Trigger warnings: mentions of blood, multiple descriptions of disorientation
Fives is still alive.
Fox hangs onto it through the burning pain and the clouded haze – hangs onto the name until he's not sure what it means anymore. There's a mask on his face, feeding him oxygen, but it still feels like he can't breathe.
Fives is still alive.
By the time the pod stops whirring and the leads stop buzzing, his head is throbbing. Every nerve is on fire.
Somehow, he still feels numb.
The pod hisses open and they undo the leads and restraints; he tries to lift his arm and finds himself pitching forward instead. The security guards barely bother to catch him, looping their arms under his and dragging him out the door. He wants to struggle, wants to swing.
He can't make himself move. Every breath stutters. He can't see straight.
They stop at an examination chamber and drop him unceremoniously on the table. The door seals behind then.
He can't make himself move.
He has to move.
Fox swallows against the nausea and takes a breath. Two. Again. Again. Remember your training.
Just get up.
He gets one arm braced, then the other, and pushes himself onto his elbows. It gives him enough leverage to shove his legs over the side and pull himself upright. The world lurches dangerously; his stomach turns. Fox freezes and breathes – breathes.
Fives is still alive. It rings in the back of his mind, a solace like an anchor. Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive.
Who the hell is Fives?
Fox eases the rest of the way up and immediately bows forward and clutches his head between his hands. Shabla headaches. He thought he was done with these when he got rid of the chip.
The chip.
He reaches for the memory and comes up blank. It's like grasping at mist, just a vague guess at a ghost. There was a chip. He had some kind of chip. He got rid of the chip – somehow. For some reason. Maybe it was hurting him. Maybe it was what was causing the headaches.
Maybe he needed it and that's why he's here, doubled over in a cold examination room clawing at his skull and trying not to throw up.
There's a faint clattering, someone sliding a keycard, and then the door swishes open. Footsteps.
"Lie back on the table so we can conduct the necessary scans," a man's voice says. He doesn't recognize it. Fox raises his gaze as much as he can. His vision is swimming but he can just make out four figures, one a human man in a lab coat, the other Nala Se, and two security guards.
"Lie back," the man repeats.
He can't make himself move. "My head," Fox croaks, squeezing his eyes shut.
There's an exasperated sigh, then two strong grips maneuvering him onto his back. Fox chokes back a cry and drives his teeth into the inside of his mouth until he tastes blood. Just breathe. Just breathe.
Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive.
He loses track of the tests and the scans. "What are you doing?" Fox asks a long while later, when the pain in his head has subsided enough he doesn't think his brain will explode if he speaks. "What are you looking for?"
"Reconditioning can be an iterative process," the man says dispassionately, without looking up from his data terminal. He knows the voice. He's heard it before. That aruetii medic. Ryl. "We're attempting to determine how effective the first iteration was and whether we'll need to conduct a second."
"I was reconditioned?" He doesn't feel like a different person. He still knows his name. So much for a blank slate.
"Yes," Nala Se says tonelessly.
Old fear wells up in his throat, a specter he can't place. Don't run. Don't fight. Go quietly. Let the other survive.
Fives is still alive.
"His scans seem normal," Ryl says. "Given the process he just underwent." He glances at him. "CC-1010, can you explain why you're here?"
"Something was wrong with me," Fox says, and hopes it's the right answer. It's an iterative process, they said: if it didn't work the first time, they're going to do it again.
He doesn't want to do that again.
"You removed your aggression inhibitor chip," Nala Se says tonelessly.
The chip. No headaches since he removed the chip. His head hurts now. "Oh," Fox says, and swallows thickly. "That's bad."
"The removal made you unstable. The modifications we have made should be sufficient to counteract the effect." Nala Se says. "You will be returned to duty shortly."
Ryl's head snaps up. "So soon?" he asks. "Shouldn't we conduct a second iteration, just to be safe?"
Fox's stomach turns. He makes himself breathe. Just breathe. Remember your training. Just breathe.
Fives is still alive.
"No," Nala Se says calmly. "Unnecessary iterations can cause undesirable side-effects. This reconditioning sequence was curtailed to ensure it would have the minimum necessary impact. I have achieved my goal. He will be returned to duty."
"But what if it wasn't enough?"
"CC-1010 is tasked with overseeing the Coruscant Guard. The Chancellor requires his return to duty as soon as is possible. I am overseeing this process. I am declaring the result sufficient." Nala Se turns her unblinking stare to Ryl's face. "Do we have an understanding, Doctor Ryl?"
Ryl takes a long moment to nod. "Very good," Nala Se says. "CC-1010, you will be released to your unit shortly."
They leave him alone for a long time. Fox wonders if that means they've changed their minds and they're just preparing the pod for another sequence. He manages to ease himself upright again and curls his hands into fists. He's not sure how steadily he'll be able to fight, but he has to try.
Anything's better than going back.
The door opens. It's Ryl. He has a stack of armor. Fox's armor. There's a bodysuit folded neatly on top of it. "Nala Se directed me to return your gear to you," Ryl says coolly. He doesn't wait for an answer; he just sets it down and leaves.
The armor is a comfort. Putting the helmet on feels like a shield. Fox takes a breath. Another. Another.
Fives is still alive.
Fives.
He's too wobbly to stay upright and walk in a straight line for long. The Republic security guards have to haul him to and from the transport. They help him as far as the base gates.
And then they're gone.
Fox swipes his access card. The gate rattles open.
He takes one step, two, and has to pause for the way the world is shaking. His head throbs; his vision blurs.
"Commander?"
Fox can barely make out the figure rushing toward him, but he'd know the voice anywhere. He almost collapses for the flood of relief. He's dimly aware he might be listing. No, he's definitely listing.
Oh.
He's not standing on his own anymore.
"Thire," he says hoarsely, and hangs on.
"What happened? Are you all right?" Thire's voice is controlled, but there's a note of urgency to it. "My orders said you were taking a leave of medical absence. I didn't know we even got those."
Fox chuffs a laugh. He's shaking, he realizes. Thire wraps his arms around him. Fox leans into the hold. Solid. Brother.
Safe.
"Fox," Thire repeats, "are you okay?"
He wants to say no, wants to explain it feels like someone took a crude laser cutter to his brain and gutted whatever they thought was making him a problem, wants to say he doesn't know why he was a problem in the first place, wants to ask who Fives is and why he matters so much and why Fox is so sure he had to be saved.
But all that comes out is a strangled sob.
Thire jolts. "Okay," he says softly. "Okay, ner'vod. It's okay. I've got you. Let's get you inside."
Fox tries to support his own weight on the slow, stumbling walk to the barracks. In the end, Thire takes most of it. Fox doesn't stop shaking when he's eased down onto a bunk or when Thire kneels in front of him to tug his helmet off.
"Hey," Thire says gently. He clasps Fox's face in his hands and tilts his head gently, back and forth. "Did you take a hit to the head? You've got a lot of bruising."
"No," Fox says. His breath catches.
"I can get Rys to go get a medic from the next base. They're fully staffed and they've got nothing to do."
Distantly, Fox appreciates that Thire knows he'd never speak to Ryl. None of them would. As far as he knows, none of them ever did. He wonders what the shabuir did while he was here. Maybe he was reviewing records and declaring candidates for reconditioning.
Maybe he's the reason Fox ended up in that pod.
"Fox?"
"No," Fox says again. He clears his throat and wraps his arms around himself. He's wearing a bodysuit and armor rated for short-term vacuum exposure. He shouldn't be cold. He can't be cold.
Thire's silent for a long moment. "What did they do to you?" he asks quietly.
Fox shudders. Thire takes one of his hands between both of his own and squeezes tightly. "I'm here," he whispers fiercely. "I'm here. It's okay."
Brother. Safe.
"I think I was reconditioned," Fox blurts. His voice cracks. "They said I was."
Thire's face falls. He tightens his grip on Fox's hand. "Okay," he says. "Did they say why?"
Fives. Fives is still alive. "A chip," Fox says. "They said I removed my aggression inhibitor chip and it made me unstable."
Thire frowns. "Aggression inhibitor chip?"
Shabla headaches. Done with them after he removed the chip. Fox winces. "We all have one," he says slowly. "They said I removed mine so they had to – modify me."
Thire's jaw twitches. His hand ghosts over the back of Fox's skull. "That explains the scar," he murmurs. "And the haircut."
Fox nods mutely.
"But why would you remove something you needed?" Thire asks.
Maybe he didn't need it. Maybe it was hurting him. "I had headaches," Fox says. "I didn't after I got rid of it."
"Did you ask Exon about it?"
Fox stares blankly at him. Exon. Their medic. His brother. When did he see him last? "I don't know," he says. "I'm sorry."
Thire blows out a breath. "All right," he says. "Let's get you out of the armor. You look like you could use some sleep."
Thire stacks the armor plates neatly beside the bunk and then gently eases Fox back onto the pillow. Fox squeezes his eyes shut against the burning tears. Thire presses a cool palm to his forehead. "It's okay," he says, and Fox chokes a heaving breath. "Just breathe, vod. It's okay."
Passing out is a relief. Fox sleeps fitfully, tossing from one side to the other. There are always hands to still the thrashing and inside the fevered haze he's not sure if they're trying to help him or hold him down. Fire, fire. Not on Fives.
Fives is still alive.
Fives is still alive.
"Fives!"
Fox bolts upright, mindless of the stabbing pain that shoots through his head and neck and down his spine. His entire body aches. "Fives," he repeats desperately. "Where's—"
"It's okay," Thire says. Rys and Jek are behind him. In the dim light of the field lantern someone turned on, Fox can just barely make them out. "It's okay."
"Fives," Fox repeats. "Where is he?"
Thire's face twists. "He's gone, Fox," Rys says softly. "He's been gone for months."
"No," Fox says. "No, he's still alive."
Thire's hands land on his shoulders. "Take it easy," he says. "I called in some help."
Fear wells in his chest, putrid and suffocating. "I don't want to go back," Fox says. It hurts to breathe. Just breathe. You have to breathe. Fives, please. "I'm not going back."
"I didn't call a medic," Thire says. Solid. Steady. Safe. Fox manages a nod. "I promise. Just trust me. It's gonna be okay."
They sit in silence until there's a soft shuffle of boots outside the door, then a single, deliberate rap. Jek opens the door.
"Commander," Thire says to someone just out of sight, and shifts out of the way. The figure kneels down beside the bunk. At first Fox isn't sure, can't be sure, because he can't be here. He's not supposed to be here; he's supposed to be on the other side of the galaxy.
"Wolffe," Fox croaks, struggling to sit up. Wolffe stills him with a gentle hand on his chest. "You're back on Coruscant?"
"We've only been here a few days," Wolffe says. He makes a valiant attempt at a grin. The shadows under his eyes offset it. "We're resupplying."
"What are you doing here?"
"Thire told me what they did to you," Wolffe says. He wraps a gentle grip around Fox's wrist and holds tight. Here. Brother. Safe. "You okay?"
"No," Fox says. "I can't find Fives."
Wolffe hesitates and glances over his shoulder at the others. "Fives – Fives is gone, Fox," he says. "He's been gone for months."
"No," Fox says. He pushes to sit up and this time, Wolffe helps him. "He's not. He's still alive. I know he's still alive."
"How?"
Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive. Who's Fives? Fire, fire. Not on Fives. Stay with me. Don't go. Fives, no.
Fox drags his hands down his face and blows out a breath. "I don't know," he says. "I just – that's all I know."
Wolffe's quiet for a beat. "The first few days after reconditioning are the most confusing," he says. "It's hard to know what you really remember and what your brain's trying to fill in."
"I'm not crazy."
"I didn't say you were crazy, Fox," Wolffe says carefully. "Just that it's hard to know what the kaminii cut out."
Wolffe would know. In the earlier days of the war, Plo Koon was called away by the Jedi and the 104th was assigned a new general for a few campaigns; the newcomer was not as convinced of their humanity or as keenly focused on preserving their lives as his predecessor had been.
Wolffe disobeyed almost every single one of his orders. Spectacularly.
When the general departed, he sent off a reprimand for insubordination that was so damning it got Wolffe shipped to Kamino's reconditioning chamber. If Koon hadn't been so vigilant and then so insistent on Wolffe's safe return, it would've been as good as death sentence. As it was, he'd already been cycled twice by the time the Jedi showed up to raise hell.
When 501st executed Pong Krell on Umbara, no one in the 104th or the Guard mourned.
Fox swallows past the tightness in his throat. "How did you get better?" he croaks.
"Plo'buir," Wolffe says, then stops and curses. "General Koon."
"What?"
"The Force," Wolffe says.
Fox stares at him.
Wolffe sighs. "The General said the Kaminoans cut at connections in my brain so I wouldn't be able to recall certain memories and feelings or repeat patterns of behavior. He thought if he focused on repairing those connections, he could help me remember."
"Did it?" Fox asks. "Help?"
Wolffe lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Mostly," he says, and snorts softly. "I remembered my name, at least. That was something."
It's not as encouraging as he'd hoped it would be. It must show on his face.
Wolffe rests a hand on his shoulder. "Look, the Kaminoans want us to think that everything they do is exact," he says. "But when they decide we have a behavioral problem, there's no way for them to know exactly what part of us they need to cut out to make it go away. So they hit whatever connections they think are most likely. And they keep hitting them until we're quiet. Or it kills us. Whichever comes first."
Like a crude laser cutter. Fox shudders. "General Koon can help you," Wolffe says. "I'll talk to him if you want me to."
Fire, fire. Not on Fives. Fives is still alive.
Fives.
"If it will help me remember," Fox says, "I'll do anything."
Plo Koon is remarkably well put-together for someone that just got dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.
"Commander Fox," he says, easing down onto the edge of the bunk and folding his hands in his lap. There's a note of warmth to his voice, an easy paternal tone Fox imagines he adopts without thinking. Plo'buir, Wolffe called him.
"General Koon," Fox says. He moves to sit up, vaguely conscious of Thire, Rys, and Jek standing at the ready to stop him. Wolffe beats them to it: a firm grip lands on Fox's shoulder.
"Just stay there, Fox," Wolffe says, exasperated. "You don't have to be at-attention right now."
Fox eases back. "How does this work?" he asks, swallowing back the lump in his throat.
Fox can't see the General's eyes or mouth behind his mask but he gets the distinct impression he's smiling kindly: he exudes calm. "The Force is a part of all living things," Koon says. "We are bound by it. And we can be healed with it."
Fox nods uneasily. Wolffe squeezes his shoulder. "It's just like having Exon patch you up," he says. "General Koon just does it with the Force instead of bacta."
"You mean 'Plo'buir?'" Fox asks wryly.
Wolffe snorts.
"May I?" Koon asks, and waits for Fox's nod. Then he gently presses his hands to either side of Fox's skull, bows his head, and goes still.
Fox closes his eyes.
The sensation feels like soothing, a cool wave that sweeps away the fire and the fear. For a brief and terrifying second he's afraid he'll sink into it and forget how to breathe, but somehow the thought shifts away and suddenly he's not in the barracks, gasping past the rising panic. He's somewhere bright and warm staring up into a wide open sky.
Distantly, he knows it's not real, knows it can't be real. It's a familiar dream: the sun on his face and a gentle breeze in the trees. After the war, he told himself, like he would live long enough to see something so peaceful. He'd find a field on a planet somewhere far away from Coruscant and sit in the grass and stare up at the sky until the sun sank below the horizon and he could finally see the stars. His brothers would be there, the Guard and the command class that hasn't been all together since Kamino.
The command class he'll never see all together again.
He glances to his left and Thorn is there – Thorn and Ponds and Colt and Havoc and every other name that's ever been stamped onto a casualty list. Smiling. Laughing.
Alive.
Fox reaches out a hand and it passes through Thorn's arm. Thorn looks at him. He's saying something, but he never makes a sound. There's a smile on his lips; there's fear in his eyes. Fox opens his mouth to ask but as soon as he remembers how to form the words Thorn jolts, jolts, jolts, and drops.
"Thorn," Fox croaks, and reaches for him again, but he's gone. They're all gone. The wind gusts now; the sky is raging overhead. It's always raining. There's so much white. Keep it steady. Stay in line. Double time.
Good soldiers follow orders.
Set to kill. Switch it back. Fire, fire.
Not on Fives.
His head is going to explode. There are tears in his eyes. Stay safe. Stay alive. His hands are shaking. He can't make himself breathe. Remember your training. Open your hand. Close it. Open your hand. Close it. Repeat.
Just breathe.
He wakes screaming.
"Fox!" Wolffe's hands are on his shoulders, grounding him. Safe. Steady. Brother. "It's okay. It's all right. You're all right."
Fox takes a shuddery breath. He swallows thickly. He's plastered in sweat; his blacks are clinging to his spine. "Right," he manages, folding his hands together to stop the shaking. Fives. Fives is still alive. Fives. "Right."
Wolffe clasps a hand over the back of his neck and pulls him to rest against his shoulder. "It's okay, vod," he says again. Fox takes a stuttering breath. "It's all right. I've got you."
He doesn't let go until Fox is still. "How long was I out?" Fox asks, scrubbing at his eyes. His face is streaked with tears. He doesn't remember crying.
Wolffe shrugs. "Most of the day. General Koon put you into a…'healing sleep.'"
Fox quirks an eyebrow and doesn't ask. The headache is duller, a low throb instead of a stabbing pain. It doesn't hurt to think.
"Thire," he says at last. "Rys. Jek. Where are they?"
"Senate duty."
"I need to get back out there."
Wolffe's eyes are dark with concern. His hair is frazzled. He hasn't slept. "Not yet," he says. "Give yourself a few days."
"Wolffe—"
"Trust me."
He's never been good at sitting still when there's a job to do so Fox paces his quarters, back and forth and back and forth until he thinks he's going to lose his mind. Fives is still alive. Fives is still alive. He knows that as well as he knows his own name.
But try as he might, he can't remember who Fives is. Don't go. Stay alive. Set to kill. Switch it back. Fire, fire. It's all a hazy blur: he can feel his finger on the trigger, can hear himself cry Don't do it.
He never sees the face of the man he shoots. He can't remember why he had to shoot him.
He can't remember why Fives is important.
He can't remember why Fives isn't dead.
Fox's clearance gives him access to all Coruscant Guard incident reports so on the second night when he finds himself lying awake staring blankly at the ceiling, he pulls out his datapad and scrolls through the last two months. Most of it's mundane stuff, Senate escorts and war protests and general patrols. A few fugitives. One attempted prison break.
Nothing notable.
Fox blows out a breath and knocks his head back against the wall with a dull thud. His room's exactly as he left it: everything is in its place. Closet shut. Chair squared at the desk. Dresser drawers neatly closed.
It doesn't seem right.
Fox tears it apart and puts it back together again. Aside from the empty compartment at the back of the top drawer, there's nothing amiss.
Should it be empty?
He can't sleep so he stares at the datapad until his eyes ache and goes back past two months. It's almost 0200 when he finds it – an incident report for a fugitive pursuit that ended at a warehouse. ARC trooper CT-5555 attempted to assassinate the Chancellor and went for a pistol when met with pursuing Guardsmen. He was shot by CC-1010 and subsequently died on the scene.
CT-5555. Fives. He shot Fives. Fatally.
How is Fives still alive?
He remembers Wolffe's words – that his brain might be trying to fill in the empty spaces and make the void make sense. Fox paces and turns it over and drags his hands across the bare fuzz on his scalp. If he shot another clone, shot a brother, he's not sure how he'd live with himself. Maybe he went crazy. Maybe he went crazy and he had his aggression inhibitor chip removed in a fit of paranoia and that sent him over the edge and gave him headaches and they found him out and sent him to the Facility.
Maybe there really was a problem. Maybe Fives is dead. Maybe it's all been a delusion. Maybe he was in the reconditioning chamber for weeks like clones on Kamino whispered about and they've just finally let him out. Maybe everything he thinks is real is a dream and he's lost it or he never had it and he's finally reached the end and this is his own personal version of hell.
Stop.
Open your hands. Close them. Breathe. Repeat.
Fives is still alive. He remembers it for a reason. He knows that for a reason. He told himself that in the pod, over and over and over again while the leads buzzed and cut and he wanted to scream.
Fives has to be alive.
Fox sees Wolffe and Plo Koon twice a day for three days, each time shorter than the last until Koon says that he's done all he can and that Fox just has to wait and let himself heal for a while. Fox tries to smile. He doesn't think either of them believes he's sincere.
Wait. As if he has that luxury. There's a ticking urgency in his chest, an anxiety he can't place. He's running out of time – but out of time to do what?
The summons comes through six days after he set foot back on base. Fox puts on his armor and marches to the Chancellor's office. The grand entrance gives him pause. Fear curls in his chest.
He has no reason to be afraid.
Fox knocks.
"Come in, please."
Fox steps through the door and snaps to attention. "Sir," he bites out. "You asked to see me?"
Palpatine glances over his shoulder. He's facing the window with his hands clasped behind his back: staring out over the skyline. "Join me," he says. Fox moves slowly across the room to obey. His feet feel heavier than they should; his chest aches.
Part of him wants to run.
"Coruscant is beautiful," Palpatine says, when Fox finally stops at his side. "Wouldn't you agree, Commander?"
"Yes, sir."
A pleased smile lights Palpatine's face. Fox stills a shudder. "It is because of your work that it remains so," he says. "You have done a magnificent job in your role as the Guard's commander."
"Thank you, Chancellor."
Palpatine turns to face him. "I trust that your headaches were corrected during your medical leave," he says. There's a kindly note to his words that's so at odds with the steely glint of his eyes. Must be the light. Fox straightens his shoulders.
"They were," he says. "I am fully capable of completing my duties."
"Good. I should hate to think the Guard would have to do without you for any longer than is absolutely necessary. You are irreplaceable, Commander Fox."
"I appreciate that, sir."
"You speak as though you don't believe I mean it."
Fear lances through his heart. If it didn't work the first time, they're going to do it again. "No," Fox says quickly, in his best shiny voice. "No, sir. I'm just – flattered."
Palpatine puts a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be," he says. "It's only the truth."
Fox makes himself stay still. The touch is meant to be a reassurance, but it burns and weighs.
He has no reason to be afraid.
Reporting to the Chancellor becomes a familiar part of his routine, so making himself sound eager-to-please becomes second nature. Good soldiers follow orders; Palpatine doesn't seem to care if it's out of fear or true belief.
"Your vitals look good," Ryl always tells him at the weekly appointments Palpatine scheduled for him, and Fox always makes himself give the shabla chakaar of an aruetii doctor a tight smile and a firm handshake when all he wants to do is snap his neck for helping Nala Se.
He can't go back. He has to keep remembering. He has to find Fives.
Fives is still alive.
It comes back in flashes. His own harsh breathing, rattling in his ears. The rumble of a gunship beneath his feet. The tremble of his finger on the trigger. That old, familiar cold. Not enough to kill him. Rex, screaming. Fives, falling. Please, Fives. Don't die.
Why did he have to fire? Who told him to fire? Why was Fives in that warehouse? Fox drives his palms into his eyes and blows out a breath in the dead of night and tries to make himself remember – remember something, remember anything – to explain the unexplainable. To tell him why he gets such a chill when he stands in Palpatine's presence or why the scar on his skull aches or why he's so sure that he should tell Thire to get to the next base and have the medic pull his chip too. He can't sleep, he can't sit still, he has to move – he has to be somewhere, do something, save them all from a threat he can't even put a name to.
He's running out of time. He needs to find Fives.
The Chancellor doesn't give him the chance.
For weeks after his release, Fox is a steady force at Palpatine's side. He has more important work to do, but he can't refuse. They'll recondition him again. They'll send him back to Nala Se and Ryl and that damned pod and then they'll pull him apart.
So he goes. And he stands. And he lets Palpatine talk and smile and he nods and agrees to everything like he's a shiny trying to impress his first CO.
And he keeps Rys and Jek and Thire close.
When the Separatists rain fire down on Coruscant, Palpatine doesn't shift from his seat. The lights in his office are off. He has his hands folded neatly on the desk in front of him.
"Do you feel it?" he asks, a quiet rasp that sends a chill down Fox's spine. His mouth curves into a knowing smile.
The door swings wide.
The air is so still it's suffocating.
One of the ARCs steps forward. He reaches for his belt and then holds his right arm forward. There's a telltale click, then an all-too-familiar hiss. A dual blade springs to life, pale, crackling gold.
"Sheev Palpatine, you are under arrest for acts of treason against the Republic."
It crashes over Fox like a wave. In an instant he knows what he couldn't remember for weeks. Stay safe. Stay alive.
Fives.
Fox doesn't know why he believes them, doesn't know why he wants to step up beside them, doesn't know why he'd stand against the Chancellor when it's his duty to protect him.
But he keeps his hands at his sides.
Fives is still alive.
There's a shockwave of shattering glass and suddenly Fox is on the floor. By the time he makes it back to his feet, Palpatine is cackling, Palpatine is gone, and there's an armada of droids pouring in. Dimly, Fox is sure they've come for the Chancellor.
But the Chancellor is a traitor. And his brothers are here.
Fox stumbles toward them and whips out one of his pistols and fires – fires – fires. Rex gives him a glance and a short snap of a nod he doesn't have the chance to return.
"We've got SBDs incoming," someone barks. Fox whirls in time to blast the one closest to him.
He doesn't get the one behind it. The rocket screams from its wrist, a nuclear screech, and hits right in front of him. The blast-wave launches him; his helmet and his pistol go flying off into oblivion.
"Fox!"
He can't breathe. Just breathe. He can't make himself move.
He has to move.
Fox rasps a ragged breath and chokes a cough. Breathe. Again. Remember your training.
Just get up.
Just get up.
You have to get up.
There's a shrieking clash from the corridor. Fox lifts one hand, the other, again, again, and drags himself across what's left of the floor. Just get up. Just get up. Keep moving. Just get up.
He gets one hand on the doorframe, then the other.
Fives is still alive.
You have to get up.
Fox lifts his pistol and takes trembling aim. Fire, fire. Not on Fives.
On the traitor.
On the Chancellor.
"Fools," Palpatine hisses. "You think you—"
Fox fires.
Palpatine falls.
"Aruetii," Fox manages, and collapses.
His ears are still ringing.
Kix is tilting his head and moving a hand back and forth in front of Fox's face and asking him to track it, but his voice is muffled and faraway. Fire, fire. Not on Fives.
On the traitor.
On the Chancellor.
"Fox." There's a hand on his shoulder. Fox jolts. Fives tilts his head at him. "Hey, it's me. You remember me."
"Fives," Fox says slowly.
Fives quirks a smile. "Yeah," he says, like an exhale, like relief. "Fives."
Fox raises an eyebrow at him.
"What happened after I left?" Fives asks, with a short glance over his shoulder. Kenobi's still on the comm with the Council, but with the way the Separatists are bearing down on the burning skyline, Fox can't imagine that they'll be talking for much longer.
Fire. Rage. Searing pain.
Remember your training.
"I got caught," Fox says, with half a shrug. It's the best he can do. There's too much to sort through.
It's better than I don't know.
Fives winces. Fox gets the distinct impression he knows more than he's saying but whatever knowledge he has, he keeps to himself.
"They didn't mess me up too bad," Fox says a long beat later. "I'm all right."
"'All right.' That wrist rocket almost took off your head, Fox," Kix mutters. "You're concussed."
"So are you," Fives says.
Kix huffs. "Maybe, but Fox got blasted by a super battle droid – and that was after he got knocked on his shebs when the glass blew in," he grumbles. "He needs to be in a medical bay, not on the battlefield."
For all the buzzing in his brain, he'd still heard the sabers clash – still heard the laugh – still felt the fury burn in his chest. For all the stabbing pain, he'd still crawled to the door – still taken his trembling aim.
Still fired.
Fox jolts suddenly. The fight was in the hall. His heart leaps into his throat. "Rys," he says, scrambling to get up. "Jek. Thire. They were on patrol on this floor. I assigned them—"
"Cody got them out," Fives says, taking hold of his shoulders. "They're safe. They're reinforcing the defenses on the ground level."
Safe. Right. There are blaster bolts flying at their heads. "I need to get down there," Fox says. "I should be with them."
Kix makes a face. "I really don't recommend that."
"Coruscant is under attack," Fox snaps.
Kix stares at him for a long moment, then scowls. "I gave you something for the pain," he mutters, getting to his feet. "Try not to get hit in the head again, all right?"
Kenobi's just finished his conversation. "Commander Fox," he says. His eyes are kind. "Are you all right?"
"I can fight, General," Fox says. Maybe leaning on Fives as he gets up isn't the best way to sell that argument, it does earn him an eyebrow raise, but for whatever he might think about its truth, Obi-Wan doesn't dispute the claim.
They need everyone they can get right now.
"General Grievous doesn't know that the Chancellor is – well, no longer with us," Kenobi says. "He's continuing his assault on the Senate building. He must be repelled and, if possible, captured. Commander Fox and Clone Force Ninety-Nine: that will be your assignment. Master Yoda is dispatching Masters Unduli and Windu to assist you."
"What about the rest of us, General?" Rex asks.
"We will push our way to the landing bay to rendezvous with Anakin and take a gunship to the Resolute," Obi-Wan says. "From there, we will launch a boarding craft to the command cruiser. Dooku has surely sensed the death of his master. He'll be dangerously off-balance. If we can capture him now, then we have a very real chance of dealing a crippling blow to the Separatists."
"General Kenobi."
"Echo?"
Echo glances to the rest of the Bad Batch; one of them puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'd like to request permission to join the boarding party. The rest of Ninety-Nine can make do without me for this one."
Kenobi considers him for a long moment. Then he nods and leads the way out.
Fox turns to find his bucket but Fives is already holding it. He hands it over wordlessly. Fox pulls it on. It feels safe. Secure. Right. He takes a steadying breath.
"Stay alive, ner'vod," Fives says.
Fox clasps his shoulder. "You too," he says.
Then he marches on.