Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cody stood, and tried not to bounce on the balls of his feet like a cadet at their first training sim.

But the longer they stood there waiting, the harder it became not to fidget at all, watching the ship dock, the manifest being checked, the security sweeps before the door was allowed to open. Behind him, he could feel so many eyes watching his back, like they all expected him to do something dramatic at any moment.

So he stood there, and he forced himself to wait, because he had not seen Fox in almost ten years, he could endure a few more minutes.

Even if every additional minute made him feel like he would start screaming, because it had almost been ten years, and each minute felt like another grey hair being added to his head.

“You still sure about this?” Rex asked beside him, and Cody heard Wolffe snort on his other side.

“It's a bit late to ask, old boy,” Cody muttered back to him.

“Technically they haven't stepped foot on this planet yet,” Rex said.

“We can't send them back now,” Wolffe said, as if they had not had this debate a few dozen times that day already, let alone the long weeks before.

“Nor would we,” Cody insisted, like he had ever since he said, we will take them in.

We being the system the clones had claimed for themselves when they split off from the Republic, practically minutes before it dissolved itself into the Galactic Empire. The Republic's entire army defecting to the Unknown Regions with their Jedi Generals in tow might have caused more of a fuss, if Emperor Palpatine had not proved exactly how prepared for it he had been.

Mere weeks after the clones had decamped almost the entire Grand Army of the Republic, there was neither a standing GAR nor a Republic. Storm troopers were fielded faster than new armor could be commissioned, and the Empire made peace with the Separatists by three month's end.

But not everyone had left.

The Coruscant Guard had stayed behind, on Fox's insistence the GAR had made a choice, and the Guard had made a different one.

When he'd said it, meeting Cody's eyes like it was a dare, Cody had almost blown up the negotiations with the dissolving Republic then and there. It had taken half the Jedi Council to talk him down, to remind him they had offered all the clones a choice. If they forced the Guard to go with them, they would reveal themselves to be hypocrites, and then end up with nothing.

Cody had been willing to be labeled a hypocrite rather than leave any brother behind, but he couldn't accept ending up with nothing.

So when the GAR peeled off to their new home in the Unknown Regions, shielding themselves with hard to navigate space lanes and distance, the Guard had been left behind.

Since then, the clones had watched, and waited, because they and the Jedi knew Palpatine had not wanted to let them go, and it would only be a matter of time until he came for them again. In the meantime, he had plenty of internal opponents to put down, Separatists splinter groups to quell, and armies to raise until he felt they could go head to head with the former GAR and the displaced Jedi Order.

And Cody had tried to swear off politics, because spearheading the withdrawal negotiations had been worse than any mud and blood soaked campaign had ever been.

For all his troubles, he'd been voted Prime Minster and told he had better get used to having the position, because the first generation of clones had all agreed he was stuck there for life. He'd asked them why they hadn't made him king then, and they'd asked him if he would prefer that title, because they were setting up an entirely new government, and they could make that happen.

Cody had decided discretion was the better part of valor, and shut up.

Then, they kept waiting, the Jedi settling even deeper into the Unknown Regions, building a new Temple, and sometimes emerging to help those around the Galaxy who still called for them.

And now, the ship finally finishing its docking procedures, the Coruscant Guard were coming back to their estranged brothers, because almost a decade after they stayed behind, Commander Fox had assassinated the Emperor.

No one knew why exactly, because even as his trial he had stood tight lipped and dismissive of any questions. He endured ten years as the personal guard of the Emperor, and no one understood what caused him to finally snap.

But when the newly reformed Republic declared exile, for both himself and all the clones under his command, Cody had submitted his offer of asylum before the Court had even finished adjourning.

Ever since that day, he found himself thinking in the middle of the night about Fox's expression captured by the holo-recorders when he'd been given exile instead of death.

Nights and nights later, Cody still wasn't sure if it was confusion or disappointment, and if the ship would ever finish docking, he might finally be able to ask Fox.

There were, actually, a lot of things he wanted to ask Fox after almost ten years of enforced silence, but as the boarding ramp lowered with a hiss, finally revealing the first of the Coruscant Guard, the only question Cody found stuck in his throat was but did you ever miss me​?

He stepped forward, even knowing it would upset his own advisors and guards, words stuck in his throat, because he did not recognize the clones in front of him. They seemed young, younger than they should have, and suspicious of Cody approaching.

Before anything could come of it, Thorn stepped between them, coming all the way down the ramp to meet Cody, the others trailing after him.

His hair was longer than it had been during the war, braided down his back, and his easy smile far more brittle.

“Thorn,” Cody greeted, because he had no idea what titles they might or might not have been using, after their transfer into Palpatine's private guards, or if they had kept any after their exile.

“Cody,” Thorn said, surveying him quickly, taking in his lack of heavy state robes, the fact he'd stuck to his usual, almost casual clothing for the day. At the end of the war, he'd been convinced he would have hated giving up his armor, but found now he could hardly bear wearing anything more formal than half a suit.

The former Coruscant Guard, meanwhile, all seemed to still be wearing some variation of a uniform, each of them in a grey jacket that looked downright stiff with its high collar and knee high boots. No rank designation existed on the jackets though, and the show of unity made Cody frown.

Offering asylum had not been exactly popular, even just among his closest brothers, the ones that would have known Fox and the other Guard members before the separation.

After all, still no one knew why Fox had done it.

Ten years was a long time to serve an Emperor, and then decide you were done with it.

“Or do you prefer a different title?” Thorn asked, once Cody had finished considering the grey uniforms.

“Cody is fine,” he said. “Welcome to Kebii'tra.”

Thorn considered him for a long moment, before inclining his head. “Stone owes me,” he said, and Cody swallowed, even as he felt Wolffe coming to a stop behind his shoulder. “He insisted there was no way you named your new home planet sky .”

“Blue sky, specifically,” Wolffe offered.

“Our home planet,” Cody corrected quietly, and Thorn considered him again, gaze sharpening, before he nodded, accepting Cody's words.

Cody wondered if it would be so easy with literally any of the others.

“Is anyone else actually coming?” Wolffe asked, and Cody could hear the strain in his voice. Wolffe had fought off every advisor who tried to talk Cody out of his offer to the former Guard, and Cody knew he wanted Fox back with them almost as badly as he did, however things had ended between them.

With another look, Thorn stepped aside, and like he had been waiting for that signal, Fox appeared at the top of the ramp, Thire beside him, both still wearing the same plain grey uniform.

He hesitated there, looking down at Cody staring up at him, and Cody suddenly wanted to turn tail and run.

When was the last time he'd retreated from anything?

Forcing himself to stand there, he watched Fox descend the ramp, taking in the way he looked a few years younger than Cody did these days, despite his hair that had started greying as a cadet. Cody's had only started really going grey the last couple of years, but his face had far more lines. At least it supported the rumor that Palpatine had found a genetic therapy to stop the aging of the clones faster than the former GAR had, hard as that had been to believe at the time.

Once he'd kept his favorite toys, it seemed like he realized he didn't want to lose them too quickly.

But even as Fox approached, not once dropping his eyes from Cody's gaze, his expression did not change at all, and Cody just stood and waited for him.

“Fox,” he greeted, when Fox didn't seem like he would speak first.

“Cody,” he returned, and his accent had changed over the years, sliding more and more toward that of Coruscant than Kamino.

Cody thought again about all the questions he wanted to ask, why Fox had killed Palpatine, what Fox was feeling, and still, above all of them, did you miss me​ ?

All he got out was a quiet, “I'm glad you're here.”

Fox's expression did not shift at all, and there was no warmth in his eyes, even as Wolffe shifted behind Cody's shoulder. “Well, it's not like I had a choice,” Fox said, perfectly flat, and Cody felt his stomach drop.

He thought again about tactical retreat, and gestured over his shoulder. “Come,” he said, forcing his voice into matching Fox's tone. “I know it was a long journey from Coruscant to here, and we have temporary quarters for you all, based on the numbers you sent us before landing.”

Exchanging a quick look first with Thire and then Thorn, Fox focused back on Cody. “That would be appreciated,” he said, and Cody could only give him a tight nod back, before turning around and walking away, trusting they would follow.

Rarely had he allowed himself to think of what this reunion would have been like, during all the years since Fox had thrown the offer to come with the rest of the GAR back in his face. In the weeks since Palpatine's death, Cody had finally given himself the luxury to really imagine it.

None of those idle daydreams had been anything like this, though.

-

By dinner time, Cody felt run ragged and exhausted, for all that Fox had maybe said ten more sentences to him. Most of Fox's attention had rightly been on his own men, and Cody never caught him alone.

Which was probably for the best, since he hardly needed to slip up and ask Fox something stupid like, did you ever think about me? or do you remember the way you kissed me, right before we left for Geonosis?

At least it seemed brutally clear Fox had not missed him much, as he barely looked at him, even when Cody hovered right next to him.

Cody supposed a handful of kisses, spread across three years of war, with only the whispered promise of maybe when this is over, we can try for real, were not something most people would carry tucked into the corners of their hearts for another decade. Fox could have fallen for anyone else in that decade, maybe even Thire himself for all that he never seemed to be more than five feet from Fox at a given time.

He wanted the day to end, but instead had to face the gauntlet of a state dinner, the kind he couldn't put off. Too many neighboring dignitaries had invited themselves, even some from as far afield as the staggering Separatist rump movement. All had come to gawk at the newly arrived clones, especially the one who had killed Emperor Palpatine himself.

In a kinder, more just universe, Cody would have been able to put it off.

But some days it all became incredibly apparent to him that the clones were still mostly tolerated by their neighbors, and for all that the Empire was turning back to the Republic without Palpatine at its head, they were always on the verge of becoming someone's target, always on the verge of their whole system falling apart.

In some ways, Fox assassinating Palpatine and causing the fall of the Empire by that one action proved that.

So, he entered the state dinner in a fancier jacket than he had worn all day, and noticed every single member of the former Guard who was there still wore their grey uniforms, including Fox.

Fox, who finally did not look detached, but rather a little hunted, standing in one corner and being watched by everyone.

Within minutes, Cody understood why, as half the diplomats in the room descended on him with questions about Fox.

“But see,” one of them said, a bright gold fan fluttering in front of her face, and Cody placed her as being from two systems over. “I still don't understand.”

“Which part?” Cody asked, because he had been playing this game for a decade now, and could mostly sound affable when he really wanted to scream.

“I know you are all clones,” she said, fan still swaying back and forth. “But he did kill the Emperor.”

“Yes,” Cody agreed.

“You may call yourself a Prime Minster,” another dignitary said, and they had gone round this conversation several times already. “But it is in your constitution you will hold that title as long as you like.”

“Yes,” Cody repeated. “What does that—”

“It just seems odd,” the second one continued, a tall Devaronian. “That one who functions like a king would invite a king's assassin into his home.”

“He is a clone,” Cody said flatly. “That is in the constitution too. Any clone who wishes to shelter on Kebii'tra will be welcome.”

“Even those that topple regimes?” the first diplomat asked.

“Do you expect him to do it again?” Cody asked, and Rex had noticed him locked into this group, drifting over while looking like he wasn't.

“Does it not seem a little suspicious?” the Devaronian asked. “What if you are planning something?”

“Something?” Cody asked, and shook his head. “He is a clone. We offer sanctuary to all clones.”

Even though, sometimes when Fox looked past him, indeed almost right through him, he did start to wonder if Fox wasn't going to stay in the habit of regime change, continuing with him himself. Fox hardly acted like the cadet who had crawled into Cody's bunk late at night after a nightmare, curling his head under Cody's chin until he stopped shaking.

He looked like someone who had killed an emperor.

But then Cody repeated the conversation over and over again, with different groups of people, until he realized half the nobles and escorts and diplomats and ambassadors did, in fact, suspect he had an ulterior motive for giving Fox and the Guard asylum.

“I don't think there's any way to reassure these people we're not about to start exporting regime changes to their systems,” he muttered to Wolffe, who had been circling Fox all night, never quite approaching him directly.

“What, not going to tell them you've been in love with him since you were eight?” Wolffe returned under his breath, and Cody purposefully spilled half his drink on him.

A few turns around the room later, he ended up next to Wolffe again, Fox's knuckles white around his glass, and it had been a long, grueling day already. “Do you think it would help, to say this is just personal?” Cody asked.

“Yeah, but how would you prove it?” Wolffe asked, amused.

“Maybe I'll just say I'm going to fucking marry him to reunite the two clone factions,” Cody said, meaning it as a joke, but the words caught in his throat, because it had been a single day of Fox not looking at him, and already he felt half insane from it. To be so close and still feel like Fox was half the galaxy away was going to become torture rather quickly.

“Oh,” a shorter than average Bothan said from beside him, startling Cody badly enough he almost spilled the rest of his drink on Wolffe. “Yes, of course. Why didn't you just say so to begin with? A political marriage,” and they nodded sagely, except they said it loud enough everyone around them turned to look at them. “That makes perfect sense! Honestly, Prime Minster, after ten years, you think you'd have learned some skill at politics.”

“Wait,” Cody said, holding a hand up.

“A marriage?” the next ambassador over said, and the two Jedi representatives who had come, Kit Fisto and Stass Allie, also both turned to look at him.

“Yes, he was just trying to be sneaky,” the Bothan insisted. “As if we wouldn't find out eventually! Perhaps he thought he could hold us back until the official invitations went out.”

That earned a round of laughter, the word marriage starting to leak through the crowd.

“No, hold on,” Cody said, but it was already too late, because at least the crowd had an answer that made sense to them, that Cody would risk his political capital and position in the systems around him to bring Fox back to him, because he planned on marrying him.

The fact he was a clone, and it was in their constitution, apparently didn't make sense, but political marriage did.

When Cody finally looked over at Fox, it was to find his expression had finally broken open, for the first time since that morning.

And he looked furious.

Chapter Text

For one long, almost blessed moment, Fox’s head felt totally empty. It was the first time all day his thoughts hadn’t been chasing their own tails, circling like a hungry pack in the back of his head.

He’d only been half listening to Thire and Thorn while checking his messages from Stone—the ones that kept telling him things were fine, the Tubies had already started settling in to their strange surroundings—when the tenor of the room changed.

“That delegate has asked Cody three times if Fox’s special skills will be for sale,” Thire had muttered, moments before. “Cody has failed to answer, and I can’t tell if that’s because he’s just that good at ducking it, or if he hasn’t figured out that’s the question.”

“It’s been long enough I’m not sure we really have a read on anyone anymore,” Thorn admitted, and Fox split his attention between watching Cody when his back was turned and his comm, as if almost hoping something would go wrong so he could rush out with an excuse.

This whole party set his teeth on edge. It wasn’t for them, not the Guard and not the former GAR, but for the politicians who came to gawk at them. He’d had enough of that on Coruscant.

“Are you looking for him, again?” Thorn asked suddenly, Fox’s shoulders jumping before he realized he spoke to Thire.

“No,” Thire said too quickly.

“It has been ten years, Thire,” Thorn said softly. “You might not even recognize him.”

“I would,” Thire muttered, and Fox had his eyes on Cody’s back again, the line of his shoulders under the well fitted jacket he wore, that had an overly fancy clasp in the front, and ended a little above his natural waist. Fox felt fairly certain he could place exactly which shade of yellow it was. 

They really should have just called him king if they were going to name the planet after the bright daytime sky and then allow Cody to wear his 212th colors like he was the sun—

And then Fox realized Thire and Thorn had both gone totally silent, watching him, that frozen way that meant they were suddenly scared, and Fox forced himself to listen again, just in time for a Bothan to tell half the room Cody planned on marrying him.

Finally Fox stopped thinking anything at all, before the full weight of that statement crashed into him like a storm wave on Kamino, or a speeder with no brakes.

“Fox,” Thire said, desperately quiet, but Fox was already moving, peeling himself out of the corner he’d claimed as his territory for the night.

This party should have been a welcome to the Guard, a place for them to mingle with their former fellows and get to know each other again. Ten years was too long to pretend they could just fold both groups together without friction. But that was never how these parties went, they were always just battlefields of another kind. Palpatine had taught him that, and Tarkin had refined the lesson. 

He just hadn’t realized Cody planned on using this field of war for an ambush.

“Fox,” Cody said, Fox sliding his arm around his waist and tugging him against his side, ignoring the abrupt warmth of him as he did so. Clones used to run so much hotter than they did now, after the gene therapy to slow their aging, but Cody was still comfortably warm, pressed against the length of Fox’s side.

“Excuse us,” he rumbled to the Bothan and others gathered right there. “Now that you found us out, there’s no point in us standing on opposite sides of the room. I do need the kin—Prime Minister, though,” and then he was all but yanking Cody along with him, only vaguely seeing Wolffe’s alarmed look. Quick on his feet, Wolffe turned to follow in their wake, much like Thorn and Thire already were.

“Fox, wait,” Cody started, tense and unhappy against his side.

“Shut the fuck up,” Fox hissed, ignoring the almost silent buzz of his comm alerting him to another message. He’d spent all night checking them immediately, but hoped this time Stone could wait five minutes.

At least five minutes.

Probably longer.

Others had caught up to what was happening, flocking to them from across the room. First to reach them was Rex—of fucking course—and then a brother that Fox didn’t know at all. When Orange turned on his heel like he might follow too, Thorn gave him an abrupt signal to stay where he was, to his obvious displeasure.

“Commander only,” Thorn added in hand sign, and Orange’s scowl indicated Fox would be hearing from him shortly, certainly before the night was over.

Then they were slamming through the doors of the ballroom, into what Fox correctly guessed was the cleaning hallway. There was always some sort of room tucked away near banquet halls, though he would have willingly had it out with Cody in a supply cupboard if necessary.

Actually, it would have been better, because then he could have slammed the door in everyone else’s faces on the excuse of space.

Instead, he found a side room and practically threw Cody through the open door to it first, stalking after him.

“What the absolute fuck, Cody?” he asked, voice flat, nowhere near a yell. Behind them their respective entourages filed in and took up positions, while trying not to look like they were at odds with each other.

“It was an accident,” Cody said.

“You accidentally told someone we were engaged?” Fox asked.

“Representative Flen misheard,” Wolffe said, and Fox was trying not to look at him head on. If he did, he might remember a whole other life, one that hadn’t been his for ten years.

“If he misheard, why is everyone suddenly under the impression it is happening?” Thorn asked, arms crossed over his chest, a defensive posture Fox had thought he drilled out of him.

“Because they’re worried,” Rex said, the first thing he’d said to Fox since a night at a warehouse, half a galaxy away. “They don’t understand why the Guard is here.”

“It’s in the kriffing constitution,” Wolffe protested, and Fox still tried not to look at him. “All clones—any clones—are offered a home here. Even exiled ones.”

“Admittedly,” the clone Fox didn’t recognize said. “It is far less the Guard that’s the concern, than it is one of them in particular.”

“You can say my name,” Fox said, snide. “Don’t worry, it’s not actually cursed.”

“Look, Fox,” Cody said, finally breaking in. “I may have said it, but Wolffe is right. I didn’t mean it. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t have to, what?” Fox demanded. “Half the room has already called back to their home planets with the relieving news that the Prime Minister thinks with his dick, not that he’s planning on exporting assassination attempts to the neighboring systems.”

Cody stared at him. “That is one planet sized assumption.”

“Is it?” Fox snapped.

“You don’t have to go along with this,” Cody protested. “We can go back out there and say it was just a misunderstanding—”

“If you do it will look weak,” the other clone said. “And bring us right back to the problem of their concern about him being here.”

“I don’t have to,” Fox started, Thire immediately cutting him off.

“Shut up, Fox.”

“I don’t have to be here,” Fox finished stubbornly. “As long as the Guard is here, and safe, I could find literally anywhere else to go, if I’m the problem.”

“You go, Guard goes,” Thire said, Thorn’s face closed off. “As we’ve been over, so many times.”

“Besides which,” Cody said as Fox glared at the deeply unimpressed Thire. “That still doesn’t address the fact it should not have been a problem to begin with! He was offered asylum as a clone, as all clones are welcomed on this planet. We’ve done our diplomatic duty dozens of times over in explaining that. Why would there need to be anything more?”

“Because he killed an emperor,” Thorn said. “That’s no run of the mill murder hobbyist, that’s a political assassination. Especially since he was the emperor’s personal guard.”

“So, what, are you supporting this idea?” Cody asked, staring at Thorn.

“I don’t say that. Just that you weren’t thinking this through if you thought you could stamp asylum on a piece of flimsi and have that be the end of it. You damn well aren’t established in this space long enough to throw your weight around, not without some regard to the worlds that have been here for generations.”

“Marriage though?” Rex asked. “That’s an insane answer.”

“It is the one out there,” Thire said, even though he looked at Thorn, mouth and unhappy line.

“We can figure something else out,” Cody said. “I offered you a place, I’ll figure out how to give it—”

“Thorn is right,” Fox said. “It’s out there. The words have been said.”

“You want to marry me?” Cody snapped, finally annoyed.

For a second Fox stared at him, feeling his stomach churn. “I didn’t say that,” he said, voice low, and Cody looked like Fox had sucker punched him. Fox wondered if he’d even caught what a dodge his answer was, because when he looked at Cody he felt like no time had passed at all, as much as he felt like Cody belonged in a museum case dedicated to both his childish passions and greatest mistakes.

He’d just—he thought he’d have more time to figure out how Cody still made him feel.

They’d never been more than a maybe, an almost, how could Cody still make him feel like a flayed open wound just by looking at him, a whole decade of silence later? Fox could count the times they’d kissed on his hands, and half of them had only lasted seconds, placeholders for a declaration that had never come.

“You should never have asked us to come,” he said, bitterness leaking into his voice.

“As you said,” Cody said, not quite looking at him head on. “You didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Fox hissed, not quite capable of words.

“There is another complication,” Thorn said, everyone looking at him. “And that’s how the idea of you getting married is going to be perceived. Say you go through with it. You’ll have to explain how you got there.”

“Do they?” Wolffe asked.

“Well, sure, you don’t have to,” Thorn said, sarcastic. “Except as it stands now, it sure looks like Cody got us here, and then handed Fox a condition that he hadn’t warned him about. What Cody’s motivation might be for that is open to interpretation, and that’s dangerous. Especially since if you don’t have a story, the Tubies are going to lose their shit, Pred.”

“Fuck,” Fox muttered.

“The who?” Cody asked.

“So if marriage is the answer,” and there was a strange light in Thorn’s eyes. “You’ve really only got two main choices, since the current one is a no-go.”

“And what are those?” the clone Fox didn’t know asked, Wolffe too busy looking at Fox, and Thire doing the same to Cody. Rex crossed his arms and looked between all of them.

Fox wondered if he still blamed him for shooting his ARC.

It wasn’t like the clone had died from it. The Jedi in that warehouse has saved him, based off a niggle of doubt, and they were the ones who exposed the whole damned plot to kill the Jedi. Obviously, being shot hadn’t slowed him down much.

“You play it like this was always your plan, you just couldn’t risk anyone finding out in case they tried to stop you. After all, the Guard all showing up at once is sure a manpower boost. Plus, we’re good at what we do, or Palpatine would have liquidated us a long time ago. You knew though, that the best way to combine the Guard with the clones here is a clear, equal alliance. So, you plotted out the marriage to symbolically bind us together. The fuss tonight was that someone figured it out before you could do it,” Thorn paused, Wolffe pulling a face. None of the former GAR had seemed to like his reference to Palpatine liquidating the Guard, and Fox wanted to shake them. “Of course, that means you’d have to get married pretty much immediately. You’re found out, gotta sell it. It’s likely to set the Guard off, but you can at least say you just had to keep it on the downlow like any other op and went in with your eyes open,” and Fox made a considering sound, Cody frowning at him.

“And the second?” Rex asked, like he was just curious, and not like he really thought it was going to happen.

“You sell it as a love match,” Thorn said and Fox choked on his next breath. “You weren’t planning this, it just happened. He walked in and you remembered how much you were in love.”

“Wait,” Fox said weakly.

“It would require the most whirlwind, but public, courtship,” Thorn continued. “You’d be convincing all those delegates and the clones both that you’re so in love you’re not even considering the politics. You love each other, and that’s worth risking a love match with an assassin who specializes in taking out the heads of state. Of course, you’d both have to be completely, totally in on it, to make everyone really believe you’re that dumb and in love.”

“You think Fox could?” Thire asked dryly.

“I think Fox could do whatever he sets his mind to,” Thorn said, meeting his gaze with a dare. As if Fox didn’t know why all this talk of marriage probably felt like little burrs digging into Thorn’s skin.

Thorn was the one who’d left someone behind on Coruscant, waiting to hear if this would be any safer for them than all the years under the Emperor had been.

Someone he’d never been allowed to marry.

Property didn't get to marry. 

“You’re not really talking about this,” Wolffe said, after that sunk in. “Are you?”

Cody didn’t answer him directly, just met Fox’s eyes.

“Come on,” Wolffe said. “They just got here. It’s not—”

“Solves a lot of problems,” Fox said eventually.

“Will it?” Cody asked.

“You’re the one who got us here,” Fox said. “The Guard—its been a long ten years. They’re skittish, and the systems around you are more so. We’re in exile. It is your decision, what to do with us.”

“I don’t want—that’s not what I wanted,” Cody said. “You aren’t here to be separate from us. You’re here to make it a home, too.”

“Plenty of political marriages have been done for less,” Thire said. “It would help protect Fox.”

“From what?” Rex asked, and Thire only shrugged.

“Well, first or second?” Wolffe asked after a beat. “Political maneuver or frantic courtship?”

“The first,” Fox said the same instant Cody said, “The second.”

They stared at each other again.

Fox broke first, looking away in frustration.

“Yeah, maybe sleep on it,” Thorn said, instead of poking at Fox’s obvious weakness.

“I do have a question,” the unknown clone said. “One you didn't answer before. Who are the Tubies, and why are you worried about them?”

“Oh, they’re about half the Guard these days,” Thorn said.

“Do you remember when the GAR swung through Kamino and picked up the cadets?” Thire asked, more quiet than Thorn. “You only grabbed the ones that could walk. The ones left behind were brought to Coruscant, and we raised them. Palpatine refused to give them the gene therapy until they were old enough to fight, so they’re all practically the same age.”

Fox watched the expression change on all four of the clones who served in the GAR and wanted to demand what they thought happened to all the cadets they hadn’t had the time to save, considering they weren’t supposed to take them at all. They had been in a rush, but surely they had to have noticed the rooms stacked full of cadets growing in tubes still.

Unless they'd be hidden. Fox kept forgetting to account for Palpatine's enjoyment of a good game that tortured someone else. 

“They’re a bit defensive of Fox,” Thorn added, an understatement. No matter what Stone or Bail Organa said, Fox sometimes suspected exile had been declared to avoid the danger of them rioting while still in the newly reformed Republic’s space.

“How defensive?” Wolffe asked.

“They spent their whole life seeing Palpatine hurt Fox,” Thire said. “You’re already at a trust deficit with them just because of that.”

“When Palpatine what?” Cody asked, because he was apparently an idiot.

Chapter Text

Cody wanted a drink.

Maybe ten drinks.

He wanted to get so drunk he’d struggle to get out of bed in the morning, so he could forget the last day had happened.

It all kept swirling around his head, until he couldn’t even tell which the worst parts were anymore: the party, his dumb mouth, the Guard explaining the GAR had left cadets behind on Kamino, or Fox’s face when Cody asked about Palpatine hurting him. His expression indicated he thought it should have been obvious, should have been understood, but Cody wanted to remind him, he’d chosen to stay.

Why would he have stayed, if the Emperor would only hurt him? If he thought Cody should have known, did he before he made his choice? 

Leif had, as ever, tried to be a voice of caution, of measured reason, as the Guard slipped away, leaving Cody reeling. He was a steady brother, one Cody has started to rely on as they built up their government. He’d spent half the war with the 91st, and the second half with the 41st, reading histories and meeting different cultures.

But not he, nor Rex, nor Wolffe, was much help when the only one Cody wanted to talk to about any of this was Fox.

So, unable to risk getting as drunk as he needed, Cody did the only other thing he could: he went to find Fox.

The temporary barracks had been set up on the palace’s grounds, attached to two other buildings so the Guard would have enough room with a clear shot to the equally temporary mess hall set up for them. It may have been the middle of Kebii'tra’s mild season, but its long winter would come quickly, and he only hoped they would have a better solution for the Guard before then.

In the meantime, the walk to the temporary barracks twisted across the grounds around the building they’d all decided could only be called a palace, Cody’s boot crunching on the gravel beneath him. High in the sky, two of the planet’s four moons had risen, and he could smell the night blooming flowers that lined the pathway. There were daytime blooms layered into the beds as well, but he’d always preferred them at night, when the pale lavender and light blue petals opened up like a secret you’d never have guessed while walking the path under the sunlight.

As he walked, he could almost forget where he was going, even as it buzzed under his skin with each step.

Finally, reaching the barracks door, he hesitated. He could hear Rex and Leif pointing out he shouldn’t have gone alone, but there were patrols around the palace grounds, like there always were.

Still, he hesitated a long time at the door, before finally knocking.

When the door yanked open seconds later, it revealed chaos, the sounds of people moving around despite the late hour, and someone yelling. In front of him though stood Stone, and Cody stared, because he hadn’t seen Stone once since the Guard landed.

Opening his mouth, he stopped when Stone flicked hand sign at him, calling him an idiot.

“Good to see you, too,” Cody muttered and Stone rolled his eyes at him before retreating and leaving the door open.

He wavered on the threshold though, because he hadn’t been invited in. Moments later, he heard someone new yell something, the timbre of their voice higher and younger, before the sound of boots approached him. Fox reached the door first, closing it behind him, in the face of someone who looked incredibly irritated.

“Walk,” Fox said, grabbing Cody’s elbow and yanking him forward.

“Fox, it’s the middle of the night,” Cody said.

“And?” Fox asked, because he looked exactly the same, except his hair hung wild around his face like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over. When Cody looked more closely, he saw he’d undone the top clasp of his grey uniform jacket, allowing it to hang open around his neck.

Despite the color, the uniform was not quite the greys the clones had once worn, and not did it match the uniforms of the Imperial Officers Cody has seen in the holo vids. But something about the militarized cut of it, and the fact every other Guard also wore it, made Cody uncomfortable.

“You don’t even look like you’ve tried to sleep,” Cody said.

Fox’s eyes darted over to him, looking him quickly up and down, but he has the grace to not say Cody looked exactly the same. “I imagine you can guess what got the Guard aflutter at this hour.”

Cody winced. “Which one was yelling?”

“Orange got unofficial permission to have a go at me first,” Fox said wryly, Cody trying to keep his glances over at him brief, because it would simply be too embarrassing to trip over his own feet because he was too caught on the curls fallen into Fox’s eyes. “He’s got a real head for organization and strategy, which often makes him the spokesman for the rest of the young ones. Also makes him a real pain in the ass.”

“I’d like to meet him,” Cody said.

“That will be unavoidable,” Fox said even more dryly as Cody led him to one of the greenhouses, holding the door open.

Fox frowned at him a moment before he stepped inside, looking around in obvious curiosity. “Why do you have so many flowers?” he asked. “Weren’t there enough outside already?”

“Kebii'tra has a short growing season,” Cody said. “The first frost will take out most of them. This is for the rest of the year.”

Fox hummed, looking at the flowers instead of Cody. “Farming?”

“We focus on crops with short growing times,” Cody said, starting down one of the paths, Fox following him a second later. “It’s a busy time. There’s also greenhouses like this one. We built this one first, to make sure it would work in the environment. Now, it’s mostly just a showcase. The flowers end up as arrangements all over the capital city.”

“Especially the palace, I presume,” Fox said, and he’d clasped his hands behind his back, still not looking at Cody.

“I like flowers,” Cody said, and he barely caught the flicker of Fox’s eyes, before Fox looked away again. “Maybe because we never got to see them much growing up. Or on most battlefields. You need some measure of peace to grow flowers just to grow them.”

“I suppose,” Fox allowed, and came to a dead stop when Cody bent down, breaking the stem of one of the flowers. “What are you—”

Cody held the flower out to him, and Fox stared at him like he’d never seen Cody before. “They’re my flowers,” Cody said quietly, when he realized there was fear lurking in his expression. “I can pick one if I want.”

“But… why did you?” Fox asked, even as he hesitantly accepted the flower. Cradling it in both his hands, Cody watched him consider each petal intently, like he’d never held a flower before.

It was, perhaps, entirely possible he never had. Kamino hadn’t grown any, and all the flowers Cody had seen on Coruscant had been in various public and private gardens.

“Because we’re talking about getting married tomorrow,” Cody said, Fox’s eyes flickering up and then back to the flower. “If you still think playing it as political maneuver is best.”

“A courtship is risky,” Fox said, turning the flower by its stem. “Too much room to go wrong. Your adviser—I didn’t catch his name?”

“Leif,” Cody said, Fox nodding slowly.

“Leif,” he repeated. “He seems highly placed.”

“He proved himself when we were writing the constitution,” Cody said, and Fox nodded again.

“Right. Well, he was right when he pointed out of we’re doing this, we need to do it now,” which had been the last thing Leif offered as the Guard has retreated, everyone going to consider their options. “So, tomorrow. Or, I guess today, as it’s closer to dawn than midnight, now.”

“Fox,” Cody said, shifting around until he stood facing Fox, Fox watching him from under his bangs without raising his head. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You have to do it far less than I do,” Fox said.

Cody made a frustrated sound, almost a growl, the corner of Fox’s mouth quirking up at the familiarity. “That’s why—I don’t want you to do this just because you’re backed into a corner.”

Fox met his gaze steadily, even as his fingers kept spinning the stem of the flower, a bright burst of color against the drab grey of his chest. “Too late,” he said, and it wasn’t angry or accusatory, but it felt like a kick to the heart.

“Fox,” Cody tried again.

“Cody,” he broke in before he could finish. “It is what it is. We’ve been around this. Fuck, we should have planned this from the start, like we’re about to say we did. It will help protect everyone, and maybe even build bridges faster. I can’t imagine everyone is pleased we’re here, even among our fellow clones.” He paused. “The ARC, Fives—”

“Not currently on the planet,” Cody said. “He lives most the year with the Jedi,” and Fox nodded again, absorbing that the way he had all the other information.

“Think he still holds a grudge?”

“It’s not like you killed him,” Cody said.

“Not for lack of trying,” Fox said, and there was something dark and bitter in his voice.

“But you didn’t,” Cody said, digging his heels in. Fox has shot Fives, in a warehouse, but Anakin Skywalker had kept him alive. They'd managed to exposure the entire chip conspiracy to the Jedi and clones, and forced Palpatine to let them go, at least long enough for him to come up with another plan to get rid of both of them. 

Fox had killed the Emperor before he could, and someday Cody hoped people remembered that before the fact he's tried to kill Fives for appearing to be a traitor to the Republic. 

“Alright,” Fox demurred and it felt wrong, because Fox didn’t back down. “What matters is yes, we should do this, today, before anything else goes wrong.”

“I would rather have done this right,” Cody said.

Fox frowned, but he didn’t look at him, eyes stuck on the flower he kept spinning around instead. It made Cody’s chest go tight, watching him.

He wondered why Fox hadn’t said anything about the colors, a deep red center edging to a golden orange on the petals. Did he not catch Cody's meaning?

“How would right even have looked?” Fox asked after a long time, and it felt strange, standing under the lights of the greenhouse, set to mimic the natural sunlight. Cody has gotten used to him on Coruscant, the mix of brutal industrial lighting and pulsing soft neon.

“We would have probably had more than one conversation alone at three in the morning,” Cody said. “I always liked the idea of courting someone, someday.”

Fox frowned, finally looking up. “Someone, someday?” he asked. Cody’s throat went dry, but he nodded. “I would have thought—no one?”

Suddenly a different terrible thought occurred to Cody all over again. “Wait, do you? Do you have someone? We don’t, we can—”

“No,” Fox cut in before he could stumble his way through the halting words. “No current lovers, or anything like that.”

Cody shifted his weight, more nervous than he should have been. “Did you have someone?”

He wasn’t certain if he wanted the answer to be yes, that Fox hadn’t been lonely, or no, because he hadn’t managed to stop thinking about Fox after being rejected by him for the Empire, and he almost hoped he’d haunted him just as much.

Fox’s smile looked more sardonic than wistful. “By some definition. It doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”

Opening his mouth, nothing came out as Fox looked away again, scanning the greenhouse, glowing bright like a jewel surrounded by the night sky. “This really is all yours, isn’t it?” he asked, but it was soft.

“Yes,” Cody said, uncomfortable.

“Really surprised they didn’t call you king,” Fox said. “They built you a damn palace and everything.”

“They tried,” Cody admitted.

“Ah,” Fox looked back at him, and Cody knew it was Fox that stood in front of him, but Fox run through a whole life time Cody knew nothing about. They were both still the intimate confidants who dragged each other through Kamino’s harsh training, and strangers.

“It wouldn’t have worked,” Cody said. “To create a line of kings. We’re already struggling to create our own culture, and while many of our brothers have had kids,” a shadow passed over Fox’s face. “Many have not. What will our second generation even look like? Hereditary kings wouldn’t have worked. At least this way, while I may be stuck here for my lifetime, they’ll be able to figure out what they want to do next.”

“Ah, Cody,” Fox said, except it was too soft to be mocking. “Always so practical.”

“Not always,” Cody protested, and he plucked the flower out of Fox’s grip, startling him. But he gave it right back, by tucking it behind his left ear, Fox’s eyes tracking him the whole way. For a second they were close enough he could almost taste Fox’s quiet exhale, could feel the heat of the shell of his ear as his fingers traced along the back of it, but then he was pulling back, folding his hands in front of his waist like he’d once watched Obi-Wan do all the time.

“I should get back,” Fox said, but his eyes were a little wide, his breath a bit shakey, and Cody wished he was brave enough to lean back in, to hold Fox like he’d wanted to.

But something in Fox’s shoulders was too brittle, like he was holding himself together, and until Cody knew him better again, he dared not risk treating him the way he would have as a cadet.

“Maybe they’ve stopped yelling by now,” Fox added.

“You raised them,” Cody said, words trying to stick in his throat. “I doubt it.”

Fox snorted, amused at last. “Yeah, me too.”

-

Orange stood waiting with his arms crossed over his chest when Fox closed the door behind himself, Stone and Thorn both a few steps away.

“There you are,” Orange said, and it irked Fox that all the cadets they’d raised were now taller than he was. “I don’t like this.”

“Yes,” Fox said, Stone raising his brows when he saw the flower, still behind Fox’s ear. “You have made your position clear. However, as I am both your elder and commanding officer, I am not bound to your displeasure.”

Orange slid his eyes over to Thorn. “Is he always like this, where that one is concerned?”

“Like this?” Thorn asked. “Oh, they used to be much worse.”

Fox snarled at him, before he plucked the flower from behind his own ear, gesturing to the Tubie always hovering behind Orange. “Cipher,” he said. “You had a good score on the last color vision test, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Cipher said, stepping forward and accepting the flower when Fox held it out.

“Can you please confirm the color of this for me?” Fox asked, and no one even winced anymore. They were all too used to the way the gene therapy to slow their aging had messed with their perception of colors.

Better some minor color blindness than the brothers who had gone totally blind.

“Red,” Cipher said, Fox barely not scowling. Cipher brushed the outer pedals. “Gold? Almost closer to orange.”

He considered it another moment before handing it back to Fox, who promptly tucked it back behind his ear for lack of anything better to do with it. “It’s very beautiful,” Cipher added, soft spoken compared to Orange, who kept eying the flower like it was ordinance.

“I agree,” Fox said, ignoring the hand sign Stone was giving Thorn that made him smirk. He looked at Orange instead. “Have you gotten it out of your system?”

“Will I change your mind if I say no?”

“No.”

“Then yes,” Orange scowled. “I have gotten it out of my system for now.”

“Good,” Fox said, and looked back at Cipher. “I’ll need the two of you to try and keep the others calm. I imagine there will be more yelling in the morning.”

“Probably, but we’ll do our best, Pred.”

“Thank you,” Fox said, and walked away, Thorn falling in beside him. “Don’t you start.”

“Start what?” Thorn said, and held out a twisted piece of metal. “What do you think so far?”

Fox hesitated before he picked it up from Thorn’s palm, the wire turned into a series of knots, shaped to fit a clone’s finger. “Thorn—”

“I checked,” Thorn said. “They’ve started doing rings here, too. Makes sense, in a culture trying to figure out peace, that they wouldn’t use armor anymore.”

“It’s beautiful,” Fox said.

“Needs a bit more grit and a polish,” Thorn said. “Got the metal out of your kit, so don’t be alarmed. Now. You should sleep. Big day, when you wake up.”

“Yeah,” Fox said, dropping the ring back in Thorn’s palm and trying not to feel his stomach twist and turn. “Big day.”

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Thorn said, Fox studiously eating his way through a bowl of strangely blue and chewy noodles. “Is anyone else starting to feel a bit perturbed by the fact Thire still won’t tell us who he’s looking for?”

“His business,” Stone signed at him from across the table.

“It’s one thing to have an amazing few days of leave with someone and promise to catch up with them again when you have the chance, only to be foiled by the war,” Thorn said. “But ten years later? Which, even that gets me less than the fact he won’t say who it is. Why keep it quiet for so long?”

Fox pushed some noddles around, like it might obscure the fact he hadn’t eaten as many as he should have. “Stone is right. It’s still his business. Maybe he just wants to see if the other guy is still interested, before getting you worked up.”

“I am already worked up,” Thorn said primly, and from the way Orange watched his bowl, Fox knew he hadn’t fooled him at all.

“Had no chance to find anyone else,” Stone added in hand sign, and Thorn sighed. “Not all of us like you.”

Thorn sighed again, even louder, Fox going back to eating. The mess hall attached to their barracks felt strange, after so long eating in the same mess for almost thirteen years. The difference in food hardly helped settle him at all. Everything all around him had changed, even the fucking texture of noodles.

“Speaking of,” Fox said, Thorn glancing at him sideways. “Have you heard from Lithil since we landed?”

“She wanted to know who stepped in something first,” Thorn said, confirming he had.

“Tell her Fox?” Stone signed back immediately.

Fox made a rude gesture at him, but was mollified immediately by Thorn sliding his comm over, so Fox could see the holophoto that has been attached to Lithil’s message, of the two twin girls, barely a standard year old. They had Thorn's curly hair, but their mother's golden skin. “Who knew you could create such cute kids?” Fox asked, Thorn rolling his eyes but leaving the holophoto where Fox could see it.

After years of secreting away any child of the Guard so Palpatine would find as few of them as possible, Fox had almost shot Thorn when he admitted he’d gotten his lover pregnant. But now, if they could settle themselves on a new planet, and find a way to be secure, then Thorn might be able to raise them himself, and not in secret.

If just thinking that thought hit Fox hard enough his hands shook, he could only imagine what Thorn felt every minute as they tried to make this thing work.

“Walking yet?” Stone signed.

“I believe that is a subject of debate,” Thorn said. “Her ma insists she saw a step take place, Lithil says it was more of a well executed crawl.”

Fox found a smile twitching the corner of his mouth right before Dogma slid into the seat across from him, Echo only half a step behind, like they had been every since they reached a truce about a year after the Guard scraped Echo out of a hidden Techno Union facility they'd infiltrated on Palpatine's orders. Sometimes Fox still wasn't sure if Palpatine had planned for them to find their fellow clone there to take away one of the Union's toys as punishment, or if it had been coincidence. Most days he came down on the second, because Palpatine wasn't in the habit of giving the Guard gifts.

They'd rescued him without waiting to ask permission. 

“Alright,” Dogma said, datapad in his hands. “I have a report for you.”

“Have you two decided how you’re going to try and reach back out to the 501^st?” Fox asked, not looking at the datapad, even as Dogma laid on the table in front of him.

“I said I had a report for you, not that we needed to go over that again,” Dogma said with a scowl.

“Again?” Fox asked. “We'll keep going over it until you give me an answer about what you're going to do. You will have to tell Rex, and sooner is probably better than later.” He glanced over at Echo. “Fives isn’t on the planet, apparently.”

“You sound disappointed,” Echo said.

“I’m hardly disappointed,” Fox shook his head. “Figured you might be.”

“I don’t think it’s personal,” Echo said, wry. “Everyone would still think I was dead.”

“Which is why you should tell them you’re not,” Fox said, Thorn leaning back and considering their former 501^st Guard members.

“I just call dibs on not being the one to tell either Rex or Cody that Slick is here too,” Echo said and Dogma cleared his throat, tapping the datapad.

“Report,” he said. “We stayed up all night getting this compiled for you.”

“Who didn't stay up all night working on something or another?” Thorn asked, and Fox took another bite just to give his mouth something to do. The finished ring was already in his pocket, feeling like a heavy weight.

“We can talk about Rex, and Fives, after the wedding,” Dogma said.

“Alright,” Fox finally allowed. “So, what are Kebii'tra's wedding traditions then?” He had, perhaps, wanted to talk about these even less than Dogma and Echo wanted to talk about their former battalion they hadn't seen in over a decade, both cut off from them before the split of the GAR from the falling Republic.

“While there seems to be a lot of variations,” Dogma said, tapping a file open on the datapad for Fox to read it himself as he continued talking. “Some variables are consistent. The exchange of a ring that is something already owned or created by the clones in question is one of those.”

“We've got the ring, and it was made from Fox's kit. That good enough?” Thorn asked.

“I think so,” Dogma said. Fox only hoped Cody had not changed so much he would reject a ring made by the Guard's meager resources out of their own ingenuity. “However, there is no one answer about where the ring should be worn.”

“Are there popular choices?” Fox asked, scrolling through some of Dogma's notes.

“Trigger finger,” Dogma said and Fox scowled. “A lot of them seem to settle on some finger on the right hand. Some wear it on the left hand though, because that's the side closer to the heart.”

“Romantic,” Thorn said, watching Fox sideways, even as Thire finally entered the mess hall, something rather large and fluffy looking in his arms. His brood of Tubies led as usual by Cipher followed on his heels.

“What else?” Fox asked, even as he kept an eye on Thire's progression over to their table, trying to figure out what he carried through the bag wrapped around it.

“There is a vow,” Dogma said. “The words aren't quite the riduurok, but you can see where they got it.”

Fox sighed as Thire sat down beside him, Orange giving him the room only because he was more interested in whispering something to Cipher. “You're about to marry a man who named his whole planet with a Mando'a word,” Thorn pointed out, leaning back to poke the bag Thire had brought only for Thire to smack his hand away. “Maybe keep your eye rolls about the language to a minimum.”

“It's not just the language,” Fox said. “We're not Mandalorian, there's no reason for us to act like we are.”

“Our gene donor was though, and some clones like to embrace that,” Thire said.

“And your husband to be is apparently more in the second camp,” Thorn said.

“I will contain myself in front of the others,” Fox said flatly and looked back at Dogma. “Do you have a copy of the vow?”

Dogma tapped something else on the notepad and turned it back to Fox. “That's the most common version. You will probably need to talk to Cody about if he's planning on using any other words. Then, after the vow and exchange of rings, someone usually says a blessing. Often times, it's a Jedi if one is around—”

“No,” Thorn said immediately.

“It's fine,” Fox protested.

“You really want a Jedi officiating over your wedding?” Thorn asked, Thire folding his hands on the table in front of him and only watching Fox, instead of giving his opinion quite yet.

“It's a blessing, not officiating,” Fox said. “Besides, the GAR is still close with the Jedi. I have to get used to that sooner rather than later, at this point.”

“Sometimes it's done by another clone,” Dogma said quietly.

“But usually a former officer,” Echo said. “And Cody was sort of one of the highest ranking clones.”

“Do they still use rank?” Thire asked, curious.

“Not officially,” Dogma said. “But old habits die hard.”

“Vow, rings, blessing,” Fox said, skimming the vow Dogma handed him. “Anything else?”

Dogma and Echo exchanged a look, and Fox felt his stomach twist. “There's no marriage contracts, the way some societies have them,” Dogma said. “But usually the last step is to sign something.”

“Like a datapad?” Fox asked, uncertain why that would make either of them frown.

“More tangible than that,” Echo said. “Parchment, something physical. I found examples done in wood or cement.”

“Just their names?” Stone signed.

“Yes,” Echo said, watching Fox carefully. “Usually it includes designation. They've shifted to a sort of personal identifying number, because some clones ended up with the same names.”

“Stars forbid they mistake me for Sergeant Fox even now,” Fox said dryly. “Anything else for the ceremony?”

“No, after that, it switches to a public party,” Dogma said. “The goal is to run out of food, because you're showing everyone just how much you value the community. It also means you can't turn anyone away who comes asking to be fed.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Fox muttered, because the last thing he wanted after the night before was another public party.

Echo and Dogma exchanged a look, and Fox sometimes forgot, over the years, how the Guard had been without them. Echo could process a huge amount of data with the implants the Techno Union had forced inside him, but Dogma was the one who could quickly sort through it to find the relevant bits.

Of course, they'd almost killed each other on principle before they figured that out.

“Are you sure it's going to happen today?” Echo asked.

Fox flipped through some more of Dogma's notes on the datapad to avoid looking up at them. “Yes,” he said.

“Pretty sure we still have time to run,” Thorn said, like it was supposed to be a joke.

For a moment Fox stared at the holopic still left on the table for everyone to look at, the little twin girls that proved they might all have a future someday. “No,” he said, meeting Thorn's gaze. “This is still the best chance we have of a life. I'll not throw that away just because of Twenty-Four.”

The corner of Thorn's mouth twitched at the reference to Cody's destination number, the thing they had all called him as cadets, before he nodded, accepting Fox's decision.

“Anything else I should know, before walking into this?” Fox asked, going back to skimming the notes.

“You'd have to ask Cody,” Echo said, and Fox remembered the way Cody had talked about Echo once, right after they'd found him and Fives on a moon outpost, the rest of their squad dead before they could complete the mission. “That's what we could find out about the average ceremony, but he might not be average.”

“Right,” Fox said, shoving the rest of his uneaten food to one side, Orange immediately jumping to his feet. “Guess the only thing for it is to figure that out, and we can't do that here.”

He saw the look Stone and Thire exchanged, and left before the could say anything, Orange on his heels.

-

“So, you've decided to become a coward in your old age,” Bacara said, leaning against the doorway and Neyo straightened from where he had been reading the hand written labels on Bacara's various brews.

“We're not that old,” he said automatically, and then, “Coward?”

“You're here, aren't you?” Bacara said, running the bottom of his boots over the boot scrapper before pulling them off.

“I always visit you every couple of months,” Neyo said. “Especially toward the end of the growing season.”

“But how often does the Coruscant Guard land at the end of growing season?” Bacara asked, coming over to select a bottle from the ones Neyo had been reading.

“Please tell me that's not one of your experiments you're about to inflict on me,” Neyo said, ignoring what Bacara had actually said. It earned him a deeply unimpressed look.

“Someone has to taste test it,” Bacara said.

“One of these days you're going to poison both of us,” Neyo said, but followed Bacara into the kitchen, one of his tookas sunning themselves on the windowsill.

“I'm not that stupid,” Bacara said, and sometimes it still felt terribly strange to Neyo, that Bacara lived here now, on his own little farm far enough away from the capital to rarely be bothered. Of all the things he might have seen for his fellow Marshal Commander, a lazy tooka in the window and a bottle of wine brewed from local berries would not have been one of his guesses. “So, you're avoiding the Guard.”

“I am giving the Guard space,” Neyo said slowly, sitting down at the table. It had been a mutual effort on their part to carve the wood and put legs on it, the first year Bacara settled on the farm.

Bacara bought the chairs, apparently not trusting them with any more refined woodworking.

Sometimes Neyo didn't know where Bacara was finding these hobbies.

“Which has nothing to do with the fact you slept with one of them,” Bacara said, and Neyo rubbed his fingers along the tattoo under his eye, the way he sometimes did when he thought about Thire.

“I slept with one of them ten years ago,” he said. “That's a long time to think of anyone.”

“You're still mooning over him,” Bacara pointed out, scratching the ears of the tooka before bringing over a glass of the wine for Neyo. It might have mollified Neyo more if he had not then kept talking. “Who knows? If you're still moping over him, he might still be moping over you.”

“I have not moped,” Neyo said flatly.

Bacara gave him a long look over the top of his own glass as he took his first sip of the wine.

“Alright,” Neyo conceded. “I have been... nostalgic and maybe even a little wistful over what we might have had. And the fact I never managed to ruin it, because we never had the chance, unlike every other relationship I have had the chance to destroy since then.”

“Which again, is why you're a coward,” Bacara said.

“Do you want my help with your sheep this afternoon or not?” Neyo said, scowling at him again. “Because I can leave if you're going to insult me.”

“Good,” Bacara said and Neyo's scowl only deepened. “You should leave.”

“You are a very frustrating person,” Neyo said, when he realized the trap Bacara had set for him.

“Yes,” Bacara agreed amiably. “That is why I live out here, with my sheep, and my goats, and all my other animals, and no neighbors to speak of.”

Neyo muttered a curse, before both their comms chimed at the same time. Glancing down, Neyo blinked at the message from Wolffe.

“Is Wolffe shitting us?” Neyo asked blankly.

“It might be worth going back to the city just to find out,” Bacara said, considering. “We won't make the ceremony, but if you still remember how to pilot a speeder in your dotage, we'd make the reception.”

“Kriff you,” Neyo settled on, even as Bacara pushed himself back to his feet, heading back for his boots by the door.

“Let me make sure they have enough food and water for the next day,” he said, and Neyo stayed where he was, rereading the message. In a moment, he'd get up and help Bacara with his flock, but first he gave himself a few moments to worry he was about to step back into the very thing he'd been trying to avoid—seeing someone he'd promised to catch up with the next time they saw each other, except that had been a decade ago.

At least he was pretty certain Thire would be able to still pick him out of a crowd, if the way Thire had run his fingers up and down his tattoo all those years ago like he was memorizing it, was anything to go by.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to have to break into the state gifts,” Cody said in despair, Wolffe picking up one of the discarded boxes with vague interest. Flipping it open, he tilted his head to one side, as if that would make the gaudy purple stone set in a shining platinum band any less hideous.

“Doesn’t that somewhat defeat the purpose of the ring?” Wolffe asked. 

“Do I look like I have anything here?” Cody demanded, swinging his hands out at the boxes he’d pulled from the depths of his closet, tossing each jewelry box out onto the table that stood against the wall of his bedroom. Very few of them had ever been opened, after they’d been given to him. “At least the state gifts are symbolic. These are just things that people who never met me thought I might wear. And not one,” he opened another box, solely to show Wolffe the horror of the bright blue stone set against gold and rose gold vines.

“See, that one I get,” Wolffe said. “Blue sky and all—”

“But it’s not like I can give it to Fox,” Cody said, tossing it back on the table. “All of these—”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Rex said, walking back into the room.

“Oh, stuff it,” Wolffe groaned.

“I’m only saying—”

“You’ve been saying,” Wolffe said. “We are all a bit past that now.”

“It would be easier if I could go to the market and just find something,” Cody said, dropping onto the side of his bed and running his fingers through his hair.

He heard a rustling sound, Wolffe presumably going through the boxes himself. “Have you talked to him, since?” Wolffe asked.

“Only a little,” Cody sighed. “Kriff. I don’t even know if he knows anything about this. I should make sure—”

“It’s the Guard,” Wolffe said, mostly gently. “They're competent. They’ve probably got themselves a color coded report by now.”

“You know, I might pay to see the Guard’s take on Kebii’tra customs,” Rex mused, Cody groaning again. “Maybe once they settle down, they can write a book about cultural assimilation.”

Cody frowned at Rex for a long moment, uncertain how to take the comment that sounded more like something Crosshair might have said. He was interrupted from trying to come up with something by Wolffe making a sound of triumph.

“You're going blind in your old age,” he said, tossing one of the boxes at Cody, who caught it automatically.

He still hesitated before opening it, the small dove grey and plain ring box revealing at first glance an equally plain band of a golden medal. But then Cody’s eyes caught on the tiny flecks of red stone pressed flush into the metal, so they would not snag on something while one used their hands. Something about the way the stones were cut and set made them dazzling in the light, all little sparkling red stars.

“His color, at least,” Wolffe said, and Cody turned the ring around one of his fingers a few times, remembering all at once it had not been a ring gifted to him as ruler of the planet.

It was one he had bought himself, two months into them having an actual marketplace, from an off world trader. He’d bought it for the exact same reason Wolffe handed it to him now: because the blazing red gems had reminded him of Fox.

But just like every ring box thrown on top of each other in a jumble, he’d never worn it either.

“Yeah,” he agreed, after clearing his throat. “His color.”

Fox hadn’t been wearing any red when he came off the ship, just that plain grey, and when Cody handed him the flower, it hadn’t seemed to affect him, that it was his and Cody’s colors together, like this ring almost was, too. The gold was a bit too shiny for the 212th’s original colors, but it reminded him of the sunburst pattern he’d worn along his belly and lower chest.

He wondered if Fox would see it and know what Cody hadn’t really said yet.

On the other hand, there weren’t a lot of other options that he wouldn’t be straight up ashamed to give Fox, so he nodded to Wolffe and pocketed the box.

“Great,” Rex said, perhaps enjoying himself a bit too much at Cody’s expense. “Now you just have to figure out an outfit, even though he’s almost certainly going to be in the same grey jacket they’ve all been wearing the whole time.”

“Do they have other clothes?” Wolffe asked, a question that made Cody distinctly unhappy. “Even if it’s not on purpose, it is an incredible show of unity.”

“Unity with each other,” Cody said. “Distance from the rest of us.”

“Well, Codes,” Wolffe said, wandering into his closet. “Which bit of symbolism do you want to focus the most on? Sky blue for your planet, 212th golden orange for your past, or,” and he plucked out the one red jacket Cody actually had.

“No,” Cody vetoed immediately.

Wolffe gave him a sharp and pointed smile before diving back into his closet, Cody fingering the ring box in his pocket while he let Wolffe work. Despite his opening volley, Wolffe still had the better handle on how to put together any outfit than anyone else Cody knew.

The first few years after leaving the military had been hard on the clone’s fashion sense, as they all tried and discarded about a dozen trends in the space of a few months each. Cody never wanted to relive that particular period. So, he sat, and he waited, and Rex eventually sat and waited with him. For once, since Fox and the Guard arrived, he didn’t say anything, just held his hand out for Cody to take and squeeze.

His other hand kept running along the hinge of the ring box.

-

“Cody,” Fox greeted, standing outside the door to the reception hall where the party had been the night before. The actual ceremony would be slightly down the hall, in a far smaller room. Thire and a few of the younger Guard stood with him, all wearing the same grey they had been since the day before. “There weren’t any mentions of customs about seeing each other before the ceremony we could find, and I want to go over if there’s anything we should know beforehand. Especially about the vow,” and he turned the datapad he held towards Cody, where a version of the Kebii’tra wedding vow was displayed.

Cody mentally awarded Wolffe the point for the Guard indeed having researched the ceremony.

“Is there a problem with the vow?” he asked, taking the datapad but not looking at it, eyes caught instead on where Fox had tucked the flower from the night before into the flat pocket on the front of his jacket.

“No,” Fox said. “But you’re their Prime Minister for life. Is it the correct version?”

“As far as I know,” Cody said.

Fox quirked a brow at him, and it was strange, to know his face so well, as it was shared by himself and all their brothers, but to have forgotten exactly how he used it. “I would suspect it is your choice,” he said dryly.

“You might suspect that,” Cody said under his breath, handing Fox his datapad back and staring at the flower in his jacket again. “I thought you didn’t like the flower.”

For a second, Fox stared back at him, before looking down at the datapad. “I never said that,” he said, and before Cody could protest he’d never said otherwise either, he barreled onward. “From our understanding the ceremony includes saying the vow, a blessing, writing our names, and the exchange of rings.” He folded the datapad up against his chest, meeting Cody’s gaze. “Who are you planning on saying the blessing? Will it be a Jedi?”

“Masters Fisto and Allie are on planet,” Cody said, uncertain about the tension in all the Guards in front of him. It felt strange, all five of them watching him. Wolffe and Rex had been directed away, leaving him alone in front of them for the moment. “I asked Master Allie.”

Fox slid his eyes over to Thire, who met his gaze as carefully as Fox had been speaking. “That will be fine,” Fox said, almost like it was a question to Thire.

“I remember Ge—Master Allie,” Thire said, an agreement. “She was a steady sort with a fine mind for political nuance.”

“Some things don’t change,” Cody said, hearing footsteps behind him. He didn’t turn to see who it was.

“I’ll let Thorn know,” Thire said, and when he left, one of the younger Guards went with him, leaving a pair standing slightly behind Fox. Cody wanted to ask which one of them was Orange, but kept his eyes focused on Fox instead, the way he’d attempted to tame his hair before obviously giving up. He'd always liked to wear it longer than the regulations allowed, even before his time on Coruscant.

“You can still refuse, you know,” Cody said, a last ditch effort as Wolffe came up beside him.

“I could,” Fox said blandly.

“You never have backed down from just about anything,” Wolffe said, fond, and Fox’s eyes flickered to him and away just as fast. Cody considered laying a hand on Wolffe’s shoulder to support him under Fox’s dismissal, but knew neither would appreciate it.

For all their fellow cadets and trainers had complained bitterly about Fox and Cody as they grew up, Fox and Wolffe had always been just as inscrutable. As far as Cody could tell, it came from being decanted together, even before being picked for Commander training and joining the program as an already bonded pair.

A pair who then hadn’t seen each other once in the last decade.

It also meant whatever was brewing between them was better left alone, until Cody knew more about what was going on in Fox’s head.

“Well?” Fox asked him, face blank.

Cody’s eyes drifted down to the flower, still bright and fresh from the early morning hours, before he nodded. “Alright,” and then he led Fox past the reception hall and into the smaller room a few doors down, one usually used for meetings with the Jedi or Bill signing ceremonies. They walked past those who had already gathered there, heading to the far side of the room. Behind them, Cody heard more people entering the room, though it would be a limited audience for this part.

A few steps into the room, Thire fell back in beside Fox, Thorn and Stone standing nearby.

Rex hovered near the front of the room, where a small stand has been set up. Both the Jedi were already there, Thorn eyeing them in a way that set Cody’s teeth on edge, though he couldn’t place why.

Each step felt like it would shake the heart out of Cody’s chest, even as Fox remained silent beside him.

As they came up to the table, draped with a woven cloth of blue and cream and soft grey, Fox finally wavered. His steps slowed for just a moment, enough that he stopped moving forward at all.

Just as Cody started turning back toward him, he jerked forward again, jaw set.

He moved to one side of the table, Cody taking up his own position on the other. It surprised him for a second, that Fox knew so well what to do, before remembering the fact someone in the Guard must have stayed up all night to prepare their Commanding Officer for this.

But then, for a second time, his determination seemed to desert him, as he stood there, staring across the table at Cody with wide eyes. One of Fox’s hands had come to rest on the edge of the vellum page laid out on the table, waiting for them to write their names together. His fingers traced along the edge, nervous, until Cody reached forward, nudging Fox’s hand with his own until Fox turned his over. Then Cody pressed their palms together, curling his fingers over Fox’s wrist, feeling his pulse race against his fingertips.

“Don’t try and offer me another out,” Fox whispered.

“I’m not,” Cody whispered back. “Just taking in the moment,” he added, just to see the tiny furrow appear between Fox’s brows.

“You’ll want to remember this?” Fox asked, and someone closed the door, a loud sound as everyone already in the room fell silent.

Cody pressed his fingers tighter to Fox’s wrist, making him look down. “Yes, of course. Are you ready?”

And Fox didn’t look around the room, didn’t stop to consider who had actually come to witness this ceremony. Instead he curled his own fingers around Cody’s wrist in turn and met his eyes. “As I’ll ever be,” he said, and Cody thought it was only wistful thinking, that he heard a promise in those words.

Still, as he said the vow, it surprised him a little that Fox matched him word for word without hesitating or fumbling over a single one, like they’d both just been waiting for the chance their whole lives. Fox met his eyes the whole time, even as Stass Allie stepped forward to softly murmur the blessing, like the formal words were a secret just for them. That the Force itself shone on their joined union, that it would watch out for them, and guide them on their journey together.

Cody could only hope that would be true, Fox only uncurling his fingers from Cody’s hand when it came time to sign the vellum laid out between them. It took Cody longer to force himself to do the same, fingers lingering against the fragile skin of Fox’s wrist as he pulled away.

He imagined Fox swallowed hard at that, but his gaze remained as blank as it had been, even as they moved to the same side of the table, Cody writing his name first.

Later, an artist would take the page and decorate the border of it, hopefully in some design they could agree on. It was meant to be displayed, a public mark of their names to go down in history together. But in the meantime, it was first his name, the one he’d been born with and the one he’d picked out for himself in bold letters, and then Fox’s careful writing of the same down below.

Fox had not spoken since saying the vow, remained silent even as he offered Cody a ring, made up of tiny metal threads, twisted around into intricate knotwork. He remained just as silent when Cody held up his own ring in turn, bending his head over the golden band for a long moment, before slipping it on the second finger of his left hand.

And yet even so, Cody couldn’t stop the giddy, bubbling feeling in his chest as Fox looked back up at him, Cody having placed his own ring on the first finger of his right hand. “Husband,” he whispered, when Fox met his eyes, the word breaking through some of Fox’s blankness again, his eyes widening.

“Hu-husband,” he managed back, throat clicking as he swallowed. When Cody shifted to take his hand again, he looked relieved, until he realized Cody had taken his left hand with his right, rings gently clacking together. But, he squeezed Cody’s hand back, and Cody wondered if that was worth getting hopeful over.

Chapter Text

Fox kept running his thumb along the bottom of the ring, as if somehow in the last five minutes he had forgotten its weight. When Cody had taken his hand, had clicked the rings together, he had realized this was real, this had happened.

Mere days after banishment from the fledgling, stumbling Republic attempting to play midwife to its own rebirth, he married Cody.

It was, admittedly, one hell of a turn around.

Never in all his years on Coruscant has he expected to survive killing Palpatine –or Palpatine’s death however it came about–let alone be given a whole new chance to live for himself.

Whatever doing so even meant, after all those years in the Empire.

Again his thumb swiped along the bottom of the ring, the glitter of it distracting him as the light shifted on the gems set inside it. The band was slightly loose on his finger, because it had been clearly bought originally for Cody to wear, instead of himself. Thorn had sized the ring the Guard had created on his own finger, because even as cadets he has been built thicker, like Cody was. Cody and Fox had been as far apart on the acceptable deviance from parameters charts as any two clones could have been, and all the years between them had only made that more obvious.

Fox had gotten leaner and meaner under the Empire, and Cody—Cody had gotten a little stout around the middle, comfortable and secure in his new home.

And Fox had been standing here, once again on the edge of a party, watching Cody across the room, running his thumb across the bottom of the ring again, because he couldn’t quite figure out how to walk across the room to his new husband, or what the fuck he was supposed to say to him now.

“So,” Rex said, leaning against the standing height table Fox hid behind. “This really happened.”

Fox looked down at the ring, as if confirming it was there once again. “This really happened,” he agreed, before focusing more seriously on Rex.

He'd once only known Rex through Cody’s stories, because Cody and Fox had been run through ARC training on a staggered rotation, and Cody had only met the CT in the program. It had been a vague sort of jealousy then, the kind Fox didn’t have time to take out and examine very often, that Cody adored his Captain who he got to serve with, while Fox went to the other side of the Galaxy from the two of them.

Of course, they’d always known it was likely to end that way, as Commanders rarely served together, and Fox would have hated Cody to end up on Coruscant, even before he knew how bad it would become. It was one reason they’d tried to keep whatever had been brewing between them quiet, unsaid, before Fox had been the one to go and fuck it up by kissing Cody under the pouring rain of Kamino, feet halfway aboard the separate ships that would take them to their first battle.

That had all been a very long time ago, and Fox tried to focus back on Rex in front of him, and not the memory of Cody’s fingers wrapped around his pulse just an hour ago. “Is there going to be a problem?” he asked Rex seriously, Rex arching his pale brows at him.

“I don’t know, is there?”

Fox drummed the fingers of his right hand on the table, unimpressed. “You’ve stayed beside Cody all this time,” he said. “I imagine you must still be close. We’ve maybe managed one civil conversation between us, ever.”

“Does that include this one?” Rex asked, as if he was curious.

“Does it?” Fox asked flatly, and he watched Orange across the room, head bent to listen better to Thire, who seemed set on telling him something. Some little distance away, a cluster of former GAR troopers in what looked like a bright array of colors stood, watching them. To Fox, all their festive clothing looked muted and dull, but he still has a sense of what colors were supposed to be. It was a far cheerier assortment of colors than would have been found at any Imperial party, what he thought was peach and purple and gold and blue and wine red all jumbled up together.

“I didn’t come over here to fight,” Rex said, carefully, almost musing. “But it has been a while, and I was curious.”

“I’m not a sideshow attraction,” Fox said, Rex’s brows going up again. “But if there’s something you’re going to ask, then just ask it.”

“You are not making this easy,” Rex said, still musing, like Fox was a puzzle he found himself studying unwillingly.

“When have I ever?” Fox asked, Stone starting to drift over without looking like he was doing any such thing. “But stop beating around to see what you’ll find. Ask me, or get whatever annoyance you have out of your system. It’ll be better to do that now, than later.”

“Do you think I still don’t like you?” Rex asked.

“It is not like I’ve given you any reason to change your mind about me,” Fox shrugged.

“It’s been a decade,” Rex said. “People can change a lot in a decade.”

“You think so?” Fox asked, like he disagreed.

Rex leaned forward on the table, crossing both his elbows and looking at Fox more intently than Fox really enjoyed. It felt wrong, somehow, having a brother look at him like that, when he’d gotten used to being pinned under the gaze of men like Hemlock and Gideon. “You are determined not to make this easy,” Rex said, eventually.

“And if that’s true?” Fox asked, the corner of Rex’s mouth quirking upward. It was, admittedly, not the reaction Fox had expected.

“Well, at least that I have experience with,” Rex said, like somehow Fox being difficult was the reassuring answer. Fox frowned at him, but he was already moving away, back toward Cody and it was stupid to be jealous of him.

But as Fox watched him approach Cody, certain of his welcome at his side, he felt the same old feeling burn at the back of his throat. Why it was so easy for Rex while he lurked over here, fiddling with the ring on his finger, was a question for the ages.

He turned his head, spotting Wolffe, who seemed to be trying to weave toward him without being obvious, and slid away from his table while trying to be just as sneaky about the fact he was running away.

The room around him was filled mostly with clones, far less dignitaries than the night before. They all seemed pleased enough, the tables groaning with food already lighter than Fox believed possible. When they walked into the room, Cody’s hand still in his, he’d thought for certain they never would have gotten close to running out.

Now it seemed entirely possible there would be no more food at the end of the night.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Thire said, catching him halfway to one of the tables. “Please don’t say it.”

Frowning, Fox tried to pass off that he didn’t know what he meant. “Like what?”

Thire gave him an unimpressed look. “I know what you were like at Imperial parties,” Thire said. “Whatever cruel comment would have gotten you a point there, is not going to go well here.”

“The fashion is atrocious,” Fox said under his breath. “But don’t worry, I can contain myself.” He looked around the room again, seeing so many smiling expressions on faces he was used to seeing very differently. “This party doesn’t feel much at all like an Imperial party, anyway.” 

“Yeah,” Thire said quietly. “It doesn’t at all, does it?”

The thought kept worming its way into Fox’s chest, that so many clones from the former GAR had come for the party, and they all looked pleased. The only ones with uncertain or dour faces were wearing grey, and watching him like it was his funeral.

He couldn’t blame them, but he was going to have to figure out a way to prove it wasn’t. Slowly, he ran his thumb along the bottom of the ring again, feeling the divots of the gems embedded all along the band.

“Fox,” Thire said, just as soft, even as Fox caught sight of Orange again, expression stormy. “Smile, it is your wedding.”

“I’m trying,” Fox settled for. “Has your mysterious lover shown himself yet?”

The tops of Thire’s cheeks darkened. “No,” he said, because it has surprised all of them, when he mentioned it on their way off Coruscant. Ten years ago, for a few days, he’d had an affair with a GAR officer, had promised him to meet up again when they could.

But they’d never been able to, and Thire had never mentioned it in all the ten years that passed, until they were on their way to Kebii’tra, and he suddenly mused out loud that maybe the other would remember their promise to each other, too.

“It’s foolish to think he’d still be interested after so long,” Thire sighed. “Who knows what’s even happened since. Maybe he got married, too. Maybe he didn't even see the news."

“Even if he did settle down, he could do you the courtesy of telling you to your face,” Fox said.

“Maybe he just doesn’t remember,” Thire said, and more and more clones were still coming into the room. A few stopped to speak to Cody, and some were eyeing the Guard sideways, but most went right for each other or the feast.

Fox spotted Leif, talking seriously to Stass Allie, and thought he should speak to him again, if he was truly one of Cody’s more sensible advisers. Before he could, Thorn appeared at his other elbow, a plate of food in his hands.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Fox said dourly, even if he hadn’t actually approached the food table yet.

“Oh this?” Thorn said, like they hadn’t done this particular dance hundreds of times. “This is for me.”

Somehow food always looked more appealing when it was on Thorn’s plate, so Fox plucked something wrapped in a fried leaf from his plate, eating it before Thorn could even mock protest.

“You’re so difficult,” Thorn said, as if he meant it.

“And sometimes, it’s even on purpose,” Fox said lightly.

Thire rolled his eyes, and when Fox looked up, it was to the realization Cody was suddenly much closer. It made his heart jump into his throat, but stealing a chunk of cheese off Thorn’s plate he swallowed it quickly and then stepped forward, meeting Cody halfway.

Cody looked like he hadn’t been hoping for exactly that, meeting Fox’s gaze. “How are you doing?”

“Me? Grand,” Fox said, dryer than Cody deserved.

Cody’s smile indicated he didn’t entirely disagree. “I imagine you would have preferred a quieter evening.”

“Perhaps,” Fox said, fiddling with the ring, and watching Cody’s eyes drop to follow the motion. It made his throat tighten up again, the realization Cody watched him so intently. “It’s a nicer party than the Empire ever threw.”

“Go to a lot of Imperial parties?” Cody asked, and Fox swallowed, because Cody hadn’t actually asked much of anything yet.

“When I had to,” he said, and the flower had started to wilt a little, so he’d stuck it back behind his ear.

“We need to talk,” Cody said, more serious. “I know it’s been a day, and so much is already happening, but—”

“About us or the Guard?” Fox asked, voice blank.

“I didn’t mean exactly this second,” Cody said. “But about the Guard, yes.” He gestured forward, and Fox immediately fell in beside him, walking around the perimeter of the room together. “It can wait.”

“If there is a concern,” Fox broke in. “We might as well discuss it now.”

“It’s not a concern,” Cody said. “At least, not an official one. I just,” he paused, considering his words, and it felt strange to Fox. Cody had been more diplomatic than himself or Wolffe, even as cadets, but he’d still always been prone to saying the first thing that came to mind. Time had tempered that instinct. “I’ve noticed you all wear the same thing.”

“As opposed to dressing like tropical birds?” Fox asked and immediately winced. Cody tilted his head, considering him. “That—sorry.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for,” Cody said, a bit bemused. “If the Guard needs anything, you would ask, wouldn’t you?”

“Like what?” Fox asked stiffly.

“Do you even have other clothing?” Cody asked.

“Oh. No,” Fox said.

Cody took a breath, like that upset him somehow. “I know it’s been a day, but Fox, if you want other clothing, it’s not like most shops here don’t sell our sizes. Any of the Guard.”

“Oh,” Fox said, and they passed the food tables, Thorn still watching them, but Thire was talking to several more of the Tubies, who looked mutinous. “I—I don’t know that I’ve ever worn anything that wasn’t a uniform.”

“I remember,” Cody said, and Fox looked at him out of the corner of his eye, not quite straight on. The jacket looked blue, but Fox was far more caught on the elaborate cords tied into knots all along the waist of it, the texture not muted the way the colors were.

Sometimes Fox wasn’t certain his instinct for colors was true anymore. In the past his color vision had been faded, but he’d know what each color was meant to be. He’d only started mixing them up in the last year or so, and mostly only greens and blues 

He missed his helmet, with the color correction viewpane built in and adjusted to his particular loss.

“It took me a long time to adjust to not wearing a uniform, too,” Cody said, though at least his adjustment has come much earlier than Fox’s. “I notice a lot of your—you called them Tubies? They don’t look happy. Thire looks like he’s talked to every single one of them here already once, tonight.”

“Thire and his brood have often played the peacemakers with the others,” Fox said, earning a raised eyebrow.

“Thire and his brood?” Cody asked.

“Ah,” Fox murmured, because sometimes it was still easy to forget how much they had missed, how much they didn’t know about each other anymore. “When we were given the Tubies to raise, the whole Guard got roped into it. It wasn’t planned at first, but it fit what we knew, to group them into squads to be raised. Some squads had more than one Guard to watch over them, quite a few ended up with only one. We called Thire’s his brood, Thorn has his flock, and so on.”

“And your’s?” Cody asked softly, and Fox wanted to run from whatever expression haunted his eyes. “What were they called?”

“I didn’t have a squad,” Fox said, just as low. “It seemed—wiser. That I not. Didn’t stop Orange of course, but he never really had a squad either.”

Cody stared at him, almost tripping over a chair someone had left pulled out. “So, Orange is your’s,” he said, voice even more terribly soft. “You raised him?”

“I,” Fox started, and he wasn’t sure what to make of Cody’s face, the tone of his voice.

He luckily didn’t have to keep thinking about it, because suddenly Orange was in front of them, Cipher half a step behind him and looking frazzled, exactly the same way Thire looked when the other Commanders had frustrated him past the point of all sense.

“Orange,” he started.

“You never told me,” Orange spat.

“Told you what?” Fox asked, hackles immediately going up, defensive. 

“That his armor was orange,” Orange said and Fox went still, trying to figure out how that had even come up.

“There’s a display,” Cipher said, as if guessing Fox’s confusion. “Down the hallway. Armor from the 212th and some other things from the founding of the government. He asked me about the color, I said it looked orange, he came right here—”

“Why does it matter?” Fox asked. “If the 212th wore orange or some other color? I always thought it was more of a golden, anyway,” Fox said, Cody looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“It matters because you keep twisting away,” Orange said. “It matters because I’m tired of you being so damned self-sacrificing.”

“I’m not being self-sacrificing,” Fox said, taking a step toward Orange, even as several clones nearby turned to watch the confrontation. “Whatever you have in your head, this isn’t like that.”

“Really?” Orange demanded, and Stone drifted closer while trying to act like he wasn’t moving. “So this isn’t like the Empire, is that it? Come on, Fox, this isn’t the first time you’ve set yourself up to be the bait. We just got here, and already you’re married? How are we supposed to take that, Pred?”

“How does this have anything to do with the color of the 212th?” Fox asked, trying to figure out how that had set Orange off on this track.

“Because orange is his color!” Orange said, and it clicked, finally, the memory of Orange climbing into his lap as a small child, demanding to know what his favorite color was. Distracted by the datapad he held in one hand, his other arm wrapped around Orange’s chest to keep him steady on his perch, Fox had answered without thinking about it. The child had named himself that night and never once changed his mind. “That means you’re already not seeing clearly around him. Because I’m tired of it, I’m tried of watching you sell yourself out to protect us. Your body shouldn’t be currency!”

“Stand down, and shut up,” Fox said, Cody twitching forward, like he was going to step between them, but Fox usurped the motion, stepping up into Orange’s space. “I said, that isn’t what’s happening. You weren’t told of the plan because of a reaction like this—”

“There was no plan,” Orange hissed. “Stop pretending like there was, and explain to me why I’m supposed to believe he’s better than Tarkin.”

Fox felt the blood drain from his face, too obvious, even as beside him Cody jerked like he’d been struck.

“Tarkin?” he asked. “Why was I just compared to Tarkin?” and he looked at Fox instead of Orange when he asked.

“Because that’s the last person he sold himself to, to protect the rest of us,” and Cody went ashen. “So again, I ask, how exactly is this so different from the Empire? We’re on a whole new planet and you’re just performing the same script,” and Fox didn’t want to keep watching Cody’s face as he processed that, so he turned away, grabbing Orange and dragging him with him, Cody standing stunned behind them and not trying to follow.

Cipher ran on their heels, and Fox almost turned around, almost offered Cody back the ring on his finger. Instead his only focus was on getting both of them out of the room, if only for a minute.

“Pred,” Cipher tried.

“Shut up,” Fox said, Thire bolting toward them, and Fox wondered what had distracted him so badly he missed the fight.

“Pa,” Orange said, even quieter, the thing he never called Fox where anyone else could hear.

“Shut up,” Fox repeated, and they were in the vast hallway, the ceiling higher than the banquet hall, and he forced a lungful of air into his chest.

“What did he say?” Thire asked, Fox bending enough to rest his hands on his knees, the glitter of the ring catching his eye.

“Compared Cody to Tarkin,” Cipher reported immediately.

“Oh,” Thire said. “Fuck,” and Fox didn’t start laughing, but it was a close battle.

“That was not how I was going to bring up that subject,” Fox told the ground in front of him.

“Were you going to bring it up?” Thire asked.

“Not if I could have helped it,” Fox said, as the door opened again, Cody following them with a shorter delay than Fox had expected.

Immediately Fox straightened up, hoping Cody hadn’t noticed the way he’d been standing. All four of them stared at Cody, who stared right back. “Alright, Fox,” Cody said, composed, and Fox looked at the knotwork at his waist instead of his expression. “How about you explain exactly what your kid just accused me of?”

“Right now?” Fox asked, swallowing past his dry throat, an obvious and desperate stall attempt.

“Yes,” Cody said.

“Yeah, alright,” Fox finally allowed, thankful when Cody gestured down the hallway, away from the others. He followed, and swiped his thumb along the bottom of the ring again as they walked, footsteps falling back into sync the way they would have as cadets. 

Almost, anyway. He kept mistiming every third step somehow. 

Chapter Text

Orange had never been introduced to Tarkin. He'd seen him plenty of times, had watched him lean his way into Fox's personal space like he belonged there during inspections. But no one had ever pointed Orange out to Tarkin, had ever made him aware of him as being unique, or special, to Fox. As far as Tarkin had ever known, Orange was the same as any other Guard. 

Sometimes he wished he could have stood out, could have looked the man in the eyes, and told him how much he hated him. Sometimes, it felt all too unfair he'd died, the same night Palpatine had. Bail Organa had read the brief message from Stone, sent from where the Clone Commander stood over Palpatine's body with Fox and Thorn, and shot him in the middle of a meeting. 

Bail, head of the nascent Rebellion, had a keen sense for the fact that Palpatine's death wouldn't mean much if Tarkin, or many of the others, survived him.

Thus, not many in the Imperial hierarchy lived out the night, hunted down by various rebel cells, coming startlingly out of the woodwork. Those that did, mostly went into hiding. In the days that followed, a few of those were turned in, and immediately put on trial. 

Like Fox had been.

It burned under Orange's breastbone, the injustice that Fox was treated as a member of the Imperial hierarchy, when all the Guard had only ever been slaves. Bail Organa at least fought against it, and lost. Orange hoped it had been because he understood he had committed the exact same crime Fox had, shooting someone in the back, when they didn't expect the blow to come. 

The injustice that Orange never spoke to Tarkin paled in comparison to that, but still it rankled. 

He would have liked to look the man in the eyes, would have liked to tell him who he was and why he hated him, would have liked to shoot him himself, preferably. 

But Tarkin died, and he never got his chance. Instead, he'd spent years carrying around the burning ember of knowing but never being known. 

Then again, just as no one introduced them, no one had ever meant for him to find out about Tarkin and what he did with Fox. 

Instead he'd had to discover it, one night, when Fox was gone and he felt so restless he wanted to tear his own skin off. Thorn's flock were all tucked away in some survival training, and Stone's murder and Thire's brood engaged in a contest, the type the Tubies ran in the HQ. Cipher had invited Orange to join on the brood side, and Key had offered him honorary murder status for the night, as they always did, but he hadn't wanted to play tag. 

What he'd wanted was Fox. He had still been small enough to crawl on top of Fox back then, all aching spindly limbs and a big mouth, and he hated the nights Fox stayed out until dawn stained the Coruscant sky. 

So, he decided to test himself, not against his fellow Tubies, but against the very walls of their HQ itself, the square parameters that made up their world. He went into the vents, seeking out information not even Cipher knew. 

He found Thire, bucket to one side and grey exhaustion on his face, watching Thorn watch the training. “You know, they probably can't set fire to the room,” Thire said. 

“We managed it,” Thorn huffed. 

“We had survival training in Kamino’s sim rooms,” Thire said. “Their technology was far more advanced than locking some Tubies in a room for the night with some food and a couple of utility tools.” 

Orange has stopped, pressing his cheek to the cool metal of the vent, far enough back he could hear but wouldn't be seen if they looked at the grate. 

“Stone reported in,” Thire added. “His Senate detail got themselves bedded down for the night, he'll be back soon.”

“Fox?”

“You know he won't be back,” Thire said, quieter. 

“And yet,” Thorn sighed. “I remain ever hopeful.”

“The situation hasn't changed,” Thire said, and there was some clicking, like one of them fiddled with something out of Orange's sight. “Tarkin calls, Fox goes. He comes back in the morning, maybe hits the sonics, and then pretends everything is normal.”

“I hate that we can't even complain,” Thorn said. “I hate that it's the best choice in a shitty hand. As long as he's Tarkin’s, he's the most protected he'll ever be. We're the most protected we'll ever be. I know I've said it before, but it won't ever stop getting to me.”

“He knows what he's doing,” Thire said, that quiet certainty that Orange already knew well. Cipher’s papa had a way about him none of the other Commanders matched, let alone the rest of the Guard. They all liked Thorn, and respected Stone, but they relied on Thire. 

“Whoring himself out?”

“Better to be Tarkin's whore than the way it was during the war, when every Senator without a moral compass took a pass at him, or the rest of us,” Thire said, and Orange made a sound, startled. 

Before then he had known of Tarkin, the Governor of the outer reaches of the Empire, a severe man often seen walking into Palpatine's private residences. He showed up for parades and holidays, anniversaries of battles, and any random time he felt like. 

Orange had never before lined up all those occasions, and those times Fox stayed out all night. 

Then Thorn poked his head up into the vent, expression displeased at finding him there. “Of course,” he sighed. “It's you.”

Orange had not slept a wink all night, waiting for dawn and Fox to arrive together. 

And they did, like they always did, Fox slipping inside and stopping when Thire rose and Orange threw himself at his knees. “What?” Fox asked, because Thorn had gone to fetch his flock out of their survival lockdown. 

“He decided to explore the vents,” Thire said. “He caught Thorn and I talking.”

“About what?” Fox asked, a hand settling on Orange’s head, textured glove catching on his short cropped hair. Later, he would grow it out, more like Fox's, but never as wild. 

“Tarkin,” Orange said, before Thire could. It occurred to him then, that Fox smelled the way he hated. He'd never made the connection between the nights Fox stayed out all night, and the times he smelled wrong. Later, he would wonder at the scent, if Tarkin wore cologne of some kind, or if his quarters just smelled a certain way, but some of it rubbed off on Fox by the time he left. “They said you were his whore.”

“Really?” Fox said dryly. “Do you even know what that word means?”

“Of course I know what it means,” Orange snapped, because it came up sometimes, in the videos Fox watched, late at night when Orange draped himself over his chest and Fox held the datapad with one hand. The others watched them too, these vids created by other men who wore the same faces. But Fox usually watched them alone, or with just Orange, when he was exhausted and run down to the bone. 

Even though the men had the same faces as everyone Orange knew, they seemed to live very different lives than the Guard. When he was smaller, Orange had wondered where they lived those different lives, that the Guard never saw them. 

In front of him, Fox went still, before he knelt down on one knee in front of Orange. He still has his kama then, before it was arbitrarily removed from the Guard's kit, and he'd taken off his bucket upon entering their quarters. “Vod’ika–” 

“Don't call me that,” Orange spat, startling Fox. “I hate it when you use that phrase,” because back then Fox still used some Mando’a, especially the phrases the Alphas had taught their students in a white city on a water world. It would be another two years before he wiped it all out of his vocabulary. “I'm not your brother!”

Fox froze, looking like Orange had found a blade, and stuffed it up under his armor. It made Orange’s eyes burn, in rage and shame, when he realized Fox hadn't understood his point. 

I call you pa, he wanted to scream, Fox's eyes flickering to Thire in desperation and then back to him. I don't want to be your little brother. 

“If this is about the whore comment,” Fox tried. 

“No!” Orange furiously rubbed his hands into his eyes. “It's not! But I don't understand. Why do you go somewhere you don't want to go, and spend the whole night there, if you don't want to be there?”

Fox's expression shifted, settled. “Because it's better for all of us if I do,” he said, and the words landed like stones inside of Orange. He'd never been an idealistic type, the way Curtain was, but he'd never been confronted with the idea of self-sacrifice before so plainly as that early morning, Fox watching him with tears drying in the corner of his eyes. “It's not so bad,” Fox added. “He's not cruel, to me, he doesn't hurt me. If I go, we're all safer. I would do anything to keep us safer, do you understand?”

“Do you love him?” Orange hiccuped, not understanding the word yet, but it was a phrase they used on the vids a lot. 

“No,” Fox said, still calm, still kneeling in his black and red armor. “I'll never love him. But I am comfortable with him. And that's more than I ever expected to have.” 

It did not feel like enough. 

But the words echoed now, around Orange's head as he watched Fox trail down the hallway after Cody. 

“You're such a fucking idiot,” Cipher said, hitting him hard in the arm. 

“Hey,” Thire said, a weak protest. “You're on good behavior tonight.”

“He's apparently not!” Cipher protested, Orange ruefully rubbing where his fist had been. “We're not among ourselves, you can't talk so openly.”

Thire looked a little like he's eaten something sour, but didn't necessarily disagree. “I know,” Orange mumbled. “I just–I don't know what to do. He's acting–”

“It's not like with Tarkin,” Thire said. 

“How do you know that?” Orange protested. “He's acting like he did with him! It's better for all of us if he does this, right? So why do you believe him so readily?” 

“Because we remember them as cadets,” Thire said. “I know you don't, but please, can you trust us? At least for a little while?” 

Orange turned his head, to where Fox and Cody had stopped, close to the display on the war, the bright battalion colors on all the armor, and Cody's in front.

His orange armor, and maybe there was some truth in Thire's words because Orange could remember another time, when he'd been even smaller than when he found out about Tarkin, when he'd crawled into Fox's lap and asked him what his favorite color was. 

“Orange,” Fox had said, one arm curling around Orange's back–though he was just IC-2-8990 then–to steady him.

“Orange?” and Orange had wrinkled his nose at him. “I never see you with anything orange.”

“So?” Fox smiled, indulgent. “Orange is the color of the sunset, when all the clouds light up. It's the color of the prettiest flowers in the botanical gardens. It's the color,” and his eyes went distant. “It's the color of hope, after a long winter. I don't have to possess anything that's orange, to love it whenever I see it.”

“Then I'll be Orange,” he'd declared, Fox giving him a startled look. 

“You don't–”

“Am I not worthy of being orange?” he'd asked, crestfallen. 

Fox pulled his head forward, pressing a kiss to the top of his hair. “No, of course you are. You're worthy of being named whatever you want. It just startled me,” and he paused. “Orange.”

And Orange had smiled, as wide as his little face had been capable of. 

“I will trust that,” Orange finally said to Thire. “For a little while.”

He turned to leave, because otherwise he was going to do something even stupider, if he had to keep watching Cody and Fox talk, heads bent together under his old armor. 

After a moment's hesitation, old instincts won out and Cipher followed him. 

-

Neyo stared at the door, where it had closed in a flurry behind Cody and Fox–and Thire. 

And he tried very hard to not take it personally, that Thire had fled, pretty much immediately upon seeing him again for the first time in a decade. 

It has, after all, been startling, since Neyo accidentally startled him enough he jumped several inches in the air, and then stumbled backwards. 

Neyo reached forward, catching him, and it reminded him instantly that Thire had been run through ARC training on his promotion to Commander, even though that was half a lifetime ago. He'd kept the wiry muscles that Neyo could feel through his grey jacket when his hands wrapped around his biceps, steadying him. 

Tilting his head around, Thire stared at him, expression open before he smiled. “Neyo,” he greeted, voice warm, and he'd been standing next to several other Guards. Some looked young, but Neyo recognized Thorn by his blond hair, the type of mutation the long-necks had grudgingly allowed. “I was looking for you.”

The words stunned Neyo long enough he didn't let go of Thire's arms, Thire's back to his chest, for several more seconds. “You were?” 

“Well, I at least wanted to say hello,” Thire said, some of the warmth dimming in his eyes, and Neyo finally made sure he was upright and then let go, stepping back enough to let Thire turn and actually face him. 

“Oh,” Neyo managed, and the young Guards looked perplexed, but Thorn was looking at him like he had grown an extra head. “Hello.”

Thire looked at him, mouth opening again, but then something distracted him, and the next thing he knew, Thire was gone. “You didn't actually say hello at all,” Neyo muttered, to the space he had been in, before he followed his path and saw him intersect with Cody and Fox, who both looked various levels of frazzled by the young Guard in front of them. 

It has been too long since something really truly frazzled Cody, and Neyo figured it would probably be good for him. 

But it left him standing with Thorn, who kept looking at him.

“Good to see you, brother,” Neyo settled for, Thorn’s eyes landing on the tattoo on his cheek. It had been a long time since anyone stared at it obviously, and it made Neyo lean back on one foot. 

“You too,” Thorn settled for. 

“How was the wedding?” Neyo asked. “We missed the actual ceremony.”

Stone came up on Thorn's other side, Neyo recognizing him from the tattoo on his temple, though he'd added another, darker one, under his chin and along his throat at some point. He signed something that made Thorn strangle a chuckle, but only made Neyo frown. 

“What is,” and he repeated the sign he hadn't known. 

All the Guard stared at him. “Oh,” Thorn said, like it had just occurred to him. “Shit. I forgot how heavily we had to modify hand sign over the years. This,” and he repeated the sign. “Means asshole, but fondly.”

“Oh, well then, good to see you too, asshole,” Neyo said, which made Stone smirk at him. “Fondly, of course.” 

But Neyo's eyes tracked away from them, toward where the door closed behind Thire, and felt it clog his throat like a rejection. He hoped that wasn't what it had been meant as. 

“Well, you took your time getting here,” Thorn said, and Neyo frowned at him. 

“You landed a day ago,” he said, and didn't like the way Thorn and Stone both looked at him like they understood something. 

“Well, he was looking for you the instant he came down the gangplank,” Thorn said and the vague discomfort turned into a wildfire inside Neyo. 

“Oh,” he managed, and might have bolted for the door if the Guard Commanders hadn't flanked him. 

“Not so fast,” Thorn said and Neyo had already lost Bacara, probably to the food tables. “We just have a couple of questions.”

It should have been strange feeling, how familiar they were after so long, but it wasn't at all. Stone had been in the same barracks as Neyo, and he'd run into Thorn on several escort missions, General Allie and the 91st constantly being called on backup to them due to her diplomatic connection. 

“I hardly promise to answer a single one of them,” Neyo said, and that answer seemed to at least please Stone. 

“Well, some things at least never change,” Thorn said, and Neyo wanted to tell him everything changed, at some point, but it felt better to slide into his old skin, to remember who he'd been before Bacara's sheep and Cody's political career. They–and Thire–remembered him as the Marshal Commander, and he wanted to revel in that a little bit longer.

Maybe long enough for Thire to come back and look at him again, the way he had when he first saw him. 

Chapter Text

Cody watched Fox walk around the room, trying not to hover, but not leave Fox alone, either. 

It hadn't felt real, not through the ceremony, not through the party or the conversation afterwards, until he'd finally looked at Fox and asked if he wanted to turn in for the night. 

When Fox looked at him, startled, Cody realized neither of them had thought about it. They were wed, which meant Fox would be coming home with him, instead of going back to the Guard. “Do you need anything?” he’d asked. 

“Like what?” Fox returned. “My extra uniforms?”

They stared at each other, each processing that, and then Cody showed him down the hallway and into his private quarters. 

“I knew you lived in a palace,” Fox said finally. “But does this ever feel excessive? You've got a greenhouse and a yard big enough for a barracks, and your own damned armor on display down the hall.”

“Yeah,” Cody agreed. “It feels excessive. Wolffe lives on the grounds, but he built himself a cottage,” and Fox looked away, which meant he had ducked his batchmate all night. “Rex is in town. There are other apartments in the palace though. Some are empty, if–if some of the Guard wants to stay.” With you, he didn't add. “We haven't even had the chance to talk about that. What they–what you–”

Fox stopped, standing in the middle of the main room, and looked at him. He'd retreated toward the doorway to his bedroom, right off the big main room. A hallway led back to a smaller room with a long and narrow window he mostly used for storage and a fresher, but the main room was big enough for small council meetings, full of chairs and a couch and a series of small tables and a kitchenette along one wall he mostly brewed tea with. 

Even if he got hungry in the middle of the night, it was easier to sneak down the hallway and into the kitchen, than to try and burn something himself. 

Obi-Wan still regularly sent him tea, and he felt the urge to show Fox, to assure him the kitchen was his as much as he wanted to use it, but the words felt patronizing in his own head. 

And he'd somewhat patronized Fox enough, in his initial shock of hearing Tarkin's name, of Orange's accusation of Fox selling his body to protect his men. 

He'd barely processed Orange belonging to Fox, remembering the way Fox had told him meeting Orange would be unavoidable. He should have asked more then, should have asked more about the Tubies. 

But he hadn't, in part because it had been too overwhelming, to think about all the cadets they'd left behind in the frantic scramble. He should have known the long-necks were lying to his face, insisting they'd already dumped the tubes when the former army was spotted coming toward them. 

“They are just product,” he'd been told, hadn't bothered to remember the name of the long-neck who told him. “We were not being paid for them. You've gotten enough of what you came here for, haven't you?” Behind Cody, the others were loading up all the cadets they could find. In all the years since, he'd never really thought that somehow the long-necks had been hiding the tubes away from them, and the children growing in them. Palpatine must have ordered it. He had thought for certain he'd seen some of the empty tubes, and turned away because he couldn't bear to see anymore. 

Then he finally spoke to one of the children he'd abandoned, and was immediately accused of forcing Fox to sell his body to him, like Tarkin had. 

“Was it Tarkin?” he'd asked Fox, standing under his old armor, Fox's eyes sliding over and up toward it. “Who you meant, last night?” 

“Yes,” Fox said. 

“But you didn't think to say that?” Cody asked, voice tight. 

“No,” Fox said, finally looking back at him. “As I said, he's dead.”

“Why?” Cody asked, unable to stop the word tumbling out, Fox tilting his head. “Why him?”

“Because he asked for me,” Fox said, calm, unconcerned, and Cody felt like the floor had shifted under him. “So he got me. Being his,” and the sardonic twist was back to Fox's mouth. “Kept us all a little bit safer.” 

“You sound like you didn't have a choice,” Cody said, and Fox frowned. 

“He was the second most powerful man in the Empire,” he said. “Of course I didn't have a choice. I made the best of it I could, but the Empire is gone, and so is he.”

Perhaps Cody just wished the floor was moving, so it could swallow him whole. “Are you making the best of this?” 

“What?” Fox blinked at him, rapid. 

“Was Orange right?” Cody asked, and felt very far away. 

Fox stared at him for a very long time, before he looked up at the armor in its display case, looking at it like it had an answer, while Cody wanted to die, waiting. “You aren't Tarkin,” Fox settled for. “You could never be Tarkin.”

“I asked for you,” Cody said, and Fox didn't look back at him, but when Cody dropped his eyes, he spotted Fox turning the ring around his finger with his thumb, over and over again, red gems glittering. “Even if it was by accident. I'm the most powerful person on this planet.” He watched Fox's chest move, the deep breath he sucked in, ring still turning on his finger. 

“You aren't Tarkin,” Fox said again, like it was the only thing he really could offer. 

He remembered Thorn saying the marriage would protect Fox, and felt the question crowding behind his teeth, as desperate to get out as did you miss me? had been the day before. Was this a choice?

Fox reached forward with his right hand, startling Cody. “You aren't Tarkin,” Fox repeated again, like that was enough, fingers digging into Cody's bicep. “With him, I was just easy. He never had to try for me, he knew he could buy my loyalty for the most basic favors, like cutting Hemlock's funding or sending some spare change to refining the gene therapy before the Tubies got it. It was a game we both knew he was playing. If I'd ever made myself difficult, or became more trouble than I was worth, or if Palpatine decided he was done with the game, it would have been over. You–” Fox hesitated, like he'd run perilously close to being out of words. “You risked more than you have acknowledged, to accept us here. You married me. So no. You aren't Tarkin.”

But are you still selling yourself to me like you did him? Cody bit down on. 

“Alright,” he managed, because even if he wasn't Tarkin, Fox was still Fox. He really didn't want an answer. 

Fox let go of his arm, looked up at the armor again. “I forgot how bad it was,” he said, Cody finally tearing his eyes off him to follow his gaze. “How did you survive?”

“Stubbornness,” Cody said, eyeing the same deep gashes on his armor Fox must have been. He might have lost his arm in that explosion, if General Skywalker hadn't yanked him to the side at the last second. The Jedi had a habit of doing that, moving themselves or clones out of the way of something two seconds before they might have died. 

Cody probably should send Anakin and Obi-Wan another random fruit basket, like he did sometimes when he thought about the war too long.

“I'm exhausted,” Cody said, finally, Fox looking back at him. “I'd wager you haven't slept in at least two day cycles by this point,” and Fox didn't even bother to protest it. 

Which was how they ended up here, Fox trailing his fingers across the backs of Cody's chairs, not answering his question about the Guard. 

“You can take the bed,” Cody said, and Fox tensed. 

“Your bed?” he asked, low. 

“I–I obviously didn't plan for this,” Cody said. “There's only one bed and–you can sleep in it. The couch is comfortable. I've slept on it before.”

He didn't say it was when the nightmares got so bad it drove him out of his bed, like a change in venue would help. 

“It's your bed,” Fox said, and looked around the room again, eyes glancing off the door to Cody's bedroom. “I'd prefer to take the couch.” 

Cody tried not to feel even a little disappointed Fox hadn't even brought up sharing the bed together. It was large enough they might not even touch at all in the middle of the night. “Fox–”

“It's got an eyeline on the door,” Fox said, not looking at him, and Cody snapped his mouth shut.

“There's a room in the back,” Cody said. “We can convert it for you. You deserve your own space. However you want it.” 

Fox frowned, and looked away when a knock came on the door, making him tense. 

Cody answered it, when Fox didn't move, though it revealed Thire. In his arms he had something fluffy in a large bag, and a clone’s standard issue kit hung off one elbow. 

“Figured you wouldn't want to be without it,” Thire said, handing the kit to Fox with one arm, and Cody registered how worn it was, like it was the one Fox had left Kamino with, thirteen some years ago. The scuff marks had been buffed out to the best of his ability, but the straps had been replaced, and they were mismatched to each other.  

It made Cody’s stomach drop to realize it might have held literally everything he owned. 

He promised himself to take Fox to the market in the morning. 

“But we also got you this,” Thire added, handing Fox whatever it was he held in his arms. “The brood helped me pick it out, but Stone's money was mostly what paid for it. Your wedding present, from the Guard.”

“Thire,” Fox said, holding the bag carefully.

“We heard the nights here get cold,” Thire said, soft, gentle. “And it's not like we have much we could give you at this point, but damned if we send you off empty handed.”

“Send me off? I'm still,” and then Fox stopped, floundered. 

Technically, there were no ranks on Kebii'tra, but more so, the trial has stripped him of his quite publicly. 

“Don't worry, Fox,” Thire said, and he leaned down, one hand going to the back of Fox's head as he kissed his forehead. It made Cody stare, because even now when none of them had buckets to wear, he'd expected a forehead bump between them. “You'll always be our Commander.”

Thire turned his eyes suddenly to Cody, who straightened his spine under them. 

“Take care of him tonight,” Thire said, an obvious command. 

“Promise,” Cody said, and Thire gave him a flickering smile before he left. In the few seconds Cody had looked away, Fox had stowed his kit beside the head of the couch, and then sat down on it with the bag in his arms. 

“I'm sure it's not a bomb,” Cody said, when he didn't move to do anything with it. 

“Where Thire and the brood are concerned?” Fox shook his head. “It could well be.”

But then he reached into the bag and pulled the blanket inside it out, spreading it out over his lap and staring, the dyed wool spilling out on either side of his lap. 

It made Cody’s breath catch, all that color suddenly in Fox's lap, against his grey jacket. Fox ran one of his fingers along the center of it, the colors resolving into some kind of sense as Cody considered the whole thing.

The top was a soft pink and yellow, edging slowly down into orange and then purple and red, ending in a dark blue, like a sunset over a plain, if there were enough clouds to catch the light.

“It's beautiful,” Cody said, sitting down on the couch, but leaving plenty of space between them. Fox glanced at him quickly, and then went back to looking at the blanket, shifting it in his lap until he noticed a card, pinned to the top corner. 

Carefully he undid the pin, and held the card up to read it. Slowly, he started touching each color of the blanket, and then checking the card. 

“It's supposed to look like a sunset, isn't it?” he asked, finger moving slowly. 

Cody blinked, trying to parse the question. “Yes?” 

“The colors,” Fox said carefully. “Orange and pink and yellow and purple. It's a sunset.”

Cody tilted his head, enough to see the colors were labeled on the card in Fox's hand, along with a rough sketch of where they were on the blanket. It looked hand drawn, possibly by Thire or the shopkeeper. “Fox, why do you need that?” 

Beside him Fox tensed, tilted his head down. On the blanket his finger stopped, curling in the soft woven wool. “Oh. Because I'm mostly color blind.”

Cody thought again about the floor eating him alive. “You're–what?” 

“It was a side effect of Palpatine’s gene therapy,” Fox said, glancing back at the blanket and then up at Cody. “I forgot… you wouldn't know. He just wanted it done, the particulars mattered less to him. We needed a slowed aging, our color vision was a small price to pay. Your scientists were far more careful about things.”

“The flower,” Cody said, suddenly desperate to make certain Fox knew. 

“Red and golden,” Fox said, cutting him off before he tripped over himself to explain. “I know. I asked.”

“Oh,” Cody managed, still trying to let the idea Fox was color blind sink into him. “You asked?”

“I am capable of asking for help,” Fox muttered, bending his head back over the blanket, like he was trying to memorize which color went where, or imagine what it should have looked like. 

Cody sort of wanted to go throw up. Instead he pointed a little lower down. “This is where the red is.”

Fox frowned first at it and then at Cody.

“It was your color,” Cody said, a bit helpless. 

“Ah,” Fox murmured. “You know I–I didn't choose that either.”

“What?”

“For the Guard. Palpatine picked red. I never did.” 

“Would you have picked orange?” Cody blurted, before he could stop himself. It looked like Fox had stopped breathing. “I don't–that isn't–” 

He kept wanting to ask Fox, who kept telling him things weren't his choice, why he'd chosen Palpatine over his brothers. Why he'd chosen Palpatine over him. 

Why the heck had Fox's only choice been to stay behind? 

“I always liked how Gree’s green armor looked,” Fox said, not looking at him. 

“Right,” and Cody stood up. “If you–if you really insist on the couch. I should leave you to it. It's been a very long day.” But even as Fox nodded, he hesitated. “You know, those careful scientists are still around,” he said, Fox looking up at him without rising. Cody thought about Thire kissing his forehead, brief as it had been, and wanted to see if he could do the same. “If–maybe. They could look into the gene therapy. See if they can reverse the color blindness.” 

Fox blinked up at him, and now that Cody looked intently, there was something off with the reflection of his pupils. “That sounds expensive.”

“I don't care,” Cody said. “If it was a side effect of the therapy, does it affect all the Guard?” 

Fox slowly nodded. 

“Then we'll look into it,” Cody said. “If you need… anything. Tonight. Wake me up. If not, I'll see you in the morning,” and he wavered again, wanting to lean down, to put his lips anywhere on Fox, be it his forehead or his cheek or–kriff it–his mouth. 

“Good night,” Fox said softly, and Cody fled. 

Tactical retreat was sometimes necessary.

-

Neyo watched Thire pick his way across the floor, the rooms more or less mostly empty as revelers went their separate ways for the night, brothers helping others who drank too much home. 

Beside him, Bacara folded his hands behind his head and pretended not to watch Thire too. “They really ran out of food,” he said, Wolffe sitting and sulking on his other side. He was trying to cover the sulk by checking something on his datapad. 

“Supposed to be lucky,” Neyo said, and down the room, Stone stood with another Guard and Leif, who was busy writing down signs as Stone showed them to him. 

“They are, admittedly, going to need all the luck they can get,” Bacara said, and Kit Fisto had drifted across the room to Stone and Leif, as if drawn by curiosity at what they were doing. 

Over a decade since Neyo met his first Jedi, and sometimes he still found their endless interest in the universe strange. They had such a deep history after all, at some point they would have to have discovered everything. But they never saw life that way, and Kit tilted his head as Leif explained something, and pointed to his datapad. 

He'd already endured Stass Allie’s enthusiastic greeting, and had no intention of letting another Jedi get close enough to give their own. 

“Is all that food really gone?” Thire asked, finally in front of him again, and Neyo's throat had gone tight. 

A decade was a long time to miss someone you didn't really know. 

“Are you still hungry?” Neyo asked. “Wolffe’s little cottage isn't that far, we can raid his kitchen.”

Wolffe and Bacara both stared at him. 

“No, not nearly that hungry,” Thire said, amused, with enough wiggle room to imply he was still hungry on some level. 

“You've been busy tonight,” Wolffe said, looking at Thire, who heaved an exhausted sigh. “You seemed to be running herd on most of the Guard here. Should have gotten some of the massiff troops in to do it instead.”

“It's been a long night,” Thire said, almost amused, and Neyo practically sprung away from the wall. 

“I can walk you back to the barracks,” Neyo said. “Saw them on the way in. For the company, not because I don't trust you to know your way around.”

Thire blinked at him, as Bacara gave him an incredulous look. Slowly, Thire glanced around the room again, and then back at where Bacara and Wolffe were considering him. “Yeah, alright,” he said, and Neyo started moving before he could take it back, leaving Bacara and Wolffe behind. 

It felt a little flattering, how quickly Thire followed him, and then how much he slowed his steps once they were outside. 

“Just to be clear,” Thire said, looking at him sideways. “I really am exhausted. And I still need to track Orange down and probably sedate him for his own good, or he won't sleep a wink tonight.” Quieter, Thire huffed and added, “and then maybe myself, too.”

“I'm known for being literal,” Neyo said. “When I said I'd walk you back, that's exactly what I meant.”

“Well,” Thire said, considering. “That's refreshing.”

Neyo stomped down on the reaction he wanted to have to that, the almost needy desire to know what exactly he meant. “I strive to be as uncomplicated as possible,” he said instead, Thire snorting like he knew what bullshit that was. 

Which, perhaps more than anything, was what Neyo missed about him. Thire always had seemed to see right through him, but he wasn't aggressive about Neyo's failings the way Bacara was. 

“None of us are uncomplicated,” Thire said. “But I appreciate the literalness. That was something rare in the Empire, that's for sure.”

Neyo opened his mouth, thought and discarded multiple things. “We never heard much,” Neyo said. “From inside the Empire. Mostly what got out on the holonet, speeches, the like.”

“The same for us,” Thire said, and they were barely moving, shifting forward a few steps every once and a while. “Most of what we could find from Kebii'tra on the black channels were the soap operas.”

“No,” Neyo said, horrified, and it made Thire laugh. 

“Yes! Only some of them, and even on the black channels sometimes episodes got stuck in the censor nets, but we scrounged what we could.”

“Tell me you didn't watch them,” Neyo said, still trying to process the idea. The clones, upon finding themselves with a whole planet and society to build, had turned like so many other cultures to creating holodramas. However, it turned out they weren't terribly good at comedies that didn't turn horrifyingly dark, and most of their budget went to war dramas, so they had started producing cheap melodramas to test out anything from script writing to filming techniques. 

Thire laughed again. “We did! All of us did. It wasn't like we had a lot of other ways to connect with any of you. I still have strong feelings about how Our Minister’s Palace ended, even though it's been three years. Fox won't admit it, but I think he has that whole one saved, still.”

Neyo looked at Thire, noted how he somehow sounded unused to laughing, despite how his eyes sparkled in the clear Kebii'tra night. “I never thought of it that way. You know they're exaggerated, right?”

“Of course,” Thire rolled his eyes. “We're not that innocent about things.” 

Another horrible thought occured to Neyo. “You said some were caught in censor nets? Did any about the Guard get through?” 

“The Guard?” Thire looked at him, amusement instantly gone from his face. “No. Why?” 

“I admittedly don't watch them,” Neyo said. “But as much as Our Minister's Palace made Cody rethink his stance on anti-censorship laws, the Guard dramas make him furious.” 

Taking several steps in silence, Thire sighed. “The few we saw that mentioned the Guard at all usually had us as pretty pathetic characters, like we needed to be saved from ourselves and shown the error of our ways. But let me guess. We became the enemy in hiding, since we have the same face.”

“More or less,” Neyo said. “Fox–” and then he couldn't continue. 

Thire sighed again. “Thanks for the warning. I'll make sure the others are aware. Do you think it's affected public opinion? About us coming here?”

“Kriff,” Neyo settled for, because he would never have thought about it, without it coming up. He wished he hadn't, wished Thire was still laughing. 

Instead Thire hummed, already thinking. “We'll look into it. I have a good idea of who to put on it,” and he smiled finally, quieter. “We may not actually be good at public relations, but it helps to have forewarning. Thank you.” 

“I am still, admittedly, a little hung up on the fact you watched Our Minister's Palace,” Neyo said, and Thire's smile flickered back into a grin. 

“Did Cody really hate it?”

“With all his heart.”

Thire stopped, because they were almost in sight of the temporary barracks. “Will you be here? Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Neyo said. “I live in town, but I'm crashing on Wolffe's floor tonight anyway. Too far to mine, this late.”

“Does Wolffe know this?” Thire asked.

“Yeah,” Neyo said. 

“Good,” Thire said, and they'd turned to face each other, Thire meeting his eyes levelly. “I know it's been a long time,” he said, all the stars in the night sky above his head. “And we never knew each other all that well. But, if you're around, I'd like–it would be nice. To get to know you again. If you're willing.” 

“I'll be around,” Neyo said, decided that was too neutral, and cleared his throat. “I'd like to try, too.” 

“Good,” Thire said, and a soft smile broke across his face, before he reached up and pressed his fingers to Neyo's cheek, right over the ink of his tattoo. “Good night, Neyo,” Thire said, and was gone, practically bounding the last few steps into the barracks. 

“Good night!” Neyo called after him. “Thire,” he added more quietly to himself. 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he tried not to whistle as he meandered around the barracks, out toward Wolffe's cottage. But even as stoic as his face was, he felt his heart beating rapid fire in his chest, elated with the thought of maybe. 

Chapter Text

Cody stopped in the doorway to his bedroom, because bleary eyed and only half awake, he'd automatically started going for the kitchenette to make his morning tea.

Half-awake, he had not been mentally prepared to remember Fox sleeping on his couch until he saw him there, burrowed under the blanket from the night before. The shock of the sunset colors surrounding him, so different from the grey uniform he'd been wearing, distracted Cody enough he almost missed the fact he was shirtless until he stirred.

Thankfully, he didn't wake up, just pressed his face against the pillow that Cody had given him the night before, one arm disappearing under said pillow, and the other laying on top of the blanket, Fox on his side facing the door.

And Cody—Cody just stood there and watched him breathing, watching the rise and fall of his chest, tracking the mess of scars he didn't remember going up the outside of his left arm, the way his hair spilled in a mess across the white pillow.

When a knock came at the door, Cody jumped, but Fox was upright and braced before the door swung open, Wolffe not actually waiting for anyone to answer the door before he entered.

The fact he'd knocked at all was actually the more surprising bit.

At first he just stood there, taking in Fox's stance, the blanket and pillow on the couch, and then he slowly looked over at Cody, not feeling very prepared for anyone to open his door, still standing in his bedroom's entrance.

“Well, good morning,” Wolffe settled for, Fox following his gaze to find Cody already up and hovering. He frowned for a second, before snapping his attention back to Wolffe when he moved. “I figured it would be best if I got here early, made sure you were both presentable before whatever happens today happens.”

“How altruistic of you,” Cody drawled, Wolffe heading to the kitchenette as Fox reached back, snagging his uniform jacket with his fingers from where it had been tossed over the back of the couch. He quickly buttoned it back up, keeping his front toward Cody at all times, Cody doing his best not to watch.

“That's me,” Wolffe agreed cheerfully, setting the container he'd been holding down on the counter. “I brought caf. Fox?”

Fox froze from where he'd bent down, lifting the blanket off the couch and shaking it out before starting to fold it. He held two corners together and stared at Wolffe long enough to become uncomfortable. “What?”

“Caf?” Wolffe asked, gentling his voice like Fox was a spooked animal.

“No,” Fox said, exactly like he really was a spooked animal.

It made Wolffe hesitate, hands half way through the motion of already measuring out enough caf beans for two cups.

“I don't,” Fox actually looked alarmingly frightened for a second. “Want caf.”

“Great,” Wolffe tried to recover, dumping the scoop he'd been holding right back into the container and sealing it back up, sliding it into one of Cody's mostly empty cupboards. The sight of one of them opening to reveal basically nothing made Fox stare. “Well, more for me. I'm leaving this here, though. If you don't change your mind, someone will drink it.”

“There's tea,” Cody added, joining Wolffe as he went through the motions of making the single cup of caf. “Some is just herbal.”

Fox looked between them, before he busied himself with finishing folding the blanket, tucking it on top of the pillow on the couch. “Alright,” he said.

“I've got,” and Cody paused, before holding up two clearly labeled boxes, one a citrus flavored one, and the other a red tea. He had more, a whole shelf stuffed full of assorted tea boxes, but he figured two obvious choices would feel less overwhelming.

It was hard to know if Fox appreciated it, as he just inclined his head toward Cody's left hand without really looking. Something in his expression looked pinched, like even that much made him uncomfortable. Cody decided not to press, fishing out two sachets of the same tea and shoving Wolffe with his hip until he could get to the kettle.

“Obi-Wan supplies most of the tea,” Cody admitted, to say anything in the silence, Fox hovering next to the couch before drifting over.

“Do you have anything else in there that isn't tea?” he asked, stopping before he would have been standing beside them. If they turned, they would not have brushed against him. 

“Not much,” Cody allowed. “Kitchens are just down the hall.”

“Because Cody never really grew up enough to cook for himself, you see,” Wolffe said, and Cody whacked him in the arm without looking.

“Not everyone can grow up and be Bacara,” he said. “Or pick up Crosshair's obsession with baking.”

“I think it's the super precise measurements that do it for him,” Wolffe agreed. “However,” and he switched to addressing Fox, who still stood a whole arms length away, arms crossed over his chest as he watched them shift around, making their respective drinks. “If Tech ever offers you a baked good that he claims he made? Run. Don't accept it, just run.”

“It's strange, because Tech is also incredibly precise,” Cody muttered. “He just. Does not understand how flavors are supposed to go together, so you end up with flavor profiles that don't even surprise you by going together, they just end up awful.”

Fox looked between them without moving his head, eyes flicking back and forth. “Bacara cooks?” he asked finally, like it took him a while to settle on what to even ask.

“Bacara does it all,” Wolffe said, and caf finally brewed, he stepped back and toward the small table where Cody often ate breakfast by himself. Sometimes one of the others would stop by for the meal, but usually he liked his mornings alone, to brace himself for whatever was to come.

It occurred to him finally that might change very quickly.

Fox wavered again, before he inched toward the table, sitting down across from Wolffe. Cody noticed out of the corner of his eyes, that he fiddled with the ring on his left hand again, thumb against the bottom of it.

“He cooks, he ferments his own wine, I think Neyo even admitted they built a wooden table together,” Wolffe continued, and he was keeping his voice forcibly breezy in a way Cody almost never heard him talk. “I can't remember, did he start dying his wool or spinning his wool? It's difficult to keep up with all his hobbies these days.”

“Both,” Cody said, and he brought over both tea mugs, setting one in front of Fox and then sitting in the chair between him and Wolffe. “He dyes it and then spins it, and sells it sometimes at market.”

“I'm sorry,” Fox said, immediately wrapping his hands around the mug, like they were cold. “His wool?”

“He raises sheep,” Wolffe said. “And goats. And whatever else he comes up with. I think he even has a few kriffing fruit trees these days. Oh, and a herb garden.”

“We know about the herb garden because he uses them in the soap he makes with goat milk,” Cody said wryly. “Now that one was a surprise, because he didn't tell anyone he was starting that until he was mailing us all soap.”

“It felt a little pointed when he did it,” Wolffe agreed.

“Bacara,” Fox said flatly, not quite a question.

“Yeah, he's gone crazy I think,” Wolffe said, and he took a swallow of his probably still too hot caf, to cover up the fact he kept just staring at Fox, with his rumpled hair and the same grey jacket on his shoulders.

Fox blinked at him, before he held his mug up, taking a tiny sip. He'd barely put it down when another knock came on the door. But when no one immediately threw it open the way Wolffe had, Cody pushed himself up and went to answer it.

He stopped when it opened to reveal Orange, alone, and looking deeply uncomfortable. “Thire told me where it was,” he said, like Cody needed an explanation.

“Come on in,” Cody said, stepping back and holding the door open.

Orange considered him, like he wanted to say something. Whatever it was got wiped out the instant he saw Fox, who'd already risen to his feet when he realized it was Orange at the door.

“Pred,” Orange said, and Wolffe turned around in his seat, Cody realizing belatedly he'd picked the one that put his back to the door, just so Fox could have the one facing it. “Can we talk?”

Fox flickered his eyes to Cody, who pointed his thumb to his own bedroom.

It felt a little pointed, how quickly the pair of them decamped to the room and closed the door behind him. Feeling older than he was, Cody walked over and sat down in his seat next to Wolffe, drinking from his own tea mug. He glanced over at where Fox had abandoned his own, the steam gently rising from it.

“Do we have any idea what Pred stands for yet?” Wolffe asked.

“Not yet,” Cody said, folding his hands under his chin, elbows resting on the edge of the table. He could hear the quiet rise and fall of voices from his bedroom. Trying to give them what privacy he could, he pulled his datapad that lived in his living room to himself, tapping in an order for breakfast.

“He liked caf, right?” Wolffe asked, after a while of watching the closed door himself.

“He used to,” Cody said, occasionally sipping his own tea and not watching Fox's going cold beside him as he skimmed the holonews headlines.

Neither of them had come out by the time breakfast showed up at his door, delivered on a tray with enough for four by one of the kitchen workers. Cody set it in front of Wolffe and then inched the door open, peeking in.

He found Fox sitting on the edge of his bed, Orange kneeling in front of him with his head in his lap and arms around Fox's waist. His eyes were closed, Fox running his fingers back and forth through his hair. Cody stopped where he was, even as Fox looked up and saw him.

Not wanting to disturb Orange out of where he was, Cody signed the old hand sign for food at Fox, and Fox nodded to acknowledge it, fingers still petting Orange's hair, and like the night before, Cody felt a surge of jealousy, like a wave on Kamino hitting the support structures of Tipoca City.

Like he'd wondered what would happen if he kissed Fox's forehead like Thire had, now he wondered how Fox would react if he just dropped to his own knees and rested his head in his lap. Would Fox scrub his fingers through Cody's hair too, or would he shove him off?

As he closed the door silently as he could, he tried to shake off the urge to find out.

“So,” Wolffe looked up at him, already most of the way through a pastry wrapped around a sausage. “What are you planning on doing with your first day of married life?”

“It's been too long since I went to the markets,” Cody said, as he heard movement from the bedroom, imagined Orange pushing himself back to his feet.

“Oh that is a terrible idea,” Wolffe said cheerfully, the door opening. If Orange's cheeks looked a little blotchy, like he'd been crying, neither of them said anything. “I'll let Rex know.”

“Know what?” Fox asked, glancing over the heaps of food.

“That we're going to the markets,” Wolffe said, already tapping the message out on his comm.

“We are?” Fox asked, not sitting back down, even as Orange slid into the free chair without Fox's abandoned mug in front of it.

“It's been too long since I last went,” Cody justified, Fox resting his hands on the back of his former seat, still without sitting down. “It's not an official duty, but I always go during the summer. It's a good way to get a sense of the economy, what people are hurting for, and it's a good PR move to buy a few things while I'm there.”

“PR,” Fox repeated.

Orange glanced sideways up at him, having started eating the instant he sat down. For a second Fox looked back at him, before he sighed and finally sat. Immediately, Orange handed his still mostly full plate over to him and then started filling a second one.

“And you want me to come with you,” Fox confirmed carefully, picking at a roll before he tore it in half and ate only the first half.

“The sooner we start doing things together in public, the better,” Cody pointed out, and that at least mollified Fox enough that he nodded. “If some of the rest of the Guard come too, that would also potentially help.”

“And Rex,” Fox said, and then stole a piece of fruit off Orange's new plate, instead of the one in front of him. Orange didn't even twitch, but Wolffe and Cody both stared.

“And Rex,” Wolffe agreed finally, too distracted to speak for a moment.

“Could always ask Cipher,” Orange said after a beat, voice almost hopeful.

Fox gave him a long, unimpressed look, and Orange just handed him another half of a biscuit, fruit preserve already spread on it. “Fine,” he said, perhaps to Orange, perhaps to Cody, even as he took the offered biscuit and ate it in a couple of quick bites.

“Don't forget protein, Pred,” Orange said, far more cheerful than Cody had heard him so far, and Fox made a rude handsign to him, before he he went back to the plate in front of him.

Eventually, he even ate some of the protein on it.

-

“Grizzer,” Bacara heard someone hiss, stopping him in his tracks. “Grizzer, please,” and he peered over the hedgerow he stood on the other side of in the early morning light, finding one of the Guard crouched at the base of a tree, a massiff in the middle of attempting to climb the tree. “Put the bird down,” the Guard continued to hiss, like he didn't want anyone to notice them.

“We are guests here,” the Guard added, the massiff turning its wide head when it smelled Bacara, letting him see the bird caught in its jaws.

“If it helps, that bird isn't rare,” Bacara said, and the Guard snapped his head up.

“That's great,” he settled for, eyes wide, and Bacara tried not to frown, even as he leaned against the hedgerow. “But I still rather Grizzer listen to me. She's just really on edge from the trip over here. And everything from before.”

“The massiff got on edge from Fox's trial?” Bacara asked, because he hadn't had the chance to talk to many of the Guard the night before. They'd almost all cleared out about the same time Fox had from the party.

“More the fact the whole Guard sorta got locked in a room while it was going on,” the Guard said, and Bacara frowned, Grizzer finally letting herself drop back to the ground.

She also spat out the bird, now that the Guard was no longer begging her to do so, and after a second of playing dead, the bird took off.

It was a truly impressive feat for a massiff's big jaws, to hold a bird so long without crushing them.

“Finally,” the Guard breathed, pleased, as he rubbed a hand over the top of Grizzer's nose. “Good girl. Did you get any of it out of your system, or are you gonna be like this the whole time we're here?”

Grizzer huffed at him, and then turned her black eyes toward Bacara, still leaning on the hedgerow.

“Sorry,” the Guard said, focusing on him again. “Maybe I'm a little on edge, too. I'm Hound.”

“Bacara,” Bacara said, as Hound straightened up, one hand still resting on Grizzer's back. He went very still at Bacara's name, though.

“I don't suppose that's another case like Sergeant Fox,” he started to ask.

“No, I'm Marshal Commander Bacara,” Bacara said, uncertain if he was put out or amused by that reaction. “Or, that was my title during the war.”

“Oh,” Hound said, not quite a squeak. “Sorry that the first thing you saw was Grizzer being a pain. That's not the first impression she usually makes.”

“Please, Fog and Mist would have run circles around her and eaten no less than five of Cody's songbirds by now, if they'd come,” Bacara said, and Hound perked up. “She's doing just fine.”

“Do you have massiffs, too?” he asked, and there was a line of scars on the back of both his hands.

Bacara had started to notice a lot of the Guard had scars, perhaps at a comparable, if not higher ratio to the former GAR. He wondered if that was due to their length of service, or something else.

“They're charhounds,” Bacara said.

“Don't charhounds breathe fire?” Hound asked after a beat.

“Yes?” Bacara arched a brow at him.

“Wouldn't maybe, Flame and Lava be more appropriate names for canines that can breath fire?” Hound asked and Bacara managed not to roll his eyes.

“If you want to be exceedingly obvious and predictable,” he said dryly.

“Right,” Hound said immediately. “Which you are not.”

“I strive not to be,” Bacara agreed, feeling affable as he watched Grizzer watching him back.

“I've never actually seen a charhound before,” Hound said, sounding wistful. “Some rich folks on Coruscant tried to keep them as pets, but it never went well. They need too much space to run around in, most of them went stir crazy and set fire to their fancy furniture.”

Bacara snorted, and looked Hound and then Grizzer over with a more judicious eye. “Well,” he said, because he had not seen any Guard on their own yet, and wanted to know more about the last ten years than he cared about his own privacy. “You ever get out of the city, maybe you can meet them,” he said, and hated a little the way Hound's eyes lit up, like Bacara had offered him some sort of gift.

“Really?”

“I don't usually repeat myself,” Bacara said and Hound snapped to attention, barely looking like he restrained a salute in time.

“I understand. Thank you for the offer. I hope to take you up on it.”

Bacara hummed, glancing down as his comm pinged with a message from Neyo. It asked him if he wanted to see Cody show Fox around the markets. “Oh no.”

“Everything alright?” Hound asked, managing to also keep the sir from the end of the sentence.

“Depends on how well you think your Commander is going to do at the marketplace with his new husband,” Bacara said, just to see how Hound would react.

He looked about as alarmed as Bacara figured Fox must be feeling. “Oh I should—I should get Grizzer back for her breakfast,” Hound said, covering his first response. Bacara filed that reaction away as he watched Hound click his tongue at Grizzer, and take off with her with a wave over his shoulder, both of them trotting at a pace barely below a run. Apparently in times of possible disaster, his first and only instinct was to bunker down with the rest of the Guard, drawing them all together as much as possible to await the results.

Then he turned himself and went the other way, toward where Neyo said he was, probably already watching said disaster unfold.

Chapter Text

The market was smaller than Fox expected, a mix of shops in big blocky buildings, and stalls under canopies lining the pathways between them. 

Being able to shop for anything while seeing the sky tripped him up several times as they walked, bright light from the sunny sky breaking through the canopies where they did not overlap, Cody next to him, and a surprising amount of others hovering somewhere in their orbit. Thorn and Thire had both shown up with Cipher and Gleason in tow. 

Behind him, Wolffe and Thire engaged in some silent battle to stay as close to him as possible, Thorn keeping his distance by several feet, and the three Tubies mostly distracted by every stall they passed. Because Cipher had gone the day before with Thire, he tried to act like it didn't impress him quite so much, but every time Orange pointed out something new, he went as wide eyed as Gleason. 

They'd all been to much larger and busier markets than this, Fox almost reminded them. But then again, no market at Coruscant felt like this either, with so many familiar faces manning the stalls and walking openly down the street. Some of the items they looked at must have been created with their brother's own hands, a thought that wormed its way into Fox's mind and refused to leave. 

What would it be like to create something for yourself, just because you felt like it? Why had Bacara, of all the Commanders, become so determined to find out? 

Beside him, Cody warmly greeted anyone who approached him, and the number was not small. It itched under Fox's shoulder blades, to urge these people away in case they were dangerous. 

However, as people noticed him, the rest of the Guard with him, their expressions changed quickly into distrust. That at least Fox felt very familiar with, and only hoped his own face remained blank instead of reflecting that distrust back on them. 

Every once and a while, he checked his comm for messages from Stone, who'd stayed back with the others, his usual role as the liaison between them in the field and HQ. 

“We need to talk about a salary,” Cody said a ways into the market, handing Fox a pair of sunglasses he had just bought. Fox hadn't been paying attention to him, too busy watching a couple stroll down the street, only listening to Cody chatting with the shopkeeper enough to know where he was in relation to Fox. 

For a long moment all he could do was stare at the offered sunglasses. “What?” 

When Cody arched a brow, he accepted them quickly.

“They're green,” Cody said, and Fox stood there for another second, before he opened the arms of the glasses and slid them on, because the bright sun had been making him squint.

He never would have thought about asking for a pair for himself. 

“What do you mean, a salary?” Fox asked, as they walked to the next stall. 

Thire abruptly gave up the silent battle with Wolffe, because he veered sharply off to greet former Marshal Commander Neyo, standing near the next stall down, looking like he wasn't actually waiting for anyone. When he saw Thire, the corners of his mouth twitched up, which would have counted on a broad grin on anyone else. 

Using the new dark lenses of his glasses, Fox stared blatantly. 

In some ways, Neyo didn't look that different. The tattoo on his cheek appeared weather worn, like the rest of his face. Without a bucket to wear, it was obvious he spent a fair amount of time outdoors now, skin darker for the increased exposure than any of them had suffered under the sickly bright lights of Kamino. He also still wore his hair a tad long and combed back with enough product to almost entirely hide his curls, though once and a while a little wave broke through the product's hold. 

In other ways Fox almost didn't recognize him, in the loose red shirt under a leather jacket, but most importantly due to his shoulders relaxing in a way he'd never had as a cadet or Marshal Commander. 

“You're going to need a salary,” Cody said, while Fox kept staring at the way Thire slowed down right before reaching Neyo, like he was trying to pass off any of his excitement as casual. 

“For what?” Fox asked, yanking his head back to Cody. It was not just that Kebii'tra’s sun shone much more brightly than Coruscant's that made him almost pathetically grateful Cody had given him the sunglasses. Having his eyes covered meant others could not read them so easily. Not quite as good as a bucket would have been, especially with its color filters, but good enough for the situation. 

“For your role in the government,” Cody said, gently, like it should have been obvious. 

“And what role exactly is that?” Fox asked, hovering at the table heaped with fabrics that he slowly realized were scarves and shawls. He started picking through them to give his hands something to do. The fabric kept sliding down his hands and catching on his callouses, so he figured it must be some sort of silk. 

Still beside him, Cody frowned. “We can discuss the particulars, but as my husband,” and Fox breathed out carefully so it wouldn't hitch at the word so casually from Cody's mouth. “I would assume you would be involved in many of the same public events I am. Good will, diplomacy, advising, especially when it comes to the Guard.” 

“You're talking about paying me to go to public events?” Fox asked, looking at him in confusion. 

“As one example of your duties.”

“Duties,” Fox repeated. “So, would that be formalized? So many events a month, so many diplomatic agreements?”

Cody blinked at him, before frowning, glancing at Wolffe who had been showing Thorn something else in the stall, some fabric contraption that Fox couldn't figure out. “Formalized? Not particularly.” 

Fox ran his thumb along the ring on his left hand. “You're talking about paying me. From what? Government funds?”

“I'm paid with government funds,” Cody said, frowning at him. 

“You also run the government,” Fox said. “I wouldn't–”

“This wasn't actually a question about if you would get something,” Cody said, Thorn frowning at his back, where Fox could see him but Cody couldn't. “This was me trying to ask you if you had any needs for what it should be.”

“What?” Fox asked blankly. 

“How much money do you want for being married to Cody?” Wolffe said, like it was a joke, but Fox had gone from confusion to bubbling panic behind his dark glasses. 

“How should I know? I've never been paid for anything in my life.”

He snapped his jaw shut, because Rex had strolled into their group seconds before, probably just in time to hear Fox admit that. 

But Cody stared at him like he was somehow surprised. 

“The GAR wasn't paid,” Thorn said, Cody turning his head to get him in his eyeline. “Why would we have been?”

“Not even under the Empire? Or when you left?”

“You think the Republic was going to offer us backpay?” Thorn asked. 

“I was on trial,” Fox said. He could feel Orange tensing, even though he wasn't right next to him, Gleason and Cipher boxing him back from Cody and Fox without making it obvious. “For murdering the former head of state. They sure as fuck didn't give me a reward for that.”

“Does any of the Guard have money?” Rex asked, and he'd ended up next to Cody again, like it was easy, like he'd been there for the whole conversation. Fox wanted to punch him. 

Another man had come with Rex, and it took Fox too long to recognize him as a clone too, because he was a clone stretched out like taffy candy, as lean as Fox but taller. He stood outside the canopy of the stall, Neyo greeting him. 

“Stone does,” Fox said eventually. 

“Just Stone?” Wolffe asked. “Why just Stone?”

“Because he actually qualified under the compensation bill for the, what was it, heroes of the Reborn Republic?” Thorn said, arms crossed.

“He was involved with the Rebellion,” Fox clarified, when the others still looked confused. “He got Hound and Silks involved too, but it was just the three of them. None of us even knew, until afterwards. All three got paid out of the bill, but Hound and Silks immediately turned around and gave theirs to Stone to manage, for the Guard.”

“None of you knew?” Cody asked the same time Rex asked, “Why Stone?”

Thire drifted back over, expression cautious. 

“Because he was never in the room as Palpatine after his accident,” Thorn said. “Guess he figured he might as well just go for it.” 

“But since we were in the room with the Emperor, it would be much safer not to tell any of us,” Fox added, for Cody’s question. 

“How long ago did the… accident, happen?” Cody asked, and they had all been occupying the stall too long, without looking at any of the wares. 

"Not even two years into the Empire?” Fox asked, glancing at Thire, because it had been long ago enough he's almost forgotten it had been after the GAR left. None of the others would have known about it. 

What he suddenly couldn't remember was if they'd mentioned it to anyone since landing. 

“We were still reeling from the gene therapy decomisisonings,” Thorn added. “It was quite a fight to convince them all a mute Commander could do his job just as well. But oh, how Palpatine hated things that were broken in his sight, so Stone took over training and the rarest escort missions with trusted senators. Anything to keep him out of the public eye.” 

“Which is why Stone got paid, and we didn't,” Thire said. “Hey, do you think they'd pay me if I lost my vocal cords?” 

“Think you missed your chance,” Thorn said dryly. 

“Well, fuck,” Thire sighed, like it was really a tragedy. 

“If Stone was staying out of the public eye for his own safety, why isn't he here today?” Wolffe asked, and all three of the former Coruscant Guard Commanders froze, staring at each other out of the corner of their eyes.

“Huh,” Thorn settled for first, and turned and walked away, the non-Guards looking after him in concern. 

“How did he end up in the diplomatic corps again?” Thire asked under his breath. 

“It wasn't on purpose,” Fox said, looking at Cody, who'd fallen disturbingly silent at some point. “But eight years is a long time to operate one way.” 

“I can represent father,” Gleason added, finally stepping away from the other two, all three of them having gone silent and watching the confrontation without a sound. 

Fox wasn't sure if he was proud or concerned with how the others might take that. 

“Father?” Neyo asked, having meandered over closer in Thire's wake, and Fox knew better than to ask Thire before he was ready to tell him. 

Thire, if he dug his heels in, was more obstinate than Dogma on his worst day. He'd tell Fox when he was ready to tell Fox, he just hoped it was going to be soon. 

“Commander Stone,” Gleason said, as if that was what Neyo had been questioning, and not the fact he called him father. Behind him, Orange and Cipher had taken up defensive positions on either side of his shoulders, and Fox again felt that mix of despair and pride in them. 

“You call all your Commanders something like that?” Wolffe asked, Cody’s eyes fixed on Orange. “Is it all father, or something else?”

“Honestly, sir, that's not your business,” Orange said. 

Beyond them, but close enough to listen, the clone that had been elongated looked like he was doing his best not to laugh. 

“What about Fox?” Wolffe pressed, despite the fact Fox was standing right there. Passerbys were staring at them all, and somehow it was starting to irritate Thire, the longer they stood there and the more looks they got. “What does Pred stand for, anyway? You've called him that before.”

Fox answered before Orange could say something regrettable. “Predator.”

Rex and Wolffe both stared at him, but Cody was the one who said quietly, “Your kid calls you predator?”

“Foxes are, aren't they?” Fox asked, giving them all a sharp smile that showed off his canine teeth before he turned and followed Thorn, the others starting to trail after them in a staggered line. 

They did not get terribly far, still stopping for multiple people, Cody speaking to the different shopkeepers. Many were fellow clones, but a good number weren't, various species from multiple worlds. 

But Cody sounded far more subdued, even as he tried to keep up the appearance of this being a normal day out, under the shining sun. 

The air was warm, but not oppressively so, a breeze coming down from the mountains to the West of the city. However, standing directly in the sunlight heated Fox's shoulders in an annoying way. 

Thorn stood beside him, not quite in the stall, watching Thire still trying, the Tubies retreating back into their small pack after Gleason's earlier declaration. “I didn't think about it,” Thorn said, after a bit. 

“Stone came to the reception,” Fox said. “Neither he nor we were hiding him.”

“Still, we just told all our brothers we don't trust them,” Thorn said, quieter. 

Do we? Fox didn't ask. “It's been ten years. Old habits die hard.” 

“Sure,” Thorn said, looking away. Fox tracked a small group approaching, expressions suspicious as they got closer and got a clear look at him and Thorn, standing side by side in their grey uniforms. “That's why we're doing it.”

“We went into the unknown,” Fox said. “We've been protecting Stone from the threat of his disability for over eight years. Of course we stayed in the habit of doing just that until we know the terrain.” He kept the group passing in the corner of his eyes. “What was Wolffe even trying to show you?” 

“He called it a baby sling,” Thorn said, voice getting wistful. “Said it was something that was getting imported here more and more, as clones start to have babies. As the planet's been established, other non-clones have moved in. There's not a lot of kids yet, but they've had to start building bigger schools. It really excited him, to talk about kids.” 

“You're not going to be separated from them for that long,” Fox said. “Once, once things are settled. With how efficient we usually are, that will probably be a week.”

The tall clone from earlier stood next to Rex inside the stall, like they had come together. He bent down when Rex pointed out something, and Fox finally realized they were standing in front of a chocolatier, because they were all looking at petite little truffles and dark brown squares with sugar flowers on top. 

Thorn snorted. “Kriff, if you're suddenly the optimistic one, I guess I gotta believe it.”

Giving him the same sharp smile he'd given the others, Fox tried not to think about how obvious it was they hadn't trusted their brothers. Thorn left his family behind, in case something went wrong, and they'd all closed ranks around Stone, the same distract and obscure routine they'd been doing with the Imperial Court for almost nine whole years. 

Fox realized suddenly the count they'd given Kebii'tra’s government was an undercount of the Guards actual numbers. He'd done it automatically, filling in the fake number without even thinking about it. 

It wasn't a radical undercount, just enough to hide how many there were, to give them what wiggle room they needed. 

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, Thorn sliding his eyes over. “I gave them our official count, not our actual one.”

“I wondering why some of the Tubies were double bunking,” Thorn said, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I didn't think about it though, since they'd always done that.” 

“It really looks like we don't trust them,” Fox whispered. 

“We're paranoid bastards,” Thorn said, Cody walking toward them. “It's not personal.”

Cody still looked like there was some storm going on inside him, Fox forcing himself to stand still and wait for him to approach. “Fox,” he said, and Fox braced himself, thinking he would ask whatever seemed to be bothering him. Instead it was worse, because Cody asked, “What do you want to be comfortable?” 

For a long moment Fox only stared, the question landing like a stone in his gut. He wondered what Cody might do if he admitted to never having been asked about his comfort in his whole life before, if he'd react the way he had to Fox saying he'd never been paid. 

“Like what?” he settled for asking, as neutral as he could make it. 

The answer did not brighten Cody’s expression in any way. 

“What do you need?” Cody pressed. “I mean, besides different clothes.”

Fox looked down at the uniform jacket. “Is that necessary?” 

Cody's jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said. “Come on, there's a shop down here. You can pick something out.”

He felt Thorn tense, without looking over at him. “Cody, it's fine. I don't–”

“As my husband, you'll need at least one court suit,” Cody said, and at least the order with a clear outcome was easier to swallow. He wondered if once they got to the shop, he could beg Cody to just pick out what he wanted for him instead of making him choose himself. 

Tarkin had always picked out his outfits, on the rare times they went somewhere he wasn't expected to be in his uniform. 

“Alright,” he said, determined not to let that slip. Comparing Cody to Tarkin again felt like it would break something, even if he wasn't sure what. “Lead the way,” he said, and followed Cody instead of bolting. 

That time Wolffe seemed content to let Thorn follow the closest on his heels. 

Chapter Text

“You cannot be serious,” Fox said, lifting the arm of the suit in front of him, snapping Cody out of turning reeling from the gene therapy decommissionings over in his mind endlessly, like he had been ever since Thorn said it. His mind felt like a rodent trapped on a wheel, unable to jump off, obsessed with wondering what the heck Thorn meant. 

“What's wrong with it?” he asked. 

“Have you seen the price?” Fox asked, and they'd spread out more, in the store. Rex and Crosshair had taken Thorn to one side of the luxury goods store, showing off the imported foodstuff, some from as far away as the core. 

Few clones were rich in the way the core worlds were, but the store did well with those looking for little luxuries to round out their homes, or treats on special occasions. The visiting dignitaries also enjoyed the novelty of a clone planet offering them the sort of goods they found at home in the highest end shopping districts. 

“It's hardly more expensive than anything else,” Cody said after a beat. 

“For this?” Fox insisted, scandalized. “Cody, this shopkeeper is pulling one over on you. It's three seasons out of date, the weave of the fabric is atrocious, and it's three times more than it would have been when it was in season.”

Bacara had materialized out of somewhere as they walked into the luxury store, stopping at the corner dedicated to the few things the clones produced themselves that could be considered any kind of luxury item, including what Cody was pretty sure was some of Bacara's own work. Beside him, Thire asked questions, Neyo still hovering at his shoulder. 

“We're also halfway across the galaxy from the Core,” Cody said, bemused. “Of course we wouldn't have the latest fashions, and it costs more to get anything this far.” He hesitated. “If it's not up to your standards, unfortunately, there's not going to be anything better.”

Fox gave him a look verging on horror. “No, that's not–it’s not like that. I'm not,” and he looked away, tucking his head down in a way to shadow his eyes with his curls. “It's fine. If this is what you want me to wear, it's fine.”

“It's not,” Cody wished someone was closer, someone who could maybe help him. He spotted Wolffe for once away from Fox, asking Cipher something while Gleason and Orange watched him. “I want you to have something for public events. I don't care what it is, as long as you're happy in it.”

“You're the one who knows your society,” Fox said, shaking his head. “What would be more appropriate–”

“But you'd be the one wearing it,” Cody said. “It has to be your choice.”

His stomach squirmed, at the way Fox’s eyes widened, before he forced his expression blank. “Of course,” Fox said and walked away, back stiff. He circled the area with the suits twice, running his fingers along the sleeves. 

“While we're here, we need to see about getting you other things.” 

“Like what?” Fox asked, not looking at him, stopping in front of a grey suit. Cody wanted to take him by the shoulder and turn him away from it, but the cut at least was more relaxed, the jacket lapels rounded out to show off the shirt worn underneath it. Maybe with a brighter color, like green or purple, it wouldn't even remind Cody of the grey uniforms Fox and the guard still wore. 

“The back room in my quarters,” Cody said. “I've been using it for storage, but we can convert it for you. There's no reason to keep sleeping on the couch. But, what do you want for it?” 

Fox stood, back straight. He'd also stopped moving, just standing there with his hand resting on the shoulder of the suit. 

“Fox?” Cody asked. 

“Like what?” Fox asked, voice low. He cleared his throat but hadn't moved again. 

Cody frowned. “Anything? A bed, obviously, but how big? What kind of sheets do you want? It's not a big room but there's a closet, you could have a chair, a bookcase, anything you–” he stopped when Fox dropped his hand and took an abrupt step backwards. “Fox?” 

“Stop it,” Fox said, not looking at him. 

“Stop what?” Cody asked. 

“Stop asking me–”

“Asking you what? Fox, this is going to be your life. You deserve to be as happy in it as possible–” 

“Stop asking me for things I can't give you,” Fox snapped. 

“What you can't give me? Fox, I asked you what sheets you like,” Cody said, because once upon a time he'd seen Fox angry quite often. He'd never been good at keeping either of them calm, once he got like that. 

“I don't know!” Fox said. “How would I know something like that? You think I've had a chance to test them out before? To compare types of sheets until I found one I liked? Got to order them for the rest of the Guard? You keep asking me what I want, but we haven't even dealt with the Guard yet–”

“Because we got married,” Cody said. “It's still morning. Pick out a suit, and we'll get enough to set up the room–” 

“Pick out, like it's that easy,” Fox hissed. 

“It is for most people!”

“I don't know!” Fox said, and Cody wasn't sure what exactly he meant. “I don't know which suit to pick or the sheets or–”

“Then just close your eyes, feel some, and pick one at random! You just can't keep sleeping on the couch–” 

Something happened behind Fox's eyes, too quick for Cody to process. “Is that it? Pick out your own sheets or what, sleep in your bed with you?”

Cody stared at him, face lax in shock. “How–how in the heck–?”

But Fox didn't answer, because Fox wasn't there anymore. He didn't quite run, but he moved fast enough to be at the door and outside again before Cody had even begun to process the motion. 

Thorn followed him immediately, cutting Rex off mid sentence. 

When Cody finally caught his breath, he found Thire in front of him, arms crossed. He did not ask Cody what had just happened, he waited instead for Cody to get smart enough to tell him. 

“I was just asking him to pick things out,” Cody said, after only a mildly awkward pause. “He's going to live here now, he should have more than,” and he made a vague gesture, about the size of the kit Thire had dropped off for him. “At least something that isn't just your uniform. A bed. A dumb bookcase.” 

“Oh,” Thire said, and then sighed heavily, the others closing ranks around them again now that Fox had bolted. The three Tubies did not leave, but nor did they come closer. 

“Thire,” Cody said, almost pleading for an answer, or for him to yell at him, if it would help explain what just happened. 

Thire sighed again. “It's hard–if you weren't there it's hard to wrap your head around. But you can't pressure Fox to make decisions like that.” 

“You mean about what color suit to wear?” Cody asked in some disbelief. Fox had been Commander of the Guard for thirteen years. He must have been used to much more dire decisions.

Thire looked distinctly unimpressed. “Under Palpatine, choices were a game designed to make you lose, no matter what you picked. Even if you thought you found the least bad option, you lost.” 

Cody stopped breathing. 

“And even the most basic things, like tastes, or preferences, were just a way to lose those things. Kriff, Cody, Fox doesn't even pick out his own food anymore, didn't you notice?”

And Cody had, without registering it. “I–not directly. Was that why Orange handed him his plate this morning?” 

One of Thire's brows twitched up. “Probably. It helps if you don't look like you picked it out for him, but just decided to pass it along.”

“That's extreme,” Rex said, but it sounded more considering than judgemental. From Thire's expression, he seemed to read it more the second way. 

“We lived in extreme times,” Thire said dryly. “You don't move past a decade of issues after a couple of nights.”

“Wait, I don't understand,” Wolffe said. “Fox, what? Refuses to pick things out for himself, because he thinks showing he likes something means it will be taken away from him?” Thire gave him a look like he was an idiot for needing to ask, but then Wolffe added, “Like caf?” 

“Oh,” Thire said quietly. “You tried this morning, didn't you?” 

Wolffe nodded, miserable. “How could someone take away something you love, though? What did they do?” 

“By giving you such an awful experience with it you throw up whenever you smell it for the next month,” Thire said, toneless, like that was the only way to get the words out. Cody thought he wheezed out his next breath, trying not to imagine what something like that could even be. 

Thire stood, kind enough to wait for that to sink in before speaking again. “Also, he shouldn't have stimulants of any kind without a medic signing off on it. Medics orders. They were all relieved when they could finally institute that one on our way off Coruscant. They'd had it ready to go for ages. I personally tend to not want to tick them off.”

“Acknowledged,” Wolffe said finally. 

“Is all the Guard like that?” Neyo asked, voice careful and level. Thire looked over at him. “Issues with fear of things being taken away from you?”

“Fox had the worst of it,” Thire said, hesitating again, like he really needed to stop and think about each word carefully. “He was the Commander, he carried what happened to all of us.”

Like the gene therapy decommissionings, Cody barely didn't ask. Thorn has dropped that into the conversation like everyone already knew about it, and Cody desperately wanted to know as much as he didn't. 

“Sounds like a case of decision fatigue made worse by traumatic events,” Crosshair drawled, everyone looking at him. “Surprised it didn't happen to more Commanders, anyway.”

Rex arched a brow. 

“What?” Crosshair huffed, offended they were surprised. “I read the books you leave around everywhere.”

“That's news to me,” Rex said, and Cody still had no idea if Crosshair was just Rex's roommate because he never left after staying the night one time, or if they'd gotten secretly married at some point in the last nine years. 

He wondered if even Crosshair actually knew. He presumed Rex did. 

“I can't not ask him to pick things,” Cody said. “He's been forced into enough already, I can't keep dictating his life to him.” 

Finally Thire's expression softened a little. “Commendable as that is, you might have to ease him into things.” 

Cody looked over helplessly at where Orange stood with the other two, defensive and clearly listening. 

“Heck,” he muttered, remembering the pleased way Fox had looked for a second when he'd given him the sunglasses, right after the shock wore off his face. They weren't the expensive or sleek kind, an aggressively cheerful lime green, but Cody had noticed him squinting and wanted to surprise him with something useful. 

He hadn't asked him, just given him something Cody thought he'd like. 

It had been the happiest Fox had been all day. 

But then something else finally processed. 

“Thire,” he said, carefully, slowly. “When you said Palpatine made choices a game that you couldn't win, did that predate the establishment of the Empire?” 

Thire's eyes widened before his expression slammed shut. “That is a question you're going to have to ask Fox,” he said, even though they both knew Fox would be unlikely to answer it. 

But now that he held the thought in his hands, fragile and tiny as it was, it became blatantly clear Cody may have been wrong about one of the most important things: he no longer knew why Fox stayed behind on Coruscant, or if he'd actually felt like he had a choice. 

Or how much Fox had lied to him during that final, brutal conversation they'd had on Coruscant, right before the GAR left. 

“I gotta go talk to him,” he said, turning for the door. 

“Cody,” Rex started to say. 

“Alone!” Cody said, waving a hand over his shoulder as he left, passing Bacara who watched him with some consideration sparking in his gaze. 

Cody didn't find Fox immediately, but he remembered the night before, when he'd followed Fox out of the reception hall. He'd retreated somewhere quieter, and had been breathing hard when Cody came out. 

Like it had been a panic attack. 

That meant it was unlikely Cody would find him in any of the stalls or shops. Cody turned for the small park off the shopping district, one wrapped around a pond. In the winter it froze and they did ice skating on it, and in the summer there were enough trees to give it a good amount of shade. 

He found Thorn first, blond braid hanging down his neck as he sat on one of the benches, arm thrown along the back of it. Beside him, more in the shade, Fox sat with his elbows on his knees, watching a mixed group of children playing tag. 

As he approached, Thorn looked up. He had a similar expression to Thire's, but as Cody got closer he stood up and walked past him without a word. Watching him go, Cody turned back to find Fox watching him out of the corner of his eye. 

Silently, Cody came around and sat on the bench, hands on either side of his thighs. Beside him, Fox straightened up and leaned over sideways instead, one elbow on the arm of the bench. 

For a little while they sat there, watching the kids run back and forth. 

“Cody,” Fox started. 

“No,” Cody said, Fox snapping his mouth shut. “No, Fox. I'm sorry.”

Fox blinked at him, silently processing. “Why?”

“Because I know literally nothing about your life in the Empire,” Cody said, Fox leaning harder on his elbow and bracing his cheek on his right hand, watching Cody cautiously. The sunglasses were perched on top of his head, the green standing out against his dark and silver curls. “Because I keep tripping over my mouth and saying things that are wrong.” 

“You're not the only one,” Fox murmured, careful. 

“But it's my fault I keep doing it,” Cody said. “You deserve better.”

“Cody, it's been three days, including today,” Fox said. “Actually, since we landed in the afternoon, it's basically been two days. You can't cover ten years in two days–” 

“Fox,” Cody cut in. “I hurt you, and I'm sorry.”

He did not like the way Fox gaped at him before he looked away abruptly, the sound of the kids playing drifting across the water towards them. 

“Thire got angry at me,” Cody said, Fox glancing over from the corner of his eyes. “Or rather, disappointed. He said–you started having trouble with picking things that revealed you might like them, because the things you liked could be taken away.”

Fox stayed still, expression blank like it had been when he came down the ship. 

“It lines up with what you said about Orange,” Cody continued. “That while the others had their own little squads, you just had him. Because it was wiser, you said.” Cody took a deep breath. “I honestly don't know how to handle even half the things I've been told since you got here. I have these notions in my head that aren't true, but I still only know what any of you are willing to tell me. So,” he took another breath. “If what Thire said was true, and I upset you by pushing you to make choices before you were ready, we can work on that.”

“How?” Fox asked, voice low. 

“Like you tackle any problem,” Cody said. “One step at a time.”

He didn't like the way Fox frowned at him. 

“And if you need me to decide today, on the things I don't think I can live with you not having, that's fine,” Cody said. “I can do that. Nothing has to be set forever.”

“What do you think I can't live without?” Fox asked, cautious still. 

“At least one outfit,” Cody said. “The uniforms–I do understand. It shows unity among the Guard, and you're used to it. But–”

“It would help integration, if we weren't always wearing it,” Fox said. 

Cody nodded, hating it a little. “Sleep clothes.”

Fox arched his brows. 

“Wolffe will keep barging in most mornings,” Cody said. “Or Rex. Or Leif. Or Boil. Or anyone. You should have something comfortable to be in, that's all. You don't have to sleep in your uniform.” Another breath. “A bed. Sheets. Any other additions or furniture can wait, but you'll have your own room. I'll get a selection of food too, even if I find just ordering from the kitchen easier. Just tell me what you don't want, I'll pick out the rest. Is that acceptable? Can you handle that much today?” 

As he spoke, Fox watched him without overtly moving, his lean sinking more into a slouch. “You're being very understanding.”

“I'm trying,” Cody said. “Because no matter what else has happened, no matter how insane it's been,” and he looked down, at Fox's left hand resting on the bench between them, the sunlight peeking through the leaves above them catching on the gemstones in his ring every once and a while. Unable to help himself he fumbled out, taking Fox's left hand in both of us. “Because I missed you, Fox. I've missed you so much, for ten years.” 

The fact Fox seemed startled by that felt unbearably heavy in Cody's chest. “I was awful to you,” he whispered. “The last time we spoke–” 

Cody remembered, the conversation that haunted him for all the long years they were apart. Fox had been vicious and brutal when he told Cody the Guard had chosen to stay, throwing not just his choice in Cody's face, but his feelings for Cody, too. 

Whatever Cody thought they had, or whatever they might have the chance to become, was just a dream, Fox said. Because Fox didn't feel that way at all, and Cody had just been too blind and self-centered to notice.

“You were,” Cody agreed, squeezing Fox's hand. “It didn't stop me from missing you every single day.”

Fox stared at him, before he slowly twitched the fingers of his hand, until Cody let him turn it enough to press their palms together. “Every day?” he asked like it was a revelation. 

“Every day,” Cody said. 

“I've never made anything easy in my entire life, Cody,” Fox whispered. 

“That's alright,” Cody said, and something about Fox's eyes gave him the courage to lift his hand, pressing his mouth against the top of the ring he'd handed him the day before. “I'm a very stubborn man. I can handle a lot, from you.”

“Because you missed me?” Fox asked, a wavering, vulnerable sort of question that felt strange coming from Fox. 

“Yeah,” Cody said, gently placing his hand back down on the bench. He didn't pull his hand back, just held Fox's loose enough he could pull it out of Cody's grip if he wanted to. 

“Was there really no one, Cody?” Fox asked, a little firmer, but wistful. “When you said you never courted anyone?”

“No one that lasted long enough for a relationship,” Cody settled for. In that way, he'd ended up a lot like Neyo, though even Neyo had managed to have a few relationships last longer than a week, even if they all eventually crashed and burned. Sometimes they had a drink together about their mutual misery. Cody just hadn't realized they were both longing for someone separated by half the galaxy. “Maybe I just never had the time.”

Or maybe they just weren't you. 

Fox considered him for a long time. “Not even a hard working dockhand from the space port, who promised to show you the wonders of the nearby systems, but had a bit of a gambling problem?” he asked, very seriously. 

Cody frowned at him, trying to figure out he could even be talking about, before the memory clicked. “No,” he said, and realized Fox was pressing his lips down hard on each other, even as his eyes pinched up. 

The Commander of the Coruscant Guard was trying not to laugh at him. 

The Commander of the Coruscant Guard had just brought up one of the love interests of the fictional prime minister from Our Minister's Palace. 

The Commander of the Coruscant Guard was making a joke at his expense, and it made Cody’s chest squeeze up painfully, because that was an old move of Fox's, whenever he felt more vulnerable than he liked. 

“No,” Cody repeated, half out of shock, and half playing along. “How. How do you even know about that show–” and Fox gave up, laughing in his face. “Fox how do you know about that show–?”

“Because we watched it,” Fox said through his giggles. 

“We?” Cody demanded in horror. “The Guard watched Our Minister's Palace?” 

Fox nodded, covering his mouth with one hand. 

Cody hadn't seen him laugh since–

Well, since before the war ended. 

He could probably live with it being over the most aggravating thing Boil had ever done to him. “You know Boil produced that show, right?” 

“What?” Fox asked, eyes widening. “He didn't.”

“He did, that ungrateful bastard,” Cody agreed. “I saved his hide how many times during the war? And now he produces holodramas. He says pissing me off is the only time he feels alive now,” and Fox dissolved into another round of laughing, like it surprised him that he still was. 

Like it hurt, a little, to laugh so much. 

“Poor Cody, they even filmed in your palace–” 

“Only when I wasn't there, thank the Force,” Cody grumbled.

“Did you hate it, so terribly?” Fox asked, when he could breathe again. 

“Well, I didn't enjoy it,” Cody said. 

“I did,” Fox admitted, and Cody felt the world tilt to the side. “I liked to think maybe even a little bit of it was true. That someone got to adore you.”

Did you choose to stay, or not? Cody wanted to ask, wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he answered. 

Now that Cody has cracked the door on his memories of the last time he spoke to Fox, he couldn't stop thinking about it. The way Fox had so neatly bundled up all Cody's fears and insecurities and said they were true. The embraces and warmth and late night comms to each other, where Cody whispered his secrets and Fox promised he would hold together until the end of the war, had all meant nothing. 

They'd launched themselves into this marriage without once asking how do you feel about me now?

Because Cody had been terrified to hear the answer if it was the same as when Fox had met his eyes and said, “Maybe I never loved you half as much as you thought you loved me.”

Now, Fox sounded wistful. Like–

Like maybe he had missed Cody, too, despite what he’d said that day.  

“I've not been unhappy here,” Cody settled for, Fox watching him now with dark eyes. “Even without a hard working dock hand. Or, what was the other one? The gardener?” 

“Don't forget the finance minister,” Fox said. “Though, he was obviously always meant to just be a snake to make the others look better.”

When Cody gave him a horrified look, he snickered again. “You honestly watched it,” Cody said. 

“I made a pocket for the holodisc I put the episodes on in my boot, just so it wouldn't be taken in an inspection,” Fox said and Cody felt his jaw drop. Realizing what he said, the tops of Fox's cheeks darkened in embarrassment. 

Cody cleared his throat, looking out over the park again before he pushed himself to his feet. He turned, holding his hand out to Fox, who didn't take it yet. “Are you up to going back to the others?” Cody asked. “I'll stick to the list I gave you, I promise.”

For a fragile moment, Fox stared up at him, and Cody felt the depth of his eyes in his chest. Then Fox reached out, taking his hand and letting Cody pull him to his feet. 

All Cody had touched of Fox since he landed was his hands, but he wished he could hold onto it, the way lovers often did as they walked together. He wanted to learn all of his callouses all over again, the shape of his knuckles. 

Instead he dropped it as soon as Fox was on his feet. “If you're feeling really good,” Cody continued, forcibly casual. “You might consider letting Wolffe pick out the suit. He's the most fashionably inclined of all of us. Probably wouldn't even go for red.”

Fox flickered his eyes to him and away. “I'll think about it,” he said, and they found Thorn standing outside the door to the shop Fox had fled from earlier, the others perhaps still inside and waiting. 

He looked between Fox and Cody, waiting until Fox nodded back at him to open the door, holding it for them to walk through. 

Cody still wanted to ask Fox dozens of questions, about the Tubies, about the reference to decommissioning Guards, about what the gene therapy had done to them, about the empire and Emperor, about why he'd really stayed. 

But watching Fox hesitate and then approach Wolffe, he felt a glimmer of hope that maybe they would have the time to figure it out. 

Maybe even the rest of their lives. 

Chapter Text

Somehow, Fox was still breathing by the time they returned from the markets, Cody saying something about cleaning the backroom out that afternoon after lunch. Fox headed for the Guard barracks, and their mess hall, instead of staying. He did not want to be there when things were delivered. 

“How is this going to work?” he asked Thorn in despair, when he saw all the Guard clumped together and waiting for their return. “We went to an open air shopping district and the Guard is acting like I was on a second trial.”

“It's still only been two days,” Thorn said. “Really, we're just starting what would be the third day from the time we landed.” 

“Can you blame them for being on edge?” Thire asked, Stone joining them, looking Gleason over as he did so, checking on him. “We got here, and you got married.”

“Cody promised we would discuss the Guard at dinner,” Fox said, and he'd shoved the sunglasses back up in his hair, Stone eyeing them once he'd confirmed Gleason was whole and healthy. “So we need to hammer out as many of the details of our plan as possible, to present to them.”

“Did we change any of our minds?” Stone signed, looking at the other three Commanders. 

“No,” Fox said. 

“Wait, maybe,” Thorn protested. 

“No, your plan is still a good one,” Fox said. 

“In the plan, you came with us,” Thorn said. 

“Some of the Guard was always going to stay in the capital,” Fox said, defensive, because he had never actually promised Thorn that. “It doesn't change the rest of it. We can't all stay here, camped out on Cody's lawn. We can't even just take over a section of the city, it looks too much like a power grab. And, you were always right, not all of us want to live in a city. The Tubies especially deserve the chance to try something else.” 

Orange made an offended sound under his breath. “Not you, Orange,” Thire said, amused. “It's just the ones who want to go.” 

“I don't even have to ask about you,” Thorn said, looking at Thire. 

He shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Stone?” Thorn asked, looking over, because Stone had originally volunteered to stay in the city, when Fox had been hedging on what he wanted to do. Or expected to be able to do. Thorn had spent the time since the asylum offer drawing up plans, a settlement for the Guard, a place of their own to finally do whatever they wanted. 

It was a dream, until the Kebii'tra government approved it. They hardly had the funds to set up a whole town, but neither had any of the rest of the clones when they first landed. Hopefully the grants that had been offered then might be offered now. 

The last thing the Guard wanted to do was split up more than necessary. They had no intention of dispersing into other towns in small clumps. 

Stone stopped, considered, and then shook his head. “I don't know,” he signed. “I have to think on it.” 

“I don't know how formal Cody was planning on this being,” Fox said. “We should be as coherent about the plan and our goals as possible, if we're going to present it.” He took a deep breath. “I should also probably tell him I gave him the wrong number for the Guard.”

Stone and Thire both looked at him, with different levels of pity. “Did you think about it?” Thire asked softly. 

Fox shook his head. “It was automatic.”

“We should ask,” Stone signed. “About possible locations that are not too far away.”

“Take a poll of the folks we have,” Thire said. “No binding resolution, but to get a sense of who wants to go, and who wants to stay in the hypothetical.” 

“We might still end up taking over a section of town,” Thorn muttered, and Fox fiddled with the ring, this time turning it around his finger with his right hand. 

“Has anyone seen our 501st crew?” he asked. 

“Training room,” Stone signed, and Fox nodded, heading there while the others huddled with Thorn. He was determined to keep moving, to flutter around the barracks putting out little fires. 

Anything to keep from thinking about the dry brush of Cody's mouth against his knuckles, the calluses on his hands that time had not changed. He ran his fingers along the perimeter of where Cody’s mouth had been, and dropped both his hands when he realized what he was doing. 

Instead of stopping to bang his head against the wall, he kept walking. 

-

Fox frowned, walking into the room and finding dinner being served, instead of the buffet style he'd come to expect from the last several days. “Is this usual for dinners?” he asked, sitting down on Cody's left, Rex on his right, like he always seemed to be. 

Thorn squished himself into Fox's left, Thire and Orange taking the seats immediately across, and Wolffe sitting down with Stone at the other end of the table, looking mildly annoyed. It struck Fox, that it was a roundly shaped table, so no one, not even Cody, could be at the head . 

The Imperials may have liked round tables for briefings, but never for dinners. Group dinners like this he had been forced to attend had almost always been hosted by Tarkin, who sat proudly at the head of the table with Fox to his left.

Realizing he’d seated himself automatically in the same position settled uncomfortably in his stomach.

“Not always,” Cody said, mildly, like he hadn't perhaps planned this based on what he’d learned about Fox that day. “Diplomats and visiting dignitaries love it, though, so we always try to mix them in so the staff gets to practice without the pressure.”

“Right,” Fox said, as a plate was set down in front of him. “The staff.”

Leif was there, and Gleason, and a few other clones Fox still didn't know the names of. At least he'd finally figured out Crosshair’s name, the rather stretched out clone sitting next to Rex. 

Still, he was grateful Wolffe was several seats down, still off balance from earlier. They'd barely spoken, in the end, Cody and Wolffe doing most of the work picking out the suit. The first one Wolffe offered had been rejected by Cody, but the second one seemed suitable to both of them. 

Later, Fox would have to ask Cody what color it was, because he hadn't been able to tell in the shop, not willing yet to reveal to everyone that he wouldn't know. It seemed Cody had guessed that too, telling him the color of the cheap sunglasses when he'd given Fox those, but not the color of the suit. 

Fox glanced at the shallow bowl as it was set in front of him, Thorn handing him a roll from the center of the table before he could reach for one himself. Deciding the soup looked inoffensive, Fox took the roll, and wished he'd paid more attention to the fact he hadn't been allowed to pick out his own food in years. 

At Imperial galas, Tarkin had taken to doing it. Around the Guard, he'd noticed only it seemed easier to take food from someone else than pick it out himself. It had never occurred to him how strange it was that someone always had extra food on their plates to share, or that they so quickly were willing to hand over their own. 

Now the awareness prickled down his back, as much as the fact that Cody knew too. 

And had arranged a dinner, trying to sidestep the issue entirely, by delivering food right in front of Fox. 

It was like in the park bench, Cody laying out the rest of the shopping trip like a battle plan, and Fox caught in his wake. 

The worst part was it had been easier. 

Fox finished the soup, and the roll, and finally looked at Cody doing his best to not be caught staring back. “Do you want to talk about the Guard?” he asked, trying not to be worried. 

“Do you?” Cody asked, careful. 

Their caution with each other, especially after that morning, almost felt funny. They never could have imagined talking to each other like this as cadets. 

“You are the one that offered us asylum,” Fox said, hesitating as something else was put in front of him. He did a quick scan, decided the noodles looked like the chewy ones he'd had in the mess hall, and were thus probably fine. 

“They're still your people, Fox,” Cody said, and he fiddled with the glass in front of him, turning it around on the table. It was his right hand, and the metal ring on his first finger caught the light as he moved it. 

Fox tried not to feel relieved just at that, as all Cody had said was they could speak first. 

“We've been discussing the idea of a settlement for the Guard,” Fox said, and beside him Cody went very still. “We can't stay here, not all of us. Some of us have never had the chance to be outside the city. Some would stay here,” and suddenly Cody seemed to breathe again. Fox hesitated, thrown by that. “And some would go.”

“You'd split up?” Leif asked, Cody watching Fox. 

“We can't all stay here,” Fox repeated. “Not just because some of us don't want to, but because of how it'd look, too. I saw the grants you used to give to new settlers. I know it's been a long time, but–” 

“They didn't have an exact expiration date,” Wolffe pipped up from down the table. 

“We never defined it,” Leif said, not quite a correction.

“What would you do?” Cody asked, careful, cautious. 

Fox looked at Thorn, uncertain.

“You’ve had ten years on this planet,” Thorn said, just as careful as anyone else had been. “What is still needed?”

“We always need farms,” Leif said, and one of the clones Fox didn’t know yet nodded, expression serious. He had a massive tattoo along one side of his face, but done in such a way Fox couldn’t make out if it was supposed to be anything. “Food, livestock. Ranching, that would be easy to do on the plains to the East of here.”

“How far away would it be, for there to be space for that?” Thorn asked, and Fox stayed still beside him, because this had been Thorn’s dream, when he dared to dream about anything at all. 

He would tilt his head back to the sky, after some night where they stayed up all the way through, watching the sunrise before slinking back inside, exhaustion heavy on their shoulders. “ What would it be like,” Thorn would whisper, the first brush of dawn in his eyes. “To live somewhere where you could always see the horizon?”

Back then, Fox hadn’t even been able to offer the hope that someday they would find out. 

“There’s still tons of space,” Rex said. “We’ve mostly stayed on this continent, though some are talking about going to some of the smaller ones up North.”

“This was the most temperate, and even it gets a long, bitterly cold winter,” Wolffe said. “I’m good staying as close to the equator as possible.”

“But it does mean there is space,” Rex said. “Not that far away. It’s not a bad idea, to create somewhere of your own.”

There appeared to be some relief in his voice too, that at least some of the Guard was talking about leaving, and not all staying in the capital. 

“Do you have any idea how many would want to go?” Cody asked. 

“There is another thing, first,” Fox said, before Thorn could hedge. “We–I, gave you the wrong number, when we were leaving Coruscant.”

He bit down on offering more of an explanation than that, watching only Cody as Cody stared back at him long enough he must have figured out what Fox hadn’t said. 

“I understand,” Cody said finally. “Can you get the updated numbers to me by tonight?”

Searching his face for any anger and finding none, Fox nodded. 

“And if there’s a preliminary idea of who among the Guard plans on staying, and who wants to go–”

“Yes,” Fox said quickly. “We have that, too.”

Cody still turned the glass on the table around and around as he considered Fox, and Fox tried not to focus too hard on the ring on his right hand, keeping his gaze up on his face. 

“Good,” Cody said finally. “We’ll spend the next few days figuring it out. Where it should be, what the Guard will need. And what those staying here will need, where they’ll go. We’re still a fairly frontier planet, even after ten years. We always can use the help to keep building what we want to be.”

Fox wet his lips and nodded, not wanting to bring up the question of bringing people with them. There would be time for that in the next few days. It wasn’t just Thorn’s children, but the other children of the Guard they’d secreted away to orphanages all over Coruscant, the contacts they’d built over the years who might jump at the chance to leave the core worlds behind. 

“Do you want animals in the revised numbers?” Thire asked, breaking Fox out of his thoughts. He and Cody both turned to frown at him.

“You mean like the massiffs?” Cody asked.

“And the tookas,” Thire said, and Fox stared.

“There are tookas in the Guard?” Cody asked, confused.

“Well, we only sneaked a couple on board,” Thire said, and beside him Orange buried his face in his hands. “But some others stowed themselves away, and then one of them had kittens, so we’ve ended up with a few more than we expected.”

At least it broke some of the tension in the room, as multiple people looked at Thire in confusion and Thorn tried not to laugh, Stone leaning back and grinning. 

“I remember,” Cody said finally, like it had taken him a while. “You would randomly send me comms with tookas in them. During the war. You said you fed them behind the Senate.” He paused. “Did you keep doing that?”

“Yeah,” Fox settled for, an understatement. 

The corner of Cody’s mouth twitched, like he was pleased, and when Fox’s plate was taken away, he didn’t even protest about the fact he’d forgotten to eat anything on it.

-

Dogma sat against the halfwall around the sparring ring, arms dangling off the wall as he looked down at Echo sitting with his back to the other side of it. “You finally wear yourself out?” he asked, aiming for casual. 

“Sure,” Echo said, except he had a datapad in his lap, sweat still on his neck above the training shirt. 

Humming, Dogma looked around the empty room. He’d been sitting there long enough his knees were starting to hurt, but he knew better than to leave Echo alone. “You ready to talk about it yet?”

“About what?” Echo asked, and usually he wasn’t this bad at dodging. 

“About why you’re hiding here, instead of talking to Rex?” Dogma asked, and Echo stopped, before he tilted his head back, finally looking up at Dogma. 

“You haven’t either,” Echo said. 

Dogma shrugged. “I was waiting for you. Also, while I doubt anyone holds a grudge, Umbara was not a time I endeared myself to anyone. You’re the one everyone thought died over a decade ago. Is there a reason you’re not running into Fives’ arms like a holodrama right now?”

“Fives isn’t on the planet,” Echo said. “Fox told me.”

“Rex’s arms?” Dogma asked. “Are you worried about something, Echo?”

After a moment, Echo turned and rose to his own knees, facing Dogma. Like this, both of them staring at each other over the halfwall, Echo wasn’t taller than Dogma, the way he was when he stood on his prosthetics. “There’s too much going on. The Guard need me more.”

Dogma arched a disbelieving brow. “Really?”

Echo looked away for a second, before meeting Dogma’s eyes again. It still surprised Dogma sometimes, the fact he was the one of all possible people that Echo opened up to. They’d never met, before Echo’s supposed death, hadn’t gotten along the first time Echo woke up in Guard hands. 

Now they were here, Echo struggling. “What if we’ve changed too much?”

“Do you really think Fives is the type to change that much?” Dogma asked. 

“But what if he did?” Echo asked, strung out on nerves. 

Dogma shrugged. “Then fuck him, you’ll still have us.”

You'll still have me, he didn't even bother to add. 

At first Echo just looked at him, before he huffed out a laugh and leaned forward, knocking their foreheads together, twining the fingers of his flesh hand with Dogma. 

“Isn’t it going to be better to know?” Dogma asked. 

“Yeah,” Echo settled for finally, still leaning against him. “It will probably be better to know.” He hesitated. “In the morning?”

“Fine,” Dogma said. “But I do suspect if you don’t tell Rex yourself you’re still alive, Fox is going to do it for you.”

“You’re still part of this,” Echo mumbled. “He’ll be excited to see you, too.”

Dogma hummed again, not wanting to go around the way things had gone on his first major battle with the 501st. “Again, no one thought they saw me die in a heroic manner. It’s a little different.” 

“If you say so,” Echo said, and Dogma pulled back to push himself to his feet, holding a hand back down to help Echo clamber up to his feet. 

“Come on,” Dogma said. “You haven’t been sleeping, and don’t give me the you don’t need as much sleep with your implants thing.”

“Were you always this bossy?” Echo teased, as if he didn’t know the answer. 

“From my decanting day onward,” Dogma shot back, the well worn reply to the question. Still, it made him feel marginally better when Echo climbed over the halfway and let him drag him back to the bunk rooms without letting go of his hand. 

He felt significantly better when Echo curled up in the bunk beside him, their usual sleeping arrangement that felt more somehow, with the thought of Fives hanging over them both.

-

Cody lay on his back in bed, trying not to strain his ears to hear Fox move around in the living room. The back room had been cleared out, but the bed wasn’t being delivered until the morning. It meant another night of Fox on the couch, and Cody kept thinking of it, of him lying there under the sunset colored blanket. 

He kept turning around the way Fox had looked at him on the park bench, the way he’d been waiting for Cody to lash out when Fox admitted at dinner the Guard hadn’t trusted him. The way he’d smiled when Thire admitted to sneaking the tookas from Coruscant to Kebii'tra.

How in the Force was he supposed to sleep with Fox on the other side of his door, without the exhaustion from the day before to wear him down?

When only silence greeted him, he rolled over, grabbing the datapad he left by his bedside table and pulling up the holopics he would have sworn to everyone he didn’t have. 

He’d never had a soap opera to pin his longing on, had never even thought that Fox might have been watching any of them. Instead, what he had was saved shots out of news reports, clips from newsreels, and formal declarations from the Empire, all from every public appearance where he could pick Fox out of the crowd. 

Fox lay right outside the door, but he still found himself flipping through his stash of files, trying to see if he could line up any of the images with things he’d heard since the Guard landed. 

Stopping on an image he felt it like a blow when he realized how often Fox stood next to Tarkin, the way he tilted his head toward the other like he was listening intently in so many of them, Tarkin standing over him. Speech after speech, it was Tarkin in the front or right behind the Imperial giving it, and Fox tucked in beside him. 

Then there were the short clips out of news reports. In one, that Cody replayed far more often than he should have, Fox stood in the same grey uniform he wore everywhere now, helmetless for once. When he turned to walk off the dias where Tarkin had declared something Cody couldn’t even remember, Tarkin had placed a hand on his lower back, looking at him as they walked. 

In the clip, Fox looked over and up at him, expression fathomless, and Cody had wondered about it then, but he never had arrived at a possible answer. 

Now, he wanted to throw the datapad away from him like it burned, watching the tiny form of Tarkin putting his hand on Fox’s back. 

Finally he tossed the datapad away and covered his face with both hands. 

Except then, all he could think about was the way Fox had looked at him when he kissed his hand, right over the wedding ring. At least it was nothing like the way Fox had looked at Tarkin, in that colorless version of Coruscant that had come with the Empire. 

Chapter Text

Fox found Thire as the first fingers of dawn touched the sky, turning the fluffy morning clouds a soft pink. 

“You could have slept in,” Thire remarked, and Fox rolled his eyes. 

“So could you,” he said, and many of the Guard were already up, the first wave in the middle of their morning runs. They were going in small groups, crisscrossing the palace grounds so no one watching would guess at exactly how many of them were out. Thire had been in the middle of stretching while he watched some of the Tubies head back to the barracks, the second group starting their runs while the first hit the sonics and then breakfast. 

“You're the married one,” Thire said, rolling his shoulders back and giving Fox a challenging look. 

“Doesn't change the need for morning exercise,” Fox said, and took off, trusting Thire to follow him. Stone would have run with the first wave, already back in the barracks, and Thorn would go out with the third group, leaving the second to Thire. Fox hadn't been factored in, able to join whichever group best fit him. 

They may not have done this particular exercise since landing on Kebii'tra, but it was a dance they'd done many times on Coruscant for training. 

At first they ran in silence, an easy pace as the sky got lighter above them. 

“Neyo coming back?” Fox asked, as they went counter to the main group of the Guards, Tubies paired with older members. As they ran opposite each other, Fox used the opportunity to glance over the others, checking for stress or reactions out of the ordinary. 

Mostly, they just looked happy to be outside and moving again. They'd been cooped up on Coruscant, on the ship, and huddled together the first few days since landing. Now at last they were relaxed enough to go for a run. 

Thire snorted beside him, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you worried about something?” 

“Like what?” Fox asked. 

“Like if Neyo, what, took off without telling me?” 

“Well, you have been seen together a lot,” Fox said, keeping his tone as light as he could while still running. “And then he wasn't at dinner last night.”

“Apparently he was Bacara’s ride,” Thire said. “They had to go back to the farm. He lives in town.”

“So, you'll be seen with him again, probably,” Fox said. A gardener seemed to stop and stare as they went past, a wheelbarrow in his hands. 

“Probably,” Thire said, in such a way that implied he didn't want to say more, so Fox dropped it. 

“How is everyone?” Fox asked instead. “When I'm gone?” 

“There's whispers,” Thire said. “Some aren't very happy with how things have shaken out. But mostly everyone understands how we got here, why we're here. There's excitement, about maybe starting to explore this world we're going to be living on.” 

“Good,” Fox said, throat tight. A group of several Tubies ran by, obviously competing with each other while Hound followed behind at a more sedate pace, Grizzer heeling beside him. He waved as they passed, Fox trying not to laugh out loud at Grizzer’s intense look of concentration. “I want them to have that opportunity. But not alone, and not in the dark, yet.”

“That one will go down like a stone tossed off a landing platform,” Thire said. 

“They will survive without experiencing the nightlife until we're more settled,” Fox muttered. 

“The old hands, sure, but the Tubies are not going to like it,” Thire said, amused. 

“So I should look for Orange and Cipher to grab Curtains and climb over the palace wall tonight,” Fox said and ducked his head to hide his smile when Thire laughed, a bright sound in the early morning. 

They passed the front patio of the palace, Fox seeing Cody out of the corner of his eyes. He almost stopped, but instead only glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. 

Sitting on the front steps, wearing what looked like exercise clothes himself, Cody just watched them, elbows on his knees. 

“Looks like Cody likes morning runs too,” Thire said, like he was barely stopping himself from saying it was something they could do together. 

Fox hummed, keeping pace with Thire because otherwise he was going to peel off to sit next to Cody, and he needed the exercise. 

“He said there are apartments in the palace,” Fox said, instead. “If there are some that plan to stay who might want to move in there.”

“You mean, we can move Orange into one tonight,” Thire chuckled. He looked better rested than Fox could remember seeing him in years. 

“Do you think we'd be moving Cipher in with him, or would that be too close to admitting things to us?” Fox asked, and Thire rolled his eyes. 

“They're young,” he said. 

“I know,” Fox said. 

“They're still figuring things out,” Thire added. 

“I know,” Fox repeated. “They could be figuring things out with us.” 

Thire let him get a few steps further. “You ever talk to the Alpha class about Cody?” 

“I would have rather jumped into the ocean,” Fox said, and then scowled at himself, and then Thire. “That's different. We never called Seventeen or any of the others papa.” 

“Still,” Thire said. “They'll let us know when they know.” 

They were almost back to where they started, the first of several laps. Their route was shorter, sticking closer to the palace, where trouble was the most likely to break out if any did. Others went further out, closer to the walls. “What about you?” Fox asked, cautious and scared Thire might tell him no. 

At first Thire didn't respond, just jogging along beside him. “You mean move into the palace.” 

“Apparently Wolffe has a cottage on the grounds,” Fox said, like that was a way out. 

Thire let out a breath, heavier than their pace called for. “Why are we all so bad at this?” he asked. “You say Cody offered us some apartments in the palace, and I'm trying to figure out what the cost would be to stay in them. Work in government? Something else?” 

“At least he probably won't offer you a stipend for marrying him,” Fox said. 

“He didn't mean it like that,” Thire said. 

“I know,” Fox said. “And yet.”

“And yet,” Thire agreed. They went around some of the bushes, turning back toward the front of the palace. “I will, you know,” he said eventually. 

“Will what?” 

“Take up the offer to move in,” Thire said. “It's not like it wasn't likely. It takes pressure off the barracks too, to get some of us out. Shows we’re all actively trying.”

Fox breathed out and then in again. “Cody wanted to show us some of the city. He also said they were doing a clothing drive. It's not like we don't share a size with most of the planet.” 

“Did you tell him where you wanted to go?” Thire asked. 

“Any suggestions?” Fox asked. “I hadn't answered him.”

Thire looked toward where the barracks where, even though they couldn't see it. “What about a school?” he asked, and Fox grinned as they passed by Hound again. 

“Now that is a great suggestion.”

-

When Fox got back to Cody's rooms, he found a stack of boxes tucked inside the door, but no Cody. 

A short time later as he came out of the shower, having picked through all of the lotions and hair care products in Cody's cabinet, he found Cody brewing tea. 

“What's in the boxes?” he asked, Cody glancing over at him. Cody had an actual water shower, the kind Fox had only used on Kamino and in Tarkin's quarters. It meant his fair fell heavy around his face, Cody’s eyes stuck there for a moment. 

“Food, mostly,” Cody said. “To have. Around.” 

Fox looked at them because it was easier than looking at Cody. “Oh.”

“More should be here this afternoon,” Cody said. “The room got cleared out, we can set it up for tonight.” 

“And tour somewhere in the city?” Fox asked, opening the first box and peeking inside. Finding assorted fruit, he hesitated. He wanted one of them, but Cody was still there and would see whatever he picked. 

Finally recognizing the thought for what it was, he grit his teeth and grabbed the top one, covered in a purple skin. Biting into it before he could doubt himself, he carried over another one to Cody, gesturing at him to take it. 

Arching a brow, Cody accepted it and handed him back a mug of tea. 

“Where do you want to go?” Cody asked, leaning back against the counter and eating the offered fruit as he watched Fox, who found it hard to stand still. Instead, he paced around the living area as he finished his own fruit.

“Wherever you think is best,” he said. “Though I would like to see one of the schools. Thorn said Wolffe was hyping them up.”

Cody tilted his head, considering him. “I didn't see any children with the Guard,” he said. “Are you worried about the Tubies? Remedial classes?”

“Their education is fine,” Fox said. “But–well. Some of the Guard had children, back on Coruscant,” and Cody stared at him. “We couldn't risk them being found by Palpatine, so we funneled them to orphanages when we could. I was hoping that maybe, if things–maybe we could find some of them. If they didn't end up with good families.”

“You'd want to bring them here?” Cody asked. 

“If they want to come,” Fox said, shifting a little under the weight of Cody's gaze. “Some would be older than others, now. Have their own opinions.”

“Yes, Fox,” Cody said, like it took some great effort. “If they want to come, we'd accept them too,” and Fox looked away. 

He wondered how Cody would react when Thorn finally admitted some of the children were his own. His case had been unique, because Lithil had refused to take any other option. She wouldn't leave Thorn or their daughters, no matter how he'd begged her to do exactly that before they were found. 

At least Palpatine had died first. 

Fox had been able to do that much for Thorn. 

“So, a school,” he said, and Cody nodded. 

“A school,” he agreed quietly. 

-

Fox had not seen much of the town, on the ride from the space port to the palace, and during the trip to the markets he'd been too focused on getting through that. But now Cody felt expansive, like he needed to show Fox everything. 

It made Fox grind his teeth because otherwise he would become overwhelmed. 

“I think I recognize this street,” Stone signed as they walked, the mid morning sun bright around them. People stopped to stare at them, and Fox ignored them. They had been walking for a while now, Cody getting friendly smiles and waves, and the Guard getting the looks that came immediately after, surprise and distrust in turns. 

“I think you're right,” Thire said, Fox keeping track of a couple that passed, until they were out of range. “Didn't the gardener try a proposal here? The one that absolutely failed, in the third season?” 

“Heck,” Cody whispered, Wolffe giving Thire a befuddled look. 

“That was a terrible scene,” Thorn said. 

“You all watched it?” Cody asked, aggrieved. 

“Of course we all watched it,” Thorn said. “What else were we supposed to do? I swear the street looked different when they entered it than on the show.”

“We have an office that helps any production with OPSEC,” Cody explained. “We make sure they don't film any of the streets straight through, instead we mix them up. No one watching them should be able to figure out the layout of the city.”

“Impressive,” Thorn said after a beat. 

Cody turned to look at them as they passed through the street to the next turn, a much wider thoroughfare. “Wait, if you watched them, why did you say you bet against the planet being called Kebii'tra?”

“Thought you would have made up a name for the shows, maybe,” Thorn shrugged it off. He hesitated when he saw the building in front of them, reading the name off the front. 

Slowly he turned and looked at Fox, like he suspected this was his fault, even as Wolffe brightened. 

“I hope you'll enjoy this,” he said. “We might not have the established schools like the core worlds, but we've already had to expand the school since we built it, and we've recruited some good teachers from surrounding systems. They're nothing like the trainers we had.”

He led the way, Thorn giving Fox another look before following him. Fox hovered in the back of the group, Cody falling in beside him. It made the back of Fox's shoulders itch, wanting to constantly look backwards in case someone was coming for Cody. The casual way he moved through the city felt wrong after years of Palpatine and Coruscant. 

“He's excited about the school,” Fox said. “Wolffe, I mean.”

“He likes kids,” Cody said, and Fox frowned. 

“He does?” he asked, and felt adrift from the fact he had never known that. It shouldn't have surprised him, most clones did. He did.

But he'd never seen Wolffe around kids before. 

“He's got the portfolio for children welfare,” Cody said. “He takes it very seriously.”

Fox almost tripped. “That's his role in your government?”

“Well, one of them,” Cody said. “It's the one he enjoys the most.” Cody hesitated, looked over at him from the corner of his eyes. “Most of us are double or triple booked, to be honest. Not a lot of clones really wanted to go into government. Most of those we got to stick around were commanders, a few commandos. It–you know–it might not be a bad idea. If you wanted to take a portfolio for something. That's got an established pay scale too, so you wouldn't have to worry about that.”

Fox frowned, stopping in front of the door to the school, the others already inside the atrium. “You want to give me a government portfolio?” 

“If you want one,” Cody said. “I mean, as I said, lots of clones don't. But the Guard is part of this world, and you're going to be involved. Symbolically, it would be a good look, proof you're being integrated.”

Someone else was staring at them down the street, and despite Cody's unhappy look as they left that morning, Fox had put the same grey uniform on. He was starting to wonder if the looks were because of the uniform standing out–or because of him specifically. 

“This is about the money thing, isn't it?” Fox asked.

Cody looked like he was trying not to sigh in Fox's face. “It's not not about that,” he said. “But, I should have thought about this first, instead of just offering you a stipend.” 

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Fox considered him. “I'll think about it,” he settled for. 

“I'll get you a list of what's open,” Cody promised, and then reached out, opening the door. He held it, waiting for Fox to go through first, and Fox could not figure out why that made his cheeks feel warm, ducking his head as he walked through. 

Several school administrators already stood talking to the small group, Thorn standing a little apart from the others with his arms crossed over his chest as he listened. Fox stepped up beside him, trying to concentrate on what they were saying, and not on the rapid feel of his heartbeat. 

He felt Thorn glance at him, and did his best to ignore it, even as he twisted the ring around his finger with his thumb, a motion quickly turning into an all too obvious habit. 

As dangerous as that was, he couldn't stop needing to check, to confirm it was still there. Because sometimes he thought he would still wake up, and the buildings around him would be grey, not the cheerful mix of colors on Kebii'tra’s mostly squat buildings. 

He kept touching the ring because it meant this was real. 

When he looked over he realized Cody’s eyes had dropped, watching him fiddle with the ring with an inscrutable expression on his face. 

Fox stopped breathing, but he followed Thorn when the administrators of the school stepped forward, leading them down a hallway. 

And still Fox hadn't actually processed single word they'd said. 

Chapter Text

Fox kept fiddling with his ring. 

Cody was starting to wonder if he even realized what he was doing, standing there and twisting the ring over and over, red gems catching the light. He was also starting to wonder if anyone else noticed, or if he was the only one being driven insane catching the glitter of Fox's ring out of the corner of his eye. 

For that matter, he still didn't understand exactly how Fox's vision worked, and if he could even see how brightly the gems flashed when he moved the ring. He'd have to ask him–or one of the medics, when he asked them about the stimulant ban, too. 

Not that Cody could blame him, entirely, since he kept stopping while doing the most basic tasks as the metal of his own ring kept catching his eye. When he picked up a stylus to sign a datapad, it clicked against the ring, and every time felt like a bit of a revelation. 

It was one thing for him to notice his ring though, and another to stand next to Fox while he constantly drew attention to his own wedding band. 

It distracted him enough he almost didn't notice Thorn's shoulders getting tighter and tighter until they stepped out onto the playground, a group of kids running wild in every direction. It was not the sort of structured squads they had been arranged in, even as the youngest cadets. The children were put in a staggered rotation for the playground, based on rough age groups. 

“A lot of our students are half clone,” the administrator continued, a brother who had been a cadet on the verge of shipping out when the war ended by the name of Grain. He had a thick beard and a warm smile. “But there's also the children of others who moved here, the ones we've adopted from nearby worlds, and some of the younger cadets taken off Kamino. They're just about through the school system now, but some are still in.”

Out in the yard, under the bright sunlight it was very difficult to not notice just how tense Thorn stood. 

“Are there any troubles?” Thire asked, voice low, Grain looking at him, perplexed by the question. 

“Troubles?”

“Between the groups of kids,” Thire said. “On Kamino, it was about conformity. Those with any differences,” and he glanced at Thorn, with his blond hair. “Were mocked for them.”

“No,” Grain said, shaking his head. “There's too many different groups here. As I said, while there are many half clone children, they aren't all with just humans. There are many species in the galaxy clones are compatible with–” and he cut off as Thorn turned and walked away. “Wait–”

But he didn't stop, Fox following immediately on his heels. 

Exactly like Thorn had followed Fox, leaving Cody and Wolffe standing with Stone and Thire, watching them go. “Is he okay?” Grain asked. 

“He got weird at me about kids yesterday, too,” Wolffe said. “Does he not like kids, or something?” 

Cody had been starting to ask the same question. 

“No,” was all Thire said, turning and bending down on one knee when a girl came running up. He did it so quickly, before Cody had even finished processing the purple swirls along one side of her face, let alone the fact she'd been heading for him. 

It struck Cody all at once, that all the Guard was far more used to children than he probably was. 

“Your clothes are funny,” she said. 

Grain made a distressed sound. 

“I didn't pick them myself,” Thire said, easy. 

The child wrinkled her nose. “Then why are you wearing them?”

Grain made another sound, like he wanted to scold her but Thire just grinned, Stone glancing after Thorn and Fox but not moving. Thire held a hand out. “Because sometimes that's just how things are.” 

She gave him a dubious look, before slapping the stone she held in one hand into his open palm, making Cody stare because he hadn't even seen it, or would have expected her to pass it over. “You could use more color,” she said, taking off. 

“Our children aren't usually,” Grain started. 

“She was half clone,” Thire said, considering the stone. “Wasn't she?” 

Grain stopped, looked at Wolffe like he would have an answer. When he didn't, Grain said, “Well. Yes.” 

“We love showing the people around us our little discoveries,” Thire said. “Guess we passed that onto the second generation.”

“Is Thorn alright?” Cody asked, and Thire gave him a long look, as if saying he had no intention of explaining this situation. “You know what, I'll go check on him myself,” Cody decided. Thire hummed, already showing the rock in his hand to Stone, who gave it his own very serious consideration. 

It felt like a funny echo of yesterday, trailing after Fox and Thorn again, but this time he found them inside because Thorn hadn't gotten very far, stopping to lean his head against the nearest wall. Fox stood tucked against his side, one arm across the back of his shoulders. 

“I feel like such an asshole,” Thorn told the wall. 

“Old habits–”

“Shut the fuck up, Fox.”

“–Die hard,” Fox finished, and pressed his cheek against Thorn's, making Cody almost skitter to a stop in surprise. “You needed to know.” 

“They all go to school together,” Thorn mumbled. “On the slide, did you see? Three different species and it didn't matter–” 

“You needed to know,” Fox repeated, rubbing the hand that had been on his shoulder along Thorn’s back for a moment, before he turned and looked at Cody. 

A strange thought settled in Cody's stomach, the way Fox admitting he'd covered their numbers had, the way watching the Guard run that morning had. 

He'd been so busy preparing for their arrival with his own fears and doubts, he hadn't spared much thought to what ones they would have in turn. 

Even with Fox watching him quietly, hand back on Thorn's shoulder like he was protecting him while he pulled himself together, the empty space where their trust for each other should have been suddenly felt fathomless. 

It felt like a much longer time than the few seconds it really was, when Thorn sucked in a breath and straightened. Turning, he knocked his forehead against Fox's quickly and then looked at Cody like he'd already known he was there. “Everything good?” Cody asked. 

“Everything's good,” Thorn said, though his voice sounded thick. 

“This might have been enough for this morning,” Fox said quietly, and Cody nodded. He'd wanted to take them to the memorial garden as well, but decided Fox was probably right. 

There would be time for that particular site later. 

“Come on, then,” he said. “We can get back, have lunch together. I need to attend to some things this afternoon, so if there's anything you need to work out for the Guard,” and he'd been putting a lot off honestly, to spend that time with Fox. 

“Alright,” Fox said, and Wolffe entered with Thire and Stone, Grain still out with the children, the other escort they started with long since pulled into a classroom to settle a minor debate between teachers. 

He wondered if it felt strange to the four Guard, their small group of six roaming back outside the school and onto the street, with no other guards or escorts. 

At first the walk was quiet, Fox haunting Thorn's side and Wolffe looking perturbed. 

“Fox said he'd mentioned the kids,” Thorn said suddenly. “The ones we smuggled into orphanages around Coruscant. About bringing them here.”

“He did,” Cody said, walking a little behind him and Fox on the sidewalk. 

“And you said yes,” Thorn said, like he was testing it out. 

“Yes,” Cody confirmed. 

“The Guard had kids?” Wolffe asked. “Beside the–the Tubies?”

“Birth control is only effective most of the time,” Fox said, Thorn giving him an aggrieved look, and Cody's suspicion about Thorn only ratcheted up. “At some point, every kind in the Galaxy fails.” 

“We had a lot of kids hitting that age at the same time,” Thire added. “Mistakes were made.”

“Not just by the Tubies,” Stone signed, and Thorn looked up at the sky, taking a breath. 

“Not just the Tubies,” he agreed, like there was more he meant to say, he just couldn't yet. 

“Some of our oldest, wisest members of the Guard did a great service to our youngest members by becoming an object lesson in safe sex,” Thire said, looking like he was seconds away from laughing in Thorn's face. 

“You have a kid?” Wolffe asked, quietly, the question stuck in Cody's own throat. “A bio kid?”

“Twins,” Thorn said, like it was hard to say, but once the word was out he looked instantly relieved. “They're twins.” 

“H–how old?” Cody fumbled out, and Thire didn't look like he was about to laugh anymore, all three of them looking like they were about to draw around Thorn. 

“A year,” Thorn said. “Almost exactly.” 

Cody almost stumbled, but Wolffe, if possible, looked more shocked. “And they aren't here?” he demanded. 

Thorn gave them both a hard look. “We were going into unknown territory,” and Cody thought suddenly of the way Thorn had looked, coming down the ramp before the others, the way he'd looked around constantly like he was trying to judge what might be behind every corner since they landed. Thorn had always been one of the more easy going Commanders Cody ever knew, but he hadn't been since they arrived. “And–they’re half Halaisi.”

“We were raised to conform,” Cody said, realizing Thire has been asking the question for Thorn. “You were worried they'd be treated badly here.” 

“Yeah,” Thorn said, softly. “I was worried.”

Cody stood there, because he had to accept that blow. He saw Fox watching him out of the corner of his eyes, like he knew how much that hurt. 

“You have kids!” And Wolffe suddenly lifted Thorn up off his feet, making him yelp. “You have kids! That's amazing! Tell me everything, what are their names?” 

“Put me down and I'll consider it,” Thorn said, whacking his shoulders until he did so. But for the first time since they landed, Thorn looked almost relaxed, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “You’re a brute, you know that?” 

“Thorn, come on,” Wolffe said, and Thorn threw his hands up, like he was exasperated, but his mouth stretched into a wide smile, now that they knew. 

“They're Asyr and Haneli,” he said, and Wolffe looked like he wanted to hug him again. 

“Those are both flowers,” Cody said, when Fox fell into step beside him, Wolffe badgering Thorn with questions as they started walking, Thorn pretending he didn't want to answer them. 

“Yeah,” Fox said. 

“His name is Thorn,” Cody said, even quieter. It surprised him, when he felt Fox reach over, taking his hand as they walked. 

“It helps to breathe through it,” Fox said, looking at him like he knew exactly the way Cody's chest had gone unbearably tight. “And yes, he named his little girls after flowers on purpose. I think Lithil was just pleased he'd finally agreed to any names, instead of waiting for them to be old enough to name themselves.” 

“Is Lithil their mother?” Cody asked. “Did they stay with her?” He hoped desperately the answer was yes and that they hadn't been left in the orphanage.

Thankfully, Fox nodded, and Cody kept getting distracted by his hand again, pressed against his. “She's a stubborn one,” Fox said, like it was a bit of a marvel. “Perhaps the real miracle was they managed six years together before there was an accident at all.”

“Six years?” Cody managed weakly. “She's coming too, right?” 

“With probably most of her family,” Fox said, and despite talking to Cody, despite holding his hand, he kept his eyes roaming up and down the street, always on edge, always aware. Cody wanted to stop, smooth his hands over Fox's brow until the creases disappeared. “They'd love to get off Coruscant, to be honest.”

“That's fine,” Cody said, and the city wasn't large by any means. They were almost back toward the Palace, having wandered further out and then come back toward it to visit the school. “That's–they’re all welcome.” 

Fox glanced at him, his expression hard to read, before someone yelled. Immediately Fox tensed, dropping Cody's hand and bracing himself, but it wasn't an attack. 

Instead a pair of clones had been waiting by the gate to the Palace, speaking quietly with the guard on duty. The yell was one of them recognizing the group as they approached, and he hurled himself through the air at Thire. 

The surprising thing might have been that Thire caught him without thinking about it, confusion instantly turning to his own recognition. 

“Thire, that's really you?” the clone said, grabbing his face in both his hands, and Cody registered the other brother waiting with him as Gree, hands in his pockets and soft smile on his face. Which meant he knew the other clone, too. After all, they'd be married almost practically since the GAR made planetfall on their new homeworld, a decade ago.

“Jek,” Thire said, and he held Jek up like it was easy, arms braced under his thighs. “I almost didn't recognize you with hair.”

“Hair is what got you?” Jek asked, grinning down at Thire. 

Cody should have recognized him instantly. After all, he'd been among the small group of former Coruscant Guards who had transferred out before the end of the war, the ones beside Cody to most loudly insist on the Coruscant Guard being included in the memorial to the war with all the other battalions. 

“And the wrinkles,” Thire said, and he finally set Jek back down. 

“Sir,” Jek said, giving a quick bow of his head to Fox, which made Fox raise his brows when Jek didn't give the same courtesy to Thorn, who he might never have met, nor Stone, who he surely must have. Which made that snub personal, somehow, though Stone didn't look put out by it. But just as quickly Jek’s attention was back on Thire. “I wanted to be here when you landed, but someone and their project kept that from happening.”

“It was an archeological dig,” Gree said mildly. “And it wasn't me that kept the shuttle grounded, it was the worldwide electro-dust storm. I've apologized for the weather I couldn't control twenty times so far.”

“I'll forgive him,” Thire said, and Gree rolled his eyes. “But only this once.”

“Thire, you forgave me a whole lot more than once back on Kamino,” Gree said, finally sounding a bit peeved.  

Thorn had backed a couple steps up, putting himself level with Stone, and Fox finally relaxed out of his defensive crouch, folding his arms over his chest instead. 

“I just can't believe you're really here,” Jek said, bringing Thire's attention back to him before he could respond to Gree. “I’ve missed you.”

Thire looked for a moment like that hurt, bringing his hands up to squeeze Jek's biceps. “I missed you, too,” he said, a little wistful. “Oh, there's so much you missed. I'm sure there's a lot you need to tell me, too,” and he gave Gree, still standing a few feet back, a significant look. 

Laughing, Jek looked like he was halfway to crying too, and Cody wished suddenly he'd been able to react like that to Fox coming back to him. To throw himself at him, to cry and laugh in turns, instead of that stilted moment in front of the transport, and then the disaster in front of all the diplomats later that night. “I can't wait to get started. We haven't been inside to see the others, yet. We got here just a few minutes ago. How are the others? Did Wes ever grow into his ambitions? Is Hound still crazy about his girl? What about Rys, how's his art doing?” 

And Cody felt the way that question shuddered through Fox beside him, the way Thire's face slammed shut. Jek noticed it too, even as a second later Thire's expression cracked, like his first instinct when sad was to hide it the way all four of them seemed to hide their happiness behind blankness. Any strong emotion was hidden, but Thire snapped out of it the fastest, grabbing Jek's hands in both of his. 

“Rys died,” Thire said. “On Coruscant. A very long time ago.” 

The statement landed like a stone between all of them, Jek leaning forward to press his head to Thire's shoulder, the one three former Guard Commander's expressions hard in their own sorrows.  

Cody wished Fox had never dropped his hand. 

Chapter Text

Cody sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, and breathed. 

He breathed, and breathed again, like that was going to help the way his head kept spinning. 

He breathed through the way Jek had looked when Thire told him Rys was dead, the way Gree had come up and rested his hand on his husband's shoulder in silent support. 

He breathed through the memory of someone finally telling him what the gene therapy decommissionings had been. 

At least they hadn't done it on the street, everyone shuffling in an awkward group inside the Palace grounds, huddling in one of the garden gazebos. The sun had still been the bright golden of the late morning, washing the whole scene with its cheery light. 

Which made it more awful somehow as Thire and Thorn took turns to explain how Palpatine had rushed out the gene therapy to slow their aging. He had most of the Kamino scientists, after all, and they had never much cared about how their actions affected the clones as people, so much as products. It was just another experiment to run. 

The first few who received the gene therapy got almost total color blindness. Everyone else got degrading color blindness, the kind that got worse the longer it went on. Thire mentioned, almost in passing, that when they stacked up the now bi-annual tests of their vision, Fox had started landing on the bottom, making Wolffe look at him out of the corner of his eyes but not say a word. 

Every Guard? Cody had almost wanted to ask, even though he already knew the answer. It felt too monumental a thing, that every person he saw running past him that morning had some cruel side effect of Palpatine's disregard for them. 

Instead, he kept silent, as Thorn continued. 

“A rare side effect was total blindness,” he had said, sitting on a wooden bench in the shade of the gazebo, sunlight hitting his shoulders. Fox had the cheap sunglasses from the day before covering his eyes, but he sat with his knees spread, elbows resting on them, and hunched forward, so it was pretty clear he was staring right at the ground. 

“He made his own Guards blind?” Wolffe asked, Gree sitting beside him and leaning back with his arms crossed, constantly glancing over at Jek, who sat like he was about to crawl into Thire's lap and cling to him, but instead was contenting himself to just hold onto his hand. 

“A small number statistically,” Thorn had replied. “But when you know all their names–” and he stopped, Stone leaning against his side before straightening up. 

No one was trying to touch Fox, and Cody wondered if he could try it. He forced himself to stay where he was. Those that knew him better in that moment weren't, after all. 

“But what use does an Emperor have for blind Guards?” Thire said, an echoing question, like it was one that had been posed to him that haunted him ever since. 

“He didn’t think he had one, so he decomissioned them,” Thorn said, in case anyone didn't get it, yet. 

“How?” Gree asked, the first to say anything. “Kamino’s facilities didn't exist anymore by the time of the gene therapy, the Empire had already bombed them.”

“Guard medics,” Thorn said. 

“Didn't want them to be alone,” Stone signed, and Jek gave up, turning to bury his face in Thire's shoulder, arm going across his chest in a hug. 

It made Thire look deeply uncomfortable, but he made no move to shake Jek off, nor did he deepen the embrace. 

“Palpatine had you kill your own men,” Wolffe said, carefully placing each word in front of them. “For going blind. From his own gene therapy.” 

“Yes,” Thire said. 

“We didn't know,” Cody said, and he couldn't see behind the glasses, but he felt like Fox flickered his gaze up and then back down. “We couldn't even confirm you had a gene therapy at all, but we heard the rumors of it. But not that.”

“Well, of course he didn't want it getting out,” Thorn said. “Executing your own men for a medical fuck up? It sure gives the Guard a different look. We had to be more intimidating than that, or what was the point of us?”

Cody tried to remember the way Thorn had looked, just a little bit ago, when he talked about his daughters. It contrasted with the black bitterness in his voice now. 

“The kids,” Wolffe asked, sudden. “They got the therapy–?”

“Tarkin funded the research,” Fox told the ground in front of him. “To fix the therapy. It didn't change the side effects, per se, but it blunted them. The Tubies have some color blindness, but a year and a half in it's not as bad, and only a dozen of them went blind. By that point, we'd had years to come up with jobs we could give to someone who couldn't see anymore. We weren't scrambling for it.” 

As he spoke, he hadn't straightened, but Cody again got the sense he was looking at him, because he'd admitted Tarkin had funded the research. Cody just wished he knew if it was out of some affection, or if Tarkin had done it to get something else out of Fox. 

He wished he could risk asking Fox. 

“We started smuggling in your therapy for the half-clone kids,” Thorn added. “Kids growing up too fast was too big of a give away of who their dad was. But we could never have gotten authorization to get enough of it for all the Tubies. Getting the Imperials to fix it themselves was our best option, even if it didn't entirely work.” 

Giving up, Cody leaned over, starting to reach for Fox. He'd taken his hand earlier, so surely that would be alright. But as soon as he moved, Fox leaned away before he touched him, so Cody dropped his hand. 

He pushed down on the thought that Fox had chosen to stay in the Empire, that he must have known Palpatine the best out of all of them, because after ten years of thinking that, he'd finally been told differently. Thire had all but spelled it out for him by refusing to answer the day before.

Still, he wondered if Fox had already known, when he threw Cody's offer back into his face, what Palpatine was capable of. What he was getting the whole Guard into. 

“We should add their names,” Gree said, breaking into the heavy silence. “To the list of the dead, at the memorial.”

“To the war?” Stone signed, and Gree nodded. 

“They didn't die in the war,” Thire said, fury like molten lava in his tone. 

Jek looked up at him, still pressed against his side, but Gree didn't hesitate to switch tracks. “A new memorial, then. To the second war you fought.” 

Thire turned his head over to look at Gree over Jek's head, but he hadn't otherwise reacted. 

And eventually they all hauled themselves to their feet, Jek hovering near Thire, and the group broke up. 

They hadn't made it to lunch. 

Cody had ordered food to his quarters instead, and retreated to his room under the guise of changing clothing to something more formal for his afternoon meetings. He'd been putting off an awfully big number of calls to the nearby systems, citing his marriage to get them off his back for a couple days. 

Now, he really did have to address them, but instead he sat there with his head in his hands and breathed . 

He tried not to imagine it, what it would be like to have to stand there while the medics had to lay their own brothers to rest, simply for not being able to see. Too clearly he could remember the fear of Wolffe losing only one eye, before he got the prosthetic one. And then, years later, to have to fret and worry the whole time it might happen again–

Eventually he moved, pulling the casual shirt over his head and tossing it into the hamper in the corner, digging around his closet for something that would pass muster for a round of meetings with various dignitaries. His eyes caught on the line red jacket in his closet and he yanked his gaze away. But as he rifled through the assorted jackets and buttoned shirts, he found himself stopping on several. 

Over the years some had gotten a little tight, or were a stiffer fabric than he enjoyed wearing. A few were simply too flowy, though they would easily hide the fact Fox's frame was a bit smaller. Most of Cody's clothing these days were sharply tailored, and the slight bagginess would be too obvious on Fox, who seemed like he hadn't gained an ounce in the whole last ten years. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, Cody started throwing the possibilities into the bed, to give to Fox later. 

If he wanted them. 

Settling on a tan jacket with an intricate lace pattern on the sleeves, he forced himself back out of the bedroom, heading for the table where Fox apparently had picked up the food he ordered for lunch, and set it where it belonged. Cody realized the door to the former storage room was open, and Fox was in there with someone else. 

“I thought you would be happier, by now,” Thorn said. 

“Who said I'm not?” Fox asked, and there was a constant rustling, like they were putting something in place.

“Fox,” Thorn said, and Cody froze with a sandwich hovering in the air, not quite halfway to his mouth. 

“Who even decided to flat pack furniture like this?” Fox asked. “Wouldn't it be easier to just deliver it already built?” 

“You could probably ask someone else to do it for you,” Thorn said. “You are married to the planetary ruler now. Which also goes back to my previous point about how I figured you would have been happier, by now.”

“Because I married a planetary ruler?” Fox asked dryly, and it was obvious they hadn't figured out Cody was standing there, blankly looking at his sandwich. 

“Because you married Cody , you stubborn, pedantic bastard.”

There was a momentary pause and then a thud, like one of them had dropped something. 

Cody wasn't breathing, trying too hard to hear Fox's response. 

“Yeah, well, we didn't marry for love,” Fox said and Cody–

Cody wasn't sure how that made him feel, and he had no intention of staying to find out. He tucked the sandwich back into the arrangement on the tray, walked back to his bedroom as silently as he could, and loudly opened the door, making sure to close it again with a bit too much force. 

“Kriff,” he heard Fox mutter, after another thud, and then Fox poked his head out of the door. There was nothing readable in his expression as he stepped out into the small hallway. “Cody–”

“I need to go,” Cody said, picking up the same sandwich, intending to carry it out with him.

“I didn't realize you were still here,” Fox said. 

“Got distracted answering messages,” Cody lied, and a tiny furrow between Fox's brows indicated he sensed something wasn't quite right. “The rest is for you, and whoever else shows up. I saw the bed was delivered?”

Thorn popped his head out of the room, over Fox's shoulders. After stepping into the hall, Fox hadn't kept coming toward him. “It's a pain in the ass, but it's here.”

“Good,” Cody said. “I–”

We didn't marry for love echoed in Cody's head. It sounded too much like, Maybe I never loved you half as much as you thought you loved me. 

“I'll be back before dinner,” Cody said, Fox just watching him. “Will you–”

“Yes, Cody,” Fox said, and he shifted, brought his right hand up to touch his left, fingers brushing the ring, before he seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped both hands. “I can manage an afternoon.”

“I laid some clothes out,” Cody said, mostly to the door. “I think they stand the best chance of fitting you. If you want any of them. Or make Thorn pick them out for you.”

“You–want me to go into your room? When you're not here?” Fox asked, cautious. 

“Well, why not? Cody asked. “Did you develop a sense for privacy at some point?” But when Fox looked back at Thorn, he realized he didn't want the answer, and walked through the door. “I'll see you tonight,” he said, and let the door close. 

In the hallway, he didn't feel markedly better. He felt a bit more like a coward, who ran away from his own husband saying something that was technically true.

In fact, the day just felt worse and worse, each meeting grating on his teeth. Between finally getting the answer to the question of what Thorn meant about the decommissionings, and the way Fox had said we didn't marry for love, Cody wanted to retreat to a dark corner and lick his wounds. 

Instead, he had to be diplomatic, smiling vacantly into the holocalls and accepting the tentative congratulations and less tentative demands to know what Kebii'tra planned on doing with its new not quite standing army.

By the time he turned off the last call, he had a pounding headache. 

When Rex slammed into the room, his moment of relief at seeing him disappeared the instant he saw his face. “Rex–”

“Did you know?” 

“Know what?” 

“About Echo!”

“Echo?” Cody asked, completely bemused and there was a splotchiness to Rex's face, that Cody had only really seen a few times. 

Whatever might have been anger slipped out of Rex's expression. “I thought he might have told you.”

“Rex, I don't know what you're talking about,” Cody said, shaking his head, and Rex collapsed into the seat across his desk. 

“Cody, Echo is alive,” Rex said, and Cody stared blankly at him. “He–he was with the Guard.”

Cody was glad there was nothing in his hands to drop, and that he was already seated. 

“So’s Dogma,” Rex added, the name not immediately registering except–

“The one who shot the Jedi? On Umbara?” Cody asked.

“And Slick,” Rex continued, and that name at least Cody instantly remembered.

“ What?”

“Apparently after the split, Fox cleared out the prison,” Rex said, not really looking at Cody. “Grabbed whoever was there. I didn't see Slick, apparently he's antisocial, or something,” and Cody was still just staring at him. “Cody–how am I gonna tell Fives?”

For a long time they just stared at each other, over Cody's desk. “I don't know,” he said finally. “Can I see them?” he asked, tentative. 

After a moment, Rex nodded and pushed himself to his feet. Cody trailed after him, suddenly uncertain he'd make it back to Fox by dinnertime. 

-

Fox sat on the edge of the bed, flipping the edge of the comforter back to run his hand over the fabric of the sheets. Annoyed, he'd turn it back over, and then repeat the whole process again. 

In the end it has taken Orange and Thorn and himself to get the bed together, and Thire had helped him wrestle the mattress and sheets on. He'd folded the wool blanket over the foot, a bright pop of almost color in his vision. 

Sliding his fingers down the fabric of the sheets again, he did not look around the rest of the room, still bare except for his kit in the corner. Even the blanket was a concession to his comfort that made his skin crawl. It all felt too much like someone was going to come, and remind him this wasn't supposed to be his. 

Gathering some of the fabric up in his hand, he rubbed it between his thumb and fingers. 

It bothered him, the way the sheets felt. 

Not because it wasn't nice, but because it was . The fabric caught on the pads of his fingers, and was tougher than the sheets Tarkin favored. But the roughness was from being a natural fiber of some kind, like the scratchy but warm wool of the blanket. 

Tarkin's sheets had always been synthetic, luxurious, and a blatant display of wealth. These were more interested in being cosy than sleek, and Fox didn't know how to feel about them. 

How, exactly, was he supposed to lie down and sleep in this bed, in presumably just a few hours? 

The knock on the door broke him out of his thoughts, but he didn't move. 

Thorn had gone to call Lithil, and Thire had gone to check the mess hall, and Orange and Cipher had plotted something and then disappeared, perhaps to check out some of the empty suites down the hall. An aide has stopped by, with bright purple hair and a scar down the side of his face. He'd brought a pleasant smile that did not suit Fox's mood, and a map of the Palace’s living quarters, empty spaces helpfully marked. 

Not a lot of people lived in the Palace itself, though there was room for them. Fox wondered if it had started fuller, and gotten emptier, leaving Cody in his shockingly modest quarters more and more by himself. 

The knock came again, and Fox frowned. 

This was still Cody's quarters, more than his own. 

But then again, people rarely seemed to knock, when they wanted Cody. 

Pushing himself to his feet, he approached the door cautiously. A third knock came, not any more annoyed or faster than the others, just letting him know whoever it was still stood on the other side. 

Plastering a vacantly disinterested look on his face, Fox opened the door and froze. Somehow, Wolffe managed to take up the whole doorway with his posture, like he expected Fox to try and bolt. 

Surely there had to be a back way out of Cody's quarters, Fox thought, thinking back to the map delivered just a bit ago. The Prime Minister wouldn't be trapped. The window in his bedroom maybe–? 

“Dul,” Wolffe said, the old nickname landing like a knife in Fox's lungs. “I was thinking I might finally catch you alone.” 

Fox realized all at once he had been an idiot. All that morning for the first time since they landed, Wolffe had barely looked at him. There had been no lingering gaze, no specific interest. He'd thought maybe Wolffe had given up, and hadn't even admitted how relieved that thought made him. 

“Wolffe–” and his actual name instead of a return to their nickname for each other made Wolffe frown at him. “I–”

When Wolffe shifted forward, he took a full step back. Wolffe took that as an invitation, dropping his hands from where they were braced on either side of the doorframe, and stepping inside the room. 

“I think we should talk,” he said, closing the door behind him. 

Fox thought again about Cody's window, but planted his feet and forced himself to meet Wolffe’s mismatched gaze instead. “Alright,” he managed, and didn't much like the smile he got back for that, now that Wolffe knew he'd cornered him. 

Sparing one last desperate thought to the window, he forced himself to turn and sit on the couch, Wolffe nipping at his heels the whole way. 

And yet, somehow he didn't expect it how Wolffe immediately turned and dragged him into an embrace the moment they were sitting, his own hands hanging uselessly at his side. 

“I missed you,” Wolffe whispered, and Fox finally let himself close his eyes and bury his face in Wolffe's shoulder, like he had done hundreds upon hundreds of times before. 

But not in the last decade.

He kept his eyes closed and breathed. 

Chapter Text

“Dul,” Wolffe said after what passed for an age of Fox's head buried in his neck. 

“Don't,” he rasped, shoulders tightening. 

“I've called you Dul our whole kriffing lives,” Wolffe said, ignoring the tension in Fox's body to keep his palms flat on his back. “Why would I stop now?” 

Fox longingly thought about the window. Instead, he pushed back, hard enough Wolffe had to let him go or risk it turning into a fight. Holding his hands against Wolffe's chest, elbows straight, Fox admitted to himself it was both a concession to Wolffe's apparent desire for physical contact and to make sure he stayed a certain distance away. “Why are you here?” 

“You're kidding, right?” Wolffe asked, giving him a long look. 

“Why won't you just leave me alone?” Fox asked, and hated the plaintive note that entered his voice. “I'm not anyone's dul , and you shouldn't–”

“Oh is that what this has been about?” Wolffe asked and Fox scowled, attempting to ignore how warm Wolffe's chest was under his hands. “You think, what? No one knows you anymore, so they don't love you anymore?”

“That's not–”

“If it's not that then tell me what it is,” Wolffe snapped and that felt better for its normality. “Is it the preferences thing?” 

“The–what?” Fox blinked at him. 

“Thire said under the Empire, you stopped picking things out for yourself. Because anything you showed a preference for could be taken away.” Wolffe turned his head and pinned him with his mismatched eyes. 

Sometimes it still surprised Fox, the scar and the grey pupil, so different from the deep brown of his other eye. Even now, one eye was significantly darker than the other in Fox's vision, even if the warmth of the brown was faded out to a dull, almost black. 

“Does that fear of showing preferences extend to people?” Wolffe asked, so softly it hurt. 

Fox shoved back and pushed himself all the way to his feet, but Wolffe stayed on the couch, waiting, somehow trusting he wasn't about to bolt for it. 

It seemed like an awful lot of trust. “You think I'm avoiding you because I'm scared someone is going to use you against me?”

Wolffe crossed his arms and leaned back against the couch with a raised eyebrow. 

“If only it was that easy,” Fox muttered, as if picking out a fruit that morning with Cody watching had felt anything like easy . If only anything felt easy. 

“Alright,” Wolffe said, still perfectly calm. “Then what is it?” 

Fox stared at him before jerking his eyes away, starting to pace up and down the room in front of the couch. It surprised him a little that he didn't try and leave in any direction. Wolffe wasn't even between him and the door anymore. “Wolffe–”

“Dul,” Wolffe drawled back. 

“Kriff,” Fox muttered. “You're not going to leave me alone, are you?”

“Why in the name of all that the Force holds sacred do you think I would?” Wolffe asked. 

The Jedi like curse made Fox pause, before he started pacing again. But Wolffe didn't say anything, didn't move, just sat with his arms crossed and waited. 

Fox ground his teeth. “It's been a decade,” Fox said. “Shouldn't you have moved on, by now?” 

“You're not this stupid,” Wolffe said, calmly. “Though you're doing a damn fine job of trying to convince me you are.” 

Setting his heel down, Fox spun on it the other way. He wished he had his armor, not just the dress uniform. “You shouldn't want this,” he told the wall, instead of Wolffe. 

He heard Wolffe sigh, but didn't look over at him. 

“You mean, I shouldn't want to be close to you?” 

“You don't even know who I am anymore,” Fox said, still talking to the wall. 

“Really?” Wolffe said. “Because I hate to tell you this, Fox , but you don't seem that different to me.” 

“That's because you're seeing what you want to,” Fox said. “If there's anything I've figured out since arriving here, it's that you–none of you know anything about what it was like under Palpatine. You don't know what we were for him, what we did for him.”

“So tell me,” Wolffe said, still not rising to the occasion. “Tell me how you've changed.”

Fox growled, walked the other way. 

“Or you can just come back over here and go back to cuddling,” Wolffe said. 

“Are those really my only options?”

“Dul,” Wolffe said, more warning. 

Fox went back to the other wall. “I'm not half of anything anymore,” he said. “Not after what I did for him.”

“For Palpatine?”

“Of course for Palpatine,” Fox said, walked all the way to the kitchen, and then came back around. This time he stopped right in front of Wolffe and actually looked at him. Wolffe didn't twitch a muscle, not even in his face. “He was a Sith Lord, and an Emperor. He ruled through power and fear. You've been with the Jedi long enough you should be able to imagine what a dark side Force user would be like.”

“Yeah, I've got a picture of him,” Wolffe said. “But the kriff does that matter for you?” 

“Because I was his enforcer,” Fox said. “Because I commanded the Guard, and that means everything they did comes back on me, too.”

Wolffe looked up at him, expression finally shifting to some disbelief. “Fox, come on.”

“Come on what?” Fox snapped. “Do you think somehow I don't shoulder that responsibility? I still did terrible things for him. It was my hands that did them, my body that carried his orders out, my Guard who did the rest.”

“Yeah, but was it your will?” Wolffe asked. 

Fox ground his teeth together, wanting to pace again but forcing himself to stand still. “Does it matter?” 

“If you didn't want to do it?” Wolffe asked. “Yeah, I'd say it matters.”

“I don't,” Fox said. “Who cares if I didn't want to do something, if I still did it? Would it matter to the families that lost people if it was my hand that pulled the trigger that killed their brother or mother or friend? Would it matter to them if I said oh I'm sorry, you see, I didn't want to do it. I still did .”

“Fox–”

“Motivation is irrelevant to action. I obeyed every order given to me and to say they were just orders is just an excuse to try and duck–” 

“Did you have a choice in obeying then?” Wolffe asked. 

“We weren't chipped,” Fox said. “The Jedi insisted we took the chips out, before we decided to stay, to make sure he wasn't using them to control our answer.”

Of course, it hadn't been the chips Palpatine had used to threaten the lives of the whole Guard. 

“That's not what I meant,” Wolffe said, some expression passing over his face at the mention of the inhibitor chips with all their potential for mind control. Fox had never really been able to ask anyone in the GAR how that revelation made them feel. “There's other ways to force someone to follow your orders.”

“It's not enough,” Fox said, voice dropping. “Someone has to take responsibility for those things and–”

“How?” Wolffe asked, and it made Fox freeze. “How can you take responsibility? Legally? I hate to tell you this, Dul, but Bail Organa already cut that off at the pass.”

“What?” Fox frowned, tensing when Wolffe finally rose to his feet, eating up some of the space between them but also not moving to touch Fox. 

“You should read your actual trial record sometime,” Wolffe said. “He didn't just put you up there for killing Palpatine, but for everything else you did in the Empire. It's in the footnotes. You've been punished for those crimes already with exile.” 

Fox gaped at him for a second too long. “Can he do that?” 

“I trust his lawyers to have figured it out,” Wolffe shrugged. “So how else can you take responsibility for it? By torturing yourself and twisting up into a little pain box, because you think that will help anyone? All it will do is hurt those around you and probably not even make those people you talked about earlier feel better anyway.” 

“So what? I'm just supposed to–” and he stopped before he could say be happy ?

Wolffe's expression softened and it made Fox's shoulders go up. “Dul,” he said, and Fox snarled at him. “Dul, you stopped him.”

Fox froze again, staring at Wolffe in abject shock. 

When Wolffe reached forward he was still too stunned to move, to duck away. Wolffe's hands landed on his shoulders and held on. “Whatever horror you did for him, whatever you think you allowed him to turn you into. You still stopped him. He's dead now. Most of them are dead now. You know, when I heard I wanted so bad to know why you killed him.”

Fox made a tiny, wounded sound.

“But honestly? I don't need to know. Or why it took you ten years. Because I'm starting to get the feeling you hated him for a lot longer than that. Whatever the reason, why ever it took so long, what you did for him? You're still the one who stopped him. You stopped the horrors from continuing.” He took another step forward, bending his elbows, so they stood almost touching with his hands still on Fox's shoulders. “And maybe I should care more about what you did for him, but I don't. I could stand here and let you drown yourself in guilt like you clearly want to, but kriff, I've missed you too much. I don't care what sithhells you crawled through to get here, I can't believe you think I wouldn't just be waiting here on the other side ready to pick you up when you got here.”

Closing his eyes, Fox dropped his chin down, not quite resting his forehead on Wolffe's shoulder as he took a shuddering breath. 

“It's okay, Fox,” Wolffe whispered. 

“It really, really is not,” Fox said to their feet. 

Wolffe brought one of his hands up, petting the top of Fox's hair and Fox bit his lip hard. 

“It's even okay if you're not ready to feel like half of anything,” Wolffe said. “I'm patient. I have to be, waiting like this for ten years. But I'm not letting you take that away from me, either.”

Slowly, cautiously, Fox lifted his hands that had been hanging at his sides, and curled his fingers into the shirt Wolffe wore, resting against his sides. He tried breathing and felt it shake through him, caught on almost a sob. 

“I love you,” Wolffe whispered. “More than any horror or crime. Maybe that's wrong of me, but I don't care. We were all so capable of terrible things, during the war, and we escaped by the skin of our hands. I love you more than what Palpatine could do to you,” and Fox gave up, slamming their bodies together in another embrace, letting Wolffe bend down just enough to pick him up off the ground, holding him there with nothing to brace himself on except for Wolffe. 

Fox didn't cry, somehow, but he found himself shaking.

“You can't fix me just by telling me you love me,” he said into Wolffe's shoulder. 

“No, but I figure it's a good first step,” Wolffe said, and Fox couldn't really disagree with him. 

So he just hung there and shook instead. 

-

Neyo spotted Stass Allie frowning at a datapad, and veered toward the Jedi from where he had been planning on sniffing around Cody's office, for whatever had happened in the last day. They had gotten back later than planned, after one of Bacara’s sheep had gotten out in the middle of the night, and gone straight for the pond at the far side of his property. 

Now, the nearest neighbor's oldest son was tucked into Bacara’s cottage for the next few days. Neyo would never ask Bacara to his face why he was so insistent on coming back, but the few hours away had almost been a relief as much as something he dreaded.

Upon coming back, he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else had gotten married.

But before he could ask anyone about that, he found Stass, and alighted to a stop in front of her.

“Neyo,” she said, looking up, the corners of her eyes crinkling. 

No matter how many years it had been, he still wanted to greet her with General first. “Stass,” he managed instead, and her smile was as warm as ever when he used her first name. It had taken a couple years for it to become easy to say. 

“I’m glad to see you,” she said. “I admit I have had less free time than I expected on this trip.”

“I’m glad the Jedi sent you, even if they probably didn’t foresee exactly how things would play out,” Neyo said, because sometimes the Jedi were still a bit strange about their former army. They had fled the Republic together, but the Jedi settled on a planet a hop and a skip through a dense hyperspace maze beyond Kebii'tra. There, they tried not to influence the growth of the clone’s culture, as they attempted to rebuild their own. 

Apparently they felt a lot more squeamish about the perceived power they might still have over the clones, now that the war no longer sat front and center in their relationship. But still, clones always stayed at the Temple, and a Jedi or two swapped in and out on Kebii’tra. Wolffe was always easier to deal with when that Jedi was Plo Koon, and practically impossible the first week after he left back to the rest of the Jedi. 

When Palpatine had been alive, it had been as much a security guarantee to each other as an acknowledgement of the binding relationships between them, and Neyo was curious to see how it would settle now with the Republic instead of the Empire at their border. 

“They certainly did not see such a marriage coming,” Stass agreed. “In fact,” and she waved the datapad she had been frowning at when Neyo found her. “Vos just dropped off his report from Coruscant.”

Neyo raised his brows and she blew out a breath. 

“You know we’ve always had some Jedi Shadows on Coruscant,” she said. 

“Yes,” Neyo said. “It would have been awfully hard to get any clones in for intel purposes, considering every clone left on the planet would have been part of the Guard.”

“Vos spent the time after the trial, gathering any information on Fox and the Guard he could find,” she said. “We never could get anyone inside, for the same reason no clones went undercover. In fact, the whole Imperial Hierarchy was opaque, and the few spies we did have were almost all those who turned toward the rebellion after gaining their positions. Even Luthen Rael only managed to snag an ISB agent after he was already in the agency.” She stopped, looking down at the datapad. Neyo waited, and didn’t ask to see it. If she was willing to share, she would. 

“Ten years,” she said quietly. “A whole decade, of not knowing anything much at all.” She looked back up at him, gaze considering. “Are you doing alright, with having them back?”

Neyo blinked, and tilted his head. “Yes.”

“Do you ever worry?” she asked, thumb moving up and down the screen of the datapad, the only type of nervous gesture she ever displayed, even when they had been covered in mud and under fire. Then, she’s swiped up and down the surface of her lightsaber, and it felt still a bit like a gift that she didn’t have to live her life with her weapon in hand anymore. “That things have changed too much?”

“They’re still our brothers,” Neyo said. “A decade doesn’t change that. I doubt anything Vos found would either.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “Besides, it wasn’t much. Mostly he was worried when I told him about the marriage because of Fox’s relationship with Moff Tarkin. He seemed seconds away from instigating it was a power grab.”

“Please tell me he left before trying to talk to Cody,” Neyo said, and Stass grinned, as ever pleased by Neyo’s dry humor that was so different from her own. 

“I almost wish he tried it,” she said, and then tapped the datapad’s power on. “I’m sending you what he gave me. You can decide if there’s anything that stands out to you, that you’d want to know. But, from what I’ve seen the last few days, it doesn’t seem like the Guard is sparse on trying to reconnect.”

“No?” Neyo asked.

“They’re trying,” she said, turning serious again. “You all are.”

“We are,” Neyo nodded. 

“If something ever comes up, you know the Jedi will have your backs, don’t you?” Stass asked, meeting his eyes with her own, such a different color from most clone eyes. 

“I know,” Neyo said. 

She smiled at him again, leaning forward to rest her hand against his arm before leaning back. “It’s always good to see you, Neyo,” she said. “I think it when you look happy. But I think there’s someone else who might want to talk to you even more,” and Neyo followed her gaze down the hall to where Thire stood, looking startled at being called out. 

Neyo’s brow went up and Thire looked abruptly away, which was when Neyo noticed he had something slung over his shoulder that looked an awful lot like a kit from when the clones first shipped out from Kamino.

“I was, technically, coming to talk to Cody,” Thire said. “But I’m always glad to see you, too.”

“Thire,” Neyo said, and didn’t like how relieved he was immediately. It sat with disquiet inside him, that just one day had already had him missing someone. Had he become so used to his new life he’d forgotten what separation felt like? 

There had been years when he didn’t see Bacara for months on end, let alone just a day. 

Stass smiled at him again, dropping her hand and walking down the hall, apparently deciding if Neyo had the intel, she didn’t need to talk to Cody herself. That left Thire with his head tilted, considering Neyo, who looked back at him, uncertain.

There had been a lot of things he thought about saying to Thire, when he got back. 

“Any other surprise marriages when we were gone?” he asked, instead. 

Thire snorted, trotting down the hall to stop in front of him. When he got closer, Neyo got a better look at the dark circles under his eyes, the exhausted drop of his shoulders. “Not so far. Thorn admitted he had kids, though.”

“Thorn has kids?” Neyo asked blankly, because he hadn’t expected that. 

“Twins,” and Thire had a small smile hidden at the corner of his mouth. “Wolffe picked him right off the ground.”

“That sounds like Wolffe,” Neyo allowed. For a second they stood there, just looking at each other. “I wanted to talk to you,” Neyo said, before Thire could figure out his own thoughts first. “About–you know. This.”

“Alright,” Thire said, suddenly a lot more wary. 

“I live in town,” Neyo said. “I’m not like Bacara where I have to make arrangements to come and visit. I live here.”

“You said,” Thire said. 

“Which also means, I’m going to be here,” Neyo said, the thought he’d been having most of the ride out and back, when Bacara’s animals hadn’t been taking up the in between time. “I noticed how you seemed, hm, stretched yesterday, even the day before, between talking to me and dealing with the Guard. You just got here, I imagine,” and he looked at Thire’s kit on his shoulder. “You have a lot to figure out and work through. You–I just meant, you don’t have to worry about me, on top of it.”

Thire blinked and tilted his head. “What if I want to worry about you on top of it?”

“Flattering as that is,” Neyo said. “I also don’t want you collapsing in exhaustion. The point is, you can worry about me on top of it in a few more days. If you–want to maybe worry about your own people first. When things are even a little more settled, there will be time.”

For a while, Thire considered him intently enough Neyo was starting to wonder if he misstepped. “That’s very sweet,” Thire said finally. 

“Is it?” Neyo asked. “I was aiming for practical,” and that at least made Thire grin at him. 

“Little bit of both,” he said. “I admit, it’s a bit of a relief, even if I don’t really like the idea.”

“How flattering,” Neyo said, and couldn’t help but glance at the kit over his shoulder again. “What were you looking for Cody for?”

“He offered some of us rooms in the Palace,” Thire said. “If we planned on staying.”

“Which you are,” Neyo said, trying not to make it a question.

“Which I am,” Thire agreed, mouth quirking up again, eyes warm. “LIke you. I’ll be here.”

Neyo swallowed, and when he lifted a hand, Thire caught it, twining their fingers together. “Good.”

“Yeah,” Thire said, still warm. “I was honestly just going to check with him again, to make sure he was really okay with the fact he’ll have to put up with me and Orange in the same hallway as him, probably for the rest of his life. Want to leave him alone and get dinner, instead?”

“You sure?” Neyo asked. 

“Might as well,” Thire said. “We can try the whole taking things slow starting tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Neyo said, and let Thire drag him all the way to the Guard’s temporary barrack mess, ignoring the way he got looks as he settled in across from him at one of the tables. “Should I be worried about your kids?” he asked, under his breath, and Thire scanned the room.

“They appear to have either all sneaked out for the night,” he said, Neyo arching a brow. “Which was just a matter of time–I’ll give them the disappointed look later–or are probably annoying Orange about the flow of the room if he puts the couch too close to the door.”

The last one especially got Neyo’s attention. “Do you want to tell me about them?” he asked, and Thire gave him a long look, before he shrugged one shoulder, propping his elbow on the table to rest his chin on it. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Neyo said, poking at the food in front of him, just to give his hands something to do while he stared at Thire. “We’re clones. Clones seem to love kids.”

“Is that universal?” Thire grinned. But then he didn’t press the question, just started spinning stories for Neyo, while Neyo forced himself to eat so he didn’t just stare like an idiot at Thire the whole time. 

It all settled warm and heavy in Neyo’s stomach, far moreso than the food did.

Chapter Text

Cody watched Rex pace, head turned sideways on his folded arms on the table. Luckily, Rex paced at the end of the table, allowing Cody to watch him without having to lift his head. “You’re making this complicated.”

“I don’t feel like I am,” Rex muttered, flipping his comm around in his hands. 

“Call Fives,” Cody said, trying to be soothing instead of annoyed. He didn't feel he could just leave Rex until he had. 

Seeing Echo again had been a hit to the system. It wasn't just the unnaturally pale skin, or the prosthetics, but the fact he was alive at all . Sometimes, Cody still went to the Citadel in his dreams. He could still name off all those who lost, from Longshot down to Echo himself, and the feeling of helplessness never seemed to actually go away, no matter the years. 

But now Echo was back, and Cody could see the hints of the shiny they pulled off Rishi around the corner of his mouth and the slant of his expression in the stranger that had just been sitting in front of them. There had been something brittle in the line of his shoulders, in the way Dogma kept glancing over at him. 

There had been years of separation in his eyes, and a weight that had felt natural enough in the Guard’s commanders, but less upon the shiny and then ARC Cody knew before. 

At least Dogma had been a stranger to Cody, so there was no comparison to who he used to be. He'd heard plenty about him from Rex, after a few drinks loosened both his tongue and his tears after Umbara. 

Another place Cody sometimes went to in his dreams–

“I can't just tell Fives,” Rex muttered. “Not on a comm. That wouldn't be–what would I even say?”

“Tell him to come home,” Cody mumbled. 

“With what reason? You know he'll ask. He was already pissy about the Guard–”

“He's been pissy about the Guard for a decade,” Cody said. “Fox shot him, he's got a scar, he lived. He was going to have to bury that blaster at some point, so just tell him something came up and he should come home.”

“It'll stress him out if I don't say why,” Rex said. 

“Good, he'll get here faster,” Cody said. 

Finally Rex seemed to focus his attention on Cody, making Cody's spine tense as he sat up. “What about you?” Rex asked. “How are you holding up?”

For a long time Cody could only stare at him, caught between his devastation about the way the Guard had been treated under the Empire, the shocking realization that sometime in the last ten years he had gotten used to peace in a way they never had, or the way Fox had said we didn't get married for love . “It's been harder than I thought,” he settled for. “I–I wanted them back. I don't regret that. But I had no idea what it was going to be like, trying to bring the Guard here.”

“All the Guard?” Rex asked, moving closer and then sitting down beside Cody. Luckily, he didn't move to touch him. “Or just Fox?” 

“Both, but for different reasons,” Cody said. “We knew nothing about them, for a decade. A whole decade. We,” he stopped, looking down at the table. “While we were laying the foundations of this very building and debating a constitution, they were watching their brothers executed in front of them for Palpatine’s own sloppy gene therapy.” 

“What?” Rex asked softly, because he hadn't been there that morning. 

“Some of them went blind,” Cody said, picking uselessly at the perfectly flat surface of the table. There was nothing for him to dig his fingers into, no purchase or splinters, but he had to do something with his hands. 

He remembered Fox spinning the wedding ring around, and thought about fiddling with his own. Only sheer determination kept him from doing so. “Palpatine had them executed,” he continued, when Rex sat and processed the first part of his statement. “The rest have various levels of colorblindness.” He flicked the smooth surface in front of him. “They've never been at peace, Rex. It was hard enough transitioning the GAR through that transition, I wasn't prepared to think about doing it all over again.”

“At least this time we have some experience with it,” Rex said. “We can help them.”

Cody thought about Fox twitching away from him, when he reached for him earlier. “Yeah,” he said. “We can help them.”

“It's going to be okay, Cody,” Rex said, and this time he did reach out, covering Cody's closest hand with his own, stilling his nervous movement. “Both the Guard, and Fox. It just takes time. But we have it, now. And with the end of the Empire and rebirth of the Republic, we don't have to stay on as high of a war footing. He gave us that.” 

“You didn't want them to come,” Cody pointed out, still a little sore about it. 

“I can change my mind,” Rex said. “Besides. There's things we didn't know then, that we do now.” 

Cody looked at their hands for a long time, and then finally over to Rex. “And you have?” 

“Maybe it was just seeing them again,” Rex said, carefully feeling out the words. “Maybe it was seeing what they're like. But, they deserve this too, don't they? The chance for peace?” 

“And it's not just because Fox and the others brought you back Echo?” Cody asked, uncertain why he pressed. 

“Well, that helps,” Rex said, and pinned him with a look. “I can call Fives. You should go back to Fox.”

We didn't marry for love. 

“Yeah,” Cody agreed weakly. 

He wanted to be back with Fox. 

It had only been a few days. If he wasn't already frustrated about the fact he was losing his hair, he would have torn some of it out over the fact it had only been a few days and he was already missing Fox after just a couple hours apart. 

If Fox could fit so tightly back into his life, filling all his old and battered cracks, what would he do when Fox inevitably started to pull back away? 

And it did feel inevitable. 

At some point Fox would remind him to his face he didn't love him like he had that day on Coruscant, and leave to build his own life, and Cody would have to figure out how to live with just himself all over again. 

When he left Rex, that thought kept turning around in his head, over and over, like the gear in the heart of a spaceship. Fox would eventually figure himself out, and Cody would just have to endure it. 

Before he reached the door to his own quarters though, he pulled up when he almost ran into two of the former Guard. They looked almost as startled to see him, which was when he registered it was Orange and Cipher, bent over something and talking rapidly before he came up on them. 

“Is everything alright?” Cody asked, Orange giving him a long look. 

“Just,” Cipher was the one to respond, gesturing down to the tooka laying on the ground next to his boot. It gave Cody a look that felt an awful lot like Orange’s. “The Lieutenant got out of quarantine already. They were all supposed to stay in it for a few more days, make sure they didn't bring anything from Coruscant.”

“The Lieutenant?” Cody asked, giving the dark brown tooka another look. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed older than most he'd seen. 

“I'm starting to suspect Hound’s theory about tookas either being much smarter than anyone knows, or downright Force sensitive is correct,” Orange said dryly. 

“I think he was joking when he said that,” Cipher said weakly. “I really hope he was joking?” He glanced at Cody. “Do you think tookas are Force sensitive?”

Cody stared at the pair of them, trying to focus on what they were saying and nothing else. He'd never talked to just the Tubies before, and found it almost stunning, how quickly Cipher was willing to accept him into his confidences. “I have never had the occasion to ask,” he said finally. “Why do you think they are?” 

“Some of them have the most unerring ability to track pa–Pred, where ever he is,” Cipher said, Orange giving him an angry, narrow-eyed look for the slip. “Especially the Lieutenant.”

“Is there a reason you gave the tooka a rank?” Cody found himself asking. 

Cipher and Orange glanced at each other, the type of glance Cody used to share with Fox when deciding what to tell a trainer. “Pred doesn't like giving things names,” Orange said finally. “Said–we don't know what they'd call themselves, if they could. Said, it never felt right.”

“So papa gave them ranks instead,” Cipher said. “The Lieutenant came first, so the story goes he gave him his rank, because then he could pretend the tooka was taking his patrols.” 

The days of Thire being a lieutenant felt very ancient indeed. “I see,” Cody settled for. “And what are you planning on doing with the, erm, Lieutenant?”

“We should take him back to quarantine,” Orange said. 

“He's just going to break out again, and maybe take the whole crew with him,” Cipher pointed out. “Safer to just let him get to Pred.” He glanced back at Cody, and Cody was struck again by how young, and yet old the Tubies were. They also seemed to be just a little taller than the average Kamino raised clone, and Cody wondered if that was from Coruscant’s food, their training, or the gene therapy they were given much younger. 

He wondered if it drove Fox crazy, that his kids were taller even than his own brothers were to him. 

“I hope you like tookas,” Cipher added, quietly. “You're probably going to have to put up with a few coming and going. The Corporal at least will probably just move into the gardens. She never likes being inside.”

“It gets cold in the winter,” Cody said, as if they could warn a tooka about the impending change of the seasons. “Maybe she'll be able to take up in the greenhouse.” 

“Yes, that's true,” Cipher said, perking up. 

“And I'll admit I've never much had a chance to get to know a tooka,” Cody said, the Lieutenant giving him a look. His little eyes under his large ears seemed all too intent on Cody's face. “But I don't mind that changing.”

Cipher's eyes flickered to Orange, who had stayed quiet in comparison to his companion. “Good,” Cipher said. “That's good.”

Without Fox there to soften the space between them, it appeared that Orange had slipped back into distrust of Cody, and Cody wished it hadn't. 

“Do you two need anything?” Cody asked, trying to be helpful if nothing else. 

“Oh,” Cipher said. “We were told, well, that there were rooms. That,” he looked at Orange, as if hoping he would jump in. “Well, someone came by with a list of empty ones. We thought about trying one out.” 

“There's a lot of empty rooms,” Orange said, not quite spoken like a question. 

“The Palace was one of the first buildings started,” Cody said. “At first a lot of us lived here. But over time,” and he shrugged a little. “They wanted to try building their own houses.”

“But not you?” Cipher asked, and Cody heard the echo of pity in his voice, before he realized it was just compassion for what Cody hadn't actually said. 

Which was that he hadn't seen the point, without someone to share it with. He was content enough with his little rooms, with being as close as possible to whoever needed him. 

Three whole rooms had always felt like too much after years of bunks and barracks. A whole empty house would have just reminded him of who wasn't there. 

“I like it here,” Cody said. 

Cipher nodded. “It's a big difference,” he agreed, as if he'd heard a little of what Cody hadn't said. “We always grew up right on top of each other,” and strangely Orange’s cheeks had gone a little ruddy. “There was a number of rooms that still had furniture, so, if we're going to stay here anyway, it seemed right to just, try it out? Relieve some of the pressure on the temporary barracks.”

“Yes,” Cody agreed, throat feeling tight. “I–I’m glad some of you are thinking about taking up the offer.”

“It's Orange and Pred,” Cipher said, like it was a foregone conclusion that Orange would be moving in, as the Lieutenant got bored and pushed himself back up to his paws, starting to pad away. 

Toward Cody's quarters. 

He was going to have to ask Obi-Wan about Force sensitivity in animals, he realized as a shiver went down his spine. 

“You're going to be lucky if he's not in your rooms half the nights,” Cipher said, inclining his head toward Orange instead of the tooka, all three of them watching the tooka trot away. 

“Hey,” Orange protested. 

“What does Pred stand for anyway?” Cody asked, the tooka taking a turn around the corner with a flick of his fluffy tail. 

“Predator,” Orange said, a stubborn tilt to his jaw. 

But Cipher rolled his eyes. “No, it does not.”

“It,” Orange started to protest. 

“You're not even the one who came up with it, Port did,” Cipher said. “We don't–we don't have to hide things like that anymore, right? Isn't that the point of this new world? With other clones?”

For a surly moment, Orange considered him, before he looked at Cody again, who tried his hardest to look vaguely neutral instead of desperate for an answer. 

Both to what Pred meant, and Cipher's other questions. It was already clear that if Orange said no , Fox would be that much further out of reach that quickly. 

“Fine, yes,” Orange said, and Cody let out a breath. “You're right, this is a new start,” and Cipher smiled at him, brushing their hands together before looking back at Cody. 

“It means beloved predecessor, ” he said, cheerful now that Orange had agreed with him. 

It rooted Cody to the spot. 

“We all had our different relationships to the Guard that had the closest hand in raising us,” Cipher continued. “Different relationships to rank based on who it was. But Pred was our Commander too, just like he was to the old Guard. They were all our predecessors, of course, but he was our’s, so we wanted something to call him, so he'd know. No matter where we were, or who we were in front of, we could call him that and he’d know , without revealing anything.”

“Thank you,” Cody managed, chest tight. “For telling me.”

“The reason he didn't,” Orange volunteered, surprisingly. “Was it's automatic to him, to try and protect our secrets from anyone who asks. I don't think he meant to lie to you.”

“It's fine,” Cody said. “I understand.”

Orange gave him a long look, before he finally gave a tiny nod. It was the closest Cody had felt like acceptance from him so far. 

“Good,” Orange said.

After that, they said their goodbyes and Cody hoped he held it together enough to not sound like a damned fool in front of them, and then they took off together, trying to find the kitchen. 

Which left Cody alone, and following the trail of the Lieutenant back to Fox. 

He found the tooka waiting at the door, looking impatient. 

“You don't technically live here yet,” Cody said. “I haven't invited you in.” 

The tooka just looked up at him, unimpressed. He had lighter brown stripes around his ears, and going down his tail, as well as a few white spots on his chest.

He was also missing part of one ear. 

Finally, after he lost the staring contest, Cody opened the door and let the tooka in first. Stepping after him he stopped right beyond the door, brain taking a minute to process what he saw. 

Slowly, the shape on the couch resolved itself into Wolffe pinning Fox down on his back with his whole body along the length of the couch. His own face was hidden somewhere in Fox's shoulder, but when the door opened, Fox turned his head and blinked his eyes open at Cody. 

His eyes then flickered down to the tooka, who made a little rumble sound at seeing him. Fox dropped one of his hands down off the edge of the couch, and the Lieutenant happily meandered over to sniff his fingers. Content with what he found, he butted his head against Fox's hand, ran his back along the couch, and then disappeared to explore the rest of the rooms. 

The whole time, Cody stayed where he was and Wolffe didn't move. 

“Is it dinner time?” Fox asked, which made Wolffe lift his head. “Cody?”

Wolffe turned to look at him, like he hadn't even noticed him entering the room. 

Cody tried to remind himself he was a stronger man than he currently felt like, and he wouldn't begrudge Wolffe the seam line on his cheek from Fox's jacket. 

“It's getting late,” Cody said, not quite an agreement. “If you want to go back to your nap–”

“Food would be appreciated,” Fox said, just a shade of desperation leaking into his voice. It made Cody stop and reassess the fact Wolffe had Fox pinned , like Fox had been trying to escape before he ended up with a Wolffe shaped blanket. 

Slowly, Cody let that thought mollify him, even as Wolffe took his time climbing up off Fox. As soon as he could, Fox vaulted over the back of the couch, tugging at the bottom of his jacket and running his fingers through his hair to try and settle himself. 

“I can order,” Cody said, going for the datapad that lived on the small breakfast table. “Wolffe?” 

“I promised Boost and Sinker I'd stop ignoring them,” Wolffe said. “It's been a busy few days but certain divas still need attention or they get really annoying.” 

Fox gave him a disbelieving look. “Really?” he rasped, and cleared his throat when he heard his own voice. 

Cody tried to cover how it'd stopped him in his tracks, clicking the datapad more forcibly than it deserved. 

Not commenting on it, Wolffe just gave Fox a long look. “Dinner, tomorrow,” he said, and Fox's spine stiffened. “No outs, and I will find you.”

“Fine,” Fox scowled, except the line of his shoulders softened. It was hard to tell if it was relief at Wolffe informing him they had future plans, or the implication Wolffe was leaving now. 

“So I'll just make my own plans tomorrow night, then?” Cody asked, trying for teasing. 

“You're a big boy,” Wolffe agreed, giving Fox another long look. Then he was gone, leaving Cody fiddling with the datapad before tilting it toward Fox. 

“I don't know if there's anything you can't eat besides the stimulant ban,” Cody said, as Fox looked at him before the datapad. 

Tentatively, Fox took it from him and read through the order. “I can eat everything here,” he said, after enough time passed Cody could be sure he'd actually read it. 

“Then the second question, is there anything you don't want to eat?” Cody asked, trying to be level and calm. 

Fox's fingers tightened, but he didn't look up. “This will be fine for dinner,” he said, and instead of pressing Cody took the pad back and hit the button to send the order to the kitchen. They updated what was offered on the pad every day with what they were capable of producing. Slow days like this had less offerings, and maybe he should have stopped pestering them for meals years ago, but there was always someone knocking around the Palace in meetings or working late, so they were open most hours of the night. 

“So, you finally talked to Wolffe,” Cody said, and Fox looked away, before focusing back on him.

“Yes.”

Cody tapped his fingers on the back of the pad. “I heard from Echo,” he said finally, and Fox let out a relieved sigh. 

“Oh thank kriff,” he said, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I didn't want to feel like we were hiding him from you, but it also didn't feel right to push him to talk to anyone before he was ready. Coming back from the dead is one thing among strangers, and different among those who knew you before.” 

“How,” Cody said quietly. “Did you find him anyway? Where? He might have told Rex, but I didn't hear.” 

“Techno Union,” Fox said. “They got him, used him as an experiment. They had him hooked up to machines, using him as some sort of computing program, an algorithm. We were sent in when the Union got uppity with the Emperor to teach them a lesson. When we found him,” he shrugged. “Later, when the Union had groveled, we were worried they would ask for him back. However it turned out, they never did. It wasn’t often we got to find a missing brother, like that.”

“I saw Dogma, too,” Cody said. “And they both mentioned Slick, somehow?”

Fox’s eyes crinkled as he considered Cody. “Yes.”

“Said he’d gotten antisocial,” Cody said. “Is that true, or does he just not want to see me and Rex?”

“You and Rex don’t help,” Fox said. “But I think he’s struggling as much as anyone about coming back. It’s not like he and the GAR have a good history, even before Palpatine basically proved him right.”

“Excuse me?” Cody asked, voice dropping.

“He was wrong about who was going to sell us out,” Fox said, planting his feet and crossing his arms. “But he wasn’t wrong about the fact someone was using us.”

“He was the one who sold us out,” Cody protested. 

“I’m not going to have this fight with you on his behalf,” Fox said, after a beat.

Running his hand over his own face, Cody nodded, because he really just wanted to ask Fox about Wolffe, about how he’d ended up under his bulk on the couch, and instead he muttered some excuse and slipped into his rooms to hang the jacket he wore up. 

On the bed were still all the clothes he’d pulled out earlier, untouched, and he wasn’t sure if that meant anything or not. 

-

Fox picked his way through dinner, and looked mutinous when Cody seemed on the verge of handing him anything, but eventually they cleared the table of what was brought in. 

And then Cody collapsed into bed, intending to sleep, too exhausted to think about anything else.

But sleep refused to come, and he found himself staring at the ceiling far later than he usually stayed up. Eventually, he rolled over and pulled up some notes for a speech he was supposed to give the next day, at some event he’d totally forgotten about. Only Leif’s well timed message reminded him. There were also already more messages from neighboring systems, and he was in the middle of ranking them in order of importance for the morning when he heard a sound outside his door.

Stopping, he waited, until he heard what clearly sounded like a curse in Fox’s voice. 

Too fast he was out of the bed and opening the door. 

The motion seemed to startle Fox, from where he was laying on the couch again, the Lieutenant curled up next to him. As they both looked at him, the light from Cody’s room caught their eyes and made Cody jump when Fox’s eyes flashed strangely.

“Kriff!”

Fox tilted his head, as Cody hit the control for the living room light. “Is everything alright?” Fox asked, the tooka hopping down from the couch now that Cody had arrived. 

“Your eyes,” Cody said, because he hadn’t seen a clone’s eyes flash reflectively before, almost the way a tooka’s did in low light. 

“Oh, I forget about that too,” Fox said.

“Gene therapy?” Cody asked, walking around the back of the couch to sit down beside Fox, who watched him approach the whole way. 

“Yeah,” Fox said. “Medics think it might actually be why our vision is going the way it is. Something about the way it works on the cones? The medics have a report on it somewhere, I’ve never read the whole thing.”

“I’d like to talk to them,” Cody said, Fox looking at him out of the corner of his eyes without moving his head. “If I could.”

“I’m not going to stop you,” Fox said.

Cody breathed, and looked over. “I’m not going to demand it, either,” he said. 

“It’s fine,” Fox said, still not quite looking at him.

“Why are you out here?” Cody asked, when Fox didn’t say anything else. 

That made Fox sigh and collapse backward against the couch, like a puppet with its strings cut. “I don’t,” he started, ran a hand over his face before gesturing with it. “The bed–it’s too comfortable. And I can’t see the door. It’s so stupid. But the sheets,” and he just hunched there against the back of the couch, hand covering his face.

“The sheets?” Cody prompted. “Do you not like them?”

“I like them,” Fox mumbled. “It’s just. Too much.”

“So you came to sleep out on the couch again?”

“I don’t know,” Fox said. “Maybe?”

For a while they sat there, staring at the door side by side. 

“What about a window?” Cody asked, and felt Fox’s eyes slide over to him again. “The room faces this room. Cut a hole in the wall, you’d be able to see the door.” He paused. “There’s one glass that only allows you to see out. We use it all over the Palace, like my office. For security.”

At first Fox stayed silent, looking at the door again. “Seems expensive.”

“Maybe,” Cody allowed. “But. Would it help?”

He watched Fox chew his lower lip, and maybe it was the lack of sleep but it seemed much harder all at once to not think about the times Fox had kissed him in the past. 

“Maybe,” Fox said. 

“Then it’s worth a try,” Cody said, resting his hands on his knees and gripping his sleep pants, so he wouldn’t do anything stupid like reach out to Fox. 

He tried not to notice the loose shirt Fox wore, one of the ones Cody had insisted he have at the market, a hint of his collarbone peeking out over the hem of the neckline. 

“I’m not sure what I can do about the sheets, though,” Cody said, and Fox dropped his head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. 

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “I just have to get used to them.” 

“We could get worse sheets,” Cody said, and Fox glared at him. Now that he knew what to look for, the little flash of Fox’s pupils as he turned his head was more obvious.

It was strange, to realize his color blindness wasn’t just something that existed inside his eyes, but something that had a physical marker. 

“I bet the Guard became really terrifying during night ops,” he blurted, Fox arching a brow at him in disbelief. 

Then the corner of his mouth twitched. “It drove Tarkin crazy,” he said, and Cody wasn’t sure what to make of that, what exactly about it made Fox smile. “I think it startled him every time he woke me up in the middle of the night.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for when I wake you up in the middle of the night,” Cody said, instead of asking, and Fox rolled his head over to look at him more intently. “You never know when some sort of emergency is going to come up.”

Fox blinked at him, and Cody could see the exhaustion on his face. “Thank you,” Fox said, soft enough to almost be vulnerable, and it startled Cody because it felt unconnected from what they’d been talking about before.

“For what?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, any of it?” Fox said. “Understanding. Not trying to make me–” He sat up and looked at the door again. “We got married, and you never even paused for a second about where I was going to sleep.”

We didn’t marry for love. 

“Do you really think for a single second I would have forced you to be in my bed?” Cody asked, voice tight, and he heard Fox’s little intake of breath, Fox turning to look at him again. “Come on, Fox.”

Fox touched the back of his wedding ring with his right hand, still looking at Cody. “You? Maybe not. But still, as husband,” and he hesitated. “You would have had a right, to at least ask.”

“I don’t have a single right to you, Fox,” Cody said, and wasn’t sure what to make of Fox’s expression, the way his mouth opened but he said nothing. “Husband, technically,” and Fox’s face changed, but he still tried not to name what he saw on it. “But I think it would be far better, and more accurate, to call you my partner, now. We’re partners in this, and I will not make any demands of you. Can you trust that, at least?”

“I can trust that,” Fox said, and then maybe looked amused for a second. “Unless you’re bossing me around for my own good, of course.”

“I’ve seen the way your Commanders act around you, I think everyone tries to boss you around for your own good,” Cody said, and at least it had killed whatever fragile moment they had just been in. 

“The window’s a good idea,” Fox said, after a moment. “Thank you.”

Cody nodded, pushing himself back up. “If the couch is better for tonight, that’s fine too,” he said, and tried to mean it. 

But when he woke up that night from nightmares, Longshot’s scream in his ears from the Citadel, he clicked his datapad back on instead of trying to go back to sleep.

The fact Fox still looked as exhausted as he felt only made him feel worse, as he slipped out for another morning run. Cody decided to drink his tea and work on correspondence instead of risking running into the entire Guard again. 

But then he ended up taking it to his bedroom window, watching the few times Fox crossed the grounds, running with Thorn this time, a gaggle of Tubies directly on their heels. 

Chapter Text

Fox stood under the spray of the water shower, and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to focus on the coming day, and not the fact the shampoo smelled like Almakian apples. 

Cody had picked it out, when he realized Fox was just using whatever he had already in the fresher. “You don't need what I use,” Cody had grumbled. “Your hair is perfectly thick, still. You and Thorn both, how did you luck out and not have even a little bit of Prime’s balding gene?”

Rolling his eyes, Fox had given him an arch look. “Thorn and I also had hair mutations that made the long-necks seriously consider our suitability as clones, before they decided hair mutations were an allowable variance,” he'd pointed out. 

He managed not to tell Cody he found it a little charming, the way he fretted over the small bald spot he had at the back of his head, which as far as Fox could tell, hadn't grown much in the last ten years. Unlike so many of their brothers, he probably wasn't going to just lose his hair one day out of the blue. 

That had been when Cody dragged him along the halls of the Palace, to where a little convenience store was tucked inside one of the back entrances, for anyone who worked or lived there. 

Fox had immediately floundered in front of the hair products, Cody picking one out after he decided that had gone on long enough. “Here, what about this one?” he'd asked, gentle. 

“It's fine,” Fox had settled for, because at least it smelled nothing like Tarkin's had. Nor did it smell like the standard issue powder they used in the sonics. 

“I've always liked the scent,” Cody said, and Fox's hand had trembled around the container. 

Now he stood with his eyes closed rubbing the top of his scalp, and tried to use the scent to focus on where and when he was. It seemed hardest at night and in the shower, because Tarkin's overly large glass shower had been the only water shower he'd used with any regularity since leaving Kamino. 

How many times had he stood in that shower, and wished he would see Cody instead of Tarkin when he left it? For some reason, it had been one of the few places he'd allowed himself to close his eyes and dream about what it might have been like, if he'd been able to go with Cody instead of staying behind–

Biting his lip, he opened his eyes and turned off the water. He was here now. 

The last several days had been complicated at best, and devastating at worst. 

Bacara had thrown himself into planning with Thorn, and they had settled in a section of the plains that surrounded Cody’s capital halfway between the city and Bacara's own little valley. He lived just a little ways up into the foothills, where he had a clear line of sight on most possible entrances. The Guard would live below, more exposed but with room to spread out.

Why the Guard had become Bacara's latest obsession, Fox didn't really know, and didn't want to ask. 

When he wasn't sitting in on those meetings, Fox was trying to learn about Kebii'tra. Every day he insisted he was still studying, was another day Cody held off insisting on choosing a portfolio. 

He agreed with Cody on why it was a good idea–especially after he got his hands on some of the uncensored Kebii'tra holonet dramas that seemed to constantly feature a clone with greying hair and whose face always stayed in shadow as the puppet master pulling the Guard's string to support Palpatine's Empire against their own brothers–but that didn't mean he was ready yet. 

Then again, there wasn't a lot he was ready for, it seemed. 

Some of Cody's clothes, as well as other clothes Fox couldn't trace the origins of, had started drifting into his room’s closet. Thus, every morning started with a reminder of how difficult he found it, to have to pick out a whole outfit each new day. 

In a more perfect world, someone would have given him a uniform or guidelines, and he would have just known, but that wasn't how Kebii'tra worked. Slowly, he was coming around to forming opinions about some of the outfits, including which fabrics irritated him, and which ones he sought out. He started to pick slightly looser tops, unlike the army of sharply tailored jackets and casual pants Cody seemed to favor.

But never a shirt or jacket so loose it risked blowing up in the wind, because after forgetting in his exhaustion the first night and sleeping shirtless on the couch, the last thing he felt ready for was Cody to see the tattoo that took up half his back.  

He kept his Imperial dress boots because they at least were long since broken in. 

The new mornings just kept coming.

When he stepped out, leaving the Lieutenant sleeping curling around the Chief Petty Officer, trying out a shirt with a crossed line at the top opening and long sleeves that he thought was a dark blue, he found Cody already sitting with breakfast ordered. 

It was probably kindness that kept him picking breakfast, like he knew Fox could handle picking his own clothes or his own food but not both so quickly together. Someday, Fox was going to figure it out. 

But probably not in the next week. 

Sitting down, he found a datapad waiting for him. 

“It's just the list,” Cody said, not looking at him while he scrolled through his own datapad, reading the news. 

Fox tried not to tell him he found that charming, too, Cody always a bit grumpy first thing in the morning, sitting there reading the news. 

Nibbling the sliced fruit already on his plate, Fox tentatively lit up the screen of the pad in front of his seat.

The fact he had a designated seat at Cody's table, the fact they are breakfast together after Fox's morning run, the fact his hair still smelled like the apples Cody said he liked kept making some ineffable feeling claw up the back of his throat that he was not prepared to deal with.

“Homeworld security?” Fox asked, that feeling evaporating as soon as he looked at the first listed option. “Are you serious?” 

“It's a list,” Cody said, glancing up and then down. “Rex would love to give that one up. He got saddled with both homeworld and outer defenses, when no one wanted to do either, immediately after the war. But,” and Cody reached over, tapping the little symbol at the end of the line. “This means someone already has it, but wouldn't mind giving it up. The circle with no filling means it's currently unoccupied.” 

Swallowing, Cody actually looked back up at his face. “I wanted to make sure it was offered,” he said, testing each word out. “Because I wondered if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

“It wouldn't,” Fox said immediately, and Cody gave him a serious look, before he slowly nodded. Fox took a deep, careful breath. “Besides, it would probably be stupid. Half your citizens still think I'm the villain in every spy drama you produced.”

Immediately Cody's face darkened. “Those shows–”

“Cody, it's fine,” Fox said. “I'm the one who stood in front of a whole panel of our brothers and Republic negotiators and told you all I served Palpatine and not you. Of course they brought that back to Kebii'tra as me becoming the puppetmaster of spies, sent in to infiltrate your new world. Even if we were never going to try it at all, it makes for a dramatic story. It doesn't surprise me, it just means,” he tapped the edge of the datapad. “You probably shouldn't hand any of the Guard homeworld security. Rex will have to live with it.”

“You'd be good at it,” Cody said softly. 

“We'd be good at lots of things,” Fox shrugged. “Thorn's trying to become a farmer, remember? I don't think any of us want to stay in that.”

“I think he settled on rancher,” Cody said, finally edging back into warmness. 

“Splitting hairs,” Fox said, scrolling to the next entry. 

“Finance?” he asked, giving Cody a long look. 

“Same reasoning?” Cody asked. 

“More like the worst character on–”

Cody broke him off by burying his face in his hands and groaning. 

Ducking his head to hide his smile, Fox glanced at the next few and then paused on one that was listed as empty. “Culture?” 

“Beans told me he'd do government for a decade and then he was heading for the hills,” Cody said. “At the time, it seemed like a decade was going to be a long time.”

“What does the portfolio for culture even do?” Fox asked cautiously. 

“Encouraging culture,” Cody said, breezing right past the potential for there to be a more sinister answer. “There's several offices under it, including the OPSEC for all public productions. But, we're literally building our culture from the ground up. Memorials, parks, museums, theater–whatever we want of those things, we have to create. It's not been a priority except for the most obvious things,” Cody said. “We've had to focus on survival first. But, especially if we can step down from the fear of the Empire a little, and with the infusion of new energy the Guard brings, I'm hoping we can turn more to those matters.” 

For long moment Fox sat, finger tapping the edge of the datapad, feeling like he was going to choke on what felt like longing.  

“Fox?” Cody asked. 

When Fox couldn't reply, Cody stood up and came around, resting his hand over Fox's as he leaned his hip against the table. “Okay,” Cody said quietly, like he now knew enough to see through Fox's reaction. “How about this? We can visit some of the sites. I've wanted to take you to the main square, the memorial,” and Fox raised his eyes to him, Cody’s posture still loose and easy. “Maybe the studio Boil runs. The office for the committee trying to put together the museum. Then you can decide.”

“It's just the first one I didn't insult,” Fox muttered. “It doesn't mean anything.” 

“No,” Cody said, calm and in control. “I think it's more than that.”

But then he pushed away, walking back toward the bathroom. “I need to shower. Finish reading the list, and we can go somewhere this morning.”

“What about Fives?” Fox asked, leaning back in his chair to keep watching Cody. “Isn't he coming today?” 

“Later,” Cody said, and Fox took a deep breath. “Oh, and,” Cody poked his head back around the edge of the hallway. “We got the ship sent out to Coruscant. It took a while getting all the papers in order, but Chancellor Organa helped cut some red tape with the orphanages. Travel visas for the first round of migrants have been done. None of them have to stay here, once they’re off Coruscant, but we're setting up so they can. After this, we'll probably need to focus on getting the Guard settled in housing before the next wave.” 

Still leaning back, Fox crossed his arms over his chest. “Thank you,” he said, hoping he didn't sound surly at all. 

It wasn't Cody he was irked at, anyway. It wasn't anyone really, not even the contacts and friends the Guard had made on Coruscant, who were far less trustful of any intermediaries than they would have been of a Guard, had a Guard been allowed to go with the ship. 

“I know it would have been easier with a Guard who could have gone back with them,” Cody said, catching some of what he didn't say. 

“Exile is a bitch,” Fox said flatly enough it made Cody chuckle. 

“We'll sort it out,” Cody said. “I promise.” 

When Fox nodded, he retreated back to his former path, and Fox waited for him to turn on the shower, before pulling the datapad back to him. 

He scrolled through the rest of the list quickly, before going back up to the entry for culture, hesitating there until he clicked open the link with the information packet on what the duties actually entailed. 

Keeping one ear out for the sound of running water, he read through the section slowly, and then a second time. 

-

“No Wolffe?” Fox asked, when Cody fetched him at midmorning. Cody had seemed to settle into a battle rhythm of spending the mornings showing Fox something or other, and doing his official business in the afternoons. 

“Do you miss him already?” Cody asked, and it still threw Fox, just walking down the street without bodyguards.

Admittedly, they were all capable, especially Thire, Orange, and himself, but neither Palpatine nor Tarkin would have walked anywhere on Coruscant. 

“I don't mind not seeing him for one morning,” Fox muttered, because Wolffe had been impossible to get rid of, no matter how awkward Fox made the dinner, midafternoon tea, and walk Wolffe dragged him on each day since he'd first broken through Fox's defenses. 

They were starting to learn how to talk to each other again. They just weren’t very good at it  yet. 

On Cody's other side, Leif snorted. “He is stubborn.”

“Something he definitely doesn't share with the clone he got decanted with,” Thire teased. Something in the line of his shoulders remained tense, and Fox wondered what he was waiting for, before he let himself relax. 

Not that Fox was doing much better. 

“A fear of spiders and a stubborn streak,” Fox agreed blandly. 

“A fear of spiders?” Leif asked, when Cody gave Fox a startled look. Fox wondered which part startled him, the old joke or if he'd actually forgotten their batch’s little quirk. 

“Didn't you know that?” Fox said, letting himself smirk. “Whole batch. No explanation.”

“You having something wrong with your tube makes so much sense,” Thire said, Fox jostling his shoulder against his. 

“Wolffe. Former Commander Wolffe. Is scared of spiders?” Leif repeated, a bit like Fox had given him a gift. 

“Unless he's done some extreme exposure therapy since then,” Fox said, and somehow he didn't twitch when Gree and Jek slid into their group. 

“It was, admittedly, funny seeing him react to a spider droid the first time,” Cody said. 

“Fox or Wolffe?” Gree asked. “Because Rex told me about Fox on Geonosis–”

“It was for five seconds–” Fox immediately protested. 

“He said you were hiding behind some rubble–” Gree said, clearly delighted, and Fox felt again that feeling in the back of his throat, the easy banter the Guard had lost somewhere on Coruscant’s durasteel levels. 

It was an ill fitting coat, trying to pretend it was easy to pick it back up. 

Still, he did his best. 

“And then I shot the damned thing in the eye socket,” Fox said. 

“It was one of your first medals,” Cody said with a nod. 

“Oh, shut the kriff up, Cody,” Fox said, desperately trying to stick to the banter and not give in to the rolling nausea in his stomach. 

It wasn't Cody's fault he didn't know how much Fox had hated every medal, handed to him by the Senate for saving them instead of his brothers. Palpatine had loved having a different Senator give him each one, each seemed chosen to be a silent torture. 

During the war, Fox had thought it bitter, bitter chance. Later, he realized Palpatine had known exactly what he was doing. 

At least during the Empire no one even bothered with the illusion of giving any of the Guard medals. The only thing pinned to his dress uniform had been the rank pin, in a different color from everyone else in the Empire, just in case the clones got delusions about where they stood in the hierarchy. 

From the way Cody glanced at him, he hadn't kept the right balance in his tone. 

“Remind me again why this planet was uninhabited?” Thire asked, distracting them all from Fox with only a little bit of awkwardness. “So far the weather has been just this side of warm. It’s shockingly pleasant.”

“That's because we're still in summer,” Jek said, kindly. “You'll sing a different tune in winter.”

“You've obviously figured out how to survive them,” Thire said. 

“It was a process,” Leif said, the sort of statement that made the others chuckle, and Fox stomped on the niggle of grief he felt, over the fact the Guard would never have experienced those things, the first stumbling steps into a new world, with the others. 

“Besides, it wasn't always uninhabited,” Gree said, and Jek immediately rolled his eyes. “There's evidence of some settlements around the equator, not so far where we are now. They were a mining community, it looks like, but about seven hundred years ago.”

“Considering the maze of hyperspace lanes it takes to get here, it's a wonder they tried mining at all,” Leif said. 

“The maze may indeed be why they picked it,” Gree said. “Either for safety or worship. They left artwork behind, but no writing, so we can't piece together much about them.”

“We came here to safety for the same reason,” Cody said. “It's not impossible to navigate the maze, but it would have been harder to fly an invasion force in here.” 

Thire flickered his eyes to Fox and then away, and Fox didn't say anything about all the plans Palpatine had been working on to get around that little problem. It didn't matter now. He was dead. 

Fox had killed him. 

Fox had killed him, and in the panic that overtook him immediately afterwards, he'd called Thorn, who'd brought Stone, and all three of them had confirmed the body was his, and he was dead. 

Perhaps when things had settled further, he needed to pull Rex aside and inform him of those plans, just in case someone else ever tried to pick them up. 

“And this artwork?” Fox asked. “Will it go into this future museum Cody mentioned?”

Gree perked up, the way he always has when talking about some ancient alien civilization that no one else knew much about at all. “Hopefully! If it ever gets out of bureaucratic sithhells.”

“That bad?” Fox asked. 

“It's not been a priority,” Gree said, dropping a little. 

Fox made the mistake of glancing at Cody, and had to quickly look away again. 

“Why are we going to one of the holodrama studios, anyway?” Jek asked.

Beside Thire, Orange rolled his eyes. Despite never having met Wolffe before they arrived, he rolled his eyes just like him, using his entire body just in case someone underestimated his feelings. It had always made Fox’s chest squeeze painfully tight. 

“Oh, for Fox probably,” Thire teased, and Jek and Gree both stared at him. 

“I want to see Boil,” Fox tried. 

“Maybe if you're lucky, they'll have props from past productions,” Thire immediately undercut his attempt. “Maybe even some of the outfits they put that Prime Minister in.”

“Heck,” Cody whispered, as Jek seemed to catch Thire's meaning a few seconds before Gree did. When they both stared at Fox in different amounts of glee, he walked past them both with his head high, ignoring them as much as he could. 

However, when they reached the production lot, Boil’s first reaction was some measure of alarm. 

“I was wondering if the fruit basket was a threat,” he said, moustache longer than Fox remembered. 

“How is a fruit basket a threat?” Cody asked, eyebrows raised as Fox looked around the building in barely disguised interest. A large stage, covered in sets and props took up one half of the large room. The rest was taken up by potentially every other prop they might need to use, as well as racks of costumes and the holo-cameras. 

It was not the sort of slick set up the Empire used for its propos, but that in itself made Fox feel better as he looked at every bit of it he could without leaving Cody’s side. 

“I thought you sent it because you heard about the sequel,” Boil said. “A sort of last reprieve before you decided to be done with me and send the assassins.” 

“Boil, I do my best not to keep up with what you're doing,” Cody said. “And I'm offended you think I would send assassins. After our service together, I would kill you myself.”

“How flattering,” Boil muttered. 

“Also, what sequel?” Cody asked as someone else approached. Much like Rex, this clone seemed perfectly certain of his reception beside Cody, which was proven true as once he got to Cody's side, Cody lifted his arm and let the clone burrow against his side. 

Fox stared, finally recognizing the other as a former member of the 212th named Wooley. Cody had been protective of him ever since they had to rescue him early in the war from a Separatists prison. At least that prison has been easier to rescue people from than the Citadel, and had taken less clones down with it. 

Still, the fact he immediately pressed against Cody's side, and Cody rested his arm over his shoulders, made Fox feel strange and fluttery. 

Could he have ever done the same? Just walked right up to Cody and nudge him like a friendly tooka until Cody wrapped his arms around him? 

Finally, he noticed Thire staring at him staring at them and yanked his eyes away and back to Boil. 

“Well, ratings haven't been great the last couple seasons,” Boil said, Fox focusing on him with all his might. “So we were exploring a sequel to Our Minister’s Palace–”

“How?” Fox burst out, everyone in the group looking at them. 

Beyond them, on the stage, several of the actors that appeared to be blocking the next scene stopped too, looking over at them. 

“It was one of our better received shows,” Boil started. “We could probably find the same audience–” 

“No,” Fox said. “I mean how can you do a sequel after that ending? You killed off the only other even halfway decent love interest and put the finance minister in prison,” and Boil’s eyes slowly widened, Thire covering his mouth with one hand, as if that would obscure his smile. “Any sequel would render the entire first series essentially meaningless.”

Cody bent his head, Wooley whispering something to him. 

“I'm sorry,” Boil managed after a stunned second. “Are you telling me the former Commander of the Coruscant Guard watches my shows?”

“Five times,” Thire said around his hand, and when Boil looked like someone had gotten the drop on him with a bucket of fish guts, Thire gave up and howled in laughter. 

At least Orange looked suitably annoyed on Fox's behalf. 

“So was the fruit basket not a sort of threat?” Boil cautiously asked. 

“It really never was,” Cody said, and Fox hesitated, before slowly looking back at Cody. 

He wondered if Cody even knew how he looked standing there, perhaps with a bit less hair than during the war, with more grey in his curls, and a shade heavier. But he looked happy in a way Fox was still grappling with, content and warm and glowing, and Fox wanted to tunnel inside him and live in whatever way Cody had figured out in the last decade. 

But how could he, when he was only husband, technically?

Even more so, he wondered if the fruit basket had somehow had something to do with him, and if so, how? Was it because he’d told Cody it had been the one thing that felt like a connection between them, in all their time apart?

Cody met his gaze, and his eyes softened, so Fox had to yank his away. 

“Well,” Boil said gruffly. “Seeing as you apparently watched at least one of my shows, I could give you a tour?” 

“Yes, that would be nice,” Cody said, when Fox didn't. 

Turning away from Cody, Fox trailed after Boil. Behind him he heard Jek and Thire talking, heard Cody and Wooley, too. 

“Pred,” Orange murmured, walking beside him. When Fox glanced at him, he tilted his head down, toward the area of Fox's chest. “It's nice seeing you in stuff like that,” Orange said. “Makes you look relaxed.” 

Fox didn't feel relaxed, but he brushed their shoulders together as they walked, before straightening. “Thanks,” he said, and focused back on Boil, instead of Cody behind him. 

His hair still thankfully smelled like Almakian apples. When he closed his eyes, even for a second, it helped him not have doubts about where he was. 

Chapter Text

Desperate for a distraction, Cody hit the button to answer the call before even looking at who it was. 

“Well, that didn't take long,” Obi-Wan said, voice warm even through the holoprojector. 

Cody let out a long sigh, looking up from where he'd been sorting through datapads and pieces of flimsi, trying not to think about the way Fox had been watching him at Boil's studio. If he thought about that anymore than he already had, he would scream. 

It felt like every time he thought he'd gotten used to Fox being there, or the way Fox watched the world cautiously, like it would bite him if he held a hand out, Fox surprised him again. There had been something in his eyes under the bright studio lights that Cody was going to drive himself insane trying to figure out. 

He still sorta wanted to try it, just to see what it would feel like to understand Fox at all. It felt like something worth going crazy for. 

“It's always good to hear from you,” he said, instead of responding to Obi-Wan’s subtle question. 

“And how are things?” Obi-Wan asked, not subtle now, and he was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, a mug of tea in hand. He got a little more grey in his still nearly trimmed beard every year, and a few more laughter lines around his eyes. 

Still, Cody figured it must have been a relief that they were laughter lines, considering the way their lives might have turned out. 

“Fine,” Cody hedged. 

The corner of Obi-Wan's mouth twitched. “A valiant effort,” he said. “But it was an honest question that deserves an honest answer. How are things, Cody?”

“Busy,” Cody offered instead. “Ever since the Guard came, things have been incredibly busy.”

“Yes, I heard about some of it,” Obi-Wan said. “Including the fact that apparently I don't rate a wedding invitation?” 

Leaning back in his own chair, Cody ran a hand over his face, because now all he could think about was the way Fox had stammered the first time Cody had called him husband, right after the formal signing of their names.  

Maybe he needed to spend a few days away from Fox. Or at least, from so much time with Fox.

He was starting to see things that weren't there. 

“I would have if there had been time,” Cody said. “Or if it wouldn't have sent up some kind of red flag, to insist on you being there instead of Master Allie and Fisto.” 

Obi-Wan hummed. “Alright. Still. Marriage is a big step, isn't it?” 

Cody was thankful he didn't add anything like for you at the end there. Sometimes he felt like Obi-Wan was almost a stranger, the distance of their rank always interfering during the war, and then the Jedi Order’s policy of trying to intrude with the development of Kebii'tra as little as possible. But, they had lived back to back three years, and Obi-Wan still called him and sent him tea, and Cody knew that all meant Obi-Wan knew him as well as any non-brother in the Galaxy did. 

“It is,” he said. “But it's one that's best for the Guard, and for us.”

“And you, personally?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“I missed him,” Cody said quietly. “I'm not going to risk losing him again.”

“Did you receive Quinlan’s dossier?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Briefly closing his eyes, Cody nodded. “We already knew what he dug up, and more,” he said. “Honestly, it's a little shocking how little he did find. The Guard kept themselves locked down hard.”

“The whole Imperial Hierarchy did,” Obi-Wan said. “The Guard most of all. I am relieved to hear you knew, though. There was some concern about Fox having had, well, prior relationships with those in power.”

You aren't Tarkin , Fox had said, repeatedly and sometimes Cody just didn't know if that was true or not. 

“I don't think he had that sort of relationship with Grand Moff Tarkin,” Cody said. “The kind where he had a say in it, anyway.”

Something passed across Obi-Wan's expression, like lightning across the plains outside their city. “I see,” he said carefully. “But he was still willing to marry you?”

Well, we didn't marry for love .

“Yes,” Cody said, fiddling with a stylus for a datapad. 

“I don't mean to pry into a personal relationship,” Obi-Wan said. “Well, not exactly. I do, however, care about your sanity a great deal, and wanted to make certain it was holding together.”

“As well as it ever has,” Cody lied. “What about yours? Aren't Anakin’s kids about to turn ten soon?”

“That milestone is blessedly a few months away,” Obi-Wan said flatly. “Though they are doing their best to give the whole Council more grey hairs than Anakin himself ever did.”

“Amazing, considering what he pulled off.”

Obi-Wan laughed, but he didn't quite sound amused. “True enough. His wild card ways ended up paying off for us, all things considered.”

Nodding slowly, Cody fiddled with the stylus again. Sometimes it felt strange, to remember Anakin with his Padawan braid and attitude when Cody had first met him, and later the almost feral look in his eyes when he'd stood between the injured Fives and anyone that tried to approach him. 

“Did the fruit baskets arrive?” he asked instead of dwelling any further on that. 

Obi-Wan let out a found huff. “Yes. Did the tea?”

“Right on schedule,” Cody agreed. “The next time–do you have any other herbal teas you might recommend? Half of what you send has some sort of stimulant in it.”

“Is old age catching up with you that quickly?” Obi-Wan asked with an arched brow. “Caffeine keeping you up at night?”

“Sir, you'll always be older than me,” Cody said, Obi-Wan grinning as he took a sip from his mug. “No, it's for Fox. I've been trying to get him to experiment with new flavors, but he can't have anything with a stimulant in it.”

“May I inquire why?” Obi-Wan asked. “Your constitutions are strong.”

“Abuse,” Cody said, because he'd finally tracked down the Guard medics. “He was regularly using chemical stims to stay awake for days at a time under the Empire, along with other issues.” Obi-Wan set the mug down on the table where the comm must have also been, because it stayed in frame, even as he ran a finger around the top in thought. “There's something you want to ask me, isn't there?” 

“Well,” Obi-Wan started to downplay and then sighed. “Yes. You know the Jedi have done our best to stay out of the development of your world. After the war, you deserved the chance to find things out for yourself. We stand by that. Yet,” he ran his finger around the mug again. “Fox also killed a Sith Lord, something no Jedi has managed to achieve in a very long time. In fact, not even I managed that, despite looking like I had for a while.”

“I don't know how he did it,” Cody said quietly, answering the question Obi-Wan hadn’t asked yet. “I haven't asked.” 

Obi-Wan hummed. “I see.” 

“I'm not planning on it, either.”

“Aren't you a little curious?” Obi-Wan asked, head tilted to one side. 

“Oh, I am,” Cody said. “Kriff. I'm dying to know. But I'm not going to ask.”

For a while they both considered that. “I understand,” Obi-Wan said. “I will definitely see what new herbal teas I can find. Anakin meanwhile would like to request some more of those strange apples Bacara was growing last time we were there. When you're next in a fruit basket mood, that is.”

Cody laughed, knocking the cobwebs of thinking about Fox killing Palpatine out of his head. “I'll see what I can do.” 

“Be careful, Cody,” Obi-Wan said, and Cody recognized the tone of voice as one that meant Obi-Wan was concerned but not yet afraid. “With Palpatine’s death, the Jedi have found our connection to the Force… changing. Like he had somehow found a way to blanket the whole Galaxy with a veil only now removed. We don't know what it means, yet.”

“When you find out, let me know,” Cody said. 

The corner of Obi-Wan's mouth twitched. “I will keep you informed.” 

“Good,” Cody said. 

But then Obi-Wan hung up, and left Cody with his datapads and his thoughts, and the knowledge somewhere Fives was meeting Echo again. 

Rex was with them. They didn't need Cody overwhelming them, and he had a lot of missives to get through before that evening, when they were hosting the diplomats of the nearest systems for the first time since Fox arrived. 

Turned out marriage was a much better excuse to keep them at bay than Fox's arrival had been. But even that excuse only lasted for so long. 

Setting aside another datapad, he buried his face in both his hands and groaned. 

-

“How are things with Thorn?” Cody asked, closing the door behind him. 

Fox hadn't brought many things with him, and seemed resistant to acquiring any more, but every time he entered his rooms now he could feel the presence of someone else. It was in the things not left where he'd set them, the extra mug in the sink, the second blanket that had ended up thrown over the back of the couch. 

Actually, Cody wasn’t sure where the second blanket had come from, but he suspected Wolffe. 

“Steady,” Fox called, and then stepped out into the hallways, still fiddling with the sleeves of the suit Wolffe had picked out for him the first day of their marriage. “The logistics are still a work in progress for the town–am I missing something here?” Fox asked, holding up his arm to show where there was no button for the suit’s sleeves. 

For a second Cody stared at him, trying to process the question. He suddenly wanted to do some sort of violence against Wolffe for picking it out, like he hadn’t known what it would do to Cody to actually see Fox wearing it for the first time. 

“Cody?” Fox asked, brow raised, because Cody was still just staring. 

“Cufflinks,” Cody managed, tearing his eyes away from the dark purple fabric, tailored just a little bit loosely on Fox's frame. It made the silver in his hair stand out all the more. “It needs cufflinks. I have some.”

Fox tilted his head at him, and Cody turned quickly on his heel. The shirt under the suit jacket was a much softer lilac color, and it was cut low enough to let his collarbone peek out, the jacket of the suit rounded to let the color of the shirt stand on its own across his chest. It was a stark contrast to anything else he'd worn since arriving. 

“Silver, I think,” Cody said, and then stared at the pile of jewelry boxes sitting shoved in one corner of his closet, from where he'd been looking desperately for a ring a week ago. “Heck.”

“You could probably use an actual storage system there, Cody,” Fox said from behind him, and Cody made the mistake of looking at him over his shoulder. 

“I almost never wear any of it,” Cody said, pulling some of the boxes out and dumping them on the table where they had been tossed the other day, too. “Some were gifts, some were the phase we all seemed to go through, with jewelry.”

“Every clone?” Fox asked, and picked up and opened one of the boxes. 

“It seemed like a lot of us,” Cody said, and he was glad Fox would follow him into his bedroom now. He was . “Jewelry, and neons.”

Fox made an offended sound, probably about the neon colors. “Alright. What jewelry did you wear?” 

“I like earrings,” Cody said, and Fox looked up, startled. “But I fell out of the habit at some point. I actually put those in a case,” and he gestured vaguely to the tall foldable case on his wardrobe as he dumped another load of boxes. 

“Maybe you should wear some tonight,” Fox said, and Cody finally looked at the box Fox still held, a bracelet that thankfully would not have gone with the suit he already wore, but that Cody wanted to see Fox wear now that he saw it in his hands. The silver metal was set with clear and dark green stones that sparkled a bit like the red stones on Fox's ring. 

The red he said he didn't like, Cody thought all of the sudden. 

“There's other rings,” he said, Fox frowning over at him at the abrupt statement. “If you–if you want another one.” 

“Why would I want another one?” he asked, clearly unhappy. 

“You said you don't like red,” Cody said, but when he dropped his eyes, he found Fox fiddling with said ring with his thumb. 

“It's still the ring you gave me at our wedding,” Fox said, Cody starting to open boxes up and close them when they weren't what he was looking for. “I don't want another.”

Cody swallowed hard, looking down at the boxes instead of Fox’s hand. “Alright, good,” he said, and found the wrong pair of cufflinks. He set them to the side. “You're right, I probably should have organized all of this ages ago.”

“Probably,” Fox said, and Cody was trying not to look at him straight on. Fox, looking soft and insisting on keeping his wedding ring in Cody's own bedroom, was too much for him to handle.  

“Alright, these,” Cody said in some relief, finding the silver pair with the floral engraving he'd been looking for. 

“Alright,” Fox said, when Cody handed him the box. “How do these work?”

“Right,” Cody said, picking one out of the box. Fox held his wrist out easily, Cody swallowing before reaching out, brushing his fingers against the fragile skin of Fox's wrist to gather the fabric together. “Imperials not big on cufflinks?”

Fox snorted. “No. They tended not to wear any ornamentation outside of rank signifiers, even at their own parties.”

Cody breathed and then picked up the second cufflink. “The suit looks good on you.” 

When he glanced up, Fox’s eyes were soft. “Thank you. Think you'll make it through the night without causing another diplomatic incident?” 

“I'll have you know I have managed almost a decade with only a few, very select diplomatic incidents,” Cody said, tugging on the end of Fox's sleeve. Then he had to let go, even though he really didn't want to. “It'll be fine. Also. I was serious about not wearing any of this. You can take whatever you want. Take all of it, for that matter,” and he gestured to the boxes stacked haphazardly around. 

Something darkened Fox's eyes for a second. “Maybe,” he settled for, and then looked down, touching the ends of his sleeves. Cody tried not to think about Fox’s fingers right where his own hands had been seconds before. “Thank you for these, at the least.” 

Cody wasn't really sure how he was surviving the night. “Yeah, you're welcome,” he said. 

“Should I be worried about anything in specific tonight?” Fox asked.

“No,” Cody said. “Just, surviving the masses.”

The corner of Fox’s mouth quirked, and Cody’s eyes caught there. 

He’d kissed Fox before. It had been a decade, but he remembered how Fox kissed, and suddenly the urge to find out if it had changed almost choked him. 

Clearing his throat, he looked away. “They will ask you questions,” he said, stacking a few boxes so they wouldn’t all tumble over when he looked away from them. “Probably annoying ones. Think you’re ready for that?”

“They cannot possibly be worse than a pack of Imperial officers and their mistresses,” Fox muttered, and the second part of the sentence made Cody pause.

“Imperials have a habit of having mistresses?”

Fox snorted. “Yes. Most of them were,” and he considered carefully. “Fine. Greedy, but fine. Maybe even a little stupid, to think that such powerful men wanted them enough to keep them. But some of them were shrewd, and some of them were as vicious as their partners. I was always,” and he had that sardonic smile on his face again, the one he seemed to have a lot when talking about the past–and especially Tarkin. “A strange fit among them.”

“They considered you to be a mistress?” Cody asked, and Fox shrugged. 

“Sometimes. I wasn’t really a member of the hierarchy, and I wasn’t really a mistress, so some of the time I was treated as one or both of them.”

Stomach twisting, Cody took a deep breath. The rest of the night felt now like a torture of a different kind. “You–”

Fox reached out, and he didn’t take Cody’s hand, but he did click their rings together and it made Cody’s breath catch. “I’m not your mistress,” Fox said, eyes serious. “I’m your husband.”

HIs hands ached with how much he wanted to reach forward, to pull Fox toward him–and he wasn’t sure if he didn’t just want to hold him, or if he wanted to kiss the mouth that called him husband. 

“Alright,” he allowed. 

Fox looked at him another moment, before he seemed to accept that. “I’ll let you get ready,” he said, and Cody nodded. He let Fox retreat, before he sagged against the wall beside the side table, covered his face in his hands, and groaned as quietly as he could. 

Most nights, he hated parties like this.

Tonight, he was starting to suspect it would kill him. 

Chapter Text

Fox, in his plain but dark suit, immediately felt like he stood out once he entered the party, already in full swing. Clones had always been partial to brighter colors ever since they picked out their armor paint, and the surrounding systems tended to a sort of ornamentation that spoke of long tradition. 

All he had were Cody's cufflinks and his ring, which he was doing his best not to touch in any way that would be noticed by anyone else. He'd fallen into that habit all too quickly, and little reassurances did not belong at parties. Those were only weaknesses, here, and ill-afforded ones at that. 

Every once and a while he felt Thire glance over at him, but most of the Guard was not present tonight. Even Orange had pretty much been banished to the room he now officially shared with Cipher. 

They still hadn't told Fox anything. 

He was not turning that over and over in his head. 

The Guard that were in attendance were officer level almost exclusively, Hound looking a bit skittish in a suit someone must have foisted on him, and Silks and Clover looking far more comfortable in their own new attire. 

On the way in, Fox had been tempted to give them all a pre-mission brief, before remembering this wasn't supposed to be a mission. They'd all still looked at him as he passed them in the hallway, because after several days spent just among other clones, now they were faced with outsiders for the first time since the night of their arrival. 

After the disastrous party that ended in their marriage, this was Fox’s second official introduction to Kebii'tra’s neighbors and allies. 

Which meant as soon as he walked in, everyone stopped to consider him. He saw some of them eyeing his plain suit up and down, some caught on the silver in his hair, and a bulbous diplomat seemed to leave his eye stalks caught on Fox's shoes, a pair given to him by Rex, as plain as the suit but better than his uniform boots. 

Rex still looked like he was waiting for something, with Fox, but he'd become much warmer in conversation since Echo and Dogma both talked to him. Slick, meanwhile, had broken ranks first, heading for the small settlement where Chopper had settled, hoping to find the rest of his former squad from him, if any of them were willing to talk to him. 

Then, he and the Guard were in the thick of it, because unlike the first night when he'd mostly stayed in a corner as an object of observation, here they all flocked to him, every system representative wanting to have a conversation with the exiled assassin of the Emperor, now husband of the world's ruler. 

He wondered for a second time if Cody realized how many of them were asking him something totally different underneath the surface. 

“Maybe we should make a sign,” Thorn grumbled. “Not hirable.”

“Certainly not hirable for assassinations,” Hound agreed. 

“What else do you want to get hired for?” Thorn asked, curious, and Hound shrugged. He'd never been forced to attend Imperial parties, because as part of the massiff corps, their animal companions were almost never needed for the actual event, having finished their checks on each building before the party goers appeared. It felt strange to see him now. 

“Do they realize they're not subtle?” Fox asked, smiling as someone else approached. 

It was a perfectly acceptable smile for parties. He'd practiced it enough to know that much. 

“I wonder if they just don't care,” Hound said. 

“Or they're used to Cody,” Thorn said. 

“Don't be mean to Fox's husband,” Thire whispered, and Fox did not roll his eyes, but only because he was already looking at the approaching dignitary. 

“Fox,” the little round alien with eye stalks greeted him, holding out an appendage that must have been a hand. Fox took it, keeping the wince off his face when he felt the moist, almost slimy texture of it. “Do you have an honorific? I admit, it has always surprised me a little, how short your clone names are.”

“I do not have a rank,” Fox said, when the alien drew his appendage back. But seconds later his hand was back, holding out something in a tiny square to Fox, who frowned but took it. 

“Ranks are hardly the only titles,” the short one said, as Fox realized he had been offered a small moist towelette, after shaking the alien's hand. The consideration implied in the gesture made him blink. He wondered how many wipes the diplomat brought to each party. 

“I do not know if I have any other honorifics,” he said, wiping his hand quickly and shoving the little cloth back into its wrapper and then his pocket. “But what shall I call you, in turn? You already know my name.”

“I am the Honorable Smeesh,” Smeesh said, and Fox blinked once at that name before accepting it. “From the Equidu system.”

“That's practically next door,” Fox said and Smeesh looked pleased that he remembered. 

“Just on the other side of the maze,” Smeesh said. “Honestly, we were pleased when the clones moved in here, once it became clear you had no interest in conquest. The former army has made excellent gatekeepers.”

Fox swallowed, inclining his head. “Something that I hope you understand has not changed.” 

Smeesh’s skin seemed to ripple, and he did not have a neck to nod with, but Fox had the feeling he would have. “Your reassurances are appreciated. After all, the Guard is an unknown to most of us.”

“We will do our best to offer whatever reassurances would help,” Fox said, catching Cody glancing toward him, standing a couple of groups over. “Especially considering how close Equidu is. Our partnership with all our closest systems, but especially yours, means everything to Kebii'tra.”

Skin doing another pleased ripple, Smeesh leaned forward a little, like he was confiding something to Fox. “My people have done their best to stay out of galactic politics of all stripes. We wanted to join the Republic as little as the Confederacy as little as the Empire. But I suspect you did us all a service, when you did what you did.”

Fox stood, a bit frozen, as Smeesh meandered back off, content he'd gotten his message across. 

“Fox?” Thorn asked quietly beside him.

“A service,” Fox muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “A service .” 

“Wasn't it?” Hound asked, and Fox turned on his heel, not necessarily to avoid the question, but because he needed to move . 

Except as soon as he turned around he froze, because even years on, he could recognize Fives and his silly little tattoo on his temple. For a terribly long moment, they just stared at each other, Hound and Thorn forming up immediately on Fox's shoulders. 

“Thank you,” Fives said, breaking the silence first, after it became clear Fox wouldn’t do so.

“What?” Fox asked, too surprised to process it. 

“For protecting Echo,” Fives said. “And–and Dogma too.”

“Right,” Fox said, wondering how many people were staring at them. 

Wondered how many people exactly knew what this moment may or may not have meant. Even knowing Fives was back on Kebii'tra had not prepared him for the possibility of running into him here, nor so quickly . 

“You're welcome,” Fox added, when Fives still stared at him. 

Narrowing his eyes, Fives looked like he was considering something else, before he shrugged, as if changing his mind. “Well, I guess some things are worth letting bygones be bygones.”

“If it helps,” Fox said after a beat. “I am sorry for shooting you. I,” and it felt difficult to say. “Am glad you didn't die.” 

Again the moment stretched between them, before Fives abruptly laughed. He raised one of his arms, Fox almost not recognizing the motion before he remembered and did the same. Fives immediately knocked their forearms together, the way brothers would knock vambraces after a hard battle. “Same to you, vod. I'm glad I never got the chance to try and shoot you back,” and Fox's brows went up, but he kept himself from saying his first reaction. “And I'm glad you survived, too.”

“Thanks,” Fox said, though his lips felt almost numb. 

But then Fives was gone, slinking back through the party to stand by Rex, who looked like he was staying only because he refused to leave Cody at events like this. So far Fox hadn't seen Wolffe yet, wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. 

“Well,” Thorn said. “I suppose you can only have your first meeting with Fives after you shot him once in your life, and now that's over with.” 

“It's not really fair,” Hound muttered. “Blaming you for doing your duty to the Republic–”

“Even so,” Fox said, and he felt again that urge to run somewhere, anywhere. “I hate to think what would have happened if he had died.”

Considering what they'd found out about the chips afterwards, and the dream they'd all had their whole lives about fighting Jedi until the chips were removed, Fox had a pretty good idea of how it might have gone. At least with Fives' survival, most of their brothers had been free. 

Unlike the Guard, under Fox’s leadership.

“He didn't,” Thorn said, shoring up Fox’s resolve before he could stumble too far off the edge. “And now we're all here.”

Fox nodded, short and tense, before he spotted another visitor approaching him. 

It struck him over and over how many alien species were in the room, something that had become a rare sight under Palpatine's Empire. Even the Senate had bled out many alien Senators, and those systems who had a mixed population before the Empire rose often recalled their original Senators and replaced them with a human one. Some of them had been an attempt to grovel to Palpatine, but others had made the calculation to protect those they could. 

Here though, aside from the clones themselves, there were only a few humans.

As the night wore on, Thorn started casually mentioning the Guard’s plan to move to the countryside and start ranching. Each time he mentioned another large style animal they were thinking of raising, and each time it was an attempt to convince whoever he spoke to that the Guard had no plans to retain their military power, or offer any outsized efforts to Kebii'tra’s reserve army. 

It was hard to tell if that mollified some of the dignitaries who carefully hadn't asked, or frustrated them because they'd been hoping to have their own army to hire. 

“You have to understand our concerns,” a tall Devaronian, who had not introduced himself as if assuming Fox must simply know who he was, said. “After all, we've already had one army move in next door.”

“We're the same army,” Thire said flatly, because he'd appeared with a plate of mixed appetizers at some point, holding it casually like it wasn't a calculated move on his part. 

It infuriated Fox he found himself picking from the selection even though he now knew what Thire was doing. At least the other Guard condescended to him by also taking little finger foods as if Thire had brought it for all of them and not just Fox. 

“You haven't been the same army in a long time,” the Devaronian said. “Honestly, we know so little about you, not least of all how you set about killing an Emperor,” and he'd brought his gaze right around to Fox, who froze with something inside a crisp pastry wrapper halfway to his mouth.

Lowering his hand but not dropping the food, he shrugged. “Presumably the way you kill anyone,” he said. 

“Please, you're being modest,” the Devaronian said, and beside him Fox felt Thire tense. 

“Perhaps so,” Fox said, already sliding away. “But modesty is a virtue to many cultures,” and he trusted Hound to help cover his escape. 

“It certainly isn't in my culture,” the Devaronian said even as Fox left. But such a hasty retreat was obvious, like blood in the water, and quickly enough the Devaronian was replaced with others, the questions becoming more pointed. 

Fox missed Smeesh, and thought vaguely about going and hiding behind him for a while. At least he had appeared polite enough, even if Fox had no way to guarantee his intentions. Surely no one could judge him for once again speaking to the representative of a system so close, but he couldn’t spot the short alien in the crowd.

Instead he found himself in front of another group, all from the same system, all staring at him with the same expression on their flat grey faces, some sort of spectacles that let them see in the human color spectrum on their faces. 

“You must admit,” the front most one said, and Fox missed his bucket more than ever. Over the years he'd programmed it with a running list of both species and names, and was having a harder time remembering everyone he'd been introduced to already that night without his lists. “You can hardly blame our curiosity.”

Feeling his smile harden into something that looked pleasant enough but felt aching, he rolled his shoulders into a shrug. “About which part?” 

“The Empire itself,” another of the flat faced beings in front of him said. “Their borders were so closed. We barely know what life was like inside it. One imagines working for the Emperor would have come with certain perks and benefits, being so favored by him–”

Fox felt Thire step forward, though he couldn't process what he said, because all he heard was a strange sort of ringing in his ears. He knew he was still standing, knew people were talking, knew someone was moving beside him, knew he was still smiling vaguely, but anything else felt too far away to focus on. 

Abruptly an arm landed across his shoulder, and he jumped as the arm tugged him against the side of whoever it was. 

Something else was said, and they were moving, his feet taking care of business while his mind tried to catch up. 

Finally he blinked his eyes and the world came rushing back in, as he noticed the arm around his shoulders belonged to Cody , who was maneuvering him toward a corner, sidestepping anyone who tried to stop either of them. “Cody,” Fox rasped, put out already. 

Cody glanced over and down at him, and Fox remembered the way Wooley had tucked himself against Cody's side and how much Fox had wanted to do the same. Now here he was, and all it did was make his mostly empty stomach squirm. 

“Fox,” he said, cautious. 

“I'm fine,” Fox insisted, starting to pull away and Cody only yanked him back in, hand warm and heavy cupped around Fox's right shoulder. In his left hand he had a drink of some kind, which he made a big deal about handing to Fox, now that Fox was talking again. 

“And I am a simple man, checking up on my husband, and sharing a drink with him,” Cody said, Fox sniffing the top of the glass before taking a swallow. “I'm not about to hand you alcohol in public.”

“Thanks,” Fox mumbled, taking another sip, realizing Cody was angling him toward the wall, a bulwark between him and the others. “Really, I'm fine.”

“You're shaking, Fox,” Cody said. 

“It's happened before,” Fox said. “It's fine. I would have snapped out of it, in another minute or so.” 

“It's happened before?” Cody asked, and Fox felt his fingers flex on his shoulder. He focused all his attention on taking another sip instead of that. 

“This is hardly the time to talk about it,” he said, because he kept noticing how warm Cody felt against his side, the way his hand held him protectively, the smell of his soap that Fox was using now too–

Finally he risked a glance at Cody and swallowed hard when he realized he had, in fact, put in a pair of earrings. They were small studs, gold like the rest of him, and Fox had to strangle ruthlessly the urge to shake again. 

Cody's eyes slid down to him and Fox yanked his away. “Why didn't the others try and step in?” Cody asked, but only after it seemed like he was considering saying something else. 

“Step in?” Fox asked. 

“When you got like that,” Cody said. 

“They did,” Fox said. “I know they did. Thire was covering. You're exaggerating the situation. It would have passed in a minute.”

“A minute?” Cody demanded, apparently unable to help himself this time. 

“Stop it,” Fox growled. 

But instead of either dropping it or asking again, Cody only pulled him tighter against his side, Fox barely catching his gasp in time. 

The last time he'd been this close to Cody, it had been right before the negotiations started, Cody reaching Coruscant before many of the other battalions, the 501st pulled tight in to protect both Fives and Anakin in the Jedi Temple. He'd pinned Fox in a supply closet next to the spaceport, because Fox had gone down to greet him, to try and warn him about Palpatine. 

Cody hadn't listened, but he'd dropped his bucket to the ground and shoved Fox against the wall, kissing him like their lives depended on it, Fox's fingers scrambling at the joins of his armor. 

“What happened until waiting for the end of the war?” Fox has gasped into his mouth. 

“The war is basically over,” Cody said, cupping his cheeks with both gloved hands, Fox sagging against the wall because it was the only thing that was supporting him. He didn’t dare lean all his weight against Cody, not in that moment. “That's what we said, right? When the war was over.”

“It's not over yet, Cody,” Fox had said, but when Cody kissed him again, slow and deep, he'd only pressed as close as their armor allowed. 

After Geonosis Cody had pulled him aside, explained he couldn't fight the war and have Fox, and Fox had almost been relieved when he agreed to Cody’s condition. The war had to come first, even after his mistake on the boarding ramp to Geonosis. He never should have kissed Cody to begin with, considering they were immediately posted to opposite halves of the Galaxy. 

But then, kissing Cody while Cody thought they had a chance, Fox had regretted even more agreeing with Cody to let the war come first. 

They should have had this the whole war, instead of gambling on surviving it together. 

And then Fox had stood in front of him and told him he didn't love him, and he'd never been so close to Cody since. Even sitting next to him on his couch or holding his hand wasn't like this, their sides pressed together and Cody’s arm heavy around him. 

“I've stopped shaking,” Fox said, trying to push himself away from Cody's arm without making it obvious to anyone watching them. “It's fine.”

Cody did not look convinced, and Fox was trying not to notice the glitter of gold in his ears. “Is it likely to happen again?” he asked, letting Fox go.

“Tonight? Doubtful,” and Fox straightened the bottom of his shit, flicking a hand at the shoulder where Cody's hand had not been, as if there had been lint or dust there. “It's not that long of a party.”

Watching him, Cody finally inclined his head, but his eyes were still full of doubt. 

However it was a short lived victory, because Cody caught up to him while the night was still young compared to what Fox was expecting. “I think that's quite enough,” Cody said, arm going around his shoulder again and Fox straightened in surprise. “My husband is needed elsewhere for the rest of the night,” and the little group Fox had been talking to tittered, Fox giving Cody a narrow eyed look. “You've all had your shot at him for this party, you have to give him time to recover!” 

“Oh, like you ever give yourself the time to recover from us!” one of them said, sending them all into another round of giggles, but Cody just smiled and pulled Fox around with him. 

“Isn't this abrupt?” Fox asked, stress crawling up the back of his throat. 

“It's fine,” Cody said. “It is my planet.”

It still surprised Fox how quickly they were out of the room, into the darker halls of the palace. Compared to the bright lights of the large gala room the hallway felt empty and cool. For the first several steps, Cody kept his arm in place, Fox against him. But now that they were alone, Fox slipped out from under his grip, settling into walking beside him. 

“Are you going to pay for that later?” he asked warily. 

Cody gave him a sideways look. “No,” he said. 

“Are you lying to make me feel better?” 

“You're paranoid,” Cody said, and Fox jerked his head around. Before he could say anything, Cody continued. “What were they saying anyway? That upset you the first time. You said you didn’t want to talk about it there.”

“They were asking questions about the Empire,” Fox said. “About how it must have been good to work so closely with Palpatine.”

Cody did not react to that, walking beside Fox in silence for a while. 

“You haven't ever asked me any questions,” Fox said, and Cody looked sideways at him without slowing. “About the Empire. Not really.”

“Would asking them help?” Cody asked. 

“What does that mean?” Fox frowned. 

“You're going to tell me or you aren't,” Cody said. “What's the point in asking?”

“To ask,” Fox said. 

“Do you want me to ask?” Cody demanded. 

“I want you–” and Fox broke off. Cody finally stopped and turned back to face him.

“You want me to what ?”

“I want you to care enough to ask!” Fox spat. 

“What the kriff are you talking about?” Cody asked. “You think I'm not pestering you because I don't care? I want you to tell me in your own time because you want to. I think that's been taken from you quite enough.”

He turned back, like he would continue, but stopped when Fox didn't follow. “Fox,” Cody said, as Fox only stared at him. “Come on. It's late.”

“Ask me,” Fox said. 

“What?”

“Ask me,” Fox said, already wishing he could claw his words back. “Anything. Ask me one thing you want to know.” 

For a long moment, Cody looked away, down the dim hallway, lights from other open doors further down the main illumination. 

“How?” he asked finally, like the words did not want to escape his throat. “How did you kill the Emperor?”

Fox's jaw dropped, before he rolled his shoulders back. “I shot him in the back,” he said, and Cody's eyes widened. “The Force–it allows someone to sense your feelings, your intentions. So, I had to have none.” 

“Are you happy now?” Cody asked, quieter, and Fox wrapped both his arms around his chest, not quite crossing them, not quite hugging himself under Cody’s heavy gaze either. 

“No,” Fox said, even more miserable than he had been. “Are you?”

“Not really,” Cody said, and when he walked away that time, Fox trailed silently after him, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor of the palace, the sound of laughter and chatter still coming from the gala room behind them.

In front of them were only shadows and the echo of their footsteps, not quite in sync with each other the way they would have been, as cadets on Kamino.

Fox wished they hadn’t fallen out of the habit, his gait trying constantly to catch up to Cody, Cody walking like he was still marching. Turning his head, Fox watched their shadows against the wall as they went, not even quite together anymore, and wished he hadn’t demanded anything from Cody at all. 

Chapter Text

Neyo practically lunged for his comm, left on the kitchen table while he cleaned and polished his boots. The leather did not need the same upkeep his entire set of armor did, but he liked the nightly ritual anyway. 

It didn't seem to matter how many years it had been since the war ended. 

“Shouldn't you be asleep?” Thire asked. 

“Shouldn't you?” Neyo grinned, sliding the comm onto his sleeve. It had taken some finagling to get it to attach to any fabric, not just the blacks or plastoid of their armor, but it had certainly made Blackout popular when he discovered the trick to it. 

“I was at a diplomatic function, what's your excuse?”

“Waiting for you,” Neyo said, and couldn't keep the smile from his face when Thire made a low sound at that, only half frustrated. 

“Wasn't it your idea not to see each other?” he whined, as if Neyo had ever made a hard and fast rule about that. However, since their dinner under the watchful eyes of the rest of the Guard, Neyo had avoided the Palace, and Thire. 

Instead, they'd spent the evening talking on comms with the video off, and it felt a lot like cheating. After all, Neyo and Thire had both agreed they needed to slow down, and let Thire deal with everything the Guard was going through, before fully committing to trying things with each other. 

Not that Neyo minded a bit of cheating. 

Thire was always the one who called him, originally claiming it was because he wasn't used to being in an empty room by himself at night, and then he stopped bothering to find a reason. He just called. 

They were finally taking the time to talk about all the things they never had the chance to, and Neyo felt his stomach flutter every time the comm rang. Without Thire physically in front of him, it was easier to talk to him. 

Bacara had discovered the same trick too, years ago. If he wanted Neyo to actually talk to him at any length, sometimes it was better to do it over a comms line while Neyo puttered around fixing things. During the war it had been his speeder. Now, it was cleaning out his kitchen appliances. 

“It was the right call,” Neyo pointed out. 

Thire huffed out an annoyed breath. “Maybe,” he allowed. “Thorn and some of the others are going out tomorrow. They're not finalizing anything until they see the site. I think they're planning on camping out overnight.”

“Don't they trust the proposal?” Neyo asked, mostly teasing over offended. 

“You know a clone,” Thire said. “Gotta make sure the intel is good.”

Neyo hummed. “Are you going with them?” 

“No, thank you,” Thire muttered. 

“It's not like you camped much during the war,” Neyo said. 

“I happen to really like having walls,” Thire said. “I never missed survival training.”

Neyo surprised himself by sitting down, curling his knees up into the chair, and holding the comm near his cheek as he leaned his head on the back of the chair. “How was the party?”

“I hate parties,” Thire said, and Neyo swallowed. “At least Fox only had one, er, issue. And he managed to not slip into Imperial mode at any point.”

“What's Imperial mode, to Fox?” Neyo asked. 

“The Grand Moff liked when he was mean,” Thire said, like it was confession. “Cruel, even. As long as he was clever about it. He got good at insulting people, especially the ones Tarkin didn't like. I almost felt sorry for Director Krennic,” and Neyo had started reading the trial transcripts from the fall of the Empire, trying to match faces and crimes with the names Thire dropped, without even realizing anyone outside the Empire may not have known them. The Moffs and scientists of the Empire had been overwhelming figures inside the Empire, and practically unknown outside it. 

“Of course,” Thire said after a beat. “No one actually felt sorry for him.”

“Krennic was the one who got turned in by someone, right?” Neyo asked, reaching out to snag his datapad. “The one he tried to flee with?” 

Thire snorted before he paused. “Why, former Marshal Commander Neyo, are you studying up for these conversations?”

Wrinkling his nose, about to protest, Neyo decided against it. “Yes.”

That made Thire fall silent, long enough to make Neyo regret it. “Oh,” he said eventually. 

“We don't–we didn't know anything about the Empire,” Neyo said. “I don't think most of us wanted to. Now, I don't know. I don't want you to have to explain everything to me.”

There was a long moment of silence. “I see.”

“Thire,” Neyo started. 

“No, it,” and the line went quiet for a moment. “I'm no offended,” Thire said. “I just didn't expect it. Not that you'd be so–but also we knew communication was completely cut off. I don't know why it surprises me when you don't know things. Why would you? We lived in different galaxies, for a while there.”

Neyo chewed his cheek. “That I'd be so, what?” he asked, because Thire hadn't finished the sentence, changing track in the middle instead. 

“Sweet,” Thire mumbled, and Neyo blinked. 

“Sweet?”

“You want to learn things so I don't have to tell you all of them,” Thire said. “That's sweet.”

“You take that back.”

“Sweetie,” Thire teased. 

“Don't you dare,” Neyo said, trying to muster up some of the energy he'd used to have to use on Wac, to keep him from offending their superiors, or from wandering into dangerous situations. As Marshal Commander, he'd always been ice cold giving his orders, never allowing inflection into his voice. Wac had never responded to that, though, and Neyo suspected Thire wouldn't like it either. 

“Do others know you're this sweet?” Thire kept teasing. 

“Bacara figured it out,” Neyo said, not joking around as much anymore. “Wac.”

The other side of the comm went quiet again, Neyo hearing the sound of Thire shifting. Sometimes, he liked to imagine what Thire did while talking to him. Neyo usually moved around, but Thire didn't seem to as much. In Neyo's mind, he lay curled up in his bed, comm near his head, and Neyo couldn't really focus on that image too much, or he'd never be able to keep the conversation going. 

When Thire shifted again, Neyo heard a tiny little squawk, the kind that came from a newborn tooka’s lungs. While most of the tooka that came with the Guard had been Fox's, Thire admitted that the Sergeant had really been his favorite and she was the one who'd been pregnant, having her litter of kittens in hyperspace. 

They were all currently living in a pile on Thire's floor. 

“Neyo,” Thire said finally. “I don't really like not knowing where things stand. I hate periods of transition.”

“I've been as honest with you about where things stand as I can be,” Neyo said. 

“Not, that's not,” Thire huffed, and Neyo heard another kitten sized squeak, which meant one of the newborn tookas was near the comm. He imagined Thire maybe holding it, or if the little blind creature had wandered up near where he'd set it. “That's not what I meant. I meant more–thank you. For trying so hard to make this easier.”

Neyo wavered, thought about what he could say to that. “None of my exes would agree with you,” he said. “About me being sweet or trying so hard. But–it’s easy to try, for you. I don't know why it's easy for you when it's not for more people I know.”

“Honestly, I'm not sure it's that deep,” Thire said, and Neyo raised both his brows. “That is–sometimes people just click, instantly, and it still takes work, but the click doesn't happen with everyone.”

“Still, it worries me,” Neyo said, letting that thought settle in him. “I wasn't waiting for you, but now that you're here I feel like I was. I'm still worried about messing up.”

“Ten years is a long time,” Thire said. “But if it helps, I never found anyone I liked as much as you, either.”

“Maybe,” Neyo allowed with a smile, since Thire could not see it. 

He paused when a text based message came through his comm, opening it up on his datapad. Wac had gone on a supply run with some of the former 91st, and they were all on their way back finally, laden down with goods and food for the markets of Kebii'tra. “Wac will be home soon.”

“Your droid?” Thire said. “You've been together since the war, right?”

“He was supposed to just be a pit droid that worked on the speeders,” Neyo said. “Apparently, if you give a pit droid a voice box, they start forming a personality real fast.”

“Or they always had one, and we're just waiting for someone to notice,” Thire said. 

“Maybe so,” Neyo agreed, pleased again.  

“We'll have to introduce him to the brood,” Thire said. “Make sure the kids get along,” and Neyo wasn't certain any language in the galaxy had a word to describe the feeling that opened up in his chest. 

“Yeah,” he said, curling his fingers around the top of his sleeve above the comm, like he could hold onto Thire with the motion. 

Some clones still struggled with droids, and many found whatever fondness Neyo had for a Pit Droid to be a bit peculiar, if not outright strange. 

Thire just offered to introduce his kids to him, as if the little pit droid that still wore 91st Recon colors and had only become more of a braggart since the war ended was as beloved to Neyo as the Tubies were to Thire. 

“Oh, I'm still too wound up to sleep,” Thire sighed. “I know we don't have to do dawn runs anymore, but somehow I know I'll still be awake in time, anyway.”

“I could tell you a bedtime story,” Neyo whispered. 

“Hilarious,” Thire drawled, and then, “Which one did you have in mind?”

“Did you ever hear the time Wolffe tried to lock all the former Commanders into a room to tell us what therapy was, and why we should try it?” Neyo asked, and grinned when he heard Thire's cut off laugh. 

“No. Tell me about it,” and Neyo thought he heard a little purr come over the comm, like Thire was definitely holding it somewhere a tooka kitten was also. He wanted to imagine him laying down with it near his face, the kitten curled up along his jaw on the pillow. 

“Alright,” Neyo said, and talked until Thire finally only grunted in response, talked far more than he usually did for anyone. Then he waited for a while on the line, listening to Thire breath, before finally cutting the connection.

-

Cody had not slept well, uncertain which part of things he was berating himself for the most. 

Maybe it was dismissing Fox's concerns after the event with it's my planet. 

Probably it was asking Fox how he had killed Palpatine, and not anything more relevant to them, like, did you lie to me and why or did you love me then?

Still his morning only got exponentially worse when he didn't see Fox at all except in passing, the Guard shifting in motion for some of them to go with Bacara to camp overnight at their chosen spot, to make certain there were no hidden issues. Once back, the plan was to start taking temporary structures out for the first wave of construction. After a decade or more petrified on Coruscant, they wanted to get started on their new lives before the winter froze the dirt around them solid and made building difficult. 

Cody couldn't blame them. He could only really hope that if some of them were finally settled, the rest moving into structures in the capital, then Fox would start to feel settled, too. 

Someday, enough time would pass they would stop feeling strange and shocking to each other. 

But not yet. 

Yet, it surprised him when he came in for lunch and still hadn't seen Fox that morning except at a distance. He ate lunch standing up, not wanting to sit at the table by himself, and tried not to think even days ago he ate all his meals taken in his quarters alone. 

In such a short time, he'd already gotten so used to Fox. 

The sound of his comm ringing startled him, and he swallowed too quickly as he hit the button, coughing a few times as Fox raised a brow at him from the holoprojector. 

“You good?” Fox asked. 

“Why are you calling me?” Cody asked, meaning, instead of coming to talk to me in our living quarters? 

Fox tipped his head with a frown, before he seemed to catch the unsaid. “Things are busy here,” Fox said, and Cody realized after a moment of staring that he was wearing the uniform jacket again, though he'd at least paired it with more casual pants and the top wasn't buttoned all the way up. “Which is why I called. With Thorn and some of the others going out tonight to check on things–I want to go with them. Even if I never live there, I feel some responsibility to making certain things are the best they can be.”

“Go with–of course,” Cody cut his own question off. “You aren't a prisoner here, Fox. You don't need my permission to leave the city,” though he felt his stomach drop a little, at the idea of Fox not being there that evening.

Fox's hologram somehow didn't look happy. “Alright, but we are partners, right?” he asked. “That's what you said. So, my partner should know where I am.”

Cody clenched his jaw, not because what Fox said was wrong, but because it felt strange to hear. “Right, I did. Thank you. I appreciate you letting me know. But just, I don't want you to feel like you have to ask permission from me, either.”

For a moment Fox watched him through the holoprojector. “Yeah,” he said finally. “You're welcome. We're heading out now, so I'll see you tomorrow?” 

“I'll see you tomorrow, Fox,” Cody agreed, and Fox looked at him for several more seconds, before he nodded once and cut the line.

Alone again, Cody sagged against the kitchenette counter and ran a hand over his face. “Heck,” he told the empty room. 

Pushing himself off the counter he dumped the rest of his lunch and went to find another member of his government to pester into spending the rest of the day going over reports. Surely something needed his exacting attention that wasn't the empty space where he was already used to having Fox. 

He just wished Fox had bothered to tell him in person, instead of leaving it for a comm call. The fact he didn't, seemed to say something. 

Chapter Text

Fox lay curled up in the rather small temporary shelter, hands folded over his stomach and staring at the ceiling. Out here on the plain, the wind howled at night, and it almost reminded him of Coruscant. There, the wind howled between the buildings, endlessly built on top of each other. 

Here, it just sped across the plains as it came by, yowling and screaming into the darkness. 

“Well,” Orange said, crawling into the temporary shelter and pulling his boots off. “I hope whoever moves out here is prepared to invent a new kind of earplug.”

“You didn't grow up on Kamino,” Fox said, not really looking over at him, listening to him move around, getting ready for sleeping. “The storms there were louder. And then we had to adjust to Coruscant. This will be easy enough.”

Orange huffed out a breath, and then rolled over. 

All the way on top of Fox. 

Fox wheezed, over dramatic, before wrapping both his arms over Orange’s back and burying his nose in his hair. “You haven't done this for a while,” he murmured, Orange hiding his face in Fox's shoulder. 

“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “Things have been busy.”

Slowly, carefully, Fox ran one of his hands up and down Orange’s back. “You don't have to avoid Cody,” he said, cautious. “Or our quarters.”

“Maybe,” was all Orange said, and then he sighed, loud against Fox's shoulder. “But he's there, all the time.”

“He lives there,” Fox pointed out. “But I do have my room, too. You don't have to see him.”

Orange hummed, before he went quiet again. “There's Cipher, too,” he settled for saying. 

“You're roommates now,” Fox said, as neutral as he could manage, trying not to be obvious in how closely he was listening. 

“Right,” Orange said, stopped, breathed in and out. “And more.”

“More?” Fox asked, still desperately trying to be neutral. 

Orange nodded his head, so Fox could feel it, but he didn’t say anything else. 

“Do you still not want to talk about it?” Fox asked, gentling his voice.

“Still?” Orange asked, lifting his head, even though the tent was dark.

“I’m not exactly blind, Orange,” Fox said dryly. “The two of you were always close, more so even than with the rest of the Brood or the others, but something seemed different between you, lately. I just thought it was best to give you time to figure it out, without pestering you.”

Shifting, like he was about to sit up, Orange stopped and just flopped back down on top of Fox, knocking some of the air out of him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t–I didn’t think you were waiting. I just didn’t want to disappoint you, either.”

“Disappoint me?” Fox asked, aghast. “Why would I possibly be disappointed in anything you do with Cipher?”

“Because we kept messing it up,” Orange said. “At least, it seemed like we were. I kept worrying I was pressuring him, too much, that I was becoming like–like Tarkin–” 

“I don’t think there is a single possibility where you could have been like Tarkin toward him,” Fox said. “You don’t actually have any power over him, or anyone, despite the informal ranks we gave you all when we took you on to raise.”

For a long time Orange was silent. “When we started–you know–he told me that he didn’t really–it wasn’t that he didn’t like it, he just didn’t want it the way I seemed to? That I could ask him, but that he probably wouldn’t be the one that brings it up. I felt so weird about it when he said that, like I was pressuring him, and then I freaked, because–”

“Orange, that’s not like Tarkin was at all,” Fox said when Orange paused to actually breathe. 

“Yeah,” Orange said, small and miserable. “He asked Thire,” and Fox’s brows shot up in the dark, where Orange couldn’t see his expression. “He talked about how some people just have, well, he called it mismatched sex drives, but as long as Cipher was serious about being okay with it, it would be fine.”

“But you didn’t ask me about it,” Fox said, careful. 

“Well, no,” Orange said. “If–if I was pressuring him, if we weren’t going to be able to figure it out–”

“I still would have loved you,” Fox whispered.

Again Orange went silent, the wind thundering by outside. Occasionally the soft murmur of other voices could be heard outside the tent. A larger tent had already been set up, where the rations were being stored overnight. Bacara had been exactingly specific about those storage requirements, due to wildlife that lived in the mountains and occasionally came down to the plains during the night. 

“Okay,” he said, eventually. “Thank you, pa.”

“And you’ll now be willing to tell me about you and Cipher?” Fox asked, trying not to sound desperate. 

“Well, now that you know, there’s not a lot more reason to keep it secret,” Orange muttered, a little surly, and Fox opened his mouth to say something else when the tent flap opened again, Thorn crouching down to enter. 

“I was starting to wonder if you were coming,” Fox said acerbically, making Thorn snort. 

“Had to tuck everyone else in,” he said, flopping face first beside Fox, sneaking one arm around Orange’s back to wrap his hand around Fox’s far hip. 

At first Orange tensed, like he might protest, before he sighed and settled back down, still on top of Fox’s chest, as if claiming that space for himself alone. 

“What do you think?” Fox asked. 

“I don’t know,” Thorn said. “I can see a future, but–”

“You can see the horizon,” Fox said quietly, and Thorn took a deep breath, carefully letting it out so it wouldn’t catch in his lungs. 

“Yeah.”

“Sunrises out here must be something,” Fox added. “Is that why we camped out here tonight?”

“You didn’t have to come,” Thorn pointed out, but his hand was still warm and heavy over Fox’s waist. 

“Yeah, I did,” Fox said. “Though, let it also be pointed out you don’t have to mob me just because we’re out here. Cody isn’t guarding my room at night, or something.”

Thorn and Orange both snorted at the same time, and Fox scowled. 

“Right, because you didn’t marry for love,” Thorn said.

“We didn’t,” Fox hissed.

“Yeah, but you are in love with him,” Thorn said, and Fox bit his cheek. “That’s not a secret, or anything.”

“That was ten years ago,” Fox said. “Things change.”

Thorn grunted, disbelieving, and Orange hadn’t moved. 

“And even if things were exactly the same,” Fox said after a beat. “It’s still not why we got married. It’s just an auxiliary fact. We married for politics.”

“Pa, the fact you’re in love with him still matters,” Orange said. “No matter what the actual reason was.”

Fox looked away, even though neither of them would have been able to see it. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Thorn huffed in disbelief. “Fox, you gotta talk to him.”

“We are talking,” Fox said. “Maybe too much.”

“Now that, I simply do not believe,” Thorn said. 

“I’m trying, anyway,” Fox said. “Old habits–”

“Die hard,” Thorn finished for him. “Well, at least now, we have time.”

“Yeah,” Fox said, listening to the wind, to the breathing of Thorn and Orange in the tent. Even a month ago, he would never have believed he would be here, under a sky painted in stars and clouds and not Coruscant’s constant lights. “We have time,” he whispered, because the future felt like it was unfurling in front of him like the horizon all around them. 

It wasn’t endless, but it was vaster than he ever imagined. 

There was another scuffle and then the tent flap opened again, all three of them turning their heads to see Hound slipping inside. 

“Do I need to open a waiting list?” Fox asked. 

“You’re the one that got married,” Hound shrugged. 

“Again, that doesn’t mean you can’t come into my bedroom,” Fox said, waspish. “I have one of my own and everything.”

“Really?” Hound asked, crawling over Thorn. Orange slid off Fox’s chest, finally allowing him to breathe easier, and Hound laid down sideways, so his head was on Fox’s stomach, and his legs dangling over Thorin’s back. “Someone else isn’t already there?”

Fox felt his cheeks heat. “You’re welcome to comm ahead,” he muttered. 

“Aw,” Hound cooed, and Fox considered elbowing him right out of the tent. “You are a nice Commander to us, sir. Letting us schedule cuddles–” 

“I can cut this one short,” Fox said, and Thorn laughed, still laying on his stomach. 

“You’ve missed this, too,” he whispered, like it was a secret, though they all could hear it. 

Fox grunted instead of giving him an honest answer. Everyone already knew it was true, he didn’t have to admit it. 

“You all had better be going to sleep,” he said instead. “If we’re going to wake up in time for Thorn’s sunrise,” and Thorn shuffled a bit closer, almost dislodging Hound, to press his forehead against Fox’s shoulder. 

“That’s still more sleep than I got on Coruscant,” Hound said brightly. 

“Don’t brag about that,” Orange grumbled. 

“Please shut your mouth and your eyes,” Fox said, as if he was not feeling more settled than he had since shooting Palpatine in his own office on Coruscant. 

Turning his head, making sure Orange had his head tucked against his shoulder, he breathed out and focused on staying in that moment, in the little tent, surrounded by the brothers that had seen him through the war and the Empire, and Orange, who had his own arm thrown over his chest.  

-

Cody didn't flinch when the door burst open without a knock, heavy footfalls tromping through his living room and then into his bedroom, where he stood sorting finally through endless jewelry boxes he'd never opened. 

“Heard Fox went with the others,” Wolffe said, and Cody grunted. “Are you finally organizing?” 

“I am a very organized person,” Cody huffed. “Just apparently not of things I don't usually care to wear.”

“Yeah,” Wolffe said, and when Cody finally looked over from tucking another bracelet into the slot of the freshly acquired wooden jewelry box in front of him, Wolffe shook the bottle in his hand at him. “Figured, if Fox is gone for the night, you could use a drink. Or five.”

“Or ten,” Cody sighed. 

“Sure, ‘cause you drink enough to get hungover these days,” Wolffe snorted, and looked over the jewelry case and scattered boxes. “That for Fox?”

“He didn't necessarily mention being interested,” Cody said. “But he wasn't disinterested , either.”

“Not like you wear it,” Wolffe said, as Cody found the bracelet he remembered wanting Fox to wear, silver with dark green and clear stones. He set that in the front of the bracelet drawer before closing it, and opening the side for necklaces to hang. “But, if you give that to him, you know he won't keep all of it.”

“Yeah,” Cody said. “I know. He'll definitely give some of it out to the rest of the Guard.”

“Which you're fine with?”

Cody shrugged. “As long as he keeps some of it. I don't want to control him, and I remember what he was like. Even as a cadet, he tended to be generous with what little things he got, and now–”

“Whole Guard is at a deficit,” Wolffe said, setting the bottle down and walking over, picking through some of the containers Cody hadn't placed in the box yet. “They're going to need time, Cody.”

“I know that,” Cody said, annoyed. 

“Not just to acquire stuff, either,” Wolffe said. “Though I sure kriffing was not prepared for how little they had.”

“Heck,” Cody said. 

“It's why I brought the booze,” Wolffe said, handing Cody a chain with a set of three sparkly stones at the center. “Figured we could both use some decompression from all the shit that's come out the last several days.”

“We should get them a therapy group set up,” Cody said, and Wolffe gave him a suitably unimpressed look. 

“Cody, you tried to flee through a window the first time I brought up therapy to anyone.”

“Because you'd locked the doors,” Cody said. 

“Yeah,” Wolffe said. “No, I don't think the Guard is quite ready for that conversation. I think Thorn would stab me, and Stone would cover him when he did so. Fox would be through the window faster than you were.”

Snorting, Cody leaned back and ran a hand over his face. “We really are that bad, huh?”

“We are our Maker’s creations,” Wolffe shrugged, handing Cody another necklace. “Our donor’s children.”

Cody hung the necklace up and then hesitated. “Has anyone–has anyone heard from Boba Fett since the Empire fell? I know he worked inside it, but–”

“He's in Hutt space, according to Vaughn,” Wolffe said. “He's got some contacts in the Bounty Hunter's Guild still, even though he's back on planet these days.”

“Sometimes I'm surprised more of us didn't become bounty hunters,” Cody said, and closed the side of the jewelry box. With a deep breath, he looked it over critically, the deep brown wood and golden hardware. 

Beside him, Wolffe sighed softly, like he was considering it, too. “He'll appreciate the gesture, Cody.”

“Will he?” Cody murmured. 

“He seems to like gifts more if you don't ask him about them beforehand,” Wolffe said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now come on. We need a drink.”

“You handling things?” Cody asked, following Wolffe back into the living space, stopping by his kitchenette for glasses. He paused when he opened the cupboard, like he did every time now that there were snacks and food stacked neatly according to flavor. 

Even if Fox wasn't there for the night, the marks of him were. 

Cody was not so pathetic he couldn't handle Fox disappearing for one night. 

Sighing, he brought the glasses over to Wolffe, eyeing the whiskey as he poured it. “Now that's not something we make here.”

Wolffe shrugged, handing him a glass. “Some nights call for expensive imports. So, which part kills you inside the most?”

“Tarkin,” Cody said immediately. “The color blindness. The Tubies. You?”

“That's cheating, taking all three,” Wolffe said. “The fact he thought we were supposed to hate him.”

“I can't believe I actually listened to those karking cloners when they said they'd dumped the Tubies,” Cody said. “What was I thinking?”

“You weren't,” Wolffe said, already reaching for the bottle again. “We were all exhausted and worn down by the war, and then the slapdash negotiations and retreat. Besides, they were probably already gone.”

Opening his mouth, Cody stopped when the door opened again, Rex walking in and carrying a bottle of spirits himself. He went right for the cupboard to fetch his own glass, before walking over to the table. Setting the glass down, he yanked the bottle open and drank a whole glass down before saying a word. 

“Same idea, huh?” Wolffe asked. 

“Steady on, old boy,” Cody said. “Everything alright?”

“Did you know Fives and Dogma had a thing on Umbara?” Rex asked. 

“Why, uh, would I have known that?” Cody asked with arched brows. 

“Who knows,” Rex shrugged, pouring his second glass. “Fives always liked you, sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who isn't involved.”

“He sure didn't talk to me about that,” Cody said and then stopped. “Wait. Didn't he and Echo do that stupid thing troopers kept doing during the war, that betrothal oath that went around?” 

“Only you would call that a stupid thing,” Wolffe sighed, pouring Cody another glass of his whiskey. “You're the idiot who decided you couldn't be with Fox during the war. Look how well that worked out.”

“It seemed smart at the time,” Cody mumbled, taking the glass. 

“But to answer your question, yes, Fives and Echo did the betrothal oath, a few months before the Citadel,” Rex said. “I'm with you though, the idea of promising to marry someone after the war is over was damned stupid. We might as well have just started doing Mandalorian marriages, instead of making our own little promises for a day that we never knew would come.”

“Marriages would have been even stupider than those little promises,” Wolffe said and then paused. “Wait, so the guy he karked after a cluster fuck of a mission and the guy he wanted to marry show up together?”

Rex poured another glass. 

“Maybe it's a good thing you just married Fox,” Wolffe said, and Cody dropped his head against the table and groaned. “That should limit the amount of room for you two to have misunderstandings.”

“Wolffe, have you met Fox or Cody?” Rex asked, like he was curious, or like the answer might somehow be no. 

Cody made another distressed sound against the table. “He said we didn't marry for love,” he told the wood grain in front of his face. 

He felt the other two go still. 

“To your face?” Wolffe asked. 

“To Thorn.”

“Oh, that's worse,” Wolffe decided. 

“Yeah,” Cody grunted. 

“I can see now why you're giving him loads of very expensive sparkly jewelry,” Wolffe said, and Rex snickered. 

“Are you really?”

“I never wear it,” Cody said, still speaking to the table. “He might as well have it.”

“I wonder if that would work with Crosshair,” Wolffe said. 

“Hilarious, especially coming from you,” Rex shot back. 

“Hey now,” Wolffe said, but didn't sound actually offended. 

“Crosshair would probably react better to a jeweled gun stock,” Cody said, not lifting his head.

“Could get him a sniper gun pendant,” Wolffe added. “I've seen things like that around market.”

“I really don't need either of you giving me advice about my husband, thank you,” Rex said, annoyed. 

Cody snapped his head up and Wolffe whipped his around. “You're married?” Wolffe demanded. 

“You came to the wedding!” Rex protested. 

“ When ?” Cody demanded. 

“Last year!”

“You're joking,” Cody said, because he thought it had been another of Rex's endless parties he threw any time he finished an addition or change to his house, declaring over and over again this time he was really, finally done with building his abode. Maybe Cody should have paid more attention to the fact Anakin and Ahsoka had been there, flown in specially for the night. 

“Yeah, Rex, did that party have any trappings of a wedding?” Wolffe pressed. 

“We were keeping it low key,” Rex muttered, frowning at Cody. 

“You went way too low key, old boy,” Cody decided, Wolffe topping off his glass again. 

“Did you even sign anything?” Wolffe asked. 

Rex's face reddened. “Crosshair wanted to carve our names into the barrel of his old Firepuncher. So we did that more privately.” He looked between them. “You mean, you really never figured it out?”

“I thought there was a high possibility,” Cody shrugged, sipping from his glass now. “But confirmed, no.”

“Now I'm going to have to check with Crosshair to make sure his batch is completely positive we're married,” Rex said, annoyed. 

“It's not like you wear a ring,” Wolffe pointed out, and Rex's blush went all the way to his ears. 

“I lost it,” he mumbled, “Like, a week later,” and Wolffe snickered again, even Cody trying to hide a chuckle behind his hand. “Yeah, yeah, it's funny until it happens to you,” and Cody had to stop himself from reaching for his ring, to make sure it was there. 

Maybe he suddenly understood why Fox always reached for his own ring, like he needed to be certain it was there. 

When he looked up, both Rex and Wolffe were staring at him, in differing levels of concern. 

“How are you holding up, old boy?” Rex asked, gentling his voice. 

“Every time the Coruscant Guard talks, I get more concerned,” Cody admitted. “Last night didn't help.”

“Heard you and Fox left together, at least,” Wolffe said. 

“And immediately got into a bit of a row,” Cody said. “That was after he just, well, froze at some point.”

Wolffe hesitated, glancing at Rex and then focusing back on Cody. “Froze?”

“It was like he wasn't hearing anything,” Cody said. “Thire covered him in conversation, but he stopped responding.”

Running a hand over his face, Wolffe leaned back. “Kriff. I know it's only been days, and we have so much time, but–”

“The hole currently feels bottomless?” Cody asked.

“Cheers,” Rex said, lifting his glass. 

Lifting his own glass, Cody clinked them together. “Cheers,” he agreed. 

After a moment, Wolffe raised his own and they both tapped against his. “Cheers,” he said, not sounding at all pleased. 

Cody knew exactly how he felt. 

Chapter Text

Hound slid into the temporary mess tent, planning to turn on the heaters to set the rations to warming. Fox and Thorn were outside together, Fox leaning his whole weight against Thorn’s side as they watched the sunrise. As far as Hound heard, they hadn't said a word since untangling all their limbs in Fox's tent, but Thorn and Fox didn't often seem to need to talk as much as other people. 

Most of the Guard were indeed watching the sunrise, and Hound figured someone needed to make sure breakfast was ready. His steps wavered though when he found Bacara already inside the tent, turning the last of the heaters on as Hound entered. 

“No Grizzler?” Bacara asked, not looking up. 

“No,” Hound said. “She's still settling in, and it didn't seem fair to move her before it's more figured out.”

“Surprised you came,” Bacara said, tossing a ration pack at Hound, tearing open another one and setting it on the heater to cook, and then stay warm, even if it took the others a while to come in. “If that was the case.”

Hound shrugged, opening his own pack. “Had to see the lay of the land. It's weird, being out here. Was it weird for you, when you all landed here?”

Eyes flickering up and over finally, Bacara squinted at him. “Which part of it?”

“The idea of permanence,” Hound said. “I mean–you weren't on Coruscant during the war, I get that. Horizons probably don't make you quake in your boots,” and Bacara's brows went way up. “You'd have seen landscapes, but how did you handle the idea of making a home somewhere? And staying there?”

Stopping, Bacara folded his arms over his chest and leaned back on one heel. “Well, I didn't. At first. None of us were good at settling down, Cody might have been the most stationary of us all in his capital. The rest of us sorta wandered around for a while. I didn't start the farm until three years had passed.”

“Three years?” Hound asked, surprised. “I didn't realize.”

Bacara shrugged. “The Guard has a different timeline. You have a different history, and a different future.”

Blinking, Hound tilted his head as if considering Bacara from a different angle would reveal something about him. “You know, I didn't expect to come in here and find the Marshal Commander with the scariest reputation cooking breakfast.”

“Where did you expect to find me? Wrestling wildlife in the distance with my bare hands?” 

“I seem to remember your bare hands being part of the reputation, actually,” Hound said, and didn't like the expression that crossed Bacara's face. “I–I didn't mean–”

Bacara grunted, dropping another ration pack on a heater. “I don't really go around strangling things, anymore.”

“How long did that take?” Hound blurted, and Bacara gave him another long look. “The–being able to leave that behind? The violence, I mean.”

Again, Bacara looked over at him, and Hound wasn't sure he liked someone like Marshal Commander Bacara looking at him like he was something to figure out. “Are you having problems with that?” 

Hound shrugged. “I don't know. The wariness, even more. Like looking over your shoulder all the time, trying to be ready for anything.”

“I have noticed the Guard is quite twitchy,” Bacara said, flatly, and Hound wasn't sure if he was making a joke or not. 

“I mean, you've met Fox,” Hound said, hoping it was. 

When the corner of Bacara's mouth twitched, Hound felt a swell of pride in his chest, because he'd only encountered Bacara once during the war, and was pretty sure the Marshal Commander hadn't actually noticed him at all. 

Bacara had only been on Coruscant to give a briefing at the Jedi Temple and then another one at a war policy conference. Coming back from a patrol, Hound had caught sight of him as he moved between those two spaces, walking across Coruscant's raised skywalks. At the time, Bacara had been with Commander Ponds, bucket under one elbow, and Hound had been surprised to find the Marshal Commander smiling, even if it wasn't a very broad smile on his face. It was a small and private smile, directed at his fellow Commander. 

Even then, he'd had a reputation, and it only grew as the war dragged on. But Hound always thought about him smiling at his fellow Commander, when Rys showed him the latest routes the Galactic Marines were making across his map. 

Hound hadn't thought about that in years. 

He never thought he would be the one making Bacara smile at all. 

Before he could let that thought derail his mind too much, hands useless at helping prepare breakfast all the sudden, the tent flap opened, Fox striding through. “I thought I smelled food.”

“You mean camp rations,” Bacara said flatly. “Bet you didn't eat that many of these, on Coruscant.”

“It wasn't a tent friendly place,” Fox said just as flatly. 

Bacara snorted, but Hound was focused on Fox. “I'm surprised you're the first one in,” he said, Fox flicking his eyes to him. 

“Don't you trust me not to poison you?” Bacara asked, just as flat and Fox actually grinned at him, sharp and pointed. 

“Perhaps, perhaps not. A question has been turning around in my mind,” Fox said, leaning a hip on the folding table. “Why are you doing this, Bacara?”

“Cooking?” Bacara asked.

“Helping the Guard,” Fox said. “You've been very interested in us, in getting us set up. Why?”

“Can't I have missed my brother?” Bacara asked, and Hound found his head swiveling between the two of them, something very still in Fox's expression. 

“Don't start acting like Wolffe now, we weren't actually batchmates. You just slept two pods down from me.”

Bacara shrugged, unconcerned. 

“You could try being honest,” Fox said. 

Behind him, the tent opened again, Orange stepping through with Thorn and Port on his heels. Without saying a word, Bacara gestured to Orange and Port, somehow making it obvious who he meant without letting them see the gesture. 

Fox's expression shifted, going from wary consideration to something that looked a little like he had been sucker punched. 

He recovered quickly to understanding. “Let me guess,” he said, Orange walking over. “You like kids too?”

“Are you comparing me to Wolffe twice in one day?” Bacara asked. “Before breakfast?”

“If the bucket fits,” Fox said. 

“We all have the same head,” Bacara said. “Besides. I’m more of an animal person.”

Hound frowned, not sure exactly what Bacara was dodging with that statement, though Fox still seemed amused enough. 

“No wonder you two have been getting along,” Thorn said jovially, and Hound made a rude gesture at him when he realized he was talking about him. 

But Bacara just shrugged. “Someone had to offer to help,” he said, ambiguous enough to mean either with finding the Guard a new home, or with cooking breakfast. 

“That's Hound,” Thorn said cheerfully. “Always helpful.”

“You're saying that I haven't actively pulled your ass out of the fire on the regular,” Hound shot back. 

Thorn shrugged, and Hound handed Fox a plate before anyone else, ignoring the way Fox narrowed his eyes at him for giving it to him before anyone else. However, despite his ire, he ate all the rations handed to him, and Thorn grinned at Hound. 

It made something warm and glowing open up in his chest, a bit like the sun still rising higher. 

Even if he felt flat footed and confused, especially after speaking to Bacara, at least the future felt bright, surrounded by the Guard in what would hopefully be their new home. 

-

Fox slid into his bedroom without having spotted Cody on the way in. Being as it was the middle of the afternoon, he figured Cody was still in his office. 

His first priority was to shower after the night in the tent, but dumping his small bag on the bed he froze when he realized something new was in his room. 

Cody had shouldered a dresser into the room at some point, plain and unitarian. But now something stood upon it, and Fox drifted over. His eyes were first drawn to the flowers, a little bouquet of them placed in a slightly rounded vase with a flare on the top. Lifting his hand he ran a finger on the underside of one flower petals, feeling the texture of it, trying to figure out if it was meant to be pink or a darker purple. All the flowers looked like they were a different type, but in an intentional way. 

It made Fox remember Cody in his greenhouse, the first red and golden flower he gave him. Turning the vase around, focusing for a moment on the textured ceramic with a rough glaze, he did not spot the flower in the arrangement. 

Sighing to himself, he tried not to feel even a flicker of disappointment. 

Maybe he would ask someone what the flower was called, and go looking for it himself. Cody had not taken him back to the greenhouse, though he had been showing off plenty of the rest of his city. 

It took Fox looking at a map on Cody's office to realize he'd named his city Resilience, like it was some sort of Venator class ship. 

Fox hated the way the name had made his heart flutter, the idea of a city that would stand through all adversity, with Cody at the center of it. That their brothers and people would survive with him, in a city named after that determination to persist and even thrive. 

Taking a deep breath, he looked away from the flowers, toward the second item that had appeared on his dresser. 

The jewelry box surprised him even more than the flowers did. He pulled it toward himself, resting his hands on either side of it and staring at the dark stained wood. From just the feel he knew it was real wood, the kind Tarkin liked to have his furniture made out of, none of the manufactured plywood that had occupied Imperial barracks. 

It would have been expensive to find such a box in the Empire. 

Staring at it, he hesitated, not sure he wanted to open it. 

After all, he could guess exactly what was inside, having gone through Cody's extensive but scattered jewelry collection two nights before. 

Abruptly, he dropped his hands and turned away, grabbing a set of clean pants and retreating to the fresher across the hall from his bedroom. 

He tried not to think about the box waiting on his dresser as he aggressively scrubbed the shampoo through his hair, and only realized he'd forgotten a clean shirt when he heard the outer door open. 

Perhaps he has gotten too indulgent as he got older, but he hated the thought of putting on the dusty shirt he'd worn on the open speeder ride back from the settlement site after showering, but he hated the idea of Cody seeing the tattoo on his back even more. 

He wasn't certain when he would be comfortable with that conversation. 

You see Cody, he tried to imagine himself saying. I never thought I would see you again, so it didn't matter what I put on my own skin–

Turning the water off, he took a few breaths and then peeked around the doorway, finding Cody not visible from the hallway. Towel thrown over his shoulders, he rushed back into his room and grabbed the first shirt he could find, barely getting it pulled over his chest before Cody knocked on his door. 

Fox took a steadying deep breath and made sure the hemline of his shirt was pulled down before he opened the door, stomach swooping at the look Cody gave him.

For a moment they just stood there, staring at each other like it had been much longer than a single night that they had been apart. 

Still standing there, Fox almost burst out laughing at the difference between this moment and the reunion at the landing strip. 

“Welcome home,” Cody said, and Fox hated that his breath caught. 

“Thanks,” he said, voice not quite right. He cleared his throat, Cody still watching him. 

“Did you like the site?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Fox said, and Cody seemed to be staring at the area around his collarbone. Suddenly, Fox wondered what shirt he had grabbed, and didn't dare look down to find out. “It will take a lot of work, but I think they're ready to do it. Thorn and the others have been waiting a long time for an opportunity like this.”

Cody hesitated. “Do you wish you were going with them?”

“What?” Fox frowned. “It's not that far away. And I like it here.” Cody blinked and Fox swallowed, trying to move quickly past that. “Thank you for the flowers. They're lovely.”

“Good,” Cody said. 

“And the–I haven't had a chance to go through the box yet,” Fox said. 

“I don't expect you to keep all of it,” Cody said immediately. “I just want you to… have the chance we all did. To experiment, figure out what you like.”

“I don't need to take yours to do that,” Fox said. “If you–”

“I didn't wear it,” Cody said. “Most of it was gifts. I'm just passing it on.”

“Right,” Fox said, a little doubtfully. 

"I'll let you settle back in,” Cody said, taking a step back. 

“Cody,” Fox said, before he could go too far. “I–You know that, don't you? I am glad to be back. I do like it here.”

For a moment Cody didn't react, but then the line of his shoulders dropped, like a weight had been taken off him. “Good,” he said, and finally smiled, broad and happy, like he used to. “I'm glad you're back, too. I missed you.”

Again, Fox's stomach went through a roll maneuver in low atmosphere. It was the second time Cody had told him he missed him, but this time it had only been one night instead of decade. Hands at his side, he ran his thumb over his ring. 

“I missed you, too,” he whispered, almost not loud enough to be heard. Cody's smile slipped, and he stared at Fox for a breath, and then another one. 

Fox held his breath, because though Cody had admitted he missed Fox, Fox had never done the same. 

“Come on,” Cody said, obviously trying to let that rest without drawing attention to it. The tiny quiver in his voice gave him away though, and Fox bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you hungry? We can go out for dinner, unless you're too tired and want to stay in.”

“It was an overnight camping trip,” Fox said. “It wasn't that tiring.” He hesitated. “If you want to go out, I should change my shirt.”

Cody stared toward his collarbone again. “Yeah, probably. I'll let you–I’ll be in the living space,” and he retreated, Fox finally sliding his gaze over to the mirror and realizing the shirt he pulled on in haste had a low collar, cut down to reveal the top of his chest and outward toward his shoulders. 

“Oh kriff,” he whispered, wondering how it even appeared in his closet, before yanking it over his head. 

Finding a more sensible shirt, hoping it wasn't in a hideous color, he paused in front of the jewelry box before leaving the room, looking between it and the door. Pulling one drawer open with a finger, he considered the pendents sitting nestled in the fabric, thought about the jewelry he used to see at Imperial parties and at the fancy restaurants he so rarely had any reason to go to. 

Ornamentation felt like a foreign idea. 

Still, he picked one out, small and plain metal, hanging it around his neck as he walked out to meet Cody. 

Chapter Text

Sitting on the edge of the sparring ring, Cody tried to look like he was simply cooling down from the weight circuit he'd just completed, and not at all like he was snooping as the Guard who'd moved into the Palace swarmed the Palace’s dedicated gym. The first few days had been a cautious trickle of former Guard's poking their heads in and leaving, but now they all seemed to agree it was for them as much as anyone, and had descended en masse. 

It had surprised him, when he checked the map of the palace, to find almost every room that had been sitting empty was suddenly filled. His chest tightened when he saw it. Almost as surprising was the realization he already recognized a fair number of the names. 

While he had lived in increasing silence, the Guard had planted themselves around Fox, and he hoped those that had picked the Palace would stay. After all, the Guard already had other options, be it the apartment building almost complete they'd picked out on the East side of the city after reviewing several other areas, or the settlement they were planning to build themselves. 

Still, for however long it lasted, it felt good to have people around him again. 

But now, he was also curious to see how they would all settle down. Part of that was seeing how they moved as a group. 

“This is a busy crowd,” Neyo said, sliding onto the bench beside him. Even though Neyo did not live in the Palace anymore, he still came once a week to make certain Cody didn't skip arm day. Neyo had long since declared he was never worried about Cody missing leg day, and Cody had kicked him extra hard the next time they sparred. 

“This might just be how it is now,” Cody said, watching Cipher and Orange hold hands publicly on the other side of the ring, occasionally calling out pointers to the two who were on the mats, wrestling. Thire sat on the side of the ring, arms braced on either side of himself, watching them closely. He hadn't noticed Neyo, as far as Cody could tell, but Neyo almost immediately looked toward him. 

As soon as he did he stopped there, staring, because Thire, like most of the former Guard, was wearing a loose tank top for training, and it showed the tattoos Cody had never seen before. 

Thire's left shoulder was half taken up by an artistic rendering of a delicate purple coral, the kind one would find on Rugosa. Part of the tattoo slipped underneath his shirt, almost coy for being half hidden. But below that tattoo on both his biceps, Thire had inked in the blocky stripes of the Coruscant Guard's wartime armor, the kind they had all worn by the end. Even Fox had had them on his armor, just done in white instead of the usual red.

Here, on his skin, Thire had put down the mark of the Coruscant Guard's armor in black. 

It made something twist up in Cody's stomach, to guess it was done after the Guard had been left behind, like they were mourning bands Thire never intended to take off. 

Beside him, Neyo seemed to have similar thoughts. 

“Kriff,” he said under his breath. 

“Did he have either tattoo?” Cody asked, just as quiet. “Before?” 

“No,” Neyo said. “I thought the Guard just weren't big on tattoos, but Jek has one. He said once Rys had done a lot of them, whenever a Guard wanted one,” and Cody's stomach dropped. 

“He was the one they said died, wasn't he?” he asked quietly, and they both stared at Thire's black bands again, stark as they were under the delicate and artistic one on his shoulder. 

“Kriff,” Neyo repeated. 

Cody was just starting to wonder if Fox had any tattoos when Fox came up behind Thire and to the side of him, leaning on the back of the sparring ring wall and watching. Like Neyo had looked right at Thire, Cody found himself caught on Fox, with his tousled hair and heaving chest, clearly having just come in from a run. Unlike Thire, his shirt had sleeves, and was tucked into the band of the running shorts he also wore, and Cody was not disappointed in that. 

He refused to be disappointed in that for any reason.

At first Thire didn't seem to notice, but then he half glanced over to acknowledge Fox as the two in the middle of a wrestling match broke apart. Even as they did so, Fox said something that Cody only caught the end of through the rise and fall of conversation around them. As he spoke, Fox gestured subtly toward Orange and Cipher, still holding hands. 

“–nice of him to tell me, though he said Cipher had talked to you about it, already.”

Frowning, trying to guess the first part of the sentence, Cody watched Thire take one breath, and then another, and suddenly he was off the half wall and bolting across the center of the sparring ring, Fox vaulting himself up and chasing him a second later. 

As Fox caught up to Thire, tackling him with a yelp, Thorn slid into the seat beside Cody, because even years after Kamino they'd automatically built benches around the sparring ring. Even though they rarely had to actually train or be critiqued on it anymore, it had felt normal. 

From Thorn's damp hair and sweaty shirt, Cody figured he had just come in from the same run as Fox and the rest of the Guard, because they still did that every morning. 

“I do not know where the kriff those two get the energy some days,” Thorn said, because Thire and Fox were half sparring and half seemingly tearing each other apart . Beside him, Neyo had started to rise before clearly forcing himself back down. 

Thire had gotten back to his feet only to trip Fox, except then Fox kicked his legs out from under him. Around them everyone else still in the ring had cleared the area, giving them as much room as the ring could. None of them looked concerned though, like this was a regular enough occurrence, even as Fox headbutted Thire hard enough to be heard. 

“Are they fighting?” Neyo asked, voice flat in the way that covered some concern. 

“Yes and no,” Thorn said, calm and unflappable, and both Cody and Neyo turned to stare at him. “Fox is mad, apparently, because Thire didn't tell him something he already knew about, but they do also this about twice a month. Sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on how bad the month was. Stress relief, or something. I think I'd prefer a massage for my stress relief, personally.”

Cody winced as Thire tried to knee Fox in the stomach, but Fox blocked him with his arm as he twisted to the side at the same time. The next time he rolled, Thire went with him. Somehow he got a leg in between them, sending Fox up and over when he kicked out, and Cody's mouth went dry. 

Fox’s tucked in shirt had come loose at some point in the fight, but when Thire threw him, the bottom of the shirt rode up, revealing for a second the beginning of several black lines on his lower back. They looked dark and almost blocky, like it was a geometric sort of design, but even at a distance, it was clear there were patterns built into the thick lines. 

For that second, Cody stopped breathing, even as Fox landed hard on the ground. 

He stayed down, Thire laying on his back to the side of his. 

“You good?” Thire asked, because it had only been a couple minutes, but they had been going hard at each other. 

In response Fox kicked at him, without any power behind it. “Sure.”

Thire rolled his eyes, starting to push himself up. While everyone around the ring had been watching the fight, many of the rest of the gym was still moving around behind them, Guards using the weights and cardio machines with varying levels of familiarity. “Besides. He didn't actually tell me anything specific. He asked in general, about sexualities and stuff.”

“You still could have told me that ,” Fox grumbled, and across the ring Orange had his face buried in both his hands, Cipher looking caught between horror and amusement. 

“Pred, please,” Orange groaned. 

Thire leaned down and whacked Fox in the stomach, which didn't even earn a twitch from him. Then Thire reached down and held a hand out, helping Fox back to his feet. 

Almost immediately Fox tucked the back of his shirt back in, and Cody realized he almost always dressed like that. 

Like he was scared of his shirt riding up and revealing whatever was inked there. 

Or maybe he just liked wearing a shirt like that, Cody chided himself. It didn't have to mean anything, except aside from the first morning when Fox had been shirtless as he slept, Cody had never seen him shirtless again. And Fox had put his uniform jacket back on the instant he remembered Cody was there. 

It still didn't mean anything. 

He glanced over when he felt Thorn's eyes on him, finding him watching Cody instead of where Fox and Thire were still apparently bickering lightly as they walked over to Cipher and Orange. 

“What?” Cody asked. 

“Just thinking,” Thorn said. “Things were really different here, weren't they?” 

Cody blinked, glancing over at where Fox had at some point put Orange in a headlock while talking seriously to Cipher. “Probably,” he allowed. “But what do you mean specifically?”

“You're training for war in the abstract, now,” Thorn said. “We never got off a war footing.” He turned his head, looking away. “I wonder how long it's going to take them to stop feeling like they need to wrestle out their feelings instead of just talking about them.” 

“We have talked about getting therapists set up for the Guard,” Cody said, and was mostly braced for the disgusted look Thorn gave him. 

“No, thank you.”

“Be good for your girls,” Neyo said casually, watching as Thire approached, Fox letting Orange go so he and Cipher could drift off in the other direction. “For you to process some of your shit.”

“That is a low blow,” Thorn accused. 

“Not if it works,” Neyo shrugged and stood up, meeting Thire at the edge of the sparring ring. Crossing his arms on the half wall, he leaned forward, smiling softly at Thire, who came to a stop right in front of him. 

At first Thorn just watched them, before looking back at Cody. “Does it actually help?” he asked, sounding dubious. 

“Wolffe swears by it,” Cody shrugged. “I think the only reason he does, though, is because Master Koon swears by it.”

Thorn hummed, still sounding doubtful, but then Fox hauled himself out of the ring, coming to a stop right in front of them.

“How do you go for a run all morning and still have the energy to tussle with Thire like street tookas?” Thorn demanded immediately, but Fox just shrugged. 

“Boundless energy?”

“Aren't you banned from stims now?” Thorn asked. “I thought that was the main reason you were always so kriffing keyed up all the time.”

“Unfortunately, it appears to be innate,” Fox deadpanned. 

“I swear to the stars, the first thing I'm going to do when Lithil gets here is spend the next week in a hammock, not moving,” Thorn sighed. 

“You'll last a day,” Fox rolled his eyes, Cody trying not to stare too intently at the waistband where his shirt was tucked in, because while he was half listening mostly he was just wondering what Fox's tattoo actually looked like. 

He realized the reason he'd assumed Fox hadn't one, was because getting a tattoo would have been a choice , and considering Fox still couldn't pick out both an outfit and breakfast without tensing up for the rest of the day, it had never occurred to Cody he would have been able to pick something to exist on his skin the rest of his life. 

But what was it? 

“Are you ready for breakfast?” Cody asked, when the conversation stilled for a second. 

Fox considered him. “Are you?”

“I did arm day,” Cody shrugged, which earned a quick glance over his shoulder from Neyo. “Don't give me that look, I was mostly done before you got here.”

“Sure, Cody,” Neyo said, which made Thire grin. 

“Maybe Thire can be your spot partner today,” Cody said, rising. “Well?”

Fox glanced first at Thorn and then back after where Orange and Cipher were clustered in a small group of other Tubies, all of them occasionally shooting Neyo furtive looks. “Yeah, probably best to get out of here before that turns into anything.”

“Not worried about Neyo?” Cody asked, as they started walking. 

“He's a big scary Marshal Commander,” Fox said dryly. “I'm sure he can take care of himself, even now. If he can be taken down by the Tubies, better know now rather than later.”

Cody snorted. “But you don't want to stay around and watch?” 

“No,” Fox said, and Cody glanced over at him, eyes catching on the sheen of sweat on the side of Fox's neck, the bruise that already seemed to be forming on one cheek. It took a lot for a clone to bruise, which meant Thire had hit him hard during their fight. 

“Do you really do that often?” Cody asked quiet, and they were back in the hallway, leaving the murmur of the gym behind. “With Thire, I mean.”

Fox glanced at him and then away, like he didn't actually want to watch Cody. “Yes,” he said. 

“Have you ever actually hurt each other?” Cody asked, and Fox frowned. 

“Did we?” he asked, pointed because Cody had broken his arm once, and Fox had given Cody at least two concussions back on Kamino. Cody almost stumbled over his next step, remembering it like it was a physical blow. 

“Heck,” Cody said. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “On Kamino. We were preparing for a war, and it was supposed to be the only purpose of our lives. I don't,” and he had to force himself to stop and think about what he was about to say. “I guess I still didn't really comprehend it. The war never ended for you, like it did for us.”

As they walked, Fox kept his eyes straight ahead. “No, it didn't.”

“I'm sorry,” Cody said, and Fox's brows furrowed. “That I didn't really process that. I think I have, but I didn't. We've been worried plenty, about Palpatine, but we have been at peace. I don't know why watching you and Thire drove that home but, I hope someday, you can relax into friendly boxing matches, instead of tearing each other to pieces.” 

Fox's eyes flickered over and away. “Maybe,” he allowed. 

“Unless you just like beating each other up,” Cody said and the corner of Fox's mouth curled up. 

“We'll see,” he said, warm, like he was allowing Cody the space to hope, but did not quite believe it would happen. 

“You know, I usually go running in the morning,” Cody said, Fox looking over again. “I know the Guard has their own schedule, but when things start shifting, if, if you ever want–”

“You're not worried about us turning it into a competition?” Fox asked. 

Cody snorted, because that was how they'd gotten through most of their training, always trying to one up each other. 

“I won't if you won't,” Cody said. 

“We'll see,” Fox said again, teasing, but he drew up short when Cody opened the door to their rooms and held it open for him. At first Fox didn't move, only blinking at him, before he gave a tiny shake of his head and walked through. 

Cody found himself smiling as he followed him inside, the door clicking closed behind him.

He tried not to stare too hard at Fox's clothed back, tried not to discern the pattern of his tattoo. 

If Fox ever wanted him to see it, he would. If not, he wouldn't ever pressure Fox into sharing anything he didn't want to. 

“I'll order breakfast,” he said, yanking his eyes away. 

“Thank you,” Fox said, slipping away to the shower like usual and Cody breathed through that. 

And then he ordered breakfast. 

Chapter Text

On what would probably be the last truly warm day of summer, the second ship from Coruscant landed on Kebii'tra. Cody stood once again waiting for the gangplank to lower, except this time Fox already stood beside him, and Thorn wasn't even trying to contain how he felt, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. 

“They have to cross check the manifest and then the doors first,” Fox drawled, Cody sliding his eyes over toward him. He wondered if Fox could imagine he'd almost been as bad as Thorn, waiting. 

“Oh shut up,” Thorn grumbled. “How long can that take? Two minutes?”

He looked like he was about to start timing it. Beside him, Stone rested a hand on his shoulder. It felt a little unclear if he meant it to be comforting, or if he was trying to hold Thorn still as they waited. 

“You'll be fine,” Fox said, except he didn't sound very soothing, he sounded more like a Commander. “You've waited this long.”

At first Thorn's look was disbelieving, before it morphed into something Cody could not quite recognize. 

“You're right,” he said, serious and somber. “I have waited this long.”

Fox gave him a sharp smile, but before Cody could give that exchange its due consideration, the gangplank lowered with a hiss, and two small children toddled down it at frankly alarming speeds for how short their legs were. 

“What?” Thorn managed, before immediately crouching down with his arms out at the bottom of the ramp. “You weren't walking when I left!” 

“Da!” one of them yelled as they both collided with him, Thorn getting one in each arm before standing. 

“I thought you said they weren't walking?” Thorn asked the woman who'd followed them, after he had kissed the top of each of their heads. 

“Clone genes,” the golden skinned woman said, and Cody guessed she was Lithil. “Apparently when they start to learn anything, they learn it immediately. They went from their first little steps to running in two days.” 

She stopped in front of Thorn and they stared at each other, even as others started following them off the ship. Immediately Stone and Thire started gesturing the others forward and into lines, a motley crew of Coruscant's underworld citizens who'd worked with the Guard over the years, and a cluster of kids in various ages, who looked deeply distrustful despite almost all having the mop of dark hair and brown eyes so common in clones. 

Cody's chest ached, but Leif was helping with the adults, and Wolffe and Jek were backing Thire up on the kids, so he stayed by Fox, who hadn't shifted away from Thorn. They would be processed, get papers, and get settled, the way any refugee group would. At least this ship wasn't the logistical nightmare of the entire Guard all at once. 

In front of him, Lithil and Thorn still stared at each other, like they were struggling with something, even as he held a toddler in each arm. 

“Real?” Lithil asked, after what felt like a long time, the edge of desperate hope in her voice. 

“It's real,” Thorn agreed, the girl with her mother's golden eyes pressing her face against the side of his neck. But the second one–and Cody did not know who was who yet–was already squirming, tilting away from her father and toward Fox. 

Without hesitating, or waiting for Thorn to offer, Fox plucked the girl out of the crook of his elbow, making her squeak happily. Immediately the second one snapped her head up, waving her arms toward Fox. 

“P! P!” she declared, Thorn finally looking away from Lithil to look toward Fox. 

“Why are you always trying to steal my children?” he asked, in mock offense. 

“Because you haven't kissed the mother of them yet,” Fox said, the first girl securely in the crook of one arm, the other arm held out, expectant. Lithil laughed, like this was an old joke, but also a bit like she was relieved , like anything in the galaxy would have made her laugh in that moment. “Hand Asyr over and show her the ring, already.”

Instead of even offering a mock protest, Thorn shifted so Fox could take Asyr before turning back to Lithil. They didn't so much as come together as collapse against each other, like they were the only thing capable of supporting the other. 

Cody looked away when he saw Thorn's shoulders shake just once, Lithil’s fingers twisted up in the back of his jacket. But that meant he looked at Fox, holding two children up against his chest. While the pair of them had been content to snuggle against their father's broad shoulders, they were trying to both climb up Fox. 

“P! P!” Asyr chirped again, Haneli with both her hands buried in his hair. 

“You know, one day you'll learn my name doesn't start with a P,” Fox muttered, and it made Orange snort. He stood with several Tubies, who Cody didn't know very well yet. All four of them had a matching tattoo under their left eye, though they otherwise couldn't be more different, as far as clones went.

“I wanna know if she's trying to call you Pa or Pred first,” he said. 

“Both of which would be your fault,” the Tubie with light amber eyes and a buzzcut said. Orange shrugged, clearly unrepentant about it. The other three of what Cody could only assume was Thorn's squad had fanned out a little, like they were casually covering Lithil and Thorn from view of others, while they cried out their reunion.

Cody just stood there, superfluous to the proceedings, and not even managing to get a formal greeting out before the others took over. 

Which was probably for the best, because all he could do was stare at Fox, and the easy way he kept both the girls in his grip, while letting them attempt to climb him like a mountain. 

He looked… happy , juggling the both of them. 

Cody was having a hard time breathing. 

“Alright, alright,” Thorn finally said, swatting at Fox's arm. “Give them back, I missed them–”

“Only if you can pry them off yourself,” Fox said with a smirk, though he immediately helped offload Haneli back into Thorn's arms, but Asyr made a squeaking sound that was trying to be a snarl when Fox tried to do the same with her. 

“Well, guess you'll have to share,” Fox said smugly. 

“They're my daughters,” Thorn groused, without any heat behind it, burying his face in Haneli’s hair, and wrapping his other arm back around Lithil's waist. 

Under the bright blue sky of a sunny Kebii'tra day, they all almost looked like they were glowing.

-

Thorn married Lithil the next morning, under the sunrise, and Cody did not see Fox much the next couple of days. But every morning he was there for their now established run–the first morning had been a deeply frustrating jog as they tried not to compete with each other, as if they could wash the problems of the past away by letting the other go ahead–and in the evening he always came back to their rooms. 

Not that Cody was worried. 

He knew–he was fairly certain–Fox was not planning on leaving. Even if he did, he'd only be an hour’s ride away on speeder, not locked half the galaxy away behind the curtain of silence and angry last words. 

But if he did leave, Cody would miss him. He'd miss the runs that had settled into a comfortable routine where they pushed each other just a little, instead of competing at a flat out run, the way they’d both been on Kamino. He'd miss finding Fox with a datapad sitting on the edge of the fountain out on the Palace grounds, where he seemed to end up every day now that he'd found it. He'd miss sharing meals with each other, sometimes alone, sometimes with Wolffe or Rex or Thire or even Orange stopping by. 

So it was a relief on the day that Thorn and the rest of the Guard went out to their growing settlement and stayed , temporary shelters up and ready for them, that Fox saw them off, and then followed Cody back to the Palace, to their home . 

Cody was almost completely ready to believe Fox when he said he planned on staying. 

Still, it surprised him the next morning when he stood ready by the door and Fox hadn't even stirred yet. After a quick debate with himself, he poked his head into Fox's room, finding him sprawled across the bed, hair a wild mess around his head, and two tookas curled up behind his hips. 

“Fox?” he whispered and got a grunt as his reply. “Are you okay?”

Fox mumbled something and half turned, blinking bleary eyes up at Cody, and Cody stood frozen in the door. There was a crease mark on Fox's cheek from the pillow, and he looked like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, cheeks flushed from sleep. “I'm tired,” he managed. 

“Then go back to sleep,” Cody said. 

“I should,” and Fox shifted, starting to sit up before stopping. “If it's time to get up, I should.”

Unable to resist walking into the room, Cody reached down, brushing some of the curls back from Fox's forehead, before processing just what an intimate gesture that was. He managed not to snatch his hand back. “Go back to sleep, Fox. It's alright, you can sleep in,” and Fox didn't quite look like he believed him, but he'd barely reacted to the touch either. 

“Alright,” he sighed, sinking back down, and Cody left before he did anything stupider, like stay and pet Fox's hair. 

But by the time he got back from the run, passing several clusters of Tubies who had watched him go by alone by with interest, and had breakfast sent from down the hall, Fox still hadn't gotten up. 

So Cody commed the on-call Palace doctor, and after a moment’s consideration sent a quick message to Wheel, the Guard’s medic on duty. 

“I'm pretty sure he's de-orbiting,” Cody said, and the doctor–a medic that studied medicine on three different planets after the war, by the name of Stew–nodded seriously while the Guard medic frowned. 

“De-orbiting?” he asked. 

“Slang for crashing after the war,” Stew said. “It took us about the first year, and then suddenly once we had some infrastructure and realized this was our lives now–well. We had a lot of brothers go down in sheer exhaustion. All of that has to catch up to you eventually.”

“Not everyone,” Cody said, because Wolffe had never crashed the way some had, but it was certainly not an insignificant number of brothers who’d needed to take time to rest, once they’d let go of the adrenaline that had carried them that far. 

“But a lot of us,” Stew said, Wheel nodded seriously. “You slept for two days, for instance.”

Cody pulled a face. “Only after I knew Rex and Wolffe were capable of handling things without me.”

“He was probably holding on until the others left,” Wheel said, looking between the other two with a cautious look, like he wasn’t certain he liked offering his opinion to them. “It's not like he's been managing his withdrawal from stims well, either. Or, at all.”

“Why, how bad was his stimulant use?” Stew asked, looking over at Wheel with an unhappy frown. 

“Well, Accession Week lasted a week,” Wheel said dryly, and both Cody and Stew winced. “But it wasn't just Imperial parties, it was whenever someone felt like they needed the personal touch of the Emperor’s pet massiff. They asked him to jump, and all he could do was ask how high–or for how long.” 

Cody cleared his throat, because apparently his last conversation with the Guard medics on Fox's stimulant ban had not been as detailed as it could have been. “I understand. Honestly, I just want to make sure that's what this most likely is, and that he's not really sick.”

“We'll check on him,” Stew agreed, Wheel nodding along. Then they both disappeared into Fox's room, and Cody puttered around the living space, trying to pretend he was doing something, and not just waiting for them to come back and tell him. 

Stew came out first. “Well, you aren't wrong, but he's still running hotter than normal, too,” he said. “Probably just a stray virus kept at bay until now by stubbornness. I’ve got some meds to help calm it down, but it’s better to let him sweat it out than interfere too much. So try and keep him down the next few days, would you?” he added, with a wrangle of how brows like he was implying Cody in particular probably had a decent chance of keeping Fox in bed. 

Forcing a smile, Cody laughed and nodded, promising to do his best. 

If only he actually had the right to crawl into that bed with Fox, wrap his arms around him, and convince him to stay there. Even the fact Fox was sick hardly felt like that much of a deterrent. 

He waited, Wheel passing him by quickly enough, with a promise to send him some recommendations for foods and teas that would help Fox in the next few weeks, as his body continued adjusting to not constantly taking stims and pushing itself past its own limits. Cody figured Fox might be thankful to have a ready made list of foods to eat, but managed not to say that to Wheel’s face.

With the other two gone, he slipped back into Fox's room, finding him already trying to sit up. 

“You're taking their advice seriously, huh?’ he asked. 

“I don't,” Fox grumbled. “I'm fine–” 

He froze when Cody held a hand up to his forehead, staring up at Cody with surprised eyes and reddened cheeks. Cody wasn't going to read anything into that except that Fox did feel overly warm. 

“What are you doing?” Fox rasped. 

“Informing you you're running too hot,” Cody said. 

“That is not a proper internal temperature check,” Fox said, still just gazing up at him. 

Instead of risking keeping his hand there, Cody poked Fox's shoulder, and Fox collapsed backward, expression surprised at his body's betrayal. 

“I will call Orange,” Cody said. “I bet he'd love to sit on you for a couple hours. I bet the whole Guard would volunteer to be on rotation. I can say this from experience, because the 212th turned out to be like what when I de-orbited.”

“Stew used that term too,” Fox said, but once he accepted he was laying down again, he turned on his side and pressed his face against the pillow, so just one eye glared up at Cody. “You don't have to call the whole Guard.”

“Just rest, Fox,” Cody said softly, the Lieutenant already hopping back on the bed and settling on Fox's hips. “That's your only job the next few days. Thire can handle the Guard that long.”

“I know,” Fox breathed out, already mostly asleep again. “But–”

“It's okay, Fox,” Cody murmured, and gave up, petting Fox's wild curls a few times, hearing him sigh quietly, sinking deeper into the bed. “You can rest, we have the watch. We've got you.”

“Cody,” Fox whispered, but then he was out, the Lieutenant watching Cody closely from his position on top of Fox. 

“He's needed this for a long time,” Cody told the tooka, eating an ear flick. “Don't worry, I'm not going to interrupt him.”

Sometimes he found it a bit strange how he kept talking to the tooka like he understood him. 

Shaking his head at himself, he went to comm Orange, and let him know Fox was bed bound for the next several days. 

Chapter Text

“And as he lifted his throbbing member with one hand, proudly showing her the weight of his desire for her,” Orange read off the datapad, and Fox groaned, loudly enough Orange cut off. 

“Please,” he wheezed, arms cradling an ice pack to his forehead. “If you must feel the need to read me something, does it have to be one from Thire's collection of terrible romance novels?”

“Yes,” Orange said, and he sat with his back against the headboard of Fox's bed, window behind his shoulder, legs crossed at the ankle and a datapad in his hands, Fox's head on the pillow near his hip. 

“Can you just shoot me instead?” Fox asked. 

“No,” Orange said, and Fox growled, unsuccessfully because it made him cough. Orange caught the icepack, keeping it from sliding onto Fox's pillow. “Hey–”

“How did I survive thirteen years on Coruscant without getting sick?” he muttered, turning onto his side and curling his legs up against his chest. Orange kept his hand out, holding the icepack for him. 

With his other, he hefted the datapad back up. “Theia felt her most private parts pulse with want, felt it drip–”

“I hate you so much,” Fox said. “At least skip ahead to the plot, instead of whatever the kriff this is.”

“Pretty sure this is the plot,” Orange said, and Fox could hear his grin. 

“I know Thire has no taste,” Fox said. “But surely you do. There has to be a book in his stash that isn't as painful as this.”

Orange’s pause should have made him more suspicious. “You mean like, two men having sex instead?” he asked slyly. 

Fox tensed and then sighed. “This was a trap, wasn't it?”

“You walked right into it, which means you can't complain,” Orange said, and Fox blew out a breath. Rolling on his back, he took possession of the ice pack again, the Lieutenant chirping at him when he moved his legs too much. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “What's the title?”

“The Commander and His Exile,” Orange read, and Fox tensed. 

“No,” he said. “Tell me someone didn't write that in mere weeks and publish it.”

“It's about from before our arrival,” Orange said. 

“That's worse, I think,” Fox decided. “Don't you have literally anything else you could be doing?”

“Right now? No, Pa,” and Orange brushed his fingers through Fox's hair, pushing some of the damp curls back from his forehead. “I'm just here to support you.”

“This is support?” Fox grumbled. “Tell me the exile has nothing to do with the Guard.”

“It's not a Guard,” Orange promised. “Political exile from a neighboring system, in desperate need of aid and a place to stay.”

Fox grunted. “Fine.”

“I promise when you can keep your eyes open without making your head hurt more, I'll let you switch to watching your terrible holo soaps,” Orange said, with far more seriousness than the statement deserved. 

It earned him another grunt from Fox. 

He felt overly hot, and all his limbs ached, and his head hurt, and no matter which way he turned, it was still uncomfortable. But, as Orange started reading the second book, he dropped the ice pack over the side of the bed and turned again so he could rest his head on Orange’s leg, curling one arm over his knees. 

Immediately, Orange dropped one hand to pet Fox's hair, and it felt a little pathetic. 

But it also felt like an indulgence, that Orange could spend the day annoying him, and that later Cipher would probably stop by, and Thire had promised to bring the tooka kittens from his room over to tuck in with Fox for the night, and Cody was out in the kitchen, puttering around and fussing over making Fox endless tea instead of doing his job. 

In all his years on Kamino, and then Coruscant, Fox would never have imagined a day like this. 

It made him squeeze Orange's legs a little tighter, face mashed into the fabric of his pants, and Orange's hand hesitated, before it took up its gentle pets again. 

Somewhere in the description of the so-named exile–thankfully a noble’s son with blond hair and a drinking problem, and not a cranky ex-Commander with a cynicism problem–Fox closed his eyes again and fell asleep. 

-

“Is something wrong?” Neyo asked Thire, as Thire stood staring at nothing in particular that Neyo could see, arms crossed over his chest. Neyo had noticed all the Guard’s former Commanders stood like that, arms crossed, and it did not mean they were feeling particularly defensive or closed off. Not any more than they always were, anyway. 

“Hm?” Thire turned his head toward him, not quite looking over.

“Is something wrong?” Neyo repeated, and that got Thire to turn all the way to look at him. 

Ever since Neyo had narrowly avoided physically getting dog piled by Thire's brood, the self imposed notion of holding back from seeing each other had fallen off. That night, to the brood’s apparent and intense annoyance, Neyo had finally whisked Thire away from the Palace, taking him down one of Resilience’s night time street markets to eat six different kinds of food without anyone else standing over their shoulders and watching. Neyo remained recognizable as a former Marshal Commander with a face tattoo, but in a loose shirt and casual pants, Thire might have passed for any clone at all, until the light caught his eyes just right to remind Neyo he had undergone the Empire’s gene therapy. 

It had been a glorious late summer night, cool enough to be comfortable, and dark enough the street lamps had caught Thire's face in laughter, highlighting the dimples of his smile. 

Neyo was very happy to rediscover Prime’s dimples on Thire's face. 

Now, Thire stood, and seemed to hesitate. “Nothing's wrong, exactly,” and Neyo felt his chest tighten, because that always meant something was wrong. “I've just–been thinking,” and Neyo had just gotten used to the idea of Thire being around, had just gotten used to going up to Cody's palace more often, had just gotten used to knowing the names of Thire's whole brood. 

“About?” he asked cautiously. 

“It's not that I'm complaining,” Thire said, and Neyo blinked. “I'm not. It's been–sweet. And necessary, to take things more carefully.”

“But?” Neyo tried, when he stopped there. 

“Well, our whole relationship started with sex, right?” Thire said, and they had been walking through the Palace’s gardens, thankfully, having stopped to consider the flowering hedges along one wall. Thire had spent a fair amount of the day before pestering first Fox, laid up in bed for the first time in his life, and then his brood about watching Fox’s door to make sure he didn’t try to sneak past Orange and Cody. The litter of tooka kittens had also been dropped off in an attempt to keep Fox exactly where he was, by someone placing a kitten on his chest every time he tried to move.

But since they were alone, without others watching, Neyo could gape at him without anyone else seeing.

“Right,” he finally managed. “That's what's bothering you?”

“I didn't say I was bothered!” Thire protested hotly, turning all the way around to face him. “I've just been thinking, that's all! It's strange to start one way and then now you haven't even kissed me, let alone–”

“If you want me to kiss you, you can just say that,” Neyo said. 

“Well, alright, then, I want you to kiss me–” and Thire cut off with a soft oomph sound as Neyo took one step forward and titled his head to slot their mouths together. 

At first, Thire tensed, and Neyo hoped it was in surprise. His mouth was shaped the same as other clones, and he felt the same under Neyo's hands, but he still kissed like Thire, once he relaxed into it, both his hands landing on Neyo's back. 

Neyo went slow, and careful, even as he shuffled around a little, to better cup Thire's waist with both his hands, chests pressed together. Distantly, he heard the fountain that was not too far away, the high call of some of Kebii'tra’s birds that flew over the city but rarely landed inside it, and closer, the sound of Thire's careful breaths. 

He drew back and Thire made an annoyed sound. 

“Oh? Do you want another kiss?”

“Oh I see,” Thire grumbled. “Now you're teasing me,” so Neyo had to kiss him again, to prove it wasn't entirely true. 

The second kiss, Thire dragged one of his hands up Neyo's back, bunching the fabric up as he went, before sliding around his shoulder and up the side of his neck–

Eventually his hand landed on Neyo's cheek, the one with his tattoo, and it made the breath stutter out of Neyo's lungs.

It had always surprised him, the fact Thire liked touching the inked in numbers on his cheeks. Most brothers didn't like it, finding it too off putting, Neyo choosing to hold onto the designation number the rest of them had discarded the instant they could. 

In the three days they'd had, the tiny little bubble of time they'd made for each other in the middle of the war, Thire had never asked him about the tattoo, or why Neyo could not leave CC-8826 back on Kamino, with the rest of the numbers. 

Now, Neyo wondered if part of that was because Thire understood what it was like to not feel right in one's own skin, to try and reclaim oneself by embracing that which had previously been used to mark one as being a thing, a possession, a number . After all, like Neyo had put CC-8826 on his face, Thire had put the bands of the Coruscant Guard on his arms. 

Maybe the reason Neyo had never made it with anyone else, was because no one else understood, and maybe because he simply never liked anyone so much as he'd liked Thire, even after just a few days. 

Drawing back, Neyo tilted his head to rest his forehead against Thire's. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Thire asked. 

“I thought we talked a lot,” Neyo murmured. 

“Not about this,” Thire pointed out. 

Neyo let out a breath. “I know how things started last time,” he said. “But that was ten years ago. And now–I have all the more reason to not fuck it up.”

“Why are you so scared of fucking it up?” Thire asked. 

"Because I always have,” Neyo said, keeping his eyes closed. “I didn't wait for you, or anything. But I never managed to convince anyone to stay. I'm not–good at that.”

“I'm not scared,” Thire said, and Neyo laughed, low and soft. 

“I remember that,” he whispered. “On Coruscant. It's why I followed you home. I watched you talk down some street thug three times your size, handle a Senator in the middle of a breakdown, and then you turned around and sassed me about why a Marshal Commander was giving you big nerf doe eyes.”

Thire laughed, a louder sound than Neyo's. “You were, though.”

“I was,” Neyo agreed. “I thought you were the most interesting thing I'd seen on that planet, during my leave.”

“Then you asked me to take you home,” Thire said. 

“I did,” Neyo agreed again, affirming their shared history, tracing the contours of how they both remembered it. 

“You know I didn't usually do that,” Thire said. “Take Marshal Commanders home with me. Or anyone, for that matter.” 

“But you did me,” Neyo said, pleased. 

“I did you,” Thire nodded, and then leaned his weight against Neyo. “Also, while I respect this courtship notion you have and all, and being careful, and going slow–How about this time you take me home, and we can see from there?” 

“What if we mess it up?” Neyo asked.

“I’m not scared,” Thire said, and he smirked, unduly smug about reminding Neyo exactly why he liked him so much.

“I am,” Neyo admitted. “But I think I can be brave, for you,” and Thire rewarded him with another laugh, this one startled out of him, and then a wild kiss, under the blue sky of their new home. 

Chapter Text

Cody stubbed his toe in the almost total darkness of the living room and shoved his fist against his mouth to not make a pained sound. Already, his limbs felt shaky and uncoordinated as he fumbled around, dragging a pillow to the couch without waking Fox up by turning on one of the lights. 

After all, it was just a nightmare. 

He had those, even this long after the war. In it, he'd been standing in the almost dark, trying to listen for the sound of anyone else, tapping the comms in a bucket he hadn't worn in a decade. In his nightmares, his communication array was always broken off, so he had to rely on the less secure built in version.

But the night vision also wasn't working, only spots and strange shapes coming out of the murk to pass him by too fast to catch, until the spark of electricity tore through the dream, and he woke up with Longshot’s name caught in his throat.

It felt strange sometimes, of all the brothers he watched die in horrible ways, the ones he'd loved and lost, Longshot was still the one he dreamed about the most commonly. Not even Umbara featured so often in his nightmares, a grueling, horrific campaign even before General Krell threw chaos and betrayal into it. 

Maybe it was a good thing Slick had already left the capital. He'd gone without trying to find Cody or Rex, off to find the squad he'd sold out. Cody wasn't sure he could deal with that yet, all those unexamined hurts from thirteen something years ago. 

He sighed to himself, finally finding the couch by feel and flopping down on it. 

At least Fox seemed to finally be feeling better after several days, sitting up and coming to the table for food, before burrowing back into his bed. He'd had a string of visitors, including Thorn who was almost immediately told to go back to the work he needed to be doing. When he frowned at Fox, looking pathetic, Fox had given in and let him stay for one hour, before kicking him out for real. 

Honestly, Cody was hoping Fox would be up and about shortly, and not just because he needed Orange to stop finding romance novels to read out loud to Fox that seemed designed to make Cody's heart skip several beats, whenever he stopped to listen to him. Orange had a good reading voice, his mild Coruscant accent and steady pace making even the cheesiest lines almost bearable to hear. 

And there were an awful lot of those sorts of lines. 

Even Wolffe seemed to be enjoying listening to Orange read, as one of the most regular visitors. As far as Cody knew, he hadn't resorted to laying on Fox again, but only because Fox was being surprisingly good at staying in bed and taking care of himself. Probably that just spoke to how exhausted he really was. 

Forcing the pillow back into shape Cody sighed, and turned over, and knew even moving to the couch probably wasn't going to help him sleep, but that mostly meant he was probably going to just lay here and hope Fox would be better, and Cody could tell him about the trip he had planned, and maybe–

“Cody?” Fox asked, and Cody popped his head over the back of the couch. “So that is you.” 

“I was trying not to wake you,” Cody said. 

“I thought the couch wasn't for sleeping on,” Fox said, voice hoarse but strong. He sounded more alert than he had, but it seemed Cody really had woken him up. 

“It's just a nightmare,” Cody murmured. 

Fox stood there a moment, before he moved forward, coming around the side of the couch to look down at Cody. “Do you still get them?” he asked quietly. 

“I think it's a life long condition, unfortunately,” Cody sighed, sitting back up and dropping his head against the back of the couch. Fox didn't move. 

“And when you have them, you sleep on the couch?” 

“Most of the time,” Cody said. 

“Well that's stupid,” Fox said. “Come on,” and Cody barely could make out the hand he was holding down to him, in the faint light of the Palace at night. 

For a second he didn't have a single thought at all, couldn't hear anything over his heartbeat. “What?”

“If you just need a change of location, there's a whole other bed here,” Fox said. 

“Fox,” Cody rasped. 

“We used to do this all the time,” Fox said, and Cody wanted to check the temperature on his forehead again, just to make sure he wasn't still feverish. “Didn't we?” Fox asked softly. 

Cody blinked up at him, wanted to say this is hardly Kamino, and they aren't cadets anymore , but well. 

Fox wasn't wrong . 

They had clung to each other–and everyone else–whenever they could on Kamino. After the nightmares they all shared about the Jedi they'd never even met–those had stopped after the chips were removed at least–after bad training days, after injuries–

In fact, such a night was when Cody had realized he could never have Fox. It had been a few months still from the war, and Fox had been injured in one of the outside sims, badly enough he spent three days in medical. 

Cody had been a disaster, had almost landed himself in medical, had to be slapped out of it by Bly, while Gree ran interference on Wolffe to keep him from snapping. 

None of them had even been sure Fox would come out again. 

But he had, and gone straight into a retraining pod for another day.

By the time he got released back to barracks, Cody couldn’t breath, and that night Cody had crawled into his bunk, squishier then than it had been when they were smaller. And Fox had turned, had wrapped his arms around Cody's waist and stuck his nose in the crook of his shoulder and Cody had realized something. 

He'd had the revelation then and there he could not afford to have Fox. 

Not so long as the war was going to happen. So long as the war hung over them, Fox simply could not belong to him. 

Or he would snap if he lost him. All the heated looks, the touches they tried to pretend weren’t on purpose, the drive to always compete with each other–it could not be more. 

Not then. Not yet. 

When Fox kissed him on the brink of Geonosis, he'd almost thrown his good sense and intuition to the wind, almost dumped it overboard into the ocean below them. 

But then they'd both survived when so many others had died, and Cody's senses came back. He hadn't even made it down to the planet’s surface, stuck coordinating landings for the others from one of the flagships, but Fox had gone down and come back out from the mouth of the Sithhells that had been below Cody the whole time. 

He'd taken all his self control and told Fox not yet, and Fox had stared at him, and finally nodded, eyes distant, and the war had ground on, and ground Cody down. 

Which was all to say. 

Yes they had done that for each other after nightmares, but not since that kiss, not since any kiss afterwards, and certainly not since husband, technically. 

“Fox,” Cody repeated. 

“Cody,” he said back, bland. “Come on. It doesn't mean anything more than this.”

Except it would, because Cody had never gotten over Fox, was still hoarding little touches and the times Fox held his hand since he landed on Cody's planet and back into his life.

Cody was tired of being strong, though. 

He wanted to crawl into Fox's bed, and just lie beside him, and for once know completely that Fox was there. Even if he only married Cody because he was cornered into it, after thirteen years he was finally there . 

So Cody reached up and took Fox's hand, letting him help him to his feet. Abandoning the pillow and blanket, Cody followed Fox as he led him by the hand, through the door to the small hallway and then into his own room. 

It still felt too empty to Cody, but the personal touches were slowly increasing. The jewelry box, the vase–refilled the day before by Cody with a selection of blue and purple flowers–and the blanket folded at the bottom of Fox's bed. 

“You don't,” Cody finally started. 

“Cody,” Fox sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed and tugging Cody's hand and Cody had to not immediately drop on top of Fox himself. 

He wanted to, though. The almost fantasy of the moment, of Fox inviting him into his bed, came close to shorting out his entire system. 

“Just shut up and come to sleep,” Fox grumbled, and Cody tried to let his breath out quietly. 

And then he got into the bed, Fox immediately laying down and turning on his side, pulling the covers up over both of them. Cody felt certain he would never sleep, not in the already warmed covers, with Fox's quiet breaths so close. It had been a long time since he spent the night with someone beside him, let alone anyone he wanted even half so much as he wanted Fox. 

It surprised him when he closed his eyes and immediately dropped off. At least this time he did not dream again, Fox's presence scaring some of those nightmares away. 

-

The first thing Cody registered when he opened his eyes was the window being directly above his head, which was the wrong spot for it. 

The second was the weight of Fox, curled up on his side against his chest, and Cody suddenly felt far more awake. At some point, Fox must have moved closer–or he had–both of them seeking each other’s heat in the darkness, and now he couldn’t figure out how to get out of Fox’s arms, without immediately waking him up.

Did he want to?

Would Fox want him to?

They used to wake up like this, but he had not really been thinking the situation through when he had accepted Fox’s offer, still off kilter from nightmares. As cadets, the bunks on Kamino had been too tight for two full grown clones, unless they slept on their sides, pressed together. Thus, he should have expected this, as they reverted to long forgotten form while asleep.

But Fox had not stirred, and his curtain did not block all the light, so Cody slowly cracked his eyes open and just looked.

Fox’s head pressed against the top of his shoulder, breath stirring the neckline of his sleepshirt, and one of his legs was drawn up further than the other, not quite thrown over Cody’s thigh. One arm sneaked around his waist, and his own arm was thrown over Fox’s shoulder, holding against his back.

For a second, Cody thought about if he could tug that shirt up, if he could see the tattoo Fox had on his back–

He couldn’t, though, because the way they lay, he would have to sit up and lean over Fox to see his back. That would surely wake him.

Taking a deep breath, as carefully as he could, Cody glanced back up at the window, finding it propped open enough for a light breeze to sneak in. Closing his eyes, he breathed again, felt Fox breath out beside him, felt the slight shift of him in sleep, and any second Cody was either going to die or scream, to be so close to the thought they could have this, they could be this–

If only Fox really loved him.

If only Fox hadn’t married him because he had to. 

If only Fox could trust him.

All at once Fox seemed to wake up, because he went tense in the circle of Cody’s arms, and his breathing stopped. When Cody tipped his head, his eyes were screwed shut, like he was in pain, and he just lay there, tight and small.

It felt like he had sucker punched Cody in the stomach.

“Fox,” he rasped, all the contentment and wistfulness of the moment before disappearing. He had expected Fox to be perhaps a little put out to find Cody in his bed, if he’d forgotten he’d done it, but nothing like this.

But as soon as he said his name, Fox sucked in a desperate breath and his eyes snapped open. “Almakian apples,” he said, eyes wide in the light drifting around the half closed curtains.

“What?” Cody asked.

“It smells like Almakian apples,” Fox said. “The–like the shampoo. Nothing on Coruscant smelled like that, so I keep,” and he pushed away before finishing the sentence, sitting up against the headboard and pushing the curtains back so he could open the window further. 

Cody sat up beside him, a lot slower. “Fox,” he said, cautious, and Fox looked over at him. But then Cody wasn’t sure what to ask, and Fox looked down at his hands, resting in his lap. 

“I haven’t slept in the same bed as just someone,” he said. “Since–well–Tarkin. He liked when I had the time to spend the night, so he specifically requested my schedule be cleared whenever he was on the planet for that.”

“You thought I was Tarkin?” Cody managed, trying not to take that personally. It still felt like a wound, for Fox to say it so bluntly. 

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Fox said, scrunching his shoulders, and leaning his head back against the half open window, looking miserable. “I hadn’t even processed the sheets or the shampoo yet.”

Running a hand over his face, Cody breathed in and out. “No, I just, I didn’t realize,” he stopped, something else Fox said catching up with him. “Do you have to ground yourself very often?” he asked, before he could stop the question falling from his mouth.

“Only most times I close my eyes,” Fox said, and Cody felt his jaw drop. 

“I didn’t realize,” he repeated, past his dry throat.

Fox looked down and away. “It was ten years,” he said. “Thirteen, really. But Coruscant never had,” and Cody saw a flicker of light, dropped his eyes to find Fox rubbing his thumb along the bottom of his ring again, twisting the gems in the early morning light. “Almakian apple shampoo, or natural fiber sheets, or windows that opened to a breeze–” 

“Or a ring?” Cody asked, and Fox went still, mid twist of the ring. His right hand came up, fingers brushing the top of the ring and then he turned his head, like he was forcing himself to meet Cody’s gaze. 

“No,” he agreed. “I never wore any jewelry. Every time I touch this ring, it’s an immediate assurance that I’m not there anymore. I’m here,” he did not quite drop his gaze, but his eyes went down slightly. “With you.”

“Oh,” Cody breathed, and it felt painful. 

He’d noticed Fox fiddling with his ring, had obsessed over what it might mean for what felt like days on end. 

Never had he imagined that being the answer. 

Behind the horror, he felt a flicker of disappointment. 

“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” he pushed himself to say, instead of letting that quiet sound stand. 

Shrugging, Fox fully looked away again, toward the window and outside to the garden. Cody had pestered the gardeners to move a few bushes nearer his window, the type that didn’t lose all their needles in winter, so he would always have something living to look at. 

“As I said, it was thirteen years,” he murmured. “It still feels like this is all going to be a trick. It’s not like I didn’t dream about this, all the time. It’s why I started watching those silly shows, just to have something that allowed me to feel like maybe I was here, for a few minutes.”

“What?” Cody blurted before he could stop himself. 

Fox’s shoulders knotted up, but he faced Cody, something stubborn in the set of his jaw, and Cody couldn’t bear to hear what he meant, even if he was desperate to know.

He flung himself up and out of the bed, Fox tracking him with his eyes, but he didn’t try and move at all. “Kriff, I forgot,” Cody said. “I need to shower–I have a meeting with some ambassadors this morning. My alarm is in my own room, must have missed it. We can talk more when that’s over.”

It wasn’t a total lie, but he wasn’t late for the meeting.

Fox opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a long time, and then he looked down at his hands. “Yeah, alright.”

But Cody couldn’t really force himself to leave, looking at Fox down in his bed, the light of the early morning highlighting the silver in his hair, the wave of his curls tangled from sleep, the way his right fingers still rested against his wedding ring. A tooka Cody hadn't fully noticed poked its head up from behind the side of the bed where Fox slept. 

“You seem like you’re feeling a lot better,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Fox managed. “Mostly better.” He’d glanced up, and then back down again. 

“Good,” Cody said. “That’s good. I’ll,” and he gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a little bit, check up on you. Alright?”

“Yeah, Cody,” Fox said, though he hardly looked happy.

And Cody fled.

Like the kriffing coward he apparently was. 

Chapter Text

At first, there was only the embarrassment, Fox listening to Cody rush through his morning routine–which, to be fair, he really was running much later than he usually did. In fact, he'd overslept by at least an hour. Even if Fox had been up for a run, they wouldn't have had the time. 

But he wasn't, because even though he felt more alert and less achy than he had, he still felt off, like his limbs hadn't been attached right by Kamino's labs, or like he'd pushed himself so hard they benched him for recovery before he broke himself. 

When he heard the front door click, Cody gone, he gave up and buried his face in his hands with a groan. Why had he risked anything, by telling Cody he used to dream of being on Kebii'tra? Cody may have missed Fox and he may have been happy Fox and the Guard were there, but he didn't want Fox. Fox was being foolish, by trying to obliquely ask him for anything more.

He knew the score on that front.

It wasn’t even like it hadn’t been his own fault, watching the way Cody’s expression broke open like a wounded animal when Fox told him he never loved him.

Curling back down against the pillows, Fox turned to smash his face into one of them, and froze when he realized it still smelled like Cody’s hair products, his line of shampoos and serums and creams to take care of his curls like he was still scared he was going to lose them. Fox felt his heart rate kick up, before he reminded himself no one else was there. No one was going to catch him being pathetic over the scent of Cody lingering in his bed. 

Slowly, he shifted his whole body closer to the pillow, lifting it like he could bury his face in Cody’s scent and remember the way it had felt to wake up in his arms.

Not that he’d had the time to appreciate it. His body had not given him even a few moments to feel Cody’s chest against his own, his arm draped over him, before it kicked him into the blind panic of thinking it was Tarkin.

Cody felt nothing like Tarkin, but Fox hadn’t woken up with many others in the last thirteen years, ever since they left Kamino and stopped being able to sneak into each other’s pods at night. Even on Coruscant, when the other officers or later the Tubies came to bury him in a pile, it was always a group of them, never just the one, except Orange who liked to lay on top of him, like an overgrown tooka. Arms around him, a body against his, that was reserved for Tarkin.

Frustrated, Fox groaned again, as much in annoyance at himself for angling for more from Cody, or from inviting Cody into his bed to begin with as if they were just cadets again, as from the fact that even after Cody fled, he lay in his bed and burned with wanting.

Fox shifted his legs, as if that would distract him from his arousal, and at the same time nuzzled a bit more against the pillow, against the rapidly fading warmth of it. 

Never would he have thought he would miss Tarkin, but he missed having a lover. It felt wrong to think, considering how it began. But once they understood each other, so long as Fox reacted the way Tarkin wanted and never complained, he had been a generous and consistent lover. He had also been on Coruscant quite often, considering he was the Grand Moff in charge of the Outer Rim Territories. For good or ill, Fox had gotten used to the regularity of their meetings, to knowing someone was going to fuck him and he wasn’t going to hate it.

At least it had been different than during the war, when his flashy moves and carefully painted armor had gotten the attention of certain Senators long before he started actively seeking it to distract them from the rest of his men. It had taken a few months, for the reality of what being assigned to the Senate meant to sink in for them all. 

It was not all Senators. It was hardly even most Senators. But when there were thousands of them, even a few dozen turning out to be exactly the type of being that let power and fame and wealth and the clone’s lack of status go to their heads, was enough to hurt the whole Guard. 

When Tarkin had taken him to bed, all of that stopped, and Fox got comfortable with the fact he knew exactly what Tarkin wanted from him.

He had no idea what Cody might want from him.

If, that was, Cody ever wanted him at all.

But in the nebulous space of his own head, he decided to dream that Cody did want him. Except as soon as he decided that, his imagination failed him, because he’d never had Cody. He couldn’t see Cody as wanting the same things Tarkin did.

Rolling over onto his side, Fox readjusted the pillow so it lay under his head, and held his breath for a moment, as if to confirm he couldn’t hear the sound of anyone else moving around their quarters. 

But Cody was already gone, so he breathed out, and tried to convince himself just to get up and shower.

Instead he slid his right hand under the band of his sleep pants, covering his moan with his other hand when he found himself already achingly hard, just from thinking about Cody, just from waking up in the same bed as him. 

What kind of lover would Cody be? Fox could not imagine him as analytical like Tarkin, testing a certain touch out just to study Fox's reactions. Nor could he see him as harsh and cruel the way the others were. He couldn't even see him like Stone had been, the one time Stone had crawled into his bunk, the first year on Coruscant. 

He'd come because Fox had admitted he'd never slept with anyone on Kamino. Instead, he'd been waiting for Cody all the time since he realized he wanted him in particular, only Cody never came. When he told Stone that, after they had realized how bad things were regarding their rights in the Senate, Stone had gone very quiet. 

That night, he'd gone to Fox's bunk, wrapped his arms around him, and whispered that he should know what it felt like, at least once, to say yes and mean it. 

So Fox had said yes, and it had been what he needed then. But as kind and gentle as Stone was, he wasn't what Fox wanted either. 

It had only happened once, to prove it was possible to Fox himself. 

But Stone and Cody were hardly that similar, and it was a poor map to imagining what Cody might be like. Nor was Tarkin. Fox couldn't envision Cody being so quick to find all of Fox’s weaknesses and take advantage of them, the way Tarkin had. He couldn’t imagine Cody commanding him to crawl across the floor on his knees, to tie him down to his bed, or wrapping a hand around his throat. 

The image of that last one punched a sound out of Fox's throat, caught in the palm of his hand. Cody's hand, holding him in place, Cody warm and steady behind him. In his hand, he felt his cock jump, another sound strangling up from his chest. 

Shifting his hand across his mouth, half considering if putting it to his own throat would feel even a little bit the same as when Tarkin had done it, he felt the ring on his second finger catch against his bottom lip. It felt like a lightning bolt down his spine, the physical reminder that he was Cody's, if Cody ever wanted him. 

Even if he didn't, Fox was still his, and every breath seemed to end on a whine, Fox twisting his hand. The ring was skin warmed, but the texture of the gems pressed against the soft skin around his mouth. 

Rolling onto his stomach, he shoved his face into the pillow where Cody had slept, grinding his hips against the mattress, heel of his hand digging into the top of his cock. 

He tried to recall the way Cody felt when they had kissed those few times all those years ago, but it had always been in their armor. All he had from those times was the textured gloves of Cody's body glove against his cheeks, the heat of his mouth–

Trembling, he bit the fabric of the pillow, orgasm shaking through him, just from that simple memory and the scent he now associated with Cody from living with him. 

For a few moments he lay there, catching his breath, and wondering if he'd feel the embarrassment creep back. Rolling onto his back, he used his clean hand to drag the pillow with him, keeping the memory of Cody with him a few seconds longer. 

Strangely, he didn't feel embarrassed at all. 

But he did feel tired. 

-

Thire sat on the side of Fox's bed, Stone having swung by with lunch, picking his way through the jewelry box Cody had left in Fox's room. “You sure about trying to go out tomorrow?” Thire asked. 

“I'm feeling better,” Fox insisted, though he half lay propped up on both his pillows, watching Thire consider the metal bracelet in his hands with a critical eye. “I'm going to lose my mind after another day stuck in here.”

“I’m not protesting you getting out tomorrow,” Thire said. “Just that you don't overdo it.”

“I won't overdo it,” Fox muttered. 

“Well, even if you do, I'm sure Cody will dramatically catch you in his arms when you faint,” Thire said dryly. 

Fox felt his cheeks heat. “I think the necklace you were looking at earlier is nicer.”

Freezing, Thire slowly swiveled his head over to look at him. “I'm not looking at it for me,” he said. 

“You should be,” Fox said. “You can take some of it.”

Thire looked back at the open box in front of him. “Didn't your husband give this to you?”

“My husband knows who I am,” Fox pointed out, and Thire snorted. He swirled his finger along the chain he had been looking at earlier. 

“Guess that's true,” he said. “You never could keep something just for yourself.” He picked up the necklace, looking at the pendant with the glittering gems set around a deeper stone. Fox thought the stone might have been red. “You wouldn't even wear this,” he said and Fox smirked at him. 

“No, I probably wouldn't.” 

Thire looked at him sideways, and then returned the smirk. But then his expression shifted. “You know, I just realized,” he said. “We don't have to bother the Tubies anymore about colors. I can just ask Neyo to confirm things for me.”

Blinking, Fox considered that, before looking over at his dresser. Cody had brought new flowers again, the day before, and this time left a card beside them with their names and a description of the colors. 

They still did not include the red and golden one of the first night. 

“Things are going well?” he asked, and Thire suddenly was very interested in the jewelry in front of him. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“You know that makes me happy, right?” Fox asked. 

Thire looked up with an arched brow. “I didn't think you were jealous,” he said. “It just–talking about things makes them real.”

“I think things are real, whether you talk about them or not,” Fox said. 

The corner of Thire's mouth twitched. “True,” he said. “More real, then. I didn't think anything would ever come of seeing him again. I don't think I was prepared,” and he scrunched up his nose. “For a relationship.”

Fox laughed. “I can't imagine how that feels,” he said dryly. 

“At least you always knew you wanted Cody,” and Fox managed not to flinch at Thire saying it so bluntly. “Neyo was just a distraction, in the middle of war. I didn't think it was going to become anything.”

“Yet it seems to be working out,” Fox said. 

“Which means it will really suck if it doesn't,” Thire muttered.

“Just wear that necklace and,” Fox said, gesturing toward his closet. “The shirt in there with the low collar. He'll be too busy staring to mess anything up.”

“Great seduction technique,” Thire said. “Have you tried it with Cody yet?”

Fox felt his cheeks heat. “Not exactly,” he said, though Cody had been staring at him strangely when he'd worn the shirt in question. 

Considering him for a moment, Thire rooted around the jewelry box, before pulling out a string of cushion cut gems that sparkled, even though Fox couldn't make out the exact color they were. The front ones were larger, and then they got smaller as the strand traveled toward the clasp on either side. “You should try this with him,” he said. “It's his colors,” Thire said. 

“How can you even tell?” Fox asked, but accepted it when Thire handed it over. It wasn't quite as tight as a choker, but would have been snug if he put it on. The combined weight of the gems were heavy in his hand, and he tried not to think about the way it would feel to wear, skirting too close to his thoughts that morning.

“I'm still better off than you,” Thire said. “Those gems look golden,” and Fox ran them through his fingers. 

“Except I'm not trying to seduce my husband,” he said. 

“Aren't you?” Thire asked, and Fox gave him a long look. 

Fox pushed his back harder against the pillows behind him. “Do you think he would be swayed by sparkly gems?”

“I think he'd be swayed by you in a low cut shirt,” Thire said, and Fox didn't tell him it hadn't worked the first time he wore it. “Plus, he gave that to you. I bet he'd like to see you in any of it.”

Fox tried not to think about Cody asking him if he wanted to change his wedding ring. “Maybe.”

“Fox,” Thire said. 

“It doesn't matter,” Fox said. “If I wore this, I'd feel like one of the mistresses at a party,” and he went to hand it back to Thire, but Thire didn't take it. 

“So don't wear it to a party,” he said. “Just wear it.”

“I don't think,” Fox started, but looked up when he heard the sound of the door opening. Seconds later, Cody appeared in the doorway. 

It was the first time Fox had seen him since he fled that morning, and at first they stared at each other. “Welcome home,” Fox said, trying to hand the necklace back to Thire again. That time, Thire accepted it, Cody's eyes tracking the hand off as Thire tucked it back into the box. 

Something flickered past Cody's face, and Fox had once felt so confident he knew what Cody’s expressions all meant. Now, he felt a bit like his hope kept tripping him up, because he wanted Cody to be pleased to have him call their rooms home. 

“Thank you,” Cody said. 

“How was running the planet today?” Thire asked, starting to pack the jewelry back into the box. 

“Fine,” Cody said. “A few too many holocalls. Between the fact I've been harder to get a hold of the last few days and the fact the Summerend Festival is coming up, they're all trying to cram in as much as they can first.”

“Summerend?” Thire asked before Fox could. 

“I was going to talk to you about it,” Cody said. “It starts in the next few days. Usually we go out to the coastal towns to celebrate the end of summer and also to make certain while I'm out there people can come to me if there are any issues. The fishermen are an integral part of our economy, but it's also an excuse to relax and party, before the winter really sets in.”

“Not much for four seasons on this planet, huh?” Fox said drolly, and Cody shook his head.

“There's a couple weeks between when the summer stops and before the snow starts,” he said. “But not a lot.”

Fox picked at the edge of the blanket, the wool sunset Thire had given him on his wedding day. “How long is the festival?” he asked. “Any particular security concerns? Or would I need to ask the medics for a stim ban exception?”

Beside him, Thire turned his head in obvious annoyance, but Cody just blinked. “Exception? Why?”

“Is it all night?” Fox asked. 

“Fox,” Thire muttered, but Cody just frowned. 

“No,” he said. “It's not–we all sleep. Besides, you're still recovering. Why would I ask you to stay up all night?”

Under his tone was a slow moving sort of anger, like Fox had once again revealed something he didn't like. 

“Besides,” Cody continued. “I wanted to check with you first. You look better, but–”

“We were talking about going to the memorial tomorrow,” Thire cut in. 

“Ah,” Cody said. “Good.” He stopped. “I wanted to be there to show it to you, but I'm swamped getting ready for this.”

“It's fine,” Fox said, because he didn't want to admit to Cody he was hoping he wouldn't be available. It was nothing against Cody, but Fox had been putting off every offer to go out to the memorial for the Clone Wars whenever Cody mentioned it. He'd spent the last thirteen years walking by the First Battle Memorial on Coruscant, and while he thought the clones of the GAR would come up with something different, he still wasn't certain he wanted to face up to whatever it was with Cody watching him. 

“I could ask Gree?” Cody offered, after a beat. “Jek,” and he went silent, staring at Fox and Thire staring back at him. “Well,” he said finally. “They were both involved in its creation.”

“Yeah,” Thire said. “Makes sense. That would probably be fine,” but he flicked a gaze to Fox, who slowly nodded back. 

“Okay,” Cody said. “Maybe we can see how you feel tomorrow. I don't want to push you.”

“Honestly even if he's still a little tired, come time to leave for the coast,” Thire said, and Fox weakly kicked his side. He was at the wrong angle to try anything more. “Having him go with you is probably a good idea. We've been so busy with the Guard and now this, you haven't really been introduced to Kebii'tra much yet. I'm surprised we haven't been having more of a public relations problem.”

Cody cleared his throat. “Clones are sensible,” he said. “But you're probably right. You should get out of the capital, meet more of the people one on one.”

Swallowing, Fox nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Tell me when, I'll be ready.”

Cody gave him a dubious look, before he nodded back. “Alright,” he said, and looked at Thire. “Staying for dinner?”

“Sure,” Thire said, and they both watched Cody retreat, Fox trying not to feel about it like he had that morning. “You are so lucky he likes ordering food. I bet he’d happily feed you the rest of your life,” Thire said after a beat and Fox kicked him again, just as weakly as before. 

Laughing, Thire pulled out the same necklace as earlier, tossing it toward Fox, who caught it so it wouldn't smack him in the face. “Don't forget to pack that.”

“Seems excessive for what he described,” Fox said, but he still blushed as he looked down at the gems. 

Would Cody really care one way or another if he wore the necklace? 

He remembered that morning and felt his cheeks heat even more. 

“I think at this point, you might as well try it,” Thire said, closing the jewelry box with a click. 

Fox wasn't even sure he wanted to disagree. So he didn't. He tucked the strand up on the windowsill instead, trying not to get distracted by the way it sparkled out of the corner of his eye.

Then he got up, and wandered back into the living room, to prove to Cody he was feeling better and would not be a problem come Summerend. 

Chapter Text

Fox stood, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, and stared up to the carved stone face of a clone soldier. 

He felt a little like he needed to stay exactly where he was, for possibly a long time, because if he looked around anymore, he might really have needed Cody to be there to catch him. Behind him, he heard Jek and Thire talking softly, and thought they were still near the bed of red flowers.

The one that had made Fox turn on his heel and stalk back toward the middle of the memorial, where the statue was. 

The clones of Kebii'tra had taken the First Battle Memorial, with its lines and lines of destination numbers, and gone as far in the opposite direction as they could have. It was impressive, how hard they'd tried, and Fox's chest was having a hard time negotiating for enough air. 

The Memorial to the War lay a little ways outside of Resilience's sprawl, set up on a tiny plateau. It gave the building a good view of the city spread out below, all the clones that had survived and been saved by their brothers during the war. Surprisingly, the building itself was not as blocky or utilitarian as Fox had expected, but instead a rather delicate looking greenhouse. 

It had raised his brows, until he stepped inside and realized why. 

Everywhere he turned inside the pavilion were flowers. Endless beds of flowers, and it took him a few stunned moments to resolve all of them into the colors of the Grand Army of the Republic, laid out by system army. 

And the Coruscant Guard. 

The Coruscant Guard had their own little bed, labeled in a shiny metal set into the stone of the walkways through the flowerbeds, bright red and white blossoms reaching up toward him. He thought that was where Thire and Jek still were. Stone had wandered further off, eyes trained down as he went, as if he needed to check off every legion and battalion and attack group personally.

In the center of all the flower beds stood a statue of a brother with their DC-15 resting against their knee as they knelt, looking toward something. That was the one Fox stood and stared at. 

Behind the first clone though, there was another one, facing the opposite direction, covering the first one's back. He had blaster pistols, and instead of being on one knee, he was crouched down behind the first, blasters held up near his shoulders. 

Fox recognized the pose. He'd often seen other Commanders hold both pistols up like that, much like he himself had countless times, right before diving into any situation. 

Both clones were missing their buckets, the lines of their faces carefully and lovingly rendered into the stone.

They should have looked cold and distant, but they felt shockingly alive as Fox stood there and stared up at one, toes almost to the small pool that encircled both of them. 

Four doors entered the memorial, at all of the major compass points, but no matter which direction someone came from, they would not see the back of either clone. They would always be facing at least part of one of their faces. 

A touch at his arm made Fox tear his eyes away, looking at Stone. Immediately he tilted against Stone's side, asking for his steady warmth. 

“They must have spent a year planning this,” Stone signed, now that Fox was watching his hands.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. 

“Lots of upkeep,” Stone added. 

Instead of agreeing again, Fox reached out and squeezed one of Stone's hands, still feeling like he needed the assurance. Stone immediately turned his palm to squeeze back, and they stood there for a while, until someone else joined them on Fox's other side. 

They both turned their heads to see Gree standing, also looking up at the statue's face, instead of intruding upon their moment. He must have caught Fox's head turning, because he tilted his head toward them. 

“We're working on carvings of the flowers,” Gree said, unprompted. “Or at least a couple for each bed, so if the upkeep of it ever becomes too much, or there's a drought, each battalion will still be represented. But for now, we have a lot of volunteers who come in and look after the flowers. We're at the point we'll probably start putting the carved ones in the beds anyway, among the living ones. Steady, always there, no matter the season.”

“That's a smart idea,” Fox said. 

“There are some gardens you see on worlds that have been cared for over a thousand years,” Gree said softly, still looking up at the statue. “And others that haven't felt a sentient hand in a century. Even if we eventually aren't here, perhaps some of this memorial will be.”

Beside Fox, Stone slid his arm through his so he was still connected to him while keeping both hands free. 

“It's as opposite to the First Battle Memorial as one could imagine,” he signed. 

Gree chuckled, because the former GAR clones were getting better at picking up the expanded battle sign they had created. “That one wasn't designed by us,” he said.

“You said the other day, there were names?” Fox asked, and Gree nodded. 

“We didn't want them to be as much a part of the memorial as the designation numbers were for First Battle Memorial. That one was on Coruscant, this one is here.” He gestured toward a row of screens at the back, and Fox and Stone followed him as he walked. “The screens aren't as permanent as stone would be, but it felt like the best compromise to include both names and destinations, as well as information on where they were when they marched on.”

Fox nodded again, thoughtful, though he did not reach out for the screen when they reached them, letting Gree take over tapping on it, to show a basic search. 

“I know you said the Guard who died on Coruscant weren't part of the war,” Gree added after a beat. “But if you have records, we should preserve those, too. Not here, but somewhere.”

“Somewhere,” Fox agreed, and Stone remained steady at his side. 

He was glad Orange and the others were not with them, too busy helping the others move out of the temporary barracks and into the now completed enough apartment complex they'd staked out as theirs. Plenty of Guards were stuffed into the spare rooms of the palace, and most of the rest that had decided to stay in the capital were going there, though some had arranged other homes in the city, whether with former batch mates or lovers, or the simple determination to have their own space. 

Echo and Dogma had pointedly taken an apartment, and Fox was not going to ask what that meant about Echo's reunion with Fives. He hadn't seen much of the other clone since their first run in, and was not actively seeking out a second. 

Meanwhile, Slick had reported back from the mountain settlement where he'd gone to find Chopper. Jester apparently lived there too, but that was all Slick had said. He promised to get back in touch at some point, and Fox figured it was better for him to be out of the capital, and away from most of the other clones, at least to start with. Unlike Dogma, Slick had not been part of the Guard until Fox turned out the entire prison at the declaration of the Empire, yanking every clone that had been sent to them as a traitor or murderer that he had previously passed over, when considering every clone sent to him. Some had been easy to choose to rehabilitate, even during the war. Others, unrepentant in their beliefs like Slick and Needle, had been harder, if for different reasons. 

But he wouldn't even let someone like Needle get taken by the Empire's scientists for their clone experimentation, so they were both inducted as official members of the Guard the day after the GAR pulled out of Imperial space. 

Gree tapped his fingers on the screen in front of them again, obviously considering, before he turned and looked at Fox. “I heard you were still looking at the culture portfolio, but hadn’t committed yet.”

Raising his brows, Fox tilted his head. “Surprised you didn't already have it,” he said, and gestured vaguely around the whole enclosed garden. “Considering.”

Immediately Gree wrinkled his nose. “I tried the government. It didn't agree with me. I'd much rather be your consultant.” 

Fox blinked, and then found himself smiling. “You don't think it would be a bad idea, considering we've only just gotten here? It's not like I understand much about the culture you've been working to build, aside from a few pilfered holodramas.”

“You haven't even taken the job, and you already managed to untangle the spaceport jam that was the location and building materials for the permanent museum,” Gree said, clapping a hand on Fox's shoulder. “That was a stupid debate, but you took one look at it and made every side happy.”

It had admittedly taken Fox about five minutes when he read the multiple, competing proposals, to realize everyone who'd made one was too close to the issue and missing the obvious. He'd told Cody immediately they were all being stupid, and offered his own, updated proposal using bits and pieces from all of them. 

He was pretty sure based on Cody's reaction, and the thank you notes that showed up two days later, he was going to end up with the title of Minister of Culture whether he liked it or not after that. 

“So, you'd approve,” he said slowly. 

“Yeah,” Gree said. “I'm just happy they're finally going to break ground on the blasted thing.”

Fox refused to dwell on why it felt so strange to be appreciated for something as simple as telling all sides of a debate they were both wrong and right. Those insisting on local Kebii'tra materials for the building instead of importing marble or other stone from another world were correct about Kebii'tra’s role in their society, but their insistence on locating it where a park already was had created neighborhood opposition. Even on a world as lowly populated as Kebii'tra currently was, the museum needed to create a new public space, not take one away. 

Problem solving something like that without being stabbed in the back the way Krennic or Tarkin would have immediately tried to do felt a bit still like a badly fitting jacket. 

It still felt like a badly fitting jacket that evening, sitting on Cody's couch and reading through Thorn's latest report on Little Coruscant. 

The name made Thorn laugh, but it made Fox wince. 

Still, they were progressing rapidly, and Fox appreciated the fact Thorn still wrote up a report and sent the blueprints for the settlement's main hall to him, even though there was no real reason for him to do either anymore. 

The Lieutenant had already rubbed himself against both his legs before passing him by to go sleep on his bed when Cody sat down beside him, and Fox glanced over at him sideways. 

“What do you think about Bail Organa?” Cody asked, and it made Fox stare, startled by the question. 

“What?” he asked blankly. 

Cody had his own datapad in his hands, looking down at it. “I know he presided over your trial, but he's been given the Chancelorship of the Reborn Republic. He's reached out again, and, well, you know him better than I would.”

Crossing his arms, Fox leaned back against the couch, his own datapad left on his knee. “What has he reached out about?” he asked warily. 

Eyes flickering to him, Cody went back to the datapad. “Lots of things. Trade. Assistance. Intel sharing.”

“Intel sharing?” Fox asked in disbelief. “That's something usually reserved for allies, isn't it?”

Cody shrugged one shoulder. “Or those that share enemies. The Empire took over that entire sector of space, but Palpatine kept plenty of enemies.”

“Of course he did,” Fox said. “Ryloth never had to be a constant battlefield, but he needed somewhere to train stormtroopers,” and Cody gave him a surprised look. “He had multiple planets like that, where insurgency was allowed to thrive for his purposes.”

“And us,” Cody said, Fox shifting, uncomfortable. “We were his enemies.”

“And this led to Bail offering you some sort of partnership?” Fox settled for asking. 

“Basically,” Cody said. “But as I said, you know him better than anyone here does. Is he trustworthy?”

“Yes,” Fox said, not hesitating to answer the direct question. “He's a politician, but one who stood up and looked Palpatine in the eye while running weapons and supplies to rebel cells behind him. Even Stone, when he ended up working with him, purposefully did it because he wasn't ever in the same room with Palpatine. Bail was, sometimes. Not that Palpatine went to the Senate often, after the Empire was declared.”

After all, the Emperor was far too busy searching for immortality to deal with the petty politics that had brought him such brutal joy during the war. If he showed up to the Senate, it was usually for revenge against some slight, or to sow chaos. 

“How did Stone end up working with him?” Cody asked. “I imagine it must have been a fearful thing, to purposefully approach a Guard Commander  to convince them to turn on the Emperor.”

Fox paused for a long moment. “Jar Jar introduced them,” he said, which made Cody stare at him. “After the Empire was declared, and Padmé Amidala left with the Jedi, Jar Jar was the last appointed official from Naboo. Unfortunately, he was still Gungan, and Palpatine hated him. He fled to Bardotta, to be with the queen there, but they were invaded by the Empire in short order.” He looked down at his hands, because Palpatine had sent the Guard to be his representatives in the invasion, and sometimes he felt like he could still taste the ash and smoke from the burning mountain buildings. His helmet filters should have blocked it out, but they hadn't. 

During the war, he often longed to get off Coruscant. While his brothers journeyed the galaxy, he had only ever seen three worlds. During the Empire, he wished desperately he had never left Coruscant. 

Taking another breath, he carefully let it out. “Jar Jar was dragged back to Coruscant after most of the population was wiped out. Those that lived were either sent to Palpatine’s labs, if they were force sensitive, or enslaved. But after that, Representative Binks was treated almost like a court jester by the Imperials, an example to everyone about what they risked with the hint of defiance.” He stopped again, closing his eyes. “Stone had been friends with him ever since their first mission, at the beginning of the war. I remember the rest of us finding it odd. But they genuinely liked each other, which was rare for anyone in the Senate. Stone didn't handle it well, when he was eventually purged, too much of an annoyance to the Emperor to live. But, by then he'd been working with Bail for years, so they kept going. Naboo was always involved in the start of the Rebellion, it seems.”

For a long time, Cody didn't move. “Do you think it's worth accepting Bail Organa 's overtures of friendship, then?”

“Probably,” Fox said. “Stone knows him better. He was never cruel to us though,” and Fox gave up, fiddling with his wedding ring with his right hand. “He adopted one of the kids. I didn't think much of it at the time. It was nice though, always knowing at least one of them went to a good home.”

Cody looked down, datapad still in his hand, tapping something with his thumb and Fox saw him pulling up the official portrait of Bail Organa’s family. The picture was one Fox had seen before, of Bail standing proud and warm beside his wife and the two daughters he had adopted. One was pale and blonde, already taller than her adopted mother, but the other girl had the stocky build and brown curls of Jango Fett’s genes. 

“The story was they were both war orphans,” Fox said. “It wasn’t quite untrue.”

“I’m surprised no one saw it,” Cody said, and Fox shrugged. 

“People always see what they want to see.”

“Maybe,” Cody said, though he still seemed caught on the holopic. 

“He’ll want to send a delegation, won’t he?” Fox said after a beat. 

Finally Cody looked back up and over at him. “He hasn’t offered one, yet. But I’m sure you’re right.” 

Fox nodded, lifting his own datapad from his knee and dropping it to the side, like he was about to stand up. He stopped when Cody said his name. 

“Fox,” Cody said, and Fox suddenly felt nervous to look over. “Did you really not know anything about Bail and Stone and the Rebellion movement?”

“No,” Fox shook his head. “It would have been too dangerous.”

“But,” Cody started and wavered. “You shot Palpatine, anyway. That night, Bail and the others all moved against the Imperial Hierarchy."

Laughing, low and bitter, Fox shook his head. “That was just chance,” he said. “We were lucky .”

“Luck?” Cody asked, even softer. 

“If Thorn hadn’t brought Stone,” Fox said. “If Stone hadn’t been aware of Bail Organa. If he hadn’t shot Tarkin–the whole thing would have been far more precarious if Tarkin had lived, if he’d had time to plan past his Emperor’s death. Shooting him, and activating every rebel cell hiding on the planet to hunt down the others, is the only reason they were able to retake the Senate so quickly. If more officers had lived, they would have entrenched themselves. It would have been a civil war. Coruscant would be covered in smoke right now.”

“But that’s exactly why it’s so hard to believe it wasn’t planned,” Cody said. 

“Maybe the Force planned it, Cody, because we certainly didn’t,” Fox said, and Cody turned heavy and dark eyes over to him, and it made Fox’s breath stick in his throat. “What? What is it?”

“You told me you wanted me to care enough to ask,” Cody said, and Fox tensed, like he would spring up to his feet and flee. “And I asked you how you killed him.”

“Right,” Fox said cautiously.

“I should have asked you why,” Cody said, and Fox gripped the fabric of his pants, near both his knees. “Why, Fox? Why after ten years? If it wasn’t part of some plan, if it wasn’t coordinated, why did it happen? What made that day so incredibly special and different from all the ones that came before?”

“Because he was coming after you,” Fox blurted, and he started to jerk up and away, but Cody darted a hand out, grabbing Fox’s left hand and holding on. 

Freezing, Fox swallowed, and looked down at where Cody’s right hand covered his left, their wedding rings close to clinking together. 

“Fox,” he whispered, but Fox had already admitted something that made him feel fragile in his own skin, and he’d been caught by Cody and not allowed to flee.

He might as well continue on.

“He was coming after Kebii'tra, and the Jedi,” Fox said. “He called me in, to gloat, because he thought he’d figured out a way to get a fleet through your maze. Or at least, sneak enough of them up here to get started. He wanted some of us to come ahead,” and his throat felt dry.

It felt too much like one of the stupid holodramas, the ones he hadn’t seen in the Empire, all of them caught in the censornets. They had been sensationalized, but the thought of Palpatine sending the Guard ahead under the banner of peace had not been so far fetched. “To convince you all that we wanted to come home, to be part of your world. He had a map,” and Fox gestured with his right hand, the one Cody wasn’t holding. “Up in his office. It wasn’t a very good one, but he had a decent sense of where settlements were. He was showing it off to me. I was supposed to come ahead, to get close to you specifically. He was explaining how he expected me to kill you, because he liked the idea of using me to trick you again. Thought it was some awful symmetry,” and once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop talking. 

He laughed, a short and sharp bark. “In ten years he’d gotten complacent, knew I’d do whatever he told me to do. Say jump, and I’d figure out how to do it, even if it was kriffing insane. It didn’t even register to him, that I could be a threat. When I shot him, I just–I couldn’t believe it. There was no way it was so simple. He died like anyone, which meant I could have–” and his voice choked off abruptly. 

Hand still heavy on his, he heard Cody take a deep breath, before he started to pull. Fox did not want to turn his head, did not want to face him. 

“Fox,” Cody said, and Fox breathed in and out, and finally looked at him, as Cody lifted their hands, twining their fingers together as he met Fox’s skittish gaze with a steady one of his own. “What do you mean, use you to trick me again?”

Stomach dropping, Fox could only stare at him. 

Suddenly, Cody fleeing the morning before hardly felt that terrible anymore. This was surely much worse. Cody wasn’t holding Fox down, except by the grip on his hand, but he still felt pinned.

“When did you trick me the first time?” 

Chapter Text

At first, Fox only stared at Cody, and Cody waited. It felt like he would snap in half, as they sat there in silence, Fox’s eyes wide as he watched him.

Finally Fox swallowed, and Cody’s eyes tracked the motion, the little bob of his throat. 

“Cody,” he started. 

“You said you'd answer my questions, if I asked,” Cody said, as levelly as he could. 

“That's not exactly,” Fox started and then blew out a breath, looking down at their hands. “Fine. I'll answer what you ask, if I can.”

“Alright,” Cody said, feeling a bit like he'd been given too much power. It was a bit what he felt like when he'd been installed in the palace, as the brother most likely to stay, but also from a quirk of Palpatine’s obsession with centering Anakin in the propaganda holos, as the most known Marshal Commander in the GAR. Sometimes he still wished Rex had gotten the job, Captain in the war or no. He'd ended up in even more of the propo holovids than he had. “Then tell me the first time you tricked me.”

Fox kept his eyes down, took another deep breath. “When I said we didn't come with you. When I said, when I said I didn't love,” and his voice failed. 

“Me half as much as I loved you,” Cody finished softly and Fox's eyes snapped up, startled, as if surprised Cody remembered his exact words, as if they hadn't haunted Cody ever since he spat them in his face. For a second they just stared at each other, before Fox yanked his face away. “Was that a lie, Fox?” he asked, trying to keep his voice soft. 

“Yes,” Fox told the ground, and Cody felt like a nerf had kicked him in the chest. “It wasn't our choice, and I never didn't love you.”

At first they could only sit there, Cody staring at Fox stare at anywhere else. 

All too clearly Cody could remember the disgust in Thire's voice, standing in the luxury goods store and saying how Palpatine loved to play games he thought he couldn't lose, and Fox's fear of making choices. The way he'd all but admitted Fox hadn't made that choice. 

But ever since then, Cody had been too afraid to believe him. To believe him shook the foundations of a pain he'd been carrying for a decade, and he still wasn't certain he could let it go. 

“Then why did you stay, Fox?” Cody asked, trying not to beg. “You stood there and you told me you made the choice. You told me–”

“He had his hand around the throat of the entire Guard,” Fox said, a whisper. “He–he wanted me to lie to you, to save them. He wanted it to hurt–he actually told me he wanted it to hurt. He wanted to see it hurt,” and Cody distantly tracked the way that Fox talked about Palpatine, rarely saying his name or title. He was overwhelming, overshadowing everything around him in Fox's mind. 

“How?” he whispered, afraid if Fox stopped speaking, he'd never start again. “How? You had the chips out. We made sure–it was a requirement of the negotiations. We had the brain scans, it was supposed to be your choice.”

“It was never going to be our choice,” Fox protested, something wild in his expression from what Cody could see of it. “He would never have allowed it to be our choice. You'd already made him furious, depriving him of using us to kill the Jedi. The Order ashamed and on the fringes of space was not enough, he wanted all of us dead, the Jedi and the clones. He made us just to be destroyed, but oh he hated to lose more. You made him lose, so he was going to hurt you.”

Something finally slotted into place. “He knew?” Cody whispered. “About me and you?” 

Fox nodded miserably. 

“He used you on purpose?” Cody asked, voice cracking open, but he couldn't stop it. 

Another tight nod. 

“That day,” Cody said, remembering all at once, when he'd arrived on Coruscant and Fox came to greet him. At the time, he'd found Fox shifty and nervous, thought it was just the abruptness of events. Later, he thought it was because Fox had been trying to pull back from him, put distance between them because he'd never loved Cody the way Cody loved him. “Were you trying to warn me, at the spaceport?”

“I couldn't figure out how,” Fox said. “Without–without actually telling you, and getting us all killed.”

“But,” Cody swallowed. “How? You said he had his hand around the Guard’s throat, but how ?”

Fox tugged his hand, and Cody immediately tightened his grip before he realized what he was doing. He forced his fingers to relax, Fox turning his left wrist up to reveal a scar there. 

“He removed the chips,” Fox said. “He didn't lie about that. We weren't being mind controlled, not even by Sith magic. It was all much more prosaic. When we went under for the chip removal, he removed our identifying codes too,” and Cody frowned down at the little scar, glancing at his own left wrist. He hadn't thought much about the identifying codes for years. They barely used them anymore, having switched to physical IDs over embedded ones for most of the population. They had not wanted to put code chips in their children. “He had them replaced with slave transmitter chips.”

Cody felt his body run cold all of the sudden, his fingers spasming around Fox's wrist, because he had refused to let go entirely when he turned his wrist over. 

“Are they still there?” he asked, as if hearing his voice from a great distance. Somehow, his voice didn't shake at all, even as he felt he'd been dropped off one of Kamino's platforms and into the ocean in the middle of a storm. 

When Fox shook his head, Cody breathed out. 

“Would he have done it?” Cody asked, and he still felt like his voice was coming from someone else. 

“He hated to lose,” Fox said. “He already was losing. Do I think he would have done it in a fit? I certainly did then.”

“But they're out now?” Cody asked, a shade of desperate again. “Why? Wouldn't he have wanted to keep that leverage?”

Swallowing again, Cody even more aware of every twitch and motion of his face, Fox rubbed his right hand across his face, leaving his left still in Cody's grip. “The first year,” he said, low and heavy. “Some criminals figured it out. The transmitters work on either a distance setting or a frequency one. They figured out the frequency,” and Cody felt himself go ashen as the blood drained from his face. He was not certain how much more he could take Fox saying. “So. It became a liability. At least–at least we didn't have to go under again, for the surgery. They just cut us open and yanked it out.”

They both looked down at Fox’s wrist again, Cody’s mind churning through everything he just said, finally catching and sticking back on one point.

“You lied to me,” Cody slipped out, and Fox turned to him, startled. “You lied.”

“Cody, I–”

“You didn't want to stay,” Cody said, because if he stopped and dwelled more on a slave transmitter being put in Fox, he wouldn't be able to dig himself back out from the hole he was sliding down. “For ten years, I thought you actually meant it. I thought you chose him over us.”

“No,” Fox whispered, pained. 

“I didn't know,” Cody said, and felt his voice catch, almost startling him. He bent his head down, looking at the scar on Fox's wrist again before he gave up, pressing his mouth against the raised skin. He'd kissed Fox's ring before, and Fox had let it pass, so perhaps he could get away with this too. 

Beside him, Fox jumped, but Cody just lifted his hand, holding the scar against his forehead as if in supplication. “We didn't know,” he said, voice thickening with tears. “Fox, we didn't know.”

“Oh, Cody,” Fox murmured, and he didn't pull back, but he shifted his hand a little, so his fingers could brush along Cody’s hairline. When Cody's next breath caught harder in his chest, twisting into a sob, Fox turned, curling his whole body around Cody's, his right arm going around his left shoulder. “Cody–”

“We shouldn't have left you,” Cody managed. 

“There wasn't a choice,” Fox insisted quietly. 

“We should have found a way,” Cody protested. 

“It's not like we did either,” Fox said, but he tucked his head against Cody's shoulder and Cody finally let go of his wrist, so he could properly wrap himself around Fox in turn, Fox half twisted into his lap, and Cody hiding his face in Fox's curls. 

His hair smelled like apples, and Cody remembered him confessing he used that smell to ground him, when he wasn't certain where he was. 

It had felt like too much to process, too much to handle, so Cody had run. 

Somehow, this revelation was so much worse, and all he could do was cling to Fox, crying bitter tears into his hair. 

Fox's fingers twitched against his back, and his next breath was unsteady. 

“I thought you hated me,” he confessed, a quiet and tiny sound, and it startled Cody so much he drew back to gape at Fox. 

“What?” 

“I saw–when I,” and Fox stopped, like he had to gather himself. He kept his face down again, still not looking at Cody directly. “Lied to you. I felt like I saw your heart break. You were so hurt, and so furious. I spent ten years thinking you hated me for breaking your heart.”

“Fox–”

“You said you missed me every day, but I didn't think I had a right to miss you,” Fox said. “I only thought about you when I was alone, or closed my eyes, or when I watched that show because I wanted to think of you in the sunlight, on your own world, where you were finally free. That stupid show, I keep coming back to it, but it gave me the chance to dream about what it would be like if I could have come, if I could have seen you–”

“I never hated you,” Cody broke in, and watched Fox's face twist up, in grief or disbelief. “You broke my heart, but I never hated you.”

“Because you missed me?” Fox whispered, a tiny question, like somehow he was still unsure about it. 

And Cody had admitted that, the morning after their wedding, and had not guessed that Fox would end up clinging to it like a lifeline. He hadn't even been aware then how much Fox had probably needed any lifeline at all. 

“Because I missed you,” he confirmed. 

“I thought you wouldn't want to see me again,” Fox said. 

“You just told me he made you say those things–”

“He did, but I still said them to you. You didn't know they were lies, you would have lived with them for a decade–”

Cody suddenly remembered the way Fox had hovered on the gangplank, when their ship had landed. Thorn had come down first, as if checking the situation before Fox even appeared. Then that first night, the distance Fox kept, the way he'd been formally polite but desperately covering up any vulnerability, up until Cody opened his mouth and joked about marriage to Wolffe. 

At the time, Cody hadn't realized how scared he had been. 

“I never hated you,” he said, gripping the back of Fox's neck with both hands, startled eyes flashing back up to his face. “I never hated you. Even when I thought you meant it, I was still ready to sabotage the whole negotiation to get you back, to drag you off that planet whether you wanted to come or not.”

Fox's eyes opened in alarm. “You would have killed the Guard, trying that.”

“It took half the combined might of the Jedi Council to talk me down,” Cody said. “I had Master Windu and Master Allie and Obi-Wan and Yoda and Ki-Adi-Mundi all lecturing me on the fact we promised you a choice and I had to allow it, or it would be meaningless,” and Fox’s jaw had dropped, but he hadn't looked away. “We should have found a way.”

Hesitantly, Fox reached forward, brushing some of Cody's curls back. Cody could imagine his face was still splotchy from crying, but Fox didn't seem to care. “You didn't hate me.”

“I didn't hate you,” Cody confirmed. 

“I wanted to come with you,” Fox said, like somehow that was the most shocking confession he'd given all night. 

Strange to think Cody had just settled down beside him on the couch, hoping he might learn something new by asking about Bail, and ending here, Fox still curled in the crook of his arms, tears drying on Cody's cheeks. 

“I wanted to bring you with me,” he said. “I wanted to show you all of it. Every building, every street, I wanted to share it with you, and I hated every time I turned around and you weren't there.”

“I'm here now,” Fox said. 

“Yeah,” Cody said. 

“And you're showing me every building and every street,” Fox added dryly and Cody laughed, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. The motion made Fox tense, unhappy, before he forced himself to relax. 

“I'm just making up for lost time,” he said. 

“I still did terrible things,” Fox said, after a beat, and Cody gave him a disbelieving look. “I did. Just because you want to forgive me, doesn't change that.”

“The Emperor who planned on destroying us as an entire people put a slave transmitter in you,” Cody said, plucking up his arm again, as if to show Fox his own scar. “I don't fucking care what you did.”

Blinking rapidly at him, obviously catching the curse, Fox's next breath shook again, and when he moved Cody let him hide his face against his shoulder again. 

At first, Cody simply held him, let him cry against the pale blue jacket he wore. Eventually he turned, pressing his cheek against his hair. “You saved us though,” he whispered, felt Fox shake all through his body. “You saved the Guard then, and you saved all of us now, by killing him before he could come after us.”

“It disgusts me,” Fox spat out, somehow so full of venom even though he had not stopped crying.

“What?” Cody managed.

“I killed him,” Fox said, but he didn’t pull away from the embrace or lift his head. “And it was so easy. I led my Guard into the Sithhells of his own creation, and I could have killed him all along. For ten years. If it was so easy, I should have done it sooner.”

“Didn’t you just tell me how lucky you were?” Cody asked. “If Bail hadn’t been in a meeting with Tarkin, if the rebel cells had not recruited enough people, if you had failed–”

“But what if I could have shot him in the back the day the negotiations started, what if–” 

“Fox,” Cody said. “Fox, I don’t care about what ifs. I care that you’re here now.”

Still against him, Fox fell silent again, before digging both his hands harder into Cody's back. Cody went back to holding him as he sniffled against his shoulder, watching the window as the night inched on, tookas chasing insects out in the garden, occasionally others walking by on some of the distant trails all around the palace. Eventually, neither of them were crying anymore, but they hadn't disentangled, either. 

“I don't want to go anywhere,” Fox said, when they hadn't said anything in a very long time. 

“Okay,” Cody replied, and readjusted a little so he could settle more comfortably against the couch without having to push Fox off of him. He ended up in a half sprawl, Fox on top of him so none of his elbows dug into Cody. 

At first Fox stayed silent. “Really?” he mumbled finally. 

“I don't want you to go anywhere, either,” Cody said, because the instant Fox did, everything he'd said would crash through Cody, and he wasn't ready for that yet. Even moreso, he simply did not want to let go. 

“Okay,” Fox breathed out, against Cody's neck, and Cody went back to staring out the window, Fox warm and heavy on top of him. 

Chapter Text

Chin resting in his right palm, Fox stared out the window as the landscape inched by. Kebii'tra had the type of hover train common on the richer levels of Coruscant, but it was strange to see prairie and hills outside the window instead of endless skyscrapers. His left hand rested in his lap, and he slowly thumbed his wedding ring back and forth. 

When Wolffe sat down beside him, it hardly even startled Fox, who'd seen him get pulled into the back-most car by Cody a bit ago. “Did he have to tell you on the train?” Fox sighed when Wolffe didn't immediately speak. 

“Thought it might be best for us all if you couldn't run away again without a hug,” Wolffe said eventually. 

Fox turned his head around to look at him. “Wolffe, it was ten years ago.”

“Well it's brand new to us,” Wolffe said. 

Scanning the car they were in, and finding it mostly empty, Fox sighed again. “Fine,” he grumbled, like it really did bother him when Wolffe took his permission and leaned over, wrapping both his heavy arms around Fox, squishing him a bit toward the window with the bulk of his body. After a moment of squirming, Fox got it to where he could breathe easily, and slid one of his own arms around Wolffe's shoulder. 

They sat there like that for a long time, a few other clones walking up and down the length of the train while they did. At one point Stone settled in the seat facing them, brows raised. Fox flicked his right hand at him, the battle sign for it's fine .

Fox thought the Jedi Kit Fisto was also at the front of the train, but so far the Jedi had kept their distance from him in general. He wondered if it was because they sensed his unease when they approached, or if they had taken Thorn's defensive anger at the wedding to heart. Thorn has been too polite to say anything, but from what Fox understood of the Force, he assumed they knew exactly how offended he'd been when they even looked at Fox. 

Currently, Thorn was with the others at the settlement, and Thire had hit his own de-orbit the night before, struggling to get out of bed in time to catch the train out to the coast. Neyo had volunteered to stay behind and care for him, which made Cody snort. 

“You never come,” he had pointed out. 

Neyo had shrugged, holding his arms out. “And I won't this year either. Sacrifices have to be made.”

Sometimes it still threw Fox a little, how casually close Cody and Neyo had gotten since the war. They'd barely talked as cadets, and Fox hadn't heard a peep about Neyo from Cody during their deployments. But now, Neyo hung around the capital and the Palace like it was second nature to him, ribbing Cody about arm day at the gym and his taste in clothes. 

Along with Thire, they'd also left behind all the Tubies, though Orange had looked a bit mutinous at the idea until Cipher leaned up and whispered something into his ear. His expression cleared and he immediately switched to professing his hopes that Fox and Stone would have a fun time, and that the Tubies would all help Neyo keep an eye on Thire, along with the rest of the Guard. 

Fox assumed they would be coming back to quite a number of reports, with the Tubies unleashed on Resilience for the first time since landing. They had all grown up on Coruscant, so it had only been a matter of time until they decided to explore their new homes by themselves. The Guard Commanders had held them back as long as they could, Fox figured. 

He was almost sorry to miss it, though. 

But only almost. 

Eventually Cody slid into the seat next to Stone, facing Wolffe and Fox. In his hands were a stack of datapads, and he shuffled them until he could start reading the top one, and it made Fox's heart beat faster. He wondered if Wolffe could feel it, the way looking at Cody made his heart rate kick up just from his presence. 

After waking up tangled together on the couch, Fox's back aching from laying half on top of Cody all night, they'd gone for a short jog. It proved Fox's stamina was not nearly recovered from his multiple day long stint in bed, and then they worked on the preparations to leave in time to reach the coast before sundown, when the Summersend Festival started. Fox still felt a little nervous about not knowing exactly what it would be like, but figured at this point Cody would probably not throw him into the wilds of an awful situation without some warning. 

Surely something called Summersend couldn't be anything like the week of Senate Investiture. 

And that morning, for a little while, Fox had gotten to lay on Cody's chest and know it was Cody before he opened his eyes. Unlike the previous morning in his bed, he already knew where he was when he inched back to consciousness, and had a few moments to revel in it. 

They had not had much chance to talk since, too busy with preparations and getting loaded into the hover train, but the fact remained. He'd woken up with Cody, and neither of them had run. 

Admittedly he'd been sprawled on top of Cody in part to make certain he could not flee. But he had been mollified by the fact Cody hadn't even tried. 

Now he sat across from him, Wolffe still squishing him to the window, and reminded himself to breathe. 

“What, exactly, happens tonight?” Fox asked, desperate to keep his voice level and unaffected by anything going on inside his chest. 

“The festival starts at sunset,” Cody said. “It's not nearly as formal as that sounds, though. Honestly, it's an excuse to blow off steam before the winter, and celebrate the year we had. Folks come from smaller settlements to the coast, and there's talking and art and food and tomorrow there will be a market and more food, and then usually the third day is considered the rest day to laze around, and then there's more food. While I'm there, I try to meet with representatives from the settlements, see what issues there might be. It's less formal than coming to court,” and he emphasized the word, dismissing it at the same time he said it. “So sometimes they're more honest.”

“That sounds nothing like a Senate event,” Stone signed to Fox, and Fox took a deep breath, before letting it out. 

“Okay,” he said. “What do you need of me?”

He loathed the way his voice came out, a little uncertain. 

The face Cody made at him made his stomach drop, before he remembered Cody wasn't Tarkin, and he wasn't the Emperor either. That meant Cody wasn't wrinkling his nose and frowning at him in disappointment for having to ask, but about the implication of Fox's question not sitting right with him. “I don't need anything of you, Fox,” and perhaps before last night that statement would have horrified Fox. Now, it felt gentler, more like a promise, and Fox wasn't sure he could trust that change yet. “I want you to have a good time, and get to see more of our culture. I hope you meet people and try some of the new food.”

“Don't worry, we'll pick it out for you, as long as you try it,” Wolffe said. 

“Kark you,” Fox spat at him immediately, even though he hadn't moved to push him off since he pinned him. It made his attempt at annoyance blatantly obvious as fake. 

Wolffe only hummed, and held on a little tighter. 

When Fox lifted his eyes, he found Cody looking back at him, softness in his expression and it made Fox's chest ache. It made him feel like his insides were made of glass, capable of being broken by any wrong move. 

He couldn't remember feeling that way before. 

Every time he thought he had reached the limits of being scared, Cody looked at him, and he was frightened all over of messing it up. 

On the other hand, he'd once told Cody he'd never loved him in front of the Jedi Council, the Emperor, and their brothers, and apparently that hadn't made Cody hate him. 

But not hating someone was very different from still loving them. He couldn't approach that thought without feeling like he'd picked up a burning ember with his bare hands. 

Eventually, Wolffe brought up some of the various cakes they'd had the year before, ranking them with Cody's occasional input, and Fox tried not to think too hard about how it just sounded like a stomach ache, to eat so many sweets in a few days. Across from him, Stone watched him with a faint smile, and Fox endured hearing Wolffe wax poetic about the food he was certainly going to force on Fox, while still pressing him into the window, like he never wanted to let go. 

Fox tried to accept it. 

But by the time the hover train stopped, and Wolffe let him up, his legs felt a bit shaky. 

-

The ocean stretched on for ages, and Fox stood on the shoreline and stared at it. 

Somehow, it felt much different than when he'd stared down at Kamino's thundering waves, the sand shifting beneath his boots when he moved. Being almost level with the waves brought them into sharper relief, as they inched up the beach and then receded, over and over again. 

He might have been standing there a long time, hearing the sound of voices rise and fall behind him, the sun starting to sink toward the horizon. As it went, it lit the sky up, and he tried to imagine just how orange the clouds were, and if it was really the deep purple that he thought it was–

“Fox,” and he heard a boot crunch on the sand beside him, turning his head sideways to see Cody approaching. 

“Is it starting?” Fox asked, voice low, like he didn't want to disturb the waves. 

He'd not been alone on the beach since he saw it and went toward it like he was drawn there, but he'd been standing there an awfully long time. Indeed, he had been standing there ever since they disembarked the train, and he saw the ocean laid out in front of him. 

Resilience had felt different from Coruscant and Kamino, its buildings squat and its streets dusty. Many of the buildings were the same brownish color as the landscape on the outside, but with a preference for white with incredible splashes and smears of color on the inside. Fox had been adjusting to it. 

Somehow, he hadn't prepared for the way the ocean was going to affect him, the familiarity and difference hitting him all at once. 

“As I said, it's not really that formal,” Cody said, standing beside him. 

“Still, I,” Fox started, but then he didn't actually know what to say after that. He wasn't even certain if it was the ocean that knocked his thoughts out of his head, or staring at Cody and feeling like he was really allowing himself to look for the first time. 

It startled him when Cody reached a hand out, twining their fingers together. “It's okay, Fox,” Cody said quietly. Fox glanced down at their hands, and back up to Cody's face. “Oceans still make me feel a bit weird, too.”

“It's the sand,” Fox murmured. “We never had sand before.”

“Yeah,” Cody agreed amicably. “Beaches are weird, aren't they?”

Behind them something sounded, almost like a bell or gong had been hit. Instead of jumping, Fox just looked over his shoulder. 

In his haste to see the ocean, he hadn't paid much attention to the town, but now he saw groups of people streaming down the main thoroughfare from the beach, toward a large hall. On either side of it, paper lanterns in various colors had been hung, and other lights in the same colors were stuck in the ground on either side of the road. 

Slowly, carefully, he looked back at Cody. 

“Come on,” Cody said. “There'll be food. Maybe a speech, and dancing.” 

“Dancing?” Fox asked, surprised. “Cody, you don't mean actual dancing–”

But Cody was already pulling him back toward the path the others were walking down. “I do mean exactly what it sounded like.”

“You didn't mention dancing earlier,” Fox protested. 

Cody grinned at him over his shoulder, and it made Fox's heart turn over. “Well, I didn't want you to have the chance to run away.”

“Cody, I don't know any dances,” Fox said, and Cody blinked, but didn't ask the question Fox assumed immediately entered into his head. 

“That's alright,” he said. “I'll teach you.”

Pulled along in his wake, Fox remembered all at once Cody didn't hate him. It kept popping into his thoughts at random moments, the memory of Cody's assurance, the feel of his tears in Fox's hair. By all evidence, Cody had never been cruel to him since the Guard had come to Kebii'tra, but Fox had still doubted, turning it over and over in his mind the way the ocean might wear down a stone into a pebble. 

But now he knew Cody hadn't hated him, and had just missed him instead. Which meant all the ten long years where Fox had missed him , but tried not to, weren't so pathetic after all. 

“Fine,” Fox grumbled, and hoped the dimming light helped hide the way his cheeks felt warm. 

If he was lucky, the inside of the hall would also be dimly lit, and he wouldn't walk into the coming evening with everyone aware he was blushing while Cody held his hand. 

He was not lucky. 

Chapter Text

When Bly entered the bar, he kept his back to the door, and his face toward the wall. After all he was there to have a drink and refamiliarize himself with Resilience, after most of the spring and summer away, not to socialize with people who only knew him by reputation. 

As usual, he'd picked a dark bar with a loud dance floor behind him, because even if he didn't want to be recognized, he didn't want to feel alone, either. That was the joy of coming back to Kebii'tra’s largest city: at least there would always be noise and people bustling around. 

It was an old dance for him, a pathway worn out by several years. Bly spent most of the year with the Alphas, because after several years of trying to stick around Cody and his budding government, Bly had gotten tired of it. He'd gotten tired of the endless parade of politicians and diplomats wandering through, he'd gotten tired of how nothing got solved and stayed solved, he'd gotten tired of the way people always looked to him like they expected things–

So, he spent most of the year with the Alphas. They also had a hard time, almost to a single one of them, with the idea of settling down. But, just as much, none of them could give up the idea of being around the other clones, nor of helping them. As a result, they circled Kebii'tra, poking their noses into distant corners and remote homesteads. 

And Bly went with them. 

It was a far better life than the one he'd led during the war, though sometimes he missed the purpose. Galle teased him about that nostalgia when Bly ran into his former lieutenant, who lived just outside the capital city. 

“Sir, if you recall,” Galle always started, and then pulled the most aggravating story out of his back packet that somehow Bly had forgotten about. 

Maybe Galle had just started making them up, but then again, the war had been like that. It all bled together into one long, grinding horror show. He still dreamed about it many nights. 

But still.

Sometimes he missed knowing what he was made for, and the strict confines of what he was supposed to do. 

A clatter beside him broke him out of his thoughts, several young clones hitting the side of the curved bar he sat at. 

“Have you seen the drinks here?” one asked, curls slightly longer than the others. 

“I think even Pred would be able to catch onto the fact that one is glowing neon orange,” another one of them said, with a haircut that looked almost perfectly regulation length. Some brothers were still like that, even though the war was long over. Not that these clones looked old enough to have fought in the war, but even habits from their time as cadets could be hard to shake for some. 

“Hey! You should get that one,” the third said with a sly smile. “It matches your name, Orange.”

“Hah, kriff you,” Orange said.

“I'm pretty sure I'm not the one you're kriffing,” the clone said, and the regulation length hairstyle blushed, almost lost in the pulsing lights of the bar. 

“It sounds atrocious,” he said. 

“I think it sounds interesting,” Orange said. 

“Now you're just possessive of it because of the color,” the third one teased, and he had a scar, curled around the side of one ear. His hair was shorter than regulation had been, like it was growing back out from being shaved. 

Bly also realized they were all wearing some variation of dark colors, be it grey or black or dark brown, and he wondered if that was a trend with the younger ones these days, a rejection of the explosion of colors that Kebii'tra had been at the beginning. Though, he hadn't seen it on many others as he'd been walking down the street earlier, reassured by the way people passing him on the street looked like flocks of tropical birds. 

He liked sometimes that some things remained consistent. It gave him reassurance. 

“No!” Orange protested. “I think it sounds good.”

“You always had the weirdest tastes,” the clone with the scar sighed. 

“Hey,” the middle clone, the one apparently in a relationship with Orange, said. 

“Oh, that includes you,” the one with the scar said. 

“Not all of us can have your sophistication,” the middle clone said, and it made the one with the scar bark out a laugh. 

“I'm going to order it,” Orange insisted. 

“You’re really going to order a drink?” the middle one asked. “When you could be dancing with me?”

Orange's cheeks colored, but he planted himself more firmly at the bar. “I didn't agree to dancing,” he said. “I said I'd come out.”

That seemed to disappoint the clone who'd been asking, but the one with the scar twined an arm around his shoulders and grinned over at Orange. “Come on, it's not his fault Pred kept him on such a short leash most of our lives. You gotta ease him into these things.”

“Just because I didn't sneak out every time you did, doesn't mean I stayed home like some prude!” Orange protested, and Bly started to frown. Who would keep kids on a short leash these days, and was that something to be concerned about? “Also, he did no such thing. I just–chose to stay behind to help him a lot. That's all. And I'm really not a good dancer.”

“That's just because you haven't practiced,” his lover tired, and Bly kept watching them out of the corner of his gaze, past the point he probably should have stopped, because they felt different. If life has been feeling a bit like a pond lately, placid and relatively unchanging, they felt like pebbles being dropped in it, their ripples spreading outward. 

Or maybe he had just been really bored recently, to come up with such a tortured metaphor. It sounded like something Bacara might have said. 

“Oh, come on,” the other one said, pulling the lover back away from the bar. “We can just show him what he's missing.”

“Oh is that how we're playing tonight?” the middle clone asked with a laugh, even as Orange just seemed to hunker down more securely where he was. 

“Plod and Graven are around here somewhere,” the one with the scar said. “They'll keep an eye on him.”

“Kriff you,” Orange offered again, but the one who had been teasing him consistently only grinned all the wider, pulling the other one with him. 

Unable to completely help himself, Bly turned around on the stool, eyes following them. The pair of them clearly had done this before, and the dancefloor was not so crowded Bly couldn't watch them. Clones loved dancing, whenever and however they could get it these days. Maybe they didn't run the same drills they had grown up with, but they still liked moving their bodies together. 

Bly knew certain Mandalorian dances remained popular, and some clones had gone around their sector of space to bring back every paired or group dance they could find, but he was glad they had this too–basic, sweaty movements only roughly coordinated to the pulsing sound of music. 

Watching them, he almost considered going out there himself, instead of sitting and nursing his second drink. 

Still beside him, Orange did order the drink in question and it was an aggressively glowing neon. When he drank from it, he wrinkled his nose unhappily, before setting it back down. 

It didn't last very long, because his lover came roaring back from the floor, slamming his whole body into Orange’s back, after only two songs had passed. 

“Orange, come on,” he insisted. 

“I don't,” Orange started. 

“Come on,” he demanded again, and that seemed to break Orange's resolve to linger by the bar. He let himself get pulled out, the other one from earlier switching places with Orange at the bar. At first it confused Bly, until he realized he was guarding the drink, while watching another two clones about the same age just a little ways down further. 

But Bly was back to watching the dancefloor, turning around in his seat to do so. 

What the kid had been saying was true. He clearly wasn't that good at dancing, too stiff and scared of getting it wrong. But as his partner swayed his hips, keeping his hands on Orange's, slowly he started loosening up. He still had no idea what to do with his hands, arms held awkwardly out, but when his partner grinned at him, he threw back his head and laughed. 

They were both grinning, and a bit sweaty, and Bly really had no rights to be so caught on them. Slowly, Orange rested his hands on his partner's shoulders, and something in their expressions softened. 

“They are disgustingly in love,” and Bly looked over, remembering all at once the other one, who had been on the dance floor earlier, standing beside him. Just behind him were the two more that Bly had spotted earlier, but they were arm wrestling on the bar, far more interested in that than the dance floor. 

“Is that a bad thing?” Bly asked, wondering if all of them were the same generation. They must have been cadets when the war ended, no matter that they didn't hold themselves like cadets. All five of them that Bly had spotted so far had the bearings of soldiers, even when in the middle of the dance floor. Bly recognized that wary alertness, though he hadn't seen it much since the first few years on Kebii'tra. 

“Never said that,” the brother in front of him said with a shrug. He tilted his head, propping his cheek up with his hand, elbow on the bar. 

Then he stared at Bly, like he was really considering him. 

It made something in Bly’s stomach squirm, because he was used to being stared at. But he wasn't used to such naked consideration, as if the one in front of him could see something the others usually didn't. Usually there was hero worship, or interest, in the looks he got. 

This look had none of that. 

It reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite place who. 

“But they are obvious,” he said. 

“Again, is that a bad thing?” Bly asked. “Not like there's any reason to keep love a secret.”

The clone hummed. “No,” he said carefully. “I suppose there isn't.”

He turned, taking the drink Orange left at the bar and sipped from it. 

“Really?” Bly asked, about as horrified as when Orange had ordered it. “Isn't that awfully sweet for an alcoholic beverage?”

“Oh, is it?” the clone smirked, and Bly wished someone had said his name. “Seems pretty average to me.”

“What kind of alcohol do you drink?” Bly asked, and the clone considered first the glowing neon concoction, and then Bly again. “There’s more than cocktails. You should try,” but then the clone took another long swallow and Bly broke off with an offended sound. 

He froze though when the clone leaned forward, pressing their mouths together. His hands came up, cradling both sides of Bly's face, but without any special attention being paid to the yellow tattoos on his cheeks. 

It shocked him, and he wanted to say that was what froze him, but then the other opened his mouth just a little, tilting his head so Bly had to crane his neck back as the other stood. The drink passed from the younger clone's mouth into his own, and he swallowed hungrily.

Out of his mouth, it didn't even taste that sweet anymore.

Or Bly had underestimated the drink itself. Maybe he should have given cocktails a chance again before now. 

When the other stepped forward, Bly found himself spreading his legs, letting him closer, even though there was no more alcohol in his mouth to share. Instead, there was just his tongue, cooled by the ice in the drink but insistent in licking into Bly’s mouth, laying claim to its won territory. 

Bly made a tiny sound, because it had been a long time since anyone kissed him with such intention. 

Years ago, Bacara had smugly claimed he was the most approachable of the Marshal Commanders, even as Bly made a rude hand gesture at him. 

Not everyone wants to run away to the hills, Bacara, he'd snapped back. And then had run away to the hills with the Alphas, wandering from settlement to settlement with the seasons, helping out as folks needed the extra set of hands for building or farming. They all wanted to help, to build their world with their own hands, they just didn't want to stay . 

And while Bly still got plenty of appreciative looks, and plenty of attention, he didn't want someone for a night, or a week, or even a season. He was tired of chasing, and of being chased just because of his rank from the war. There hadn't been many Marshal Commanders, and most of the ones that had been were notably assholes like Bacara and Neyo, or they were Cody, who had his own share of problems. 

Bly wanted someone who loved him, but wasn't sure how to get past the awkward stage first, and wasn't content just to be fucked and moved on from. So he kept on the move instead. 

This kiss was making him reconsider some of that position, though. 

Because kriff, the boy could kiss. 

And he seemed very intent on showing Bly on just how well, hands on Bly’s waist and gently but thoroughly exploring his mouth. The grid reconnaissance search pattern his tongue was on was both impressive in scope and incredibly hot to be on the receiving end of. 

At last he got his own hands up, resting carefully against the other’s hips, and he felt a smile against his mouth, which made him whimper all the more. 

“Well?” he asked as he pulled back, still smiling even as Bly tilted forward, like he might chase him. “Too sweet?”

“I could perhaps be convinced it is not,” Bly managed, and the smirk in front of him became even more self satisfied. 

Kriff, he didn't know his name–

But even as he turned his head, picking up the drink again like he fully planned to repeat the move–swallow, kiss, feed Bly the alcohol off his tongue–he was interrupted by the two clones who had been busy arm wrestling a moment ago appearing over both his shoulders. They pressed against his back, trapping him against Bly, who blinked in hazy surprise. 

He could move back, but the clone with the scar under his ear didn't seem to mind being trapped at all, and Bly sort of liked the feel of him where he was. 

“Oh,” one of the two said in a singsong. “Port is going to be so miffed the rest of the brood got distracted by those speeders at the night market. He hates to miss you making bad choices.”

“Hilarious,” the clone squished between them drawled. 

“Gleason,” the one on his left shoulder said, and at least that finally told Bly his name. “Brother of my heart and twin of my tube, who was raised beside me and who watched my back on all the worst days of our lives, you are a dumbass.”

That got Gleason to half turn his head toward him, even though he couldn't see him over his shoulder. “Kriff you too, Graven.”

“Am I being insulted?” Bly found himself wondering. 

“You aren't the problem,” the clone over Gleason's right shoulder said. Bly wondered if he was the Plod mentioned earlier. 

“He's the problem,” Graven said very seriously, wrapping one arm casually around Gleason's waist from where he was behind him, somehow carefully not touching Bly at all. “He also never paid attention to war history classes.” 

“Why would I?” Gleason huffed, and it made something in Bly's chest curdle, the dismissal of it against all his awful lived experiences during the war. Even if he was young, he would have been half grown as a cadet, would have understood what was coming for him during the war–

“Their war wasn't our war,” Gleason continued, and Bly frowned. “Their war had armies and troop movements. Ours didn't.”

Bly’s frown deepened. “Your war?” he asked, confused. 

“Yeah, but your ignorance is how you've now found yourself making out with Father's squad mate from Kamino,” the probably-Plod said. 

“What?” Gleason asked. 

“Father?” Bly asked, because he was fairly certain none of his training squad had raised kids. Monnk had gotten married, but Bly was pretty sure he hadn't mentioned kids during any of the times they saw each other during the holidays the clones were trying out. Certainly not apparently grown ones. Trauma had died during the war. Deviss was possibly even more antisocial than Bacara. That only left–

His stomach dropped. 

They didn't move like they were at peace. They moved like soldiers who hadn't accepted they were off the battlefield yet.

“Stone?” he rasped, because that was one thing he was trying not to think about. Alpha-17 had already been up to the palace, insisting he only was looking for Cody, but he'd been tense since they'd gotten the news of the Coruscant Guard’s return.

Bly has been nervous, because it had been almost a lifetime without Stone, and he wasn't sure what to say to him. Most of what kept spinning around his mind was some variation of glad you're alive, why did you choose Palpatine over us…?  

“Stone?” he repeated, more loudly. “He's your father?”

In front of him, all three of them–Gleason, and Graven and Plod over his shoulders–blinked at him. 

“Yes,” Gleason said. 

How the kriff did the Coruscant Guard even have cadets? They certainly did not look like half-clone kids. 

What had he missed, when the Alphas were working their way back to the capital? 

“Why?” and Gleason looked half back at Graven. “Who is he?”

“You don't know?” Bly asked, and his hands were still on Gleason's side, with the other standing in the vee of his spread legs. It just–hadn't felt relevant to move yet. 

“Why would I know?” Gleason asked, confused and heading toward annoyed. 

But Bly could only gape at him, because not being recognized by a fellow clone didn't happen often for the Marshal Commanders, let alone one with facial tattoos or scars. 

“Father is never going to leave us alone again,” Plod sighed, as Orange and the other one finally came tumbling back off the dance floor, finding Bly in the middle of their fellows. 

“What trouble are you causing now?” the one dancing with Orange asked. 

“Kriff you, Cipher,” and the tone was vicious, even if Bly could still feel the warmth of his skin under the thin shirt he wore. “I wasn't causing any trouble until these two interfered.”

“You're making out with Father's squad mate,” Plod reminded him. 

“You didn't know who I was?” Bly asked, like he had to confirm it. 

Gleason looked at him, eyes dark in the bar’s low light, the neon from the dancefloor barely catching the deep brown of his eyes. But something flashed, when he turned his head just enough and it startled Bly. It looked for a second more like the eyes of a tooka. Then he leaned forward, grabbing Bly's face again and– 

Knowing Stone raised him did not at all stop the moan crawling up the back of his throat as Gleason shoved their mouths together. It was not as sweet without the drink, nor was it as leisurely in its exploration. He still found his fingers tightening around his waist, despite the other clones crowded around them. 

“I don't need to know who you are,” Gleason said, when he pulled back. But then he shouldered the other two off him and stalked away. Plod and Graven peeled off after him, but Orange and Cipher stayed, Cipher giving him a much more thorough look, from his boots all the way up. 

“I admit, you Marshal Commanders aren't quite what I expected,” Cipher said, conversational. 

“No?” Bly asked weakly. 

Cipher shook his head. 

“Met a lot of us then?” 

“You almost got into a fist fight with Neyo,” Orange mumbled. 

“It was not a fist fight,” Cipher said primly. “We had to test his mettle if he was going to be staying with Papa. Beside, his fucking droid got us back for that by turning off all our hot water.”

“I didn't even notice?” Orange asked, which got Cipher to give him a strange look. 

“You do know the showers usually come with hot water, right?”

“No?” Orange said, and Cipher stared at him. 

But Bly was mentally a few steps behind them. “Papa?” he managed. “And… Neyo? You're Papa isn't Stone too, right?”

Cipher wrinkled his nose at him like he was an idiot. “No, I'm Thire's. He's,” and he tilted his head toward Orange. “Pr–Fox’s.”

Bly gaped at him openly. 

“How did the Coruscant Guard have so many cadets?” he asked, and the pair of them looked at each other. Bly wished they were still on the dance floor together. 

Moreso, he wished Gleason was still there, with his hands warm against his cheeks and his mouth tasting like fruity alcohol. 

“I don't think this is the sort of conversation we should have at a club,” Cipher said after a beat. “Or, with us even. You should probably talk to one of the Commanders.”

“They aren't here,” Orange said, a reminder. “I don't think we should call Thorn back, either.”

“Yeah but he was,” and Cipher made a complicated gesture. It took Bly a second too long to recognize the standard clone sign in it, some overly complicated version of brother. It made him frown. “I mean, we didn't know him before. And with Stone,” he paused, looking back at Bly. “Wait, do you know about Stone?” 

“Know what about Stone?” Bly demanded, and wondered if his stomach could sink any further in a single night. 

“His,” and Cipher made another gesture, up to his throat. 

“Did something happen to Stone's throat?” Bly asked.

“Ah,” Cipher managed. 

“Come on,” Orange said, and downed the rest of his single drink in one swallow. Bly tried not to watch the glowing orange liquid disappear and feeling like he was mourning something. “We should go talk, somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Bly said, head spinning. “I think you're right.”

Still, he gave the empty glass and his empty seat another look, before following the two youngsters out. 

He froze in the doorway as several swoop bikes went roaring past down the street, the little pit droid at the back waving as they passed. 

“Looks like the rest of the Brood decided on racing,” Orange said wryly, Cipher looking after them. 

“That can be tomorrow's problem,” he decided, and turned toward the Palace. It surprised Bly, but he followed them anyway. As they walked, he noticed them brushing hands until Orange just grabbed Cipher's. They held on the rest of the walk, and Bly thought about Gleason calling them obvious, like it was a bad thing. 

Bly was going to have a really long night, he decided. 

Chapter Text

The tops of Fox's cheeks were still flushed as he chatted with the town's mayor, and Cody was doing everything in his power not to stroll over and take his hand again. A mission only slightly aided by the fact Fox had his arms crossed over his chest while he listened to the mayor explain their plans for expanding the fishing docks, so it would be impossible for Cody to just casually grab his hand again, like he had earlier. 

It felt different. 

Watching Fox now felt different than it had ever since the day the Guard landed on Kebii'tra. 

Cody wondered if part of that was watching Fox watch the ocean, the awe and loss in his face. For a moment, he'd looked like a story, like an untouchable work of art, but then he'd turned his head to look at Cody and the illusion had shattered back into his Fox. That was part of it, certainly. 

The majority of the butterflies currently camped out in his stomach came from the night before, though. 

It was strange, he thought, loading a plate down with more food than it probably was designed to carry. Of all the things Fox had said, and he had said in turn, he kept coming back to, “ I wanted to come with you .” 

Fox admitting he lied, Fox saying “ It wasn't our choice, and I never didn't love you ,” Fox leaning against him and not moving–but of all of that, Cody kept staggering over the simplest of statements that should have been obvious to him from the beginning.

Fox had wanted to come, from the beginning. 

That meant, in some way, he probably still wanted to be here now. 

It felt like a wave, trying to knock Cody off his feet. He hadn't realized how truly afraid he was that Fox wanted to be anywhere else in the galaxy but with him, until Fox tucked his chin down and said, “ I wanted to come with you .”

The thing was, Cody mused, balancing a final slice of pastry on top of his plate, most of what they'd talked about had been the past, over the present and especially over the future. 

If Fox never hadn't loved Cody–it was still framed in the past tense. 

Didn't mean it wasn't possible in the present, though. Cody was starting to notice the inconsistencies in the way Fox talked sometimes, the way he stated things like they were plain facts with his own feelings stripped out.  

Someday maybe he'd be able to ask him if we didn't marry for love was one of those times. Because Cody was starting to understand, slowly like he was learning another language, from Fox's perspective they didn't marry because they loved each other. They married for politics, because they had needed to. But that didn't mean the love had been crushed under the weight of time or the Empire. 

Not that Cody was brave enough for that yet. But–maybe he could be. Given a little more time. 

For now he watched the way Fox shifted, half turning his body toward Cody as he stopped beside him, while keeping his gaze on the mayor, still talking. On Fox's other shoulder stood Wolffe, too blatantly guarding Fox. 

On the other side of the hall, Cody was aware of a small cluster of clones gathered, speaking lowly among themselves and shooting Fox dark looks. They did not seem willing to keep shooting the same looks at Cody though, looking away abruptly now that he stood there. 

Cody had no intention of leaving Fox alone for long. Not like he had at the other party with the dignitaries from nearby systems. At the time he'd thought Fox would find his presence cloying, frustrated at him coddling him. But after watching Fox disassociate in the middle of a conversation, Cody had no interest in repeating the same mistake. 

“We're hoping that not only will our fishing fleets be more effective with more space for processing on the docks themselves,” the mayor said, a former 91st by the name of Tart. “But we'll be able to export more of the marine life, either for food or pets.”

“Can the oceans sustain more harvesting?” Fox asked. 

“We've got a group of scientists monitoring populations,” Tart assured him. “We've seen some other worlds in nearby systems that stripped their resources too fast, but many others have figured out a balance to live in harmony. We are doing our best to do the second. One of my favorite ways of looking at things that we learned from some neighbors is that we are the stewards of this land, rather than its masters. We want this world to thrive for our children. But no, at this point, it looks like we're barely taking a drop.”

Beside Cody, Fox blinked a few times. “Good,” he settled for. “That's–good.”

Something softened in Tart’s face, which surprised Cody. “From what I hear, that was not the Empire's take on things.”

“No,” Fox said flatly. “That was not the Empire's take on resource extraction at all. I'm glad to hear you are thinking differently.”

“Has there been any problems securing the building supplies for the dock expansions?” Cody asked, pushing the plate a little forward, into Fox's line of sight. For a second Fox's eyes flickered back up to his face with a frown, before he seemed to decide on being grateful instead. 

Cody tried not to feel proud of the way Fox plucked up the pastry slice Cody had badly wanted him to try first. 

“Yeah,” Tart said, glancing between the two of them, Fox having unfolded his arms to steal off Cody's plate, and Cody was trying not to think about the aching warmth in his chest. Even though Thire and Thorn and Orange were not there, it still felt significant that Fox would so easily switch over to accepting food from him in public. Somewhere Stone hovered around the edges of the room, and Cody thought he'd seen him signing something to Master Fisto that made him grin. 

“I've noticed,” Fox started and then stopped, hesitating. “That on Kebii'tra, there is an emphasis on hand made goods, and less on an industrial working base. Is that on purpose?” 

Cody frowned at him, but Fox had clearly addressed the question to Tart, who tilted his head as he considered it. “I can't speak for the folks in the capital,” he said, and Cody arched his brows at him. “But to some extent–yes. On one hand, we are a new world, with a relatively small population size compared to the continents. There's a reason up north and the whole string of islands we visited were only to survey the area, and we haven't been back since. There is more of a need for farmers and ranchers than industry at this point. But I don't think all of it is practical, or just because we must do something a certain way. We could have all sold our services as bounty hunters and mercenaries after the war, and bought most of what we needed. Other cultures do that sometimes. And while some of us still do that, the majority don't.”

He stopped only long enough to take a deep breath, gathering himself as his speech became more impassioned. “We settled here, instead. Personally, I think after being raised for so long in a very sterile, factory like setting, and fighting a war of replaceable parts,” and Fox flinched, just a little. “I know I certainly wanted something different. There's a joy in weaving a fishing net with my own hands, in walking down a dock I helped hammer into place. We could have done anything, but we chose this planet and this way of life. Even if some days it's hard, or a storm takes off a few roofs and we have to start over again, what a difference it makes to know we're building this world, this culture, for ourselves instead of anyone else.”

“I see,” Fox said, clearing his throat. Cody considered him out of the corner of his eye, before he shifted the plate to his other hand, dropping the one closest to Fox to wrap around his fingers. Fox glanced at him, and then back to Tart. “Thank you. That is very well said.”

“I imagine it's different from the Empire, as well,” Tart said, and there was something very knowing in his eyes in that moment. 

“Kriff, it's different from Kamino ,” Fox muttered. 

“We keep the fishing boats back for the festival,” Tart said. “But if you stay another day, I can take you out on the water. Show you a bit of what that's like.”

“Schedule permitting,” Fox said, eyes flickering to Cody again. 

“It should be fine,” Cody said. 

“Not like you oppose the idea of lingering to cram more meetings in,” Tart said dryly. 

“Well that's because I take the third day of the festival completely off,” Cody said.

“You're what, one day a year?” Tart asked. 

“That you know of,” Cody shot back. 

“That anyone knows of,” Wolffe said, reminding Cody he was lingering there too, always in Fox's line of sight. But whatever Cody meant to say in response, it fell out of his head when Fox curled his fingers back around his hand, using his left hand to reach around his body, taking a slice of fruit from the plate Cody still held in his other hand. 

The glint of light off his wedding ring as he pulled his hand back knocked all of Cody's thoughts out of his head.

The embarrassing thing was that it made Tart chuckle, low and deep, like he knew exactly what had just happend. 

“I can leave you two alone if you like,” he teased, and the blush that had almost disappeared from Fox's cheeks was abruptly back. “The music will start soon. The researchers found another folk dance they really liked, they're going to teach it to us.”

“The researchers?” Fox asked, looking over at Cody, as Tart retreated, ducking his head as he went as if that would hide his grin. 

“Some clones have spent a lot of time traveling,” Cody said. “Trying to gather different cultural traditions from different systems. At least the ones that those cultures want to teach us. There's different crews, one trio I swear just focuses on farming techniques from around the galaxy. Growing up, so much of what we learned was Mandalorian, and I respect that,” though something flashed across Fox's face as Cody watched him. “But we are making our own culture here. I still enjoy the Dha Werda Verda, though apparently some of the Mandalorians we've met are quite pissy we changed the words, but it's a war dance. We live in peace now, and our society should reflect that as much as our martial heritage.”

“Just don't remind Boss you like other dances,” Wolffe said, and Cody snorted. 

“He and his commandos weren't even the best teachers of the dance,” Cody said. “They were just all we had.”

Fox stared at nothing. “They never brought it to Coruscant,” he said, and Cody and Wolffe both looked at him. “The commandos. They were taught it by their trainers, and they trained the rest of the GAR, right? They never brought it to Coruscant.”

Cody and Wolffe exchanged a quick look over his head, bent down as he considered Cody's plate like it was a battlefield map he was trying to decipher. 

“Do you want to learn the Dha Werda Verda?” Wolffe asked. 

“No,” Fox said immediately, then raised his eyes back to Cody. “I might–well. Maybe we can learn this new country dance together?”

“Yeah,” Cody said, too quickly. “Yeah, let's go learn this dance,” and he handed the still half full plate off to Wolffe and dragged Fox with him to where others were gathering near the musicians, preparing for a new learning opportunity.

Sometimes Cody figured the reason the clones loved their cultural gatherings so much was the chance to learn something different. They were not training for battle anymore, but they'd never shaken the habits of all their early lives. They relished these opportunities to not only learn new ways of moving their bodies, but to do it together. 

When the dance started, for a second he couldn't decide how he felt about the realization it was the type of group dance where pairs went down the line, dancing as much with the people beside them as each other. 

But still it meant Fox's warm hand in his, as they turned and went down the aisle, it meant catching sight of Fox's profile as he turned around with the next person down the line, before meeting Cody in the middle again. 

And then they repeated that, down the group, while others laughed and clapped in time to the music. Every time Fox met him again, sliding his hand into Cody's, it felt like a drum being hit in his chest, deep and as warm as Fox's hands. 

As they got more used to the movements, they all started speeding up, the music rising to the occasion. After that it all became going up and down the line, twirling Fox around, and then waiting for him to come back. 

Around them, the whole hall seemed to be getting into the mood of the dance, and Cody thought he saw Kit Fisto up with the musicians, playing a type of flute Cody had never seen before. He also caught Wolffe at some point, spinning Stone around in a move that certainly did not match anything they'd learned so far. 

But mostly he just watched Fox. 

By the time the dancing broke up and they staggered out into the night, he wasn't certain how much more his heart could take in a single cycle, but he wasn't ready to let go of Fox yet. 

“Are you sure we should leave?” Fox asked, just as Cody grabbed one of his hands and turned him around. “It doesn't seem like it's entirely over yet–”

“Relax, Fox,” Cody said, because there were still plenty of others lingering in the hall, but others had started drifting out in pairs or small groups. However they were mostly headed up to the rest of the town, while Cody and Fox were going toward a line of little huts nearer to the water’s edge. Cody preferred them to any other accommodations in town, because it let them hear the waves, so they were always marked for the party from the capital. 

A lit boardwalk led to the little cluster of buildings, but Cody took the shorter route, across the sand and nearer the ocean. 

“I am relaxed,” Fox muttered, even as Cody slid both his hands into his. “What–”

“I'm actually not ready to stop dancing with you yet,” Cody admitted, and from the dim light of the boardwalk and town behind him, he could make out the way Fox blinked slowly at that. 

“I think we'd need more people to keep that dance going,” Fox murmured. 

“Haven't you ever done just a simple pair dance?” Cody asked.

Fox snorted. “Where? You think the Empire regularly danced at its parties?” 

“What did they do instead?” Cody asked. 

“Schemed,” Fox shrugged. “Showed off. Sometimes there was dancing, but it was either the officers with each other, in some overly complicated sequence designed to trip each other up, or with the wives. Not with the mistresses. Thank the Force for that, to be honest.” 

He stopped when Cody pushed back on their grip slightly, forcing him to take a few steps back. “Cody–”

“Come on,” Cody said. “It's not hard. It's just a one-two-three,” and he hoped Fox could see him well enough to make out the move. “And then you one-two-three back toward me,” and Fox hesitantly did. “And then I go forward again, one-two-three, and it's like that.”

Fox lifted his head, eyes shining in the light from the town, the ocean vast and dark behind him. 

“Cody–”

“There, see? It's simple.”

Fox hummed out a breath, and there was still the sound of laughter and chatting from the hall, clones wandering under the lights of a town they'd built with their hands. The dock, off to the left, had also been strung with lights, twinkling in the reflection of the waves below. 

“Here, put your left hand on my shoulder,” Cody said, and Fox complied immediately. Heart in his throat, Cody placed his right hand on Fox's waist, and it was closer than they had been during the other dance, when usually they only had touched each other's hands. 

He started lazily moving through the steps of the dance again, spinning them in slow circles across the shifting sand, toward the huts. Having fallen silent, Fox let him lead the dance, breathing out carefully even as he got more comfortable with the casual movements, and got easier to slowly spin around. 

The waves slowly pushed toward the shore, a steady rhythm for Cody to match his heartbeat to, and the moons started to rise from over the waves, first the darker one and then the brighter one. 

When their boots hit the wooden boardwalk around the huts, Cody almost spun Fox around toward the sand again, just to keep the moment from ending. 

But Fox heaved out a long breath, so instead Cody forced himself to stand there, even though he couldn't force himself to drop his hands just yet. In his defense, Fox hadn't moved back either. 

“Well?” Cody asked finally. “How do you like dancing?”

“It's growing on me,” Fox said after his own long hesitation. 

“Come on,” Cody said, finally letting go. “It's not late yet, but it's late enough I'm exhausted.”

“Comes from sleeping on your couch,” Fox teased, and Cody chuckled. 

“Yeah, probably,” and he tried not to react when Fox twined their fingers back together.

“Well, lead on then,” he said, and Cody swallowed down the way that made him feel. He tried not to compare it to the way he'd led Fox to his quarters after the wedding, because it wasn't the same. 

But it felt a little the same, as he showed Fox more and more of his new life, leading him to the same but he'd stayed in the last five years. 

He found himself hoping again that Fox would like it enough to want to stay. 

Chapter Text

“Wake up,” Bly said, kicking the edge of Alpha's bed. 

“Fuck off,” Alpha muttered, burrowing deeper into the mattress. “There’s no war on, why are you trying to wake me up at dawn?”

“Because we need to go to the palace,” Bly said. 

“The,” and Alpha lifted his head up. “Cody isn't here. Why are we going to the palace?” He'd started to go the day before, got halfway–and then turned around like the coward he didn't like to think he was. He wasn't ready yet, to face any of the Coruscant Guard, and the thought rankled. 

“Because I haven't slept all night,” Bly said, and Alpha wanted to point out that was hardly a governmental concern. “Because I spent the whole night talking to the Coruscant Guard's kids.”

That made Alpha freeze. 

“The Coruscant Guard had kids?” he asked, trying to keep his tone level and even. He had, admittedly, not been paying much attention to the news since their wayward brothers had returned at last to the fold. 

He told himself, and Fordo, and even Cards, that it was because there wasn't anything he could do about it yet. They had been up in the northeast, fixing a town's water pumps and setting the mining equipment to rights, and it needed to be done before the snow started. 

But he was pretty sure they all knew he was just putting off seeing Fox again. 

Fox had become the never healed sore on the bottom of his foot, the one he poked over and over again just to see if it still hurts, if it was still bleeding. 

Why, of all the cadets he'd helped train, all the cadets he watched take names and put kama on as Commanders, had Fox been the one to choose a Sith Lord over his brothers? Had it somehow been because Alpha didn't instill in him deeply enough the beliefs he needed to carry him through the war? Had there just been something rotten at the heart of him that Alpha had not seen? 

So, it has been easier to stay where they were, and put it off. 

He wanted to see Fox, to ask him. 

He really never ever wanted to be in the same room as Fox again. 

Something softened in Bly's eyes, but not by much. He kicked the side of the bed again. “Get up, and I'll tell you on the way.”

Grumbling, Alpha finally pushed himself up, running himself through the fresher. He still preferred the sonics he had installed himself in the crappy little place the alpha class occupied when they were in the city, even though most of the other clones had been pleased to rediscover water showers now that they lived planetside, instead of in barracks or on ships. It had been the one luxury Kamino had afforded them, as there was no shortage of water on that planet. 

Sonics were faster though, and bothered Alpha's joints less. He moved slower than he used to, slower even than Fordo, who rarely rushed for anything. 

For Fordo, it was a mentality. For Alpha, it was because his body never got over the abuse he'd put it through. 

When he came out, Bly handed him something warm and savory wrapped in paper, and then set out at a carefully paced walk, so Alpha could eat while keeping up with him. 

“Alright,” Alpha grumbled after the first few bites were swallowed. “What's the situation with the kids?”

“They were the last generation that should have been off Kamino,” Bly said, and Alpha almost tripped over thin air. “The ones still in tubes when we defected.”

“I knew the kriffing long-necks wouldn't dump that much product,” Alpha muttered. “I kriffing knew it.”

“Well, they were sent to Coruscant,” Bly continued, as if he didn't remember the shell-shocked expression on Cody's face when he told the others the tubes had been dumped into the ocean, the way Alpha had raged at the idea. The other Commanders had been mostly silent before they knuckled back down to the business of the cadets they could help. “Fox and the others raised them.”

“Fox?” Alpha asked. “Must be some kriffed up kids,” and he knew it was bitter. More bitter than anyone deserved, probably. But Fox should have come with them, and Alpha had ten years to make up reasons for why he hadn't. 

Bly glanced at him, and then away. “Thorn is coming back into town,” he said. “Fox and Stone are with Cody. Thire is apparently in the middle of a de-orbit,” and Alpha raised his brows, because that was a term he hadn't heard anyone use in quite a while. They'd all done it and moved on, more or less. “Apparently Cipher is very insistent that no one bother him while he's recovering. I didn't know Thorn well though, he's practically a year younger than my cohort was.”

“Thorn is a determined vod,” Alpha said. “Even if something didn't come easy to him, he wouldn't leave it alone until he'd mastered it. I remember when he finished the ARC program and told me he'd gotten Coruscant, for once I thought he'd probably do well there.”

“You didn't think that about Stone or Fox?” Bly asked, casual in a way that indicated he felt anything but. 

“Not really,” Alpha said. “At the time, they both wanted too badly to be off the planet, with the rest of us. Thorn at least knew what he was getting into.”

But even Thorn might have changed in the last decade. 

They entered the palace grounds, and Alpha almost stopped because it was much busier than he expected. As the years went on, it remained a hub of activity, but people came, did their business, and left. Here, even with Cody at his usual seaside retreat, there were constant bodies in motion, a group of youngish looking clones trotting after the gardeners, pelting them with questions. 

When Alpha turned his head, he saw a small group of clones of a similar age, clustered around the stairs leading up to the main entrance. They would have all been the standard equivalent of twenty-some years, and they made Alpha freeze in his tracks. 

The last generation off Kamino, and they hadn't gotten the de-aging therapy. Or if they had, it was when they were already older. 

They had been raised by the Coruscant Guard, which meant at least some of them must have had Fox's hands shaping them.  

For a while, Alpha could only stare at them, and they all seemed to stare back, except for the one at the furthest back, who kept flicking his eyes to Bly and then away again. 

Finally he forced himself forward again, one of the kids who had been sitting on the stairs standing. The vod behind him fell in behind his shoulder, and after a beat the one who'd been staring at Bly did the same on the other side. Triangle formation, Alpha noted. Presenting a supportive but unified front. 

It was a move they were well versed in, so natural it didn't look like they even thought about it. 

“Hello,” the front one said. 

“Hello,” Alpha said, and hated the awkwardness. “I'm Alpha.”

The front one glanced at the one to his right quickly before back to Alpha. “My name is Orange,” he said, stiff, and Alpha found his brows twitching up. The color felt significant, somehow. “Cipher, and Gleason,” he introduced the two directly behind him, but not the others. 

“Heard you were the last kids taken off Kamino,” Alpha said, and wished he could sound normal. But from the time Bly rustled him out of bed, he'd been feeling caught flat footed and unsure. While imagining this meeting, he'd always figured it would have been with Fox. He would have asked him what he was thinking, and on his best days he thought he would have calmly waited for the answer. 

On his more average days, he figured it would have ended with a fight. 

He had not seen the kids, raised without Kamino or the war. Sometimes he still found himself weirded out by the cadets that they'd taken from Kamino, who had been raised to fight but never had to. 

“We were,” Orange agreed. “P–Pred always told us stories about Kamino, though. You featured in a fair amount of them.”

“Did I?” Alpha asked. “Which one was Pred?”

Though he had a bad feeling who the answer was. 

“Fox,” Orange said. 

Alpha's brows twitched again, unhappy with the idea of Fox going by Pred. It sounded like Predator, and spoke too much of a certain mindset Fox must have cultivated under the Empire. 

Which he had chosen over his brothers. 

“You know,” Cipher said, bumping his shoulder into Orange’s. “You should start calling him Pa in public.”

Orange darted his eyes over, clearly unhappy, and Alpha felt like his stomach had entered freefall. But then Orange’s shoulders sagged. “You're right,” he mumbled. “It's still just weird. I've never called him that where anyone who wasn't Guard could hear.”

“I know,” Cipher said, and when he looked at Alpha, Alpha could swear for a second he looked just like another cadet had once, shrewd and considerate at the same time. “It's why we had the Pred nickname to begin with.” 

“Fox raised you?” Alpha asked, because he had to confirm before he assumed. 

“Me, specifically, yes,” Orange said. 

“The Guard split up the rest of us,” Cipher said, and Gleason hadn't spoken yet, because he was too busy scowling at Bly avoiding his gaze, and that was interesting. But not currently Alpha’s main interest. “Brought us up in squads as much as they could.”

Alpha opened his mouth, and for once found himself speechless. 

Instead, he just looked at the three of them, the others hovering further back, the young clones moving around the gardens, still regimented but trying to learn how to move out of sync with each other. 

But he was saved by Thorn rushing up, a pair of younger clones at his back too. Turning to face Thorn at least felt easier, his blond hair pulled back into a braid and circles under his eyes. 

“Alpha,” he greeted. 

“Thorn,” Alpha said, and he's only seen the Coruscant Guard Commanders once during the war, when he'd gone briefly to Coruscant for a briefing and war planning conference in between classes of ARCs. By that point, the program hadn't needed him so badly, but he still hated to leave any of the students. 

Thorn looked different, though the exhaustion Alpha remembered. 

“Have you slept?” Cipher asked him immediately with a wide grin. “I thought you would have been past that phase?”

“Apparently teething is a real kriffing problem in Halaisi kids,” Thorn said. “And apparently it starts late, so they're having a time, and it's a problem that must be shared with all of us. Also, Bacara is an asshole when he said sheep weren't that hard to raise, because the sheep are currently, as far as I can tell, in a full on turf war for grazing space from the nerfs, despite the fact there is plenty of grazing space to go around.”

“We've somehow recreated a gang turf war, but with livestock,” one of the young clones behind him chirped. 

“Apparently one can never truly escape Coruscant,” the other one said and Thorn rolled his eyes. “No matter how hard we're trying.”

“And how is the frontier, anyway?” Cipher asked. 

“It is very fucking windy,” the second one said and that cause Gleason to laugh, though Orange had remained mostly focused on Alpha, who stood there and tried to process what it all meant. 

They acted an awful lot like most clones did, if more wary than Alpha was used to anymore. When he looked away from Orange and back to Thorn, he found his expression pensive. 

“Honestly I was half hoping Fox would run into you first,” Thorn said. “There's only so many reunions I think we can all take.”

“I trained you as much as him,” Alpha said, though that was a bit of a lie. The alpha-class had been leaned on to train the Commander classes, especially the first generation. Then those students had trained the younger command cadets, until they had been called to war, leaving the younger cadets back with those trainers and alpha-class that had either stayed, or been sent back. 

Which meant Alpha had trained the first generation of Commanders far more than the second or third.

But he'd still run Thorn through his ARC class, and that had to count for something. 

The corner of Thorn's mouth twitched, and he had a habit of looking amused, even when nothing was actually funny. “Well,” he said. “Since I guess I am the one here, we should talk,” and he looked over at Bly, still caught in his silent staring contest with one of the former cadets. When Thorn noticed which one, he heaved a sigh heavy enough Gleason broke the contest to glare at him. “I am so not getting involved,” Thorn huffed. 

“That would be wise,” Gleason said, sounding like poisoned honey. 

“You sure we shouldn't rustle up Thire?” Thorn asked Cipher. 

“You survived without Pred for a few days, I'm sure you can survive without Papa. Besides, who even knows how Neyo would react. He's quite enjoying playing the doting provider, as far as I can tell. He might even be reading Papa some of those terrible romance novels he likes so much, which I assume would be a funner activity for them than when you did so with Pred,” Cipher said, and Alpha almost wanted to point out how funny it was that he had insisted Orange call Fox Pa, but himself stuck to Pred. 

“Well, I had to do something,” Orange muttered. “He was being so pathetic around Cody. They both were.”

Alpha suddenly had a very bad feeling. “It's been a decade,” he said. “Fox and Cody surely–”

“Ah,” Thorn said, Bly and Alpha both looking at him. “Not much for the news wherever you were, huh?”

“Why?” Alpha asked. “What did they do?”

“Well,” Thorn said carefully. “They got married.”

“Oh,” Alpha said, remembering all at once the way they had been like a physical sensation. “Kriff us.” 

Thorn finally cracked a true smile, the kind he used to have. “Come on,” he said. “If you have the time, maybe we should catch up.”

“Yeah,” Alpha settled for, eying the group of cadets in front of him again. “Maybe we should.” 

Chapter Text

Fox woke feeling restless. When he found that Cody had not yet stirred, he slipped out of the small cabin they'd spent the night in, realizing it was not yet even dawn only when he stepped outside the door. 

Setting off across the shifting sand of the beach, he made it to the pier before the sun touched the edge of the sky, sitting with his legs hanging off the wooden planks to watch the sunrise. 

“And I thought I still got up early,” Wolffe grumbled, sitting down beside him as the clouds turned a pale pink in Fox's vision. He could imagine they were blazing bright to anyone else, and usually he did not feel the loss of his color vision so keenly. 

“Thorn liked the sunrises,” Fox shrugged. “Even when he stopped being able to see them as well as he used to.”

Wolffe propped one elbow on the railing, and looked at Fox before looking back to the sky. “How much of it can you actually see?”

“It's like,” and Fox squinted as the light got brighter. He'd packed the sunglasses Cody had given him the first day, but forgot them in the hut. “When it's twilight, and the shadows are lengthening but it's not quite dark yet. When the color has faded out but you still mostly know what it's supposed to be. But it's not twilight, it's always like that. Usually I can tell the gist of what a color should have been, but not always.”

“And it's getting worse?” Wolffe asked. 

“So far, yes,” Fox said, tilting his head to one side. “I know the doctors and the medics have been talking. They think they know what in the gene therapy caused it, but they're not sure it's reversible yet. And I,” he breathed out. “I find it hard to trust in hope for things like that. I'm tired of being an experiment, even if your doctors mean better.”

“They're your doctors now too,” Wolffe said, calmly. Somehow, of anyone, Wolffe managed to be the calmest when talking to Fox, though Fox could hear the turmoil under the surface of his words most of the time. 

“They will be,” he agreed mildly. “Right now it just feels like another difference. The Guard has medics, because it's never been allowed to change. Your medics got to train as doctors on nearby worlds, and your kids got to earn degrees when they came of age. I trust our brothers, doctor or medic, but it doesn't change the way it makes me feel, when they talk about another injection.”

For a while Wolffe sat beside him. “Would you like me to describe it to you?” he asked, and Fox looked over. “The colors?”

Blinking, Fox leaned back on one hand. “Alright,” he said. 

Wolffe cleared his throat. “Do you remember those days when Kamino was sunny, and the ocean was that deep, rich blue? The kind you never saw when it rained?”

“Yeah,” Fox rasped. 

“Well it's nothing like that,” Wolffe said, and Fox laughed, almost despite himself. “It's brighter. The tips of the waves are bright white, like the walls were. And the sky… it's the color of Cody's armor, down at the bottom, inching up to the clouds–”

Fox leaned back on both hands, listening to Wolffe and the waves in equal measure. At one point he closed his eyes, tried to picture the sunrise just from what Wolffe was describing. 

Then he reached out, covering Wolffe's hands with one of his. It surprised Wolffe so much he stopped talking, looking down at it. “Thank you,” Fox murmured, closing his eyes again to focus on the heat on his face from the sun, now free of the horizon. 

“Yeah, Dul,” Wolffe said, voice gone gruff. “You're welcome.” 

“When did you become so calm, anyway?” Fox murmured. 

“Do I strike you as calm?” Wolffe asked, arching a brow at him. 

“Comparatively, yeah,” Fox said. “You're still forceful, and a pain, but you're not so annoyed as you used to be.”

Wolffe hesitated, seemed to give the question real consideration. “Peace changes things,” he said. “The Jedi–getting to know them when they're not at war. It's different. They've been helping us, when they feel they can. Plus, we've done our best to learn from the neighboring systems about how to treat mind sicknesses,” and Fox frowned at him. “It's not like that,” Wolffe said, catching his expression. “But we were raised in certain circumstances, and we fought in even more horrible ones. It's not a shame to ask for healing of the wounds you can't see, Dul.”

Grunting, Fox looked away. “Maybe.” He curled his fingers, pressed them against the sides of Wolffe's hand. “What about your General?”

“What about him?” Wolffe asked, suddenly cautious. They had been talking more, on and off since Wolffe had pinned Fox to the couch after their first confrontation. But it had mostly been surface level, the careful feeling of each other out after so long apart. 

“Was he one of the ones that helped you?” Fox asked. 

For a long time Wolffe sat, Fox almost getting distracted by the waves again. “When he can.”

“What does that mean?” Fox frowned at him.

“When the Jedi fled with us,” Wolffe said slowly, carefully. “They didn't change who they were. There's still… rules they follow, things the Order allows them to do or not to do. Attachments are… dangerous. And, our Generals got attached to us. Some more than others. Master Plo got particularly close to us,” and Fox blinked. “So some concerns have been raised, over the years, about continuing that attachment. So long as he never stays longer than they ask, I guess the Council accepts that some attachment will simply persist. Maybe, now that they can stand down from the fear of a future war with Palpatine, they'll be less worried about his attachment if we ever had to fight together again.” He huffed out a breath. “It is what it is.”

“It doesn't seem fair, really,” Fox said after a beat. 

Wolffe shrugged. “I'm not willing to ask him to leave the Jedi Order for me,” he said. “He might, if the question ever came up. I don't want to be the reason, though,” and Fox noticed he'd switched from the plural of earlier, of Plo's attachment to all his men, to the singular. “So we don't talk about it. He visits, when he can, and then he leaves. It's fine. I always know when he'll be here, and technically I know where he is when he isn't, which is better than during the war, when sometimes we lost contact with each other during missions.”

Looking down, Fox picked at the seam of his pants. “Let me know when he's due again. I think I'd like to meet him better than I did during the war.”

“Oh, you will,” Wolffe said, like he never doubted for a second that would have been happening. 

“I've noticed,” Fox picked at the seam again. “A lot of the Commanders don't really talk that much about the Jedi. They're still clearly nearby, and involved, but only a few seem to be here at a time. Cody doesn't talk about Obi-Wan much, but when he does it's clear it's because he's just such a part of his life. Even if they don't see each other often, they talk and exchange gifts.”

“Yeah,” Wolffe said. “A lot of us are like that. We're still friends, we still talk. But the Jedi said they wanted to, well, let us decide for ourselves, who we were going to become. They'll help, but they don't want to control us anymore. Guess once they were out of the war and thought about it, they started to feel guilty.”

“Guilty?” Fox asked. 

“For accepting us as soldiers,” Wolffe said. 

“But,” Fox floundered. “We were soldiers. What else could they have done?”

“When it was revealed how the war started,” Wolffe said slowly. “I guess some Jedi started questioning how they let themselves get so fooled. The guilt came with that, I think. Whatever the case, they wanted us to find ourselves, without feeling like they were peering over our shoulders. So they send a couple of representatives at a time, and we send one or two back. Fives used to spend a lot of time in the Temple, guess it made him feel better for some reason. Bet that will be changing soon.”

“And you?” Fox asked. “Do you think you'll ever change your mind about your General, and ask him to stay?”

Wolffe looked out over the water for a long time. “I haven't yet,” he settled for. 

“I see,” Fox said, and looked at the sky, and then back toward the huts. He found Cody standing there, one hand shading his eyes as he looked at the pier. Behind them, the town was stirring, early morning preparations for the day beginning. 

When Cody saw him looking, he waved with his other hand and Fox felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. He remembered all at once the feel of Cody's hands in his, the way he guided him across the sand the night before. 

Beside him, Wolffe snorted and Fox switched his gaze to glaring at him. “Another day, huh?” Wolffe asked, still sounding amused. 

“What does that mean?” Fox demanded, even as Wolffe climbed back to his feet. He held a hand down, and after a beat Fox took it, letting him help him stand. 

“Well, another day is just another opportunity to watch you two give those ridiculous ungulate eyes at each other,” Wolffe said, and Fox thought about shoving him off the pier and into the ocean. Instead he tipped his chin back and stalked off, meeting Cody at the beach. Behind him, Wolffe was still chuckling, but he ignored him. 

“Good morning,” Cody greeted. 

“Good morning,” Fox replied, feeling a bit flat footed at the more formal greeting. 

“Ready for more of the festival?” Cody asked, and Fox shrugged. “It's not like yesterday was all that dramatic.”

Cody's mouth twitched. “You're either going to love today, or hate it.”

“What does that mean?” Fox asked, but Cody just smiled. 

Fox found out soon enough anyway, Cody and Wolffe leading him down into the main part of the town, where the central square had been done up in rows and rows of booths, green and brown awning strung up over the area to keep the sun off. At first Fox thought it was just another market, like the one in Resilience, until he got a better look at it. 

Some booths indeed seemed to be selling things, mostly hand crafts and sparkly toys for the children running around. But the whole left side was just tables of food, and Fox found himself eyeing it warily. “Is it supposed to be for sale?” he asked, watching people starting to pick their way down the tables, everyone taking a bite or two only from each dish. 

“No, it's to try things,” Cody said, and Fox looked at him, Stone clearly trying not to laugh at his expression. “But–you’re supposed to try everything. So there's no choice involved. Folks from all over cook for this, it's a way to try new things, to experiment and see what happens. Then, people vote on what they really liked, or what could maybe be improved on, and there's awards at the end of the day, including for weirdest flavor profile.”

“Fireball and Nimec usually end up wiping the floor with folks,” Wolffe said. “They were both Gree’s boys during the war, stuck together afterwards.”

“Is there another meal somewhere?” Fox asked, a bit lost by the idea. 

“You'd be amazed how quickly you fill up with that amount of food,” Wolffe said with a laugh. 

“There's some livestock shows too,” Cody said, and he'd taken Fox's hand at some point, Fox curling his fingers around his. Cody's other hand pointed the opposite direction of the food table. “They sometimes do a speeder race, but I think that's tomorrow this year. And there's games, and music in the main hall where we were last night, and puppet plays–”

“Puppet plays?” Fox asked. 

“I'll show you,” Cody promised. “But first, I'm ready to have a go at some of this food.”

“He starts on one end and spends the whole day working his way to the other,” Wolffe said. “It's very methodological.”

“Like you're that much different,” Cody said. 

“I'm more selective,” Wolffe said. 

“Well, I can't really be seen playing favorites,” Cody said, and Fox found himself smiling, almost surprising himself. 

“Okay,” he said. “Just show me where to go, and I'll go.”

Cody looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and slowly grinned. “Okay,” he said, using the hand still holding Fox's to pull him forward, right at the start of the food tables. 

“So we really just,” Fox started to ask, when Cody held up the first bite sized piece, stuck through with a toothpick. “Eat from the dishes?” 

“Yup,” Cody said, and he'd let go of Fox's hand to pick up the food. “Here, this one is from a baker that comes through the capital sometimes. It's always really good–” and he broke off when Fox leaned forward, since Cody was holding the food on its little stick out toward him. Fox realized a second too late Cody had almost certainly meant for him to take the toothpick, instead of just eating it out of his hand. 

Cody stared at him and then the now empty toothpick, looking stunned for a second before dropping the disposable toothpick into the bin set out for just that occasion. “Well?” Cody asked, covering his reaction by picking up a second one and shoving it into his own mouth. 

Behind him, Fox thought Wolffe was the one trying to cover his laughter, but he wasn't doing a very good job. 

Swallowing, Fox once again hoped he wasn't blushing too obviously, much like the night before. He thought about flipping the sunglasses he'd stuck on the top of his head down, but the awnings provided too much shade so it would be obviously awkward. “It's good,” he allowed.

“It's spectacular,” Cody said, when he swallowed his own bite. “The way it's just slightly spicy to offset the sweetness of the pastry–but I'm glad you liked it.”

“I did,” Fox mumbled, which already felt like a huge admission. No one was coming to take the pastry away from him. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Cody trotted happily to the next item left on the table, a cheese also already helpfully cubed and stuck with a toothpick. That time, Fox made sure to grab his own before Cody could offer one. 

They spent a while there, Stone gravitating more toward the cheeses and baked goods and away from the meats, while Wolffe selectively chose what he preferred from a standard completely opaque to Fox. 

That left him and Cody, trying everything, until they got about a third of the way down the tables. 

“And the rest will be lunch,” Cody declared, and Fox laughed, because somehow all those tiny bites had filled him up. “And probably dinner too.”

“If enough of it is left by then,” Wolffe said, and the square had been filling up since they'd gotten there so early, more and more clones and other species milling around, laughing and talking. “Busy this year.”

“Next year we'll have to see if more of the Guard wants to come,” Cody said. 

“Maybe,” Fox agreed, because at least a few of those looks had centered on him. He'd noticed it the night before as well, but no one had actually approached him yet. 

One of them finally did when Cody appeared distracted by several other clones, who'd caught him in front of the puppet show, a display that fascinated Fox. He'd seen operas and ballets and various plays on Coruscant, but not the kind acted out by little models. Not too far away from him, Cody stood with his arms crossed, listening seriously as the pair of clones reported their growing concerns about increasing taxes being leveled against them by one of their nearby trading partners. 

Cody promised to follow up when another clone stopped on Fox's right. 

“Strange to see someone like you in a place like this,” he said, and Fox arched a brow at him. Stone took a step closer to his back, but did not react. 

“At a puppet show?” Fox asked mildly. 

“Kebii'tra, for one, a festival, for two,” the clone said, and he'd buzzed most of his head into stripes, dyed a dark green. “After selling out the rest of your brothers to the Empire like you did.”

“Did I?” Fox asked. 

“We all know you must have, to have stayed. And then you come in here, and somehow convince our Prime Minister that what, you've changed? How did you manage to trick him, anyway?”

Fox blinked at him, Cody having turned slightly as he noticed the other, clearly starting to bristle. But Fox mostly felt baffled. “Have we ever met?” he asked. “Or have you just watched too many bad spy dramas? I can't even tell who you're trying to insult, me or Cody because you're calling him the moron who can be distracted by a bit of Guard Style,” and he flicked his hand, shifting his hips to stand like the Guard character who briefly showed up in Our Minister's Palace. “Do you think I seduced your Prime Minister with a sparkly crop top and a bit of leg?”

The clone who had approached him went ruddy. “I remember you from Coruscant. You were out for yourself there, too.”

“You must have done something really stupid to earn my ire then,” Fox said. “You aren't impressing me that you've gotten any smarter now.”

“How dare–”

“You don't want to play this game,” Fox said, and a few of the kids in front of the puppet show had looked back toward them. “Think whatever you want of me. Make a formal complaint to the Palace about the Guard. It can join the pile of them there,” and Cody had tried to obscure the bin full of the handwritten letters of complaint when Fox had visited his office, but Fox would have been more disturbed if there hadn't been any at all. “You can even challenge me to a fight if you like, but I'm not sure what that will prove.” 

He stepped forward, the clone frowning at him now. “But let's be honest,” Fox continued. “This isn't the place you want to start a fight at. You want to swagger a bit and make a point. You have. You can leave now.”

“You shouldn't be here,” the clone spat. “You don't deserve to be accepted back.”

“Noted,” Fox said flatly. 

“You won't be accepted here,” the clone warned, and then retreated. Two of his friends left with him. 

“Fox,” Cody started, but Fox just shrugged. 

“They need to get it out of their system,” he said. “Until one of them tries to assassinate me, I don't really care.”

“Please don't joke about that,” Stone signed with an eye roll. 

But Cody seemed to hesitate. “I agree with Stone,” he said. “Don't joke about that.” He paused again, weighing his words. “Also. What did you mean by seducing me with a sparkly crop top and a bit of Guard Style?” 

Fox felt his cheeks heat. “Oh. It was. Uh. A bad side plot. On that show.”

“I see,” Cody said after a beat, and it was clear he was fighting down his anger at the conversation that had just occurred, trying to match Fox's disregard of it and coming up short. “Could I ever get you in a sparkly crop top and showing a bit of leg, do you think?” 

Blinking a few times, Fox shrugged. “Maybe. You'd have to find someone willing to remake that outfit.”

“I could probably ask Boil if the studio still has it,” Cody said, and Fox stood there, stunned for a second while Stone bent in half and started wheezing, the closest he was able to get to laughter anymore. “Sounds like it was a special made costume.”

“Parts of it, probably, yeah” Fox said faintly, and Cody looked once more after the clone that tried to provoke Fox. But instead of going after him, Cody just took Fox's hand in his own, and did not let go again for a long time. 

Chapter Text

Opening the door, Neyo gave Thorn a long look. 

“You're really taking this guard massiff thing seriously, aren't you?” Thorn asked, when Neyo didn't move in any direction to let him in or kick him out. 

“I'm thinking about it,” Neyo said. 

“You know, Fox let me visit him when he went down,” Thorn said. 

“Yeah, but you look stressed,” Neyo said. “He's resting, after thirteen years of not resting.”

“Sounds nice,” Thorn chirped. “But I really do need to talk to him.”

“Neyo,” Thire said from behind him, and he had shuffled to the door of the bedroom. He'd at first insisted on staying in his rooms in the Palace, before Neyo convinced him to shift over to his house, where he had more kitchen space to try making various soups. 

It had been nice, trying out recipes he'd saved but never attempted, with Wac leaning against his leg and spilling some of the spice jars in his excitement to hand them over. 

“You can let Thorn in,” Thire said, clearly amused, hair sticking up at odd angles and wrapped in one of the blankets off Neyo's bed. 

“You sure?” Neyo asked, clearly indicating he would happily kick Thorn back out if Thire just said the word. 

“Yes,” Thire said, shuffling over to one of the armchairs and dropping himself in it, still wrapped inside the blanket like street food in its wrapper.

“You look like shit,” Thorn said, sliding past Neyo to sit across from Thire. 

Neyo decided it was time for more soup. If the kitchen was open to the little seating area next to it, that clearly had nothing to do with it. 

“Kriff off,” Thire said cheerfully. “You'll get hit with this too, eventually. Maybe when your girls reach their next birthday and you get to celebrate it with them.”

“You're a mean man,” Thorn said cheerfully. “Trying to make me cry like that.”

“Not my fault you're an easy cryer,” Thire replied as Neyo pulled out a pot. He'd bought a whole set of cooking supplies, and then mostly lived on cold cut sandwiches and food pilfered from the Palace when he visited Cody. 

“I didn't use to be,” Thorn grumbled. 

“And then you had kids,” Thire said. “Speaking of which, why are you here? Shouldn't you be trying out livestock rearing?”

“Well, the Flock missed the others,” Thorn said. “Have to come and visit at some point.”

Thire hummed. “We all knew this was going to be hard,” he said. “Separating, even a little bit.”

“Thirteen years in someone's pocket is hard to adjust from,” Thorn said. “It's not like there's not plenty to do. I'm busy. And yet it's quiet in the evenings in ways I've never experienced before.”

“Yeah,” Thire agreed softly. “But I still assume that's not why you're actually here.”

“I can just miss you,” Thorn said. 

“Yeah. And?”

“Alpha is here,” Thorn admitted, and Neyo looked over his shoulder, finding Thire with his head cocked to one side. 

“Fox isn't,” Thire said, careful. “How'd that go?”

“Tubies met him first,” Thorn said. “By the time I ran up, they'd already been talking. I guess Gleason and the others bumped into Bly last night, and they told him a bunch of things, and he went to grab Alpha.”

“The alphas spend most of the year traveling,” Neyo offered from the kitchen, lining up the spices under the datapad with the recipe on it. “They come into the capital at the start of winter.”

“And Bly stays with them?” Thire asked. 

“Mostly,” Neyo shrugged. 

“Stone,” Thorn said, and Thire sighed. “Also, I did not confirm this but when I say Bly ran into Gleason–”

“Oh no,” Thire said when Thorn didn't finish. “You think so?”

“Bly wouldn't look at him and Gleason wouldn't look away. None of the others were surprised,” Thorn said. 

“What does that mean?” Neyo asked, when Thire thudded his head back against the chair. 

“Knowing Gleason?” Thorn shrugged. “Probably that he tried to get into Bly’s pants before asking what his name was,” and Neyo blinked at him long and slow. 

“That's one hell of a reputation to have,” he settled for. 

Thorn and Thire exchanged a look. “Gleason always,” Thire started, and then hummed. “Was more open with his affections.”

“And by that Thire means he was the local heartbreaker at all the clubs that they thought we didn't know they snuck out to,” Thorn said dryly. 

“It just got worse after,” and Thire went quiet, looking at Thorn again.

Thorn's face twisted, and he looked away. “After we lost Port, you mean.”

Not saying anything, Thire reached forward, twisting one hand out of his cocoon to rest against Thorn’s knee. Taking a deep breath, Thorn slowly nodded. 

“Still,” Thire said. “If Bly is who Gleason finally decides to get serious about, we may be in for an interesting time.”

“Assuming he wants to get serious about anyone, ever again,” Thorn said. 

“He's been looking for something to anchor all his feelings to, instead of being lost,” Thire said. “Stone worries, but he's not too worried.” Thire suddenly laughed. “Oh, if it is Bly, Stone is going to pitch a fit. The quietest, most contained fit you could imagine. It'll mostly be in the eyes, I think.”

“Oh no,” Thorn giggled with him. 

“Of all the clones twice his age Gleason could have picked,” Thire said, when he'd stopped laughing. “It had to be his father's squad mate?”

“Is he even twice his age?” Thorn asked. “When you add up the gene therapies and all?”

“It strict years, yeah,” Thire said. “In equivalent years, it's stranger.”

Neyo gently pushed a spice jar in line with the others, even knowing once he started using them the order would be incredibly wonky. “Does that bother you?” he asked. 

When the other two were silent, he looked over to find them both watching him. Then they glanced at each other. 

“We raised those kids under some of the worst circumstances imaginable,” Thire said, slowly. “Worse even than what Kamino did to us. But we also raised them on Coruscant, which means they started interacting with the whole of the galaxy a lot sooner than we did. They lost so much before they even knew what that meant.”

“Just want them to be happy,” Thorn said. “Especially after everything.”

“I remember on Kamino, some of the oldest cadets ended up taking up with the trainers, at the end,” Thire said. “This doesn't feel like that. Maybe a bit odd, but honestly I'm far more worried about Bly than Gleason, if this is actually happening. Bly was always a bit serious, absolutely dedicated, and I remember he hated when things were left unfinished.”

Thorn nodded, clearly in agreement, and Neyo felt his spine loosen. He had not expected to feel nervous on Gleason's behalf, but the Guard Commanders had been the ones to raise the kids themselves. 

“You know Thire, I was meaning to ask you,” Thorn said. “You hear from your own squad mates yet?”

“Not yet,” Thire said, making a vague hand gesture, not quite dismissive but close. 

“You worried?” Thorn arched a brow. 

“Not yet,” Thire said, and Neyo hadn't even thought of it really, that Thire hadn't mentioned it before. 

Was he worried? Neyo strangely realized he couldn't tell. 

“You?” Thire asked. 

“Stopped by the settlement in a pack,” Thorn said. “They apparently got together, had a talk, and decided to see how things stood.”

“Were any of them expecting the sheep and twin girls?” Thire asked with a grin.

“Not a one,” Thorn declared with his own smile.

“So what about Alpha?” Thire asked, shifting the conversation back as Neyo considered the water in the pot, trying to decide if it was bubbling enough to cook the vegetables yet. “Did he… say anything?”

“Not that much,” Thorn said. “I still don't know exactly who knows what–”

“You mean how much Fox has unbent to tell Cody,” Thire said. 

“But I gave Alpha the basic run down. That we were manipulated into staying, that Fox lied to the negotiating team, and that Palpatine hated us and we hated him. He got really quiet after that, and Bly looked like he'd been hit by a grenade, and I figured it was time to get out of there for a bit and let them process.” 

“Did so many clones really believe we wanted to stay with a Sith Lord of our own will?” Thire asked dryly. 

Thorn shrugged. “Once people start telling themselves a narrative, it's hard to dig back out.”

Blowing out a breath, Thire shifted back on the chair, adjusting the blanket still wrapped around him. “We are eventually going to have to deal with that,” he said. “Publicly, I mean. I know the abruptness of our arrival, of Fox and Cody's marriage was all quite something. But it's been long enough now, and we're getting settled, and we need to start clearing up the fog of war.”

“I know Fox is getting closer to agreeing to join Cody’s government officially,” Thorn said. “Minister of Culture, I guess.”

Again, Thire smiled, but it was softer this time. “He's going to like that.”

Neyo managed to not ask him how long until he picked something out. 

“Cody wants more Guards to take portfolios too,” Thorn said for him and Thire flicked his fingers of his free hand at him. 

“I'm thinking about it,” he grumbled. “But Fox first. Do you think they'll use that to start announcing things to the public?”

“I think someone at least needs to make a speech about it,” Thorn said. “Might be a good excuse to get Fox and Cody on a podium together. I don't think they ever officially announced the marriage yet either, not while standing next to each other. It's filtered out to people who bother to watch the news, but they haven't done a big event outside the marriage ceremony itself.”

“It's been hard,” Thire said. “For the two of them.”

“Hard for all of us watching them, too,” Thorn huffed. 

“And us figuring things out ourselves,” Thire said, eyes soft when Neyo glanced over his shoulder again. “Coming here wasn't easy.”

“But there's still anger at us,” Thorn continued. “Not a lot have come up and said anything, but they will if it festers. Alpha is a perfect example. He deflated like a balloon, but he'll probably have processed things by the time Fox gets back enough to have a whole new list of things to hash out with his former favorite student.”

“Yeah, but did you warn him how Fox is going to react when he sees him again?” Thire asked, brow raised. 

“Oh, no,” Thorn said. “And I have no plans to be in this city when that happens.”

“Coward,” Thire said, and it was hard to know if he was amused or offended by how he said it. 

Neyo blinked at the counter, and wanted to ask. He managed not to, letting Thire and Thorn ramble on for a bit about the new settlement and how the Tubies in each area were doing. Eventually, Thorn left, some soup presented to him in a take away container, and Neyo hovered over Thire, who tipped his head back to watch him. 

“How are you feeling?” Neyo asked. 

“Exhausted,” Thire said. “Way more than I should be. This is awful.”

“You could come back to bed,” Neyo said, corner of his mouth curling up. He'd actually rather been enjoying having Thire in his home, sprawled out in his bed. Even wrapped up in the blanket as he was, Neyo liked having Thire sitting in his chair. 

Instead of moving though, Thire just spread out both his hands. He'd freed the second one to eat the soup when Neyo handed it over, a spiced blend of vegetables and meat. 

At first Neyo just stared at him, until Thire made a gesture down, and Neyo's brows went up. 

“I'm tired, not weak,” Thire grumbled, so Neyo shrugged and then sat himself down across Thire's lap, legs dangling off the chair’s armrest, and Thire's arm supporting his back. It felt strange, the flutter in his stomach to sit on someone else's lap and feel secure in the moment. 

“Did you like the soup?”

“Yes,” Thire said, hair still mussed around his face. “I could go back to sleep for another week, I think.”

“If you think you'll sleep through Fox and Alpha,” Neyo said, lightly fishing for more information on what exactly had made Thorn insist he wanted to be anywhere else before that happened. 

Thire blew out another breath, shifting just enough that his shoulder open if Neyo wanted to rest his head on it. 

Surprisingly, Neyo did. 

He could not remember the last time someone made him want to be vulnerable quite so much. It was of course why he'd liked Thire the first time years ago, and why he'd tried so hard so quickly to make it work again, but it still kept surprising him. 

“I don't really know how it will go,” Thire said. “None of the rest of us were so close to one of the alpha-class, or an individual trainer. We weren't like the Commandos, who got individual training, and we weren't the top cadets either. At least, I wasn't. Fox though, he was very close to Alpha. And nothing changes your view of the one who raised you more than raising your own kids.”

Neyo looked at the wall. “Ah,” he settled for. “You're not worried about Alpha being angry at Fox. You're worried about Fox rejecting him?”

“Hopefully the Tubies meeting him first will help,” Thire shrugged, hampered by both the blanket and Neyo. 

Neyo shifted, curling his arm up to run his fingers through Thire's hair, making him hum happily. “How?”

“No idea. I'm just hopeful.”

“What about you?” Neyo asked. “You weren't really clear about how you felt about your squad not showing up.”

To his credit, Thire stopped and considered the question before he dismissed it again. “Here's the thing,” he said. “From what I can tell, there's not really a centralized news system on this planet. It's more local, more granular than what you'd get on Coruscant. People are still finding things out, weeks later.” 

“You think they don't know?”

“I think Doom has read the news,” Thire said, dodging again. 

“You could reach out to them, too,” Neyo said very gently. 

“I could,” and Thire swallowed, finally looking a bit nervous. “And I will. If more time passes. But I've been so busy, and now, I can't even think about that sort of conversation happening. Maybe them waiting a little bit longer would be a good thing. Give me a bit more time to brace myself.” 

“Do you think they wouldn't be happy to see you?” Neyo frowned at him, fingers still petting his hair. 

“I hope not,” Thire said. “But I'm not ready if the answer is yes.”

“They shouldn't be,” Neyo said with a shake of his head. “With everything you told me–”

“Still,” Thire said. “I don't mind. Maybe another week. Then I'll reach out if they haven't shown.”

Unable to think of a good counterargument, Neyo nodded. “Then in the meantime, maybe you should get started on that week-long nap.”

Thire groaned. “This is awful. This does end, right? I get my energy back at some point?”

“At some point,” Neyo smiled at him, before sliding off his lap and holding his hands down. Muttering under his breath, Thire put his hands in his and let him haul him back to his feet. 

He yelped in surprise when Neyo kept moving, sweeping Thire up in his arms, blanket and all, to carry him back to his bed. 

“Oh you're showing off,” Thire said, but immediately cuddled down against his chest. 

“A little,” Neyo said, and kissed his forehead just to make him sputter. 

“You're a romantic,” Thire accused. “I really should tell everyone. No one would actually believe me.”

“You can try after your nap,” Neyo said dryly, just to make Thire grin. Even carrying him, Neyo could make out the hint of a dimple on one cheek.

Sometimes, it still winded him. 

He'd gotten Thire back. A decade after their first encounter, endless attempts to find that sort of connection again, and then he'd ended up with Thire back in his bed, like a puzzle piece lost under the kitchen table finally found. 

He wondered if Cody ever felt so kriffing lucky, or if he still had his head up his own ass about it. 

“Take me back to bed then, Marshal Commander, sir,” Thire teased, so Neyo did. 

He made sure the door was closed, just in case anyone else knocked unexpectedly. 

Chapter Text

Sprawled out on a lounge chair, a towel covering the wooden slats, Cody cracked his eyes open when he heard the troop of kids coming back around. 

They had been following Fox all morning, the third day at the seaside town. After the day before, when Fox had brushed off his first encounter with someone who insulted him only to end up having several more spats as the day went on and Cody got increasingly more angry at them, today was meant only to relax. 

Cody had a tradition. He spent the third day sunning himself on the beach, and would only move for an interplanetary crisis. This day was for him, among the last sunny days of summer, and the sound of waves not so far away. 

However, after about half an hour Fox had started fidgeting. He'd put out a second chair near Cody's, as if fully intending to learn to relax from him, and gave it up before the full hour was out. Instead, he'd started walking up and down the beach, music drifting faintly over from the town square where people still gathered, and poking at every bit of flotsam the sea had pushed up to the sand. 

The roving pack of kids, playing in the surf, had eventually noticed him. Slowly, and then all at once, they approached him, pelting him with questions about what he was doing and why. Together, they all started studying the same seaweed and pebbles Fox had been looking at earlier, talking excitedly among themselves and Fox about it. 

At some point that led to Fox essentially running them through what Cody suspected was a modified fortification training, as they shifted sand around to make what started as little model fortresses and now seemed to be actual trenches between them and the sea. 

Cody vaguely wondered at which point he was supposed to be concerned, and went back to watching Fox through squinted eyes. 

Someone had bullied Fox into shorts for the day, and a looser white shirt than Cody had seen him wear so far. He may not have actually been relaxed, but he looked relaxed, bright green sunglasses from the first day at the market on his face and hair blowing in the sea breeze. 

Cody was having a bit of a hard time watching him, but he also couldn't look away. 

Eventually, Wolffe took Fox's abandoned chair. “Well, that lasted long.”

“He was always like that,” Cody said. “Wasn't he? Never knew when to relax?”

Wolffe grunted. “Not since the hatchery, you're right,” Wolffe said. “I swear he used to interrupt nap time to get into mischief. I'm not sure I could still keep up with him, now.”

Tilting his head, Cody frowned at him. “Is that some sort of warning?”

“No,” Wolffe shook his head. “More… I didn't realize how much slower I'd gotten over the years, I guess. I love sleeping in now. I love having a lazy day. He's still got all that nervous energy.”

“It's not been so long since he was in a situation where that was necessary,” Cody said. “He hit the first de-orbit hard, but it's a long process.”

Idly, he ran the thumb of his right hand over his left wrist, where the identifying chip was. He only realized what he was doing when Wolffe looked over at him, brows pinched together. 

“I really hate this,” Cody said after a beat. 

“Yeah,” Wolffe said, not asking what he hated. He already knew. 

“At some point there's an end, right?” Cody asked. “There's no deeper place the horrors can go?”

“I'd only agree because of how many of them survived,” Wolffe said, and they both turned, watching Fox crouch down between two of the local kids. One looked like a traditional clone almost, clearly one of theirs kids, but the other had bright yellow ears and a shock of blue hair that almost obscured the nose they all shared. It still took Cody's breath away sometimes, the fact that he could look across this beach and see the babies of his brothers thriving. “We know about the slave transmitters. We know about Palpatine forcing them to stay. We know about the gene therapy and the executions,” and Cody still couldn't stop his flinch in time. “We know about the Tubies. We know about Tarkin. Every day I wait for someone else to come up.” He paused a beat. “We still don't know about the caf.”

Cody closed his eyes and breathed. “Someday, he'll be happy, right?”

“Cody,” Wolffe said very softly. “I think he already is. He's just still processing it all.” 

“Do you?” Cody asked, and realized his voice was strained.

For a long moment, Wolffe gave Cody an appraising look. “Do you think he's not?” he asked, cautious, but like he was intending to call Cody a moron if he disagreed. 

“Not exactly,” Cody said. “I know it's better. But. Happy?”

“Oh, don't get so philosophical on your day off,” Wolffe said, reaching over and shoving Cody's knee. “I'm not debating with you the meaning of happy. I'm saying, even with those idiots yesterday trying to get a rise out of him, look at him now,” and Cody did, finding him gesturing to the small children with a raised hand, smile on his face. “He's happier than I've known him. The whole cosmic meaning of happy? I don't know about that, but I know about this.”

“I just,” and now Cody was watching Fox openly, without even the pretense of dozing. “I do want him to be, you know, happy.”

“Yeah, Cody,” Wolffe said softly. “I know.” He turned his head, watching Fox now as well. “Though is sitting back here really the best use of your time?” 

“As opposed to what?” Cody asked, and Wolffe gave him a daring look before he rose and trotted down to where Fox was. 

Cody though stayed frozen where he was, watching them with his hands behind his head as Wolffe started peeling some of the children off the pack around Fox, whispering battle plans to them. 

Closing his eyes, Cody listened to the distant music, the sound of waves, and the plotting over the beach’s newest fortifications. He'd almost drifted off, the warmth of the day lulling him toward a nap. 

His eyes snapped back open when he heard a yelp, different from the other ones that had come before. He caught Wolffe throwing Fox into the ocean and sat up straight. 

“It's good for you!” Wolffe yelled after Fox as he came back up, sputtering. “You need to relax.”

“How does throwing me into the ocean get me to relax?” Fox demanded, wading back through the waves. Wolffe must have been carrying Fox over his shoulder to get him deep enough to throw. “I don't feel relaxed!” He stumbled as a wave hit the back of his knees, and Wolffe smirked. 

“Isn't the rhythm of the waves soothing?” Wolffe asked. “Doesn't it remind you of when they rotated the tubes in the hatchery?”

Finally back on the sand, Fox flicked his hair out of his face, grabbing the ends of his shirt and pulling them forward to wring out the bottom of the fabric. “No, it doesn't,” he said, except Cody wasn't really listening to the conversation anymore. Instead, all his attention was focused on the fact that Fox's shirt had ridden up when he pulled the bottom forward, just enough to display a sliver of his tattoo. Unlike the brief flash Cody had gotten before, this time he could make out the long bottom line of it–though not much more. 

The line was broken up toward the middle, and Cody stared at it, like if he just didn't blink, Fox would reveal more of it with his gestures. 

Whatever it was looked like it spanned Fox's lower back, and Cody wanted to know what it was desperately. Some brothers had gotten massive tattoos during the war, but usually in small segments so it could heal before the next battle. They build them up over months and years. 

What had Fox valued so deeply to paint across so much of his skin?

Apparently sensing Cody's gaze, Fox glanced over his shoulder and noticed him staring, because he abruptly dropped the front of his shirt and tugged down the back. Since he was looking toward him, Cody could not allow his face to look too disappointed. 

Even if he really, really wanted to run his fingers along the broken line he'd barely seen, wanted to feel the shift of Fox's body when he did, wanted to discover the rest of the tattoo maybe with his mouth first–

He blinked and Fox, still dripping wet, had scooped up the green glasses from where they'd been dropped earlier and now stalked toward him. 

It was telegraphed far enough in advance, Cody could have run. Instead he forced an easy smile and let Fox come back to him. 

“Do you mind?” he asked when Fox came to a stop over him. “You're blocking my light.”

“You know,” Fox said. “Today is supposed to be relaxing, right?” 

“I thought you just said being thrown into the ocean wasn't very relaxing,” Cody said, keeping his tone mild, even as he looked up at Fox and yearned.

He wanted to pull him down and cover him, he wanted to slide his fingers under Fox's looser than normal shirt, he wanted to kiss the drying saltwater off his cheek–

He blinked and he missed Fox diving down to grab both his hands to haul him up. “Well, maybe I need to be convinced otherwise,” he said, and Cody would probably have followed him to a lot worse places than just down the beach. 

“And I'm going to convince you?” Cody asked as Fox pulled him with him, into the start of the water. He felt the waves against his ankles, and breathed out. 

Sometimes the ocean made his chest squeeze, some squirmy feeling he struggled to define. When they were growing up, the ocean was everywhere, stretched out to the furthest sides of their world. The sea life and the waves were their only real companions. 

Here, the ocean sounded different, felt different, even tasted different due to a variance in salt levels, but still it always struck Cody with the complicated nostalgia of before he knew what war really was. 

“Why not you?” Fox asked, and the question felt far more charged than it should have been. 

So Cody let him drag him into the ocean, even though he wasn't really dressed for swimming either, let him swim out until they almost couldn't touch the sand below. Behind them, the kids were still considering their fortifications, and Wolffe stood back a little ways, up to his waist in the water.

But mostly Cody just had eyes for Fox, wanted to tell him he would follow him much further just just for a swim, and managed to keep all of it behind his teeth. 

“Coruscant didn't have oceans,” Fox said after a few moments floating together. “It had ducts and constructed lakes and pools and fountains, but no oceans.”

Cody nodded, feet planted on the ground, only jumping a little with each wave. Beside him, Fox had let go of the sand, floating in the waves. “Yeah.”

“I used to stand at some of the pools,” Fox said. “There was one not too far from the Senate offices. Little parks here and there. Where wealth was, there was a pool. It's not like anyone swam in them, they were just there. Water, above all the levels down below.” He trailed off, Cody bobbing beside him. “I'd stand there, and close my eyes, and try to convince myself I could hear waves.”

“Did it ever work?” Cody managed. 

“Not once,” Fox said. “At least we had a training pool in our facilities. I don't know what I would have done if the Tubies had never had the chance to learn. But pool swimming is different then this.”

And Cody could only nod, because ocean swimming had been one of the worst training sessions on Kamino. It was one that had an acceptable casualty rate higher than the normal minimal loss parameters. The cloners had not wanted their products to die needlessly before they could earn their worth. But they also had not been precious about the children's lives. 

Which meant at some point, survival training included being dropped into Kamino's oceans and told to swim. 

Cody had been thankful, on different campaigns, that they had experienced true ocean swimming. He remembered the first time salt water and waves had closed over his head with blaster fire above him. 

“I think I'd want them to come,” Fox said. “Out here–or to other ocean towns. They never had the chance to remember Kamino, but they should have this.”

“Of course,” Cody said, Fox twirling in the water to face him. “Fox, just so we're absolutely clear on this. You don't need my permission for things like that. They're your kids. You have certain resources. Tart even liked you, I'm sure he'd love to set up weekly tours for the next year if you told him the reason.”

Looking away, Fox missed the next wave, bumped a little into Cody. It was taking a lot of Cody’s willpower not to try and swim around Fox, or to tug on the white shirt he still wore, see if he could peek under it. 

“It's still hard to ask for things,” Fox said. “Even if it's getting a little easier.”

The next wave bumped them together again, and Cody reached a hand out, steadying Fox, who looked at him sideways. He shifted around, standing back up next to Cody, waves around their shoulders. “I think it's getting a little easier,” Fox whispered. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, Cody leaned over, pressing their foreheads together. Even over the roar of the surf he could hear Fox's indrawn breath. 

When he moved, he closed his eyes. Fox must have too, because neither of them saw the next wave coming, knocking both of them over and back under the water. But when they came up, Fox laughed, and Cody wanted to cover his mouth with his own. 

Instead he giggled too, like there weren't any worries in his head at all. After a while, they waded out of the water, and Fox finally seemed content to flop down on the seat he'd pulled out earlier, sunglasses on and eyes closed. 

Lying back down in his own lounge chair, Cody tried to close his own eyes. 

Except he kept thinking about the moment when Fox had been wading out of the water, shirt soaked, when it had stuck to his back and revealed for just a second another hint of ink most of the way up along his spine. Just as quickly, Fox had flicked the bottom of the short, unsticking it from his skin almost unconsciously. 

Now Cody had some idea of how massive the tattoo really was, and when he closed his eyes he found himself wondering just what design would take up so much room. 

And why was Fox so inclined to hide it? 

Chapter Text

With Wolffe elsewhere for the day, Stone found himself tempted to constantly exchange looks with Jedi Master Kit Fisto behind Cody and Fox’s backs, and he wasn’t quite certain how he liked the way that kept happening.

He also wasn’t sure how to feel about the way the Jedi kept grinning, like this was deeply amusing. 

Not that Stone didn’t like Kit Fisto. Indeed, the day before while Cody and Fox and Wolffe all clustered around the beach, Stone had gone for a long walk instead, following a trail built along the seaside. A little ways out of town, the trail started to rise until it led across several short sea cliffs. While it was not busy, there were clearly plenty of people out and enjoying the nice weather, several groups of kids passing Stone at different points. 

Up on one of the bluffs he’d found the Jedi Master, standing and looking down at the water, ocean breeze blowing his robes. 

“You know,” he greeted, voice accented in a way that felt strange to Stone after being on Coruscant so long. Most accents on Kebii'tra did, to be fair, but he still hadn’t heard one quite like Kit’s in a long time. “It’s strange sometimes, to think that during the war jumping from a height like this would have been normal.”

Stone had raised his brow, and then peered over the cliff. “Looks normal to me,” he signed at Kit, just to see him grin.

Kit Fisto really liked grinning, as far as Stone could tell. Monnk had mentioned it a long time ago, that his general always seemed seconds away from being amused. It had taken the serious Monnk a while to get used to it. 

“I suppose Coruscant gives one a skewed sense of heights,” Kit said, and Stone leaned back on one heel, considering him. 

The Jedi Order had been based on Coruscant for a long time. 

“Do you ever miss it?” Stone signed, confident Kit would understand him. Ever since the Guard had landed on the planet, Kit had been the Jedi most likely to interact with any of them–as long as it was not with Fox. Of the four former Commanders of the Coruscant Guard, Stone had interacted with the Emperor the least, which was one reason he figured he was their unofficial ambassador to the Jedi. At least Thorn didn’t tense every time Kit Fisto came within a few feet of him.

The benefit of that was also that Kit seemed genuinely interested in learning the modified hand sign the Guard had created around Stone’s muteness. 

“Coruscant?” Kit asked, after considering the ocean for a long time. “Do I miss it?”

Stone nodded. “The Jedi Order was based there for centuries,” he signed. “Was it not your home?”

“I miss the Temple,” Kit said slowly. “The room of a thousand fountains. The old trees, the feeling of serenity,” and Stone slowly blinked.

There was not much serenity at the former Jedi Temple now. 

“I miss also the busy nature of the planet,” Kit said. “There were always so many beings crammed into the walkways. You could see anything or any one there. I miss all the excitement of walking there. But there is a peace to worlds like this, too, where there is more silence.”

“Will the Jedi ever return?” Stone asked, the question that had been at the back of his mind ever since he entered Palpatine’s office that night with Thorn, to find Fox in a panic. It had lingered without answer as the Senate tried to rebuild itself back into the Republic.

For a long time Kit considered him. “I do not know,” he allowed. “The Temple would be a great draw. The Senate surely would prefer our return, to show that they are the heirs to the Republic of old. But, we learned much about ourselves when we fled the Republic at the end of the war, and what we had allowed our Order to become. It will certainly not be so easy to return.”

“What did you learn?” Stone asked, and they had started walking, a slow stroll. Sometimes it still stressed Stone out, to move at a sedate pace instead of rushing wherever he was needed. He could see it in Fox and Thire, too. None of them were entirely sure what to make of this new life yet. 

“That we had been willing to become tied to a government that saw us as disposable,” Kit said. “That we were willing to accept an army of beings without looking closely at what that meant.”

“Us,” Stone signed. 

“Yes,” Kit said. “We were supposed to be keepers of the peace, no? And yet, we became generals.”

Stone had to admit in all the years since the GAR had grabbed the Jedi and fled, he had not given much thought to what became of the Jedi or their mindset about the soldiers they had led into battle. Partly it was because he had never truly known the Jedi, and partly it was because he was simply too busy with everything else. 

There had been so much loss on Coruscant, he could hardly spare any grief for the loss of the Jedi. 

“Do you regret it?” Stone signed. 

“Depends on which Jedi you ask,” Kit chuckled. “Myself? I do not regret the clones I led into battle, the ones that became my friends,” and Stone considered him as they walked. “But I regret the fact we led anyone into battle at all.”

“The war did not give anyone a choice,” Stone signed. 

“No,” Kit agreed. “But that was the trap, wasn’t it?”

“And now?” Stone asked. “I notice the Jedi do not have a heavy presence here.”

“We don’t,” Kit agreed, and still having been the one to teach Kit their modified handsign, it surprised Stone a little how easily he had picked it up. He’d gotten used to people not quite understanding him, ever since he’d lost his voice in the accident. He started to wonder if even a small bit of it was Kit using the Force to guide his assumptions about what Stone meant, and found the thought didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would have. 

It would have stressed Thorn out. He’d always felt the manipulation of Palpatine more keenly than even Fox had. Fox, for good or ill, had accepted it only as another horror to survive, but it had offended Thorn to his very foundations, that they were so easy to abuse with a wave of the Emperor’s hand. 

“We wanted to allow the clones the chance to live for themselves, instead of for us,” Kit said. “Especially at the beginning, that was hard. You were raised to follow orders, and many of your fellows found the idea of not following our specific orders difficult to adjust to.”

Stone had nodded, because he still believed if Fox told him to jump, he would without bothering to look down and see what was below. He imagined it would have been worse for those brothers who had served under the Jedi, especially after all the work Kamino had done to prim them to follow said Jedi. 

“Did my brothers appreciate that consideration?” Stone asked, and it made Kit actually laugh, which Stone had not heard yet. It made him blink. 

“Certainly not,” Kit said. “Not then, anyway.”

After that, they had continued to walk, in mostly companionable silence, unless Kit saw something he wanted to point out, be it a seabird or an upcoming tree twisted by the ocean wind. 

Still, as nice as the day before had been, Stone wished another brother he had known before had come with them on the tour of the seaside industries, because Fox and Cody were making fools of themselves and he had no one who understood the way Wolffe would have.

Tart, whose idea this had been, kept ducking Stone’s gaze, too focused on showcasing everything he valued about his community to Fox, who admittedly was soaking it up like an ocean sponge. They had gone to the dock where the fishing boats brought in their hauls, and then rode down the coast on one of those boats to where the seafood was processed, and were now touring one of the centers that collected pearls from the divers that harvested them from the seabed.  

When the former GAR had settled on Kebii'tra, they had not known about the pearls that covered the ocean floor. They discovered them when they dug some of the clams up, testing them for edibility. It turned out to be lucky, since pearls did not form in all species of calm at the bottom of all the oceans of the galaxy, and they were one luxury product Kebii’tra could export. But moreso, the particularly white variations the clones dug up were especially coveted by themselves, as oceanic reminders of Kamino’s curving white halls. It was a reminder of where they grew up, without the baggage of anything actually from Kamino. 

Which was what led to Stone needing someone to exchange exhausted looks with. Wolffe had chosen to tour the local schools when he had been asked that morning as minster of child welfare. The only reason Fox had not trailed after him to experience the schools himself was because Tart and Cody had already arranged this tour, an extra day on the tail end of the festival to allow Fox to learn more about their businesses and culture, as well as for Cody to get the chance to talk to the workers and artisans. 

“As I was saying earlier,” their tour guide said, a brother called Squid with a scar down one cheek and a bright green dye job. He looked like he had perhaps been one of Bacara’s Marines back in the day from the way he held himself even now. “There are multiple colors that come out of the ocean here. Some planets value best the perfectly round ones,” and he picked one up to show the almost perfect symmetry of it. “But some prefer a less round one, and we sort these out for them,” and he showed another bin, with more oval or less smooth pearls. Each bin was sorted further by shade. 

“And here?” Fox asked, eying the pearls. Fox had always had a better sense for what was fashionable than the rest of them, though Stone figured that wasn’t entirely by choice. After all, none of the other former Commanders regularly attended Imperial Balls. 

“Depends on the brother,” Squid laughed, and Stone wondered when he picked his name, if he could have foreseen living on the seashore and sorting pearls in his future. “The symmetrical white ones are the most popular, which makes them more expensive than the others, but sometimes that imperfection is part of the joy of it, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Fox said. “I’ve noticed that philosophy often on Kebii’tra,” and Tart and Cody both looked at Fox. “Rather, that the hand made or natural variation of the product is valued over its conformity. The inconsistencies are valued over the industrial.”

“Can you blame us?” Squid asked.

“I never said that,” Fox shook his head, and Kit had wandered a little ways away, considering a different bin of pearls with a faint pink hue. “It is only that it is different. I can see the appeal.”

“Which do you prefer?” Cody asked, and Stone bit the inside of his cheek, because Fox just looked at him, missing the obvious reason Cody asked. 

Not for the first time that day either. Cody would ask a question, and Fox would demur, like he couldn’t comprehend Cody was trying to find something he could give to Fox, that Fox might actually appreciate. 

Stone had heard about the box of jewelry from Thire. He’d even gotten a bracelet from it himself, though he had not worn it yet. 

But still, Fox clearly hesitated over the question. He ran his thumb across the bottom of his wedding ring, and to Cody’s credit he stood there and waited, as if he was content to wait a much longer time for Fox to decide. 

“I like the gold ones,” Fox said finally, and Stone closed his eyes and counted to three before opening them again. 

From Cody’s face, he didn’t get it, just like Fox kept missing the hints about the gifts Cody wanted to give him. 

“Perfect or imperfect?” he asked, and Squid led them through the next door, to the showroom where they displayed finished pieces for interested buyers. 

“I don’t know,” Fox said. “Like Squid said. There are benefits to both. The symmetry may be beautiful, but the less shaped ones look more like the ocean tides themselves.”

Stone wanted to point out jewelry didn’t have to be symbolic, but instead he got distracted by a necklace set with several black pearls, some leaning almost toward a green sheen. Something about the color reminded him of the ocean right after a nighttime storm. 

Still he saw Squid incline his head in one direction, Cody following his line of sight behind Fox’s back, as Fox stopped to consider a case of pure white pearls, half set in rings and the other in necklaces. 

“Well, what about this one?” Cody asked, picking up the necklace Squid had been indicating to him, and holding it out to Fox. 

Fox stopped and turned and stared, Cody standing forcibly relaxed under Fox’s eyes. 

“For?” Fox asked finally, and Stone missed Wolffe again, even as he considered the necklace Cody had picked up. It had a top strand of pure white pearls, a slightly longer strand of golden pearls, and then a bottom strand of dark black pearls. All three strands led into the same clasp, but Stone could just make out that each strand seemed removable, so only one or two could be worn instead of always all three.

It was, he could admit, a very pretty piece of work.

“You,” Cody said, and Fox stared at him even more.

“Cody,” he started, and then seemed incapable of continuing. 

“You should probably have something from Kebii’tra,” Cody continued. “I mean, from the oceans here.”

“From the water you are born, huh?” Fox asked. 

“There’s others,” Cody said, still forcibly casual.

Fox flickered his eyes from Cody to the case behind him, and then focused back on the necklace Cody still held out. “I like that one,” he said, almost mumbling the words, and Stone breathed deeply, because he could feel the pinch at the corner of his eyes and refused to explain to anyone why he was crying in the middle of a pearl showroom.

For so many years, they had done their best to protect Fox, including from himself. He didn’t notice how difficult he found picking out food, because the others always slid some in front of him, willing to carry at least one of his burdens for him. After all, he already did so much to protect the rest of them. 

Sometimes Stone wondered if Cody really understood how much it mattered that Fox tried for him, or how much it affected those that had stayed with him, to see his stumbling attempts to choose things for himself, from his clothing to his own future. 

There had been so many years when none of them thought they had any future worth choosing. 

“Here, try it on,” Cody said, and Fox took a step forward, but he hesitated when Cody didn’t hand him the necklace. Instead, he turned when Cody motioned, letting Cody put the necklace around his neck himself, the top line of pearls settling against his collarbone. Stone saw him twitch, either from the coolness of the pearls themselves, or the warmth of Cody’s hands at the back of his neck.

Finally, Stone had to turn and look at Kit, hoping the Jedi Master was seeing the same thing he was, but when he met Kit’s black eyes, the Jedi didn’t look at all as exhausted as Stone felt. Instead, he looked curious, tilting his head to the side at Stone.

At least he wasn’t grinning, but Stone tore his gaze away before he thought that hard about the curiosity in his face. 

He really wished Wolffe had come.