on several dates: to the cinema, to the art museum, to unassuming restaurants on the mid-levels of Coruscant where his presence did not attract too much negative attention. Fox liked trying new foods, suffered silently through the ancient Taung art exhibit, and accidentally dozed off during the holofilm (in his defense, he had just come off a 12 hour street patrol shift and the film was entirely in Ryl). She seemed to sense that Fox was only humoring her on such outings, and thus decided that Fox would get to choose to do something where he felt more comfortable.

Which was why Fox was at a complete loss, on the verge of tearing his hair out.

“It’s not about what we’re doing together, it’s about spending time with each other,” Riyo had assured him. “And I’m always happy to do anything with you, even if it’s just sitting in an office looking at our datapads.”

Fox would much rather be looking at her than his stupid datapad while on a date. Plus, the insinuation that Fox couldn’t come up with something interesting rankled at him. He may only be a clone, but he wasn’t going to just settle for mediocrity.

At the beginning of their dating (or whatever it was called), Riyo told him that she would no longer meet him on the landing bay. Fox could feel his heart crumble as she said it, but she quickly amended her statement, adding she would much rather see him somewhere more private, like her office. He understood her desire for secrecy, especially on Senate property. She was risking so much to be with him, and Fox would accept that his place was not by her side, but always in her shadow.

But, as Fox learned, seeing Riyo in her office had more upsides than the promise of excellent caf. Riyo was very touchy when there were no unwanted eyes. Fox decided that yes, he liked the hand-holding very much. And the hair-stroking. And the hugging and kissing.

So, the date. Fox resolved to make this next date absolutely spectacular. Thankfully, Riyo was busy working on some big amendments to the budget bill that would be voted on next week, so Fox still had some time to brainstorm.

The last senators trailed out of the Senate Chamber following a productive session, ready to go home and enjoy their brief recess. The Senate had just passed their Fiscal Year 7958 budget, a document that was nearly six months in the making.

Riyo had spent hours upon hours working through the numbers, consulting with experts and lobbyists and local policymakers, reviewing the Republic’s finances and expenditure streams. She had asked Senator Burtoni about various aspects of the clone production process, but the Kaminoan senator became less forthcoming with the information when she learned Riyo was on the Finance Committee.

Without firsthand information from Kamino, Riyo had been forced to guess and extrapolate costs of trooper production, training, and commissioning. Her father and uncle had been helpful with helping her come up with some of the numbers, but Riyo hated the uncertainty that clouded her calculations.

“Politicians aren’t good at math,” her father had assured her. “As long as your numbers seem convincing and your reasoning is solid, they’ll believe them.”

The fruit of three months of Riyo’s labors was a single line item buried deep in the 216 trillion credit budget allocation document, requesting an increase of GAR medical supply funding by 2.5%. The 17 million was but a tiny fraction of the astronomical sum allocated to GAR operations, but Riyo was unable to ask for anything more. She hoped this increase was enough to see some improvements in the quality of the clones’ medical care. The newly approved budget wouldn’t go into effect for another six weeks, when the new fiscal year began, although Riyo suspected that the medical branch of the GAR would not see their money come in until well after other branches got their funding first.

She would worry about that later, though. For now, she just wanted to go home, take off her uncomfortable shoes, lie on the couch, and watch a terrible Corellian holofilm.

“Thank you so much for all your hard work, Senator Chuchi,” said Senator Tills, as they made their way to the turbolift foyer. “You’ve been a wonderful addition to the Finance Committee.”

“Thank you for your mentorship, Senator Tills,” Riyo replied. The Mon Calamari senator had been a massive help getting her situated in her first major committee appointment. “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you.”

Senator Tills smiled warmly and patted Riyo’s shoulder. “Go home and get some rest, young one,” she said. “The work is never fully over here in the Senate.”

“I will,” Riyo promised.

They bid each other goodbye before they got into their turbolifts; Senator Tills was going to dinner with some staffers from the Mon Calamari embassy, while Riyo was headed back to office to collect her things. Riyo ran into the troopers patrolling her floor (Decker and Brando) in the hallway, who tagged along to score some biscuits from the treat jar in her waiting room.

“Headed home for the day, Miss Riyo?” Brando asked.

“Probably,” Riyo said, suppressing a yawn. “But I haven’t been down to the medcenter to visit Flare and the others, so I think I’ll do that on the way back.”

“Tell that lucky bastard he’d better get well soon,” Decker muttered.

“I should tell who what?” Riyo said innocently.

Brando hooted with laughter, spewing crumbs all over her floor.

At the medcenter, everything was pretty much as expected. Flare was still getting his spinal injections, Swiper was still terrorizing his brothers, and Vail still refused to say or do anything. Riyo gamely sat with the troopers for a while, fighting to keep her exhaustion at bay as she listened to them fill her in on what she had missed while she was gone. It was Guts who put an end to that, telling off his brothers for keeping Miss Riyo here, couldn’t you idiots tell that she was ready to pass out?

With Guts’ intervention, Riyo made her speedy farewells and soon went on her way. She saw Dr. Korr in passing through a ward window, the doctor smiling and waving at Riyo as she headed out. Riyo made a mental note to invite the doctor out to dinner sometime, or bring them some takeaway. Dr. Korr worked ungodly hours, and looked like they weren’t taking care of themselves.

When Riyo got back to her apartment, she immediately threw herself onto her couch and pulled out her commlink. It had become her habit as of late, to let Fox know she’d made it home safely. While he never asked her to do this for him, Riyo sensed that he spent a lot of time worrying about her safety, and that these messages helped alleviate some of his many daily burdens.

A pinging notification told her Fox saw her message almost immediately. but it took him another several minutes before he was able to respond.

Fox: I’m glad you’re safe. Take care tonight, Riyo.

She smiled at her commlink, hearing Fox’s message in his voice.

1. Chuchi: I hope you do the same, my dear Fox. Wish you were here~

Fox: Same

Fox stopped responding after that, but he was clearly in the middle of something. Riyo laid aside her commlink and sighed happily. Life was exhausting and full of challenges, but life was good. Riyo was doing something meaningful in the galaxy, and she had the most patient, most supportive, and most attractive boyfriend on this side of Coruscant. Of course she wished she could see him more often, but she knew he had his responsibilities, as she had her own.

She pulled up the takeaway menu for her favorite Naboo restaurant to consider her options for latemeal. However, she never did manage to place an order; overcome with weariness, she fell asleep midway reading through the list of starters.

While Riyo had managed to sneak in a medical funding provision to the Republic budget for next year, there was still a lot more that could be done for the clones on that front. Simply increasing their medical budget was unlikely to improve conditions; Riyo knew that large bureaucracies had a way of misplacing resources. To clean house, you couldn’t just give them a broom and expect results—the house had to be entirely rebuilt and refurnished.

Riyo now had nearly sixty pages of notes on GAR medcenter operations and conditions, sourced from eyewitness accounts and interviews at Republic Central. When word spread that Riyo was gathering information on the medcenter, the personnel began coming to her to share their own experiences and opinions. She learned the staffing and supply shortages seemed to be endemic at Republic Central. Among the statements she had received:

• Steady wasn’t actually supposed to be a receptionist; he was the admin coordinator for the medcenter. They had put him at the front desk because they couldn’t spare anybody else to watch the entrance. “Clearly, I’m a last resort, because I don’t have the time for front-desk duties,” he said of the unexpected assignment.
• Cobb indicated that staples were the preferred method of wound closing. Riyo didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, until he clarified that they used sterilized construction staples—those were cheap to buy in bulk on the lower levels. Sutures and medical grade staples were only reserved for wounds of high severity, and practically worth their weight in gold. Plus, with so much he had going on, suturing took too long.
• Varko, the Zabrak nurse Riyo had met on her first visit, was concerned about lacking basic things like exam gloves and probes. He and the rest of the caregivers frequently washed their hands in their gloves so they used fewer of them. It was hard for him to detect fevers without temperature probes, especially when Zabraks naturally ran hotter than Humans.
• Tomi Harabb mainly supervised the burn units on Wards 13 and 14. The Mon Calamari doctor talked about shortages of graft materials; there wasn't nearly enough synth-skin to go around (not to even speak of the natural stuff), so she had resorted to using an old technique from Dac, using fish skin to facilitate wound healing. The Kaminoans had put a stop to that, citing uncertainties in its compatibility with clone biology. Dr. Harabb was mainly insulted that the Kaminoans had the audacity to insult proven Mon Calamari techniques—there was existing data that showed the fish skin treatment worked on Humans, and weren’t the clones technically Humans?

With everything she’d learned, perhaps Riyo really should publish an anonymous exposé on Republic Central. Perhaps the attention would galvanize public support for clones’ rights. Ordinary Coruscanti citizens had few to no interactions with clone troopers, except as glorified police droids on the streets.

She sensed that Dr. Korr was getting suspicious of her, though.

“This is a very spicy tell-all you must be working on,” Dr. Korr quipped. “Are you planning to write a holonovel?”

“I just like to be...thorough,” Riyo said truthfully.

“I feel like I've seen you before, somewhere,” the doctor said, squinting at Riyo’s face.

“There are a lot of Pantorans on Coruscant.”

If anyone were to ask for Riyo’s honest opinion, she thought there was something dodgy going on with the budget allocations. The Republic paid Kamino and the Banking Clan an absurd amount of credits to fund its war, and while the ledgers all recorded legitimate transactions and contracts, Riyo still had a strange gut feeling about the Republic’s finances. It almost seemed to Riyo that Kamino and the Banking Clan had a vested interest in prolonging the war, because as long as there was an enemy to be fought, they had credits to be earned.

Whatever Riyo planned to do next, it would have to be drastic. But she had learned that ordinary citizens took laws pertaining to their taxes very seriously, and with inflation on the rise and social welfare benefits getting cut, Riyo might have something by which she could sway public favor.

Because Thorn clearly had nothing better to do than share other people’s personal business, most of the Coruscant Guard knew that Fox was seeing Senator Chuchi by the next tenday. There had been real envy in the ribbings Fox got from some of his reporting officers.

“Get in kriffing line,” Thorn told one of the captains who still refused to believe that Riyo saw something in their grim, uptight commander. “I think all of us want to tap that, if given the slightest opportunity.”

Fox decided to pretend he heard none of that conversation—it was still early in the day, and he’d only just finished his first cup of caf.

What Fox didn’t appreciate, however, was Thorn broadcasting Fox’s current predicament about curating the perfect date. The unsolicited advice his reporting officers gave him was bad bordering on awful.

“Women like animals, right? Maybe you should take her to the zoo,” Hound suggested.

“And pay for admission how? You know we don’t get paid in Republic credits,” Fox scoffed.

“What about taking her on a speeder bike ride? I saw it in a holodrama once,” Hero offered.

Fox had a good idea of which holodrama Hero was referring to, and he also knew too well what kind of pilots took to the skies in Coruscant. His job as the commander of the Coruscant Guard was to protect Riyo, not put her in more danger.

Stone, ever pragmatic, suggested that Fox was thinking too hard about this date. “Holo and chill, vod,” he said. “Never fails. Plus, you get something out of it.”

Fox wanted to correct Stone that he did get something out of his dates with Riyo—and that her company was far superior than that of his worthless brothers—but Thorn beat him to chastisement.

“You can’t think with just your verd’ika, Stone,” Thorn chided. “Miss Riyo is no bucket bunny—and you need to consider Fox’s delicate sensibilities.”

“Oh, kriff off,” Fox muttered.

“Perhaps you could work out together, sir,” Thire ventured timidly. “It seems to be something nat-born couples do, at least according to the HoloNet.”

Thorn turned to Thire with an impressed look on his face. “This is the first good idea I’ve heard today,” he said. “Thire, you are brilliant.”

Last Fox checked, he was dating Riyo Chuchi, not Thorn. “If you’re done, we should get to discussing what’s actually important here,” Fox growled. The officers were gathered here for a resource meeting, not to make idle gossip.

“No no, this is plenty important, ori’vod,” Thorn said impishly. “Seeing as you need all the help you can get right now. The gym date is a winning strategy—I think Miss Riyo would appreciate watching Fox work out as much as I do.”

“You don’t even know if she’ll be up to it,” Fox muttered. Riyo was tiny and delicate as a bird, and looked to be the last person he’d expect to see at the gym.

“Senator Chuchi does work out, sir—three days a week,” Thire said.

“And how would you know that?”

“The men in the northwest security office see her come in to use the Senate fitness facilities. She’s one of the few who actually make use of the place.”

Like the rest of the Coruscant Guard, Fox had often passed by the lavish fitness facility while on rounds in the Senate Building. It was almost always empty, except for the odd senatorial aide or cleaning droid passing through. The place seemed like a dreadful waste of Republic funds, but it wasn’t a clone’s place to complain about where credits were going.

“This is a good plan,” Stone admitted grudgingly. “You don’t have to worry about not having credits, and it’s something both of you will enjoy—”

“Plus, it’ll give you the opportunity to show off those gains,” Thorn added. “We need to get you one of those loose tank tops, and cut out—”

Fox slammed his fist onto the table. “That’s enough! Now, if we’re finished, let’s start this meeting. We’re already eight minutes behind schedule.”

Thorn had the gall during the meeting to send Fox a picture of the tank top look he was thinking about. It revealed more than it covered, and looked too obscene to wear in public. Fox was proud of his body, to be sure, but there was trying and then there was trying too hard. If the Coruscant Guard weren’t stretched so thin already, Fox would have sent Thorn to clean the barracks ‘freshers for a week, if just to get Thorn off his back.

Later that afternoon, while Fox was having caf with Riyo, he hesitantly brought up the date idea (leaving out that he and his men had held a meeting to discuss it). He had sweated profusely as he waited for her to decline, but she turned out to be surprisingly receptive to the idea and agreed immediately.

“But don’t laugh at me if I get tired quickly!” she added, eyes skimming him from head to toe. “I’m not as...fit as you are.”

“I would never,” Fox promised.

On the agreed day, Fox met up with Riyo at the end of her work day, and together they went down to the fitness facilities. Entering the place felt surreal; since the fitness facility was classified as a restricted area, neither the Coruscant nor Senate Guards were allowed to enter without authorization. Fox and the rest of his men knew what the place looked like from the security feeds, but that didn’t prepare him for the experience of seeing it in person for the first time.

The Senate fitness facilities were probably triple the size of the GAR gym, and equipped with every type of exercise machine used in the galaxy. Everything was polished, clean, pristine—from the holoscreens that dotted the room to the infused water dispensing machines and exercise mats to the trainer droids that hovered solicitously near the equipment. Not even the training facilities in Tipoca City had been so luxuriously appointed. As expected, the place was nearly deserted, except for a Human boxing with a trainer droid and a Wookiee on the treadmill.

For a few moments, Fox just stood in the doorway and stared, feeling so small and so common. He knew he did not belong here and had no business being here. Perhaps he had been too forward with this suggestion; they should have gone to the GAR gym instead. No, that idea was as preposterous as this one—as someone who was accustomed to this kind of luxury, Riyo would find the troopers’ gym horribly basic, not to mention dirty.

Up ahead, Riyo was talking to the Wookiee. She glanced around, as if looking for Fox.

“Fox, you can come in! You’re here with me,” she told him.

Obediently, Fox drew up to Riyo’s side. She introduced him to the Wookiee, who turned out to be Senator Yarua’s chief of staff, Kiyyakka.

“Pleased to meet you,” Fox said formally. He wasn’t very good at telling Wookiees apart; he also wasn’t sure if Kiyyakka was male or female.

Kiyyakka keened in greeting, and returned to their workout. Riyo and Fox split off to change in the locker rooms. Fox took a moment to marvel at the included amenities therein (why did they even have chandeliers and barber droids in a locker room?) before he opened his backpack to get out his gym clothes.

Kriffing Thorn, Fox thought, not for the first time that day.

Thorn had actually procured the civvie tank top he promised, a loose flimsy thing with arm holes cut so that the sides were open nearly all the way to the waist. Fox would rather eat his blaster than wear it. Shoving the tank top aside, he found his PTUs and pulled them on. Except he found that his shorts were now mysteriously 10 cm shorter than regulation.

“Kriffing Thorn,” Fox muttered. There was no time to return to the barracks to retrieve his spare pair from his footlocker, so Fox was forced to wear the cropped shorts. He felt overexposed as he re-entered the gym, and tried tugging down the hem of his shorts to cover more of his legs. Riyo was already done changing, and had started stretching under the solicitous guidance of a trainer droid.

Now Fox knew nothing about women’s fashions and supposed Riyo’s outfit was practical for exercise, but little gods, was she trying to kill him? He had never seen so much of her legs on display—not that he was complaining, of course—and that tantalizing sliver of skin between the hem of her cropped top and waistband was enough to drive him to distraction. He tugged self-consciously at his shorts again, and decided to start his workout with a run, anything that put him far away from Riyo where he didn’t have to look at her and risk injuring himself from being so distracted.

Kiyyakka made for a better workout companion than Thorn; they didn’t try to talk to Fox, or make obnoxious comments about Fox’s body. But it was more than a little daunting, working out with a Wookiee. Fox would have offered to spot for Kiyyakka as common courtesy, except the Wookiee was benching the weight of a small starfighter. Turns out he didn’t need to, anyways—the Senate’s machines did not require spotters. They had built-in safety mechanisms that activated when it sensed the user to be in danger. (Fox accidentally activated this function when he let his barbell fall a little too quickly during a rep. A hidden repulsormag lifted the barbell out of Fox’s hands and locked it back into the catch, and the system wouldn’t let him resume his workout until the summoned medical droid cleared him.)

Meanwhile, Riyo showed no interest in weight training, preferring to stick to cardio and calisthenics. She seemed to favor working out on an odd pulling machine that Fox had never seen before.

“This is a rowing machine,” she explained. “It simulates the action of rowing a boat.”

“But why would anybody want to manually row a boat?” It sounded awfully inefficient, when amphibious ships existed.

“For exercise? It’s supposed to be based on an ancient design.”

Fox tried the rowing machine for 5 minutes, and decided that he still preferred weights.

As Fox was at the squat rack, he had a niggling sense that someone was watching him. Perhaps Thorn’s shorts had been an inspired choice, after all. Fox found himself flexing a little harder and slipping a few extra reps into each set; he had put a lot of work into maintaining his body, and it felt good that someone else could appreciate the fruit of his efforts. They worked out for about an hour and a half before Riyo told him she was going to go shower, which was funny since her dripping hair made it look like she’d just stepped out of one.

“I sweat a lot when I exercise,” she confessed, looking a bit embarrassed.

Fox was very glad that he applied extra deodorant today, because clone troopers smelled absolutely rank after heavy exercise. More often than not, their gym and barracks smelled like something died in it, even with the regular work of their sanitation brigades.

They retreated to their respective locker rooms to clean off and change. Fox allowed the luxury of spending 8 minutes instead of his usual 5 under the glorious spray of the hot water shower—he had only used sonics since leaving Kamino. He was in and out of the locker room in 14 minutes total, but found that Riyo was still inside. He should have anticipated that women took longer to shower and get ready, but no matter. Fox sat down on an armchair in the waiting area and took out his datapad; he would make the most out of this time. As he went through the newest emails in his inbox, he once again got the unsettling feeling of being watched.

There are security cameras in here, Fox remembered, as he glanced around the now-deserted gym. He located all 14 cameras in the room by their tiny red indicator lights, and resumed working.

Riyo stepped out of the locker room a full half-hour later, looking refreshed and polished again in a new outfit and new hairstyle.

“You’re still here?” she asked. Her crisp, floral scent wafted towards him. “I would have thought you’d left already.”

Fox had specially cleared his schedule tonight, just to be with her. Heedful of the cameras, he kept a polite distance as he took her bag off her hands. “I’m off-duty the rest of the evening,” he replied.

He wished he could somehow bottle up the way her face brightened, so that the warmth it brought him could tide him over during the lonely hours he spent away from her. He wished there weren’t so many cameras around, because he wanted to pull her into his arms and bury his nose in her silky hair. Thankfully the night was still young, and he still had several precious hours to spend with her that he would be grateful for.

“Perfect! I know just the place for latemeal,” she said, beaming.

As they left the fitness facility, they encountered a pair of patrolling troopers just outside the doors.

“Senator, sir,” they said, snapping to attention.

Fox seemed to recall that these troopers had been assigned to patrol the north wing, not the west—although he might have remembered incorrectly, since Thire had assigned the patrols today. But Fox was in a gracious mood at the moment, and didn’t feel like giving his troopers a hard time. Out in the velvet Coruscanti night, their hands found each other and together, Fox and Riyo vanished into a kinder anonymity where they could just be two average lovers, if just for a little while.

Holos of Riyo in her workout clothes began circulating on the GAR chat network that night.

Fox wouldn’t have known about them if Thorn hadn’t reposted the holos in the private command chat, teasing Bly that his general had competition as the hottest blue chick in the galaxy. Incandescent with rage, Fox muted all of his chats, sent out a strongly worded memo to the entire Coruscant Guard on respecting boundaries, and summarily summoned every trooper on Senate patrol that day for discipline. He didn’t care who actually took the holos; the entire lot of them were assigned to 2 months of sanitation duty on top of their regular duties, and ordered to properly apologize to the senator in person.

Fox had underestimated how daunting the last assignment would be for his troopers; during that awkward meeting in her office, he made a mental note never to piss her off. Riyo’s anger had been something to behold, and a shiny had actually cried from the sheer terror of her displeasure. (Granted, there had been some kind of imbalance in Baldy’s growth jar medium so he was always more prone to emotional outbursts than the average trooper.) After she had sat through each of the offending troopers’ apologies, frighteningly stone-faced, Fox approached her icy throne with his head bowed in contrition.

“Why are you apologizing, Fox?” Riyo asked, softening upon seeing him.

“My men were out of line,” he said. “As their commanding officer, I should have prevented their misbehavior.”

“They’re their own individuals; their mistakes are their own,” she replied. “You shouldn’t be blamed for something your men did.”

“Maybe you should wear, uh, different clothes,” Fox suggested. He did not trust the shinies to behave around her when she was dressed like that. “So this won’t happen again.”

The scathing look Riyo gave him nearly had Fox dropping to his knees to beg her forgiveness with the rest of them. “I’m not going to stop wearing what I want to wear just because your troopers can’t control themselves,” Riyo said severely. “Women shouldn’t be held accountable for men’s bad behavior.”

Fox could see the gathered troopers shift uncomfortably at that. It felt nice to be validated as people, but not for the purposes of chastisement.

“I was thinking about banning all troopers from my office as punishment—” (at that, Baldy whimpered) “but I decided not to. You are smart men, and you should know better. Don’t let this happen again, understood?”

“Yes, Miss Riyo,” they chorused.

The warm smile she gave them after the lecture was as reassuring as it was unsettling; most of the troopers were still trying to process this stern, authoritative side of Riyo they had never seen before. When she dismissed them, the exiting troopers studiously avoided the treat jar on the sideboard on their way out. Fox, who stayed behind to talk to Riyo alone, had no such compunctions. He opened the jar and took out what he now recognized as a fried ball dumpling. It was sweet and chewy, with a nutty filling.

“How did you find out about the holos?” Fox ventured.

“Some friends told me.”

Her friends would have to be clones themselves, since Jedi command did not have access to the chat network. It was probably some of Rex’s men—possibly that ARC trooper Fox locked up that one time. The thought of that ARC looking at those holos of Riyo made Fox want to punch a wall; it was already bad enough that Thorn and Bacara saw them, but to know that particular trooper had also seen her like that...

Riyo went to him, throwing her arms around his waist and gazing up into his eyes. Fox marveled at the tiny woman ensconced in his arms, his chest ready to burst from how much he adored her. Not for the first time, he felt like he lived a fever dream, to have won the affections of someone so extraordinary.

“I’ll see if I can get the system admins to scrub the holos from the network,” Fox promised her.

“You know they’re not going to be able to erase everything,” she replied. “Once something goes onto the HoloNet, there’s no taking it back.”

“I’m sorry about all of this,” Fox said. He really, truly was. Riyo was his girl, and the thought of his brothers looking at her, thinking about her, lusting for her, galled him more than he cared to admit. They did not truly know her as he did, or appreciate what a wonderful, kind person she was both inside and out.

“I’m not mad about the holos being out there—I’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” Riyo sighed. “I just don’t appreciate the men taking and sharing them without my permission. Ah, well...what’s done is done.”

“Well, I—uh, liked the outfit,” Fox confessed. He liked it a lot, even if he would deny it to anybody who asked, if just to spare some of his dignity.

He could feel Riyo’s smile where she had just brushed a kiss to his jaw. “Did you? I had a hard time focusing that day—couldn’t take my eyes off of you the whole time.”

“I forced myself not to look. So I wouldn’t drop a dumbbell on my foot.”

Maker, he could never get enough of hearing Riyo laugh. He would do anything to get her to keep laughing like that, because it was the most loveliest sound in the universe. Nat-borns had things like music and poetry to capture the beauty of things around them, but Riyo outshone everything and everyone else. In Fox’s humble opinion, there did not exist anything that could fully capture the essence of her.

“Let’s work out together again, sometime, hm?” she said.

“I look forward to it.”

Riyo rolled to her tip-toes and playfully kissed his nose. “So serious! One of these days, Fox, I’m going to get you to loosen up!”

Fox’s eyes were soft as he looked at her, his gaze as soft as a caress. He already felt like a much better person than he was since he met her. “You already have,” he said fervently.

When Riyo visited Republic Central next, she sailed right in like she owned the place, taking her usual path to Flare’s patient ward like her body was on autopilot. Everything had been exceptionally unremarkable, from the noncommittal way Steady acknowledged her presence to the squealing of the ancient turbolifts as she took it down to her floor. But when she got there, to the fifth bed in the second row from the windows, Riyo found an unfamiliar, bald trooper lying where she expected to see Flare.

Her first thought was that she must have gone to the wrong ward. Every patient recovery ward was laid out in the same way; she must have pressed the wrong button in the turbolift and gotten off on the wrong floor. Riyo made her way back to the turbolift foyer, but there was no mistaking the peeling number 8 painted on the wall.

This couldn’t be right. Flare and the others had been here just two days ago—where could they have all gone? Maybe their conditions had improved enough that they were transferred to outpatient care. But when asked about it, the nearest clone medical officer seemed as confused as she was.

“Outpatient ward? We have no outpatient ward,” said Spike.

“Then where did everyone go? Flare, Swiper, Vail, Punto, Mooney—I saw them here just two days ago.” Panic thrummed through Riyo’s body. Surely they couldn’t all have died. They had all been grievously wounded, but they had been healing well, for the most part.

“Oh.” Spike rubbed the back of his neck, looking uneasy. “That’s...nothing you need to concern yourself with, ma’am.”

“What happened to them.”

“They’ve been, uh, recalled to Kamino.”

“Why? Their conditions were stable.” Her father had managed to treat such patients in field medcenters set up in dusty tents; the doctors at Republic Central surely had the capability to so much more on a civilized planet like Coruscant. Riyo couldn’t think of any reason why the Kaminoans would personally treat such low-ranking soldiers when any medcenter worth its salt should be able to handle their cases.

There’s nothing else we could have done for them,” Spike said soberly.

“That’s not true!” Heat prickled at Riyo’s eyes. “How could you have given up on them? Don’t you care about your brothers?”

“It’s not that, the regs—”

The karking regs. How could Riyo have forgotten that this medcenter operated in accordance with some truly barbaric standards? And given what she knew about GAR finances, and the almost careless way the Republic continued pouring funds into a never-ending supply of new clone troopers...

Oh, Goddess. She clapped a hand over mouth to stifle a cry of horror as tears rolled down her cheeks. Everything made awful sense now, why the Republic spent so little on their medcenters. The Kaminoans had built their system around planned obsolescence—what was the point of spending credits to fix a broken product, when replacing it with a new one was cheaper?

“M-ma’am—?”

“Is it—are things...?” Riyo couldn’t even manage to finish her sentence, before the world around her dissolved into tears.

She had been so fixated on the fine details of the budget, blinding herself to everything but procuring funds that would still be months in coming...when she should have known that none of the patients at Republic Central were even guaranteed tomorrow. It was so ingrained in her never to present anything less than perfection, anything that could potentially reflect poorly on her. But it was her hesitation, her egotism, had doomed Flare and Vail and who knew how many other troopers. She was the only person who could have done something; she should have acted first and accepted the consequences later.

The sound of shoes squeaking on the floor drew her back to the present. Riyo recognized the scuffed green clogs as those belonging to Dr. Korr.

They squeezed Riyo’s shoulder as they drew near. “I’m so sorry, Riyo.”

“How could you allow this to happen?” she said, shrugging the doctor’s hand off her shoulder.

“I did what I could and tried to keep them here as long as possible. But I can’t create medical miracles, especially not when there’s so little for me to work with.” But instead of sounding defensive, as anybody else might be, Dr. Korr just sounded resigned, defeated. “When Kamino issues the recalls, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

“Why? Why would they do such a thing?”

“I don’t know for certain,” they replied.

Riyo roughly rubbed the wetness from her eyes with the heel of her hand. “What will it take? What do you need? More doctors? Bacta? Surgical equipment?”

Dr. Korr’s eyes were luminous with unshed tears. “I don’t know,” they said hoarsely. “At this point, we’ll take anything.”

“I’m going to do something about this,” Riyo said fiercely. “I don’t know what yet, but I’m going to do my damnedest to make it happen.” She knew that Republic Central needed supplies, and badly. Supplies cost credits that neither the clones nor the medcenter yet had. But Riyo had them, plenty of them.

The doctor’s only response was to wrap Riyo in a hug. “It’s all right.” It was clear they didn’t put much stock in Riyo’s words.

In the parking bay of Republic Central, Riyo pulled out her commlink and commed Sarika, instructing her to use the funds in her personal bank account to procure medical supplies for the medcenter.

“All of it?” Sarika echoed. “Riyo, little cousin, I have to ask—what in the Goddess’ name are you doing?”

“I said what I said,” Riyo said harshly. “And I’m not speaking to you as your cousin, but as a senator.”

“Maybe you’re being a bit rash here? You should think things through, and—”

“They’re my credits, Sari. And, oh...make sure to keep this anonymous.” Riyo hung up.

On the way home from the medcenter, Riyo felt her commlink ping, notifying her that the bank transaction went through. Buying things usually never failed to improve Riyo’s mood, but today, a sense of inadequacy still gnawed a pit of her stomach.

Had she done enough? Was it good enough? But the endless self-questioning and the ensuing silence from her commlink brought her no answers.

Chapter Text

Riyo woke the next morning to the sound of her commlink pinging. Groaning from the effort, she sat up and picked it up from the nearby table. Her father’s ghostly figure appeared on the holoprojector.

“Hello, Aba,” she said blearily.

“Did I catch you at a bad time, little flower?” her father asked, sounding amused.

Riyo glanced at the mess of junk food wrappers and empty bottles of Chandrilan strongwine scattered across the living room. Stars, she would not be doing that again. Her head felt ready to crack open.

“No, no—I, uh, just got up,” Riyo said, rubbing her face.

“I think you know why I’m calling,” her father said, without preamble. “You can imagine everyone’s surprise yesterday, when we got a one-point-two million-credit order for the Republic Central Medical Center, paid for by one Riyo Chuchi. Unless there’s a long-lost Chuchi cousin I forgot about, this must be you.”

“Well….” There was no mincing words with her father, when he had seen the receipts. “It was a bit of an…impulse purchase.”

“Indeed. If you wanted to donate supplies, you could have contacted me or Aunt Minu with Philanthropy—we would have gotten you a discount. What brought on this, ah, unexpectedly generous gesture?” Rather than being upset, her father sounded rather amused.

“Oh, Aba, you cannot believe what goes on at the Republic medcenter—” Despite Riyo’s pounding headache and lingering sense of melancholy, Riyo felt the smoldering sense of indignation flare up again. She recounted what she had heard and seen from her visits to the medcenter, laying out everything in stark detail. Though he didn’t say anything beyond monosyllables, she could sense her father’s quiet disapproval at the way the medcenter was run.

“That’s quite inhumane,” her father said finally, after Riyo ran out of stories to tell. “I can see why you were moved to action.”

“I wish I could’ve done more,” Riyo sighed. “I could have saved so many troopers, Aba.”

“One cannot save everyone. You’ve done what you could, at the moment.” Her father looked pensive. “It took me many years to learn that lesson, and to accept my personal limitations.”

They changed topics, talking about the state of affairs back home on Pantora. There was a lot of talk of secession; as a resource-poor Outer Rim planet with a waning economy and little political influence, an increasingly vocal minority expressed a desire for Pantora to secede from the Republic and join the Separatists, instead.

“Chairman Papanoida hasn’t been entertaining the idea, has he?” Riyo asked, horrified. She had gotten some correspondence from Separatist-sympathetic constituents to the same effect, but she had dismissed it as rabble-rousing or trolling.

Her father shook his head. “No, but they’ve been trying to court the left-wing members of the Assembly to the cause. Your grandfather plans to triple your donation to the GAR in hopes it will inspire more of Pantora to keep faith in the Republic.”

“Tell Oto-Ba that I said thank you,” Riyo said tremulously, trying not to cry again. Not for the first time in her life, she reflected on how fortunate she was, to be born to a family with such means.

“I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself, little flower,” her father said. “You look and sound unwell. Do you need me to comm Zarian to take a look at you?"

Riyo didn’t want to bother Dr. Evinala over just a simple hangover; she couldn’t imagine what he’d tell her father about her supposed drinking habits. “No, it’s fine, I just didn’t sleep well last night. I’ll just go rest a bit after this.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be on Coruscant in two weeks, we can talk more then.”

“Actually...Aba, could I borrow a few credits?” Riyo added sheepishly. “Just enough for groceries the next week—I, uh, accidentally emptied my bank account.”

In response to that, her father sighed. “Little flower, having wealth doesn’t mean you can be careless with your credits. Try not to do this again.” Nonetheless, by the end of the day, her father deposited 3,000 credits into her account.

Grocery money, indeed.

While the Senate might have Benduday off every week, Fox and the rest of the Coruscant Guard were not afforded the luxury. Bendudays were typically the busiest days in their week; with so many people in the city who also had the day off, the street patrol divisions had their work cut out for them. That particular Benduday morning, Fox was ensconced in his office with a pile of datapads, catching up on flimsiwork that had accumulated over the week. He’d last heard from Riyo the previous afternoon, when she was returning home from the Senate, but their line had been silent since. Fox wasn’t overly concerned. She was busy, and he didn’t want to bother her over something as trifling as him missing her. Riyo was never far from his mind; most of the time, she was all he could think about.

Fox was interrupted in his concentration by a rhythmic tapping on his office wall, the one he shared with Thorn. He tried his best to ignore it, hoping the sound would go away, but Thorn refused to stop. In a huff, Fox pushed back from his desk and stormed over to Thorn’s office, ready to give his brother a piece of his mind. But when he got there, Fox saw Quinlan Vos sitting in Thorn’s guest chair, absently bouncing a ball against the wall.

“Of course it has to be you,” Fox said flatly.

Vos remained unperturbed by Fox’s ill humor. “You’re so much more bearable with that pretty Pantoran around,” he said. “She was lovely, wherever did you manage to find her?”

On one occasion when Riyo took him to Dex’s Diner, they’d had the dubious fortune of running into General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Vos, who had been tucked into a corner booth bickering over their food. Unsurprisingly, Vos had flirted outrageously with Riyo, who had seemed charmed by the Kiffar more than anything else. Fox had once tried—and this was long before Vos ever met Riyo—to ban him from the Guard’s offices for being a nuisance, but Vos provided very helpful tips and knew the lower levels better than any Jedi should have business knowing. Plus, Thorn always let Vos in when Fox wasn’t around.

“Isn’t she? She’s a saint for putting up with Fox’ika,” Thorn agreed, that troll.

“Oh?” Vos raised an eyebrow. “Good for him, getting a girl. It seems what I’ve heard about the clones’ big—”

“Why are you here, Vos?” Fox cut in, crossing his arms.

“He really is a tight-ass,” Vos complained to Thorn. He resumed bouncing his ball, causing Fox to grind his teeth in annoyance. “I got a new assignment from the Council. They’re asking me to investigate the Senate.”

That got Fox’s full attention. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. The Jedi were supposed to be loyal to the Senate, and by extension the Republic. He doubted that Vos’ newest assignment had the chancellor’s blessing, but it begged the question: for what purpose did the Jedi want to spy on the Senate?

“Why?”

“Oh, you know, the usual shrouded in the Dark Side, the Senate is and whatnot,” Vos said. “But honestly, there’s been something off about them for a while. You don’t even need to be Yoda to feel it.”

“You can’t justify such an investigation without proof,” Fox said. “That Force osik doesn’t count.”

Vos huffed in annoyance. “Oh, don’t worry. I got your proof.” He produced a holoprojector puck from his pocket. It showed the ghostly figure of a Republic Senator in nondescript clothing peering anxiously around, as if checking his surroundings, before being ushered through a door by a sentry with the Black Sun symbol on his lapel. “Level thirteen-thirteen below CoCo Town, two nights ago,” Vos said, by way of explanation.

“That’s Senator Wallen,” Fox muttered. Senator Wallen and his usual sidekick, Senator Bibbeck, had previously been censured by the Ethics Committee for gambling. Fox could name several senators who favored Canto Bight as a holiday destination, but Wallen and Bibbeck had been caught gambling on which planets would secede from the Republic next. It had been a PR disaster of epic proportions, necessitating a formal apology not only from the offending senators, but the chancellor as well.

“Oho, you think it’s a money thing?” Thorn asked.

“Most likely,” Fox acquiesced. Wallen and Bibbeck’s losses at the Canto Bight sabacc tables were the stuff of legend throughout the Core Worlds. The crime syndicates were extremely rich and well-connected.

“What’s a Jedi like you doing down on the lower levels, anyways?” Thorn wanted to know.

“Wars are fought on many fronts,” Vos replied glibly. “Your brothers’ is in Outer Rim, mine is on the lower levels of Coruscant. My type of warfare requires a little more...subtlety.”

Fox snorted. Vos was one of the least subtle people he knew; one had to wonder how he got anything done.

Vos placed the holoprojector puck on Thorn’s desk. “Anyways, I think we both agree that the tip didn’t come from me, hey?”

“Of course,” Thorn promised, placing the puck into his desk drawer. “And thank you, Vos—we’ll check it out.”

The Jedi unfolded himself from the chair, drawing himself to his full height. He amicably slapped Thorn on the shoulder. “It’s been a good one, man,” he said on his way out. “Let me know when you’re out at 79’s next. And Fox—say hello to the pretty Pantoran for me.”

Fox scowled. He was certain Vos kept bringing up Riyo just to irritate him. Fox also disliked that Vos was able to get under his skin so easily. Some people existed to annoy others, like Vos and Ponds; it was counterproductive to get worked up because of them, because then Fox would be angry all the time.

“I don’t get why you don’t like him,” Thorn told Fox, after Vos left. “He’s a lot cooler than General Windu. Or General Yoda.”

“You just like that he flirts with you.”

“Ori’vod, Vos is an equal-opportunity flirt. You’re just too obtuse to notice. But if you’re feeling left out, next time he comes, I’ll tell him—”

“You will tell him no such thing,” Fox said sharply. “I know you’re procrastinating on your flimsiwork, so get back to work. You’ve been off-task long enough.”

“Vos is right, you’re more bearable with Miss Riyo around, Fox’ika.”

“Oh, kriff off.”

Dr. Makaru Chuchi arrived on Coruscant on an unmarked transport on an unremarkable cloudy day, bringing with him 2 million credits’ worth of medical supplies for the GAR. While Riyo was busy the morning her father arrived, she cleared her schedule that afternoon so she could see what was going on. She arrived at the medcenter’s parking bay to find everything in utter chaos: the space had been turned into some kind of staging area. Packing materials and pallets were piled everywhere, leaving her with barely any room to park. As Riyo squeezed past a large crate, she noted the familiar half-arc logo stamped on the side. So the supplies from her grandfather had come in, as promised.

Out in the cleared space in the middle of the bay, a group of medcenter staff was busy processing the incoming supplies. She recognized Cobb almost immediately, by his shock of scarlet hair, and predictably Guts was not too far off, either.

“Forty thousand units of bacta!” Guts was saying. “We have enough to fill a hundred tanks!”

“Less talking and more working, Guts. The forty thousand units aren’t going to move themselves,” Cobb grumbled.

“It’s like a Life Day miracle,” Guts said dreamily, clutching his datapad to his chest. “Maybe the Maker is good and actually listens to what we ask for.”

By now, Riyo was standing right behind Guts. Cobb noticed Riyo’s presence first and furiously gestured for Guts to stop talking, to no avail.

“D’you think I should’ve also asked for some smoking hot nurses to join the staff?” Guts continued. “Nothing against Varko, but I get tired of looking at his grumpy mug all the time.”

“Would you shut up, you idiot?” Cobb hissed, smacking Guts upside on the back of his head. “It’s nice to see you, Miss Riyo.”

“Hello there! Do you need an ice pack, Guts? It looks like Cobb got you pretty hard,” Riyo said cheerily..

“Nothing to worry about, ma’am, I’ve a thick skull," Guts said, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m surprised to see you down here—did you have anything to do with all this?”

“No, it wasn’t me. I just came by for a visit.”

Nonetheless, Riyo helped the clones finish taking inventory of the donated supplies, which were placed on dollies and taken into storage rooms throughout the medcenter. Riyo didn’t think it was possible for the service lifts to be dingier and more rickety than the general access lifts accessed from the lobby; she genuinely feared the turbolift would get stuck or begin free-falling on the way down. Cobb and Guts were deep in argument (Cobb insisted it was a discussion, while Guts was convinced that Cobb purposely disagreed with every point he made, just for the sake of arguing) when they emerged from the lift and found themselves face-to-face with Dr. Korr, who held a stack of datapads in hand.

“Did you hear about the donation that came in this morning?” Dr. Korr asked them. Judging from their expression, Guts was not alone in his extreme excitement.

“We sure did, Doc. Miss Riyo helped us get everything in order,” Cobb said.

The doctor turned to Riyo. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the provenance of this donation?”

“No, I have no idea,” Riyo lied.

As they made their way to the office block below Ward 6, Dr. Korr waxed eloquent about a new medical scanner that was rumored to be a part of the donation. Cobb and Guts did not seem to know what they were talking about, and while Riyo did know (only by virtue of it being a frequent conversation topic during family dinners), she chose to keep quiet to protect her identity.

“I’ve always wanted to get a Chu-Tai scanner for general diagnostics,” Dr. Korr said. “The piece-of-junk Akris we have can’t tell a hernia from an arsehole and should have been thrown out thirty years ago. Now the Siala models from Chu-Tai...they’re fast and they’re accurate. I’ve been told they’re even able to detect infections at the microscale level, which is absolutely mad. Not to mention they can even be reprogrammed with non-standard patient baselines. Which honestly would be so helpful here, if only we can convince the admins to make them standard issue here...”

“I’m very glad to hear that,” came a very familiar, melodic voice. “I’ll be sure to let our engineering teams know your feedback.”

At the head of the hall stood Riyo’s father, flanked by three individuals who were likely members of the medcenter’s administration. Riyo ducked behind Cobb and Guts in vain attempt to hide, already dreading the inevitable. Dr. Korr stopped and stared for a few moments before finding their words again.

“You’re Doctor Makaru Chuchi,” they said dumbly.

“I am,” her father said simply. “It’s lovely to meet you. I see you’re already acquainted with Riyo.”

That seemed to startle Dr. Korr out of being starstruck. “Y-you know Riyo as well?”

“I should, considering she’s my daughter,” Dr. Chuchi said cheerily. “Little flower, are you hiding from me?”

“No, Aba,” Riyo said, a bit sullenly. She adored her father, but she always hated how he liked to put her on the spot like this. Dr. Korr was giving Riyo the kind of look that implied they would be exchanging some words later.

“I’m glad you’re here, Doctor Korr,” said one of the admins. “Would you be so kind as to show Doctor Chuchi around? He’ll be with us for the next few weeks to supervise the distribution and integration of the donated supplies.”

“Oh—uh, yes, of course!” Dr. Korr stammered. “I can definitely do that.”

“I’m sure I’ll be in fine hands,” Dr. Chuchi said, smiling warmly at Dr. Korr. “Thank you so much for allowing me to get underfoot, Mister Antel.”

“No, your generosity is much appreciated,” the admin said. “It’s truly an honor for you to work with us.”

“The honor is mine,” the doctor replied graciously.

Before they set off, her father took the time to properly introduce himself to Dr. Korr and the two medical officers. Dr. Korr was practically shaking in their clogs; Cobb and Guts seemed startled that an outside civilian doctor would take the time to learn their names and individually ask about what they did. Unlike Dr. Korr, the clones did not seem to know who Dr. Chuchi was—aside from being a doctor and Riyo’s father. Their resemblance was too strong to deny, especially when the two stood next to each other.

Cobb and Guts had to return to their duties, so only Riyo and her father accompanied Dr. Korr on their tour around the medcenter. Riyo had been around a lot of Republic Central while compiling research on GAR medical operations; however, she had kept to common areas and the general recovery wards. With her father in tow, Dr. Korr took them deep into restricted areas: the pathology labs with their antiquated equipment, the sinister-looking operating rooms, the unused autopsy lab, the bacta ward with its sadly empty tanks.

Dr. Chuchi took no notes, taking everything in with keen eyes and asking only necessary questions. Riyo kept silent throughout, because it felt like it would be some kind of infringement by her ignorance. Dr. Korr was as nervous as a child on their first day at school, and they seemed to be a bit embarrassed by the medcenter’s ramshackle condition and glaring lack of resources. After hearing Dr. Korr apologize for what felt like the hundredth time, Dr. Chuchi stopped the younger doctor with a hand to their arm.

“Please, do not be ashamed,” her father told them. “There are some things, as doctors, that are out of our control. This is one of them. We do what we can with what we have.”

“It must be worlds away from what you’re used to,” Dr. Korr said.

“I’ve been all around the galaxy to hundreds of medcenters both rich and poor,” Dr. Chuchi explained patiently. “And yet at all of them, it is the quality of the staff that has the greatest influence on patient outcomes. What you do here is admirable, Doctor Korr, so be proud of that.”

Riyo could have sworn that Dr. Korr got a little misty-eyed at the last bit, which irritated her. Her father firmly believed in the use of encouragement as a teaching tool, and often said such things to countless junior doctors and medical students under his charge. She liked Dr. Korr, she really did, but today Riyo was in no mood to watch the young doctor preen from her father’s magnanimous praise.

Dr. Korr took them to the records room next, in the lowest levels of the medcenter. The hangar-sized room covered an entire floor, and was lined end-to-end with hundreds of shelves of datapads and flimsi folders alike. Riyo had never seen so much flimsi in her life.

“The only thing this place does well is record-keeping,” Dr. Korr said, pulling out a datapad at random to show Dr. Chuchi. As clones were considered Republic property, the GAR required detailed records of every clone trooper’s medical history. Dr. Chuchi noticed immediately that many patients had unusually long medical histories, showing them getting treatment for conditions that would not be expected from trauma patients from a battlefield.

“That’s a lot of health issues for men in their physical prime,” her father said.

“Well,” Dr. Korr began awkwardly, “about that.”

Very few of the critical patients managed to heal on the tight timetables dictated by the Kaminoans’ SOP. As a result, the doctors at Republic Central resorted to making up various illnesses and health conditions to buy them extra treatment time before their recalls were issued. Sometimes the troopers were successfully treated and discharged; most of the time, they were not. While Dr. Korr might not have known her father well enough to discern the change in his mien, Riyo noticed a faint twitch of his eye that gave away his displeasure.

“And you say this standard procedure?” Dr. Chuchi wanted to know.

“Technically, no. But the GAR is a bureaucratic labyrinth so we’ve been able to keep doing it.”

“Hm” was all Dr. Chuchi said in response to that.

By the time they finished the tour, night had fallen outside the dingy windows in the entrance lobby. The lights winked in the darkness like so many lanternflies. As the two doctors talked about last-minute schedule and staffing logistics, Riyo caught up with Steady, whose usual mask of irritation dropped briefly whenever he was around her. He was buried deep in documents from the 87th Sentinel Corps, who had returned to Coruscant to restock supplies and offload their critically wounded to the medcenter.

“Who’s that new doctor over there? Are we finally getting new staff at last?” Steady said hopefully.

“That’s my father,” Riyo said. “He’ll be here for a little bit.”

“Your father, huh?” Steady peered at Dr. Chuchi. “You two look very alike, for two nat-borns.”

“I get that a lot,” she replied dully. After remarking on their physical similarity, people always wondered why Riyo didn’t become a doctor, like her father did.

“But you’re, like, a pretty version of him,” Steady blurted out. “Much prettier.”

“Thank you, Steady,” Riyo said tremulously. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

As Steady blushed and spluttered and tried to formulate a coherent response, Dr. Chuchi wrapped up his conversation with Dr. Korr. “It was a pleasure meeting you today,” he said. “Riyo and I were planning to go for a bite to eat, would you care to join us?”

“I’d love to join you, but I’m on a double shift today,” Dr. Korr said, genuine regret reflected in their eyes.

“It’s all right, we’ll have more opportunities,” Dr. Chuchi said. “Thank you for this afternoon, Doctor. I’ll see you around.”

In silence, Riyo and her father went to the parking bay and got into Riyo’s speeder. She busied herself with entering the location of her father’s favorite Cerean restaurant into the nav system; he always went there whenever he came to Coruscant. While Riyo didn’t particularly care for Cerean food, she had gotten used to it from eating it so often.

“Doctor Korr is very sharp—they’re a fighter,” her father observed.

“Yeah,” Riyo said tersely. The old insecurities gnawed at her, and not for the first time, Riyo wondered if she were enough. “Aba—?”

“Yes, little flower?”

“Do you ever wish I became a doctor? Like you?”

Her father laid a hand over hers, stopping her from her task. She looked up at her father, looking into the face so very like her own.

“My dear daughter, your life is yours to live,” her father said gently. “You know that in whatever you choose to do, I will support you wholeheartedly.”

“I wanted to be a doctor so badly, Aba,” Riyo said, her voice cracking on the words. In her youth, she had wanted nothing more than to be like her father in every way, and had devoted every shred of her energy towards achieving that goal. She had imagined traveling the galaxy at her father’s side, doing good for others and healing the sick just as he did.

Discovering a debilitating fear of blood at age 11 had put a stop to those childhood dreams. Riyo discovered she had a knack for words and settled for studying law instead. Becoming a politician had been a lucky accident, and while she knew objectively she had the career others could only dream of, Riyo could not shake the feeling that she had not lived up to expectations. Whose, she couldn’t say.

Her father smoothed back a few loose strands of her hair. “I know, little flower. I’m proud of you. You’ve already done more than others spend their whole lives doing. As long as you’re happy and healthy, Riyo, that is all that matters to me.”

Riyo dabbed at the corner of her eyes. She knew it was stupid for her to get jealous whenever her father was nice to a junior doctor; it wasn’t the first time, and probably wouldn’t be the last. He might be the great Dr. Makaru Chuchi, but to her he would always be her father, who loved her unconditionally.

“Sorry, Aba...I don’t know why I got so emotional all of a sudden,” she said thickly.

Her father cleared his throat. “I’m sure you had a long day. Why don’t you pick the restaurant this time, my dear? A place that makes good dessert.”

Heart surging with affection for him, Riyo smiled broadly at her father. He always knew how to make her feel better.

Fox had never been below level 2000, deep in the bowels of Coruscant. Most of his regular duties kept him in Galactic City, and while some street patrol assignments took him to the lower mid-levels, police presence below level 1800 or so was practically nonexistent. It was well known that even the Republic dared not infringe on the syndicates in the Coruscanti underworld, where they had real authority. Down on level 1313, the musty air felt sickly warm, rancid and still from being entrapped so deep where neither rain nor sunshine could penetrate. Thire turned on the rebreather in his helmet, and motioned for Fox to do the same.

“Best stay close, sir,” Thire said, through their closed comm. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.”

Fox kept his hand on his blaster, but was careful not to draw it from the holster.

The troopers picked their way warily down the narrow, detritus-strewn streets, passing by only the occasional pedestrian or speeder whirring by. They followed their HUD map to the coordinates provided by Vos, but the building at the location seemed to be an abandoned warehouse. Nothing about it seemed to suggest it would be the Black Sun’s base of operations on Coruscant.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Thire asked.

“These are the coordinates.”

“Let me check the surveillance video again, sir,” Thire said. For a few moments, he was silent as he pulled the video up on his HUD.

Fox didn’t like how exposed their current position left them. He scanned their surroundings restlessly, with both his rangefinder and infrared scanners activated. His HUD interface was aglow with yellow, showing heat signatures from the lights, from the exhaust vents, from idling speeder engines, from the thousands of sentient beings living and breathing around them. And watching—Fox could not shake off the prickling feeling of being watched, but today, his paranoia felt different. A tightness was beginning to form somewhere behind his right temple. Great, the rancid air was giving him a headache.

“So what is it, Thire?” Fox said impatiently.

“It’s hard to say if it’s the same building, sir.”

Fox looked up and down the street. A lot of the building fronts looked the same—just like this one. Maybe Vos’ coordinates were wrong. Or Black Sun knows we’re onto them. The last thought troubled him. Fox had made sure only senior Guard officers saw Vos’ surveillance footage. There couldn’t possibly be a traitor among his most trusted men; their loyalty to the Republic was absolute.

“Vos has never given us bad intel before,” Thire said, but he sounded hesitant.

Fox was ready to comm back to the nearest guard station when an alarm blared on his HUD. In the split second between hearing the alarm and seeing the flash of a blaster muzzle aimed at them, Fox immediately moved to pull Thire out of harm’s way. Something slammed hard into the back of Fox’s shoulder plate, lighting him up with pain. Fox stumbled slightly, scrabbling for the nearest surface to stabilize himself.

“We need backup!” Thire shouted into the comm. “Commander Fox has been hit, I repeat, Commander Fox has been hit!” Swearing vividly in Mando’a, Thire fired off a volley of shots in the direction of their attacker.

On Fox’s HUD, he made out three humanoid-shaped heat signatures—no, was there a fourth? The pulsing pain in his head made it hard to think or see clearly. Everything felt strangely discombobulated, like his brain was floating somewhere overhead and his limbs were disconnected from the rest of his body. He switched the power setting on his blaster from stun to kill and leveled it at their attackers. Fox tried pulling back the trigger on his blaster, but found it stuck.

“Sir, what are you doing?!”

Thire’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away, like a distant light piercing through fog. Frowning, Fox examined his blaster again and found that he forgot to release the safety mechanism. Stupid—he hadn’t made a mistake like this since his first year of cadet training. The headache was strangely overwhelming; it didn’t hurt as badly as the blaster wound in his back, but Fox found it impossible to focus. Everything felt thick and sluggish, like he was wading through water or a vat of nutrient medium.

“Commander, are you still with me? Commander!”

In the far right corner of his vision, Fox noticed a parked speeder along the side of the street. It was a dark, sleek diplomatic model designed for speed and safety; the Senate had a fleet of such vehicles exactly like it. At the window, a dark figure could be seen, watching the firefight. Though he could not see the person’s face, something about them felt intimately familiar to Fox. A wordless urge telling him to lay down his blaster, to submit and to obey.

“For kriff’s sake, Fox—!”

A burst of blaster bolts hit him in the torso and side. Shab, those weren’t standard-model blasters they were using—these were definitely modded after-market with amplifiers that made the bolts as powerful as slugs. As Fox fell, in a tiny sliver of clarity, he hoped that Riyo wouldn’t find out about this. He’d hate to make her worry, least of all over him.

Chapter Text

Fox remembered very little of how he made it to the medcenter; he barely remembered the firefight that occurred after he got shot, and the arrival of reinforcements. A medic had given Fox a strong sedative before loading him into a speeder and taking him to the medcenter. He dimly registered being laid out onto a gurney and getting sent into a boxy machine, but drew a complete blank after that.

A clone medical officer on rounds later woke Fox up to give him water. To Fox’s disappointment, the officer only allowed him a small cup of water that barely wet his throat.

“Where am I?” Fox rasped.

“Republic Central medcenter, sir,” the officer said.

“How soon can I get out of here?”

“Doctor is coming around to you shortly,” the officer replied. “He’ll be the one to decide.”

Shortly turned out to be a matter of perspective. Though Fox didn’t have a chrono by which to tell time, the doctor kept him waiting for a long while. As he waited, Fox peeled back his blanket to take a look at his wounds. The only visual hint that he had been injured lay in the swathe of bandages that covered nearly his entire upper body, stark white against the warm brown of his skin. He didn’t hurt as badly as he expected, for someone who had been riddled with blaster holes, so Fox was rather optimistic about his chances of getting discharged early.

When the doctor finally walked in, datapad in hand, Fox started and had to take a few moments to re-orient himself. Surely he wasn’t hallucinating, but the doctor looked just like Riyo. And it wasn’t because the doctor was Pantoran, or because Fox wanted so badly to see her. The doctor had the same upturned eyes, delicate facial structure, and swooping arcs tattooed on his cheekbones. But he appeared far older than Riyo: he had hair as white as a shiny’s armor and constellations of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and lips. Most curiously, he had two thin lines tattooed under each eye that looked oddly reminiscent of tear tracks.

“Good evening. I’m Doctor Chuchi,” the doctor said. His accent was also jarring. Unlike Riyo, he spoke Basic with a faint Core accent. “It says here your designation is CC-1010, but what would you rather I call you?”

Chuchi. This doctor was indeed some relative of Riyo’s; they looked so similar that he couldn’t be anything else. Fox wondered if he was Riyo’s...what was it that nat-borns called their ba’buir? He couldn’t remember.

“Just Fox, sir,” Fox croaked.

“Please, Doctor Chuchi is fine. I’m a civilian.” He glanced down at his datapad. "Would you be able to tell me what happened, Fox?"

“Yes, s—doctor.” As if Fox was giving a debrief, he gave the doctor a clear, concise summary of the events on level 1313.

“A headache? And you said it had a sudden onset?”

“The air down on the lower levels is very polluted,” Fox explained. “I thought it must be that.”

“I see. You have no history of having such headaches? Or feeling disoriented as a result of them?”

“No, doctor.”

The doctor finished taking Fox’s medical history, laid down his datapad, and pulled on a pair of exam gloves. “Now, it looks like the results I got from the scanner aren’t so reliable, so I’ll be giving you a full physical exam. Is that alright with you, Fox?”

“...Yes?” Why did the doctor have to ask for permission to do his job?

What followed was simultaneously the strangest and most relaxing physical examination in his life. Dr. Chuchi worked unhurriedly but with great purpose, taking his time to explain what he was doing and asking for permission every time he needed to touch Fox. The Kaminoans had never treated him so respectfully, like he was a person whose opinions mattered. Dr. Chuchi carefully unbound his wrappings to examine his blaster wounds.

“Looks like the bacta soak has done you good,” he said, with approval.

“Bacta?” Fox repeated blankly. Clones of the Coruscant Guard rarely, if ever, got bacta. They weren’t considered important enough in the war effort to be allocated the critical supply. They hadn’t even given Aster any when he had gotten his legs crushed during the Zillo Beast attack. Just thinking about it made Fox upset; he had been one of Fox’s most dedicated officers, and a dear friend since their command school days. Aster had spent the rest of his time in screaming agony before his merciful recall to Kamino.

“Yes. Normally, for wounds of this severity, I would order six to eight hours in the tank, but they have asked me to ration here. But everything seems to be healing cleanly, which is good.” Dr. Chuchi rewrapped his torso and moved on to the rest of Fox’s body. Fox could not help but flinch when Dr. Chuchi palpated his legs, hands drifting a little too close to his crotch for comfort.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” the doctor asked solicitously.

“No,” Fox forced out through clenched teeth, trying his best to ignore the roiling nausea deep in the pit of his stomach. He had no fresh injuries to his upper legs or groin area, and had no plausible excuse for his skittishness. The kaminii’se had impressed upon all clones the importance of being honest with medical caregivers. “I just...don’t like being touched. Down there.”

Dr. Chuchi paused in his physical exam, hands floating in the air in front of him like Fox had just thrown up a repulsorshield between them. His expression remained perfectly schooled as he made direct eye contact with Fox. “Has someone touched you there? Without your consent?”

Osik. Fox froze, upon hearing the doctor’s question. His mouth moved, but nothing came out. His throat had gone so tight he couldn’t speak. Fox couldn’t think of a reason why the doctor wanted to know about what happened in a dark corner of 79’s over a year ago. He couldn’t possibly tell Dr. Chuchi the truth—a clone commander couldn’t admit to such a weakness of the mind. Fox was completely fine; he couldn’t—shouldn’t—be haunted by a bad encounter at 79’s. The doctor would just tell him he was overreacting, and to get over it.

“...no,” Fox lied, unable to meet the doctor's eyes. “It’s nothing.”

The doctor hummed in response, sounding unconvinced. “May I—?” He gestured with his gloved hand towards Fox’s legs.

As Dr. Chuchi continued working and Fox tried his best to contain his physical discomfort, Fox heard the sound of footsteps pattering down the hall. Riyo burst in at the entrance to the patient ward, looking winded. She looked like she had run the entire way here from the Senate Building. The familiar warmth that filled him upon sight of her chased some of the shadows away, and the tightness in his chest slowly relaxed.

“Oh, Fox, I came as soon as I could—hello, Aba.”

Dr. Chuchi glanced up at Riyo’s entrance, but his hands continued to work on Fox’s wound dressings. “I thought you were busy all day today.” He added something at the end that Fox couldn’t understand; the doctor must be speaking in Pantoran.

Riyo approached Fox’s bed and took his hand in hers. Fox stiffened as she stroked his cheek, the gentle touch of her hand cool against his sticky skin. She was always careful to hide such displays of affection from the sight of others. What was she doing?

“Are you all right, Fox?” she asked. “Thorn told me—”

“I’m not done with Fox’s physical exam yet, Riyo,” Dr. Chuchi said sternly. “Come back later.”

“She can stay—” Fox began, but Dr. Chuchi shooed his beloved out of the room.

“I cannot work with you underfoot,” he told her. “Be patient; he’ll still be here when I’m done.”

Casting Fox one last desperate look, Riyo complied and went out into the hallway. Nonplussed, Dr. Chuchi resumed where he had been interrupted. Fox had a sinking feeling the doctor had sent Riyo away to finish the conversation from earlier. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, wondering if he should just come clean to Dr. Chuchi. Unlike the kaminii’se who never had much patience for anything unquantifiable, Dr. Chuchi seemed like he would listen to Fox.

Dr. Chuchi finished his examination and stripped off his gloves, which he deposited in a nearby waste bin. He proclaimed Fox to be in good physical health—his body full of blaster wounds notwithstanding—and encouraged him to get more rest (as if Fox really could help such a thing). Fox waited for the doctor to bring up the uncomfortable incident from earlier, but strangely, he didn’t. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Doctor, about earlier, I...” Fox trailed off, unsure of how to put things into words.

“I ask my patients those things because it helps me care for them better,” Dr. Chuchi explained patiently. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to talk about it yet. Some things take time.”

A warm flood of something that felt like relief washed over Fox. He didn’t even know how to describe what happened that night, or what he felt about it. He generally preferred to avoid thinking about it, because then it was easier to pretend it never happened and there wasn’t something wrong with him.

“I’ve come to notice that the GAR is sorely lacking in psychiatric and psychological services for their men,” Dr. Chuchi said. “While I have no influence over GAR operations, I can point you to some other places that can provide the support you need.” The doctor handed him a tiny card that Fox realized was printed on flimsi. He had never touched flimsi before, and he examined the card with great interest. It provided only the name of a place called the Horizons Centre, and included comm codes and a physical address somewhere in the mid levels under the Uscru District.

“A former colleague of mine runs the center,” Dr. Chuchi said. “If you ever feel ready to talk about things, you might find some helpful resources here. The card is biodegradable—just put it in water if you need to get rid of it.”

“Uh...yes, s—doctor.”

Dr. Chuchi smiled at Fox now, who was thrown off guard by how much he resembled Riyo in that moment. He picked up his datapad and went to poke his head outside the door.

“You can come back in now,” Fox heard him say.

Riyo burst in as if waiting impatiently for this moment, rushing into the room and throwing her arms around Fox. He winced as she pressed against his still-tender wounds.

“Easy,” the doctor warned, adding something in Pantoran Fox did not understand.

“Oops, sorry,” Riyo squeaked, loosening her grip around Fox’s neck. She drew back from Fox, but her hand on his bicep lingered in what could be a possessive or protective gesture. With Dr. Chuchi standing next to Riyo now, their resemblance was all the more obvious—and uncanny. Fox looked back and forth between the two of them, trying to guess their relationship.

“Dr. Chuchi, is he—” Fox ventured.

“He’s my father.”

Fox shot upright in bed, ramrod straight. He had feared this day, but always thought it would be far in the future, a problem for future Fox to worry about if the war miraculously ended and he had the luxury to worry about something so asinine. Dr. Chuchi just chuckled and turned to leave.

“I’m going to check on my other patients now,” he said. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. And Riyo, I don’t want to see that you’re still here when I come back—let Fox get his rest.”

Fox mused that Dr. Chuchi was very similar to General Ti. Despite his kindly temperament, the doctor was not one to be disobeyed when it came to official business. Riyo seemed to come to a similar conclusion, but she sighed and promised her father she would leave in a timely fashion.

“I’m sorry about him,” Riyo told Fox ruefully. “He’s usually very nice.”

“But...he is?” Fox had never met a kinder doctor. That said, that didn’t necessarily mean Dr. Chuchi would take kindly to the revelation that his daughter was seeing a clone trooper. Most Republic citizens did not take well to people openly fraternizing with clones. Suddenly worried, he grasped Riyo’s arms as if to prevent her from floating away from him.

“Did you tell him...about us?” Fox demanded.

“Well—” Riyo looked a little sheepish, likely drawing the same conclusion as Fox had. “I’ve told him I’ve been seeing someone, but not who it was.”

Little gods. Fox hoped he at least made a good impression; he knew from the holodramas that it was always important, when meeting the parents of a significant other. He already had a lot to make up for as a lowly clone. Ordinary Republic citizens didn’t know or care about the difference between command class troopers and ordinary CTs.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the Senate?” Fox asked, changing the subject. The Senate was in session this week and the next.

“I told Sarika to vote absent for me,” Riyo admitted. “You are more important.”

Fox felt a tightness in his chest he was fairly sure had nothing to do with the wrappings around his torso. He felt immensely flattered that Riyo saw him in such a light—and also mildly disapproving, for skipping out on her vital duty as a senator.  “Don’t make a habit of this,” he warned. “Your work comes first.”

“I won’t—only if you don’t make it a habit of getting yourself hurt,” she countered. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “When Thorn told me what had happened, I feared the worst.”

He cradled his face with one hand, his thumb stroking the tattoos on her cheek. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

She threw her arms around him—more gently this time—and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. “I’m so glad you’re okay, my dear Fox,” she murmured. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

“It’ll take more than a few blaster bolts to take me down.” If anything, Fox was angry at himself. He had trained that exact scenario in cadet training and command school dozens of times; he should have been able to handle a few street thugs in his sleep. Fox could not figure out why he had frozen up, like he was a cadet in live fire training for the first time.

Curled up contentedly at his side, Riyo told Fox about her day, carding her fingers through his bacta-encrusted hair. Just being able to hold her and hear her voice was all that Fox could ever ask for in his worthless life. He was very glad he wasn’t recalled, because that meant he would have never been able to see Riyo again.

Partway through Riyo’s recount of a near-diplomatic incident with the Techno Union, her commlink began beeping. Riyo made no move to retrieve it from her bag, but Fox feared it was something important so he made her pick up. A shrill voice began berating Riyo in Pantoran from the other end the moment the comm connected; Riyo’s response was full of weary resignation.

She sounded different when speaking in Pantoran; her voice was huskier and pitched slightly lower than what Fox was used to. Fox wondered fleetingly if he should learn the language; it was such a shame Kaminoans only thought it fit to teach the clones Basic. He and his brothers who had completed command school managed to pick up passable Mando’a from their trainers, but the kaminii’se who oversaw standard clone training had made the general assumption the GAR would operate solely in Basic.

“What was that about?” Fox asked, after she finally hung up.

“Sarika’s looking for me,” Riyo explained sheepishly. “There’s an event tonight I promised Senator Amidala I would go to.”

“Shouldn’t you be on your way?” The sky was already a warm vermilion color outside the one window in the hospital ward.

“I don’t really want to go,” Riyo complained. “Senator Amidala is holding a banquet for Senator Aang—he’s on the Military Oversight Committee. We need his vote on the next procurement bill.”

Fox did not understand what a banquet had anything to do with military procurement, but he was just a clone who did not understand politics. Maybe it was just an excuse to throw a party; nat-borns were all about their parties. “Go on now, Riyo. Your father will be back soon, anyways.”

He longed to kiss that adorable pout off of Riyo’s lips, but he worried that it was too forward. That Riyo cared about him was already more than he could ever ask for; Fox couldn’t bring himself to demand any more than that.

It took another comm call from a displeased Sarika and the very imminent threat of her father’s return to send Riyo on her way. She hugged him tight and gave him one last lingering kiss before reluctantly leaving him behind. Fox clung to the last hints of her floral perfume in the air, as if her scent could summon the memory of her august presence. In the silence that followed, Fox swore he could hear the fluids sluicing through the IV lines around the ward.

“You lucky bastard,” said one of the troopers across the room. “You karking lucky bastard.”

Fox couldn’t deny it, but it would be lying if he wasn’t proud of his good fortune. Maker only knew what drew Riyo to him over millions of his brothers, but he wouldn’t complain about having something not entirely merited.

When Riyo finally returned to her apartment at 2320, she was surprised to find her father still awake, sitting at the kitchen table with his datapad and a cup of herbal tea. She dropped her handbag and shawl onto the couch and went to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smelled of spicewood soap, a scent Riyo had associated with her father for as long as she could remember.

“You look beautiful, little flower,” he said. “Was the event a success?”

“Senator Aang left in good spirits, so I think so,” Riyo said. Padmé’s banquet had been impeccably planned: the decorations and atmosphere were tasteful and serene; the food had been exceptional, the cake served at the end even more so; and the seating arrangement set so there was no chance of a brawl breaking out mid-meal. Still, Riyo had spent most of the night impatiently watching the chrono and wishing for time to pass more quickly.

Riyo found a half-full kettle of tea on the stove and poured herself a cup. She sat down at the table next to her father. On his datapad screen, she could see that her father was writing to someone at Chu-Tai. It was currently business hours on Pantora; no wonder her father was still awake.

“It’s so late, Aba. What are you still working on?”

“The scanner they have at Republic Central truly is awful,” he told her. “I’ve been talking with R&D to see if they can send one of the new Siala test models.”

“Doctor Korr would like that,” Riyo mused, remembering their spiel about scanners.

“I think it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement—the medcenter gets a new scanner that works, free of charge, and we can get a good volume of data for the testing phase.”

“I see.” Riyo paused, scrutinizing her father. “Aba...you’re not going to say anything about Fox?”

He did not glance up from his datapad. “Should I?”

Riyo chewed her lip anxiously. “Fox is a clone trooper.”

“Indeed he is.”

“And you’re...not upset about that?”

“My little flower, you know that if he respects you and you enjoy his company, I have no reason to object.”

“Oma wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“She just worries about you,” her father said gently. “She just wants the best for you.”

A part of Riyo still resented her mother for siding with the ex when they broke up. She had understood why her mother had been upset, but at the same time, Riyo hadn’t. Money and status wasn’t everything in life, and besides, as the daughter of Makaru Chuchi, she would never lack for either. Riyo could already see her mother disapproving of her life choices again.

“You won’t tell her about Fox, will you?” Riyo fretted.

“I won’t say a thing,” her father promised. “Whatever you want her to know, it’ll come from you.”

She was glad that she could always count on her father to be in her corner; Riyo could not fathom how her life would have turned out without his unwavering support.

Her father looked up from his datapad and carefully laid it aside, face-down. His expression was suddenly very serious. “Little flower,” he began gravely, “I don’t know where you are in your relationship with Fox—”

What suddenly brought this on? Riyo suppressed the urge to sigh as she mentally prepared herself for that talk again.

“—but if or when you take that next step, be patient with him,” he said. “Don’t pressure him into anything he doesn’t feel ready for.”

“Aba, what—?”

This is the first time I’m getting the talk but Aba’s taking the man’s side, Riyo mused. Then again, her father had all but drilled his talk about consent, regular testing, and up-to-date implants into her head. The first time she had gotten it, aged 15, she had been mortified; the older she got, Riyo treated the regular talks as a well-worn ritual.

“This goes for anything physical, but also emotional, as well,” he warned. “Being understanding goes a long way.”

“Okay, Aba,” Riyo groaned. “You’re such a worrier, you know.”

“I’m just looking out for you,” he said, patting her hand. “And on that topic, you should be in bed, little flower.”

Riyo archly reminded her father that he, too, ought to be in bed—he was no longer the invincible young doctor who could regularly work 16-hour days. “I’ll keep you company until you’re done with your work,” she insisted. She got to spend so little time with her father these days, and she wanted to cherish every moment she got with him.

“All right, then. I’ll try to finish as soon as I can.”

She got her own datapad and half-heartedly went through her own inbox as her father finished sending his emails. Riyo’s eyelids were drooping when he finally called it a night at 0015—her father had shaken her awake, ruefully reminding her that she was now too old to be carried to bed. She stumbled to the bathroom, performed her nightly ablutions in a sleepy haze, and drifted off with the ghost of Fox’s smile imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.

Riyo brought lunch to her father—and often Dr. Korr—twice a week, visiting him in the guest office the hospital admins had assigned to him. It was a good excuse to get out of the Senate Building, away from all the insincerity and politicking. That particular Centaxday, Riyo went to Republic Central as usual and found her father deep in conversation with Dr. Korr and a Nikto doctor wearing green scrubs. They all stopped talking and looked up at Riyo when she entered with her bag of food.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she said awkwardly, “but I brought midmeal.”

“Is it really that time already? Thank you, little flower,” her father said warmly, moving aside datapads and flimsi folders to make room for the food. “There should be enough for everyone, if you would like to join us, doctors.”

“I cannot eat the food, but the generosity is much appreciated,” the Nikto said, getting up to leave. He nodded at Dr. Korr. “I’ll be down at the triage center if you need me.”

“What were you discussing?” Riyo asked, as she sat down in the Nikto’s vacated seat and passed out the takeaway containers.

“Doctor Raak’an has been seeing unusual readings from the Mark Seven scanner,” her father explained. “He thinks there’s a bug.”

As per Dr. Chuchi’s request, Chu-Tai had sent a Siala Mk7 to Coruscant via express courier and had it installed the day it was delivered. Since the Mk7 was still in the testing phase, the engineering team was collecting usage data to troubleshoot issues before the product’s commercial release. Dr. Raak’an was convinced the enhanced sensitivity triggered too many false positives; Dr. Korr was of the opinion that the scanner was picking up some kind of physical abnormality in the clones that likely came from the original donor.

“Isn’t it weird, though? The Kaminoans have a reputation for precision; surely they wouldn’t have let this defect propagate across so many batches of clones. They would have fixed whatever gene was causing it.”

“Precise gene editing is very difficult,” her father said. “Most don’t have the means to do it.”

“But you figured it out, Doctor Chuchi,” Dr. Korr pointed out.

“I spent many years on that research,” her father said, modest as always. While not the most important product Chu-Tai Biosciences offered, her father’s gene therapy technique had earned the Chuchi family millions.

Dr. Korr spent the rest of the lunch hour picking Dr. Chuchi’s brain in greater depth. As they finished their food, the conversation turned back to the mysterious readings from the Mk7 scanner. The readings and associated error reports had been sent back to Chu-Tai for review, but Dr. Korr didn’t want to discount their theory that there was something physically wrong with the clones.

“Very well, we can test the patients,” Riyo’s father agreed.

Oddly, Dr. Korr looked a bit hesitant. “Well...Republic Central doesn’t have the resources to do any of the tests in-house,” they confessed.

“I know. Please don’t worry about it, Doctor,” her father assured them. “I’ll have my lab at Alderaan do the analyses. I’m headed there next week.”

“Thank you so much,” Dr. Korr told Dr. Chuchi, sounding immensely relieved. “We can start taking samples today. I’ll let the rest of the staff know to get started on that.”

Meanwhile, Fox was convinced there was something suspicious going on at the medcenter. Fox and the rest of the clones all knew when the kaminii’se were up to some new experiment: brothers got pulled in for seemingly unnecessary surgeries and examinations and came back with unexplained bandages or gaps in their memories. The very same thing was happening at Republic Central, though there wasn’t a single kaminii doctor or scientist on the premises. When the clone officers were asked about it, none of them knew what was happening. When the civilian medical professionals were asked, they assured them that it was just part of a new standard checkup regimen.

Arlo, an ARC in the bed next to Fox’s, had been unceremoniously whisked away early one morning and returned an hour later with a bandaged head. When asked about it, Arlo confessed that he had no memory of what happened after being taken to an operating room. That terrified Fox and the rest of the clones at Republic Central the most. They were used to injections, pills, IV therapy, but nothing as drastic as invasive surgery. What were the doctors doing to the clones that necessitated surgery in their heads?

Fox could tolerate any kind of modification or enhancement on his body from neck down. The kaminii’se regularly experimented on them while they were cadets, tweaking this and that as they tracked the clones’ development. It was why commandos were physically different from ordinary CTs and even command-classers.

But to mess around inside their heads, their minds? That was where their personalities resided, what truly set them apart from droids and from each other. There was no greater fear for a trooper than that of reconditioning, knowing that at any moment their entire identities could be wiped like they had never truly existed at all.

Fox spent that afternoon and most of the next day hoping he wouldn’t be selected for this mysterious surgical experiment. He should have known there was no point in praying when he didn’t actually believe in any gods; in the early evening, a cheerful-looking Mikkian doctor appeared at Fox’s bedside and informed Fox he was going to be taken in for “a little procedure.”

“It’s going to be very quick,” the doctor promised. “You’ll be right back here before you even know it!”

The pitying looks of his brothers followed Fox as the Mikkian pushed his gurney out of the room. They entered a rusty service lift and ascended to an eerily lit floor with green-tiled walls. The Mikkian doctor strode purposefully towards the third door on the right, which took them into an empty operating room. An older-model surgical droid loomed menacingly under the surgical lamps, casting long shadows across the plasteel-lined floor.

“Here we are!” He rolled Fox to the center of the room, under arms of the surgical droid. The doctor secured Fox to his gurney so he couldn’t move. “Just relax; you won’t feel a thing.”

The Mikkian did one last quick point inspection of the equipment, then left the room. The door to the operating room shut with a loud click before the ventilation system kicked on, creating a backdrop of droning white noise. Above Fox’s head, the surgical droid creaked to life, its arms descending with a breathing mask and an electric razor. Though he knew it was futile to resist, Fox tried to fight the effects of the anesthetic anyways. As his eyes drifted closed, he could feel the razor making contact with his head above his right temple.

Riyo was always sad to watch her father leave. For as long as she could remember, her father was a busy man with many places to be; he was always traveling somewhere or another for work. While Alderaan was less than a rotation’s flight away, Riyo had no idea when she would see her father next.

He took with him two large briefcases filled with samples, to be analyzed by his lab at the University of Alderaan. It was an odd notion that her father was carrying a piece of Fox with him; Riyo decided not to think about it too literally. Though her father refused to go into details, he had been especially keen on taking Fox’s sample in particular. Riyo wondered if he had discovered something alarming during Fox’s physical exam that he wouldn’t tell her about.

She sincerely hoped it wasn’t the case. Riyo would hate for some kind of defect or illness to cut short what stolen moments of time they had together. She had never met anybody like Fox—who made her feel the way she did. There was nobody else in the universe quite like him, and she did not want to contemplate her life without him in it.

Chapter Text

To Riyo’s great surprise, the GAR medical grant funding came through during the second month of the new fiscal year. As per the spending bill, the funds would be allocated quarterly in 4 equal installments. The medical ministry of the GAR would determine how the funds would be spent. Riyo’s fellow committee members warned her that typically the grant funding did not come through so quickly or easily during peacetime. By virtue of its relevance to the war effort, Riyo’s budgetary items currently took top priority during the allocation process.

Riyo wanted to know what cut of the funds Republic Central was getting, but as usual, the GAR top brass refused to tell her anything. She decided to take the alternate method and finally paid a formal visit to Republic Central in her official capacity as a Republic senator, with junior staffers, a journalist, and security detail in tow.

The admins went out of their way to welcome her, even personally going to the dingy lobby to receive the visiting party. Heedful of the optics of the event, Riyo was her formal and detached senatorial self, careful not to show too much familiarity with any of the patients or medcenter staff. In turn, Mr. Antel, the chief administrator of the medcenter, gave Riyo’s party the press-ready tour of Republic Central. Things did look a bit better than Riyo had first seen them, although she couldn’t be sure if it was because of her family’s contributions or the GAR funding. (The journalist seemed to have an overall positive impression of what she saw, writing a very complimentary column in the next day’s edition of the Coruscant Financial Times.)

After the tour, Riyo asked Mr. Antel for a copy of the medcenter’s financial reports. He readily complied, probably assuming Riyo needed them in some official capacity. It almost felt like the GAR could be hiding something incriminating, from the way they were so stingy with sharing information. She didn’t want to test her luck any further, and decided to leave with the reports before Mr. Antel changed his mind on giving them to her.

Riyo had been around Republic Central often enough to know who the regulars were; she now knew all of the civilian doctors and nurses by sight, and most of the clone medical officers assigned there. So she was rather taken aback when she encountered an unfamiliar Kel Dor at the front entrance while on her way out. From the brown linen robes he wore and the lightsaber hanging from his belt, he had to be a Jedi.

“You must be the senator we must thank for improvements at this facility,” he rumbled. Though most Kel Dor were inscrutable from behind their anti-ox masks, he seemed rather benevolent and had the kindest voice Riyo had ever heard.

“Ah, well, I can’t take credit for everything,” Riyo said shyly.

“The smallest mercy can be a saving grace for others,” the Jedi said. “What you have done for our men is priceless.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“And the galaxy is made a better place by people who think like you. Good deeds are never forgotten.”

“You...you’re too kind, Master Jedi,” Riyo stammered.

She got the impression that the Jedi would be smiling, if a Kel Dor could smile. “May the Force be with you, Madam Senator,” the Jedi told her.

“And you as well.”

Riyo left the medcenter as the Kel Dor headed towards the turbolift foyer. Something about her meeting with the Kel Dor niggled at her, and during the walk to her parked speeder, she replayed their conversation in her head. There was always something slightly unsettling about interacting with Jedi; while most meant well, Riyo always came out of such encounters feeling slightly overexposed.

He called them men, Riyo realized. Not the men, but our men. Like he genuinely cared enough about them to feel some special attachment, even possessiveness, for them. It heartened her that the Jedi also saw the clones as people and felt the need to visit them in the medcenter—it would seem she was not the only person in the galaxy looking out for the clones.

Fox was finally discharged 5 days after his mysterious procedure, 8 days after being admitted at Republic Central. In Fox’s opinion, he should have been discharged a week ago, and made no secret of his impatience and distaste at being stuck in bed all day.

“Look, if Riyo had her way, you’d be here for another week. But I know you boys hate being out of commission, which is why I’m letting you leave,” the doctor discharging him said crossly. This was a bone-pale, lanky Human of indeterminate gender. Their frost blue eyes seemed to add So be grateful.

It didn’t surprise Fox that Riyo would try to intervene in his recuperation, and he was touched that she was looking out for him in her own way. But he wasn't fragile; it would take more than illegally modded blasters to break him.

Fox had been greatly relieved to wake up from his mysterious procedure with his full mental faculties. Like the rest of his brothers, he didn’t remember anything past getting wheeled to the operating room. He’d been terrified that he would return no longer the person he had been before, but as far as he could tell, his memories—and identity—all seemed intact. There wasn’t even a surgical scar; he had been given a bacta bandage, and the only sign that something unusual had occurred was the shaved area around the incision area.

He and his brothers in his recovery ward had discussed the events at length, but nobody could figure out what exactly had happened. They came to the uneasy conclusion that there was no harm nor foul as a result of the procedure, and decided not to dwell on it overmuch.

Hound came to pick him up at the medcenter’s main entrance; Fox had to squeeze into the sidecar of the speeder bike with Grizzer on his lap. It was terribly undignified, not to mention uncomfortable: Grizzer was fat from all the treats Hound spoiled her with, and her breath smelled awful. Though Hound had received orders from Stone to take Fox back to the barracks, Fox overrode those orders and told Hound to take him to Guard HQ. He had to get a head start on the mountain of flimsi-work that awaited him in his absence.

Quinlan Vos was hanging out in the common area with Thorn and two other officers. Fox felt his eyelid twitch—not only did that worthless jehaat’ad send them on a fool’s errand, he was here wasting the officers’ valuable time. He stomped over to their little circle, a self-righteous storm of gathering rage.

“You gave me bad intel!” Fox blustered.

“Hey man, I didn’t know—”

“It was a setup! And you made us walk right into it!” Fox was ready to give the Jedi a piece of his mind—and a taste of his fists. He should have known better than to trust Vos, of all people.

“Gev!” Thorn planted himself squarely between the two men, hands planted on their chests to keep them apart. “I was having a real peachy day today, and I’d appreciate it if you di’kute didn’t ruin it.”

“Look, Fox, I’m sorry,” Vos said, hands extended in a gesture of contrition. “I swear on the Force that I meant no ill. I don’t know who those people are, or where they came from.”

“He's been looking into the matter ever since,” Thorn added.

“Stop trying to defend him,” Fox snarled. Some vod, siding against his own brother.

“I have been doing some investigation, under the table,” Vos said, his voice and demeanor uncharacteristically serious. “I am certain that Senator Wallen is involved with whatever is going on there—but there’s something else to it.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Vos nodded solemnly. “Yes. I felt it when I went back there—the Dark Side of the Force. There’s something sinister at work here.”

“You think it’s Ventress?” Fox’s brow furrowed. Unlike his brothers at the front, who had regular interactions with Jedi, Fox wasn’t sure if he believed in this hand-wavy Force osik. He knew a lot about it, though, from what his brothers had told him about Ventress and Count Dooku.

“There’s more to the Dark Side than Asajj Ventress,” Vos said, shaking his head. “I’m going to keep looking into this, but we should all be careful. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

It’s not like you know the meaning of that word, Fox wanted to say, but he held his tongue. Vos seemed genuinely contrite, and it was clear that what had happened clearly weighed on him.

“I apologize for lashing out, Vos,” Fox said, adopting a more conciliatory tone. “I...it had been an unpleasant altercation.”

“Don’t take things too personally, Quin, Fox’ika is just upset that he made Riyo worry,” Thorn whispered loudly.

“Can you just shut up?” Fox said exasperatedly to Thorn.

Vos just laughed. “I suppose I’ll need to make it up to lovely Miss Riyo, next time I see her.”

“There’s no need,” Fox said, through gritted teeth. Vos really was the worst—it was as if he knew exactly what Fox didn’t want to hear, and chose to say it anyway just to get on Fox’s nerves. He decided to refocus his ire on his malingering officers, who during this exchange were looking everywhere but at Fox. “If you’ve wasted enough time, get back to work,” Fox grumbled. “Kriffing Maker.”

The two officers snapped Fox a smart salute, then quickly made themselves scarce. Vos looked like he wanted to say some more, but a withering glare from Fox sent him on retreat. Muttering something about having a meeting at the Jedi Temple, Vos loped out of the Guard offices as silently as a shadow.

As Fox and Thorn made their way back to their offices, Thorn threw his arm around his brother’s shoulders. Fox tried to shrug him off, but Thorn was too strong—although it was more likely that Fox had gotten weak from lying uselessly in a medcenter bed for two weeks.

“You just missed Riyo, she was here a few hours ago,” Thorn said nonchalantly.

“Really? What was she doing at Guard HQ?” Fox was sorry to have missed her.

“She came to submit her off-world security request—there’s some economic forum on Muunilinst she’s headed to.”

“Muunilinst?” Fox was liking this less and less. Muunilinst was ostensibly neutral territory, but the Muun were allied with the Separatists and thus were unable to be trusted. Why couldn’t Riyo ever go somewhere safe for work, like Ithor or Chandrila? “Please don’t tell me you let her go alone again.”

“Stone assigned Thire and Stratus to go with her.”

“Oh, good.” Fox felt some of the tension leave his body. Thire could always be counted on, and Stratus was one of their best patrol troopers and had recently completed ARC training. While Fox wished he could be at Riyo’s side in Muunilinst, Stone couldn’t have selected anybody better to protect her.

When they arrived at their offices, Fox gave Thorn a parting noogie and a friendly reminder that it was still his month to sign off on the shinies’ training logs. Dodging a kick to the skid plate, Fox slipped through his office door and locked Thorn out, finally leaving him alone to some peace and quiet. The moment of serenity lasted only a few milliseconds before Fox’s gaze fell on the enormous pile of datapads and flimsi-work waiting on his desk.

Kriffing Maker.

He sat down heavily in his office chair, balefully staring at the mountain of work on his desk. Well, work wasn’t going to finish itself. He reached towards the nearest stack of datapads when his hand touched something rough and fibrous. After clearing away the datapads, Fox discovered a package of a very familiar shape and size, neatly wrapped in indigo-patterned cloth.

Bless Riyo Chuchi. How he loved her.

Fox carefully opened the box and allowed himself to have two rice cakes. The treat did wonders in improving his sour mood. Despite the long, thankless hours of work that lay ahead, the day was already looking up for him.

Harnaidan, as the headquarters of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, had an opulence that could rival the highest levels of Coruscant. Of course, as one of the Republic’s official delegates to the Outer Rim Economic Forum, Riyo knew she only saw what her hosts wanted her to see, which probably didn’t reflect the city as a whole. Just take Coruscant, for example—the nice areas ended around 20 levels down.

For her accommodations, Riyo had been put up in the most luxurious hotel she had ever seen. Her 165th-floor suite was larger than her entire apartment back on Coruscant, and boasted a magnificent view of the city and the artificial lagoon around which the central downtown area was built. While her aides were assigned interior-facing rooms on lower floors, there was some confusion with where to put the clone troopers on her security detail. Since they hadn’t been classified as personnel on this trip, no accommodation had been provided for them.

Riyo decided that it was in everyone’s best interest that Thire and Stratus would stay in Riyo’s suite with her, to ensure her continued safety. Besides, why on earth did any one person need a suite with three bedrooms? The excess was almost nauseating. Thire and Stratus spent an undue amount of time ostensibly sweeping her suite for threats, although Riyo suspected the pair spent most of their time exploring the novelties the new environment presented to the troopers, like the steam room and dumbwaiter shafts.

The welcome dinner went by as expected, with the Republic and Separatist delegations sitting on opposite ends of the hall, peering suspiciously at each other over their salad plates. Dignitaries gave droning speeches, and led the gathering on various toasts to something or someone or another. No doubt the food had been prepared by the best chefs in the city, but the portions were miserably tiny. Even after the empty dessert plates were whisked away by droid servers, Riyo was still hungry. When she got back to her hotel suite, Riyo immediately went to find the room service menu.

“Do you want anything?” she asked Thire and Stratus.

“Want what, exactly, ma’am?” Stratus echoed.

“A late-night snack!” She shook the datapad at them. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still hungry. Have you eaten yet?”

The two troopers exchanged a look. “We brought along all the rations we’ll need on this trip,” Thire said carefully, but she could tell that he was tempted by the proposition.

“It’s all paid for,” Riyo assured them. Her entire trip was on the Republic’s tab; this would be counted under her very generous per diem. Besides, the troopers deserved to reap some of the benefits of working for the Republic they served.

The troopers pored over the menu datapad for several minutes before asking hesitantly for a single slice of the triple layer mousse cake. This certainly wouldn’t do; Riyo took the liberty of ordering them both proper meals, as well as an entire mousse cake (it did sound pretty good). The food arrived in the dumbwaiters within the half-hour, and a butler droid appeared from a hidden closet to set up the massive dining table for them to eat at.

They talked about all sorts of things as they ate. Stratus told Riyo about how he got his name: his training squad had been nicknamed the Cloud Squad, and when he and his brothers graduated and left Kamino, they had chosen names to honor their old squad name. Thire said that he’d heard his name from a Mandalorian folktale one of their trainers had told them—he had very fond memories of this trainer, who rewarded the cadets with story time whenever they did well in training.

“The story of how I got my name is even less interesting,” Riyo sighed. “My parents met at an art museum, and I was named after the painting they were in front of when they laid eyes on each other for the first time.”

“Wait, so you didn’t pick your name?” Thire gasped.

“No, generally parents pick their children’s names.”

“How can someone be named after a painting?” Stratus wanted to know. “Isn’t it basically a holo?”

“Well, yes. It was a painting of night lilies—riyo’ke, as we call them in Pantoran.”

“If you don’t like your name, couldn’t you change it?”

“I don’t have anything against it, but...I don’t know, it’s just a flower. It’s boring.” Her best friend back home, meanwhile, had been named after the dark of the moon during an eclipse. “Besides, I don’t want my parents to think I hate it, they’ll be hurt.”

“Flowers are pretty,” Thire said carefully. “I’ve never seen one in real life, but I learned that they also smell nice. And certain animals consume them for food.”

“Sir, but a sarlacc will eat anything, even scrap metal.”

Riyo choked back a laugh as Thire glared at Stratus, who hurriedly lowered his eyes to his cake. There never really was a dull moment with the troopers. It was hard to remain in a bad mood around them.

“Thank you for your words, Captain Thire, it’s very kind of you,” Riyo said warmly. She cut another wide slice of cake and placed it onto Thire’s plate. “Please, have some more—it's very good, isn't it?"

On the agenda for the economic forum were days of meetings, round-table discussions, and working sessions with her peers and counterparts from the Separatist Parliament. The initial suspicion and distrust the two sides had for each other melted away to a neutral civility and even warm amiableness.

At a working session with the Trade Alliance, Riyo sat next to a Separatist senator named Voe Atell. She didn’t necessarily agree with Senator Atell’s extreme beliefs about eliminating oversight of large corporations and commercial guilds, but Riyo respected how outspoken she was during the meeting. If Senator Atell didn’t like something, she made it well known; if she had an idea she thought was better than everyone else’s, she presented coherent, detailed arguments supporting her claims.

During a break in the session, Senator Atell suddenly turned to Riyo, fixing the full force of her piercing amethyst eyes and brash demeanor upon her.

“Your headpiece is absolutely lovely!” Senator Atell gushed. After asking Riyo for permission, she stood up to examine the scrollwork detailing on the metal. “Are these commonplace on Pantora?”

“Yes,” Riyo said, grateful that Senator Atell had settled on such an innocuous conversation topic. The two women talked at length about jewelry and hair ornaments, even swapping recommendations for designers known to work with both Republic and Separatist clients alike. Riyo would have never expected to be having such a conversation with a Separatist senator.

At a fundamental level, Riyo knew that the Separatists were not the grotesque monsters that the Republic propaganda machine made them out to be. These were people who had different beliefs—radical ones, to be sure—who wanted the best for their people and home planets and didn’t think the Republic was able to bring them those desired outcomes. That didn’t make them bad people.

Senator Atell seemed to realize something, cocking her head to one side as she considered Riyo carefully.

“You’re a Chuchi from Pantora,” Senator Atell observed. “Any relation to Nitai Chuchi?”

“Yes, he’s my grandfather,” Riyo said carefully. No matter how many times she had to field this question, she never liked answering it, because it inevitably changed the atmosphere in a conversation.

“I see. Smart move—it never hurts to have someone who can influence policy on the corporation’s behalf,” Senator Atell said, nodding slowly.

That wasn’t why Riyo went into politics, but she just smiled and said nothing.

“Nitai Chuchi is a formidable businessman,” Senator Atell continued. “We—the Corporate Alliance, that is—would love to have him join us. The Alliance is always looking to expand their consortium of sister corporations, and they would be able to further expand Chu-Tai’s client base and improve logistics and distribution in far reaches of the galaxy.”

Riyo knew that her grandfather would never do business with Separatists (“witless sheep,” he had called them at the last family holiday dinner), but she thanked Senator Atell for the offer, promised to make mention of it to her grandfather, and turned back to sorting through her notes from the working session.

Despite being one of the wealthiest and most developed cities in the galaxy, there wasn’t much to do in Harnaidan. After conferences and discussions ended for the day, Riyo found herself at a loss for things to do. She had no interest in joining the others at the bar or schmoozing at networking events after hours. Going out into the city was also an option, but expensive restaurants and luxury shopping arcades could also be found on Coruscant—and Riyo really didn't need more pairs of shoes.

So instead, Riyo spent most of her downtime in her hotel suite, continuing her independent investigation of the Republic’s finances. However, she was careful not to openly talk about her work, or even leave any physical trace of it for the butler or cleaning droids to find. While the hosts of the summit had promised that all summit facilities would be safe ground for all attendees, Riyo was fairly sure that her suite, if not the entire hotel, was bugged. One could never be too careful, especially in the supposedly neutral territories in the galaxy.

On her third night on Harnaidan, Riyo was rounding out her day as per the routine she had established, working at the desk in her bedroom. Her aides had been dismissed for the day, and Stratus and Thire were out in the common area, idly watching a game show on the oversized viewscreen. Her head was heavy with the weight of deficits and percentages and interest rates rattling around. None of this was hard math, but by the Goddess, there were just so many numbers she was trying to remember that Riyo felt they would come spilling out of her eyes and ears.

An incoming call on her commlink brought her back to the present. She picked up without glancing at the comm code displayed on the screen.

“It’s Riyo,” she mumbled.

“You sure don’t sound enthusiastic to see us,” a clone’s deep voice drawled.

Startled, Riyo looked up from her datapad and registered the ghostly figures on her commlink’s holoprojector. This was a welcome—and much-needed—respite from work. She gratefully laid aside her datapad.

“Oh, hey, Fives. I was just working—how’re you?”

“Much better, now that I’m on the comm with you,” Fives said.

Echo sat on the bunk next to Fives, cleaning his blasters. When he saw Riyo on the holoprojector, he paused in his work and gave her a little wave.

“You got some grease there,” Riyo told him, gesturing to her own chin.

Echo wiped at his face with the dirty rag in his hand, got his face even dirtier, blushed, and decided to give up the endeavor entirely.

“Echo and me, we’re headed out on a special mission,” Fives began. “Rex handpicked us to go with him.”

“Can I ask what you’ll be doing, or is it classified?” Riyo asked.

“Sorry, classified,” Echo confirmed. “It’s going to be highly dangerous, though.”

That was hardly reassuring to Riyo, but she had come to learn that most clone troopers seemed to thrive in the adrenaline rush of near-death experiences.

“Maybe we’ll come back with another medal or two. Maybe the next time you see me, I’ll be an officer,” Fives boasted.

“The day Captain Rex makes you an officer is the day Hardcase passes a surprise inspection,” Echo scoffed.

“Rex made us ARC troopers,” Fives pointed out.

“Yeah, since it means we’re not in charge of anyone. If you were our CO, Fives, nothing would get done.”

“What’re you talking about, if I were a CO, the war would’ve ended yesterday.”

They bickered for a bit about Fives’ qualifications (or lack thereof) to be a commanding officer, dragging Riyo in to arbitrate their increasingly hyperbolic claims. It appeared that Fives and Echo were in good spirits; the 501st had just completed a successful campaign, driving back the Separatist fleet from orbit around Sullust. If it weren’t for their conversation topic, Riyo could almost forget there was a war going on, and that she was just having a nice time catching up with old friends.

Once Echo and Fives got over their shock that Riyo was currently on a Separatist-controlled planet, they demanded to see how ridiculously large and luxurious her hotel suite was. Switching the vidcam to the panoramic view mode, Riyo gave them an impromptu tour. As she was showing them the opulent bathroom with the sunken bath, both Fives' and Echo's commlinks began going off simultaneously. The two troopers exchanged a solemn look, then looked at her.

“Looks like we’re being summoned to the briefing,” Echo said. “We gotta go.”

A cool mask of professionalism settled over them as they stood up and began pulling on their armor. With each piece of plastoid they put on, it felt to Riyo that they were shutting away their human personalities, turning themselves into the soulless, unfeeling droids Republic propaganda made them out to be.

“Please be careful,” Riyo begged.

Echo saluted; Fives just winked. “I’ll try my best, but I make no promises,” he said.

The comm call disconnected, once again leaving Riyo alone in her too-large bedroom in enemy territory.

Fox kept the card from Dr. Chuchi in the second capsule on his utility belt, even though he had already committed everything on it to memory. He didn’t know what to make of it, nor could he guess what he might find there. Not that he had time to investigate the matter; he had so much to catch up on while on medical leave. Honestly, he should promote another officer to commander, if only to take some of the burdens off his shoulders.

But by some miracle or happy coincidence, with how guard assignments were scheduled, Fox somehow got a free afternoon on a Primeday. Fox couldn’t think of the last time he had any scheduled off-duty time. As much as he would have loved to spend that time with Riyo, she was busy attending a committee hearing, and Fox didn’t want to spend any more time with the other senators than he had to. He decided that now was as good a time as any to find out what Dr. Chuchi’s card was all about.

He borrowed a fleet speeder and went out to the Uscru District. It wasn’t a bad area, but nowhere near as nice as central districts, and being a solitary clone here drew unwanted attention. Fox parked his speeder in a nearby alley and went to look for the address.

Horizons Centre, South Tendo Walk Section 225, Unit 29488-14. He repeated this to himself several times as he paced the street, but try as he might, he could not find the unit entrance. Was it a misprint on the card, or was the information outdated?

It was on his sixth pass of the area that Fox finally noticed it: what he thought had been a smooth wall face was in fact a privacy screen, painted in such a way that it blended in with the façade of the building. Just behind it was a door bearing the unit number he had been looking for. There was no way to open the door from the outside, but there was a comm panel to one side, which Fox found rather ominous. Illicit drug and gambling dens on Coruscant often had similar entryways—but why in the Sith hells would Dr. Chuchi give him directions to a spice den?

With one hand on a blaster, Fox palmed the comm panel.

Though distorted with some kind of modulator, a clearly female voice came over the line. “Can I help you, trooper?” The suspicion in her voice was audible.

“Is this the Horizons Centre?” he asked.

A long silence ensued, and for a moment, Fox thought the line had disconnected.

“This is a completely legal establishment. We have all the permit and lease flimsiwork on file with the City,” the woman replied.

“That’s...not why I’m here,” Fox said faintly. He slowly reached for his utility belt and removed Dr. Chuchi’s card from the storage capsule. He held it up to the camera on the comm panel. “I have this card.”

“And how did you come by this?” the woman demanded sharply. The aggression in her voice made Fox tighten his grip on his holstered blaster.

“It was given to me by Doctor Chuchi.” When the woman did not respond, he hastily added, “Makaru Chuchi.”

He was suddenly grateful that he had taken the time to memorize all of the senator’s dossiers. (Okay, maybe his special attention to Riyo’s dossier extended beyond that of professionalism, but still.) There were many Doctors Chuchi in Riyo’s family, and it was easy to mix them up without giving full names.

The woman on the other side of the comm sighed. “Of course he did. Let’s talk inside. When you come in, go straight down to the fourth door on the left—do not look around or speak to anyone, am I understood?” Fox could hear the veiled threat in the woman’s words, even if the consequences were not verbalized.

What exactly had Dr. Chuchi gotten himself mixed up with? He gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”

The door slid open, and Fox stepped inside to an uncertain fate.

Chapter Text

It didn’t bring Fox much relief to find out that Horizons Centre was not an illegal spice den, because he still couldn’t tell what the place actually was. As per the woman’s instructions, he kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead, although through his peripheral vision he saw what looked to be some kind of waiting area flanked by doors on both sides. Fox thought he could hear the faint babble of voices coming from another room, distant as if through a closed door.

He made it to the fourth door to the left. Unlike the main entrance, the access panel did not have a built-in comm, so Fox had to announce his presence the old-fashioned way—by knocking.

The door slid open to reveal what looked to be a small office. As Fox entered, a Human woman got up from behind the desk to greet him. She looked to be well into middle age: her bobbed hair was more silver than blonde, and her face was lined with creases. Despite the warm, inviting decor of the room, the woman was icy and forbidding, like talking to Fox was the absolute last thing she wanted to do.

“Please, sit,” she said curtly, gesturing to the worn plush couch on the far side of the room. She waited for Fox to sit before taking a seat on a round green armchair opposite him. The withering look she gave Fox immediately put him on the defensive. It took him a moment to figure out the source of her ire; he hastily pulled off his helmet and placed it on his lap. He felt so naked without his bucket on; the way she looked at him made him feel like he was a cadet again, at his biweekly growth progress checkup—small, scared, strangely helpless.

“Thank you. I’m Brynna Thalling,” she said. She had a crisp, Core accent, and she spoke confidently and assertively. “Did Makaru Chuchi tell you anything about what this place is, or what we do here?”

“N-no, ma’am.”

“Of course he didn’t,” she muttered. She fixed her cold eyes on Fox’s. “Can I ask exactly why Makaru gave you the card?”

“Dr. Chuchi, he—” Fox tried again. “I was in the medcenter. Dr. Chuchi treated me, and gave me the card. He—he told me I could find people here to talk to.”

Brynna gaped at him. “He gave you the card. So you can talk to people,” she repeated in disbelief, shaking her head. She took a deep breath, as if to fortify herself. “This is a shelter for victims of domestic abuse and sexual violence," she explained. “Not a—a social club or gentlemen's parlor or whatever you thought it was.”

Something lurched in Fox’s stomach, and for a moment, he worried he would throw up on the striped rug on the floor. His chest felt tight, like someone had put him in a wrestling hold. Surely Dr. Chuchi was mistaken. A victim? Fox wasn’t a victim. He had told himself that the best way to move past what had happened was to never think of it again. Whatever happened to him, it wasn’t violence.

Was it?

From the way his peripheral vision seemed to bend and blur, he was no longer so sure.

“Oh, oh, oh...Oh, dear.” Brynna’s voice sounded very far away. “Come, breathe with me. In...1, 2, 3...Out...1, 2, 3...In...”

Fox had learned similar calming exercises from his training, and followed her counts obediently. Gradually, his hammering heart slowed and the worst of his discomfort waned.

“I’ve been extremely rude to you, and I’m sorry.” Brynna said, her tone much gentler than before. “Why don’t we start over? What do you prefer that I call you?”

“I’m Fox,” Fox said simply. “But, uh—my designation is CC-1010.”

Brynna quirked an eyebrow in wordless query.

“It’s the identification code I was assigned when I was decanted,” he explained. “Each clone has one.”

He could see from the way she pursed her lips that she had some opinions about this, but Brynna chose to keep them to herself. “It’s nice to meet you, Fox,” she said. “As you know, I’m Brynna Thalling, and I’m a mental health provider here at the Horizons Centre. I’m sure you have questions for me, which I’m happy to answer.”

Mental health provider? Fox had never heard of such a thing. “Are you some kind of doctor?”

“Yes, I’m a psychiatrist by training.”

The clones’ only experience with psychiatrists was with a Dr. Saan Pai back on Kamino, who had helped design the flash training modules. Dr. Pai did not directly interact with the clones, and so Fox had no idea what he did. Fox did not understand why Dr. Chuchi had sent him here, to this strange doctor in her strange office that was hidden and secured like a spice den. He felt more inclined to believe she was a crime boss rather than a doctor, honestly.

“Why does Dr. Chuchi want me to talk to you?” he said suspiciously.

“Talking is one way of putting what we do here,” she said serenely. “While I don’t know exactly Makaru’s thought process from when he gave you our card, I believe that he thought you could benefit from counseling to help you work through your...past experiences.”

“I don’t need to work through anything. I’m fine,” Fox insisted. “I’m not broken.”

She looked unsurprised by his response. “Everyone has something that weighs on them, and we can all stand to benefit from counseling.”

“What do you need to counsel me on?”

It soon became apparent to Brynna that Fox did not know what counseling entailed. He didn’t even know what clinical therapy was. The kaminii’se had never seen it fit to educate the clones on these things. Fox had always been one of the top-performing cadets (which had led him to the high rank he was at now), and had excelled both in the training salles and in the classroom. His glaring lack of knowledge here made him feel self-conscious and a little scared. He had always prided himself on always being well-informed and well-prepared—it was what made him a good soldier—and to not know something meant he was vulnerable in some way.

Brynna remained patient with Fox as she explained what she did, what the center was for, what services she and her fellow staff members provided. It was so much to take in, all at once, and Fox didn’t know what to do with all of the information. To be honest, he didn’t even know how it applied to him. Brynna didn’t seem to share his opinion.

“If you’re not ready, it’s okay,” she said. “But if you ever change your mind, we’ll be here.”

There was one very pressing issue Fox had to address. Everything on Coruscant cost credits—credits he did not have.

“How would I even pay for this?”

At that, Brynna smiled, which made her look like an entirely different person. “We run almost entirely on donations and private funding,” she said proudly. “We do not expect payment from our patients or residents—they already have enough to worry about.”

How very odd. Fox could not comprehend how a place like this could remain open. While clones had very little concept of money, Fox knew that nothing in the universe ever came free.

“I don’t know about this,” Fox said, wondering how to decline this bizarre offer without hurting Brynna’s feelings. He still wasn’t very good with those.

“Think about it,” Brynna told him. “Take all the time you need.”

Fox sensed that this was a dismissal, and got up to leave. To his surprise, she stopped him before he could palm open her office door.

“The card,” she said, holding out her hand towards him.

Bewildered by the request, Fox took out the card from his belt and placed it into her open palm. He watched as she carelessly dropped it into the half-full cup of tea on her desk, where the card dissolved in a vortex of bubbles. So that was what Dr. Chuchi meant when he said the card was biodegradable in water.

“We keep a low profile to keep our residents safe, and one can never be too careful,” Brynna explained. “I don’t suppose you’ll need help finding this place again?”

“No, ma’am.” Fox had memorized the route—and studied it extensively for all potential security risks—before ever getting on his speeder to come here.

“All right, then. Do take care on your way back, this neighborhood isn’t the safest after dark.”

Out in the street, the daylight had faded from fiery ocher to a smoky brown-gray. Fox passed a few scruffy-looking urchins, who were looking at his parked speeder with a little too much interest. He made a big show of lifting his comm unit to his mouth and pretending to call in to his squadron leader (all for show, of course, since Fox was off-duty and because there was nobody who ranked higher than him in the Coruscant Guard). The urchins scattered, terrified that law enforcement might be on the way.

Lost to his thoughts, Fox started his speeder and made his way back to the Guard barracks. It had been a strange afternoon, and an even stranger encounter. The sooner he forgot about all of this, the better. He wouldn’t be back, surely.

Riyo couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something...off about Fox.

Don’t get her wrong, she had nothing to complain about—he was as attentive and kind and smoking hot as always, but ever since his stay at the medcenter, Fox seemed...distracted. Whatever bothering him didn’t seem to be physical; his wounds had healed leaving barely a scar. A part of her wondered if it was something her father had said to Fox, but she quickly quashed that notion. Aba didn’t have an issue with her boyfriend, and it wasn’t his way to threaten with shovel talks—especially not when Fox had been his patient. Her father was nothing but professional.

She tried to bring it up with him in a roundabout way, but like all men, Fox acted like nothing was wrong when asked. To get him out of this funk, Riyo tried everything: fun dates, sweets, cuddles. Nothing worked. Riyo would have to resort to more advanced interrogation methods. Although she wasn’t sure if they would work on him.

They were now four months into their relationship—from Riyo’s previous experience, at this point she was physically intimate with most of her ex-boyfriends. She knew clone troopers were no strangers to sex or the idea of it; the stories that came out of 79’s were as lurid as they were legendary. And yet, Fox did not try anything, or suggest that he wanted something more. Maybe it was just shyness, or some odd sense of chivalry. Maybe it was common to most clones, not just Fox.

Riyo wanted so badly to ask someone about this, but Fives was on his classified mission. Obviously, she couldn’t bring it up with Thorn, since he would draw erroneous conclusions about Fox and her.

But shavit, this was probably the longest period in her adult life she had stayed celibate, and Riyo couldn’t lie—she was really craving intimacy. Not just because it was fun and felt good for both parties, but Riyo also needed some kind of outlet. There were ways to see to her own needs, of course, but Riyo wasn’t going to waste time touching herself, not when she had a boyfriend who looked like that.

The next time Riyo saw Fox, she was dressed to impress, and then some. The neckline of her dress was cut lower and the hem slightly shorter than what she typically wore. And underneath, she wore her cutest, most confidence-boosting lingerie set. She had gotten it with her best friend Nicha when she last visited Coruscant nearly a year ago, and never had a reason to wear it. Hopefully it would bring some good outcomes today; Nicha always had impeccable taste.

Riyo prepared some of Fox’s favorite Pantoran dishes (she only cooked half of them; the more elaborate, time-consuming ones she ordered in) and made sure her apartment was extra cozy and inviting. She’d even broken out the scented candles from Naboo and the 100% Tauntaun throw. When Fox arrived at her place, he seemed surprised at the extra effort Riyo had put in. Good, he wasn’t so distracted as not to notice the upgraded ambiance.

She knew he liked what she was wearing; Riyo knew Fox well enough to know from the way he scrunched his brow and held his jaw that he was putting in every effort to maintain eye contact and remain stoic. Riyo greeted him with a lingering kiss so he could get a good whiff of her new perfume, before steering him to the salon to wait while she set the table for dinner.

Even though Riyo was a career woman through and through, she loved fussing over Fox like this. Nobody ever took care of him or did nice things for him, and he rarely got a chance to truly relax and unwind. Granted, tonight she was also on a mission, but Riyo absolutely did not mind playing house with him. It made her feel like they were a normal couple. When she called Fox to the table and saw his eyes widen at the massive spread she’d prepared, Riyo felt triumphant.

“All this for me?” Fox wondered. “Are we celebrating something?”

“Oh, no,” Riyo said. “I just wanted to do something nice for you tonight.”

Fox smiled gratefully at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way she loved. Warmth suffused her as the butterflies tickled her belly. Oh, where had this man been her whole life?

At her urging, Fox sat down. Riyo made him a heaping plate before starting on her own, much smaller one. Over dinner, they talked about their days. Fox’s was better than average, since Thorn only pissed him off once today and he didn’t have a headache for once. Riyo’s had been rather unremarkable, having spent the day in committee meetings. Fox updated Riyo on his brothers’ latest antics, and Riyo told Fox about the movement of the newest bills working their way through the Senate. Both Riyo and Fox were concerned about the Chancellor’s new Senate security standards: Riyo knew the Republic didn’t have the funds to implement them, and Fox and the Coruscant Guard were stretched thin enough as it was.

After Fox finished his third plate of food, they moved to the living area. Riyo made a pair of fizzy, green tihaar-based cocktails and presented one to Fox with a flourish. He commented that his brother Gree would love this drink, and pronounced it “pretty good.” She would take that.

Riyo put on some music and settled on the couch next to Fox. They sipped at their drinks and resumed talking where their conversation had left off, and for the most part, Fox seemed very present and engaged. Perhaps she was imagining the distance between them; perhaps Fox had been more tired from work than usual.

At some point during the conversation, Riyo had curled up against Fox as she always did. With drink pulsing through her veins (that green cocktail had been strong), Riyo mused that the standard blacks under clone armor were absolutely brilliant and absolutely diabolical. How could something designed to be modest be so kriffing hot? She traced the hard, warm planes of his chest contemplatively.

“What’s on your mind, ner kar’ta?” His voice rumbled from deep within him and Riyo felt every vibration through her body. She had no idea what the last bit meant, but the way he said it should honestly be illegal. She tipped her head up to look at him. His eyes were so soft, so beautiful.

Riyo loved the color gold. It was a lucky color on Pantora, the color of mountain quinquefoil and freshly hulled rice and the harvest moon. And everything about Fox was painted in shades of gold: his warm sun-kissed skin, his bright keen eyes, the dulcet tones of his sonorous voice, the quiet confidence by which he took everything. He was light and love and life, and oh, how she wanted him.

Her fingertips traced his stubbly jaw as she admired the curve of his lips, which glistened slightly under the light. A beat. Fox did not seem to pick up the hint—he never did. Riyo shrugged internally and leaned in first, as she always did. His lips tasted as she imagined her own to taste, sweet like the tihaar cocktail they both drank.

For someone who had no prior experience in the romance department, Fox was a very good kisser. There was also something to be said about being with someone so inexperienced—Riyo was able to show him exactly what she liked. The notion brought her a pleasant rush of satisfaction that Fox belonged to her, and her alone. The sensation of his hands on her awoke a baser, animalistic part of her. She wanted more. She wanted him to touch her properly, she wanted his beautiful golden skin against hers, she wanted every gift of his body that he could offer her.

Without breaking off the kiss, Riyo moved from the couch so that she now straddled Fox, and slipped her hands underneath the hem of his blacks. Goddess, he really was built of solid muscle. He startled slightly when her hands made contact with his bare skin, but the moment swiftly passed after her tongue sought out his.

More than once she had wondered what Fox might be packing beneath this armor, but no longer. She could feel his growing eagerness pressing against her leg, and she shivered in anticipation. Maybe she should have just worn a slip dress instead of the full lingerie set under her clothes. Riyo shifted slightly in Fox’s lap when he suddenly froze up, like somebody had paralyzed him with a stun bolt.

Kriff. Did Riyo hurt him? Were his old wounds still bothering him? Or did he have new injuries that he hadn’t told her about?

She drew back. “Fox, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Please, Fox. Talk to me.” She pressed her brow to his, trying to get him to make eye contact with her. Instead, he shut his eyes tight. “You’re worrying me.”

“I’m fine.” But from his way his breaths came short and shallow and how hard his hands had clenched into fists, it was clear Fox was not fine.

Stars, what have I done? Pantorans very rarely were affected by the cold, but there seemed to be a bitter chill in the air amplified by the silence stretching between them. Riyo had hurt him, and hurt him badly. It would have been kinder on Riyo’s conscience if Fox lay bleeding, but there was nothing Riyo could do for a wound she could not see, one that Fox stubbornly refused to acknowledge. With as much dignity as she could, Riyo got up from Fox’s lap and straightened her dress. He still refused to look at her.

“Fox, my love...was it something I did?” Her voice cracked.

RIyo wasn’t even sure if he heard her question; even to herself, her voice sounded so faint and far away, like it was coming from somewhere else. Fox barely reacted. While he was physically sitting next to her, it was like he was on the other side of the galaxy. Riyo felt her lower lip wobble, and she bit it hard so she wouldn’t break out into tears.

“I hurt you, didn’t I? Please, Fox, tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll—”

“I—I have to go.” Fox’s voice was high and tight, like the words took great effort to get out. He got up unsteadily and stumbled to the front door. From the clattering sounds coming from the foyer, it didn’t even sound like he put on his armor before leaving. Fox was in such a rush to get out—away from her—that he’d just picked up the pieces and left. Riyo made no move to stop him or follow him. All the strength had left her body, and she didn’t think she was able to stand up without collapsing.

This was supposed to be a good evening; all she wanted was for Fox to relax and have a good time. The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt Fox. Her beloved, whose existence was defined by deprivation. Clones had no autonomy, no agency, and Riyo had tried to take advantage of that just like everyone else did. She had been naive to assume that Fox wanted her like that; perhaps all this time he had been going along with everything they did because he felt obligated to do so. Because how could Fox be in love with a person who didn’t treat him as an equal, who didn’t care about his feelings and opinions?

Her first instinct, as it was in every bad situation, was to reach for her comm and call her father. Aba always knew what to do, what to say, how to make someone feel better. But the thought of telling him about something so intimate made Riyo’s face erupt in flame. As much as she loved and trusted her father, he did not need to know the full details of her sex life. This was the sort of thing one talked about with her closest girl friends, but who? Nicha didn’t know Fox, and Sarika didn’t even like men.

She didn’t want things to be over. Riyo hadn’t been this upset after ending things with Kintar or Corvus or even Muran, for that matter. And yet with the chilling finality Fox had left, Riyo had an awful, sinking feeling that she might never see him again.

As much as Fox wanted to disappear completely and never be seen again, he still had his obligations as a commander of the Coruscant Guard. And to a clone trooper, nothing took higher precedence than duty, even when his heart felt so heavy it felt like dragging around a thousand-kilo weight in his chest. If he was more snappy with his men than usual, most attributed this mood to the new influx of work that came with the Chancellor’s new security updates. More often than not, Fox went about these days with a constant headache not caused by his brothers or his own failures.

“Hey vod, you know what’s going on with Senator Chuchi?” Stone began, at their next meeting about city patrol assignments.

Of all his brothers, Stone was bringing this up. Stone, who usually never gave a shit about other people’s business. Fox wasn’t sure which was worse, this or Thorn’s casual disrespect of Fox’s boundaries.

“What’re you talking about?”

“She’s going around like someone kicked her tooka,” Stone said bluntly. “And you know someone’s got to be a real shebs’palon to do something like that.”

Fox’s heart sank. He hadn’t seen Riyo in the three days since that night at her apartment. His silent comm seemed to be burning a hole on his vambrace with every passing hour that it didn’t receive any messages from her. She didn’t want anything more to do with him—and why would she? He was damaged, he was broken, and damaged, broken clones were only good for recycling. Brynna Thalling had been right about him all along.

Stone looked unsurprised by whatever was showing on Fox’s face. “So you do know something about it.”

“It’s none of your business,” Fox said automatically, much more harshly than he intended.

“Fox. Ori’vod.” Stone was looking at Fox very sternly. “You may be my CO, but you’re also my brother.”

“Well, as your CO, I will not be having this conversation with you.”

Stone ignored him. For reasons unknown to Fox, his senior officers all were terrible at following orders. Stone powered off his datapad and set it aside, leveling his eyes squarely with Fox’s.

“I think we should talk about this,” Stone said evenly.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

Stone crossed his arms. “Try me.”

Fox didn’t want to admit that he did want to talk about it, that he was desperate to talk about it and get some outside perspective on his situation. He supposed that talking to Stone was marginally better than talking to Thorn; at least Stone didn’t gossip. And thus, Fox found himself telling Stone about his encounter with Dr. Chuchi, getting the card, visiting the Horizons Centre, and his bewildering conversation with Brynna. And because brothers existed to be a pain in the shebs, Stone stubbornly refused to let the matter go until Fox told him every excruciating detail about that night at Riyo’s apartment. He wanted to shrink into himself for sharing something so personal, but thankfully Stone chose to view the situation with a more objective lens, rather than fixate on the more salacious aspects like Thorn would have.

“I agree with this Brynna lady,” Stone said.

Fox gaped at his brother. “You know about this stuff she was talking about?”

Stone shrugged. “I read about it once.”

Fox had seen Stone’s holobook collection, which boasted gripping titles such as Furiously Happy, Full Catastrophe Living, Grow a New Brain, How to Avoid Huge Ships, and Natural Muscle Enlargement with Total Mind Power. They all seemed dreadfully dull to Fox, who preferred to spend his precious downtime watching holodramas or spending time with Riyo, but Stone loved these kinds of books, devouring several in any given week.

“I don’t want to be counseled,” Fox confessed.

“Everything I’ve ever read about counseling tells me it’s a good thing. And honestly, I think you need it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Fox insisted, feeling offended.

“The fact that we’re even having his conversation suggests otherwise. Look—” Here, Stone adopted a more conciliatory tone. “You don’t need to tell me the details about what happened to you. But even the mere mention of going to 79’s makes you kriffing break out in hives—”

“I do not—”

“And when a gorgeous, willing woman is in your kriffing lap, ready to—”

“I dare you to finish that—”

“No, I’m going to finish, and you’re going to listen. You kriffing worship Riyo Chuchi and the kriffing ground she walks on. As far as you’re concerned, she’s the center of the kriffing universe. She’s hot as a kriffing neutron star and you still didn’t tap that. I know you enjoyed those contraband clips we watched as cadets, so there’s clearly something not right here.”

Fox shot Stone a dirty look. Stone really did not need to call him out like that, not when Stone had enjoyed said contraband clips too. They had been randy eight-year-olds with no outlets and even fewer sources of entertainment; who among their brothers hadn’t watched them, if only for their novelty?

“I love her,” Fox said pointedly. To treat Riyo like the fake-looking actresses in the clips was as abhorrent as it was disrespectful. She deserved better than that.

“That’s not what I—oh, never mind. Just...try to look at the situation from your girl’s perspective: how do you think she felt when you rejected her in that moment? What do you think went through her head when you pushed her away?”

Oh, Maker. Stone did have a point. Riyo was the kindest, most understanding woman in existence; Fox knew how sensitive she was, how deeply she felt for others and how much she cared for the welfare of everyone around her. No doubt she was convinced she’d hurt him, and was probably blaming herself for every mistake in the galaxy when none of it was truly her fault.

Fox buried his face in his hands. “I really kriffed up, didn’t I,” he moaned.

“You did. You have a chance to fix things—but it’ll have to start with you.” Stone gave Fox what seemed to be a pitying look. Ordinarily Fox would have punched such a look off a brother’s face, or given him a good kov’nyn to remind him of his proper place. Today, Fox was too miserable to care.

“You think this...counseling will help me?” It sounded too far-fetched to be true, but Fox was desperate. He’d do anything for Riyo. Now that he had her, Fox could not imagine his life without Riyo. He wanted to be better—he had to do it for her, so that he would never hurt her again.

“It won’t hurt, that’s for certain,” Stone said. “Maybe therapy will work miracles and also make you less of an ori’jagyc.”

“Slana’pir!” Fox retorted, shoving Stone lightly, but the dour mood from before had dissipated. Things would be better, Fox told himself. He had graduated from command school at the top of his class, fought at the battle of Geonosis, and survived getting shot on no fewer than six different occasions. This therapy business was going to be nothing in comparison. He could do this. He had to. Fox at least had to fight for the chance to see Riyo again, if at least to beg her forgiveness. Riyo deserved him only at his best, and she wouldn’t want anything to do with him when he was still karked up and damaged.

Fox adjusted his schedule so that he had a free morning two days later. After downing two tall cups of caf to settle his jitters, he made his way to the Uscru District, to the building with the camouflaged entrance. Still, it took him a few moments to gather up his courage to press the buzzer on the comm panel.

A cheery-sounding woman who was not Brynna Thalling picked up.

“I—I was here three weeks ago,” he said. “It’s Fox. Could I...I spoke to Doctor Thalling.”

“Sure thing, I’ll let Brynna know you’re here. Come on in.”

The kind welcome was a stark contrast to his first visit to the Horizons Centre, Fox mused. He chose to view this as a good thing. With much less hesitation than before, Fox pulled off his helmet and entered with the weight of the universe upon his shoulders.

Chapter Text

After Fox walked out on her, Riyo spent the following day crying in bed, crying in the bath, and crying over her ice cream. She would have done that for the next week or so, as she had after her last breakup, but Riyo was now a grown adult with a grown adult job, and that job required her to be at a committee meeting on the afternoon of the second day. Drying her tears, she put on an extra thick layer of makeup and took special care with picking her outfit, because she was going to show the world that she was beautiful and strong and definitely not falling to pieces over some guy who broke her heart.

And maybe she wanted Fox to see her in blazing finery, to show him what he was missing.

Work proved an excellent distraction; for once, Riyo was genuinely glad she was a Republic senator, because she didn’t have an idle moment in the two weeks following The Incident, as she took to referring to that fateful night. She attended the ribbon cutting of a new secondary school in CoCo Town, volunteered on community day at a soup kitchen in the Old Market District, helped a new Outer Rim senator get situated in the Senate, and traveled to Kuat for a tour of the Drive Yards and the launch of the newest Star Destroyer for the Republic fleet. With her schedule so full, she had no time to dwell on the state of her heart (shattered) or what Fox might be doing (missing her, she hoped, even though Riyo knew it was unlikely). If she did have spare moment and Riyo inevitably found her hand reaching for her commlink to contact Fox, she stopped herself by continuing her examination of the Republic’s ledgers.

According to the financial report Riyo had obtained from the Republic Central Medical Center, the medcenter had received in total 71.3 million credits in funding from the Republic’s FY 7958 budget. But in the Republic’s funds disbursement schedule, 83.5 million credits had been earmarked for the medcenter. Which begged the question: where did the missing 12.2 million go? Such things were known to happen on backwater planets where government corruption was rampant, but to think that such a thing could happen on Coruscant, under the Senate’s very nose, astonished Riyo.

Honestly, Riyo was mainly concerned that nobody had noticed this discrepancy sooner. The budget needed to go through hundreds of people for approval, surely someone would have seen the mistake? While Republic finances typically dealt in the scale of the billions and trillions, 12 million was no trifling sum. Stars, a middle-class family could live comfortably in Omari, the capital city of Pantora, on 40,000 credits a year. The thought roiled her stomach. The missing credits could have purchased so much supplies for the medcenter, for the clones.

It didn’t surprise Riyo that there was an unscrupulous Republic employee taking advantage of the massive bureaucratic maze to line their own pockets with public funds. She wouldn’t be surprised if there were multiple bad actors: the larger the organization, the more potential weak points could arise. More than 26 million Republic employees worked on just Coruscant alone; the funds they stole could add up to staggering sums. Riyo knew it wasn’t her responsibility to chase down the stolen credits, but she felt that it was her duty as a member of the Finance Committee to call attention to such discrepancies across the Republic’s ledgers.

After their next informal committee working session, Riyo pulled aside Senator Tills and reported her findings.

“I think we should look into this,” Riyo said. “Considering the state of the Republic’s finances, we need to consolidate our losses anywhere where possible.”

Senator Tills barely spared Riyo’s notes and documents a second look. “Get an auditor to look into it. It’s not our job as senators to be chasing down these things.”

Later that day, Riyo contacted one of the Republic’s approved auditors and explained her findings. Since they were deep in tax season and everyone was busy, the auditor told Riyo that a team wouldn’t be assigned to the task for the next two weeks. This was fine with Riyo; while her findings were worrying, the audit wasn’t that critical to the Senate’s normal operations.

Three days later, Riyo got an unexpected email flagged with high importance. Alarmed, she commed the sender—there had to be some kind of mistake.

“What do you mean, I’ve been summoned to a hearing by the Ethics Committee?” she repeated in disbelief.

“We received a complaint that you may have a conflict of interest, which may impact your ability to serve in the Republic Senate,” replied Mas Amedda.

“Conflict of interest?” She’d been in office for nearly a year and a half now, and this just came up? Wouldn’t this have been something that would have been flagged during her extensive background check before she stepped foot onto Coruscant? Riyo couldn’t think of anything she’d done that might create a conflict of interest; she was a simple woman who spent her free time shopping, cooking, and going to the spa—all of which were innocuous hobbies.

“The Committee takes all such complaints seriously,” Vice Chair Amedda said. “A hearing would not be called unless there is credible evidence behind the claims laid forth in the complaint.”

“Vice Chair Amedda, I believe this complaint has been made in error,” Riyo insisted. “There is no need to call such a hearing—and I would hate to waste the Committee’s time.”

Mas Amedda remained unswayed. “If the claims prove unfounded, then you should have nothing to fear. The time and location of the hearing will be forwarded to you shortly.” He hung up.

Riyo sat frozen at her desk, glaring at her holoprojector puck. She never did like the Vice Chair.

The whole situation felt odd. She was a junior senator from a very small system, of little economic or geopolitical importance. The only passing bill Riyo had any direct hand in writing was this year’s budget, which had been co-written by the largest committee in the Senate.

Was it all the time she spent with clones? It wasn’t against the rules to befriend them, even if the reverse didn’t apply to the clones. In the eyes of the Republic, clones weren’t even considered sentient beings—and thus had no real influence in the lawmaking process. Riyo spent a good deal of time at the medcenter visiting the patients, but several other senators were known to champion humanitarian causes.

Riyo told herself not to think about the situation too hard. Maybe it was best to take Vice Chair Amedda’s words to heart and hope that this hearing was nothing more than a formality. She had done nothing wrong.

The following week, Riyo showed up to her hearing at the appointed time without her aides, as stipulated by Vice Chair Amedda’s instructions. As she looked around the room, Riyo did not see a single friendly face. Half of the senators she didn’t even recognize; the half she did were those in coalitions that regularly opposed Senators Amidala and Organa, senators Riyo considered her closest allies. Riyo’s heart sank; the committee members selected for this hearing would not let her off easy.

“Thank you for joining us in a timely manner, Senator Chuchi,” Vice Chair Amedda told her. “Please be seated.”

“May I ask who submitted the complaint?” Riyo ventured.

“It is our policy to keep all ethics complaints anonymous,” Senator Mee Deechi said. “I’m sure you understand why we do so.”

“I see,” Riyo said weakly, trying not to look as defeated as she felt.

Vice Chair Amedda looked down at his datapad and began the proceedings. While he presided over the hearing, he left the questioning to the other senators. They started out with simple questions about herself, her background, her professional achievements. Riyo answered all of these without any difficulty, wondering when the committee would get to the point. She wanted to look at her chrono to see how much time had elapsed, but worried that it would come off poorly.

“It was brought to our attention that you solicit business contacts for Chu-Tai Biosciences in your capacity as a Republic senator,” Senator Deechi finally said. “Have you ever engaged in any such actions?”

“No, never. I have never done any such thing,” Riyo said, bewildered by the turn in the line of questioning.

Senator Burtoni peered at Riyo with her strange, smoky eyes. “Our anonymous source indicates you had a conversation of this nature while attending the Outer Rim Economic Forum,” she said.

“With a Separatist senator, no less,” Vice Chair Amedda added.

Is this what it’s all about? “Senator Atell addressed me first on the subject,” Riyo said emphatically. “I wasn’t soliciting anybody, she was.”

“But you do not deny that this topic came up in your conversation,” said Senator Deechi.

“It was only brought up in passing,” Riyo insisted. “I shut her down as quickly as I could.”

The bulk of Riyo’s conversation with the Separatist senator had been about hair ornaments, not advancing the family business. It was as innocuous as small talk came; if Riyo had this conversation in a Senate Building turbolift with Count Dooku himself, nobody would have batted an eye. The supposed anonymous source had had plenty of time to come forward; she didn’t understand why the complaint had been lodged now, when Riyo had returned from the Muunilinst weeks ago. But the committee didn’t share Riyo’s sentiments, grilling her relentlessly as if trying to make her confess to something that she did not do.

Riyo grew so livid that she forgot her lingering sorrow. She had chosen to go into politics precisely because she didn’t want to go into the family business. She had never worked at Chu-Tai or held any role in the organization. Yes, she had been given company shares upon her twenty-first Life Day like every other Chuchi, but she had sold hers to her father the day before she accepted her Senate nomination, to avoid the very thing she was accused of now.

It took hours before the committee was forced to conclude that Riyo had not been guilty of any wrongdoing, after all. Vice Chair Amedda closed the proceedings with a stern warning and a reminder to peruse the Senate’s code of conduct manual—as if Riyo needed either in the first place—before unceremoniously dismissing her.

Fuming, Riyo stormed back to her office, startling a pair of clone troopers and a kindly Ortolan janitor along the way. She threw herself into her chair in a huff. What a spectacular waste of her time, which was made all the worse when Riyo had told Vice Chair Amedda the hearing had been unnecessary. Riyo started up her computer and opened her email, but found herself completely unable to focus. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted Fox. She wished she could talk to him—he knew just what to say to help her feel better. She wanted him to hold her and tell her she had been in the right.

But Fox was Goddess-knew-where, and besides, he didn’t want anything more to do with her. The sobering reminder made her eyes well up again, but Riyo would be damned if she had to fix her makeup again. Clearly, no work would be getting done for the rest of that afternoon.

Kriff it, she was done for the day.

After leaving a note for Sarika explaining her whereabouts, Riyo packed her things and left. While on an ordinary Centaxday Riyo typically didn’t leave the Senate until 1730, Riyo felt that she deserved the break. She had planned to stop by Republic Central after work, and she could just head over a few hours early. Riyo could use a good distraction.

The clones were able to pick up on Riyo’s foul mood as soon as she entered the room.

“Bad day?” Steady asked, as she stalked across the medcenter lobby to the turbolift foyer.

“The worst,” she replied over her shoulder.

The medical officers were sympathetic, even if they didn’t wholly understand the nuance of the situation, and tried to make her feel better in their own way.

“Whose shebs do we need to kick, Miss Riyo?” Cobb asked, cracking his knuckles. “We got you.”

“Cobb,” Riyo sighed, “you can’t beat up a senator.”

The others seemed undeterred. “Just give the word and we’ll have our brothers take care of ‘em,” said Duckie, one of the new medical officers assigned to Coruscant. “They should know they messed with the wrong person.”

“Yeah, we’ll show ‘em some tough stuff,” added Guts, making action sound effects as he boxed at an imaginary opponent.

The sound of squeaking clogs drew near. “What’s this about beating someone up?” came Dr. Korr’s high, clear voice. The exhausted doctor dropped into the nearest open chair in the nurses’ station.

“Some bonehead shabuir ruined Miss Riyo’s day, so we’re planning how to make it better,” Duckie reported.

“Right sentiment, wrong course of action,” Dr. Korr mused, switching on one of the workstations. “I got a better idea—are you busy later, Riyo?”

“No?”

“Want to get dinner with me? I get off shift in an hour,” they said.

It took Dr. Korr closer to an hour and a half to finish their charts, during which Riyo passed time by chatting with the patients on the floor. After signing off from their workstation, Dr. Korr went to change from their scrubs and emerged from the staff locker room in baggy clothes of an organic, airy-looking fabric. They looked much more relaxed and approachable in their street clothes.

“We’ll take my speeder,” they said. “I can drop you off back here later.”

Dr. Korr rode a small, dilapidated speeder bike that looked like it had been built in the High Republic era. But when they started it, it roared to life with a sound disproportionate to the size of its engine block. As Riyo mounted the bike behind Dr. Korr, she could feel the engine growl and hiss beneath her like a living beast.

“I got her off the cousin of a patient I had once,” Dr. Korr told Riyo. “Pretty sure the cousin ran spice for a syndicate and modded the bike to outrun the authorities. Not that I’m complaining—I got a discount as a personal favor.”

Dr. Korr took them to a small, cozy Chandrilan joint in the upper mid-levels. They greeted the hostess by name, who seated them at the counter in the back. The place was almost completely full; Dr. Korr told Riyo that it was well-known for their home-brewed mead. With the practiced ease of one who frequented the joint, Dr. Korr ordered food for both of them without even glancing at the menu. Upon Dr. Korr’s recommendation, Riyo ordered a fruit mead (“we call it melomel,” they explained), and was surprised to find how pleasantly light and sweet it was. She could have too many of these, if she wasn’t careful.

Swilling their spicy-smelling mead around in their glass, Dr. Korr turned to Riyo. “So, what happened today that’s got you looking so sour?”

Riyo scowled. “Senators doing their usual,” she said. “You should be very glad you didn’t go into politics.”

“It’s true I’m no politician, but I am a government employee,” Dr. Korr pointed out. “And I know a thing or two about politicking.”

“You have to deal with it too?”

“Oh, please. We doctors want nothing more than to do our jobs in peace, but the admins are always fighting over one thing or another and we somehow always get caught in the crossfire. Although I imagine it may be worse, whatever goes on in the Senate.”

“Honestly, I still have no clue why it all happened.” Riyo relayed the entire incident to Dr. Korr, from the unexpected email to the hours-long questioning. Dr. Korr’s brow furrowed ponderously as they sipped at their mead.

“Why didn’t this supposed concern come up earlier?” Dr. Korr asked. “The timing is odd. Was there something else you did that might have drawn their scrutiny?”

“Nothing remotely connected to Chu-Tai,” Riyo said. Since she had decided at an early age that she would not enter the family business, Riyo had few, if any, dealings with the company. Even though Riyo didn’t think any of it relevant, Dr. Korr insisted on dissecting every single thing Riyo had done within the past three weeks.

By now, their food had arrived. Dinner was simple and warm and hearty: roasted meat and root vegetables with herb-studded flatbread, and a clear green soup that tasted like springtime. The rich smells reminded Riyo of how hungry she was, and she tore into the food eagerly as they talked.

“Riyo, please don’t take this the wrong way,” Dr. Korr said carefully. “But I think this hearing...it was retaliation. A warning of sorts.”

Riyo’s head snapped upwards. Surely that was just conjecture—a worst-case scenario, or Dr. Korr being paranoid.

“Doctor Korr, you don’t really think—”

“Please, call me Leni. I’m off the clock—and besides, we’re friends. Unless you want me to call you Senator Chuchi, too?”

“Fair.”

Dr. Korr—Leni—who liked to gesticulate while talking, put down the piece of flatbread they were accidentally waving around. “It’s the timing—you’re right that it’s late for the incident at the economic forum,” they said, their voice dropping to a low murmur. “I think this tip came in because of that audit you put in. Someone’s got something to hide.”

Riyo started at Leni, aghast at the theory. “But why? The Senate gets audited all the time, for just about everything they do. If I didn’t put in the request, someone else would have.”

They shrugged. “Could be the timing. Or you’re just unlucky.”

The mouthful of food in Riyo’s mouth suddenly tasted like ashes. “I tried so hard not to make any enemies here,” she said, in a small voice.

“You know you can’t please everyone,” Leni said wryly. “Like it or not, we’re always forced to take sides to get what we want, and there are consequences to the decisions we make.”

“I’m the senator from Pantora—do you know my system ranks in the lowest quartile in the galaxy in terms of wealth per capita? We’re too poor and distant for political significance, and the amount of influence I have in the Senate reflects that.”

“Why not look at it from another perspective?” Leni suggested. “Someone regards you highly enough to be afraid of you—and what you do. You’re more powerful than you think.” Upon seeing Riyo’s crestfallen expression, her friend changed tack. “Sorry, maybe that’s not helping.”

“I guess you’re right, though,” Riyo sighed.

“I brought you here to unwind and have a good time,” Leni said, with great finality. “Let’s not talk about power struggles at work anymore, shall we? The night is still young and we’re out to have a good time.”

Leni was right, there was no point in dwelling on what had already happened. Riyo was out tonight to be distracted, and there was plenty of distraction to go around. “Next round is on me,” she declared, pulling out her credit chip.

“That’s the spirit!” Leni exclaimed, waving over a server. “You still have the rest of the meads to try.”

After the server departed, Leni embarked on a long anecdote about a wild trip to Scarif with some university classmates that had Riyo nearly choking on her food. She had no idea if Leni was embellishing the story for her benefit, or things had truly happened how they had described it. Now that she knew Leni better, Riyo didn’t put it past them.

Riyo was happy to have people like Leni in her life. While only time could heal the gaping wound Fox had left behind, spending time with friends helped bridge the gap and kept the loneliness at bay. Riyo wasn’t new to relationships; lovers could change like the seasons, but good friends were constant as the grass. That much Riyo knew to be grateful for.

As it turned out, Fox would come to eat his words about therapy. His first session had been the single worst experience in his life, including his final evals from command school and the Battle of Geonosis.

Fox was not used to talking at length about himself and his feelings, or revisiting memories that caused him distress or pain. He knew he had to talk about that incident at 79’s—it was what led him here in the first place—but summoning the words to his lips had been a terrible ordeal. Fox had wanted to throw up and/or run out of the room multiple times, but Brynna had been very patient with him, nudging him along with gentle encouragement. When all those awful words were laid out in the open, she had listened silently, taking them all in like they actually meant something.

“Thank you for telling me this, Fox,” Brynna said kindly, when he had finished. “I believe you.”

Fox had nearly wept upon hearing those words—maybe he had actually cried in that moment. Honestly, he could barely remember the rest of the session, which blurred into a warm, pulsating haze. He came out of Brynna’s office scraped hollow inside, but strangely lighter than before.

He had been offered his choice of counselors for further sessions, but Fox stuck with Brynna because he had already worked with her and because he didn’t want more people to see him in his weakness. Fox was one of the most senior clone commanders in the galaxy, and he had to appear strong for his brothers’ sake. And so Fox went to see Brynna twice a week, which she said was good for new patients, since the increased facetime helped her learn more about Fox and the areas they needed to focus on during their sessions.

That was what he most appreciated about Brynna—she never talked about him like something that needed to be fixed. Fox could get behind self-improvement; it was why he worked out.

Fox learned that his frightening reactions were known as panic attacks, and Brynna soon determined which conversation topics or actions triggered them. She taught him how to identify when he was having a panic attack and what to do if he was having one. It didn’t make the panic attacks any less frightening when he had them, but Fox was nothing but a fighter and he chose to view them as an opponent to overcome.

Therapy was strange, Fox decided. There was no real structure to his sessions, which made him uncomfortable. He wanted concrete progress and concrete solutions.

“Treatment happens at every patient’s pace,” Brynna explained. “What you need is unique to you.”

They eased into their sessions talking about whatever was on Fox’s mind that particular moment, that day, that week. They talked about everything and anything—Fox even found himself digging up half-remembered memories and anecdotes from his cadet days. Brynna never said much, mainly short responses here and there to show she was following along with his words, but when she did stop him to tell or teach Fox something, the things she said shook him to the very core. She knew exactly what to say to make him think, to make him question, to make him see his place in the galaxy.

He still didn’t know what psychiatrists actually did, but Fox had to admit that at least Brynna knew what she was doing.

And then Fox told Brynna about Riyo.

He hadn’t meant to—Fox kept Riyo locked away in a very deep, secret corner of himself. But somehow, in the safe zone that was Brynna’s office, lulled by Brynna’s reassuring presence and the commanding power of her words, Fox had let Riyo slip out from within him.

“Who is Riyo?” Brynna asked, in her usual unassuming way.

“Riyo—she...she is—special to me,” Fox said.

Though Brynna didn’t say anything, Fox knew from the keen way she sized him up that she knew exactly who Riyo was to him. Brynna always seemed to know these things; it was as if she could read minds, like Dr. Chuchi.

“I hurt her,” Fox said baldly. “That’s why I’m here.”

She gave him a sad, little smile. “Fox, it’s wonderful that you care for her so deeply. But you should remember that therapy is something you do for yourself.”

Brynna never brought up Riyo, and for this Fox was very glad; he was terrified of what Brynna would say about his relationship with her. Nat-borns had their opinions about clones, and he didn’t doubt that Brynna thought the same way. He did not deserve Riyo, would never deserve Riyo or anybody like her, and Brynna obviously knew that. As long as she didn’t voice those opinions aloud, Fox could ignore this enormous bantha in the room.

For future sessions, Brynna asked him if he could schedule his appointments later in the day, when most of the patients had left and the residents returned to the living quarters on the compound. When Fox asked why, he was told that it was to minimize his interactions with the other patients at the Horizons Centre.

“This is not a reflection on you as a person,” Brynna explained patiently, “but many of our patients have had...negative interactions with men. Considering why they’re here, it would be best for them to avoid potentially triggering situations.”

Fox didn’t understand why that would be the case, but he didn’t argue with Brynna. He built a new schedule around his biweekly sessions, swapping his gym time to the early mornings. He generally avoided coming to see Brynna coming right off of Senate duty; those days inevitably gave him a headache and made him grouchy, and Brynna didn’t need to deal with him when he was like that.

Usually, Fox was the only person in the waiting area when he finished his sessions with Brynna; she told him that he was the last patient on his appointment days. The halls, which were usually so lively with sound and voices, loomed eerily in the early evening hours after everyone had gone home. Some staff still lingered to finish up their work for the day, and he came to recognize a few by sight. One was a tall, green Twi’lek who wore tight, flashy clothing; Fox sometimes saw her sitting in the waiting area or smoking cigarras outside in the alley. Something about the Twi’lek woman made Fox uncomfortable—he felt like she was always watching him, whenever she was present.

He wanted to ask Brynna about the Twi’lek, but he knew he would get a cryptic, non-committal answer. Something about preserving the anonymity of the staff and other patients, probably. Fox decided he would follow Brynna’s instructions and avoid other people at the Horizons Centre as best as possible. He was just one clone in strange territory, and it would never hurt to be cautious.

With this thought echoing through his head, Fox returned to the barracks after another session with Brynna. He entered his room and was promptly greeted by Thorn with a punch to the face. Like Fox—and the rest of their brothers—Thorn packed a mean punch, and Fox heard a splitting crack as his world exploded with pain.

“Shab! The kriff was that for?” Fox yelped, clutching at his bleeding nose.

“You should karking be ashamed of yourself,” Thorn said. “Gallivanting about like this after what you’ve done.”

“Done what?”

The next blow Fox saw coming, and he blocked it easily. Fox pinned Thorn against the wall, restraining his brother with an arm across the neck.

“A real fine piece of work you are, going out chasing tail after treating Riyo the way you did,” Thorn hissed.

What? The combination of words coming from Thorn’s mouth was making no sense. Fox had never even spoken to that green Twi’lek at the Horizons Centre. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Fox said lowly.

“I spent the afternoon with her,” Thorn said. Fox knew Thorn was using that tone of voice to get a rise out of him, and he hated that it was working. Then again, most of the words that came out of Thorn’s mouth made Fox want to punch him.

“I don’t know what you kriffing did to her,” Thorn continued, “but I’ve never seen her so upset. I really didn’t think you were capable of such despicable behavior.”

“Ne’johaa!” Fox growled. This was none of Thorn’s business. “You don’t know a thing about it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Thorn drawled, his eyes glinting. “I think I’ve a pretty good idea.”

He noticed Thorn moving a fraction of a second too late—quick as a lightning strike, Thorn broke out of Fox’s hold and tackled Fox to the floor. Blood drops flew everywhere as the two brothers tussled in the narrow space by their bunks like they were quarreling cadets again.

The door to their room slid open, revealing a pair of tanned, bare feet. Fox followed the line of bare leg upwards to see that it was Stone, standing at the threshold in just his boxers. He looked rather unimpressed by the scene unfolding before him.

“Do you two really have to do this now?” Stone complained, rubbing his bleary eyes.

“Thorn hit me first,” Fox said immediately, and was rewarded with a sharp jab to his gut. Fox retaliated by tightening his leglock around Thorn.

Stone saw the blood on the floor and sighed. “I’m going to get a medic. And you two—if you don’t settle things before I come back, you’re both going to the cage for the night.” Muttering to himself in Mando’a, Stone stalked off. Fox and Thorn glared at each other in silent challenge before Fox shoved Thorn off of him and got up. He sat down heavily on his bunk, resisting the urge to wipe his face with the sleeve of his uniform. Fox was in his soft-shell today, and he knew from experience that blood was difficult to wash out. Thorn sat on the mattress next to Fox, all of his earlier aggression evaporated. They refused to look at each other.

Stone returned with Jet, who carried a field medkit. Jet looked over the two commanders, and decided to work on Fox first.

“You’re a karking meddler,” Stone duly informed Thorn. “And you—” he turned to Fox—“you’re a karking idiot.”

“Why am I also being blamed here?” Fox complained, as Jet began cleaning the blood from his face.

“Would it kill you to think before using your fists?” Stone groused. “Sometimes it’s beyond me that you two graduated from command school, much less command the kriffing Coruscant Guard.”

Jet declared Fox’s nose broken (wow, who would have thought?) and began the delicate process of re-setting and splinting the appendage. Meanwhile, Stone unceremoniously shoved gauze and some disinfectant spray at Thorn and told him to clean himself up. An awkward silence settled over the gathering as they tended to their wounds.

“He should apologize,” Thorn told Stone, as if Fox wasn’t in the room with them. “He owes her that much.”

“Alright,” Stone said.

“Riyo is my vod, and vod’e look out for each other,” Thorn said.

“You just worry about yourself. Fox already knows what he needs to do.”

“Do you even know what Fox did? He kriffing—”

“I’m sitting right here,” Fox said exasperatedly.

Jet finished treating Fox and gave him instructions to ice his nose regularly and avoid full-contact physical activity. After reiterating his threat of sending his brothers to spend the night in the cage, Stone returned to his room next door to resume his sleep. Thorn and Fox sat awkwardly side-by-side for several minutes, not speaking.

“I’m sorry about breaking your nose,” Thorn finally said. “But you’re still an osi’yaim.”

Fox didn’t say anything in response, because his face really kriffing hurt.

“She’s convinced she’s done something horribly wrong,” Thorn said. “You...if this is how things end, she at least deserves an explanation. For closure.”

“I don’t want it to be over,” Fox said brokenly. It was the first time he had admitted it aloud. A part of him knew that he had irrevocably burned bridges leaving Riyo’s apartment the way he had, but he had been deep in the throes of a panic attack and it was the only thing that made sense to him at the time. She wouldn’t have known that it was only because Fox didn’t want her to see him in such a state. He would never leave her willingly; he would rather be decommissioned than contemplate such an action. To know that somewhere out in the night, Riyo was waiting, wishing for a piece of him, sent a pang through Fox. It was only right that he shared in her pain, pain that he had caused her.

“Then kriffing talk to her,” Thorn said ominously. “Or your nose won’t be the last thing I break.”

He got up a little stiffly and left the room with a dramatic slamming of the door. Sitting alone in the tiny closet of the room, Fox couldn’t tell where the hurting in his face ended and the ache in his heart began. Not that the distinction mattered; it was still pain, all the same.

Chapter Text

A rare rainstorm had formed over Galactic City, but rather than prudently staying indoors to avoid the noxious rain, Fox found himself huddled in a stinking alley in the lower levels below the Temple District. He and his squad had been at a stakeout for the better part of the last four hours, watching the entrance of what was purportedly an illegal gambling den. At least, that was what Vos’ source had claimed, but Fox and his team had no way of confirming just by looking at the shabby, peeling exterior of the building.

It still sat uneasy with Fox that they were plotting to detain two senators. He had been taught that the Republic was just and good; senators represented the Republic, so they surely couldn’t be bad people. The Coruscant Guard was charged with the protection of the senators, not their policing. Vos wanted the Senators Bibbeck and Wallen questioned, but Fox knew they would not submit to investigation willingly—hence the sting operation. The law was the law, and no matter how one sliced it, there was no good excuse for anyone to be frequenting an illegal gambling den. Not that the facts made Fox’s reality feel right, though.

Vos was inside, scoping out the scene under the guise of a small-time crime boss. Thorn was also inside, leading a squad of ARCs who made up Senator Bibbeck’s security detail for the day. (Obviously, the senator had no idea that every single member of the squad was overqualified for the mundane task, or that they had been hand-picked for the sting operation.) Senator Wallen, more wisely, had declined a Coruscant Guard detail for the outing, opting to bring a private security team. Another six squads were posted around the perimeter, waiting for Vos’ signal to enter.

“Why couldn’t we have gone in undercover with Vos?” Decker complained. “I could clean house at sabacc.”

“You know the nat-borns aren’t going to let a clone join them at the tables,” Cirrus said. “Besides, you’re not an ARC.”

“Well, neither are you,” retorted Decker.

Cirrus responded with a rude hand gesture.

While Cirrus had completed ARC training, he couldn’t pass the final evaluations. This was a lingering sore point with him, especially since his squadmate had passed with flying colors.

“Eyes on the target,” Fox curtly reminded his men. He wished he could massage his temples, but Fox knew he couldn’t risk taking off his bucket during such a critical operation. His head throbbed. Was Vos going to give them the signal any time this century?

Decker lapsed into silence, but Fox suspected he was looking at something pulled up on his HUD, rather than watching the surroundings. All was quiet for a while, save for the pattering of the acid rain on their armor and the whooshing of passing speeders overhead.

“Hey, d’you hear about the general of the 203rd? Ping Krall or something?” Decker suddenly asked.

“What about him?” Cirrus said.

“They say he’s a real asshole. Refuses to learn the names of even his top officers.”

“Wow, can’t believe there’s someone out there who makes Senator Taa seem like a saint.”

“Yeah, the things about him on the intra-net are bad. Like, apparently on his last campaign—”

Fox turned off his external mic. The resulting quiet inside his helmet provided some relief for his pounding head. The headaches had become much more frequent as of late—he had one more often than not. Fox had been so desperate for some measure of relief that he’d even asked Brynna about them. Brynna had told him a bit curtly that this kind of medicine wasn’t her specialty, but said that taking a pain stim or two should take care of most headaches. She had even given him a blister pack of stims, but they hadn’t been much help.

For something like this, it would appear that he would have to go to Republic Central. Except he wanted nothing to do with doctors or the medcenter, especially not after that mysterious surgery he’d gotten. He wondered idly if Dr. Chuchi might know something that could help. Fox didn’t trust doctors, but Dr. Chuchi seemed different from the rest.

Who was he kidding, though. Riyo had no doubt told her father everything. Dr. Chuchi probably now thought Fox was a terrible person who didn’t deserve his daughter’s regard—not that Fox was even a real person to begin with. Dr. Chuchi wouldn’t want anything to do with Fox, ever again.

A message pinged on Fox’s HUD, bringing him back to the present. In house security posted 3 at back 4 at main count 18 in room. Poss synd members present use caution, wrote Thorn.

Fox swallowed a sigh and turned on his comm channels again. Noise flooded his bucket like a gush of icy water. If the chatter was anything to go by, everybody was getting antsy. They had been out here for hours. Were they going to catch some baddies today, or was this all a pointless exercise? Fox didn’t know what Vos was waiting for; the senators had arrived hours ago. The strike teams were ready even then, had been ready for ages.

He checked his blasters, then checked them again. Despite all the meticulous planning and the dozen practice runs in preparation for today’s raid, Fox’s head filled with all the ways this operation could go wrong. They had anticipated the presence of criminal thugs and mercenaries tonight, but it was another thing to actually have to fight them. Fox had watched so many brothers fall at Geonosis, and he didn’t want to see any more die tonight. It could have been hours, or maybe mere minutes of being lost in his intrusive thoughts. After being out for so long, Fox no longer had any sense of time. When the signal finally came, Fox was slow to react.

“It’s a go!” Thorn said. “Assume all civvies are hostile and armed!” The sound of blaster fire punctuated Thorn’s comm. He swore loudly, and the transmission cut off.

Cirrus was the first of Fox’s squad to get up, barrelling forward with his blaster drawn and ready. All around them, clones streamed out of their hiding spots towards the target. Fox lurched to his feet, feeling the adrenaline pulsing through his bloodstream. This was just like any other practice mission from command school, he told himself. The same principles applied here, as they did in training.

“Blasters on stun, only!” Fox shouted. “We need to book these guys, not kill them!”

Inside, a scene of utter chaos greeted Fox. The room had been completely trashed: overturned furniture lay smashed on the floor among a mess of broken glass and other refuse. Blaster fire criss-crossed the room, which was thick from the smells of smoke and vice.

A burst of blaster bolts clipped the right side of Fox’s helmet, and he dropped behind a fallen sabacc table for cover. Peering around the edge of the table, Fox saw a dark shape move across the room and fired a few rounds at it. Cirrus darted through the firefight up ahead to tackle someone to the floor. His opponent’s blaster clattered out of their hand, and Cirrus kicked it away towards Fox. Fox picked it up and used it to shoot at the syndicate goons. It had no business packing as much firepower as it did.

Kriffing Maker, where were all these modded blasters coming from?

Fox had no idea if it was the stress of the situation or the dirty air inside the gambling den, but his head felt kriffing ready to split open. It was hard to concentrate, and only with great difficulty could he focus on one thing at a time.

“Wallen’s headed for the back door!” someone shouted into the comms. “Someone give me backup, don’t let him get away!”

Like a good brother, Fox chose to focus on defense, providing cover fire for his advancing brothers. For the most part, most of the clientele had scattered when the raid began, but a few stayed behind to exchange fire with the clone troopers. A slender Human shot at Fox, forcing him to duck back behind the sabacc table. The shock bursts from his blaster looked so weak, so pathetic next to the high-energy slug bolts flying at him.

Why was he even trying to reason with these people, Fox wondered? These were just low-lifes coming between him and the greater purpose. Nobody would miss these people if they met their ends by a Republic blaster. He examined the power setting on his blaster, wondering what kind of di’kut would put it on stun mode for such an operation.

“Wallen is secured!” someone said. Fox’s thumb paused on his blaster’s power setting, just as he watched his opponent drop to the floor from a well-aimed shock burst to the chest. Cirrus dropped into Fox’s hiding spot.

“You all right, sir?” he said solicitously.

Kark this headache, Fox thought. He should really go and get it looked at, if it was obvious enough for his men to comment on. The weird brain fog still hovered, but at least the headache seemed to have abated. By now, the ruined gambling hall was still and almost ghostly. Stunned and cuffed people lay scattered about the room like they were part of the furniture; in the gloom, Fox could almost believe they looked like corpses.

“Let’s reconvene with the rest of the team,” Cirrus said. “They should be onto Bibbeck by now.”

With some other troopers, he and Cirrus took their detainees outside to the designated meet-up point. Their stunned detainees lay limply on the ground, uncaring that they were getting soaked to the skin from the rain. Thorn and Rosko logged the arrests, while Decker and Hero searched the detainees for illegal substances and other potential evidence. Senator Bibbeck sat slumped against a wall, durasteel cuffs gleaming from his wrists. Fox counted 15 detainees in total, but did not see their other target among them.

“Where’s Wallen?” Fox asked, through their internal comm system. He didn’t want to risk the chance that one of their detainees was partially conscious and could overhear them talking.

“I got him, sir,” said Dap. Sure enough, he and Flicker appeared at the head of the alleyway, escorting the scowling and still very conscious senator. The senator took one look at the situation and began launching into a tirade of particular vehemence, insulting their hive minds and lack of human intelligence, threatening them with vague ultimatums like most other criminals did when they got arrested. Fox could swear to the Maker that his headache flared upon hearing Senator Wallen’s tirade.

“—will be hearing of this outrage very soon, do you hear?”

Dap raised his blaster and shocked Senator Wallen in the back. The senator slumped gracelessly to the ground.

“I didn’t want to have to drag him,” he explained.

“Wise choice,” Thorn quipped. The massively corpulent senator was at least twice the weight of an average Human.

After searching Senator Wallen and confiscating his personal effects, the troopers hauled their detainees into the transport speeder and locked them in from the outside. Fox did a quick headcount of his men and was relieved that everyone was accounted for.

“Where do we take them, sir?” Sergeant Ruby asked Fox. Standard protocol dictated that people arrested for similar infractions were taken to the Galactic City Central Jail for processing, but this was no ordinary illegal gambling bust.

“We’re gonna have to let the senators out tomorrow,” Thorn cut in, shaking his head. “You know if their lawyers don’t raise all hell about their arrest, public opinion will.”

“I need to question them,” Vos said. “I’m still not convinced the senators are the minds behind everything going on.”

“And this has to do with your assignment from the Jedi Council?” Fox asked, eyes narrowing. He did not like Vos poking about when this raid and investigation was under the Guard’s jurisdiction. Did Vos not realize that they were working towards the same goal, towards finding a common enemy? But from the way the Jedi Council went on, it almost felt like...they didn’t trust the Republic, and by extension, the Coruscant Guard.

Vos nodded. “Just give me one hour with them—that’s all I need. Off the record, of course.”

Fox and Thorn exchanged a look. He could tell Thorn was already considering it—Thorn trusted Vos implicitly, and never said no to any half-cooked idea the Jedi had.

“They can spend the night in the holding cells at Judiciary Central. They’ll never have to be officially booked, and the facility compound is secure,” Thorn said ponderously. “There are isolated interrogation rooms in the intake wing that we can use.”

Fox dissected Thorn’s plan in his head, and grudgingly concluded that it could work. In the scheme of things, Vos really wasn’t asking for all that much. The Guard could make that hour happen, and then easily make it seem like it hadn’t. The senators already needed to be questioned; letting Vos also take a crack at them surely wouldn’t hurt. Maybe Vos with his Force osik could get something out of them that the Guard couldn’t—Fox already knew the Guard would get little to nothing out of the senators once their lawyers showed up.

“Fine,” Fox sighed. “One hour, and that’s it. We can’t do anything more than that without arousing suspicion.”

Vos nodded. “I’ll be out of there in no time,” he promised.

The two commanders and Vos exchanged one last look of silent agreement before Thorn turned away.

“Alright, let’s get a move on!” Thorn called out. “I just touched up my helmet, and I don’t want to ruin the paint job any more than I already have.”

One by one, the clones got onto their speeders and began the long, winding trip back to Judiciary Central. The passing cavalcade drew many curious eyes and more than a few whispers, but the citizens of Coruscant quickly went back to minding their own business. Such sights were not uncommon in the lower levels, and those who lived there knew that it was in their own best interests to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. Interfering with the powers that be was as sure as a death sentence around these parts, and the ordinary citizens would do well not to get in their way.

Even though Riyo told herself she absolutely would not tell her father anything about The Incident, when her father’s face appeared on her comm holoprojector the next time he commed her, her resolve failed her almost immediately. They had barely gotten through their customary greetings when Riyo cut right to the chase.

“Aba—I think I kriffed up,” Riyo blurted out.

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s Fox,” she wailed. “I don’t know what I did, but now he hates me.”

“And how did you come to such a dramatic conclusion, little flower?” he said archly.

Riyo told her father everything, just like she always did. He didn’t say a word, but she knew from his body language that he was disappointed by what he heard.

“You did mess up,” her father said. “But I don’t think Fox hates you for it.”

“You’re just telling me that to make me feel better,” Riyo said, jutting her lip.

“Have you asked him?” her father countered.

She hated when her father spoke like that, because it meant she was clearly in the wrong and he was trying to show her the error in her ways—even when she didn’t want to see them. Especially when she didn’t want to. “I can’t just...talk to him,” she said. Would Fox even care to listen to what she had to say?

“You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?” her father observes, shaking his head.

Riyo couldn’t bring herself to look at her father’s hologram. Instead, her eyes drifted to the windows, to the pouring rain outside. As a child, Riyo loved running through the rain, but she knew it was dangerous to do such a thing on Coruscant. The rain here was known to corrode steel and blister bare skin.

“Avoiding someone isn’t the answer, Riyo,” her father repeated. “You can’t keep doing this.”

She tried not to wince at the accusation in her father’s words. He knew her too well, and had seen the same charade play out too many times. It was easier to feign ignorance than to face her failures.

“My little flower. Are you just going let Fox go over a misunderstanding?” His tone of voice was no longer accusatory, but only sad. Quiet, resigned.

Riyo had never thought of her father as old—she knew objectively that his age qualified him as such—but the sadness creasing his features, he looked every bit his 73 years of age. Riyo’s eyes fell on the blade-thin lines tattooed under her father’s eyes. Ukari-jai, they were called, tears of grief. Generally, it was not discussed why someone chose to bear the marks; all Riyo knew was that they represented profound, life-shattering loss. Her father had had ukari-jai for Riyo’s entire life, but he never talked about them and Riyo never dared to ask. All she knew was that there had been someone before her mother, a very long time ago.

What was it like, Riyo wondered, to love someone enough to physically etch the grief of missing them onto your flesh. Traditional Pantoran tattoos were very sacred and could not be undone; one did not get such marks carelessly. If she had lost someone she loved dearly, would Riyo do the same?

The thought sent chills down her spine.

Riyo had only ever wanted to be like her father, but in this regard, she did not want to be. Because as long as Fox was still drew breath, Riyo shouldn’t mourn his loss like he was dead to her. Her father was right, she would never see Fox again if she hid from him for the rest of her life. She shouldn’t be wasting these precious moments wondering if he hated her, when she could be spending them trying to win him back.

“What if he doesn’t want to forgive me?” Riyo asked, past the growing lump in her throat.

“If you never speak to him, there is no chance of forgiveness,” her father replied.

She didn’t want to confess why she couldn’t bring herself to face Fox. She couldn’t bear the idea of having to look him in the eye when he repudiated her; his utter revulsion told her more about his feelings than she ever wanted to know. It would be kinder on the fragments of her heart not to see him deliver the death blow; if she never saw him again, at least she could preserve some degree of dignity since Fox would not see her fall apart.

“I’m scared, Aba,” Riyo said brokenly. “But I don’t want to lose him.”

“Things will work out, I’m sure of it,” her father promised. Even though he was hundreds of parsecs away, Riyo felt a wave of comfort sweep over her at his words, like he had physically pulled her into a hug. “If there’s still something left to fight for, it’s not yet fully out of your grasp.”

His words thrummed with the energy of both plea and warning, as if they came drawn from a well of deep regret. Though her father did not say any such things directly, Riyo got the sense that he shared her realization—that he did not want her to lead the same life that he had, if he could help it.

As promised, Vos got his off-record hour with the senators later that night. He had asked to be alone in the room during his interrogations, and while Thorn and a few other officers had watched the proceedings through the observation window, Vos did very little talking. Nobody told Fox any particular details about what happened in that interrogation room, but there was a certain hushed reverence—or healthy fear—in their whisperings about the Force osik and mysterious jetii powers.

Fox, meanwhile, got a glorious 7 hours of sleep that night before he began tackling his own follow-up tasks from the raid: reviewing evidence and writing the incident report.

The confiscated items removed from their detainees were of the usual sort: wallets, comms, drugs, and weapons. He suspected that a good number of the ident cards would turn out to be fakes—which wouldn’t surprise him for patrons of such an establishment—and sent the wallets over to the intel department to cross-check across the criminal database. The comms were sent to the slicing team to see if any good intel could be extracted from them. The confiscated weapons were turned over to the munitions experts, who hopefully would be able to trace serial numbers and determine how they had been modified. Fox had no interest in the drugs; while illegal, from an investigative standpoint they proved useless. After thoroughly destroying the confiscated death sticks, Fox disposed of the remnants in a toilet.

Onto the next. Even though the raid didn’t last for longer than 15 minutes in total, they had 35 men on the strike team, which made for a lot of bodycam footage for him to review even with the task split with two other senior officers. As Fox played and replayed the blurry footage to gain a better understanding of what had transpired during the operation, he reflected that he had trouble remembering what had happened. Not for the first time, he wondered if his persistent headaches were indicative of a greater problem, especially if it was bad enough to affect his performance.

But what if going to the medcenter indeed revealed a medical issue? What if the issue was severe enough to get him recalled?

As a clone, Fox never saw a point in being sentimental about the circumstances of his demise. He was bred to die—there was no higher purpose than laying down his life for the Republic. Getting decommissioned was probably at the bottom of the list of a clone’s preferred ways to go out, but it wasn’t that. The mental image of Riyo, smiling, floated to the forefront of his mind.

No, he couldn’t let things remain as they were, not when he still had so much to make up to her.

Rubbing at his temples, Fox put on the next trooper’s footage. The identifying watermarks indicated that it was from Cirrus’ bodycam. While he had seen the trooper in action the previous evening, Fox was once again impressed by the way Cirrus carried himself during the operation. Cirrus had great reflexes, and it wasn’t often that they got troopers good at hand-to-hand. Standard cadet training emphasized blaster skills, since there was little purpose in learning to wrestle clankers. He rewound the segment and watched Cirrus’ take down the syndicate goons again, admiring how clean and efficient his movements were. It seemed like a dreadful waste that Cirrus wasn’t being properly recognized for his accomplishments.

The decision didn’t take long. Fox sent a message to Cirrus to come see him at Guard HQ at his earliest convenience. The trooper showed up in what felt like record time, his armor still wet from rain. He didn’t even have his helmet fully removed before he began talking, his words spilling out in a garbled rush.

“If this is about my performance during the raid, sir, I can promise you that I’ll work on it. I’ll do remed—”

Fox held up a hand. “Trooper—Cirrus. That’s not why I called you in,” he said, with as kind a voice he could manage. He told himself to imagine how Riyo might speak to the trooper. She was so good at soothing and consoling, at making others feel better about themselves.

“Sir...?”

“You’re an excellent soldier, and I hate to see potential wasted,” Fox said. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve submitted you to retake the ARC evaluations next month.”

Cirrus’ eyes welled with tears. “I won’t waste this second chance, sir,” he said fervently. “It’s the least I could do to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Fox assured him. “You have what it takes to be an ARC trooper. But...a word of advice: it helps not to overthink the evals. Test situations are nothing like real life, and you’ve already proved that you know what to do. Trust your training, and trust your instincts.”

“Th-thank you, sir!” Cirrus stammered, snapping a smart salute. “And—I won’t let you down!!”

In a much improved mood from how he arrived, Cirrus left Fox’s office with a pep in his step. Fox resumed his task at hand, his own mood having taken a turn in the opposite direction from Cirrus’. Morale in GAR was something in short supply these days, given how tides were turning in the war. Stories on the chat network, each more despairing than the last, painted a bleak picture at the front. Fox was glad he was able to make Cirrus feel better, but Fox wasn’t sure if what he did could be called a kindness. All troopers dreamed of getting promoted: it was one of the few ways they could be recognized for their accomplishments, to show they meant something and that their lives had purpose. But as of late, this form of validation no longer had the same shine it used to. Men were getting promoted too quickly to fill the ranks of the fallen; his fellow commanders wrote about Class 9 cadets getting rushed out to the front, some of them so green they barely had live fire training.

Hopefully, Cirrus’ promotion wouldn’t also turn out to be a double-edged vibrosword, but Fox knew his worry would prove a moot point. ARCs were routinely sent on sensitive, often dangerous missions as a matter of course. But since it made Cirrus happy, Fox would abide by his decision.

Fox worked steadily until his alarm went off at 1735. He sent notes to Thorn and Captain Halley to review the draft incident report before changing into his soft-shell and setting out for the Horizons Centre.

His session with Brynna went by as usual; he told her about his week up to the raid. While he couldn’t get into details of the raid due to their classified nature, he told her concerns about the whole operation, about the senators and the Republic itself.

“The Republic is more than just its elected officials,” Brynna observed. “These officials are just people, and people are fallible.”

He supposed Brynna was right, but didn’t the citizens want good people to represent them?

At that Brynna just shrugged and smiled wryly. “The officials represent the people, but that doesn’t mean they have the people’s best interests at heart,” she said.

Something about this didn’t sit right with Fox, but what did he know about politics? This was Riyo’s area of expertise; fighting and battle strategy was what he knew. Not for the first time, he wished he could go to her and speak with her, hold her like he used to. It was on days like these, when the things Brynna said made no sense, that Fox had to remind himself of the end goal of his counseling sessions. He would do anything to get back to Riyo, but he knew her trust and regard would be hard-earned.

The session ended as uneventfully as it began. The only thing out of the ordinary was the way Brynna immediately picked up her commlink after the timer went off; she enforced a commlink-off policy in her office that she herself clearly did not abide by, but Fox decided not to comment on it. Judging from the way her brow furrowed as she looked through her unread messages, something important must have happened.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

She seemed to agonize over something, glancing indecisively between Fox and her office door in turn. Finally, she set her mouth resolutely in a firm line as she drew herself to her full height and turned to him.

“Fox, I know this isn’t professional of me to ask, but...would you be able to do me a favor?” she ventured. “You can always say no.”

After all Brynna had done for him, Fox couldn’t refuse anything she asked of him. “I can help you out,” he said, wondering what she would ask of him. He had rescued more than a few Loth-cats from high places. If she wanted him to hide a body, he’d make sure it wouldn’t be found for the next century.

“I usually walk with one of the staffers to the transit station after work,” Brynna explained. “But I have a...family emergency today, and I need to get home as soon as possible. Would—would you be able to...?”

In terms of favors, this was a very minor one, and Fox didn’t think much of it. He’d served as a senatorial escort on plenty of occasions, which was basically the same thing. “Certainly.”

Relief settled over Brynna. “Oh, stars, good. Thank you. The neighborhood isn’t the safest and she’s had some bad encounters walking around alone—” Brynna went to open her office door. Outside in the waiting area, someone stood up. Fox followed the movement with his eyes, going up and up and up.

His first impression was that she was the tallest humanoid female he had ever seen. Even excluding the height of her headtails—and the lift provided by her high-heeled boots—she was still taller than Fox by probably 10 centimeters. His second impression was that he did not like the way she looked at him, like he was a nerfsteak on her dinner plate.

In response to the Twi’lek’s inquisitive look, Brynna explained to Navi her predicament for the day, and her solution. Fox stood by Brynna impassively, falling into parade rest.

“This is Navi,” Brynna said. “Navi, this is Fox. Be nice to him.”

“I’m always nice,” Navi said. Her voice was low and melodic. “Pleased to meet you at last, Fox.”

Fox inclined his head in forbearance of a response. Navi gave Fox one last curious look before turning back to Brynna. “Let me know if you need anything,” she told Brynna. “You don’t need to worry about me, Brynna, I’m in good hands. You go and do what you have to do.”

Brynna nodded tersely, and after thanking Fox again, Brynna grabbed her things and all but sprinted out of the building. Fox stood by awkwardly, wondering what to do next.

“Well, looks like it’s you and me now,” Navi said cheerily. “Let me lock up and we’ll be on our way.”

Navi didn’t take long to check the lights and doors, and before long she was clacking purposefully back to him with a reptilian leather handbag slung over her arm. She fumbled through her handbag, fished out a tube of lipstick, and reapplied a fresh layer of red on her full mouth.

“Alright, I’m ready,” she said, smacking her lips.

With Navi close on his heels, Fox silently made his way to the nearby alley where he had parked his speeder bike. Well, it was actually where he had once parked his speeder bike, because now there was nothing left of it but its fleet identification plate lying in a rancid puddle. Kriffing hells; Fox did not look forward to the lost property flimsi-work he would have to fill out.

Navi took in the situation with one keen look. “The staff generally take public transport to the center,” she supplied. “Speeder theft is a big issue around these parts.”

Fox just grunted. Of course he wasn’t wearing his armor, so he didn’t have access to a HUD nav system either. Thankfully, transport stations had maps—and police boxes manned by Coruscant Guardsmen—so Fox would be able to find his way back to the barracks once he got to one.

Navi laid a hand on his arm. “Nearest station’s that way,” she said, gesturing with her free hand towards the east. “It’s about a ten minute walk.”

For a few moments, Fox just stared at Navi’s hand on his arm. He noticed Navi’s fingernails: they were long, sparkly, and pointy and looked like they could cut someone. For some reason, they called to mind a holo Fox had seen long ago in a training module about predatory birds. She was touching him—why was she touching him? She didn’t even know him.

“Let’s go,” he grunted, stepping ahead. Her hand slid off his arm.

Fox had hoped that walking quickly would deter Navi from trying to make conversation, but she was so tall that it wasn’t hard for her to keep pace with him. She trailed alongside him, still determined to get him to talk.

“So you’re a clone.”

Fox didn’t even bother to dignify that with a response. Often, when civvies said that phrase to a trooper, one could expect some kind of verbal abuse to follow. Fox braced himself for the inevitable, but Navi seemed more curious than scornful.

“I’ve never met a clone before,” she continued. “Would you say most clones are much like you?”

“Sure.”

For some reason, Navi kept trying. “I’ve heard a lot about you. The clones, that is. You’re very popular with the ladies on Coruscant.”

Fox wasn’t sure what Navi was getting at, so he remained silent.

“I know some people who’ve been to that clone bar down in the Fobosi District—what’s it called again? Nineties or something?”

“Seventy Nine’s,” Fox corrected reflexively.

“Yeah, that place. It sounds like you clones go down there to have a good time. I’ve always thought about going, but I don’t have anybody to go with.”

Navi suddenly paused mid-step, forcing Fox to stop as well. Her hand had found his shoulder now, and she stood so close that the scent of her perfume curled up his nose, musky and sweet and intoxicating. He did not know why she was all up in his space, but Fox forced himself to square his shoulders and stand his ground. He would not be intimidated so easily. Up close, Fox was now able to examine Navi in great detail. Her features were too strong, too coarse for her to be considered beautiful, but there was a leonine sharpness to her face that lent her a distinguished air.

“Perhaps I could join you at 79’s the next time,” she said.

“Why?” Didn’t Navi have friends she could go with? Nat-borns went to 79’s all the time.

Her hand slid from his shoulder to trace his bicep, and a shiver of unease passed over Fox at the unexpected invasiveness of the gesture. “I’d love to get to know you better, Fox,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “I like a big, strong guy like you. You’re exactly my type.”

This wasn’t right. None of this was right. She shouldn’t be touching him or speaking to him like this. He only craved one person’s touch, and it certainly wasn’t Navi’s. Fox shrank away from her instinctively, but her grip was strong as a man’s and that damned handbag was in the way. He felt like an animal caught in the talons of a shriek-hawk. What exactly did this woman want with him?

“Of course, we don’t have to do drinks...we can just skip straight to the main event,” she continued, her voice now a sultry purr. “I’m down for anything you want to do—and then some.”

Fox cast his eyes desperately about for someone—or something—to get him out of his situation. About a block down the street, he saw a sign for the Uscru transport station. He tried to come up with something to say to draw her attention to the station, but with her so close and her perfume so sickeningly sweet, no words came to mind.

“I—I...I can’t,” Fox stammered.

“What’s the problem? I know you clones aren’t shy, and it’s not like there’s anything stopping you,” Navi pressed, arching a painted brow. “Or...is there?”

Something suddenly fell into place for Fox at that moment. On last Benduday’s episode of Lovers in Cloud City, a new character had been introduced, an odious Arkanian woman that Fox despised almost immediately. She had spent much of her screen time hanging off the male lead, even though it was a foregone conclusion that the story would eventually have him end up with the lovely Keshian female lead.

“I...there is. Someone,” Fox said, his hand reaching back to rub at the nape of his neck. “I can’t, she...”

Actually, Fox had no idea if Riyo even cared about him anymore, but his heart still wanted her to claim him, wanted to belong to her. He couldn’t imagine that Riyo would be happy to know he was even contemplating spending time with some other woman.

Navi peered at him intently, her violet eyes boring into him as if trying to gauge the truth in his words.

“I have to go!” Fox said, his voice high and tight with panic. He jerked out of Navi’s grasp, surreptitiously dusting himself off as if to get the sensation of her invasive touch off of him. “The transport station is right there, good night!”

Holding his body stiffly, he turned on his heel and strode towards the station. Though he wanted to look back to make sure he wasn’t being followed, Fox feared that would give Navi the wrong idea. It took all of his willpower to keep his eyes squarely fixed in front of him and his pace unhurried, while inside him his mind and his heart stumbled over each other at a breakneck speed. He felt ready to combust—what in the kriffing hells just happened?

Did that woman just try what he thought she did? Such a thing happened in the seedy, sweaty corners of 79’s—not out in the open, in public. The bucket bunnies wanted just one thing, and the clones were usually all-too-happy to oblige. This woman had been so bold, so brazen, so terrifying.

He was glad that he managed to get himself out of the situation before it went too far. The entire exchange already felt too close to betrayal, and Fox knew that it was an upward battle to regain Riyo’s regard. He did not need a pesky bucket bunny to get in his way of that. Making a mental note never to agree to another favor for Brynna, he consoled himself with the knowledge that he would never have to speak to Navi again.

Chapter Text

While Fox rarely read or watched the news, he knew from the chatter in the mess hall that the senators’ arrests were as poorly received by the general public as expected. After the news broke, some unhappy civilians took up protesting in Republic Plaza. Several senators wanted the protestors removed from the premises, and brought the matter up with the Coruscant Guard troopers on duty in the Senate Building’s main guard office. It never failed to make Fox’s blood boil, the way so many of these politicians spoke to his brothers like they were little more than animals—because Fox heard them speak to droids, and these senators were more civil to the droids than the clones.

When the matter was escalated to Fox’s attention, he in turn decided that he would defer to his boss, because he wasn’t going to roll over just because the senators demanded so. In the end, Chancellor Palpatine settled the matter—in Fox’s favor. Fox was so surprised that he almost forgot his pounding headache.

“You must understand the optics of the situation,” the chancellor told the disgruntled senators. “Let them chant their slogans and hold up their signs. All citizens have the right to free expression, and silencing them will convey the wrong impression. ”

After Chancellor Palpatine dismissed the senators, he turned to Fox, who had been standing silently in the corner during the meeting.

“Commander, make sure the rabble-rousers are gone from the plaza by sundown,” he ordered.

“Sir?” Fox wasn’t sure if he misheard. Didn’t the chancellor just tell the senators that the protestors should not be removed?

“They are disrupting the peace, and I will not tolerate their blatant disrespect of my Republic,” the chancellor said. Something sinister glimmered in his hooded eyes. “Have them removed—by any means necessary.”

Fox inclined his head, his confusion replaced with an ironclad faith in the man sitting before him. The chancellor knew best, and good soldiers followed orders. “Yes, sir.”

Like his body was moving of its own accord, Fox boarded the turbolift and went straight to the main guard office off the Senate lobby. He knew he said something to the troopers on duty there, but everything felt so hazy, as if Fox were watching everything happen from a distance.

“Hello, Triple Zero to Fox.”

As if waking up from a particularly deep sleep, Fox recovered his bearings slowly and groggily. He found himself back in his office with Thorn, Thire, and Vos peering at him with great concern over the stacks of datapads on his desk. Thorn was waving a hand before Fox’s face, trying to discern if he was awake. Vos’ brow was deeply furrowed, as if he was deep in thought.

Kriff, what was that? When—no, how—did Fox make his way back to his office?

“Are you in here?” Thorn repeated. “Kriff, you think he’s dead?”

Fox ran his hands across his face, and realized with a start that he still wore his bucket. Weird. He’d never fallen asleep with his helmet on before, at least not where he could be caught in the act. His hands shaky, he pulled off his bucket and set it gingerly on his desk.

“Oh, good, I was starting to think it was just an empty suit sitting there,” Thorn said. “You alright, ori’vod?”

“Uh...yeah,” Fox groaned.

Vos looked like he wanted to say something, but for once decided it was more prudent to hold his tongue.

“So...about the investigation,” Thorn began. “There’re some new developments I think you’d want to know.”

Fox very nearly had to ask Thorn exactly what investigation he was talking about, because for the life of him Fox couldn’t remember. His head felt as sluggish like mud in a Rodian swamp. Kark it to all hells, why was it so hard for him to think?

“...Script’ll have the full draft report for you to report sometime tomorrow,” Thorn was saying. “But we managed to decrypt the chip we found on Wallen.”

“Chip,” Fox repeated. Yes, he was beginning to remember now. When they had detained Senator Wallen, they had found on him an unidentified credit chip. Script, the senior intelligence officer had been tasked with accessing the contents of the chip, but the endeavor had proved much more time-consuming than expected.

“The chip is tied to a Nemoidian bank account under a false name—we ran the records but couldn’t conclusively prove that such a person exists.”

This gambling den bust was proving to uncover more than anybody had expected. Fox rubbed his temples. “Don’t tell me—it contains dirty money?” he grumbled.

Thire nodded. “We traced it to a currency exchange on Nar Shaddaa. Our guy cashed out 12.2 million credits’ worth of government bonds.”

Thorn put his feet up on Fox’s desk, most likely because he knew it would annoy Fox. “This is not something we can take to Carmine,” he said bluntly.

“No,” Fox agreed. With everything going on and the massive scale of the war effort, it was unlikely that the chancellor would authorize a full investigation for the loss of such a sum. Fox had seen some of the ledgers. The Senate Guard had a daily operating budget of nearly 7 million; the stolen 12.2 million was barely a blip in the Republic’s finances. If anything, the chancellor might be upset with Fox for wasting his time on something so trivial.

Still, Fox was taught to value order and the rule of law, and it did not sit right with him to stand by and do nothing. They had to do something—but the Coruscant Guard didn’t have any law enforcement jurisdiction off-planet. The only way to get authorization was through the chancellor, unless they found a qualified third party to assist...

“Oh, kriffing hells, don’t tell me you’re thinking about getting him to help us,” Fox groaned. Because Vos, really? The jet’ii had about as much subtlety as a kick in the stones. His cover would be blown in days, if not hours.

“Look, just because you don’t like Quin doesn’t mean he’s not capable,” Thorn said. “He was the one who helped us follow the money trail to Nar Shaddaa—Quin here’s an excellent tracker. It’s one of his jet’ii powers.”

Fox would rather trust in trained investigators and not Force osik, but Thorn’s mind was hard to change once he got fixated on something. As much as Fox hated to admit it, Thorn had a good point. The Jedi Order could operate where the Coruscant Guard could not, and had resources that rivalled or even surpassed the Guard.

“I’m devastated that you don’t have confidence in me, Commander,” Vos said, sounding decidedly not devastated by Fox's lack of confidence in him. “When have I ever let you down?”

“I got shot because of you,” Fox said accusingly.

“Look, I’ve already apologized to you for what happened.”

“But we got this far,” Thorn pointed out. Of course that sheb’urcyin would take Vos’ side. “Quin’s already got his assignment from the Council, nobody’ll ask questions. Just give him a few months and—”

“One month,” Fox countered.

“Fine. We’re close, I know it,” Vos said ominously. For once, he sounded completely serious. “The Dark Side is at work here. This is something you won’t be able to take on alone.”

“Very well.” Fox didn’t want to get in the way of the work of the Jedi Council. Besides, if letting Vos do his investigation got him out of Guard’s hair, Fox would let him have his way.

After Vos and the other officers left, Fox was left once again to the company of his pile of flimsiwork. He worked silently and diligently through the mountain of work on his desk, interrupted only by the blaring of an alarm Fox had set for himself. It was the reminder for his Taungsday afternoon session with Brynna. Fox had come to welcome the break in his busy work schedule it allowed him, but the prospect of having to cross paths with that Twi’lek woman again made him uneasy.

It wasn’t like he was going to the Horizons Centre to see her—certainly not—but Fox didn’t want to risk the opportunity of having any interaction with Navi again. He didn’t like how she had made him feel. But going to see Brynna improved Fox’s mood. Fox’s gut feeling told him Navi would probably try something like that again.

If he didn’t leave in the next 10 minutes, he would be late for his session. Minutes crawled by as Fox contemplated his options.

Could he manage to ignore her and pretend the interaction never happened?

Fox knew firsthand that what the clones wanted didn’t matter to the bucket bunnies; to them, clones weren’t human and didn’t have the ability to say no.

He was afraid of what else Navi might try with him. He didn’t want some other woman’s hands on him, whispering in his ear. And he didn’t imagine Riyo would be happy to hear if that were the case.

When he finally came to the conclusion that maybe he shouldn’t go to his appointment, his session had already started. He told himself that there was no point in trying to go now. By the time he would get to the Uscru District, the session was basically over.

Besides, he doubted that Brynna would mind his absence. She never seemed to want him there in the first place.

He told himself that Brynna wouldn’t notice that he was gone. It made it a lot easier for Fox to ditch his next session, three days after that.

“Commander Fox, there’s some lady here to see you,” said Zed one morning. Zed worked the admin desk in the Guard offices on Primedays and Centaxdays. He was a 6-months-new shiny who did everything absolutely by the regs.

Fox tried to ignore the lurch in his chest. “She wants to see me?” Nobody else would single him out like this...

“She, um, asked to see the most senior officer on the premises,” Zed corrected. “She says she won’t leave until she’s spoken to you, sir.”

Well, there went the rest of his afternoon. Fox laid aside his datapad and set a decoy stack of flimsi forms on the desk in front of him. For some reason, irate government employees were always convinced that only work involving real flimsi constituted real work. “Send her in,” he sighed.

“Yes, sir.” Zed left to fetch the visitor. During Zed’s brief absence, Fox mentally ran through his standard spiel for such situations, hoping desperately that he could convince his unwelcome visitor to leave within 2 hours. The last time, his visitor had refused to leave, doggedly following him and trying to get the last word in even while Fox had to leave for his supervisory shift at the prison.

His unexpected visitor knocked gently at his door before entering, which was unusual—most people who came to see Fox always let themselves in without announcing themselves. In stepped Brynna, who looked just as out-of-place in his office as he had in hers.

“Oh, I’d been so worried about you,” Brynna sighed, placing a hand on her chest as if to steady herself. “Thank the stars that you’re fine.”

Fox knew that to expect Riyo was an impossible daydream, but it never occurred to him that Brynna might want to come see him. “W-what are you doing here?” Fox stammered. It took him a moment to register that Brynna had recognized him. Fox, out of a building full of clones wearing his same face. How did she know?

As if someone had hit a reset button, Brynna’s worry was quickly replaced with her usual air of irritable impatience. She sat down on the creaky plastoid chair across from his desk. 

“What do you think?” she said archly. “When you stopped showing up, I thought there had been some change in circumstance—like you’d been sent out to the front.”

“I’m the commander of the Coruscant Guard,” Fox said, befuddled. The Republic would not deploy such a high-ranking officer to the front to be cannon fodder—thank the Maker for small mercies. Instead, Fox would be relegated to the inglorious death by administrative tedium.

Brynna waved a hand dismissively. “You know you’re dodging my actual question. Be honest with me—has Navi been causing you problems?”

“Uh...” Fox’s first instinct was to deny it. He had learned in the sterile hallways of Tipoca City that snitching was as cowardly as it was dishonorable. Nobody liked a snitch, because it meant they were incapable of handling problems on their own. Besides, Fox was a clone commander, a seasoned veteran of the first Battle of Geonosis, and he wasn’t scared of a handsy Twi’lek civvie.

But Brynna was a doctor of the mind, and she was able to see right through Fox. “I made Navi tell me what happened—and don’t worry, I gave her a piece of my mind,” she said. “She should have known better, especially since you’re one of my patients.”

“You—what?” Fox couldn’t understand why Brynna had to get herself involved, when this really was a trivial incident.

“If she does anything that makes you uncomfortable again, tell me and I’ll take care of it. Hells, if you want, I’ll ban her from the premises while you’re there.”

“W-what, no, that w-would be necessary,” Fox stammered. People did not move things around for a mere clone. Detestable as Navi was, she was still a nat-born, and she had the right to occupy any space she wanted. The law did not even consider him a person in his own right.

Brynna crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “I want—no, I would very much like for you to keep coming to your sessions. The Horizons Centre is meant to be a safe space for all of its residents and patients, and I’m sorry that I failed you in that regard. I’ll do whatever I can to make up for it—and make things better for you.”

“Why?” Fox felt too uncomfortable by the unexpected twist in the conversation to be suspicious.

“Because this—” she gestured between the two of them—“has been good for you. And I would very much like to see what kind of progress you continue to make.”

Something clenched in Fox’s chest. Why go to some lengths for a clone—and a broken one at that?

“I...I didn’t think you cared,” Fox said, his voice cracking slightly.

“Of course I care,” Brynna said, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. “You matter.”

It took Fox several moments to summon the words through the tightness that had formed in his throat. “Thank you, Brynna,” he croaked.

Brynna smiled at Fox then, and in that moment, Fox wondered how he’d ever thought her cold or distant. She could be short with people and too quick with her words, but under her prickly exterior, she meant well. He still wished Riyo sat in the chair across from him, but he was glad for Brynna’s presence because it was the first time in a long while he didn’t feel so alone.

They sat quietly together for a while, Brynna occasionally breaking the silence to ask him about his life and what he was doing. She didn’t pry and she didn’t press him for answers when he wasn’t too forthcoming. Fox found himself slipping back easily into the comfortable routine they had in their sessions, and it felt like they were back in Brynna’s cozy office in the Horizons Centre.

Before long, a comm message summoned Brynna back into the outside world. She left Fox with the reminder that she had her Taungsday 1700 time slot reserved for him, her question floating unspoken in the air between them. Fox thought he could feel something burning in his eyes after the door shut behind her. 

Maker knew why Brynna cared so much about a broken old clone, but Fox was still a sentient being with thoughts and emotions, and it did something dangerous to him, knowing that someone out there genuinely cared about his well-being.

Perhaps it was for the best if he resumed his sessions with her. He could not lose sight of his original goal for getting back to Riyo, and though he had no way of knowing for certain if things between them would return to how they were, he was still determined to take that chance to win her back.

Riyo these days didn’t have all that much to look forward to, but this particular afternoon, she was particularly excited for that evening. Her father was stopping by Coruscant for a few days to come see her.

But when the appointed hour came and her father did not come breezing through the door, Riyo became increasingly confused, then concerned when he did not respond to any of her comms. A review of the interplanetary transport timetables revealed that his ship had arrived on time without incident; the representative at the transport agency told her that her father had never boarded the ship at its origin spaceport on Cerea.

She feared she was being paranoid, but what if something sinister had happened to her father? Ever since the anonymous report to the Ethics Committee, Riyo grew increasingly convinced that she was being targeted. Was her family now also in danger because of her? She hoped desperately that her father was physically fine; hopefully his reputation as an impartial humanitarian would spare him the worst of harm.

So desperate she was for any word from her father, Riyo didn’t want to stray more than five steps away from the commlink in the living room. She found herself dozing off on the couch nearby when it finally pinged, the sound as loud as a blaster shot in the silence of the night.

But it wasn’t her father’s, but rather his colleague’s ghostly figure that flickered into view on the holo puck.

“Oh hey, Riyo, is Makaru there?”

Riyo quickly shook herself awake, all-too-self-conscious of her mussed hair and the creases in her clothes. Even though she hadn’t seen Dr. Toruna in years, she still felt a little flustered from speaking to him.

In her tweens she had a massive crush on the soft-spoken Chalactan, who had just barely completed residency when he started working at Chu-Tai. Perhaps it was his differentness that drew Riyo to him: on a world of blue-skinned Pantorans, he had stood out with his beautiful brown skin and warm dark eyes. The young doctor had always been patient with Riyo when she visited the lab with her father, even if she knew now that she had been embarrassingly obvious in her infatuation. Dr. Toruna had accepted a research position at the University of Alderaan when Riyo left for law school, and the last Riyo heard, he had gotten married and was now father to adorable curly-haired twins.

“Sorry, he’s not here,” Riyo said.

“Hmm, strange,” Dr. Toruna mused. “He’s not picking up on his personal comm. Your mother told me Makaru should be on Coruscant.”

Riyo did the quick math; it was currently near midday in Omari, where her mother was. Surely she—and Dr. Toruna—knew it was the middle of the night on Coruscant. Whatever necessitated this call had to be urgent. 

“I actually don’t know where my father is, either,” Riyo admitted uneasily. “But if the message is important, I can pass it along when I hear from him.”

“He’s not on Coruscant?” Dr. Toruna ran his hands through his tousled curls again, now looking worried. “Ah, I guess I’ll keep asking around. Sorry to disturb you from your rest, Riyo.”

She meant to ask what could possibly be so important that Dr. Toruna had to speak to her father now, but the comm call had already disconnected. She threw herself back onto the couch, her thoughts flying through her head at a hundred parsecs. Riyo was never religious, not in the way her maternal grandparents were, but she wondered if it was a good time to start praying. These were dangerous times to be travelling, even more so if you were a person of any import.

Riyo had lost track of the number of times Senator Amidala had been taken hostage or put in harm’s way during her travels across the galaxy. She had her dashing Jedi General friend to rescue her from these situations, but who did her father have? Her father refused to hire private security when travelling away from Pantora; hells, her father didn’t even believe in blasters.

She loved her father and everything he stood for, but really, his naivety could be so frustrating. Did he really think he could talk his way out of a standoff with blaster-armed bandits—or worse, General Grievous himself? She imagined all the stern lectures and scoldings she would give her father until she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Orange fire streaked across the sky when the commlink woke Riyo up next. Groaning, Riyo glanced at the chrono on the mantelpiece (0545, did people really have no common decency anymore?) before picking up.

“Yeah?” she yawned, too exhausted to be polite.

“Good morning, little flower.”

Riyo’s eyes flew open in a flash as she jolted upright.

“Where the kr—where in the Goddess’ name are you?” Riyo cried.

Her father’s ghostly hologram sat on a distant chair somewhere across the galaxy, looking relaxed and unflappable like he hadn’t just given Riyo the scare of her life.

“I’m on Sullust,” her father replied serenely.

“Wait...isn’t there a Separatist blockade going on there?” It was hard to keep abreast of all of the fighting going on in the galaxy, but Riyo recalled hearing about a battle over Sullust and how Generals Skywalker and Kenobi had valiantly swooped in to save the day.

Her father’s sheepish shrug told Riyo all that she needed to know. Riyo knew her mother would be furious: he had promised her mother that he would stay away from areas of active fighting while on his travels. He had kept his word for the past 2 years, so it was strange that he would break his promise now...

Only one reason—well, person—that could prompt her father’s unexpected detour to Sullust. 

“Is Uncle Fon okay?” Riyo gasped.

Fon was one of her father’s best friends from their university days. It had been years since Riyo last visited her Uncle Fon in Pinyumb. He was quite elderly now by Sullustan standards, and his trips off-world increasingly few. 

“Fon is fine,” her father affirmed. “I simply felt that it was a good time to pay him a visit.”

He really knew how to pick a time to go, but Riyo had learned over the years that it was futile to question her father’s unexplained flights of fancy. For the most part, his diversions were always harmless. “You could have commed, though.”

At that, her father looked rather apologetic. “I’m sorry, little flower. Several transponder satellites over the planet were damaged during the fighting, so personal comms were down for a few days. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get a word out.”

Oh, stars. She felt awful for all of her negative thoughts towards him last night. “Did you comm Oma yet?”

“I sent her a message, I’ll call her after this.”

A swell of smug warmth flooded her. Riyo always knew she was her father’s favorite person in the world, of course he would call her first.

They caught up for a bit; Riyo could definitely tell her father tried to deflect the subject on current conditions on Sullust, preferring to focus on her happenings on Coruscant. Honestly, there wasn’t much to discuss in her life—since Riyo also didn’t want to talk about Fox (“I promise I’ll talk to him, okay?”), they exhausted the conversation quickly. Her father was on the verge of hanging up when Riyo remembered something about the odd events of last night.

“Aba, by the way, Dr. Toruna commed earlier. It seemed urgent—he even commed Oma about it.”

“Oh, that. Paulo probably has the preliminary findings from the tissue analysis,” her father hummed absently. “I’ll talk to him about it when I get the chance.”

Though Riyo heard her family members and their colleagues discuss clinical studies and lab results hundreds of times, for some reason, today the hairs prickled on the back of her neck. Dr. Toruna’s urgency did not correlate with her father’s nonchalance—the lab must have discovered something unusual that demanded late-night comm calls across the galaxy. She had no way of knowing what it could be, but Riyo had a bad feeling about Dr. Toruna’s discovery.