Trigger warnings: discussion of dissociation-like symptoms that are not related to a dissociation disorder, discussion of a character causing themselves pain to counteract these symptoms

"This isn't a Republic safehouse."

Fox keys in the door's code and ushers Fives inside. The place is tidy, clean, but the single couch in the place is covered by a dustcloth. A tiny kitchenette stands unused in the corner; there's a door to a 'fresher, but no bedroom.

"Right now," Fox says, "it's one of mine.

Fives snorts and looks around. "You own this place?" he asks. We don't get paid.

"No. A dead senator does."

"A senator wouldn't live someplace like this."

"He wasn't living here," Fox says. "He was hiding. Past caught up to him quicker than he thought it would. We didn't get to him in time. The safehouse is in a state of limbo while they figure out who the property deed gets transferred to so, as far as I'm concerned, it's fair game."

Fives stares at him. "I'm not just going to hide," he says, folding his arms across his chest.

"I don't expect you to," Fox says. His head is pounding. Now that the adrenaline has subsided, now that Fives is breathing and upright, heaviness hangs in every one of his limbs. He can barely lift his arms to remove his helmet. If he sits down, he'll pass out.

You can't go to sleep.

Fox fumbles with the pouch on his belt. It flips open. He stops cold.

Empty. Out of stims.

"What are you doing?" Fives asks.

"Tell me about the chip," Fox says.

"Only after you tell me why you look like a sarlacc chewed you up and spat you out."

"We don't have time for this," Fox says desperately. "The chip – you said the chip – controls you. Takes over. Makes you do whatever they want."

"Yeah." Fives cocks his head at him. "Tup's went haywire. He shot General Tiplar. Been feeling like slagging any Jedi lately, Commander?"

"No. That's not it."

"Then what's your problem?"

"I wake up and I can't move," Fox explodes. "It's me but it's not me. I can't control my own body. All I can do is watch."

Fives frowns. Hesitates.

Fox rips off his glove and shoves the gauntlet at him. "The only thing that counteracts it is pain," he snaps. "It shorts it out. Whatever signal it's sending – this shorts it out."

Fives coughs a disbelieving laugh. "You've been electrocuting yourself?"

"It's a low-grade pulse. Not harmful in the long-term," Fox says, faster, faster. "It stops the stiffness. I don't go numb. I can – I can keep doing my job. Can't really sleep. But my job – I can keep doing my job."

Keep his men safe. Keep them out of harm's way.

"What was your long-term plan, exactly?" Fives asks.

"Don't have one."

Fives' eyebrows shoot up. It's quiet for a long moment. "All right," he says slowly. "All right. We have to get that chip out of you."

"They transferred Exon." Fives stares at him. Fox rushes ahead. "Exon. He was my medic. For my men at the barracks. I asked him for help – the first time it happened. He sent me a comm. later and said that he wanted to try a deeper brain scan. Level five. Atomic. I didn't go. There was a bomb threat. By the time I got there, Exon was gone."

"I don't think it's just me that's gonna need to lie low," Fives says.

"I can't. The Guard needs me."

"Look, either you have a faulty chip and they don't want you to find out about it or they've been tampering with it remotely somehow. Neither of those are good options. If it's removed – you go back to normal. They know something's up. They know you know. You meet an 'unfortunate accident.'" Fives crooks his fingers and makes a face. "You have to."

"Then I don't get it removed."

"…what?"

"You go," Fox says. "You find out who's behind this and you bring them down."

"You won't survive that long," Fives says. "You haven't been sleeping."

"I do. Sleep. In two to three minute intervals." Never long enough to let his guard down. Never long enough for the stiffness and the cold to take hold. "Micro-sleep is…good enough."

Fives shakes his head. "No," he says firmly. "No. Not good enough."

"We don't have a choice."

"We find someone. We get them to remove it and fake a record. Say it was a tumor that had to go or it would've killed you."

"Fives, who are we going to find in time?"

"You don't have any underworld contacts?"

Fox sighs.

"Well," he says. "There is the one."

"That place smelled like you look."

"Quiet, Fives," Fox growls. His head is pounding, but it's duller now. Not overwhelming, now.

"That took a long time. Your brain must've been a mess."

If he didn't need Fives to stay upright, he'd shove him off.

Fox sighs. Fives finally takes the hint and falls silent.

The speeder is where they left it. He didn't think it would be. The level they're on barely scratches the surface of the underworld, but on Coruscant, barely scratches is close enough.

"What's our play?" Fives asks. Fox doesn't lift his head from his hands. "Commander?"
"I just want to sleep," he mumbles.

"What?"

"Safehouse."

Fives helps him inside, tosses the dust cover into a corner, and settles Fox on the couch. "All right. You rest up," he says. "I'll keep watch. If your man contacts us about the fake IDs, I'll wake you."

Once he's out, he'll be out for a while. Fox keeps that thought to himself, but he suspects Fives already knows it. "You can't tell Rex."

Fives doesn't have to admit that that's what he was planning: it's written all over his face. "Look," he says, "Rex can help us. He knows me. He'll believe me."

"Skywalker won't."

Fives bristles at that. "Why not?"
"There was nothing wrong with the chip."

It stops Fives cold. "What?"

"They gave it to me." Fox fumbles for the sealed square he tucked into his pocket. "This chip is intact."

Fives takes it from him. His face is a study in disgust. "This was in your head?"

Fox doesn't hear him.

When he sleeps, he doesn't dream. When he wakes, his heartbeat is steady. "Fives," he croaks, and Fives' head snaps up from the datapad.

"You've been out a hell of a long time," he says. "I thought about calling Kix."

"Kix thinks you're dead."

Fives flinches. "Your contact came through with the fakes," he says. "They're at a drop point. Coordinates are on the comm."

"Good." Fox eases himself upright. "That's good."

"What did you mean, there was nothing wrong with the chip?"

"It's intact," Fox says. "It wasn't sending out interference. Someone from the outside had to have been transmitting to it."

"Because of Tup."

Fox is the commander of the Coruscant Guard. It doesn't take a genius to piece it together: in the event of a purge, he'd be on the front lines. "I think they needed to make sure I'd be ready," Fox says, and tries not to think about what would have happened if it had worked the first time they tried it, or if he hadn't found a way to counteract their efforts to turn on a faulty chip. Whoever they were. "They were going to turn it on…early."

Fives swears under his breath, vulgar and unmistakably Mandalorian. "Yeah, but it didn't work."

"Maybe it was implanted improperly," Fox says. "Maybe it's been faulty all along. I don't know. But if they've been trying to get it activated for this long, then odds are the tumor story won't sell."

"Yeah." Fives winces. "I sorta figured."

Fox should have realized too, but he'd been in too much pain, been too sleep-deprived, to think clearly. Damn it. "I'll have to play it off," Fox says. "Go about business as usual."

"They're going to know."

"Then you're going to have to work fast."

"Fox, you can't stay here."

"I have to. Every clone on Coruscant has one of those chips. That includes my Guard. I won't leave them."

"I need to tell Rex. I have to warn him."

"He can't help you," Fox says flatly. "Because who is he going to suggest going to for help, Fives? Skywalker. And Skywalker is chummy with the Chancellor. We'll both end up locked in a cell until they ship us back to Kamino and cut us apart."

Fives goes quiet. "Palpatine set me up," he says, quiet rage building in his voice. "The Chancellor of the entire kriffin' Republic."

"I've loaded coordinates for two drop points onto the 'pad," Fox says, passing it over. "There's a locker at one. Ditch the armor. Get into civvies. The second point is where you'll find the fake IDs. Your first priority is to use them to get off Coruscant. Everything else is secondary."

"What do you think he has to gain by killing the Jedi?"

"Power," Fox says briskly. "That's what they all want."

"Damned politicians."

"Get off Coruscant, Fives." Fox clasps his shoulder and meets his eyes squarely. "All right? It's up to you. I'll do what I can here, but you have to find a way to prove it to the Senate."

"I am not appearing before the Senate," Fives shoots back. "That's – that's not my area of expertise. And anyway, I'd be shot before I made it past the door."

"Look, I've spent enough hours guarding senators to know how they think," Fox says. To know which ones to trust, too. "I'll do it, if it comes to that. But I need you to get the evidence."

Fives nods, tucks the datapad into his belt, and takes a deep breath. He swipes his hand over the door sensor. It hisses open.

"Stay alive, ner'vod," Fox says quietly.

Fives pauses. His back is turned; Fox can still see he's steadying himself: his shoulders rise and fall.

"You too."

Then he's gone.

Deep space

19 BBY

Present Day

"'It's up to you, Fives. You have to find the evidence, Fives.' How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

He's been going nonstop for four months and it feels like he's spinning in circles. The chip's manufacturer has long since been swallowed up by the Techno Union. He broke into the vault anyway and almost lost his arm when the security came crashing down on him and doors started slamming.

Reminded him a little too much of the Citadel.

Fives drops his head into his hands and drags his fingers through his hair. Just cut it again. Couldn't have it getting ragged. Can't imagine the kind of shit Rex would give him for it if it was.

If Rex is still alive.

"Need a next move," he mumbles. The Techno Union base had next to nothing for data about the chip, and he wasn't brave or stupid enough to go back to Kamino. The cloners' third-party partners were all swallowed up, closed down, or consumed by the war's fire. He went through that wreckage and was rewarded with a lot of empty, charred slates.

Coruscant has its share of secrets but those are sealed up tightly in the Chancellor's office or living quarters, and there's no way he'll make it past the door at either of those locations without being eviscerated.

Fives swallows thickly. His hand goes to his throat and he rubs absently at it. Breathes to make sure he can. Breathes to push back the tide.

Damn the Chancellor.

Shaak Ti and Nala Se departed and it was like time slid to a stop. The troopers were frozen; it was just him and the Supreme Leader, staring one another down.

You're right. You're right about all of it. A good soldier – but a terrible clone. You were bred to follow orders, CT-5555.

Then his throat tightened, squeezed, he couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, and in the space of a few seconds he saw a thousand lives lost and a million minds made machines. Saw Jesse, and Kix, and Rex, turning on Skywalker and Tano. Saw them shot. Saw the seething blaster smoke.

Saw them fall. Brothers all.

Then Fives could breathe again and his chest was on fire and there was a smug gleam to Palpatine's eyes. Now you see what you are powerless to stop, the Chancellor whispered, a sick tendril slithering into his brain. Now you see what no one will ever believe.

Fives remembers the timestop ceased, remembers the rage roiling through his frame, remembers he knew he had to stop him even if he spent the rest of his life in a cage, but then Palpatine was crying out like a frail old man and General Ti flung Fives away and forced him to flee.

No one listened. No one believed.

And Rex thinks he's dead.

Fives! Fives, stay with me, Fives. Fives!

Fives groans and scrubs at his eyes and heads to the weapons locker to check over his blasters. The ship's a piece of junk, but it's a functional piece of junk.

"Proof," he mutters, scrubbing at his blaster's barrel. "We need proof. For the Senate. The hell are they gonna do, Fox? Debate it? 'Oh, the Chancellor's the incarnation of like, Force evil? Oh, no, better form a committee. Talk about it for a few years while he commits genocide.' Yeah. Great plan."

It doesn't take long to check over his weapons. It never does. That means he has plenty of time to contemplate what dead end he's going to throw himself into across next.

Still not going to Kamino.

He should really go to Kamino.

"No," Fives says to no one in particular. "No way. Not happening."

Given the state of the Techno Union vault, it's pretty doubtful that Kamino would have anything actually useful for his purposes, anyway. It's not worth the risk of trying to get into the archives. The place is a fortress. Hevy found that out the hard way.

So. Kamino's off the list.

For the thousandth time.

Fives scrolls idly through the data he's been stockpiling while gallivanting across the cosmos for the last four months. He doesn't have anything to show for it, just an abundance of rumors he's been slowly tracking down and disproving.

"Echo, where the hell are you when I need you?"

Echo never answers, of course. Neither does Hevy or Hardcase. Fives chuffs a laugh. Maybe he shouldn't talk to the dead. Maybe he'd be more worried if they started talking back.

Maybe he should call Fox.

"No," Fives mutters. "No, he's got enough to deal with."

He's not going to find anything else on the Republic end: short of storming the Chancellor head-on, he's run out of options.

But the Chancellor had dealings with the Separatists. He started this damned war. He's been playing both sides this entire time. If the Republic doesn't have the answers he's looking for, maybe the Separatists do.

The Separatist capitol is on Raxus. The Republic's known about it for the entire war, but never had any way to strike at their enemy's core. Too heavily fortified for a full-on assault. Too deep in Separatist space to infiltrate.

There's gotta be some good intel somewhere there.

Oh, this is a much worse idea than Kamino.

"Here goes nothing," Fives mutters, and guns the hyperdrive.

It can't be worse than the Citadel.

"Transmit your transponder code and wait for authorization to enter the atmosphere."

Fives' heart leaps into his throat. Transponder code. Oh, osik. He falsified it when he stole the piece of junk from the shipyard, but it was designed to fool the security provisions put in place by the Republic. He has no idea what Separatist transponder processing even looks like.

Maybe this is what Rex meant when he said he didn't always think his plans through.

"Derelict-class freighter, identify yourself."

Fives presses his eyes shut and slams the button to send the code. At this rate, this'll be the most pathetic and short-lived mission of his career.

How long is this supposed to take, anyway?
"You're cleared to land. Proceed to Bay Five."

Fives blows out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Lucky," he mutters.

Or maybe not. No sooner has he landed and powered down than what has to be a welcoming delegation has formed outside his ship. Either the Seppies are the most hospitable bastards in the galaxy, or the ship he stole belonged to someone they know personally.

Panic wells up in his chest. Fives scrambles for the extra gear crate. There's one helmet there, smooth and sleek with a golden visor that sweeps from his chin to the top of his head and encompasses nearly half the kit. It's a weird adjustment, but it makes for great visibility; he mapped the HUD while sitting in hyperspace a few weeks back. The thing was on the ship when he stole it.

Hopefully it belonged to the original owner and not to someone they wanted dead.

Fives tugs it on and checks that his blaster is loaded and his vibroblades sheathed.

The ramp hisses down.

It's the longest walk of his life.

"Janseek Serrano," the group's apparent leader says. He's a wisp of a human man with a greasy smile that would make anyone dislike him immediately. "You're back earlier than we expected. You have the cargo?"

Cargo. Right. The cargo. "No," Fives says shortly.

The man furrows his brow. "Then what are you doing back on Raxus? You were supposed to bring us the algorithm the Techno Union so carelessly…misplaced."

Bring them an algorithm's code as cargo. Fives wrinkles his nose. "I'm resupplying," he says, instead of What the hell are you on about? "Have a few things I need to check on. Then I'll go get your algorithm."

The welcome in the group froze away the second he said he wasn't carrying cargo. It feels like he's boxed in by glacial glowers. "If you'll excuse me," Fives says.

"It's been three months," the man hisses. That infernal smile is still in place. His eyes gleam malice. "If you can't do the job, we'll get someone who can."

"It'll get done," Fives growls. "Now excuse me."

They leave as one.

Fives makes sure the ship is sealed up and then slips onto the streets of Raxus. It's not hard to pick out where to go. The Separatist command center is the focal point for the surrounding city, a wide, elegant dome topped with a towering silver spire.

What has Fives' attention is not the government building. It's the massive, blocky compound a quarter klik away from it. That'll be the military base.

That's where they'll keep all the good stuff.

Fives neck prickles. He turns slowly. Civilians going about their day. A few security guards. Some droids.

No one tracking him. No one out of the ordinary.

"Relax," he mutters. "Just try to relax."

He used to think Echo was the one that was wound too tight.

Fives watches the base until the sun dips below the horizon. The guards are droids; their patterns aren't hard to map. It's once he's inside that there'll be an issue. No idea what he's walking into. No schematics to guide him.

Flying blind.

Just like old times.

Fives waits for the patrols to pass. He's about to sprint for the fence, duck down, and try to wire his way in when a hand lands on his shoulder.

His blood runs cold.

Fives whips around. His vibroblade is in his hand and then it's pressed to his assailant's throat.

There's a barrel to his forehead.

"Which one of us do you think wins here?" the attacker asks dryly. The voice sounds different coming through the helmet's filters, harsher and more mechanical, but he knows it. Lithe. Pale. Lightsabers clipped to her belt.

Ultimately unmistakable.

Ventress.

Fives freezes.

"Put the knife down," Ventress says.

Fives clutches the hilt tighter. "And if I don't?"
"Then we'll have a little more trouble coming to an understanding."

Blaster beats blade every time. Fives slowly lowers his vibroblade and takes a hesitant step back. Ventress follows suit. Her blaster stays in her hand.

"You're not Serrano," she says, cocking her head at him. "But you've got his helmet and his ship."

"What's it to you?"

"He owes me," Ventress says. "I've been tracking your movements for the past few days. I thought Serrano was crawling back here to hide."

"Clearly, you were wrong," Fives says. Her hands stay solidly on her blaster and don't shoot to her lightsabers. Maybe she's in a good mood. After Tano was arrested, Rex heard from Skywalker that Ventress wasn't working for the Separatists any more. Must have gone mercenary.

Maybe he can still walk away from this.

"It's a real pity."

"Look, I just stole the ship. I'm not responsible for his debts," Fives says. "You want Serrano, I'd recommend asking around Skako Minor. That's where he was when I hitched a ride and snagged his junker."

"There's nothing on Skako Minor except a Techno Union base," Ventress says calmly. There's an undercurrent of malevolence to her words, maybe a warning against trying to lie. She has the Force, too. Fives guesses she'd know just as quickly as Skywalker does.

"There is not." Not a lie. Seems safe. Fives edges his foot backwards. The end of the alley isn't far, maybe a couple of meters; he'd think about making a run for it if he hadn't seen what she could to a platoon of troopers firsthand.

Ventress sighs and cracks her neck in a way that makes him think she's rolling her eyes. "You're not a Separatist," she says.

"Nope." Another slight step. A little bit closer. Maybe she'll get bored and wander off to skewer some other poor idiot.

"You won't make it."

Fives stops. "What?"

She juts her chin toward the bastion. "Once you set foot in that base, you're not coming back out."

"That's my concern."

"What's a clone doing on Raxus?" she asks.

Fives stares at her. Should have known she'd figure it out next to immediately. She probably knew the second he opened his mouth to speak.

"If this is an incursion, it's a very sad one," she says.

"I'm not affiliated with the Republic any more."

"A deserter, then."

"Something like that."

Ventress snorts softly. "I know the feeling."

"You don't know anything about me," Fives says shortly. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Now, if you're done?"

Ventress holsters her blaster and tugs off her helmet. She studies him for a long beat that feels like an eternity. Maybe she's deciding if it'd be too much trouble to kill him.

"Well?"
"What were you after on Skako Minor?" she asks.

"Information," Fives shoots back tensely. Turned out that was a dead end, too. They had nothing on the control chip. "Can I go?"

"Word has it Serrano took a bounty from the Separatists," Ventress says, like she hasn't heard him. "The Techno Union lost something very important and they want it back."

"Yeah, great, good for them," Fives says. "I don't care."

"What is it?"

Five wrinkles his nose. "What?"

"What did they lose?" Ventress' gaze doesn't waver. She's boring a hole into his brain. Fives sets his jaw stubbornly. She sighs. "The bounty Serrano took was worth twice the money he owes me. If I deliver the target before he does, I get what he would be paid."

"Some algorithm," Fives shrugs. "Big deal. That chip could be anywhere in the galaxy right now."

"Maybe. Maybe not." There's a pensiveness to her face he can't place. It makes him uneasy. He wants to reach for his pistol.

She almost killed Rex on Christophsis.

"Are you ever gonna stop talking?"

"You won't make it out of that base." Ventress' smirk is faint, in the dying light of the fading sun. "Not alone."

"That's my business," Fives says coolly. "I'm not interested in working with you."

"You know the Republic. I know the Separatists." She shrugs. "Affiliated or not. I help you get the data from in there, you help me get that chip out of Republic custody."

"How do you expect me to do that, exactly?"

"You're a clone. Take off your helmet and you're just another face in the crowd."

Fives bristles. She's killed hundreds of clones – hundreds of his brothers. She almost killed Rex.

But she has a point.

"Fine," Fives snaps. "But once you have that chip we part ways."

If she knows he has no intention of following through, she doesn't show it. Dealing with a slighted assassin is a problem for tomorrow's Fives. Ventress' lips curve into a smile.

"Follow me."