#gallorywrites

[coruscantguard]

The Truth Lies (In An Unmarked Grave)

On some days, Rex is certain the grief is going to kill him. There's only so much a person can take, and he reached that limit long ago-- reached it, then vaulted straight past it. Echo is alive, and that's fantastic, but... Fives isn't, and he's only the most recent on the long list of people Rex has failed to save. On some days, Rex is convinced that he's just walking wounded, that it's only a matter of time before his injuries catch up to him and put him in the ground.

That's... not what happens. Instead, Rex wakes up with Fives, and General Skywalker years in the past, back before Fives' death, before the Citadel, with their memories of the future intact. Instead, Rex finds himself caught between a rock and a hard place as he tries to save his family, with the constant threat of the Chancellor hanging over his shoulder.

(Ao3 Link)

Chapter 1

After working with The Bad Batch– after finding Echo and losing him again, after punching Crosshair and forcing himself to work with him anyway– Rex finds himself sitting on a log, staring at the bonfire in front of him.

The roaring fire illuminates the darkness of the night sky, and Rex can feel the heat from it on his face, warming up his knees. Despite that, his fingers feel cold around his beer bottle as he stares down the flames, a shade short of tipsy, not quite tipsy enough.

[[MORE]]

He feels… almost isolated, with the way the sky stretches out above him, vast and endless, twinkling stars bright against the darkness of the night. But he’s not alone– far from it, in fact– Jesse’s sitting on his right, and Kix is on Jesse’s right, and Ridge on Kix’s right, and Sterling on Ridge’s right, which brings him all around to being on Rex’s left.

They’re a lively bunch. It’s not quiet around the campfire– far from it, in fact. If Rex felt a little less detached, he knows he’d be right there with them, laughing and joking. But the events of the last few days, months, years, weigh on him, and it’s easier to let himself be mesmerized by the crackling flames than putting in the effort to be engrossed in conversation.

Jesse, however, is not one to be upstaged by a firepit. He leans forward, grins, waves his hand in front of Rex’s face. “Hey Cap,” he says, ignoring Kix’s facepalm. “How do you know if there’s a member of the Bad Batch at your party?”

Rex sighs, looks up at the sky. Prays for some sort of divine intervention.

No divine intervention arrives. Rex sighs, loudly. “How, Jesse?” he asks, half certain he already knows the answer.

“”They’ll tell you,” Jesse replies, and despite the fact that Rex had been expecting that exact answer, he still finds himself snorting at the accuracy of it. “Hey, how would the Bad Batch kill a space snake?”

Rex sighs again, louder this time. He definitely knows where this one is going. “How?”

“They make contact with it, ignore all Judicial Department directives and build a rapport with the snake, train it to kill other snakes, then return to Kamino to file a requisition of GAR resources form and take in the snake.”

Rex… shouldn’t ask. They’re all feeling weird after their last mission, every single Forcedamned clone is a raw nerve at the moment. He really shouldn’t ask.

Kriff it. He might as well ask. “Is the snake in this metaphor meant to be Echo?”

“Of course not sir, Echo was– is about as sneaky as a reg manual to the face.”

“Big words coming from you,” Kix chimes in, taking advantage of Jesse’s temporary distraction to steal his beer and finish it off.

“Kix, I’ll let you know that I’m an ARC trooper, actually,” Jesse defends. “I absolutely know how to be sneaky.”

“Well, since you’re a high and mighty ARC trooper, I guess that means that you’d just kill our metaphorical space snake by accident, and it would turn out that this metaphorical snake was sacred to the people there, and the natborns would then demand the removal of Republic forces from the planet.”

Rex chokes on his beer, coughs as Jesse sputters. Kriffing hell, someone decided to go for the throat today. “Oh, kark off,” is what Jesse eventually says in response, and Kix shrugs, looking all too smug with Jesse’s bottle in his hand.

After he finishes restoring the air to his lungs, Rex finds himself looking down at his hands, letting the conversation fade to a dull roar in the background. He looks down at his right hand, forms a fist with it, frowns. Unrolls his fingers one by one, flexes them once, then twice, then three times. The memory of punching Crosshair is all too present in his mind, as is the memory of liking it. Of wanting to do it again.

For all that he knows that he was made for killing, Rex has never thought of himself as an inherently violent person. But right now, there’s a part of him saying otherwise, a part of him that’s determinedly whispering what might even be the truth in the back of his mind.

He’s realized recently that he’s changing. And it’s because of the war, yes, but it’s also because of other things, and that… worries him. Scares him, almost, though he’ll never admit it out loud. Rex is a clone. He’s not made for change– the opposite, really. He’s been designed not to evolve past his programming.

But Crosshair had said that they should’ve left Echo behind, and Rex had seen red. For a second, all he’d been able to think about was Fives’ anguish at the Citadel, Fives’ grief in the aftermath, Fives’ rapidly cooling body in his arms, and–

Yeah, Rex had punched him. The shabuir had deserved it– deserved worse, an insidious voice inside him whispers.

(Rex at the beginning of the war never would’ve done that. Rex doesn’t know if his past self would even recognize the man he’s become now.)

Anyway, General Skywalker may not have liked that punch, but Kix and Jesse were on his side, and that was good enough for Rex. It had to be.

He glances down at his fist once more, sighs, and picks up his beer again, finishing it off. He probably should get started on those reports and finish filling out Echo’s transfer forms, so Rex opens his mouth to excuse himself when General Skywalker comes out of his tent, holding something strange and triangular, something that’s glowing red, and suddenly–

The world tips sideways.

Dimly, Rex hears alarmed shouts of his own name, feels the beer bottle slip from his hands, but all he can focus on is the nauseating roil of his own stomach, and the way that General Skywalker seems to have lost his balance too, and is clinging to a tree for support. Rex blinks, tries to focus, tries to marshal his thoughts into something coherent, then–

Nothing.

---

Fives lays on the cold floor of a warehouse on Coruscant, and knows he’s dying. There’s a blaster bolt in his chest, and Rex is holding him– oh, that’s nice of him– and he’s dying.

Fives blinks his eyes. Speaks.

And then he dies.

He wakes up to an insistent hand on his shoulder, shaking him in a way that no one has done in years.

“Did you kriffing steal a sedative from Coric’s stash or some shit, asshole?” Echo demands as soon as Fives blearily opens his eyes, and Fives coughs, relishes in the ability to freely breathe, and– wait.

“Fives?” Echo asks, a hint of worry coloring his tone, but Fives can’t concentrate on that, because this is Echo talking to him. Echo, who’s dead, and that must mean Fives is dead, and he’s with Echo again–

He’s crying before he can even fully process it, ignoring Echo’s surprised exclamation as he pulls Echo down on top of him. Fuck. He’s dead, Force, he didn’t want to die, but he did, and now he’s with Echo again. He’s in the afterlife, and he’s with Echo again, and that alone is enough to undue him.

[coruscantguard]

a void in the deserted temple

Barriss Offee, mentions of Ahsoka Tano, Luminara Unduli, & Lieutenant Trap.

Warning for a character throwing up, mentioned past character death, and all the general angst that comes with time travelling back before you betrayed everyone you knew and loved

(Ao3 Link)

When Barriss first sees Ahsoka again, she throws up.

She can’t actually remember most of that interaction, right now. She remembers waking up in a room that hasn’t belonged to her in years, remembers walking out to see a Jedi Temple full of light, full of life, remembers thinking that this must be a dream. She remembers starting to walk to Master Luminara’s quarters, because if there’s one person she wants to see before she wakes up it’s her Master alive, alive and breathing and not frozen to death, her body a trap for any surviving Jedi. She remembers walking, and hearing the noises of a group of initiates, and turning and seeing Ahsoka’s montrals in a group of senior initiates, seeing Ahsoka, realizing— Force, Ahsoka isn’t even Skywalker’s padawan yet— and then Barriss came to in a refresher, hunched over and upheaving her lunch.

What did she even eat for lunch? Does she— or, well, past-her— have plans today? Did Padawan Offee know anything besides the basics of Soresu when Master Unduli took her on originally? If this is real, not the dream she thought it was, not the nightmare she’d feared it being, then have her sudden shields prompted suspicion? If this is real— and the fact that she just threw up is indicating that this probably isn’t a dream— then she has to keep her shields up. She knows that, but she also knows that for a while when she was a padawan her shields had been as leaky as Ahsoka’s got when Skywalker was missing, so her sudden shields could give her away easily. Provided that this truly isn’t any kind of dream or hallucination or vision, but she’s never been prone to visions, not like Ahsoka—

Force sithing hells. Ahsoka.

Her stomach rolls again dangerously, and Barriss hurries to lean back over, waits until her body is finally done. Forces back the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, partially caused by the exertion of her dry-heaving, partially caused by the emotional toll of seeing— of seeing her again.

Oh, Force. Oh karking hells, oh Force, Barriss has the sinking suspicion that this is truly, honestly, real. That she’s actually in the past. Actually been given another chance.

It’s disgusting and unhygienic, but Barriss rests her head against the porcelain basin. Closes her eyes. It’s all too much. Why is she, of all people, the one sent back? Karma? Penance?

Is this to be her punishment? Falling apart in the Temple’s refreshers, a place she’d thought she’d never get to see again? The light all around as she chokes on the Dark Side bubbling up within her, her very existence a betrayal to those she loved, then backstabbed? She knows, she knows that the Force does not punish, but…

Barriss is a traitor, and a liar, and a fool, and the Temple bombing hasn’t happened yet in this timeline, but that doesn’t absolve her, not even close. She led to the death of her fellow Jedi, she personally murdered troopers, just as she’d murdered Trap all those years ago, she framed her best friend because she’d spent years stewing in her fury regarding Ahsoka’s lack of anger after witnessing Barriss gut Trap—

And she’d been stupid enough to think that Ahsoka’s connections could protect her, that Skywalker’s bond with the Chancellor and her Grandmaster being on the Council would soften the blow, that—

A sharp knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. “Barriss? Padawan?”

Kark.

Her former Master’s voice is perfectly controlled, but Barriss can tell that she’s worried. Master Luminara would not have called her ‘Padawan’ if she was not worried. There was always a certain amount of affection in her former Master’s voice whenever she called Barriss that— when introducing her to others, it took the form of pride for the young woman Barriss was growing up to be, when concerned for her wellbeing, it encompassed the question of are you okay, and how can I help— and it’s audible to Barriss right now, just as it always was. There’s that affection in her Master’s voice, soothing the sharp edges of her panic, because Master Luminara loves her and trusts her and cares for her and surely she can help fix this and—

And Barriss had taken advantage of that when she turned her back on everything Master Luminara had ever stood for, and attacked the Jedi Temple. Attacked her home, the place that raised her, that loved her— the place that just hours prior, when she’d been in her cell, staring at Darth Vader standing outside her door— she would’ve done anything to return to.

And in the end, that’s what it truly comes down to, isn’t it? Barriss is a traitor, a betrayer, but— she regrets. She regrets, knows that she would do things differently if she could, and- and it seems she suddenly has an opportunity to do so, an opportunity staring her right in the face. She does not deserve it, but Force hells, since when did anyone get what they deserved?

So if she has the opportunity to make a change, then karking hell, by the Force, she has a moral obligation to herself to do so. To herself, if not to everyone else she wronged in her first life.

Barriss closes her eyes, and breathes in. Breathes out, and opens them, then pushes herself up, off the floor, and tries to smooth down her dress. She doesn’t look in the mirror— knows that she won’t be able to handle seeing Jedi Padawan Barriss Offee, age 14, staring back at her— and goes to open the door.

Master Luminara’s presence is nothing but light, and Barriss is in her younger self’s body, too young and too short and too clumsy, but despite that, for the first time in years, everything feels right.

[coruscantguard]

a calm but inquisitive interest

Clone Ship Week Day 2 - Witch AU - @cloneshipweek

Commander Bly/Commander Fox

Warning for mentions of the police & discrimination by the police (specifically against magic-users)

(Ao3 Link)

The whole thing begins about half an hour before closing time. Bly is the only one behind the counter when the man comes in— he'd managed to successfully bully Aayla into actually taking a night off and going on a date with that poli sci major from college who'd apparently become the Naboo district's House Representative, so she's hopefully out having a good time— and the man nods politely in response to Bly's greeting, then starts looking around the shop.

The man, Bly notes internally as he finishes chopping up the mandrake in front of him, does not look like their usual customers. He's wearing a suit that's much nicer than most people wear to coffee shops— much nicer than most people wear to potion stores that are combined with coffee shops, for the record, which is what The 327th Star technically is— and holding a briefcase that practically screams fancy expensive job.

The man also seems to fail at finding what he's looking for all on his own, as he's empty handed when he makes his way to the counter.

"Good evening," the man says before Bly can open his mouth. "Do you by chance have something that's memory enhancing? Or maybe some kind of sleep replacement?"

Bly blinks in surprise, puts his knife down. He takes in the bags under the man's eyes, the way he's drumming his fingers against his leg, and internally winces. He's run a coffee shop for long enough to know what it looks like when someone is running on fumes and too much caffeine, and this man could practically be a textbook definition of it. "Sir, I'm pretty sure that selling you any of that right now would kill you, and I'd rather not have to go through a murder investigation right now." Bly pauses, considers that. "Or ever, really, actually. I try to avoid murder investigations."

"Smart," the man says, quickly enough that Bly would wager he's not thinking about what he's actually saying. In his experience, people's brain to mouth filters tend to start failing around 24 hours of no sleep— or after a few days of very bad sleep, if some of the shit Cody said during finals week is any bar to go by. "But if that were to happen— and, disclaimer, this isn't legal advice, no attorney-client relationship is being formed here, consult with your own lawyer if you want legal advice— don't tell the police shit, just lawyer up. All the bullshit pop culture pushes regarding defense attorneys is just that— bull-fucking-shit." A pause, while Bly processes that. Well. It seems like Mr. Exhausted is some kind of lawyer, which does explain the ridiculously fancy everything he's wearing right now. Huh. Interesting. "Why would you get prosecuted if I was the one to be dumb and consume the potion wrong? I mean, assuming that your reluctance to sell isn’t because all the potions you have in the category I asked for are poisonous to humans, as it would make more sense if you just said that to me straight out."

... If Mr. Exhausted is a lawyer, then Bly probably owes Anakin an apology for dismissing his frequent complaints about how much lawyers like to hear their own voices as Anakin simply being annoyed with Obi-Wan instead of an actually somewhat valid critique of the profession. Whoops.

"They’re not poisonous,” Bly reassures him, “ but, in my— admittedly limited— experience, law enforcement tends to assume that if magic is present at a crime scene, magic is also at fault."

The man nods, suddenly looking much more engaged in the conversation. His fingers tap faster on his leg. "And innocent until proven guilty is a standard that only exists in courtrooms, police tend towards guilty until proven innocent in their investigations, which means an investigation could quickly turn to prosecution-- right, yeah, that makes sense, I should’ve known that. Sorry, I'm a bit tired right now. Huh. You know, every day my blood pressure thanks me for not going into criminal law, fucking hell, I don't know how Thire does it. I suspect I would've snapped and murdered a bitch by now if I had to deal with that much fucking bullshit on a daily basis."

Bly takes a moment to... process all that, and blinks at the man. The man, in turn, suddenly winces, and stops the drumming of his fingers. "Fuck, wow, I apologize, that was both irrelevant and inappropriate. God, I have a trial starting in a week and... you know what, I'm just gonna shut up now.” A pause. “Uh, what would you recommend for someone who needs to memorize a lot in a short amount of time?"

Sleep, Bly internally says, but externally, he summons up his best customer service smile, because he's smart enough not to tell someone this sleep-deprived the obvious. "I have a few ideas for something that could work," Bly says, moving out from behind the counter to their energy-related section of potions in the back, firmly forcing his brain to focus on his actual job. "Could you give me a bit more information regarding what you're trying to memorize?"

[coruscantguard]

birds sing in the mourning

Quinlan Vos & Commander Faie

Warning for war crimes, massacres, implied past abuse, and Pong Krell being dead yet still somehow being the absolute worst

(Aka, when you let assassins, bounty hunters, and mercenaries raise children to kill, and teach them to follow all orders without hesitation, no matter how immoral those orders may be, it's only a matter of time before innocents die.)

(Ao3 Link)

“You’re going to learn a lot of things. But it might be easier to keep living, if you didn’t learn them, if you didn’t know them. You don’t realize your body is on fire and burning up because of the things you did. You’ll understand one day. And then you’ll realize for the first time that you have many burns."

- Violet Evergarden

×××

When Quinlan arrives to reinforce the 462nd, he's nearly sent to his knees by the bleeding pain and wrongness he feels in the Force. 

 He knew the campaign was bad, was briefed on the disaster of a situation while still in hyperspace, but this — this is something else. This is something more than high casualties and dead Jedi General, something that is somehow worse than that. 

The sun is high in the sky when he lands, the planet a peaceful sort of quiet that's only broken by the sound of a bird's croons in the distance as he takes off towards the 462nd's camp. 

 "Commander Faie," Quinlan says the moment he tracks the man down, waves off his salute. "What happened here?" 

 "Sir," General Faie greets, curt, professional as ever, before diving into the report. And it's a blood-filled account, yes, but it's nothing that he hasn't already heard, nothing that explains the way the Force wails in the back of his mind, as haunting as a siren's song, as raw as an open wound. 

 "What about the town?" Quinlan asks after the Commander has finished. It's where the report indicated that Master Krell died, but the report had also said that they'd taken the town, a fact he's seen a disturbing lack of evidence supporting. "Is it under our control?" 

 "Yes sir," Faie says, with a sharp nod. "We finished clearing it last night." 

 Quinlan waits, but Faie doesn't continue. "...Good," Quinlan slowly says once it's clear that the Commander isn't planning on filling the silence. "And the prisoners?" 

 "Taken care of, sir," Faie responds. "Dealt with them in the field back there." He jerks his head backwards to a grassy ravine, and Quinlan turns, looks. The sun is glaring down from above, and it's illuminating the ground strangely, giving the grass a glossy, almost red sheen in the light. 

 Quinlan stares at it. Hears the way the Force wails, the echoes of the whimpers of— children. He hears the echoes of the whimpers of children. 

 Something low in his gut begins to form as an invisible hand seems to clench around his chest, squeezing tight. His next breath is shaky. 

 Surely this is a nightmare. Surely this must not be real. Surely— 

 "I'm sorry, what ?" he makes himself ask, dimly noting that he almost sounds like Obi-Wan. It would be amusing, if this situation was amusing. If amusement was an emotion he was capable of feeling right now. If he was anything but a plethora of horror in human form. 

 "General Krell ordered us to take no prisoners," Faie says. General Krell ordered us to take no prisoners, his mind repeats to him, and— 

 And Force kriffing hells, there's no deceit in his words in the Force, no indication that he's hiding anything. That he's lying. That he's exaggerated. 

 Quinlan— kriff, Quinlan almost feels sick. Nauseous. Woozy with it, the implications of those words more damning than any simple feeling in the Force could be. 

 "We followed our orders. Sir." Faie continues, indifferent to his turmoil. Or maybe just uncaring of it. Quinlan doesn't know. Quinlan doesn't know that he wants to know. "The bodies have been disposed of." 

 Somehow, Quinlan manages to speak. "The people who surrendered?" he hears himself say, voice quiet, his tongue leaden by the horror of it. "Those who were unarmed? Their children ?" 

 Faie blinks at him. For all that his face is blank, he's radiating an almost child-like confusion in the Force, an uncertainty that makes Quinlan want to scream. A strand of dismay is wrapping around his being, because he doesn't know why Quinlan isn't pleased. 

 Not because of the murder. The massacre. No, Faie is uncomfortable because Quinlan isn't pleased . 

 "Yes. We disposed of them." A pause, then— "He told us to take no prisoners, sir," Faie repeats, seemingly at a loss about what to say. Kriff. Quinlan feels the same way. "So we didn't take prisoners." 

 Force. Force . The implications of those words chill him to the core. How many innocents were there? How many people unjustly lost their lives? How many— 

 Kriff . Quinlan opens his mouth to say something, but. But he can't seem to form the words. He closes his mouth, thinks it through. Opens it, and tries again. 

 Fails again. 

 So instead of speaking, Quinlan starts to walk over to the valley. Feels Faie follow a step behind him. Feels the Force's echoes of the massacre increase with every step he takes, sees a glimpse of shiny white clone armor as unarmed beings are herded towards the ravine when he brushes a finger across the ground. 

 General Krell ordered us to take no prisoners, his mind reminds him when he straightens back up. General Krell ordered us to take no prisoners. 

 It is quiet out. The sun shines. The Force wails. And the grass is tinted red. 

 Quinlan reaches the ravine, steals himself. Pulls off a glove. Crouches down to place his bare hand on the blood-stained ground. 

 The last thing he hears before he's pulled into the past is the sound of a bird singing, breaking the silence.

[coruscantguard]

when you start anew

Here's my gift for @wanderingjedihistorian for the Star Wars Fun in the Sun Exchange!!! Thank you so much to @lilhawkeye3 for hosting this, I had an absolute BLAST @starwarsfandomfests

Commander Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Quinlan Vos

Warnings for mentions of alcohol, trauma, nightmares, slave labor (re. the clones), and shitty contracts being used to justify said labor. Don't worry, this is a no-Order 66 AU, so it's all about the recovery and healing here.

(Ao3 Link)

Cody is not going to call Rex.

Really. He isn't. It's obscenely late where he is, obscenely early for Rex, and he's not going to wake Rex up. He isn't. He really, really isn't. While it would be nice to talk to Rex, he doesn’t need to, so he’s not going to.

The night sky is clear, and it’s warm enough out that Cody isn’t cold, not really. He’s just… alone on the balcony, and it’s a bit brisk out, and--

Yeah, he’s not even convincing himself. It's warm out. It's more than warm out. He shouldn't be cold. He's out of the hotel room that has the AC blasting, and if he was cold, he should've noticed that while inside, should've grabbed a jacket when it made sense to need one, when he finally was able to make himself move from the blankets he’d gotten himself twisted up in while asleep. He should not be cold now. He knows it's warm out. He should-- make his brain work, maybe, and recognize that it's hot out, or even better yet, just go back in and go to sleep. Because he can do that. He can. The sliding glass door behind him is unlocked. Through the small gap in the curtains, he can faintly see Obi-Wan and Gen-- Quinlan on the bed, both asleep. It’s a rare sight, seeing Obi-Wan like that, and it’s one that would make his lips twitch up if he hadn’t mastered a sabacc face years ago.

But he can go inside. He can go in and lie back down, can try and close his eyes and fall back asleep.

He doesn’t.

The dream wasn’t… new, exactly. It’s one he’s been having variants of for years, and he’s honestly lost count of how many times he’s woken up to it. Usually, it happens when he’s overheating, but he’s almost certain that wasn’t the case tonight. Cody’s learned, through years of working together as well as this little trip they’re on, that Obi-Wan prefers it cooler, will ruthlessly abuse the AC the moment it gets anything vaguely close to being hot out. It’s a preference that Quinlan seems to either know or share, considering how he’d been the one to set the temperature the moment they got into their hotel room for the night.

So he almost definitely wasn’t overheating. Which… kriffing sucks, if he’s being honest about it, because that means it was just a osik dream done by his osik brain for no good reason. And that thought has a bitter aftertaste to it, because he thought he was getting better, and life doesn't work that way, but--

Cody shakes his head, ignores the way he shivers. He knows how this works. He knows how his brain works. He knows it will never be a linear progression of things being better, knows that one bad night isn’t a horrible setback, and that’s a weight off of his shoulders even if his brain doesn’t want to accept it.

Once, it would've weighed him down regardless. Once, that bitter taste in the back of his throat would've lingered, lingered and built until it was a beast of its own.

But Cody-- Cody's not tired now, per say, but he's older. Wearier. Used to picking his battles, making concessions where he must. Doing the horrible math of human sacrifice. He's-- he's not numb to it now, but he's better at applying a numbing agent, at pushing off the pain until he can afford to let it hit.

Of course, he doesn't have to do that now, though. A bygone skill for a bygone time unless he's about to go looking for another army to join, and although at times he aches with missing the close companionship his vode and him would build in the trench, he doesn't want to go back. Usually. When it's not three in the morning, when he's not out on the balcony of a formerally-Separatist planet while Obi-Wan and Quinlan sleep away the night inside.

He-- he doesn't really want to go back though. He doesn't. He's just overtired and missing his brothers, unmoored without his life's purpose driving him--

Kriff it.

Cody gives in and calls Rex.

+++

"Rise and shine, sunshines," Vos-- Quinlan says next morning, bedhead ridiculous as he grins at both Obi-Wan and Cody, and Obi-Wan hits him in the face with a pillow before Cody can even consider asking him to.

(Truly, they make a good team, even now, even off the field in territory they aren’t familiar with, on a mission with no set endpoint.)

Fact-- Jedi General Quinlan Vos wasn't actually supposed to be on this road trip at all-- not until a few days ago, at least, when a call from General Secura had interrupted their dinner, and they'd found themselves on a surprise rescue mission.

Cody would've been more irritated about it, except for the fact that Quinlan Vos is both uniquely talented at getting on Obi-Wan's nerves without truly angering him, and Cody...

Well, while Cody might not have worked with Quinlan closely during the war, but they did work together. And they did so often enough that Quinlan grew on him. Similar to a somewhat rude, partially-telepathic flirty fungus, which is a description he hates the moment he thinks of it. Great job, self.

Regardless of that, Quinlan is here now, and sputtering at Cody's general in mock-offense as Cody contemplates actually getting up to check his comm.

And last night, he'd finally gone to bed and actually gotten a few more hours of sleep after he gave in and talked to Rex, after setting up the call so that they could talk until they fell asleep without hanging up. It’s a luxury Cody normally wouldn't allow himself, but they're currently travelling on the Republic's bill, and he's feeling a bit spiteful. A bit thrilled that he can just spend money and not have it feeding back into that kriffing contract that's been hovering over his head for years now, that kriffing contract that he never thought he'd escape until--

Until, well. He did. They all did. It's been months, and it still doesn't feel quite real. It still feels like everything he does is going to feed into a bill he could never hope to pay, going to loop him in further--

But it won't. And calling Rex last night had been a good decision. Had been a good, no shit decision, a fact he can recognize now that he's actually gotten some sleep, now that he isn't tied up in his own 1am melodrama.

"Nice shot," Cody says dryly as he finally forces himself to sit up and look for his holocomm. Knowing Rex, the situation is probably that Rex woke up already and ended the call upon doing so, but knowing Cody's luck, the situation might be that Fox somehow got ahold of Rex's comm and is recording blackmail material this very moment. Cody looks around, and grabs his comm, and--

Knowing Rex wins out this time, thank the Force. Cody lets out a sigh of relief as he sees that while there's a message waiting for him from Rex's number, the call is over, and his phone is off.

"Thank you, Cody," Obi-Wan replies, perfectly polite in a way that Cody knows-- mostly from observing his General's interactions with General Skywalker-- is intended to aggravate the listener, and Cody presses his lips together tight as Quinlan starts sputtering once again. "I try."

A moment of silence. Then-- "Bullies," Quinlan declares. "Bullies, the both of you, the 212th is led by bullies, and I hate you both."

"You're the one who decided to stay with us, s-" Cody stops midword, winces faintly. Yeah, there's no good way to play that one off, Force. “Well, you chose this.”

Sith hells. He's gotten better at actually calling Obi-Wan by name, at leaving off the honorifics, but… he's been on the road with Obi-Wan for weeks, and he's been with Quinlan for days.

Which means that little slip is… understandable, even if it's irritating to kark it up. Even if the mistakes are human and all. After all, he’s been expected to be better than that for years, so messing up burns, even though doing so isn't really a matter of life and death anymore.

Maturely, Quinlan grins and sends him a rude gesture in response. Cody doesn't snort, but it's close. The nerve of him, really.

(And he only winces a little with how close that snort was to actually getting out-- with the realization of just how little control over his own reactions he has these days-- which is progress. Hell, it’s good progress, and he has to remind himself of that, because his brain still automatically flips to panic when he thinks of how much his actions would terrify his younger self. When he thinks of the consequences these same actions could’ve had years ago. Would’ve had years ago.)

+++

Fact-- Quinlan likes Arthuria. Really likes it.

It's not hard to understand why. A society where there's almost always a layer of fabric preventing psychic echoes from being formed on objects must be a breath of fresh air to him, doubly so because of the societal custom of wearing gloves. Quinlan stands out here, sure, but not for the usual reasons. Not because he had to choose personal safety over blending in.

Back when they were cadets, Rex had enjoyed fitting in as well-- it was a novelty for him, with a physical mutation while on Kamino. While the rest of them had been desperate to stand out, Rex had never had the option of doing anything different.

And Coruscant is a more forgiving place than Kamino, the Jedi kinder than their trainers ever had been, but being a Jedi is enough to make one stand out when out of the Temple, and Quinlan-- if what Faie has told him is correct, at least-- is an oddity among the Jedi.

So it's understandable, even though it's not personally relatable for Cody. And Quinlan's comfort is infectious, enough so that it has both Obi-Wan and Cody himself relaxing.

Which is good, especially because it’s only after a few more minutes that Cody makes another observation.

Fact-- Obi-Wan doesn't like it here.

Or-- not that exactly, not quite dislike, but-- there’s something here that’s making him tense, something that has the line of his shoulders straight and his High Coruscanti accent more pronounced than usual. And it’s not like Cody isn’t a bit more aware of his manners right now, as they walk through crowds in a city built off of them, but for once, he’s more comfortable than Obi-Wan. And that’s rare-- off the top of his mind, the Citadel is the only time he can think of Obi-Wan being more rattled than he was, and the Citadel was a known Jedi killer, one of their monsters underneath the bed.

He bumps shoulders lightly with Obi-Wan as they take a turn, questioning but not quite prodding, inquisitive but not demanding, a damn sight softer than he’d ever been during the war. Requesting information the civilian way was something he was... getting better at, thankfully. He’s been dealing with Gree’s obscure rants for years now, of course, but even when compared to Gree civvies talk a kriffing ton, about half a dozen things that don’t matter said for every question answered.

And taking that into account, it’s certainly a good thing he’s stuck so close to his General in the aftermath of the war, as Obi-Wan is the only non-vode he’s met who can get horribly off-topic without annoying the osik out of Cody, which is almost certainly a large part of why he’s gotten rather good at softening his questions so quickly.

(Threepwood has not. Threepwood really, really has not. Wooley’s been forwarding him updates, and each one is somehow worse than the last. He probably should not find that quite as amusing as he does, but-- both Obi-Wan and Quinlan had laughed when last night’s message popped in, so… he’s giving himself a pass.)

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan starts, apparently deciding to answer his silent inquiry, and while Cody restrains himself from rolling his eyes at the obvious lie, Quinlan is not quite as courteous. ‘Really, I am. I just came here as a Padawan once. I was… remembering, I suppose.”

Cody and Quinlan exchange a glance, and Cody inclines his head briefly, letting him take the lead. This is a subject Quinlan knows more about than Cody does, and he’s fully aware that hes probably way out of his depth here.

“Well, your remembering looked quite a lot like moping to me,” Quinlan says, bringing his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders just to ruin the moment by leaning all of his weight onto Obi-Wan, causing them both to lurch to the side.

“Vos!”

“-- and moping is not allowed in my presence.”

“Vos you bastard you are causing a scene--”

“Oh, you want me to cause a scene? Because I can show you a scene, baby.”

“Vos!”

Cody steps neatly out of the way of the two, glances at them, then glances away. It’s good to see his General like this, even if a small part of him is currently cringing away as the secondhand embarrassment threatens to creep in. He pushes it away with pure force of will, because for kriff’s sake, he fought in a war, he’s faced worse than a little breaking of societal norms.

(Determinedly, Cody thinks about that, and not about the fact he just realized that Quinlan might be joining Obi-Wan on the list of natborns I actually enjoy hearing talk about dumb things, because the implicatons of that revelation are implications Cody feel are better processed when drunk and with Ponds there to act as the voice of reason. Or at least the voice of sobriety. Reason might be too much to ask of Ponds.)

+++

The ship they've been travelling in is a small thing-- not unbearably so, in that Cody has dealt with worse, but bad enough that he’s certainly not complaining about the breathing room the hotels they’ve stayed in grant him. The hotel rooms grant him distance, privacy, and that’s something Cody values more than most clones, but--

There’s something about the cramped quarters of the ship that has been growing on him. Not as a permanent residence, but-- maybe another trip, another time. He doesn't hate the thought of it. He’s more… neutral to it. Neutral, leaning towards positive.

He told Rex last night that there was a chance he might call again, if Rex didn’t mind, and Rex had called him a dumbass, which… okay, fair. If Rex was unsure about if it was okay to call Cody in the middle of the night for reassurance, Cody would be saying that he’s a dumbass too. Lovingly, of course. But an absolute dumbass.

So while he’s considering texting Rex and telling him that he’s fine, that they don’t need to call tonight, it’s not for the same reasons he was hesitant last night, See, he doesn’t really need to and the lack of privacy here means there's no way he could hide the call from the Jedi, but--

Well, he doesn’t need to hide it either. Obi-Wan and Quinlan know he’s been in contact with multiple members of the 212th, with his batchmates and his former squadmates and his fellow Command Class.

Point is, he doesn’t have to mask his care anymore, doesn’t have to maintain the level of distance he did in the war. It might even be a net positive if he called, as Obi-Wan would probably enjoy talking to Rex, honestly, the two of them have always gotten on well. And Quinlan-- well, he’s got no idea if Quinlan knows Rex or not, but there's a traitorous part of his brain that wants Quinlan to know Rex. That wants Rex to like Quinlan, wants Rex to look at him and approve of--

Force kriffing hells, he’s so pathetic, it’s almost laughable. The war ends, a few possibilities open up, and suddenly his brain is taking everything to the kriffing max.

But-- it’s a tempting idea, now that he’s had it. A persistent one too, and he finds himself thinking of it as he sits at the small breakfast bar in the kitchen, as Quinlan cooks and Obi-Wan banters with him and Cody tries to deal with the fact that Obi-Wan’s arm is pressed up against his own, tries to deal with the fact that their hands are just inches apart--

Oh, Rex is going to give him so much osik for this. So much osik.

For some reason, he doesn’t hate that thought as much as he probably should. The opposite, really, and kriff it, kriff it, he wants to do it and he knows if he waits he’ll just talk himself out of it--

“So, I was thinking about calling Rex…”

[coruscantguard]

looking at him was safer than facing the damage again

My gift for @clonecest-bin-account for the Clone Haven Gift Exchange!

Commander Fox/Commander Cody, Commander Wolffe, Captain Rex, Commander Stone, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett, Boba Fett

Warnings for child abuse re. Kamino, clone trooper-typical eugenics beliefs,  implied/referenced violence between children, internalized ableism, trauma, mentioned child death, and... Cody with a lightsaber!

(Ao3 Link)

The mission is a kriffing disaster.

Usually, Cody refrains from calling missions that, because the universe always seems to take it as a challenge, but kriff that. The mission is a kriffing disaster, and half of his face feels like it's on fire, and the Forcedamned universe can go kriff itself.

"Osik," he hears Bishop say from above him, feels the medic grab his arm. "Osik, Commander, I swear to the karking Force—"

Cody blinks up at him. Sees, for a moment, not Bishop but Boba. He squints at the light that looks all too much like the lights in Kamino's training rooms. Tries to remember what the kriff happened, why the golden boy is here instead of following Prime around like his shadow, except extra tiny and extra bratty.

"Osik—" he hears Boba-maybe Bishop- say, and he frowns. Feels a hand on his face, a flare of pain—

Jango, furious, Boba, bleeding—

"Sorry," Cody mumbles, tries to figure out what's going on. Feels, for a moment, the phantom weight of a kama on his hips, sees the room flicker—

And then he sees nothing at all.

Read More (On Ao3, because this is 7k, and Tumblr had a tantrum when I tried to post it here, rip.)

[coruscantguard]

hope (a dangerous, disquieting thing)

Clone Ship Week, Day 1 - No Order 66 AU - @cloneshipweek

Commander Thire/Commander Bacara/Commander Neyo, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Tarr Seirr, Pix, Yoda, Original Cerean Character

(Ao3 Link)

After the war ends, and the Chancellor is removed from power, Thire finds himself waiting for Neyo in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

It's not where he'd intended to wait for Neyo-- far from it, in fact. Usually, he would've waited outside for Neyo's transport to arrive, spoken with the other troopers working while he waited. Usually, he would've resigned himself to dealing with Coruscant's too-hot summers outside, just so he could ensure that he caught a glimpse of Neyo before their respective duties pulled them away again.

But now-- theoretically at least-- their days consisting solely of that kind of monotonous, soul-destroying work are over. Now, while they do still have things to do, it's not as endless as it used to be, not as overwhelming.

He'll never admit it where Cody can hear him-- he, Caladian, and General Kenobi are much too pleased with themselves for somehow pulling off that nexuosik half-cocked "plan" of theirs, Thire refuses to give either of them anymore satisfaction than they've already got-- but he's more than a little impressed, and more than a little thankful, that they managed to pull it off. Sure, it's not finalized yet-- after all, the wheels of the Republic's courts turn slower than a bantha in a sandstorm, so it'll probably be years until they actually see the end verdict-- but Thire's already seen a substantial improvement in his day-to-day life, and he knows he's not the only one.

After all, Thire isn't the only one who's been dragged to the Jedi Temple's gardens by the bitey little Force sensitive osik that's apparently General Mundi's youngest daughter. It was Bacara who roped him into this after the tiny youngling Jedi named Killi-Adi-Mundi tracked him down, Bacara who decided that if he was being dragged to some weird lineage-family reunion, he wasn't suffering alone. And since Neyo wasn't yet on planet, he'd elected to have Thire join him instead.

This is the first time they've spent any time together without Neyo there to mediate since Neyo had somehow roped Thire into their relationship, and it's not exactly how he'd imagined bonding with Bacara, but it could be going much worse. After all, it's not everyday that one gets to watch a three year old bully the Galactic Marine into letting her sit on his shoulders while General Yoda speaks riddles about the power of the small.

Thire's worked enough with General Yoda over the years to be relatively nonplussed by this. Bacara, it seems, has not.

"You're not half as funny as you think you are," Bacara grumbles, crankily opening one eye to glare at Thire while Killi starts pulling past-regulation length hair into tiny ponytails that she seems to be securing with the Force. It's quite the impressive display of power from a cadet. "I can see you laughing."

"I'm not laughing," Thire says drily, rolling his eyes. "You sure those new fancy glasses of yours are the right prescription?"

Bacara moves like he's about to make a rather rude gesture in Thire's direction, before seemingly remembering the presence of his General, his General's former padawan, his General's former padawan's padawan, his General's child, and General Yoda, and sticking his tongue out instead. Thire doesn't laugh at him. He doesn't. Coruscant taught him better self control than that.

General Seirr's padawan however, a young Human girl with long black twists of hair and a fondness for purple, seems to have completely missed the Jedi equivalent of those lessons and bursts out laughing.

General Mundi and Bacara proceed to let out identical put-upon sighs, which just sets the shiny Jedi off even more.

"When is Commander Neyo supposed to arrive again?" General Seirr asks pleasantly, turning to look at Thire. And Thire opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't end up saying anything, because right as he's about to speak, he's cut off by a sudden flash of fabric, and Commander Pix's laughter turns into a high-pitched squawk as her hood is suddenly pulled down over her eyes by an invisible force.

Thire's not quick enough to bite back his laughter at that one, and the Commander's petulant tone when she speaks just sets him-- and General Mundi's brat-- off further. "Ma-ster," Commander Pix complains, as she tries and fails to take her hood off. "Master!"

"Yes, Padawan mine?" General Seirr asks a moment later, seemingly letting go off her hood as he does, if Commander Pix's surprised squeak when she manages to throw it off is any indication. "Is there a problem?"

She pouts. "You're the worst," she says, turning to General Mundi. "Master Ki, tell Master Tarr that he's the worst."

General Mundi raises an eyebrow. "Tell Master Tarr that he's the worst..."

Thire scrunches his eyebrows together, not quite getting what the General is implying, and a brief glance at Bacara confirms that he's not the only one confused. Commander Pix seems to get it though.

"Master Ki, tell Master Tarr that he's the worst, please?"

Face as neutral as ever, General Mundi turns to look at General Seirr. "Tarr, I'm afraid I must inform you that you're the worst," he says blandly.

Thire covers his mouth to hide his snicker, scoots closer to Bacara so he can whisper to him. "You shebs, you didn't tell me your General was funny."

Bacara glares at him, but doesn't react to the fact that Thire's move left their legs pressed together, which is a win in Thire's book. "Sorry, did you want me to include that in one of my official reports? Yes, Admiral, we managed to hold the line, but we require more supplies. General Mundi made a joke today. Any chance the 327th can reinforce us?"

Thire snorts, elbows him. "You know what I meant," he says pointedly, and Bacara just sighs, which is another point for Thire, if Neyo is to be believed. And perhaps he does it because he's riding high on that success, perhaps the end of the war emboldened him, but Thire takes the opportunity to knock their shoulders together too, grins in response to the unimpressed look Bacara sends him.

Perhaps this whole relationship thing will go better than he was expecting, Thire thinks, and that kind of positivity, that kind of optimism, is something he's hasn't gotten to experience in a long, long time. Perhaps this will go well. Perhaps he can actually fit into the weird mismatched families that Bacara and Neyo managed to create, perhaps he's not the intruder he's been worrying that he'd be.

The feeling of hope sits oddly in his chest, and it feels like a risk, like he's leaving himself exposed, but... it's not bad. It's the opposite, really.

It's been a long time since Thire's allowed himself the luxury of dreaming, but as he looks back to the bickering Master-Padawan pair, feels Bacara's leg next to his, he allows himself to consider that maybe, just maybe, this will actually end somewhat happily.

[coruscantguard]

from where i stand

Cloneship Week Day 5 - Reunion - @cloneshipweek

Commander Clutch/Commander Ponds, Commander Cody

(Ao3 Link)

Two weeks after the Republic loses Thustra, two weeks and several days after Generals Tyr and Tyffix are killed, Commander Clutch ambushes Marshal Commander Cody as he's leaving RCMO.

 "Commander Cody, sir!" Clutch greets, and the momentary surprise that has Cody looking back is evidently long enough for Clutch to make his way to Cody's side. "Mind if I walk with you?"

 "Of course not," Cody says, and it's only kind of a lie. Sort of a lie. 50% a lie. 

Clutch is... fine. He and Cody were friendly on Kamino, are still friendly, technically, even though Cody would be lying if he were to say that... things haven't changed since Geonosis. Still, Clutch is fine.

 Clutch falls in step with him easily, and they walk in silence at first, as Clutch seems to be psyching himself up to say something. Cody doesn’t press him— at least, not at first.

 It's right as Cody starts contemplating whether or not Clutch would respond well if Cody offered his condolences for the loss of his men and his Jedi General when Clutch suddenly speaks up.

 "A few months ago you mentioned that your General was supposed to take a Padawan," Clutch says bluntly.

 Ah, kriff. Cody can already see where this one is going. "Clutch—"

 "All I'm asking is for you to ask Ponds to ask General Windu. Nothing more, nothing less."

 "You could ask Ponds yourself, you know," Cody says sourly, but he's already pulling out his comm, a silent admission of defeat. "You and Ponds are friends."

 He hears more than sees Clutch nearly skip a step, and internally, Cody winces. Ah. Right. Friends is probably not the correct term to describe whatever the kriff those two have going on, but... Cody also can't think of a better one. 

 "... Yeah, I guess," Clutch says, uncertainty audible in his tone despite the brusque wave of a hand, as if to shoo the words away, "but you're a Marshal Commander, and I'm not," he finishes, voice normal again. "Plus, you're batchmates, and that's not a bond easily broken by time or distance. I, on the other hand, haven't seen him since Geonosis, so if I suddenly reached out, it would be weird." A pause. "To say the least."

 To say the least for-kriffing-sure, Sith hells. To say the least, Forcedamn. Whatever the kark happened on Geonosis that killed all but two members of Knockout squad left Clutch and Ponds awkwardly avoiding each other— and looking incredibly guilty as they did so— is a secret that neither of them seem inclined to speak of; despite the fact that conversations with drunk Ponds mean Cody knows Ponds is certain that Clutch both blames him for it, and uninterested in hearing his apologies.

 And until a few seconds ago, until Clutch said he shouldn't reach out directly to Ponds, Cody had no reason to doubt Ponds' perception of events. Had no reason to think that pushing Ponds to reach out would do anything but drive Clutch away further.

 But now... hm.

 Ponds might be correct in saying that Clutch is uninterested in hearing his apologies. He probably is, honestly— in Cody's limited experience, Clutch has never been one for bring apologized to, having always preferred actions over words— unlike Ponds himself. It makes sense for Clutch to be uninterested in hearing those apologies, for Clutch to want to truly see change, not just hear promises. 

 What doesn't make sense is the fact that Clutch seems to be avoiding Ponds, because Clutch knows full-kriffing-well that for someone to show an apology through their actions, you actually have to see said actions.

 Clutch avoiding Ponds therefore makes no sense... unless one knows that when Ponds is angry with someone, he wants space from said person. Unless one knows that while Ponds values verbal apologies, those apologies can't be pushed on him when he's not ready to hear it. 

 Oh, those di'kuts.

 Cody looks up from his comm and the message he's halfway through composing, sends Clutch a dead-eyed look. "I hate you," he says blandly, knowing that Clutch will almost certainly assume that the words are about Clutch potentially saddling Cody with a tiny Jedi, and not about Cody's sudden realization that his months and months of silent anger regarding the fact that Clutch had seemingly just dropped Cody's vod without any regard for Ponds' feelings is actually misplaced. Clutch isn't being a dick, he's just being a di’kut.

 Clutch tilts his head the barest amount to the side. It's a very smug head tilt. "Sir, I'm about to make your Sergeant's kriffing year," Clutch says, and Cody might not be able to see his face, but by the Force he knows that Clutch is grinning... just as he knows that Clutch is completely correct in saying that this will make Waxer's year. Bitch. Bitch . "I'm sure you'll get over it."

 Cody rolls his eyes as a response, looks down at his comm, and then he has an idea.

 He's not the only one who needs to get over it, after all. 

 +++

 A few days before the 212th is scheduled to leave, Clutch bursts into the barracks the 212th are staying in while on Coruscant.

 "Shabuir, the kriff did you tell Ponds?"

 "Hm?" Cody asks innocently, looking up from his reports. Clutch has his helmet off, and saying he looks flustered would honestly be a karking understatement. Cody ruthlessly squashes the spike of satisfaction he feels behind his breastbone— no celebrating until he's certain things actually went well. "Is there a problem, Clutch? I was under the impression that General Windu had approved of integrating both you and your Commander into the 212th."

 Clutch glares at him. The effectiveness of said glare is rather undercut by the mess that is currently his hair. "Yeah, no, that's all fine."

 Cody raises an eyebrow. Oh, this is going to be good. "Then what's the problem?"

 "The problem is that was not an answer to my kriffing question. ”

 Cody reins in a snicker, instead looking back down at his report to he jot down a few more notes. Clutch's handling of his own personal irritation in spite of the fact that he's obviously imagining throttling Cody reminds him a bit of Rex, actually. Huh. He'll have to see how the two of them work together when the 212th and 501st are next assigned a joint mission. 

 "All I asked Ponds was to bring up the possibility of transferring your Commander to the 212th," Cody says smoothly, looking back up at Clutch.

 "Commander—"

 " But, I do admit that I may have also mentioned that, despite whatever happened in the aftermath of Geonosis, after the kind of disaster you suffered on Thustra, you surely would enjoy the company of your only remaining squadmate, would he care to give it. I also may have mentioned that your avoidance of him made little sense if you truly blamed him, as you've never been the type of person who just drops those whom you're angry with." Cody takes a pause, sets down his pen. "I'm assuming your presence here means he got his head out of his shebs?"

 Clutch glares at him yet again. It's objectively a good glare, though Cody has seen better. "I didn't ask you to meddle. "

 Cody snorts. "Commander, did you not ask me to tell another Commander to ask his General about the possibility of having your Commander assigned to General Kenobi? Because that sounds a lot like a request to meddle to me."

 "... Respectfully," Clutch says after a long, long moment. "You're the worst, sir."

 Cody keeps his face perfectly neutral as he responds. "I'm sure you'll get over it, Commander,” he says, and… kriff it, Clutch deserves this. “Perhaps Ponds can help. Should I presume you'll be sleeping in his bunk whenever the 91st and the 212th are on Coruscant at the same time?"

 Silence. Then —

" Sir! "

[coruscantguard]

borrowed hearts

Cloneship Week Day 4 - Undercover - @cloneshipweek

Clone Medic Kix/Sergeant Hound, Ysanne Isard, Grizzer

Warning for references to Order 66, references to carbonite freezing, and Ysanne "Iceheart" Isard (12 year old edition)

(Ao3 Link)

"Maybe this would be going better," Kix says slowly, eyes trained on the security feed, "if you hadn't brought the dog."

 

"No, I don't think so," Hound cheerfully replies, and Kix reflexively glares at the comm despite the fact that there's no way Hound can see it. "I think the massiff is essential. It’s the massiff that really makes the disguise, actually."

 

Kix sighs in return, and as Ysanne huffs disdainfully over the comm-- a sound he has learned means "I think this amusing but also am allergic to any feeling besides that of smug superiority and anger"-- he once again wistfully considers the merits of taking off on his own. Because if he was on his own, he wouldn't have to deal with a massiff that has apparently declared him sad, and in desperate need of cuddles, while also trying to track down Jesse and the kriffing Sith Lord he's apparently taken up with now, while also dealing with a former Corrie who's irritatingly charming and the twelve year old natborn he's relatively sure they might've kidnapped.

 

Of course, if Kix was on his own, he'd also be more alone than he'd ever been before, even when he was still stuck in karking carbonite, which sounds like nothing short of a nightmare, so... it's probably best that he stays.

 

Plus, Hound's been nothing but kind since waking Kix up, nothing but understanding in wake of Kix's realization that he'd failed all of his vode. The only time Hound has been anything but perfectly solid is when he'd told Kix about what happened to the Republic-- what they all did to the Jedi, how no one knew why they did so, how they'd all somehow lost everything that made them more than what they were engineered to be.

 

So Hound is fine. And the kid is cute anyway, if a bit bratty and overly fond of murder for his taste.

 

"Maybe you shouldn't say you're in disguise while undercover," Kix suggests dryly in response. "Just a little helpful hint, you know?"

 

"Oh come on, no one's listening to us," Hound says back. "Grizzer is intimidating enough that they're leaving us alone."

 

And it's true that they are being left alone in their little corner of the cafe, but privately, Kix suspects the former Sergeant and the gun he has strapped to his back is what's keeping people at bay, not Grizzer, who's tongue is now lolling out of his mouth as he pants at Ysanne's feet. Ysanne looks comically disgusted at that, but she'd also sneered when taking a sip of her coffee, and looked seconds away from murder while eating a cinnamon roll, so Kix has no idea if she is actually disgusted or not.

 

"You think Grizzer's scared off your contact, too?" Kix asks, injecting a bit of humor into his tone, and it's worth it for the way Hound flashes a grin up at the camera. He keeps his hood on, of course, and the face that looks up at Kix resembles that of  a natborn, not that of a clone-- courtesy of Alderrann's recent advancements in short-term disguise technology-- but it's still Hound in the way his hair falls into his face, still Hound in the tilt of his head and the squint of his eyes. Still Hound, congenial and painfully enthralling in a way that Kix doesn't know whether he envies or admires.

 

He thinks Jesse would like Hound. Really like him, not just tolerate for Kix's sake, a distinction that matters.

 

Or, well, a distinction that hopefully will get to matter. 

 

Kriff. Kix hopes, fervently, desperately, that they all survive for long enough for it to matter.

[coruscantguard]

a vast and private experience

Commander Fox/Commander Thorn

This is my gift work for @gobayern16 for the Star Wars Valentines Exchange! I hope you enjoy!!! And thank you so much @lilhawkeye3 for hosting @starwarsfandomfests !

(Ao3 Link)

Whenever the Chancellor visits somewhere, every instance of the trip is poured over in advance, every moment of the event planned down to the smallest detail. Keeping the Chancellor of the Republic safe is a security nightmare when he’s just on Coruscant, and it only gets worse the moment he goes off planet.

 Thorn knows this. All the members of the Coruscant Guard do. While the Red Guard may be the main force in charge of the Chancellor’s security, ever since the Coruscant Guard’s creation, they’ve been just as involved, if not more. The Guard is in charge of the security for the Imperialis, as well as ensuring that the visit itself runs smoothly, and ensuring that happens is no small task. It’s why Thorn was sent to Thiurus over a month before the Chancellor’s scheduled visit, why Fox is here now.

After all, they have to control every aspect of the environment, know what to do if there’s a crisis, or a medical emergency. They need to know how the lighting works, how easily it can be shut down, how to get it back up. They need to know every entrance, every exit, every security flaw. They need to fix those flaws, they need to increase the security in general, they need to create backup plan after backup plan. They need to know a million other things, prepare for a million different situations. 

 That kind of preparation takes time. It takes coordination with local authorities-- coordination that can’t be done over holocall. It takes feet on the ground, and people who know what they’re doing.

 And since the Chancellor likes to keep the Red Guard within spitting distance at all times, the CG gets to deal with those preparations instead.

 (Really, Thorn doesn’t know how the Chancellor survived before the CG existed. The amount of threats he gets is off the charts. They can barely keep up, and they’re trained for perfection.)

 It’s a one-night layover that has them both here- in a few hours, Thorn will be flying back to Coruscant to finalize the Diplomatic Escort Service’s plans regarding the Chancellor’s flights, while Fox will stay here, working with the local authorities to plan every minute of the Chancellor’s stay, from the moment the Imperialis enters Thiurus’ airspace, to the moment it’s back in hyperspace, headed back to Coruscant. 

 Logically, they both should be asleep. It’s 04:00, and they both have long weeks in front of them-- who knows when they’ll get an opportunity to sleep like this again? They ought to be in bed, ought to be catching up on all the sleep they’ve missed, or at least trying to do so.

 Instead, they’re in the kitchen, and the light above the stove is on, providing a dim light for them to see by. They’re in the kitchen, and Thorn is trying to remember what he read on the holonet the other day about making scrambled eggs.

 “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Fox asks dubiously, arms crossed. He’s leaning against one side of the archway that leads into the kitchen, head tilted so that it rests against the chipped wood. He looks tired.

 But they’re all tired, these days. That’s simply a fact of life.

 “Of course,” Thorn lies, waving a hand dismissively. He pauses. “Mind if I say something mean?”

 Fox snorts. “Go for it.”

 “Just because you have to sleep with a textbook to learn anything doesn’t mean we all have to.”

 “Oh, kark you.”

 “Maybe later, I’m making eggs right now.”

 The apartment they’re staying in is very distinctly natborn , from the frankly absurd amount of blankets in the closet, to the simple existence cramped kitchen they’re both wedged in right now. Really, for Thorn, the whole trip has been one oddity after another-- since they’re supposed to remain low-profile, he hasn’t been wearing his armor, and combining that with his hair and the masks that are custom on Thiurus, he’s been assumed, again and again, to be a natborn. It’s a perk of Thiurus’ culture, and the large number of humans living there-- clones just aren’t recognizable. 

 But, to be fair, it’s not like anyone would actually believe there was a clone on their planet either. Not until the Chancellor literally arrived with the Coruscant Guard in full armor. Apparently, there was a general understanding throughout the galaxy that unless you either lived on Coruscant, or your planet literally got invaded, you’d never see a clone. So seeing a human that looked like a clone didn’t mean much, because there was no way they were actually a clone.

 At least, that’s how Senator Amidala had explained it when Thorn escorted her to Naboo. She’d had a meeting with a friend in a cafe, and Thorn had told her that-- You need a Guard that isn’t her handmaidens, Senator, I understand that they know what they’re doing, but the Chancellor has entrusted me personally with your safety, and I cannot take any chances -- an explanation that had her pursing her lips, then barging into her parents’ room, rifling through their closet, and pulling out two outfits. She’d thrown said outfits at Thorn and Rys, pointed them towards two freshers, and instructed them to yell if they needed any help.

 It was not the weirdest experience Thorn had had while escorting a senator, but it was certainly up there.

 “Eggs,” Thorn instructs, digging through the cabinets, and he hears a grumble, but surely enough, as soon as he straightens up with the pan, the egg carton is sitting on the counter. “Thank you, babe.”

 Fox rolls his eyes, and hops back onto the counter across the stove, leaning back to rest his head on the cabinets. “If you start a fire, I’m going to kill you.”

 “Kark off, I can cook,” Thorn shoots back, setting the pan down on the stove. “Wanna grab me the butter?”

 “Not really, no.”

 Thorn turns his head to the side, meets Fox’s eyes. Opens his own wide, pleading. “Would you please grab me the butter, darling?”

 Fox stares at him. Sighs. Hooks a foot around the fridge door, pulls it open, and reaches over to grab the butter, shutting the fridge door before holding the butter out to Thorn. “Flattery doesn’t suit you.”

 Thorn takes the butter, then, impulsively, he presses a quick kiss to Fox’s knuckles. “And yet now I have butter,” he counters, and spins back around to face the stove before Fox can reply. 

 There’s a grumble from behind him that sounds suspiciously like his words said back to him in a mocking tone, but no actual response, and Thorn grins to himself. Kark yes. Thorn, 5, Fox, 4.

 And okay, maybe he shouldn’t be keeping a mental record of all the times he’s left Fox speechless, but kriff it, he is. Considering how often Fox is able to get the last word, leaving him speechless is a Forcedamned accomplishment. Thorn may be better at it than most, but that’s not much.

 “I can hear you being smug,” Fox says, moments later, voice petulant in a way he rarely lets himself be. Thorn barely chokes down a snicker.

 “You can not .”

 And Fox’s response to that sounds suspiciously like a word that turned into a muffled yawn halfway through. Thorn bites down on his tongue, forces himself not to mention it. There’s a part of his mind that urges him to point it out, to tell Fox to go to sleep, but-- he knows that Fox knows he needs sleep, knows an intervention won’t be welcome. Knows that the fact that Fox is awake, and not because he’s doing flimsiwork, means that for whatever reason, sleep isn’t an option right now. Knows that just telling him to go to bed won’t help, is much more likely just to prompt a sharp response.

 After all, they both know that Fox isn’t the only one awake right now. And if Fox told him to go to bed, Thorn knows he’d react in a similar way. Knows that he’d regret his reaction once the sun came up, but have no time to apologize, because his flight would already be leaving. 

 Internally, Thorn takes a moment to briefly curse the nature of their jobs. This shouldn’t be an issue, because they’re both part of the Coruscant Guard, and distance is rarely an issue. This shouldn’t be an issue, because they should be able to apologize the next morning, even if it’s just over a holocall, yet they can’t do that. They can’t do that, so they can’t afford to let themselves actually verbally disagree with each other, because the Guard needs them to be a united front, and they have no way to easily make up. 

 It’s unfair, and Thorn is more than used to life being unfair, but--

 Well, when Cody and Rex have issues, Cody goes to Fox to complain. He can go to Fox to complain, and he does, and Fox nods along with him, and eventually Cody gets it out of his system. Eventually, he and Rex get to actually talk about whatever went wrong, and they get to fix it, be stronger. 

 And it’s a small thing, maybe, but Force hells, Thorn envies that. 

 Because when Thorn thinks Fox is being di’kutla, he swallows it down, shuts up and deals with it on his own. And Thorn knows that when Fox thinks Thorn is being di’kutla, he does the same. There are too many cameras on Coruscant for them to do anything else, too many people watching for them to actually ever air their grievances with each other. Senators have no issues with exploiting any fractures in the Guard, so the only way to keep everyone safe is to make sure that there aren’t any fractures for them to find in the first place. 

 It’s not fair. But there’s nothing Thorn can do about that, so he sets it aside, goes back to the eggs. Ignores Fox’s yawn, pretends not to notice that his eyes are shut as he leans against the cabinet. Focuses instead on the small thrill that comes with the fact that Fox trusts him enough to relax in his presence, focuses instead on actually fulfilling his words and not burning the apartment down. Rolls his eyes when Fox opens his eyes just to needle him about what temperature he set the stove to, grins at the look on Fox’s face when he actually tries the finished eggs.

 In a few hours, they’ll be planets apart again, both working to ensure the Chancellor’s safety. In a few hours, Thorn will be on a ship that's undoubtedly bugged, while Fox will be working with natborns who’d almost certainly sell a clone out in seconds. But they’re not there right now, so Thorn breathes, lets himself relax. Lets himself pretend that the world doesn’t exist outside of this room, this apartment, lets himself pretend that the only problem he has is the fact that for some Forcesaken reason, Fox actually likes pepper. 

 Theoretically, this is the life they could have someday. If Senator Amidala’s Clone Citizenship bills pass, if the war ends-- maybe they could have a life of this domesticity. Maybe they’d be able to actually be open with their relationship, be able to do all the things normal couples do without the fear of it being used against the Guard as a whole.

 But until then, moments like this will have to be enough.

[coruscantguard]

Happy Holidays @anaisonfire !!!! This is my secret santa gift for you, and I hope you enjoy!!!!

Thank you so much for organizing this Hawk @lilhawkeye3 and if you'd like to see more gifts, go check out @starwarssecretsanta

ARC Trooper Fives/Captain Rex/Commander Fox

(Ao3 Link)

+ Now +

 Fox is awake by the time that Rex finally manages to get through his locks, and pulls Fives into the apartment behind him. Getting through said locks might've gone faster if Fives had helped, but out of the two of them, Rex has the most experience with Fox's security systems, and Fives would rather not lose his fingers today, thank you very much.

If Fives is taken down by Fox's paranoia after helping win the war and uncovering a galactic conspiracy, Jesse would never let him hear the end of it. Force, neither would Rex. Or Fox himself.

So Rex gets to deal with the security system.

There's no reason to think that Fox is awake once they get inside. Both Rex and Fives are trained in stealth, and through the darkness of the studio apartment, Fives can see a Fox-shaped lump on the bed. The lump is breathing steady, the kind of rhythmic breathing that indicates having been asleep for quite some time. The lump doesn't twitch when they come in.

Still, Fives knows Fox. Not as well as Rex does, maybe, but he still knows him.

Fox is awake.

+ Then +

Six Months Ago

 The war is over, so it makes sense for this to happen. — Fox saw this coming. He did. He did.

He saw it coming and he tried to prepare himself but it's suddenly becoming evident to him that that's just another endeavor he failed in.

It's not like he wasn't expecting it. There's a world of a difference between mid-war hookups, and some kind of relationship in the aftermath, a world of a difference between stolen kisses on leave, and something more substantial, something out in the open.

Still, he doesn't want it. Doesn't want to hear them say it, doesn't want to have to accept reality.

What he wants has never mattered though, so he doesn't expect it to start mattering now.

+ Now +

"Hey," Fives says into the silence of the room, his voice quiet, and Rex ducks his head to hide his smile, turns to the grocery bags instead. The greeting isn't for him, but his heart thumps uncomfortably in his chest at it anyway.

It's sweet. It's domestic in a way that Rex had dreamed about during the war, but never actually seriously considered to be a possibility. It's Fives.

Fives has made his heart race for years. This isn't a new thing. Force, this is a predictable reaction for Rex, one he'd see coming from miles away.

Still. It's... nice. To say the very least.

Also predictably, Fox doesn't move. Doesn't change the pattern of his breathing either. If Fives hadn't just said hello, Rex would think Fox asleep, but Fives wouldn't risk waking Fox with a greeting, so Fives must be certain that he's awake.

"It's one in the morning," Fox finally replies, voice irritable. Rex rolls his eyes at that, reaches to put the iced cream in the freezer, and Fives laughs, a clear, joyful sound. Puts his bags down on the counter, and goes over to their bed, leaning down to kiss the lump that is Fox covered with blankets on what is presumably his head.

"Good to see you too, babe."

 + Then +

 Fives feels a little like he's been stranded, marooned. Thrown into a situation that he's not prepared for, that he can't bear, and told good luck.

They all three need to talk, that's true, but— Fox is looking back at them, and he's silent, face unreadable, hands behind his back. A parody of parade rest, a perfect soldier, unfeeling, uncaring. And suddenly all Fives can feel is fear. Regret. An overwhelming desire to create a false emergency, to do something to push this conversation off.

Fox doesn't wear the truth on his face. This isn't the truth. Fives knows it's not the truth, knows Fox better than that. But Fox has seemed off since the war ended, slowly pulling himself away from them, distancing, and— that hurts. That hurts, and he doesn't know what is going to come from this conversation, doesn't know what Fox wants. Doesn't know if Fox's freedom will involve leaving Rex and Fives behind.

They need to talk about this. Need to decide how to proceed now, now that the war is over, and the GAR is no more, now that they aren't duty bound like before. And Fives is an ARC Trooper, so he won't run. He cares about both Fox and Rex, so he won't hide.

But he feels unsteady already. More than unsteady. And he doesn't know if he'll win if he chooses to stand his ground and fight.

 + Now +

 The shriek Fives lets out when Fox yanks him onto the bed is damn near the funniest karking thing Fox has heard all day, and that's impressive, considering the fact that earlier he had a comm call with Cody who decided to show him footage of General Kenobi trying and failing to befriend the zillobeast while General Windu looked on from the side.

Fox hears a snort from outside the covers— presumably Rex— and grins to himself, adjusting his position on the bed so that he's sitting up behind 80kg of flailing ARC trooper, instead of being crushed beneath him.

"You— kriffing son of a shabuir," Fives spits out when he manages to free his head from the blankets, looking up at Fox with a glare on his face. Considering the fact that his hair is a mess, and he's still wrapped up in blankets, it's not that intimidating

"I don't think my cloning vat was kriffing anyone's buir, Trooper. Do you have evidence to back up your claim?"

"I am going to shove your evidence—"

"Actually, I don't think it's possible for cloning vats to have sexual relations at all, so I'm afraid that your accusation is based off of inaccurate intel."

Rex is full out laughing now, and Fox feels his lips inadvertently twitch up into a smile. Rex doesn't laugh often enough, and prying one out of him is no small victory.

"You're the worst," Fives complains half-heartedly, flopping his head back onto the blankets. "The worst."

"You say the kindest things," Fox replies, and he leans down to kiss the pout off of Fives' face. "You planning on joining us anytime soon, Captain?"

 + Then +

 "Fox—" Rex says, and his mouth catches on the word, on the space between Fox's name and whatever the kriff he was going to have come after that, and he breaks off, let's the word die alone in the air.

The conversation has been going in circles, none of them quite managing to say what they mean, and it's exhausting. Fives is blunt in a way that Fox can't believe, and Fox says six different things with a single word that fly over Fives' head, and they've been getting better at communicating, but— better isn't enough when emotions are fraught like they are right now. Better isn't enough when Fox is clamming up, when Fives is pushing to try and get a reaction that's not cool indifference, and Rex is left in the middle, playing code breaker for them both.

Fives and Fox have never served together, and Rex knows that's part of the problem. They're weapons, born and raised for the battlefield, and their first language is the fight, is desperation and sacrifice, tough calls and the resulting remembrances. Rex learned how Fives spoke on Rishi, cemented the knowledge in the campaigns after, and he learned how Fox spoke during their training missions as cadets, during ARC training with A-17 and Vhonte, and during the early days of the war, before Fox was the lead Commander of the Guard, and therefore chained to Coruscant.

So Rex has worked with them both, knows them as he knows everyone who he's served with, but Fives and Fox don't have that bond. Fives and Fox don't have that bond, because Fox had just become the head of the Guard when Domino joined the 501st, because the 501st rarely worked with the Guard as it was. It's Rex who pulled them together, and he'll never regret it, but it's times like this that have him acutely aware of it.

They're both trying. They're both trying, and that's a lot, and Rex is trying too, and he wants to open his mouth and say a million different words and have them be the right ones, wants to bury himself in his own arms and let himself collapse, wants to take a step forward and not have Fox take a step back. He wants, and—

For a brief moment, he kind of thinks he's going to cry.

All three of them worked so hard to get here, and with their jobs it was never going to be easy, but if Rex manages to kark it up because his mouth runs faster than his brain and he forgets to double check every word that comes out of his mouth, he'll never forgive himself.

They have to figure this out. They have to. Rex doesn't want to even consider the alternative.

 + Now +

 "I was being responsible," Rex says, and Fives can't help it, he laughs. The complaint in Rex's voice is audible, and it's a far cry from his usual demeanor. "If either of you would like to help..."

"I would, but I'm kind of trapped at the moment," Fives replies, trying and failing to wiggle out of the blanket cocoon. Fox snorts, then tries and fails to look innocent when Fives glares at him.

"Since your big, bad ARC trooper has been taken down by a fearsome quilt, I suppose I can help," Fox says, untangling himself from the sheets to walk over to Rex. His footsteps are silent, and Fives flops over so he can watch the two of them, their figures barely visible in the darkness of the night. The only reason they have any light at all is because their blackout curtains are a smidge too small for their windows, allowing some of Coruscant's night light to peek in— a mistake that Fox has been complaining about since he and Thire first got and put up the curtains, yet still hasn't fixed.

It's because of Rex, Fives is pretty sure. Umbara was dark, and Umbara was a nightmare, and he's pretty sure Zygerria got pitch black at night as well, and Fives knows that Fox has noticed Rex's reluctance to make a room completely dark. Knows that, because Fox had pulled him aside one day and asked about it, back when they were Fox-and-Rex and Rex-and-Fives, not Fox-and-Rex-and-Fives. It had been the first time Fox had acknowledged Fives outside of a purely professional setting, and considering that Fives hadn't expected the Commander to even know his name, it was a memorable experience.

He'd known that Fox and Rex weren't exclusive, but he hadn't expected Fox to actually give a damn about who Rex was hooking up with when off Coruscant. From the way Rex had described their relationship to him, Fives got the impression that while Rex might've been interested in something more, Fox definitely wasn't. That Fox was barely interested in being friends with Rex, nevermind any kind of romantic relationship.

That first interaction with Fox had forced him to reevaluate that assumption dramatically.

After all, there are things that you do for hookups, and there are things that you do for people you love, and... well, Fives has never tracked down the lovers of any of his own past hookups to ask them about how to make said hookup most comfortable.

Fives watches as the shadow that is Fox comes up behind Rex, stealing a bag from his hands, and sweeping out Rex's elbow range when Rex makes a noise of protest. "I'm helping," he says, his voice sing-song as he saunters to the fridge, and Fives laughs when Rex retaliates by taking the carton of iced cream he's holding and putting it on the back of Fox's neck, causing the latter to yelp. "Hey!"

"There are more grocery bags on the counter, you didn't have to take mine!"

 + Then +

 The fact that neither Rex nor Fives are just flat out telling him that they want him gone is infuriating.

It's infuriating, because it's hope-inducing, and Fox has spent so long trying not to hope. It's infuriating, because he can take the truth, he doesn't need them to dance around it like he's fragile, like he's going to break. It's infuriating, because if it's not infuriating then it will undo him, and Fox is barely keeping his composure as it is.

They've never been good at communicating, Rex and him, have brushed up against each other's jagged edges since they were cadets and an eight year old Kote was glaring them down as they both managed to say the wrong thing, twist their metaphorical knives with their words. But— they worked at it, kept working at it, again and again and again until they could get it right, and that has to count for something. It has to.

And Fives— Fives is a wild card, but he's always been an honest one. Fives is unpredictable, has swept him off his feet since the very first time they met, but if there's one thing that's consistent with him, it's his honesty. Fives can't lie. Fox knows this like he knows his own soul.

They're both saying words that Fox can't quite process. Words that don't make sense in the sentences that they're arranged in, that leave him all twisted up inside.

Fox can't— he doesn't want to lose this. He can, if he must, he will and he'll survive it, but the very thought of having to do that hits him like a punch in the gut. Everything is cold, and he thinks he might be shaking despite the fact that he's standing in parade rest, and—

"Fox," someone is saying, their voice anxious and worried, but firm enough to break through his spiraling thoughts. "Kriff, Fox, we're not breaking up with you."

Impossible.

"Obviously!"

"No, not obviously babe." And he can identify that voice now— Fives. Fives sounds amused, for all that Fox can see the stress in the way he holds his arms. And— and that's reassuring, in an odd way, to know that this is affecting Fives. To know that he's stressed, despite all of his bluster, all his grand declarations and passion.

Knowing why exactly he's stressed is another matter, but... cadet steps, and all.

"We're not breaking up with you," the voice that is Fives repeats, and it's something out of his wildest fantasies. Something he wants. Something he can never have.

He turns to look at Rex's jaw instead. It's infinitely safer there, because Rex's jaw is clenched, and he's not speaking, not saying words that fill his heart with warmth, and his lungs with ice.

"Alright," he makes himself say. "Alright you aren't. But. But I can go."

"I'm sorry, WHAT—"

"Fives," Rex says, cutting him off. It's not his Captain voice, but it's firm all the same, and with a grumble, Fives falls quiet. Fox can barely make himself breathe. "Do you want to go?"

No, his mind cries out. No, Force no, please don't make me. "I can go," Fox repeats, because he's not selfish. "I can go, if that's what you want—"

"What I want?" Rex demands, cutting him off. He sounds furious. He sounds hurt. Fox hates that, hates that he's the one who caused it. Wants to flee so he never can cause it again. Rex is built for better things than pain. "Fox, I— we want you. The question here is what do you want?"

The statement is gutting. The question moreover. How could Rex not know? "I want you," Fox hears himself say, "Both of you. How is that even in question?"

He forces himself to look up, to meet Rex's eyes, and it's just as uncomfortable as it's always been, a prickly burn behind his eyelids as he's laid bare but he needs Rex to understand, and discomfort is a small price to pay to keep Rex in his life.

In seconds, Rex is breaking the eye contact, looking down at their intertwined hands, making a soft noise of frustration low in his throat. "No," he says, soft but firm.

"Don't karking—"

"No," Rex interrupts, and yanks Fox forward so their heads collide in a kelebe kiss. It's just on the right side of painful, and Fox winces, feels Rex's arm slide up his, a silent apology. "Don't put yourself in pain to prove your authenticity," Rex says, and it's an order despite the fact that Fox outranks him, an order that has his chest seizing up because Rex sees him, doesn't need the eye contact, to strip him bare to understand or forgive. He sees, and he understands, and he respects Fox's boundaries even when Fox won't respect his own boundaries, and Fox shudders with the wave of emotion that washes over him, tightens his grip on Rex's hand.

He... doesn't think he can speak right now, wants to but the words are crowding his throat and he fears that if he opens his mouth, he'll choke, so he simply nods against Rex's head, allows himself to sink into his lover's touch. Fox hates feeling like this, weak and wrung out and overemotional, but he knows from experience that there's not much he can do about it.

"Stay," he hears Fives say, and Fox shudders with it. "Please. If you want to stay, stay."

 + Now +

 The fireman's carry Fox throws him into once the groceries are all away is probably the most predictable thing he's done all night.

Rex still sputters when Fox does it, because Fox is an infuriating shabuir who has mastered the art of surprise, but Fox ignores that, instead carrying him across the room to the bed just to dump him on Fives. Fives squawks, just as Rex sends Fox a disgruntled look, and Fox doesn't quite laugh, but Rex knows him well enough to know that it's a close call.

Rex reaches up to grab the front of Fox's shirt just as Fives pushes Rex off him, causing Fox to come crashing down on top of them in an undignified heap.

"Di'kut," Rex feels Fox mumble into his collarbone, and he laughs, brings up a hand to stroke the top of Fox's hair. "That goes to both of you."

"You do call us the nicest things," Fives says, and he sits up, evidently having managed to untangle himself from the blankets. "Truly. 'Di'kut' is my favorite pet name."

"Oh, great," Fox says into Rex's collarbone, not protesting the hair pets, a silent victory that Rex cherishes. "Now I have to come up with a new one."

Rex snorts, and Fives huffs, but he doesn't retaliate, just readjusts the blankets, tossing one side of one of their blankets over Fox and Rex, and crawling under it next to them, laying his head next to Fox's. The request is clear, and Rex dutifully raises his other hand to pet Fives' hairs, grins at the noise of contentment he makes in return.

"Go to sleep, you two," Rex says, and he feels Fox smile into his collarbone, feels his own heart swell when Fives curls in tighter next to him.

Rex watches the shadows move as the light from Coruscant's night changes, feels Fox's breathing even out on his shoulder, feels Fives' muscles go slack, and he lets the peace wash over him, letting it take him away, until he finally feels his own eyes flutter shut.

And just like that, he sleeps.

[coruscantguard]

I really love your writing so I’m excited you’re doing a wip meme! I’m very interested in 1, 53, and 68, thanks!

Ahhh, thank you so much!!!!

1. steal a lightsaber, stab a sith lord

My fic in which Fox steals Palpatine’s lightsaber, and eventually ends up stabbing him with it. This was partially inspired by the scene in Rebels where Ahsoka de-corrupts the lightsabers, as I wanted to explore that phenomenon with a character who wasn’t Force-sensitive. It’s my personal headcanon that a person who isn’t Force-sensitive is actually capable of reversing the corruption of a kyber crystal, it just takes a lot more time, and a lot more work. Since Palpatine doesn’t actually really like to use his lightsabers, as he prefers to manipulate people into doing his bidding, I am firmly of the opinion that he would not notice one of his lightsabers going missing for a long freaking time, which makes him the perfect candidate to get his lightsaber stolen. Basically, this fic is just an excuse for me to explore my kyber crystal headcanons and write Fox bonding with a traumatized, sentient rock, lol.

Pain radiates out from the hilt, flashing up his arms like pure fire, and it takes all of his willpower not to drop the lightsaber. All of his willpower to pull his thoughts together into something vaguely coherent. 

It's okay, he finds himself thinking, I won't hurt you, I swear, it's okay.

After a few minutes, the wailing in his head begins to die down, and Fox is finally able to unclench his jaw, sitting down hard on the ground in the Chancellor's office. Kark. Kark. What in Sith hells was that?

53. waking up with you in my lungs

Welcome to my FoxFivesRex fic that’s the prequel to retrograde lovers! This is an AU of “Orders”, in which everything mostly goes down the same except for the fact that Tup doesn’t actually die, which changes... a lot of things, lol. But thankfully, it changes them for the better.

The slam of a speeder door jolts Fox awake, and he's reaching for his gun automatically before he remembers where he is. Rex. Right. Impromptu kidnapping.

"Hurry up," Rex says, and Fox feels his eyes widen at the tone. Force kriffing hells, someone is in a bad mood. The attitude is impressive. He didn't know that Rex could do that.

It would be a lot more impressive if it wasn't aimed at Fox, though.

"Want to decuff me?" Fox asks wryly. "I'd be quicker if I had the use of my hands."

Rex snorts. "Has that ever worked on someone who was kidnapping you?"

68. RexFox Drabble

... So this is just RexFox angsty fluff, lol. Currently it has no plot, and I have no idea where it’s going haha. This fic is mainly just me getting experimental writing wise and Having Emotions About Rex And Cut Lawquane. I honestly have no idea if the snippet I’m about to give you actually makes sense, but I personally like it, so... here you go!

"Please," he finds himself saying, begging, and Force, he never thought he'd go this low but— 

He's gotten used to being wrong about these kinds of things. 

Rex reaches back for him, and it is— unholy, almost. Corrupting. Doesn't he realize that he's made for greater things? Doesn't he know that to tie himself down to Coruscant is to let go of the stars? 

He has a farm, Rex had told him once, voice soft, eyes bright. His name is Cut Lawquane, and he has a last name, and a farm, and a wife, and kids, and at night he can go out and watch the stars. 

There are no stars on Coruscant, Fox did not say. There are no farms. No futures for men like us. Do you want a last name? I cannot give you that. Cannot give you one. 

Sounds boring, Fox did say, curled around Rex, a comma, a continuance. A sentence that keeps on going. It would've been kinder, perhaps, to be a period, to end their dalliance right there with the brutal reminder that Coruscant was a crusher of dreams, that to tie yourself to one of her disciples was to deny yourself a future. Kinder, but Coruscant kills kindness, kicks out compassion. 

[coruscantguard]

questioning ascent

Jedi June Day 2 - There is no ignorance, there is knowledge - @jedijune

Tiplee & Rig Nema

(Ao3 Link)

Five months after Jedi Padawan Tiplar turns 15, her Master takes her on her first official mission that’s not on Coruscant.

It's not the first time she’s left Coruscant, of course-- she remembers going to Ilum with Tiplee like it was yesterday-- but it is the first time that she’s leaving as an official representative of the Jedi Order, and that alone is thrilling. Since their ship left Coruscant’s orbit-- since she woke up, really-- Tiplar has been equal parts scared and excited for her mission. This is the first time she’s been away from Tiplee for any extended period of time, and although she knows the chances of danger are low-- she’d overheard Master Windu assuring her Master that their destination was far away from any fighting--the newness of the entire experience has her tripping over her feet and fumbling her lightsaber like an initiate.

It’s after Tiplar nearly knocks her lightsaber off of her belt for the fourth time that her Master seemingly decides enough is enough, and leads her to a small, mostly empty room, gesturing for her to sit down. Tiplar would be worried, but Master Rig doesn’t seem angry or disappointed-- in fact, she actually has a small smile pulling at her lips-- so Tiplar’s really just feeling sheepish as she folds her legs underneath her, and deliberately sets her lightsaber far enough away that she won't accidentally stab herself with it.

“When I was a Padawan,” Master Rig says as she sits down delicately in front of her, “just a few years older than you, I went on a mission to Alderrann. That mission was, coincidently, my first mission off Coruscant as well. Since my Master was on the Council when xie took me on, we spent a fair amount of my padawanship on Coruscant.” A pause, a miniscule twitch of amusement. “For the record, that was an arrangement my Padawan self had no issue with. Back then, I was perfectly content with experiencing all of my adventures through books, and the occasional holofilm when Stass managed to rope me into it.”

Tiplar nods, then frowns. She doesn’t want to interrupt, but--

“Aren’t Jedi supposed to push themselves though? Not that it’s bad to be content, I mean, I know that’s good, but during a padawanship…”

Master Rig inclines her head in agreement. “You’re completely correct Padawan. In fact, that’s the essence of what my Master told me on the way to Alderrann when xie noticed I was sulking instead of meditating.”

Tiplar feels her eyes go wide. Master Rig always seems so dignified, her composure almost regal at times, untouchable by the physical world. Tiplar knows that they’re all crude matter, that her Master isn’t exempt from that-- yet it still feels like she’s as ethereal as the Force itself at times. Imagining her as a sulky padawan, is, well…

Tiplar snorts, hurriedly tries to turn it into a cough.

Her Master looks amused when she speaks again. “Now, xir words did manage to mollify me, but they failed to distract me, and I’m sure it comes as no shock to you to hear that I’ve always struggled with switching topics, especially when I don’t feel like I’ve reached a resolution. Which, predictably, posed a problem in this scenario, as the only answer my younger self would’ve accepted was turning around and going back to the Temple.”

And, okay, saying that Master Rig struggles with switching topics on command is the understatement of the freaking century. Tiplar knows that as a healer with the Medical Corps, Master Rig’s focus can be incredibly useful to the point of being lifesaving in her line of work-- after all, it’s many a time that Master Rig has broken away from group meditation to comm Master Vokara about a possible treatment for one of their clients, a treatment that she only thought of because she’d been thinking about it ever since seeing said patient-- but as Master Rig’s padawan, she also knows that it doesn’t solely occur in relation to her job. And when it occurs in contexts that aren’t related to the Medical Corps is when it starts causing problems.

(A few weeks ago Master Rig had gotten stuck on her irritation about the discomfort of Chancellor Valorum’s chairs, which had then spiraled into being irritation about the discomfort of chairs in general, which had then spiraled into a frankly obscene amount of research into chairs. Which had stunned Tiplar, because she hadn’t known that anyone thought that much about their surroundings, much less her Master.

Regardless, the chair dilemma admittedly had been incredibly amusing for Tiplar to catch snippets of through their bond, if a bit embarrassing when she’d ended up ranting to Aayla about chairs for a solid thirty minutes before realizing that she’d accidentally let her shields down while her Master was asleep, and was therefore picking up on the irritation her Master was feeling in her dreams.)

“Therefore, my Master ended up sitting me down much like this to tell me about a question xir Master had asked xir as a padawan,” Master Rig continues. “See, my Grandmaster-- your Great-Grandmaster-- had asked xir why no one could cross the Kyber Arch alone. Knowing full well that the easiest way to distract me was to give me a problem to solve, xie then passed that question on to me.”

And Master Rig, hoping to stop me from accidentally skewering myself on my lightsaber, now passes it on to me, Tiplar silently finishes in her head.

“I suppose the answer isn’t “they can, actually”?” Tiplar asks wryly.

Master Rig’s face gives nothing away, still as stone. “Do you think that’s the answer, Padawan?”

Tiplar snorts. “Not if you’re using that tone of voice to ask me so.” She then tilts her head to the side, considers both her Master and the question. Yeah, no, her instinctive answer of one can cross the Kyber Arch alone is absolutely not what her Master is looking for.

Tiplar’s been to the Kyber Arch before-- of course she has, all Coruscant Temple-based Jedi Younglings have been-- but it hadn’t fascinated her the way it had some of her peers. She remembers Aayla in particular being enchanted by the glow of all the Kyber, although Stass was undoubtedly fascinated by them as well.

Personally, the twinkling lights of the thousands of crystals making up the Arch had just made Tiplar sadder than anything else. The brilliance of the memorial was a stark reminder of just how many Jedi had died fighting for the peace she now enjoys, and although having that reminder was undoubtedly important; although Tiplar knew that none of these Jedi were truly gone; although she knew that she could feel them if she reached out to the Cosmic Force; the large concentration of crystals in one place still… unnerved her, to say the very least.

That’s why Tiplar, unlike both Aayla and Stass, never made crossing the Arch a goal of hers, never focused on refining her meditation so that she could do so. And although she doubts it would be much help right now-- neither Aayla nor Stass have come anywhere close to actually succeeding yet-- she still finds herself regretting that oversight now. Maybe it would be easier to puzzle out an answer to Master Rig’s question if she hadn’t let her discomfort rule her, and keep her away from the Arch.

Seemingly picking up on her uncertainty, her Master smiles, puts a hand on her shoulder. “Think about it, Tiplar. It took me years to figure out myself, so I promise there’s no rush.”

“Yes, Master,” Tiplar says as Master Rig stands up once again, trying not to let her disgruntlement at the thought of waiting for years to know the answer leak into her voice. Tiplar’s pretty sure she fails though, if the amused look on Master Rig’s face is anything to go by.

“I’m going to check in with the flight crew,” Master Rig says, clasping her arms behind her back, suddenly the picture-perfect Jedi once again. “Will you be alright until I return?”

“If the Force wills it,” Tiplar quips, with a grin of her own. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Are there any other hints you’d like to give me about your riddle?”

“Yes,” Master Rig says decisively, tilting her head the slightest amount to the side. “It’s not a riddle.”

“Master!” Tiplar complains with a startled laugh as Master Rig swooshes away. Talk about an unhelpful hint if there ever was one. Tiplar sighs, and adjusts her position so that she’s sitting facing the large window with her legs crossed. For all that she doesn’t need to find the answer immediately, she wants to, so she breathes in deep, and sits back to contemplate the question-not-riddle.

Tell me, Padawan, why can no one cross the Kyber Arch alone?

[coruscantguard]

Deepened Light

Jedi June Day 1 - There is no emotion, there is peace - @jedijune2021

Vernestra Rwoh, mentions of Imri Cantaros, Avon Starros, and Stellan Gios

(Ao3 Link)

In the wake of the destruction of the Steady Wing, once they've all returned to Coruscant and she's officially taken Imri as her Padawan, Vernestra finds herself sitting in front of the brilliant glow of Kyber Arch.

At the moment, she doesn't have any pressing responsibilities-- upon arriving back at the Temple, she'd wasted no time in formalizing her decision to take Imri as her Padawan, meeting with the Council as quickly as possible and doing her best to ignore the way that Master Rana's eyebrows were steadily making their way up his forehead as her Grandmaster heard their report. After that, she'd introduced Imri to Master Stellan and let them bond as she suffered through the well-meaning-yet-still-kind-of-annoying interrogation Masters Avar and Elzar decided to hold over holocall, who seem to have taken the fact that her first mission was such a disaster as personal failings on their own parts, despite the fact that they weren't involved at all. She's a Knight now, she doesn't need her Master's best friends hovering over her like she's still a Padawan-- a point that her Grandmaster was quick to make when he rescued her from that holocall. Vernestra suspects however that Master Rana was half-chiding those two out of sentimentality, after all, there's a reason her Master has been making voices about getting a new Padawan in Master Rana's direction for months now.

Meeting the members of his new lineage seems to have settled Imri at least, especially once she's reassured him that he was a part of both Master Douglas' lineage, and her own now. After that, they'd parted ways by the Padawan dorms, and Vernestra had headed to the meditation rooms to go process the events of the last few weeks.

Her feet took her to the Kyber Arch of their own accord, which is why she's now found herself sitting with her legs crossed, staring at the twinkling glow of the crystals-- a habit that Padawan Vernestra expected to leave behind in her Padawan days. In retrospect, she doesn't exactly know why she'd expected to leave it behind, as it's not like Knighthood meant a Jedi unlocked super secret meditation chambers or anything like that. There's no reason that passing one's trials would mean changing meditation spots. Vernestra suspects that she'd believed otherwise as a Padawan because knighthood seemed like such a large change back then. Because when she was a Padawan, knighthood seemed so impossibly far away, something to look forward to and dream about, despite the fact that it would only happen far in her future.

To everyone's surprise-- except for Master Stellan's-- her knighthood hadn't actually been that far away. Had been the opposite, really. And, well, while she knows now that knighthood is a large change, it's not that large a change. Not a change that's large enough to make Knight Vernestra find the Kyber Arch any less peaceful than Padawan Vernestra did.

Vernestra breathes in, breathes out, centers herself. Lets herself close her eyes and sink into the swirl of colors created in the Force by all of the kyber crystals. The Kyber Arch is one of the most beautiful places in the temple, but that beauty comes from bloodshed-- the deaths of their masters means that none of these kyber crystals will ever be wielded in combat again. They'll hang here instead, making up a memorial that's magnificent and mesmerizing for all that it's a stark reminder of the price Jedi pay in their fight for peace and justice.

(She abruptly realizes that Avon would love it here, and the thought successfully derails her concentration. Force, Avon would find this just as magnificent as any Jedi would-- though admittedly for very different reasons than most Jedi. It's... probably for the best that Avon never learns that the Kyber Arch exists, as while Vernestra would like to say that Avon wouldn't rip down a monument to Jedi who have joined the Force just to fulfill her own scientific curiosity, she doesn't think she can say that.)

Vernestra shakes her head, pushes the thought away. Now's not the time for contemplating Avon's possible future actions, and even if it was, she shouldn't be assuming the worst of Avon, anyway. Avon presumably would have the sense to at least be a bit sneaky about ripping down monuments--

No, Vernestra, she thinks, and sighs loudly as she drops her head down. This mission must've unbalanced her more than she expected it to, if she's having this much trouble finding peace after all the adrenaline has worn off. Which... does actually make sense, considering the fact that this mission should've been a simple babysitting gig, not a disastrous surprise survival mission that ended with people dead.

She makes a mental note to speak about that with Master Stellan later, before once again focusing on finding the turmoil inside her spurred on by the last few days, and setting it aside, making sure that it doesn't control her. Making sure that it's her, Vernestra Rwoh, who's the master of her own actions, making sure that her emotions don't steal the reins.

Once she's steady in her own mind, Vernestra lets herself delve deeper into the Force's kyber crystal-induced panorama of color, feels her breathing slow down as she settles into the Force's embrace. The light of her fellow Jedi twinkle around her, a silent reminder that she's not alone-- that as a Jedi, she'll never be alone.

Vernestra breathes in, breathes out, feels a deep stillness in her bones. Breathes in, breathes out, and sinks into the silence, letting herself let go of her fears, her worries, everything she's inclined to react to. There's a time and place for that, but it isn't now, isn't here.

Instead, she lets the needs of her physical body anchor her thoughts, trusts in her training to bring her back down from the luminous freedom of the Force. Both her crechemasters and Master Stellan had taught her to use the limitations of the crude matter she inhabited as a tether back to her body, and it's instinct to do so now, to trust in herself and her training.

Vernestra breathes in, breathes out. All is as the Force wills it. She'll figure it all out-- if not by herself, then with the help of either her former Master, or her current Padawan.

Vernestra breathes in, breathes out, because she is one with the Force, and the Force is with her.

[coruscantguard]

12 Days of Winter Whumperland - Drabble #1 - Used as Decoration

Commander Fox & Sheev Palpatine

@amonthofwhump

Note: The Life Day Nutcracker Clone Armor is a real thing, and yes, I find it as weird as you do.

They're holiday decorations, the Chancellor makes that clear.

"A show of strength," he says, smiling. "Of unity, and celebration. We need the Guard there to keep everyone safe, but there's no reason to sacrifice our Life Day cheer for that, is there?"

"No, sir," Fox replies, dreading telling the men. Festive armor— bad enough that they're only allowed minimal armor customization, but to take that away too? To force them to paint their armor the blues and yellows and reds of those toy soldiers he sees natborn kids carry around?

Kriff. Just be thankful it isn't worse, he reminds himself.

[coruscantguard]

uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

This is my fill for Prequels Appreciation Week Day 4 - Favorite Outfit(s) - Queen Apailana’s Mourning Gown, Bad Things Happen Bingo - Undeserved Reputation, and Whumptober Day 14 - Is Something Burning? 

Yes, it’s very late, no I have no excuse anyway I hope you enjoy it

Queen Apailana, Padmé Amidala, OC Handmaidens

Warning for Order 66 (ie. genocide, child death, genocide apologism, implied character death)

(Ao3 Link)

The Jedi Temple is burning.

It’s Senator Amidala who calls and tells her to check the news, Senator Amidala who’s there when it happens. Because of Senator Amidala, Naboo is the first planet to release their official statement to their civilians regarding the matter, getting it out even before the Chancellor’s statement to Coruscant goes live.

Apailana knows that she’s given that statement. She remembers, vaguely, giving a speech, sitting behind the same desk that Padmé did all those years ago when she plead their case to the Senate. Her hair, she knows, has been done in a style similar to the one Padmé had worn, her makeup a direct ode to that look. It’s a radical statement, she knows that too, because the Jedi had been the ones to save Naboo from the invasion, and the Jedi have now been declared traitors and killed.

The Jedi have been declared traitors and killed.

The Jedi--

Oh, Force, lord have mercy, the Jedi have been declared traitors and killed. Slaughtered. The reports are coming in and each one is more horrendous than the last, whispers of betrayal and a coup and the corpses of children being dragged out.

She thinks she’s going to be sick.

Padmé stopped responding to her comms thirty-one minutes, fifty-two seconds ago. Fifty-three. Fifty-four. She’s contacted the Senator’s aides, her handmaidens, but none of them know of her location either, and Apailana can only pray that she’s okay.

At least she knows her own handmaidens are safe. Kaliana hasn’t stopped trembling since she first saw the holos, and Saabiana’s hands shake as she plaits Rauana’s hair-- so she’s ready to slip on a wig if she needs to act as a decoy-- but they’re all safe. They’re here.

Apailana herself is wedged in between the arm of the sofa and a cushion, curled up into the tightest ball she can manage while still in her heavy gown. She’s taken off her wig, but her makeup is still on, a clear message of mourning she can’t bare to wipe away.

After her speech, she’d been rushed here, and the Captain had instructed her to stay here until he returned. Still, she knows she should be looking at her holopad, trying to figure out more information, making a plan of action. But...

But every time she opens up a news sight, she feels sick to her stomach, and has to look away so she doesn’t quite literally vomit.

So instead, she’s just refreshing her communications with Padmé, hoping for a miracle, a response, Force, maybe even an apology for dropping off of the face of the galaxy, but she doesn’t really care for the last one. She’s justifying it to herself by saying that she needs to figure out why Senator Amidala hasn’t handled the intergalactic response from Naboo yet-- which is the truth, because unless Naboo is truly having a dire emergency, the Queen is supposed to leave the intergalactic response to the Senator, but they do need to respond, and Senator Amidala hasn’t done that yet-- but really, she just wants to know if Padmé is okay.

She’d feel worse about it if Cresana wasn’t sitting on a pile of pillows on the ground, doing the exact same thing.

Less than an hour ago, Rauana and her had been teasing Saabiana about the fact that Kaliana had said that Cresana had said that her cousin’s best friend’s sister had said that Saabiana had caught the eye of one of the daughter of one of the visiting dignitaries from Alderraan. And less than an hour ago, messages had started flooding in that the Jedi were cowards, murderers, warmongers, freaks who deserved what they got, deserved to have their temple burn and their younglings killed.

She doesn’t know what is true anymore. She knows what she believes, knows her mentors have taught her, what her experiences have led her to believe, but...

The Jedi Temple is burning. And none of her mentors, none of her experiences, could have prepared her for this.