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Chapter Text

Fox’s men were dead. There’d been a bombing in the Temple and two of his men were dead. Fox…was angry. He’d always hated the Jedi. He knew exactly what nat-borns were capable of, his body was covered in the proof of it, and Fox knew they were all the same too. For all that they claimed to be the light in the darkness, it was a lie. They cared for clones just as much as everybody else…which was to say not at all. 

Every day there were more signs, more protests, more people throwing bottles and garbage and bricks at his men in the streets, telling them the Republic would be better off without them. Telling them even the people who had bought and paid for them, the people who they had been created solely to protect, didn’t want them, hated them. 

They called them meatdroids. 

Just walking flesh, not even really alive.

Jedi had died in the bombing along with nat-born technicians and maintenance workers. They all got funerals. Fox’s men got no funeral. Nobody ever even asked him their names. His men were worthless. Their lives were worth nothing to anybody…even the rest of the GAR. They were just Guards, just layabouts with an easy posting and all the luxuries in the world. An easy post where Fox had been stabbed, had been beaten, had things broken over his head and against his chest, where he was hurt over and over by the senators he had sworn to protect and his men were no better. The easy post where their medbay was always full, their supplies practically nonexistent, and those senators decommed his men on an almost weekly basis for any stupid reason they could imagine…but at least that he could do something about, some small pitiful attempt to save them by shuffling his men around, changing their numbers, hiding their identities, and faking their deaths.

Fox hated nat-borns, because he knew them. He hated the Jedi, because they were no better. And now Fox stood in Palpatine’s office at attention as Palpatine gave him what he wanted for the first time in Fox’s short miserable life.

“Your men were among those killed, were they not?” Palpatine asked him with a frown on his face. “A shame. What were their names?”

“It doesn’t matter, sir,” Fox murmured, knowing the kindness was fake, but grasping for it anyway, because he so rarely experienced even that much.

Palpatine’s frown deepened, but he let out a sigh and allowed that to pass rather than pressing, rather than forcing Fox. “I suppose it does not…certainly not to the Jedi. Were your men given funerary rights?”

“Clones don’t get funerals, sir,” Fox mumbled, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice, trying not to show his weakness. Palpatine was dangerous, he hurt Fox enough for Fox to know.

“No I suppose there are simply too many aren’t there?” The Chancellor stood and walked around his desk to stand in front of Fox, looking up at him with kind eyes. It was fake, he reminded himself, of course it was fake, but something in Fox needed it so badly, needed any sort of relief he could find. “Given clones were among those killed, your men especially, I am putting this case in the hands of you and your men. Admiral Tarkin will be overseeing of course, but this is yours. I am certain you will see that there is justice.”

“I will, sir,” Fox promised Palpatine, promised himself.

The Chancellor nodded, “Take care, Commander. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fox replied, saluting automatically as he turned and stepped out of Palpatine's office. If this was theirs now, Fox needed to talk to this woman they’d captured. Frankly he didn’t trust that she’d actually done it. It seemed too easy, was resolved too quickly. It was too…clean.

Nothing about Coruscant was ever clean.

Fox went to the prison block, waiting there for the woman to be transferred from the Temple and then watched his men escort her to a cell. He needed to do this carefully, because there was something in this that made his nerves buzz, some instinct that told him it’d get complicated if he let it. Fox went to interrogate her.

She refused to say a word…or at least refused to say anything other than asking for the damn Jedi padawan. It was beyond frustrating and Fox paced furiously outside of her cell, trying to think of how to work this.

“Fox,” somebody called and when he turned it was to find Thorn trotting down the hall towards him.

“What?” he asked, his voice coming out tired, and Thorn’s face fell.

“No good?” he asked and Fox just shook his head.

“She wants the padawan.”

Thorn frowned and looked back at the closed cell, “You don’t think she did it,” he noted and Fox shook his head again.

“It’s such a sophisticated type of attack,” Fox muttered irritably, “Turning a person into the bomb. It would be so much easier to just sabotage the LAAT’s engines or even build an actual bomb…And then for the man she used to be a munitions expert? It just lines up so clean. If she’s smart enough to do all that, why was she dumb enough to run? Why was she dumb enough not to realize she’d be implicated?”

“Damn, you’ve got me there, Commander,” Thorn huffed, “But who else is there?”

“Dunno yet,” Fox grumbled, “The Jedi maybe.”

“Well maybe the padawan will give us a clue. This woman wants to talk to her…and she’s not all that smart, so she’ll probably give something away when she does, if she knows anything at all that is.”

Fox looked up at his brother and let out a sigh. “You got called in by the Chancellor,” Thorn noted, changing the subject. Something in Fox’s face must have given him away. He needed to work on that, for all that he hid his thoughts constantly, pretended he felt nothing, because it was safer that way. If he felt nothing, then there was no pain. If he felt nothing, then there was no suffering.

“Yeah,” Fox replied and Thorn reached out to put a hand on Fox’s shoulder.

“You okay? Did he hurt you?” Thorn asked him, worry creasing his brow. Fox shook his head.

“No, he–he asked me their names…”

“It’s fake,” Thorn told him, an edge coming into his voice, “You know that’s fake. He doesn’t care. Nobody cares.”

“I-I know,” Fox mumbled, “I know…I didn’t tell him.”

Thorn let out a sigh and drew him in, wrapping Fox up in his arms for a moment, “We care,” Thorn murmured, “We’ll work this out, okay? We’ll get those brothers justice, even if nobody else ever cares.”

Fox just nodded, “Call the padawan in,” he sighed, “We’ll see if something slips.”

“Sure,” Thorn agreed, pulling Fox back in to tap their foreheads together. Fox nodded once he was released and Thorn turned to go do as he was told. Fox stood for another second in the hall, looking blankly ahead at nothing, before he turned and went back to the security office.

Something slipped.

The padawan slipped. She’d tampered with their systems, disabled the sound, but Fox’s men had managed to clear the camera feed, they caught her in the act. It was arrogant of her to think somehow she could get away with it, to think they were that kriffing stupid, but…well Fox knew what everybody thought of them.

It lined up better with her than it had the woman and he arrested her, hoping with this it would be over. Then of course the girl’s Jedi master showed up to yell and throw his weight around. It scared Fox, but he didn’t let any of the fear show. He kept his voice from shaking, kept it steady, stood firm. Fox owed his men this justice and he wouldn’t, couldn’t, hand it over just because a Jedi might kill him for it. Fox stood his ground, terrified but determined…and Skywalker gave up just on the cusp of it breaking out into violence. Fox let out a shaky breath once the Jedi had turned and stormed out. Snowball deactivated his electrostaff first and then rapped his knuckles on the transparisteel between them. “We’re okay, Commander,” Snowball told him quietly, still watching the door, “You’re okay.”

“Thanks,” Fox replied, his tone earnest. They’d backed him up and he appreciated it. Snowball just gave him a nod and paced back over to his post with Atlas following behind 

So Skywalker had gone…but of course that wasn’t the end of it. Tano escaped, she tore through his men and his base and Fox sprinted through the halls on her tail.

Fox ran through the base, past wounded men only to find ones that were dead, slashes burned into their bodies. Grief swelled in his chest the way it always did when he couldn’t protect them, when he lost them. Fox escalated, he put out a kill order, because it was either this Jedi freak or his men. She had proven how worthless their lives were to her and Fox couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk them…only for Skywalker to reappear with Rex on his heels.

Rex was here…

Fox hadn’t talked to him in a couple weeks. They used to talk more. Fox used to talk to his batchers every day, but he just…he was tired and there was nothing to talk about anyway. They fought the war and Fox suffered in silence on Coruscant, because nobody cared.

At first Fox had just not been sure how to tell them, how to ask for help, thinking that once he could figure it out, his men would be saved…but Palpatine had divested him of the idea pretty quickly. All he’d had to do was point out that nobody would believe him anyway. He was right, could only be right about that, because all the times Fox and his men were dismissed was proof enough, and as the war raged on Fox grew more distant, more tired. They wouldn’t understand, they would think he was a coward for not fighting it like they fought. They’d call him a coward for standing there and taking it. Maybe they would be right, but Fox couldn’t fight, he knew fighting would only make everything worse…and they probably wouldn’t understand that either.

Rex barely looked at him, barely looked at Fox’s dead men. All he did was defend their killer. What did he think this was? Tano was running around in his base, killing his men, and Rex thought somehow it was somebody else. Who else could it be?! Why didn’t anybody ever listen to him?!

Because they didn’t care to. Because he was nothing. Fox reminded himself of that as he stepped back and let Skywalker take over despite how bad he knew it would go. Skywalker was a general, a nat-born, and Fox had no choice but to bend the knee. His men would die for this, but what could he do? He was powerless.

They chased and chased and chased…but she got away. Fox was grinding his teeth when he ran up to the end of the pipeline and found her falling. Skywalker had been right there, he’d let her escape. He could have stopped her, but of course he didn’t. She was his, his little student, and he was the same as everybody else. 

Fox turned on his heel and started back, talking into his comm. He wanted the ship she’d landed on traced, he needed to know what level it ended up on. “Fox!” Rex called out, splashing through the tunnel to catch up with him.

“What the hell, Fox?! You’ve been silent for weeks, I haven’t seen you in months, you didn’t meet us the last time we had shore leave and now you're running around putting out a shoot to kill order on my commander?! You ordered them to kill her! She’s a child!”

That had Fox stop in his tracks, had him stand there frozen as rage shuddered violently through his body. He didn’t turn, didn’t face Rex, because if he did turn, if he looked at him, he was going to take a swing.

“She killed my men. She strangled a woman with her karking mind, and you want me to treat her like a tooka that got stuck up a tree?” Fox snarled

Rex took a step towards him. “No, Fox, she–she didn’t do any of that! She’s being set up! She wouldn’t!” 

Something in Fox caved, cracked, and he’d shoved Rex roughly up against the wall of the tunnel before he’d realized what he was doing. “HOW KRIFFING STUPID ARE YOU?!” he yelled, but Rex was still, breathing hard under Fox’s hands, and immediately guilt flooded through Fox’s chest. He jerked away, stumbled back several steps, taking shaky breaths and trying to shove the writhing fury down into his stomach where he might be able to control it. Rex was his little brother, his baby brother, and Fox shouldn’t have done something like that to him. He turned away, taking another shaky breath, but kept walking. After a second Rex unfroze and caught up with him.

“Do you trust me, vod?” Rex asked him quietly, his voice so soft it hurt, and Fox ground his teeth. It was such an unfair thing to ask. 

“You’re being blinded by your attachment to her, Rex,” Fox spat, clenching his hands into shaking fists, “My men are dead, you saw their karking bodies. Who killed them, a ghost?!”

“No of course not,” Rex argued, “But Tano wouldn’t–”

Fox turned down a junction, turned away, “You’re delusional,” he hissed, his voice beyond venomous…and Rex stood in place and let him go. 

If they had been Rex’s men it would be different. 

Fox knew that. 

He knew that. 

It just hurt to know that.

Tano dodged them over and over, only reinforcing Fox’s misgivings about the Jedi, about how dangerous they were. People with that much power shouldn’t be given free reign to do whatever they wanted, it taught them that they could…but that was always how it was. The strong had all the power and the weak, the vulnerable, were crushed under their heel like ants. 

They chased her like running wolves, but the kill was snatched away from them, from Fox, before he could ever even taste it. The Jedi took the case back, snatched it right out of his hands, and Fox just stood outside the base, looking blankly up at the sky. He…he should have known better, that the only gift he’d ever been given by a nat-born, this chance at some small justice for brothers he hadn’t been able to protect, would be ripped from him. He should have known better. Why was he always so stupid?

“Fox,” Somebody said out of nowhere and Fox might have startled if he hadn’t felt so numb. He turned his head and found it was Thire who’d come to find him. “Are you okay?”

“They took the case away…” he mumbled, the words toneless and exhausted and Thire’s expression turned solemn.

“I mean…so long as she’s caught and gets convicted it doesn’t really matter who manages it, does it? It’s the justice that’s important. It doesn’t have to be us…” Fox looked down at his boots, wanting to cry, but not understanding why. Thire let out a long heavy sigh and reached out a gentle hand to take Fox by the shoulder. “Come inside, ori’vod,” he murmured, “I know you already pulled a triple shift and you’ve been running around nonstop since this thing blew up. Come lie down for a while. I’ll stay with you.”

“I hurt Rex–” Fox blurted out of nowhere as Thire started pulling him away, “I–I yelled at him…and shoved him against the wall. I shouldn’t have, he’s my little brother and even if–even if he’s being a di’kut I can’t believe I–that I–” Fox took a shaky breath, frustrated tears in his eyes, “What’s wrong with me…?”

“Your men were killed,” Thire told him, his voice somber, his face solemn, “They were killed pointlessly and Rex is protecting the nat-born who did it. You’re angry…and you’re tired. You’ve been awake for almost forty hours at this point, Commander, you need to–to stop, just for now. Take a breather, sleep. You’ll feel better once you rest. You can’t be at your best like this. Nobody could ever expect you to be.”

“I can’t sleep,” Fox admitted, his voice turning thin as Thire gently started them walking again, headed back towards the base. “I-I can’t…I try, but just end up laying in my bunk and staring at the ceiling until the sun comes up…”

Thire let out a long unhappy breath, but nodded. “Okay,” he said, “Good job in telling me this, ori’vod, I know it’s hard to admit to things like that when you’re so determined to hold us all up. I know you’re afraid of being weak…even if something like this doesn’t make you weak. I know it feels that way. I know it’s hard, but let us help you. We will if you let us.”

“How can you help?” Fox mumbled. The question was as good as permission and Thire knew that, he knew and he gave Fox an adoring look, as if Fox had hung the stars in the sky. 

“We’ll talk to Stitch,” Thire told him, giving him a gentle squeeze as he really truly led him back inside and down the halls towards the medbay. “There’s gotta be some kind of medicine for that right?”

“That we can actually afford? Next you’ll tell me the sky is orange,” Fox joked hollowly, but Thire gave him another loving look.

“We’ll make it work.”

***

They caught her. 

Kriffing–kriffing Wolffe caught her and Fox sat behind his desk a day later, still exhausted because there had been a medicine, but Fox had refused to take it once he recognized the name from their requisition forms, once he knew how expensive it was. Of course Stitch had yelled at him over the refusal the way he always yelled at him when he refused to let Stitch take care of him, but…this wasn’t new. He’d been struggling to sleep his whole life, so he’d just do what he’d done as a cadet and work himself so hard his body would eventually just collapse and let him finally rest. There were other men who needed the medicine more.

So he sat behind his desk, resting his head on his arms and watching the trial over holo. Thire was probably right, that it didn’t matter who got her off the streets, but somehow Fox still felt robbed. Wolffe wouldn’t have brought her to justice for Fox’s men, he’d have done it for the GAR troopers that were killed. None of the people on this case cared for Fox’s lost men…not even Fox’s batchers. 

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Fox murmured to himself as he watched Tano be led across the catwalk to the center platform, “Rasp, Kal, Storm, Clicker, Zaros, Callum, Chatter…” Seven men dead, seven good men who had suffered so much to serve a Republic that hated their guts, who were put down like animals because they were inconvenient, because they were worthless…and nobody in that chamber even knew their names…or cared.

Fox watched the whole thing numbly, feeling no triumph when Tarkin proclaimed he was looking for the death sentence. He watched the girl try to defend herself. Watched Skywalker’s not-so-secret secret wife defend her. He watched Palpatine stand and talk…but then Skywalker barged in on the proceedings. That wasn’t super surprising, the man was just the right sort of arrogant to think he could just do that, but he came with another Jedi in shackles. He came and declared her the true killer and…and she admitted to it. She admitted to everything.

She gave a whole impassioned speech about how the Jedi were fighting an immoral war and that they were the source of the chaos, the pain, that had taken over the Republic, as if there had ever been anything else there. Fox had heard it all before out of the mouths of every anti-war protester he passed on the street. Arguments that came in the same breath as calling them that slur. Meatdroids.

But…that wasn’t what knocked the air out of Fox’s lungs, because…he’d–he’d been wrong. Wrong. He’d misread the whole thing, it had been a set up the whole time. Rex was right…and Fox had called him stupid, delusional, had hurt him.

Numbly he stood from his desk and walked out of his office, not even bothering to shut off the holo, drifting through the base until he made it back to the security office. He let himself in, nodding distractedly to the men manning the stations and reached out for the camera controls. All the feeds from the halls where his men had been incapacitated or killed were trashed, there was too much interference for anything to be visible. Fox had already known that, had assumed it was an extension of the girl’s slicing job designed to make it harder for them to prove anything, but now…

Fox scanned back through the recordings, to before Tano had been arrested, to before the damage was inflicted, and flickered through every camera feed in the entire base until he found what he was looking for. The other Jedi, Barris, Skywalker had said her name was. She was on the cameras, walking down one of the halls as if she belonged there. Fox watched her pass through each feed until she made it to the security office, where she stopped at the window…and then the feed skipped. 

She was suddenly gone, his men were in slightly different spots, and Fox checked the timestamp. The skip was thirty-five seconds long in total, it was short, but enough for her to have used her powers to trick his men to let her in and then for her to tamper with their feeds.

He stood there, watching the skip over and over, his mind spinning and spinning and spinning but getting nowhere. He’d…he’d fucked it up. He’d fucked it all up. This was like the kriffing power station bombing all over again. 

His fault. 

His failure.

Fox closed out the feeds and stood back up. Somebody asked him a question, but Fox just walked away, couldn’t process it. He felt like he’d gone into shock, but he knew when he came back it’d hit him hard…just like the last failure had, his last astronomical fuck-up.

How had he ever even ended up with this job, with this rank, when he was such a total failure? Maybe that was why he was here and not on the front lines…because he wasn’t good enough and everyone knew it. Everyone.

Fox was called back into Palpatine’s office once the trial had well and truly concluded. He stepped into the room, passing Skywalker on the way out, and went to attention on autopilot, still feeling dull and sick to his stomach.

“Well,” Palpatine huffed, steepling his fingers on his desk. “We all make mistakes, Commander. I was just as fooled.” Fox just nodded lifelessly and the Chancellor let out a breath. “I see that’s little comfort to you, but I suppose it wouldn’t be. You are such a perfectionist. I know you are always very hard on yourself, Commander.”

There was nothing for Fox to say to that, so he said nothing, but Palpatine kept talking anyway. “I’m sure Captain Rex was relieved,” he hummed, glancing idly out his window.

“Probably,” Fox mumbled and Palpatine looked back up at him.

“You don't suppose he’d be angry with you do you? For taking it at face value?”

“I…I don’t know,” Fox admitted, averting his eyes, which Palpatine thankfully wouldn’t be able to see with his helmet on.

“You haven’t spoken with him then,” Palpatine sighed, standing up and coming back around his desk to reach up and put a warm grandfatherly hand on Fox’s bicep. “I would perhaps wait,” he advised him in a gentle voice. “Although maybe it would be too much to expect him to truly cool off. His commander was almost killed, young Skywalker tells me the two of them were close.”

He was right, Fox knew he was. He would never let himself care for a nat-born, but Rex didn’t know better and…and if one of Fox’s brothers had been framed and nobody would listen to him, if that brother had come inches from being executed…Fox would tear the whole galaxy apart in a rage. He’d never forgive that injustice, just like he’d never forgiven any of the millions of injustices his men had been subjected too.

Rex would be angry.

Fox didn’t want to talk to him, not when there was nothing he could say. 

Palpatine gave him a compassionate look and patted him on the shoulder. “In time perhaps,” he said and Fox just nodded listlessly in response, drifting back out of Palpatine’s office once he had submitted the full case report and was dismissed.

Chapter Text

Ahsoka was gone. They’d failed her, had failed to keep her safe…and she’d left them. Skywalker had been the one to tell Rex the news and Rex could see how crushed he was. He understood, because the news sent his heart throbbing with grief. She was his friend, his little sister, and he’d failed her. He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye…

Rex sat in his temporary bunkroom, on his temporary bunk in the Coruscant GAR base, just running his hands over his face and trying to come to terms with it. That’s what he was doing when the door chimed. “It’s open,” he croaked, and the door whooshed open to reveal Fives standing on the other side.

“Hey,” Fives greeted, stepping into the room and letting the door close beside him. He had a bottle in his hand and Rex shot him an unimpressed look. His ARC just smiled sardonically. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I brought it to share.”

“That’s kriffing contraband,” Rex griped and Fives laughed quietly as he came across the room and sat down beside Rex on the bunk, offering the bottle.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” was all Fives said in response. 

Rex rolled his eyes, but let out a sigh and gestured for him to hand it over. Fives smirked at him and did as he was told, but it burned Rex’s throat when he took a swig from the bottle. He gagged, spent a moment hacking, and then checked the label. “Where the hell did you get 190 proof alcohol?” he demanded, “This may as well be kriffing paint thinner.”

Fives held up his hands in surrender, grinning, “Sorry, sir, I’m not a rat. You’ll just have to wonder about it when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not getting kriffing drunk,” Rex hissed and Fives just chuckled, like he thought Rex was fooling himself, even as he reached to take the bottle back so he could drink from it himself.

For a long silent moment the two of them just traded it back and forth, but Rex opted out once he started to feel buzzed. He was absolutely not going to get sloppy drunk over this, he had to be more responsible than that…even if the idea was appealing. Fives humored him and set the bottle aside instead of keeping it up himself.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he sighed, slinging an arm over Rex’s shoulders, “this sucks.”

“I–I don’t know what I was supposed to have done…” Rex mumbled, “She almost got executed…nobody believed her.”

Fives shook his head, “You can’t change other people, Captain,” he said, his tone solemn. “You believed in her right? She knew that?”

“Yeah,” Rex huffed and Fives nodded.

“If she needs help, she’ll know you and Skywalker will be on her side…and that’s not nothing.”

Rex sighed, but nodded back after a moment, running his hand down his face. “Fox and I had a fight.”

“Your batcher?” Fives asked and Rex nodded again, “Over Ahsoka?” Rex nodded a third time.

“He–he didn’t believe me, he ordered his men to shoot to kill…I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry…”

“He’s the one that hasn’t been messaging you back right?” was Fives’ response and Rex scrubbed at his face.

“Yeah,” mumbled, “It’s been a couple weeks…and the last time we had shore leave he…he didn’t want to see us.”

“He said that?” Fives probed and Rex just sighed again.

“No, but I don't–it-it just seemed that way. I don’t know why he’s pulling back, we used to be so close…”

“Don’t let him go,” Fives told him, his voice suddenly grave, “You can’t let him do that.”

Rex looked up at him miserably, “I don’t know what I did wrong…”

Fives shook his head, “You gotta find out. I-if it had been me…my whole batch is gone, Captain, but if one of them had lived I’d never ever let them go. You can’t let him pull away, if he does you might lose him. You gotta find out what's wrong and make it right before it's too late to fix anything.”

All Rex could do was run his hand back over his face, “Yeah…” he murmured, “Yeah you might be right.”

“Have you messaged him in particular?” Fives asked, “Or has he just not been adding anything when there’s a group conversation?”

“He’s just–just been quiet, but I haven’t done much to get his attention I guess.”

Fives nodded, “Give it a shot then,” he coaxed, “Maybe you can work it out.”

Rex let out a shuddering sigh and reached for the bottle again. Fives gave him a solemn look, but handed it to him anyway. Rex took a massive drink from it and then set it aside again before he pulled out his comm and brought up the messager.

The last thing that had been said was about Ahsoka, his batchers asking if he was okay…but not Fox. Fox hadn’t said anything. Rex sat and read the messages over again, suddenly feeling tired. After a moment Fives elbowed him gently and Rex grumbled, but tried to compose something to say.

It took a couple tries before he felt okay about it and hit send. He’d started out by pinging Fox, hoping that at least would get his attention, and then followed with the message.

Capitan: fox are you alright? 

It seemed as good a place to start as any, but…he waited a couple minutes and got no response. Rex let out a shaky sigh and reached for the bottle again. He and Fives talked for a half hour, talked and drank, and Rex almost missed his comm’s beep because his head felt swirly. He fumbled it back out and checked the messages, only to find Fox had actually responded for the first time in weeks.

Bad_Cop: i’m fine, Rex. Don’t worry about me.

Rex read it over a couple times, trying to make sense of it, then showed it to Fives, who shook his head. “H-He’s deflecting, vod,” the ARC told him, the words a little slurred as Fives draped himself over Rex’s side so he could see the comm readout a little better. “Don’t lett’im”

“Yeah maybe you’re right,” Rex mumbled, then typed something out and sent it.

Capitan: tha’s a mnone answer, foxs

Blyla: Oh gods are you kriffing drunk, Rex?

Capitan: no

Capitan: mayybe

Capitan: ths nnot the poin tho

Bad_Cop: go to bed, Rex.

Big-bad-wolffe: Yeah, little brother, you’ve had a rough day. Sleep it off first, then you and Fox can talk later, when you’re sober.

SecretCodes: I’m sorry about your commander, Rex, but they’re right, you should stop now. You’re already wasted.

Rex let out an unhappy noise and Fives shook his head, “Don’t gi-give up, Rexy…you can’t lett’im go like that.”

He glanced at Fives, then reached out to give him a squeeze, burying his face in his vod’ika’s fluffy curls for just a moment before he turned back to the comm.

Capitan: noo we had a fihgt! gotta talke it out, i cant jsut not

Bad_Cop: i’m not talking about anything while you’re plastered, Rex. Go to bed.

Rex made a frustrated noise and flopped over sideways.

Capitan: are you madd/? don be mad

Bad_Cop: i’m not mad.

Capitan: re tooo

Bad_Cop: if I *promise* we’ll talk later, will you go to bed?

Capitan: nno

Capitan: you prmise?

Bad_Cop: i promise. Now go to bed.

Capitan: mHn

Capitan: ook

Blyla: Goodnight, Rex’ika

SecretCodes: Sleep well, little brother.

Big-bad-wolffe: Yeah, try to get some rest, vod’ika. We’ll work it all out in the morning. Gnight.

“You’re already in bed,” Fives teased and Rex giggled, nodding as he rolled over and dragged Fives with him.

“Brain’s…colors…” Rex mumbled and Fives laughed at him.

“You’re drunk, loser,” he slurred and Rex scoffed.

“So’re you, di’kut.”

Rex might have passed out at that point…or he might have had more to drink. He couldn’t remember which way it’d gone when he woke up with a splitting headache the next morning and found Fives sprawled across his chest, drooling on Rex’s shirt and snoring. Hopefully he hadn’t done anything kriffing stupid. He had not meant to get that drunk.

“Osik…” he moaned, shoving Fives over so he could bury his face in his pillow and block out the agonizing light that he had apparently forgotten to turn off the night before. “Get kriffing uuup, Fives,” he groaned, punching Fives in the shoulder until the ARC snorted and jerked upright, only to wince violently and cover his face.

“Shit,” he hissed, “I feel like I got hit by a karking speeder.”

“Get up,” Rex said again, “We gotta go to medical. I don’t kriffing care if he yells at us, I’m asking Kix for some damn painkillers.”

“I accept my death,” Fives agreed, shuffling off the bunk and then reaching out to pull Rex to his feet, only for both of them to slip on the wet floor. “Aw man,” Fives groaned when he realized the bottle of contraband alcohol had ended up on its side, half of it spilled all over the metal floor. “That was karking hard to get.”

“Godsdamned coffin varnish,” Rex griped, stepping over the abandoned bottle even as Fives reached for it and set it down on Rex’s desk, mourning its spilled contents.

“There’s some left,” he sighed, “but still.”

“Forget it,” Rex hissed, “Cry over the karking booze later, my head is splitting open.”

“Thirsty,” Fives grumbled, ignoring Rex and beelining his way into the fresher so he could drink straight out of the sink. Rex cursed under his breath, but ended up trailing after him and doing the same once Fives was done. Admittedly his mouth felt like cotton. “Like Kix says,” Fives joked when Rex stuck his head under the faucet, “Hydrate before you die-drate.”

“Pretty sure what he actually says is ‘drink water or you will die, because I’ll have kriffing murdered you,’” Rex countered once he’d straightened back up and Fives laughed, finally just pushing Rex out the door. The two of them hustled down the halls of the base and burst into the medbay as one. Kix and several other medics looked up at them, but Kix’s face went from concerned to deeply unamused in an instant.

“You’re karking hungover,” he accused and Fives held his hands up in surrender.

“Got me,” he said.

“As your commanding officer I am ordering you to give me painkillers before you kill me,” Rex told him imperiously and Kix rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he snapped, “but only because yesterday sucked and I’m not surprised you were drinking. Sit down.”

Rex let out a relieved breath and came further into the room so he could sit down on one of the beds with Fives taking a place beside him. Kix came back a moment later with a tray covered in stuff that he set down beside them, although the first thing he did was pick up a scanner.

“We’re fine,” Rex assured him, “I only feel like I’m dying. I’m not actually dying.”

“Shut up,” Kix told him…and Rex did in fact shut up and let Kix scan him first and then Fives. The medic let out a sigh once he’d looked over their results, but set the scanner aside and picked up a hypo. “Little pinch,” he muttered as he pressed the hypo into Rex’s neck, then set the empty dispenser aside and picked up another one so he could do the same for Fives.

With all that done Kix thrust two sip packs into their hands, “Drink those,” he commanded, "Right now, I want to see you do it.”

Again they surrendered and sat there until the sip packs were empty and Kix took them away, “Now go away,” he ordered. Rex thanked him, reaching out to give him a hug that he allowed with put-upon patience, then paced back out of the medbay with Fives on his heels, admittedly starting to feel way way better.

“I need food,” Fives sighed, “Think they’re still serving first meal?”

Rex checked the time on his comm, “It’s 1400 hours, Fives.”

“Mid meal then,” Fives chirped.

Rex just sighed, “You go, I…I need to try and talk to Fox.”

Fives gave him a commiserating look, but nodded, reaching out to give Rex a squeeze before stepping back. “Don’t let him evade,” Fives told him, “Don’t give up until he really talks.”

Rex just nodded, so Fives headed to the mess while Rex turned and walked back to his bunkroom. He stalled for a couple minutes by cleaning up the puddle of liquid poison on his floor and then tossing the towel down the laundry chute. He stood in the center of the room for a minute, his stomach churning, before he eventually sat back down on his bunk and pulled his comm out.

He winced when he read over the conversation from last night. Stupid kriffing hooch, he shouldn’t have let Fives talk him into drinking…but he typed out a message anyway.

Capitan: Sorry for getting drunk and messy on you guys

It was only a couple seconds before somebody replied.

SecretCodes: Don’t worry about it, Rex, we understand.

Blyla: Haha sounds like you’re self-aware again

Capitan: unfortunately

Big-bad-wolffe: Not like anybody can really blame you after all that osik.

Capitan: yeah it was rough. fox, you in here? you said you’d talk to me.

There was another pause, only this time it was a whole fifteen minutes long and Rex had collapsed backwards on his bunk by the time the comm pinged.

Bad_Cop: DM me

Rex huffed, but pulled up the private channel and typed out another message.

Capitan: are you okay, fox? you’ve been distant.

Another pause, but Fox responded a little quicker that time, if not by much,

Bad_Cop: i’m fine, Rex.

Capitan: okay but you don’t *seem* fine

Bad_Cop: you’re reading too much into it

Capitan: yeah somehow i doubt that. you’ve been silent for weeks and you didn’t want to see us when we had shore leave and then you totally blew up on me during the whole shabla deal with ahsoka. none of that screams fine.

Bad_Cop: what do you want me to say, Rex?

Capitan: just the truth, i want you to tell me what's wrong. i know something is.

Bad_Cop: on coruscant?

Rex frowned at that response. It read like a joke, but…Fox had been so angry, angrier than Rex had ever seen him. 

Capitan: is it because you lost some of your men? i know you’re not as used to that as we are, i know it hits hard when you’re not used to it

Bad_Cop: i guess I wouldn’t know any better would I?

The question made Rex frown even deeper. What did that mean?

Capitan: is something going on?

Bad_Cop: you interrupted my riveting formwork, that’s all that’s happening.

Rex sighed and pushed himself up. Fives had said not to let Fox deflect and…well Fox had always been better at smooth talking than any of the rest of them, so Rex wasn’t exactly sure how to work this, how to make his brother open up, how to get to the bottom of it.

Capitan: you’re running me in circles. just tell me what we did wrong so i can make up for it.

Bad_Cop: how, after what happened, have you concluded that *you* are the problem?

Capitan: well something happened before that didn’t it? you didn’t want to see us.

Bad_Cop: it wasn’t like that, Rex. All three of my commanders were off-planet and I had to take over all their shifts. I just didn’t have time.

Capitan: how many hours were you working? that can’t be fair.

Bad_Cop: “fair” does not apply to me, Rex. If something needs to be done, it gets done. That's all there is to it.

Capitan: are you sleeping? i know you always struggled with that. i figured things would be better now, since you’re not under all that pressure anymore, but you’re really taking over other people’s shifts?

Bad_Cop: i’m fine, Rex.

Capitan: yeah you said. repeatedly.

Bad_Cop: if you quit asking I would quit saying it.

Capitan: look, maybe we both handled it all wrong, the thing with ashoka, but i’m worried about you.

Bad_Cop: you were right. I was wrong. I don’t see what else there is to say about it.

Capitan: fox i know how it looked. it was convincing because offee was leading us all in circles. you’re not stupid for falling for that, your men died, you were upset.

Bad_Cop: scaro would be pissed.

Rex let out a shuddering sigh. He’d only met his batchers’ trainer a couple times because Rex had still had to train with his original batch even after the CCs had adopted him, no matter how much his original batchers had fought with each other, how much they'd bullied Rex until Fox taught him to fight back and force them to stop, but he’d talked to the CCs about Scaro a few times. He knew how hard on them he’d been, how much pressure he put on them to be perfect that Fox had carved into his body and used to push himself to the edge, to push himself to that perfection…only to get rewarded with the most dead end post in the galaxy. Rex knew a lot of men would kill to have a cushy post like Coruscant, but Fox had always struggled to sit still, he’d always needed to move, and Rex worried a boring post like this had to be driving him up the wall…and if he was bringing up Scaro like that now, he must have been feeling low.

Capitan: scaro was too hard on you and you shouldn’t still be worrying what he’d think

Bad_Cop: no he wasn’t, Rex. He was always right about that sort of thing.

Capitan: look, can we talk in person? i’ll be here for a couple more weeks, we can have caf or something.

Bad_Cop: i have to work, i don’t have time to mess around.

The frustrated noise that came out of Rex surprised him a little, but he shook his head. Fox was evading, was still brushing them off, avoiding them, just like Fives had said…and Fives had told him that if Rex let him, he might lose him. He couldn’t let that happen, not after they’d already lost Ponds.

Capitan: what are you even doing that’s so important? you said it was just formwork. what could possibly be so kriffing important here? there’s no karking war on coruscant! 

Bad_Cop: you wouldn’t care if I told you.

That brought Rex up short, but he let out a breath through his teeth and tried a different angle.

Capitan: look we don’t have to go out. i can just come and eat mid meal or something with you in your mess. you’d have to anyway, so you’d have time.

Bad_Cop: i have to go, Rex, I have rounds in ten minutes.

Capitan: talk to me after then. promise?

Rex sat and waited for Fox to respond…but he didn’t. Rex sat there staring at his comm for almost twenty minutes before he let out a shaky breath. Fox hadn’t given him anything, not a single thing to work with despite all the talking, even when Rex had tried so hard. What was he supposed to do now?

In the end he stowed his comm and went looking for Fives, hoping he might have more advice. Hoping he’d have some idea…or that he might at least be able to bolster Rex a little when his stomach felt like a hollow pit. Something was going on, Rex knew it was, but he just didn’t know what it could be.

He had to find out, he just…wasn’t sure how.

Chapter Text

Fox had managed to sleep…but only for three hours. He’d woken from a nightmare that fled him as soon as he opened his eyes, leaving him uneasy. He knew going back to sleep was hopeless, knew because he recognized the jittering feeling in his body that told him it wasn’t going to happen.

So he hadn’t tried.

He got up, walked silently past where his commanders were sleeping in their bunks, and went back to work, even though it was almost midnight. But there was no work. He’d finished it all, so Fox went to the gym instead. He wrapped his hands in an exhausted stupor and stepped up to their sandbag. It was covered in tape, they needed a new one, but given they only had this one because it had come with the building, it wasn’t getting replaced any time soon.

Fox hit the bag. He pummeled it with every ounce of strength in his body, hoping to use it all up, to grind his nerves down to tiny twitching fibers and run his body down to nothing so he could finally sleep. Even for just one more hour…just one more. He felt like he was going to die if he didn’t.

He slammed his fists into the bag, barely even noticing when something in his wrist popped and a stabbing pain went up his forearm. Pain was barely ever on Fox’s mind, not when it was so often his natural state of being.

His hands were bruised and his knuckles split by the time the sound of something beeping shocked Fox out of his stupor. The second he let up, the second his focus was diverted, his knees buckled and he ended up on all fours, his arms trembling from the exertion.

“Comm…” he mumbled to himself, shifting so he was sitting on the floor, drenched in sweat, salt in his eyes and his hair stuck to his scalp. He fumbled his comm out, but it was Rex and he let out a shaky breath.

He hadn’t spoken to his little brother, even when the rest of their batch had been commiserating with him over what had happened. He just…he couldn’t.

But Rex was asking him if he was okay. Palpatine’s words trembled in his mind, shaking the insides of his brain. Fox would have been mad, if it had been one of his commanders…

Only Rex was asking if he was okay and if Fox ignored the message there was a chance of somebody coming looking. Fox couldn’t let anybody see, not when the backlash of somebody learning the truth would be catastrophic, not when nobody would want to help them anyway, not when they deserved this.

His men didn’t deserve this.

Fox let out a shaky breath and clumsily tapped out a response, blood oozing down his fingers and spotting the surface of his comm, sending the hologram shivering.

He set the comm aside without checking whether Rex had responded and tried to drag himself back to his feet, but his knees buckled again as soon as he put weight on them and he slumped back to the floor.

Time passed, although Fox wasn’t sure how much because he was just staring off into space, his thoughts hazy. He was so tired. All he wanted was to sleep. He’d give anything for just one more hour…

The comm started beeping again and Fox let out a breath, but checked it.

Rex was plastered.

Kark.

Maker that was Fox’s fault. He’d been wrong, he’d hunted down Rex’s commander like an animal and he was wrong. She nearly died and he was wrong. She’d left the Order. Fox had cost his little brother a friend, let alone the way he’d treated him. 

Something hot ran down his face, but he couldn’t tell if he was crying frustrated tears or if it was just more sweat. He didn’t know anymore. He was so tired.

He couldn’t sleep, he wanted to, but he told Rex to instead, told him to pack it in. Rex had pleaded to talk, had - as far as Fox could tell when he had to translate from drunkese - been afraid Fox was mad at him, which was frankly a deranged thing for him to be worried about. He was drunk though, so it didn’t matter. It would pass once he had his sense back.

Fox promised they’d talk when he was sober, just to get him to shut up, and then dropped his comm down at his side and dragged his knees up a little so he could rest his still trembling arms on them and try to breathe out the shakes.

Somehow he got up eventually and went back to hitting the bag, trying to break his body down so it would give in, so it would stop fighting him, and somehow he ended up on the floor, his head spinning. He closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes when Grizzer slobbered all over his face. “I’m up! I’m up!” Fox groaned, pushing the massiff away.

“Fox,” a brother sighed and Fox blinked blearily up at them. It was Stone, with Hound right behind him.

“I’m getting Stitch,” Hound declared, straightening from where he'd been crouched at Fox’s side, but Fox caught him by the wrist before he could get out of reach. 

“Don’t,” Fox mumbled as he used Hound to drag himself to his feet. It was daytime, probably early, but Fox had slept. He felt better. He had a sharp pain behind his eyes, his arms and legs felt like lead, but he didn’t feel like he was crumbling, like he was dying, the way he had before.

Stone got an unhappy look, but sighed, “Let him look at your hands at least.”

“He’s going to yell at me,” Fox mumbled as Hound put a hand on Fox’s shoulder.

“When doesn’t he yell?” Hound asked him, his voice forcefully light, “At least let him do your knuckles.”

“My wrist popped weird,” Fox admitted and the both of them frowned.

“Okay, he’ll look at that too,” Stone told him. Hound nodded along, twisting his arm so he could turn Fox’s grip on his wrist into holding his hand.

“C’mon,” Hound prodded and Fox nodded, walking when he was tugged into motion.

“Extensor tendon subluxation,” Stitch concluded once he’d taken a look at Fox’s wrist…and once he’d finished yelling, swearing, and reminding Fox emphatically how stupid he was acting for busting his knuckles, jacking up his wrist, and passing out on the gym floor after staying awake for 59 hours.

“Sorry,” Fox mumbled, sitting perched on the edge of one of the starched white beds in the medbay with his brothers around him. Stitch sighed, reaching out to brush Fox’s curls back, dried-in sweat and all. He grimaced when he touched them.

“Wash your damn hair when I’m done with you,” he ordered rather than accepting the apology.

“I slept though,” Fox pointed out hopefully. Given that was the number one thing Stitch reamed him about he figured his CMO would be happy, but Stitch only scowled at him.

“Yeah,” he griped, “On the floor, after fucking up your hands and your wrist and being awake for fifty-nine hours when you could have slept kriffing two days ago if you just let me fucking help you! You! Absolute! DUMBFUCK!” 

Both Stone and Hound winced, but when Fox outright flinched back Stitch's face fell and he reached out for him, his voice gentling, turning soft. “I’m trying to help you, Fox, why won’t you just let me?”

“We can’t afford to restock that medication every two weeks, Stitch,” Fox mumbled, leaning his cheek against the medical officer’s bicep as Stitch drew him into an embrace so gentle Fox may as well have been made of glass.

“So you use it fucking never instead?” Stitch hissed, frustration in his voice and the lines of his face, but concern, fear, in his eyes.

Fox shook his head, “I’m not the only one who needs it anyway, that’s why we even have it…”

“Nobody else is staying awake for two days straight, commander,” Stone pointed out, his face solemn.

“Maybe we can save it for when it’s really bad?” Hound suggested tentatively, glancing between Stitch, Stone, and Fox with Grizzer sitting and watching uncomprehendingly at his feet. “Like this was, when you’ve been working yourself to the bone like you were this week, when you’re really wrung out and still can’t sleep…”

Stitch let out a breath through his teeth, irritated, but looked down at Fox, running his fingers back through his hair. “Would you take it then?” he pressed, “It can’t stay like this, Fox, you’re going to destroy yourself.”

“Only…only if I’m dying…” Fox mumbled, caving, “Like I was yesterday.”

All three of Fox’s brothers let out a relieved breath as one and Stitch nodded his head curtly, “I’ll take it. Now let me get a splint for your fucked up wrist.”

“No I can’t–” Fox started, but Stitch glowered at him.

“It’ll fit under your armor,” he grumbled, knowing what Fox’s concern was. At that point Fox just gave up and nodded. Some of the tension went out of Stitch's face, out of the set of his shoulders, and he nodded back before striding away. 

***

Fox had been called to Senator Fo’s office. He…knew it was going to be bad. Fo was one of the more dangerous, more temperamental senators. He was also the one with the most sexual assaults on his record, which is why Fox tried to keep his men away from him as much as humanly possible, but he couldn’t stay away himself.

He stepped up to the door and hit the button on the pad so it let out a chime, waiting to be let in. He could technically let himself into any room in the building because he had the security override code, but he wasn’t especially eager to be there at that moment. The door whooshed open and Fox stepped inside to find Fo, a tall male Togruta with high peaked montrals and lekku almost as long as General Shaak Ti’s, standing and tracing his fingers over the spines of the books in the shelf behind his desk.

“Ah,” he said after a moment, ignoring Fox as he came in and the door whooshed shut behind him, “Here it is.” The Senator pulled a book down and leafed through its pages for a moment, his brow furrowed.

Fox didn’t interrupt him, even though Fo was wasting his time. Fox’s time was worthless anyway and he knew if he spoke out of turn with Fo, he was going to pay for it. “There,” Fo said after seven minutes of leafing through the book, “Found it.” He turned to face Fox and strode across the room, holding out the book once he reached him.

All Fox could do was accept it and look down at the pages he was being shown. The words were in Togruti, which Fox couldn’t read, but there was an illustration taking up part of it, some kind of symbol made of curved intersecting lines.

“Sir?” Fox asked him, looking back up at the senator.

“Not sure what it is?” Fo asked him innocently. 

“No, sir, I can’t read Togruti,” Fox told him. Fo smiled meanly and Fox’s stomach dropped. Whatever the Senator was thinking, it was going to karking hurt.

“It’s called the Mark of Exclusion,” Fo explained, taking the book back and placing it open to the same page on his desk. He walked back around said desk and opened a drawer, digging around inside before pulling out a fancy carved letter opener. “Akuls are very important to my culture, Commander. They’re huge beasts with teeth like blades and our right of passage is to take a tooth.” He held up the letter opener, “This is carved from an akul tooth…and if you watched the trial of young padawan Tano, you’ll have seen she was wearing an akul tooth headdress.”

Fox said nothing, but Fo obviously hadn’t been expecting him to, at least not until he asked him a question a moment later, looking up at him with an innocent expression, “Did you watch the trial?”

“Yes sir,” Fox told him truthfully.

“Good,” Fo hummed, tapping the blade of the letter opener against his open palm, “Because that girl, that padawan, is a hero to my people. She is of the esteemed Jedi Order, she returned to her home even then to perform the right of passage and wears the result of it, she even saved numerous Togruta slaves taken captive by the Zygerrians…and you chased her through the undercity like a fucking rat and almost had her killed on live holo.”

Fox’s breath caught up in his lungs at the reminder. He’d never…he hadn’t thought this would be the outcome, that Fo would-would what? Be angry on her behalf? But apparently he was. Fo beat and raped Fox’s men on a regular basis without an ounce of remonse. He did it because he thought it was fun, but apparently there was a standard, a line, a bar, and it was just because Fox and his men weren’t people that made them fall below it. Fox wasn’t people, but Tano was people. Fo’s people.

“So you understand,” Fo noted, turning cold eyes back on Fox’s face and walking back around his desk, blade in hand. He caught Fox by the throat and slammed him back against the far wall, pressing down on his windpipe and making Fox’s vision go wobbly as he choked, but he only kept the pressure on long enough for him to rip off Fox’s helmet and drop it on the floor. 

“The Mark of Exclusion,” Fo reminded him, all trappings of patience or innocence gone from his voice, the tone dark and hateful, “is a symbol in my culture worn by traitors, war criminals, and slavers. To wear the mark is to be lower than dirt, to be less than the scum at the bottom of a swamp. You treated that girl like a rat, so in return I will see you know you’re still lesser than her. You’re nothing. You’re not even alive. Fucking meatdroid.”

Fox sucked in a shaky rasping breath when Fo let up on his throat, only to flinch when Fo grabbed his jaw and jerked his head to the side, placing the tip of the letter opener’s blade just under his left eye. “Hold still,” Fo ordered, “If you move I’ll take your eyes out too.”

All he could do was drag in another shaky breath, clenching his teeth and bracing himself. He didn’t have to wait long, Fo wasted no time and started carving the symbol into Fox’s face without a moment’s hesitation. Fox trembled against the wall, holding his pain inside, knowing better than to make noise, and clenched his hands into shaking white knuckled fists at his sides. His body wanted to fight. He–he would win if he did. Fox had been trained to fight since he could walk and Fo was just some rich asshole, Fox was stronger and faster than him. He could fight. He could–

He couldn’t fight.

Fox didn’t fight. He held as still as he could in his agony until Fo had finished maiming him and drew back just a little, a smile newly on his face. “It suits you,” he said lightly, turning Fox’s head back and forth, admiring his work before he finally released him. The smile dropped from his face a moment later, “You’ve gotten blood in my carpet. Clean yourself up, call a droid to deal with the blood, and then get out of my sight.”

“Y-yessir…” Fox rasped. One of the curved lines in the symbol had intersected the right side of his lips and talking sent a tearing sensation through his face that made him wince before he could stop himself. Fo smiled at him when he saw it, the expression dark, and wiped the blood off the letter opener with a silk handkerchief before returning it to its place in his desk drawer. He tossed the soiled handkerchief at Fox, who caught it on autopilot and used it to wipe the blood off his armor and neck.

He did as he was told; stuffing the handkerchief into his belt pouch then stumbling forward and to pick his helmet up off the floor, jamming it back on, and then he called for a maintenance droid and fled. For a long moment Fox stood shaking out in the hall, breathing hard as blood pooled around his chin in his helmet, soaking his face and filling his head with the scent of iron. 

“Commander,” somebody said and Fox started, only to find Thire standing in front of him. “You alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Fox croaked.

Thire didn’t look like he believed him, but he shook his head. “There’s a bunch of protesters marching on the Senate building. We need to do something about them.”

“Kark alright,” Fox sighed, following when Thire strode off, his breath still shaky, his hands still trembling, even as he blocked out the pain the way he had done for years at this point. Fox stepped outside with Thorn and found that there were in fact at least five hundred people pressing up against his men’s barricades, shouting, chanting, and holding up signs with words or the oh so common symbol of a crossed out clone helmet. Behind them all, technically off the Senate grounds, was a news crew with a woman talking into a microphone and gesturing at the scene behind her.

Fox gathered his frayed nerves, his frayed sanity, together and closed the distance, standing in front of the crowd and activating his vocoder’s amplifier. “Relocate!” he ordered, his voice ringing around them, “You’re trespassing on government property, relocate a block west to the Senate’s public square!”

They didn’t listen. 

Instead there were outraged yells, people pushed against the barricades, and they started throwing trash at him and his men. “NO MORE MEATDROIDS!” a woman screamed, flinging a bottle of some sort of drink, iced caf maybe, at Thire where it hit his chestplate and shattered. Fox turned to his men, forced to break it up now that it was turning violent. It was because he’d turned his head, because he hadn’t been looking, that he didn’t see the man hurl a brick at him. He opened his mouth to give his men an order, but before he could get anything out, the brick slammed into his head with a crunch and Fox’s vision went white, his ears ringing as he hit the ground.

Fox swam in and out of consciousness for a long time, the shouting around him sounding far away, like he was underwater, but he felt somebody touch him, pick him up. He tried to speak but whatever he said just came out as slurred mumbling and whoever was carrying him shushed him gently.

Then there was more shouting, bright lights. Somebody laid him down on something soft and Fox screwed up his face when his helmet was jerked off, groaning at the way it pulled on his mutilated flesh. Somebody gasped, somebody bellowed in fury, and Fox closed his eyes.

***

He woke up in the afternoon, still feeling woozy, but sat up in the recovery bed surrounded by privacy curtains pulled closed. His face hurt, his head hurt, but a little more dully than before. His mouth felt dry and chalky and he turned his eyes blearily around, looking for Thire, only for his comm, which sat on the side table, to let out an insistent beep, several beeps in quick succession.  Against his better judgment Fox reached out and pulled up the chat. Rex was asking for him, like he’d feared, and Fox let out a shaky breath, but responded. He had promised he would.

The longer the conversation went on, the more sick Fox felt, the more his mutilated face burned. He’d done this to himself and Rex was digging his nails into Fox’s rotten bleeding heart. 

You’ve never lost anybody.

You took my friend away from me.

You don’t understand what it’s like to suffer.

That was all Fox got out of the conversation and when Rex started to really press, Fox just cut him off, lied and said he had rounds, and then set the comm back on the side table. It beeped one last time, but Fox ignored it and laid back down, curling up on his side and running his fingers across the bandages all over his face. He couldn’t let any of them see him anymore, not like this. They’d ask questions that would hurt too much to answer.

He closed his eyes, exhausted all over again, and let out a shaky breath, wishing he could go back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Rex had joined Fives in the mess, even with his stomach still churning after his non-talk with Fox. He knew something was wrong. He knew that. Only he hadn’t known what until Wolffe sprinted through the mess and grabbed him roughly by the arm, jerking him out of his seat.

“Ow, Wolffe, what the hell?!” Rex protested, stumbling a little.

“Get the fuck up, Rex! There was a riot at the Senate building, it's all over the news and somebody hit Fox in the head with a karking brick!” Wolffe snapped at him.

Both Rex and Fives went rigid and Fives scrambled out of his seat. All three of them took off. “Where are we going?” Rex asked his older brother.

“Guard base,” Wolffe told him distractedly as they ran across the base towards the garage where they could get a speeder, “It hit him bad, he went down, he’s hurt and something like that could have caved his damn skull in. We have to check.”

Rex let out a shaky breath but climbed into the speeder after Wolffe, with Fives ending up in the backseat. Wolffe took them off and Rex fumbled out his comm, pulling up the news. Wolffe was right, the coverage of it was everywhere and Rex flicked between networks until he found one playing actual footage of how the riot started and not just a bunch of talking heads. Rex twisted in his seat so Fives could see it and they both watched as people pushed up against the Corrie barricades, as they shouted and chanted, and then as Fox and Thire appeared in front of it all. Rex’s stomach twisted with anxiety, knowing what was about to happen.

Fox hadn’t even tried to break the protest up, all he’d asked was for them to move off government property, and yet…

Rex’s older brother looked away, he turned to give his men orders…and had no chance to duck when the brick hit him. Wolffe was right, he went down and didn’t get back up. The Guards reacted instantly. They closed ranks around their downed commander, calling for backup as the protest turned genuinely violent, the lot of them clustering around Fox and igniting their electrostaves. Rex saw why they’d formed a circle, because the protesters, the rioters, started climbing over the barricades and attacked the clustered Guards. Maybe trying to get at Fox, maybe just angry and lashing out. Either way, it took less than two minutes for the rest of Fox’s men to respond. Suddenly the plaza was filled with Corries in riot gear and the nat-borns were pushed back, away from the small cluster of battered and beaten men.

The camera just barely caught Thire bending down and picking Fox’s limp body up, bracing his commander’s lolling head against his shoulder and turning to run while their men held the enraged protestors at bay, as they worked to break up the riot. “Shit,” Fives breathed, both of them jolting a little when Wolffe made a sharp turn to avoid traffic.

“When did this happen, Wolffe?” Rex asked and his brother let out a shaky breath. 

“Four hours ago,” he muttered, “They broke up the riot, but the newscasters are saying twenty Corries were injured and one is in critical condition…somebody hit him with a molotov cocktail. They didn’t know what condition Fox was in…or at least nobody has said.”

Rex’s breath stopped in his lungs. “Wolffe, I talked to him.”

Wolffe froze and then jerked his head around to look at Rex, if only for a moment before he turned his eyes back to his flying. “What do you mean by that? When?”

“Less than a half hour ago,” Rex said, “Did you miss it? He said to DM him when I asked for him in the chat.”

“I missed it,” Wolffe hissed, “I saw your message but not him responding. I had to talk to some of my men right after and haven't checked the chat since then.”

“He–he seemed fine…” Rex murmured. Except he hadn't, he hadn't been fine, he’d been evasive and clipped, distant. “Or I guess…I guess not. He wouldn’t talk to me straight, he just talked me in circles and then stopped responding after saying he had rounds.”

“He was lying about this,” Fives hissed, “Why didn’t he tell you he got hurt? You’re his batchers!”

“He’s been too quiet,” Wolffe muttered, “Rex, you said last night that you had a fight with him, what did you mean by that?”

“He told his men to shoot Ahsoka, to shoot to kill…and when I confronted him about it, when I insisted she was innocent, he lost his temper and slammed me against the wall. I’ve never seen him that angry, but…he lost men, I figured it was just a big blow…”

“Did you ask him about that?” Fives probed, “When you talked?”

Rex let out a shuddering breath, the news still flickering between them, but muted, “I–I told him I understood, that I knew he just wasn’t used to that kind of thing…”

“And what’d he say to that?” Wolffe demanded. 

Again Rex sighed, racking his memory for the exact words, “He said something like…’I guess I just wouldn’t know any better’…or something.”

Wolffe scowled and a troubled look flitted across Fives’ face. “What does that mean?” Wolffe growled, “That’s some kind of veiled statement…”

“It sounds like he was insulted by that, the implication that he isn’t used to losing men,” Fives agreed, “That’s a passive aggressive defense if I’ve ever heard one.”

“But…he doesn’t…does he?” Rex argued and they all shared a glance.

“Somebody hit him in the head with a brick,” was Wolffe's response, “One of his men almost got burned alive. There aren’t riots happening every day, but…maybe Coruscant is more dangerous than we thought…”

“At least we know he’s not kriffing dead, if you talked to him, Captain,” Fives murmured, looking at Rex with anxious eyes.

“We’ll ask him what he meant when we get there, when we see him,” was Wolffe’s response, “Something’s going on, he’s been too quiet…and then losing his temper like that. That’s not like him at all.”

Rex just nodded and shut off his comm, clipping it back to his vambrace and turning in his seat to face forward. They landed at the Guard’s base a moment later and offloaded, heading inside to the lobby where Wolffe marched up to the front desk. The Corrie behind it looked up at them, although with his helmet on Rex couldn’t glean his expression.

“What do you need, sir?” he asked, obviously recognizing Wolffe, or at least familiar enough to know his rank.

“We need to see Fox,” Wolffe told him, his voice clipped, stubborn.

The Corrie shook his head, “He’s in medical,” he said, “He can’t attend any meetings today, our CMO has put him on observation. He has a head injury.”

Wolffe let out a huff, “I know,” he griped, “I saw the news, that’s why I need to see him, he’s my batcher.”

This time the Corrie hesitated, but then pulled up his arm to speak into his comm. “Commander Thire," he said and Thire responded in the affirmative, so the Corrie went on speaking, “Fox’s batchers are here, they saw the news and want to see him.”

“I’ll be right there,” Thire replied and the Corrie gave him an acknowledgement before turning back to them.

“Please wait over there,” he said, indicating what was clearly a waiting room full of chairs, some occupied and some empty. Wolffe grumbled under his breath, but turned and led Rex and Fives over to the waiting room and sat down.

Thire appeared maybe ten minutes later and the three of them stood up. “You can’t see him,” the commander said, wasting no time, his tone calm, but serious.

“Why the hell not?” Wolffe snarled, baring his teeth. Thire was unmoved.

“The medbay is a restricted area,” he told them levelly, "Only Guard personnel are allowed in.”

Wolffe bristled, “I’m a karking commander.”

“So am I,” Thire countered, his tone still even, dispassionate, “I’ll tell him you were here so he can talk to you when he’s discharged from medical.”

“What’s going on here?” Rex spoke up, glancing at Fives, who gave him a serious nod, egging him on, “Fox hasn’t been acting right…”

“You can discuss the matter with him when he’s discharged,” Thire repeated disinterestedly.

“I’m lodging a complaint with the Jedi,” Wolffe snapped, “This is kriffing unacceptable.”

“You have a right to do so,” was all Thire said in response, “If that’s all, please clear the premises. You’ll be contacted when Fox is discharged. Have a good day.”

Wolffe stood there and seethed until Rex put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head when his older brother scowled at him. Thire waited with empty politeness until they had done as he said and left the building.

“These guys are kiffing weird,” Fives said once they were outside, crossing back to where they’d parked their speeder, “Normally brothers don’t treat us that coldly…”

“They’re always like this,” Wolffe bit out, “It’s impossible to talk to them, they never give you anything to work with.”

“Isn’t that another bad sign though?” Fives pointed out, “If they've always been like that, if they’re all like that, there’s gotta to be something going on…and it has to have been going on for a long time.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Rex promised both his brothers.

Wolffe growled under his breath, “I’m figuring this osik out even if I have to rip their guts out to do it. I’m not letting them act like this. We’re supposed to be brothers and they’re treating us like karking nat-borns.”

“Do you think they’re scared?” Rex spoke up suddenly, remembering the way the Corries had clustered together in the riot, outnumbered a hundred to one but not backing down, not running, only to get trashed until their backup arrived. He’d never thought of the Guard as brave, he’d always figured they were soft, but…that was undeniable courage. They’d risked their lives to protect their wounded commander…and not even from an enemy. They’d been defending him from the Republic's own citizens. The thought of what might have happened to Fox if they hadn’t sent cold fear shooting up Rex’s spine. Would–would those people have killed him? “Was it always like this?” he murmured unhappily.

“I don’t know,” Wolffe grumbled, “I haven’t had much time to pay attention to them. The most I’ve ever talked to any of them besides Fox is picking my men up from the drunk tank.”

“Yeah,” Rex huffed, he’d done the same. Fives gave a slightly embarrassed smile at that, given he was one of the ones Rex had had to pick up on multiple occasions.

“We need to talk to everybody, see what they think we should do,” Wolffe huffed, again dodging traffic. “And they’ll want to know he was hurt anyway.”

Rex nodded, “Yeah. I guess we can do that in the meantime, brainstorm and maybe see if Fox will respond if we ping him. He can’t lie to us about what happened, we know now, so maybe something will come of it.”

***

He didn’t respond. 

They had pinged him, had called for him in the chat, had even commed him…but he didn’t answer. It scared Rex, knowing what had happened, but Thire kept his word and contacted them once Fox was discharged from medical a few days later.

Fives was on a watch shift, but both Rex and Wolffe, higher ranked, were able to simply drop everything and rush back to Fox’s base to see him.

This time they were let in, although not without an escort of silent helmeted troopers to walk them through the base to Fox’s office. They were let in there too, with their entourage remaining in the hall, but they did find Fox there. He didn’t even look up when the door opened. He was sitting at his desk, surrounded by stacks and stacks of datapads, one of which he was writing on with a stylus that he held at a slightly weird angle.

“Shit I didn’t realize this was what you meant by riveting formwork,” Rex huffed as he pulled off his helmet and Wolffe did the same. Fox did finally look up at them. He was wearing his helmet even there in his office, but he didn’t take it off, didn’t even stand to greet them.

“What do you need?” he asked them, turning his attention back to the datapads in front of them, his voice distant and emotionless. Rex’s stomach dropped. Everything about that was wrong. What had they done for him to be this upset with them? Was he still angry over Ahsoka?

“What the hell is wrong with your hand?” Wolffe demanded in return and Rex saw the way Fox’s posture stiffened just a little, the way his fingers tightened around the stylus. It did seem off, now that Rex looked, he really wasn’t holding the stylus the right way.

“Fell on it,” Fox told them dismissively.

“Was that before or after you got hit with the brick?” Wolffe asked him bitterly.

Fox didn’t react even a little. “Same time,” he said, disinterested.

Rex let out a breath, this wasn’t the right angle, they weren’t getting anywhere like this. Ever so slowly, gently, Rex crossed the room, walked around Fox’s desk, and reached for him. Fox was out of his chair and on the opposite side of the room so fast Rex had hardly seen him move, he just stood frozen in shock.

“Fox,” Wolffe hissed, “Quit banthashitting us, quit whatever this nonsense is. We know something's wrong, just tell us what it is.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” Fox told him, his voice empty.

“You said that when I asked you about it too…when you lied to me and said you were doing formwork, that you had to go do rounds, when you were actually in medical.” Rex tried to keep it soft, but the bitter accusation tainted the words anyway.

Fox didn’t respond to that at all. He said nothing. Rex held his hands up and took a gentle step forward. Fox let him, so he took another until he was close enough to reach him, but when he reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, Fox took a step back.

“Take off your helmet,” Wolffe demanded out of nowhere.

Fox didn’t move. “No,” was all he said.

“You’re hiding your face, your body,” Wolffe hissed, “Are you still hurt? Is that why you’re not letting us touch you, would it hurt you if we did?”

“I’m fine,” Fox denied. 

Wolffe let out a frustrated noise and crossed the room in a heartbeat. “I’ve had enough,” he snapped and whipped his hand out to rip Fox’s helmet off himself…only Fox caught his hand, he caught it and twisted. Wolffe snarled, but there was pain in the sound as Fox used the wrist lock to force him to his knees.

“I. Said. No.” he told them both, each word clipped, his voice suddenly icy.

“Fox stop!” Rex protested, reaching out to take his hand, to pull Wolffe out of his grip, only for Fox to let him go the second Rex reached for them both, stepping back, stepping out of Rex’s reach. Dodging him again as if Rex’s touch would burn him. 

Rex checked Wolffe’s wrist, but Wolffe just shook his head, taking a shaky breath, and let Rex pull him back to his feet. When Rex turned back to Fox…there was something small and tired and guilty in his posture, but Rex only saw it for a split second before Fox realized he was looking and squared his shoulders. Something clicked together in Rex’s mind at the sight of it. He’d been scared something had changed, that Fox doing that to Wolffe, Fox refusing to take his helmet off for them, or to let them touch them, refusing to even talk to them, was a sign that he hated them, that he didn’t care about them anymore, but–but he was acting! He was lying! 

Why?!

“Fox,” Rex said, his voice as soft and gentle as he could possibly make it, “You-you’re scared right? We want to help you, just let us, we’re on your side.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Fox said, the words as bitter as poison and Wolffe took a step towards him again, but Rex caught him by the bicep and shook his head at him. For a moment it looked like Wolffe wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t back down, but then he settled and let Rex talk, so Rex turned back to his brother.

“What makes you think that? That we don’t want to help you?”

Fox clenched his fists and Rex suddenly realized he was shaking, “You never have before,” he growled.

“What?” Wolffe asked him sharply, “If you needed something, if you needed help, all you had to do was ask. You’ve never told us you needed help, so how the hell are we supposed to know when we’re on the whole other side of the galaxy tied up in a kriffing war?!”

“No war on Coruscant,” was Fox’s venomous rebuttal, “Right?”

“Is there?” Rex asked him earnestly, “There’s—there’s violence right? Not from the Seppies, from the citizens?”

“Go home,” Fox spat, “Go away, leave me alone, I don’t want you here!”

“Fox—” Rex tried, his brother’s name falling fumbling and desperate from his lips, “Just let us—”

“Save it,” Fox bit out as he finally moved, marching across the room, circling around them without coming close, to hit the pad on the wall so the door whooshed open. Their entourage was still there and Fox gestured to them.

“Leave,” he ordered his batchers and when neither Rex nor Wolffe moved, Fox’s troopers did, coming between them and their commander like they had in the riot. They were protecting him from them, angling their electrostaves in a threatening fashion, even if they hadn’t activated them just yet. Rex gave up and started towards the door, not missing how the troopers twitched, flinched, at the sudden movement, but Wolffe stood rooted in place.

“We’re going,” Rex soothed the Corries when they bristled, holding his hands up and then jerking his chin toward the door to get Wolffe to go. For a long moment Wolffe just stood and seethed, but something in the stand off suddenly fractured and Wolffe caved first, storming out the door like a hurricane. Rex followed him, pausing just long enough to meet Fox’s eye through his helmet. “You’re our brother, Fox, and we’re going to help you.”

“Exit the premises, Captain,” one of the Guards commanded and Rex just let out a sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat as he did as he’d been told and drifted back into the hall after Wolffe. He turned at the last second and saw, just before the door closed, the way Fox seemed to droop, hanging his head, wrapping his arms around himself like he was hugging himself, or holding himself together, and how one of his men reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, only for Fox to put his hand over theirs and hold it there, like he needed the contact.

The door shut, and Rex turned and left, his heart heavy, but determination boiling hot in his stomach. Something was wrong and Fox wouldn’t let them help him. He’d said they never had before. Something had happened to break his trust in them, for him to doubt their motives or that they genuinely loved him…so that was the first obstacle, the gap that had formed between them.

They left the building, their escort stopping at the front door as they exited, and Wolffe stormed across the landing platform until he’d made it to their speeder, but he didn’t get inside. Instead he stood there, his posture rigid, furious, as his hands clenched into fists at his sides and shook. Rex opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Wolffe let out a yell and kicked the side of the speeder with all his might, leaving a massive dent in the door panel.

“Wolffe…” Rex murmured, but Wolffe just cursed and threw his helmet on the ground before slumping against the side of the speeder.

Rex reached out for him and unlike Fox, Wolffe accepted the comfort, pulled Rex in against his side and held on. “He’s scared,” Rex told him quietly, “He doesn’t hate us. He’s scared of something.” Wolffe looked up at him, his eyes damp.

“You say that so easily…” he mumbled and Rex sighed and turned so he could embrace his brother fully. Wolffe hugged him back, holding Rex to his chest and tucking his little brother’s head under his chin like he was protecting him. 

“I say that so easily because I’m sure. I saw the cracks in it. Fox was lying, acting, the way he used to do with the Kaminoans and the trainers. He was pushing us away on purpose, but I don’t think he really—really wanted to. He’s just…something’s going on.”

“You said you’re sure,” Wolffe grumbled into Rex’s hair.

“I’m certain,” Rex promised him, “I saw it fracture, just a little, but it was a couple times, not just once. The whole thing was for show, Wolffe, and he couldn’t keep it up, not flawlessly.”

Wolffe let out a shaky breath, but nodded, then pulled away, stepped back, and Rex let him. “Alright,” Wolffe sighed, “I trust you. How do we tackle this thing? You’re always full of such crazy ideas, vod’ika, so let me have it.”

Rex huffed, folding his arms over his chest and shifting his weight to the other leg. “Honestly I’m not sure just yet, but I think we need to keep talking to him, keep messaging him even if he doesn’t respond, and tell him all those same things, that we’re here for him, that we love him, and that we’ll help him. I worry that—” he cut himself off, unsure, but Wolffe nodded at him, encouraging him to go on, so Rex sighed and obliged him.

“Coruscant is worse than we thought,” he said, “It has to be for the Corries to all act like they’re surrounded by clankers even when in a room full of brothers. They were scared of us. They were protecting Fox, so there’s something to be scared of…and I think we just saw it on the news.”

“You think it’s the civilians?” Wolffe asked him with a frown and Rex nodded. 

“Fox and his men have got to be getting hurt somehow. Fox basically came out and said so, like Fives told us. He was insulted when I said he isn’t used to his men dying and twice he threw the idea that there’s no war on Coruscant in our faces. So they’re getting hurt, they’re getting killed and he thinks we can’t or won’t help him…because this has been going on for a while, like Fives said, and we never helped him before, like Fox said.”

“We will now,” Wolffe countered and again Rex nodded, giving his older brother the most confident look he could muster under the circumstances.

“This is a strategic withdrawal, not a surrender. We’ll keep reaching out, we’ll tell our other batchers what’s happening, and we’ll see if we can’t dig into where the violence is coming from so we can stamp it out.”

Wolffe gave him a thin, but relieved, determined smile and nodded his head sharply. “Sounds like a plan.”

Rex nodded back and then went around to the passenger’s side of the speeder. “I’ll make a new chat and drag everyone in to explain what’s happening on the ride back. If we talk in the regular one Fox will know we’ve seen through him and probably do something drastic.”

“This doesn’t count as drastic?” Wolffe asked him dryly and Rex just sighed.

“Come on, let’s go.” Wolffe let out a huff, but retrieved his helmet, pulled it back on, and sat down in the driver’s seat. Rex pulled his own bucket back on and sat down in the passenger’s seat, buckling in and then pulling his comm back up. He had a chat to make and brothers to brief, but before any of that he typed out a message in his private chat with Fox, below their non-conversation from while he was in medical.

Capitan: We love you, Fox. Nothing will ever change that.

Rex wanted to promise him they’d get to the bottom of this, he wanted to promise that they would help him even if he couldn’t ask for that help, but he feared it would only scare him off, so he kept it simple. And he would keep saying it. He’d say it every day in every way he could think of until Fox believed him.

Chapter Text

Fox had simply lain in the hospital bed for a long time after he spoke to Rex over chat, his heart heavy. And yet he wasn’t alone. He knew his commanders were probably too occupied dealing with the fallout of what had happened to sit at his bedside, but Stitch had appeared before long, checking on him, only to find him awake.

“How’s your head?” He asked Fox quietly, sitting down on the edge of Fox’s bed and reaching out to take his hand and give his fingers a squeeze.

“Hurts,” Fox mumbled and Stitch sighed.

“How bad? One to ten,” he pressed and Fox let out a shuddering breath.

“Five,” he muttered and saw Stitch nod out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll up your painkillers,” he said and Fox shook his head, opening his mouth to protest, but Stitch beat him there. “Don’t bother,” he said, his tone suddenly harsh, “You won’t talk me down. I’m giving you painkillers. You’re all fucked up and it’s the least I can do.”

“How…” Fox mumbled, “How bad is my face? Is it going to scar?” He knew the answer already, had been hurt enough times to know, but still some part of him hoped…

Stitch let out a heavy sigh and brushed Fox’s hair back with his free hand, still holding Fox’s other one with his own. “It’s gonna scar,” he said, his tone somber.

Fox took a shaky breath, but dropped it, didn’t want to talk about it further. He’d been hoping against all hope that he wasn’t going to have to hide his face, but…there was nothing for it. He couldn’t let his batchers see it.

“Think you could eat?” Stitch asked him quietly.

“No,” Fox told him, but saw Stitch shake his head.

“Try for me?” he pleaded and Fox sighed and gave up, just nodding in acceptance.

Stitch spent a moment quiet, but then turned and laid down beside Fox, bundling him up against his chest. “You’re going to be okay,” Stitch murmured to him. “Keep going, we’ll make it out if we just survive, okay?”

Fox just nodded again and Stitch buried his face in Fox’s hair. They stayed like that for a long time, but eventually Fox’s stomach rumbled and he flushed in embarrassment. Stitch let out a quiet laugh and brushed his fingers through Fox’s hair one last time before he released him and got up. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Stitch kept Fox under observation, reappearing every hour to do a cognitive test and then having him perform tasks to ensure there weren’t any neurological problems developing. There weren’t though and Fox was let out two days later. 

Of course all he could do was go back to his work, and Palpatine called Fox back into his office the day he started rounds again. Fox stood at attention in front of his desk and Palpatine gave him a sympathetic look.

“I saw what happened,” he said, his voice soft, quiet, like the paw of a hunting nexu, “What a terrible thing for them to have done, but hardly surprising. People can be so cruel…especially when you’re lesser.”

“Yes sir,” Fox responded with an empty voice.

“How are you feeling?” the chancellor asked, “You’ve been gone several days, so I can only assume you were on bedrest.”

“I’m fine, sir,” Fox told him and Palpatine nodded, folding his hands on his desk.

“Take off your helmet please,” he said and Fox did as he was told. Palpatine’s brow creased at the sight of the fresh pink scars. “Was it Padawan Tano or Captain Rex who gave you that?” he asked and Fox felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“S-Senator Fo…sir,” he stammered weakly, trying to force his voice to hold steady. The idea that Rex might be angry enough to do that himself, to mutilate Fox like that…he tried to tell himself that Rex would never, but…somehow doubt always crept in after Palpatine’s words no matter what they were.

“Ah, my mistake,” Palpatine said with a sigh, “Terrible. I suppose he was angry over the incident with the young padawan. That mark is one of ritual vengeance.”

“Yes sir,” Fox said hollowly and Palpatine nodded.

“Perhaps she would feel vindicated, should she have seen it…even if it was neither of them who gave it. You don’t suppose Captain Rex would agree with Senator Fo would he? Surely not…although he was so terribly close with young Tano…”

“He-he wouldn’t…” Fox desperately denied, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice at the idea. He didn’t—didn’t want to think Rex would agree, but…Palpatine was right, they’d been close and Fox had treated her so badly, had nearly gotten her killed.

Palpatine let out a huff, tilting his head. “Well I cannot say I know him of course, it’s simply an assumption based on what I have seen of people over the years. Most are not so forgiving and I have seen many slighted men in my life. I am terribly old after all, undoubtedly older than you will ever live to be.”

He was right about that at least, Fox would never live to be Palpatine’s age. He’d probably die at less than half, presuming that he lived long enough to age at all. Most clones would probably die young…or maybe all of them would.

“That symbol is not especially common knowledge,” Palpatine noted, still frowning, “Should your batchers see, I imagine they’d ask questions.”

“Probably, sir,” Fox agreed as noncommittally as he could.

Palpatine nodded and stood up, crossing the room and reaching up to take Fox gently by the chin, grandfatherly worry in his face. “Questions can be dangerous,” he murmured as he turned Fox’s head this way and that to examine the damage more closely, “The Senate…well I know as well as you that they will go to lengths to protect themselves from inquiry or disgrace. I would not be surprised if they were to pull a few strings, throw around some weight, to ensure that there is no one who might threaten their reputations…”

Fox bit his lip. He was right about that too, but Fox had never thought about whether the senators might be able to reach his batchers, that they might order decoms for them. Fox could save his own men from that, but they were beyond his reach.

“I suppose it would be noble to protect them from that knowledge and its consequences,” Palpatine added, releasing Fox and stepping back. “Then again, you are not hiding what has been done to you or your men especially well, so I can’t imagine they haven’t noticed. Perhaps there’s more of us in them than I thought…disinterest, if not actual cruelty.”

“I don’t know, sir,” Fox told him somberly and the chancellor merely nodded, returning to his desk and steepling his fingers on its surface. 

“Of course that is not why you’re here,” he said, “Please, give me your report of the riots. I won’t keep you much longer.”

Fox nodded, "Thank you, sir.”

***

For all that Fox knew Palpatine was no friend, that he was just as cruel as the senators, but more insidious, his words still had Fox all twisted up a day later. They wouldn’t leave him; the worry that Rex would be pleased to see what Fo had done to him, the threat posed by the senators should his batchers ask the wrong questions, the idea that he really wasn’t hiding it all that well and they simply didn’t care to intervene…

It ate at him and then Fox’s batch did stick their noses in, even if only Rex and Wolffe. It was obvious Wolffe was angry about…something. He made demands, he snapped and snarled, but Fox didn’t capitulate to it. He had to give when the senators asked it, but Wolffe he could and would fight. He refused to take off his helmet, couldn’t stand the thought of what might happen if he did, if they saw, and even more he didn’t let them touch him. He just…he was hurt and the gentleness in Rex’s voice, his face, in the way he moved slowly and carefully as if afraid of spooking him…it hurt. It hurt because it was shallow. If they had known…if they saw what a coward he was, if they saw what he’d let happen to him, what he let happen to his men…

Fox was a disgrace. He was and he didn’t understand why Rex was trying to soothe, but he knew, he knew, that it would fracture if Fox indulged it. If Fox let them see…and even if it didn’t it was misguided and he still couldn’t bend. For as much as they were asking questions, he wasn’t doing a good job of hiding it and they’d still done nothing…

He lashed out at them, wounded and confused and–and angry even if he didn’t understand why, and he chased them away. It was just easier without them, easier to not think about what they wanted from him, whether they cared, whether they had ever really loved him when Palpatine's words ran again and again through his thoughts, digging needles into his fragile heart.

They left him, he’d made them leave, and Fox dismissed his men, although not without thanking them. With them going back to their duties, Fox drifted across his office to the window and watched Wolffe storm across their landing pad to a speeder, watched him throw a tantrum the way he always had whenever he felt helpless, and he watched Rex soothe him, talk him down, reach out for him and hold him until he calmed. 

Somehow it made Fox feel alone.

He turned away from the window and sat back down at his desk, returning his attention to the crushing soulless monotony of endless formwork…only his comm beeped a moment later and Fox checked it against his better judgement. It was Rex. Rex claimed he loved him even after that fiasco and Fox…he needed to hear it so badly, he needed something to hold onto so badly, so he clutched at the words and tried to use them as a balm to his bloody heart, a balm to Palpatine’s poisonous words in turn, his careful leading questions that still hooked Fox even when he knew Palpatine was dangerous.

He needed that, so for a while afterwards he’d occasionally pick the comm back up and reread the words.

***

For all that the Senators were almost universally dangerous, there were a few that had never hurt him or any of his men, even if they were just as complicit as the rest. Senator Mothma was one of them, but Senator Burtoni was not.

Fox was stopped in the hall by the Kaminoan Senator just as he was leaving Palpatine’s office after giving him a report on a slaving operation he’d broken up in the undercity. She towered over him, looking down at him with the familiar cold eyes of every Kaminoan Fox had ever known. “Commander,” she said, her voice obviously displeased. “I saw your performance during the riots earlier this week.”

Of course Fox just nodded, said nothing. There was nothing for him to say and she hadn’t asked him a question. She tilted her head in an unnerving manner that made him feel like a pinned butterfly, an insect, something small and helpless to be studied…or crushed, but that wasn’t a new feeling either.

“You are highly decorated,” she went on, “You are the face of our products here on Coruscant, you must see how…unacceptable…your performance was in that situation. This could negatively affect the project going forward.”

“I will do better in the future, Senator,” Fox promised, trying to keep his voice from shaking, from showing how scared of her he was. If there was anybody that could have him summarily decommed with no fuss or muss, it would be either her or Palpatine…and she knew that, she was threatening him, if only with Kaminoan doublespeak.

“Ah, Senator Burtoni, Commander Fox,” somebody said. Fox’s instinct was to turn and look, but he crushed the impulse, not daring to look away from Burtoni and draw her ire. It was Mon Mothma who stepped up alongside him. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Senator,” she went on, her expression friendly, almost overly so, “I’m afraid I couldn’t disagree more. Commander Fox has shown us exceptional bravery on multiple occasions as the war has tried to come to Coruscant and his men handled that riot with equal courage and dedication. He’s a soldier and sometimes soldiers get hurt, but if anything that’s just a sign that they’re brave enough to put their bodies between us and the violence reaching for us, courageous enough to endure it themselves to protect us from it. I believe it would be terribly misguided to consider it a black mark on his record.”

Burtoni looked down at Mothma with her unblinking lantern eyes, but then inclined her head. “Perhaps you are right, Senator Mothma.”

Mothma smiled at her brilliantly, all pearly white teeth and easy charisma, “I hope you don’t mind if I steal him from you, I would like to speak with him privately.”

“Of course,” Burtoni said, but the look she gave Fox was chilling. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone who hadn’t grown up on Kamino, who hadn’t been studied for years by those huge staring eyes, but Fox saw that warning there. If he fucked up like that again she was going to decom him, that was what the look said, and Fox’s heart hammered in his chest.

They’d send him to Kamino, strap him to a table, and then give him a lethal injection before recycling his body for parts. They probably wouldn’t even tell his men what he’d done wrong when they replaced him like a broken toy.

Burtoni drifted away and Mothma turned a slightly mellower look on him than the aggressively friendly expression she'd had with the Kaminoan.

“Commander,” she said and Fox bowed his head in acknowledgement, moving to fully face her.

“Senator,” Fox greeted automatically, waiting politely for her to tell him what she wanted. His heart was still racing and he knew his hands were trembling at his sides…and worse, he knew Mothma saw it, he caught the way her eyes flickered to the movement before she smiled at him again. 

“As I said,” she went on, “I’d like to speak with you, if you wouldn’t mind coming to my office?” 

“Of course, Senator,” Fox replied, again inclining his head in acceptance and then started walking when she gestured him ahead of her, doing as she’d asked.

Her office was expensively furnished, as they all were, luxurious and yet more elegant than some. Mothma directed him to sit on her couch and then spent several minutes preparing tea. “How are you, Commander?” she asked him kindly, “I saw what happened, that you were hurt, but I expected you to be off duty for longer. Are you sure you’re not back too soon?”

“I was cleared for duty,” Fox told her as noncommittally as he could and she let out a breath, but didn’t turn to look at him as she spooned shards of some plant into some sort of tiny cage and lowered it into the clear teapot, shutting the lid overtop it. She brought a tray with her tea setup over to set it down on the caf table between the two couches and then sat down opposite him, a concerned frown on her face.

“I’m afraid that wasn’t quite what I meant, commander,” she said, “Are you well? I’m sure you were concussed, I’ve been told concussion can cause headaches for weeks or months afterwards, even with bacta treatments.”

“I’m fine, Senator,” Fox said. It was a lie of course, it was always a lie, but his face itched more than it hurt now after how Stitch had coated it in more bacta everyday than Fox felt they could afford…although admittedly he had in fact had a persistent headache ever since he’d been brained. She let out a breath, smiling at him in a way that looked a little somber. 

“Very well,” she allowed, then leaned forwards and took the pot, pouring it into the first of two cups sitting on the tray. Fox started to protest when she made to pour a second cup, but she interrupted him.

“I’m told this tea is good for pain,” she explained, “It’s a Chandrillan export, one of many, and I find it quite soothing, so please, if you would indulge me, Commander.”

Fox deflated. That was an order, no matter how politely she’d phrased it, so he nodded dejectedly in acceptance and she gave him a wry smile. “It’s tea, Commander, not the gallows.”

“Of course, Senator,” he responded, sounding tired even to himself.

“What was she threatening you with?” Mothma said suddenly and Fox jerked his head up to look at her.

He tried to deny it, unable to keep the edge of panic out of his voice. “She wasn’t—”

“She was,” Mothma interrupted again, although not coldly. “I’m perhaps not the most versed in the ways of the Kaminoans, but I’ve been at this work since I was sixteen, Commander, and I know a threat when I see it, no matter how carefully disguised it is.”

Fox chewed his lip for a long moment, his thoughts racing, trying to figure out how to dodge this, but Mothma simply picked up her teacup and blew gently on the drink before taking a sip. “Your tea, Commander,” she said when he didn’t respond.

Again he hesitated, but that was an order too, so with still trembling hands, he pulled his helmet off and picked up the cup. It clattered loudly against its saucer in his hands and he looked down at the traitorous thing, hating himself for being such a coward. Mothma let out a breath when she saw the fresh scars, but Fox averted his eyes and mimicked her, blowing on the tea before taking a sip.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the tea had a much subtler taste than the frequently scorched black caf that was his only real reference. “Have you had tea before, Commander?” she asked rather than saying anything about his karked up appearance.

“No, ma’am,” Fox murmured, willing his hands to settle, to stop trembling now that Burtoni and her threats were no longer in front of him.

Mothma let out a quiet huff, but smiled, “Most are made from leaves, but this particular type is made from the steeped bark of a tree that grows only in the region of Chandrilla where our capital city rests. It’s one of our oldest medicines and is used both for pain and for anxiety attacks.”

Fox nodded along. Something about the heat of it did seem to settle in him in a way that made him feel less like his brain was full of jagged squiggling lines. “I’ll keep a closer eye on Senator Burtoni’s work,” Mothma said, changing the subject back once Fox’s hands had finally stopped shaking. “I know she has a great deal of influence over the cloning project and all of you in general, but I hadn‘t quite realized that she might choose to wield it in such a way…and over something that should have been taken as an act of bravery or even martyrdom. She was acting like you fled from the rioters…the bitch.”

The sudden turn caught Fox so off guard that he choked on his sip of tea and started hacking, but Mothma laughed and gave him an apologetic look, setting her tea down so she could reach out and take Fox’s from his hands so it didn’t spill. “Ah I apologize,” she said, still smiling wickedly, “I suppose I’m being too obvious.”

Fox pounded on his chest until he was able to take a steady breath again and she handed him back the tea she’d saved from his fit. “I have some friends here in the Senate,” Mothma said as she picked her own cup back up, “Senators Chuchi, Amidala, and Organa. All very even tempered…but passionate. I’m sure you’ve seen that. Riyo is greatly invested in the wellbeing of you clones and Padme even more so in the war. I’m afraid their passion is infectious, so please, if Burtoni tries to corner you again, tell her that you were coming to speak to me. She won’t be able to hold you hostage if you say it’s urgent. I’ll give you more tea until the coast is clear. Sound good?”

She smiled at him conspiratorially and Fox just stared back, wide-eyed and shocked, but she nodded to herself, as if he’d answered some unasked question of hers.

“I think you’ll find you have more allies than you realize, Commander. You need only recognize them.”

Chapter Text

*Capitan has created new server “Operation: Fix Coruscant”*

*Capitan has added Blyla, Big-bad-wolffe, HelloThere~, SecretCodes, General-Buir, Sky_Guy, and Muscle-Mommy to server “Operation: Fix Coruscant”*

Capitan: hey everybody, i made this chat so we can work together to deal with whatever the hell is happening on coruscant.

General-Buir: Ah good, I know Wolffe has been terribly frustrated and concerned by the situation. 

Big-bad-wolffe: Can anybody kriffing blame me?

SecretCodes: No of course not. 

Sky_Guy: wait what? what’s wrong with coruscant?

Muscle-Mommy: Did you see the riot? I assume that sort of thing is the issue here.

Sky_Guy: i didn’t see it. i don’t watch the news, it just makes me angry…but palpatine did tell me about that, fortunately nobody in the senate was hurt.

Big-bad-wolffe: Kriffing Fox and his men sure got karking hurt.

Sky_Guy: oh…

Sky_Guy: well we only talked about it for a minute, so I guess that just got glossed over.

HelloThere~: I imagine the chancellor is terribly busy 

Sky_Guy: he is. master, can you *please* use a different sceenname?

Blyla: That tilde making you uncomfortable, General?

Sky_Guy: yeah actually. a lot.

HelloThere~: If it’s truly bothersome then I’ll change it, never say I don’t humor you, Anakin.

*HelloThere~ has changed their handle to YouDroppedThisSir*

Blyla: Snrk

Muscle-Mommy: seconded

SecretCodes: So you *are* in fact aware of this pattern, General.

YouDroppedThisSir: I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to, Cody.

Capitan: with respect, can we focus please?

Sky_Guy: sorry rex. the riot got broken up didn't it? shouldn’t it be fine now?

Capitan: no sir, fox’s behavior has been extremely alarming recently and that’s why I made this server. we need to figure this out

Sky_Guy: he’s cracked, he ordered his men to kill ahsoka. i don’t see what we would do other than remove him from his post.

Big-bad-wolffe: Karking kill him you mean.

Sky_Guy: what? no of course not

Blyla: If he gets marked unfit for duty enough that he needs to be removed from his post, he’ll be decommed, General. It would be killing him.

Sky_Guy: what? since when?

Capitan: literally always sir. why do you think we shuffle men around when they get battleshock instead of taking them off the field? it’s a death sentence

SecretCodes: Clones don’t retire, General. We die in battle or we’re decommissioned.

Sky_Guy: no that can’t be right…

General-Buir: Wolffe mentioned that he is concerned about Commander Fox, but he did not explain any details to me. Perhaps you could fill us in, Captain?

Capitan: of course, general. fox used to comm us everyday, but hasn’t really been talking to us lately, he doesn’t respond most of the time, and when he does it takes him forever and he’s really really evasive. i tried talking to him and he refused to really engage with me and he said some things that are really concerning in hindsight. he implied that he’s losing men. he implied that coruscant is more dangerous than we thought. he said i wouldn’t care if he explained anything to me and he outright lied about being in medical.

YouDroppedThisSir: That is concerning. 

Muscle-Mommy: You’ve drawn some sort of conclusion haven’t you, Captain? Will you enlighten us?

Capitan: yes, general. there’s violence on coruscant, fox is getting hurt, his men are getting hurt. he’s acting just…scared I guess. he’s pushing us all away, he refuses to believe we’re on his side, he’s treating us like the enemy. and then there was this riot. i have a nasty feeling that this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Sky_Guy: i’m adding senator amidala to this server. she knows all about coruscant

Capitan: go ahead general, i don’t have her comm code.

*Sky_Guy has added Queen💅 to server “Operation: Fix Crouscant”*

Queen💅: Hello everyone, I hope you’re all well. Anakin tells me there’s some issue being discussed here?

Blyla: Read up, Senator.

Queen💅: Oh hmm. Well the main thing I know about Commander Fox is that he’s extremely busy, but always very polite. I hadn’t realized he was acting strangely.

Big-bad-wolffe: Fox is a good liar unfortunately. He sure fooled me until Rex pointed it out.

General-Buir: That in itself might be a bad sign. In my experience, in regards to clones, lying is not a trait that comes hardwired in.

SecretCodes: No, General, it’s not, but Fox has always been a smooth talker.

Queen💅: Actually, speaking of Commander Fox, my friend Mon told me something earlier today that was quite concerning.

Muscle-Mommy: Really?

YouDroppedThisSir: What would that be, Senator?

Queen💅: She told me she caught Senator Burtoni cornering the commander in the hall and threatening him.

Big-bad-wolffe: What?!

Capitan: threatening him? with what?

Queen💅: I don’t know. He denied it when she asked, but she said he was shaking. He was definitely scared of her.

SecretCodes: Did Senator Mothma tell you what Senator Burtoni said?

Queen💅: She was telling him that she was displeased by his performance in dealing with the riots.

Blyla: Kark

Capitan: dammit

General-Buir: You understand the implication I assume.

SecretCodes: She was threatening to have him decommed. She could too, even though he’s a commander. Senator Burtoni is high up in the project’s chain of command. If anybody could decom Fox without a hearing or anything, it would be her.

Queen💅: Decom?

Muscle-Mommy: Decommission. They’re supposed to only do it to clones that participate in treason or are too hurt to possibly survive their injuries and are suffering, but…

Queen💅: They kill them?!

SecretCodes: Lethal injection specifically

YouDroppedThisSir: It is very much against regulations, but that doesn’t mean it never happens. The Kaminoans are not especially forgiving and have very little respect for their creations unfortunately, nor for any regulation we try to enforce upon them.

Big-bad-wolffe: Yeah that’s putting it kriffing lightly.

Queen💅: Absolutely unacceptable. Gods no wonder he was scared! I’ll let Mon know, she talked with him and at least got him to sit down for a few minutes and drink some tea. She was hoping it’d soothe him, she said he was clearly shaken.

Muscle-Mommy: Is that it then? If they’d threaten to decom him, the commander of the legion, has that happened to his men too? If he’s losing them that might be how.

Big-bad-wolffe: I’m going to do a murder. That’s not even getting killed in a fight or in the line of duty, that’s just putting them down like karking animals!

General-Buir: Peace, Wolffe. We need to untangle the truth before we jump to violence.

Sky_Guy: no way she meant that, palpatine would never let the senators just do that.

Queen💅: It could very easily be happening behind his back, Anakin. I certainly wasn’t aware of it.

Sky_Guy: i’ll tell him. he won’t let them do that.

YouDroppedThisSir: We need to launch an investigation. If there is an abuse of power that substantial occurring in the Senate it must be dealt with.

Capitan: we can’t tell the corries. they can’t know.

Muscle-Mommy: Why? Surely Commander Fox would be eager to receive help.

Capitan: maybe, but i don’t believe he’s going to think that’s what we’re actually doing. he’s already scared, he’s *scared* of us, and he shut us out, he lied to us and lashed out and tried to get us to drop it. 

General-Buir: A wounded massiff should always be expected to bite, even if you are only trying to help it. 

SecretCodes: General Koon is right. If he’s really *that* cornered, we can’t expect him to be rational. He’s trying to protect his men and for whatever reason he considers us a threat. 

YouDroppedThisSir: Master Koon and I will discuss the matter with the Council.

Sky_Guy: i’ll talk to palpatine. he can help, he’s commander fox’s direct superior.

Queen💅: I’ll speak with some of my friends in the Senate. I don’t believe trying to interrogate Commander Fox on the matter would be wise, but we might be able to provide some shelter or relief if he’s really so desperate for it.

Big-bad-wolffe: You said Senator Mothma gave him tea. Did she say if he actually drank it? He refused to take off his helmet when we were talking, he’s hiding something.

Queen💅: Yes, she said he had a scar on his face and that it looked fresh

Blyla: A scar? Why would that matter?

Queen💅: She said it looked intentional, some kind of symbol, although she didn’t recognize it. She was hoping it was another form of clone body modification, like tattooing or piercings. There are some places that have such traditions, but nonetheless I’ll ask if she remembers it enough to draw it for us. Perhaps we can do some research.

General-Buir: Could somebody have purposefully carved a mark into his face?

Sky_Guy: can’t be. who would do that? that’s sick.

SecretCodes: That’s not a thing we do, Senator. Tattoos are common and you see piercings once in a while, but scarification is absolutely not something we do.

Capitan: that explains it though. somebody *is* hurting him, senator burtoni is threatening him, he’s cornered and he’s too scared to tell anybody. maybe he’s being coerced into keeping it from us, but either way that’s why he’s acting this way.

YouDroppedThisSir: I will call an emergency meeting of the Council once we finish speaking. If you could ask for that drawing, Senator, it would be most helpful.

Queen💅: Will do 

Muscle-Mommy: Please keep us abreast of the matter, Masters. Battles are best fought as a united front.

General-Buir: Of course, Master Secura.

YouDroppedThisSir: We’ll be back with news shortly I think.

Capitan: thank you, sirs. thank you for caring. it means a lot.

Queen💅: All of you clones have sacrificed so much to protect this Republic and its people. Of course we can’t stand idly by, it would be a betrayal.

Muscle-Mommy: My thoughts exactly.

SecretCodes: Good luck, sirs. I hope we can sort this out quickly.

Sky_Guy: oh it’s gonna get sorted, mark my words.

General-Buir: We will not rest until it is dealt with.

YouDroppedthisSir: Yes, this will be untangled one way or the other. We owe you men that much and more.