Trigger warnings: brief description of a panic attack/panic-attack-like reaction
After this is over, he's going to sleep for an entire day.
Fox's blood is singing with adrenaline as he double times it after Clone Force Ninety-Nine. The stims will keep him steady and numb the pain but he knows that once they wear off the crash will be so hard and fast he'll probably collapse.
Exon would have his head for going into a battle like this.
The Guard has been reinforced by the 104th; they've established a choke point at the Senate's main entrance. Beyond their barricades are lines upon lines of droids, marching in unrelenting columns toward them. Fox hunches over and rushes to cover, dimly aware that Clone Force Ninety-Nine is right beside him.
"Grenade!"
It never makes it into their ranks. Faster than Fox can react, Crosshair whips out his DC-17 and snaps off a shot that blasts the grenade midair. It shatters in a shower of sparks.
"Nice shot," Fox says.
Crosshair snorts and doesn't answer.
"Fox," Wolffe says, suddenly beside him. His helmet's faceplate is singed and blackened, like he was too close to an explosion when it went off. "You shouldn't be out here."
"Coruscant is being invaded," Fox says. "What do you want me to do? Hide?"
Wolffe makes a disgruntled sound and blasts the head off a B1. In between blowing bolts through the oncoming horde, Fox braces himself for a second battle. He hasn't really butted heads with Wolffe since Kamino and he has neither the patience nor the energy to revive the habit now.
"What about the Chancellor?" Wolffe demands. "You're supposed to be his security detail."
Fox chokes a strangled laugh. "The Chancellor," he says, "is not my problem anymore."
"What the hell does that mean, Fox?"
The information hasn't made its way down the line yet. It probably won't be fully disseminated until the invasion has been repelled and no one's in imminent danger of getting their head blown off because they're trying to process that the Republic's highest leader has been working against them for the past three years.
"Don't worry about it," Fox says. "Just keep firing."
He can't see Wolffe's face but he's known him for long enough to know that he's getting a glare seething with absolute disgust. "At least keep your head down," Wolffe says. "Can you manage that?"
"Where are the Generals?" Fox asks, instead of answering. "Kenobi said that Unduli and Windu were supposed to reinforce this front."
"Chasing down Grievous."
"Where is he?"
"We haven't seen him yet," Wolffe says. "The Generals went charging off into the droid lines to try to draw him out. They haven't been back and comms are down, so if they're dead, we won't know."
"General Koon?"
"Leading a strike out-of-atmosphere." He doesn't sound happy about it. "The rest of the 104th has been assigned to help the Guard hold the droids here."
Fox is less than accustomed to being the bait, but he guesses there's a first time for everything. Hunter. Hunted.
"What's the deal with Ninety-Nine?" Wolffe asks. "Didn't they just have a warrant out for their arrest?"
"It's gone," Fox says. "Don't worry about it."
"If you say that one more time—"
"We've got tanks on approach!" Thire barks. "Get down!"
Fox ducks instinctively, conscious of Wolffe doing the same in his peripheral. Something goes flying over his head, but he never hears the distant, ominous din that means a shell has impacted and is about to blow.
It's not a shell.
It's Ninety-Nine.
They're charging the line of tanks head-on.
Wolffe blows out a long and exasperated sigh.
"Can't argue with results," Fox says. Three of the tanks are going up in flames. He swallows the manic, disbelieving laugh building in his chest. Wrecker's charging at a fourth tank. He crouches, lifts, and throws his weight into the vehicle's base. The tank teeters, tilts, and then crashes to the ground. Wrecker drives it into their ranks with a bellow like a cry of delight.
"Diniise," Wolffe says, but there's a note of wry humor to it. "Every one of them."
Fox shoves his shoulder. "Results," he says again, and swings over the barricade and into the fight.
He can't do this alone.
It rings in the back of Cody's mind like an alarm. Kenobi stands as steadfast as always but for all of his efforts to restrain it, it still slips through the bond in bursts. Not just fatigue.
Fear.
"Cody," Obi-Wan says quietly. He glances at the group gathered just outside, waiting for Yularen's go-ahead, and takes a steadying breath. "I was wondering if I might ask something of you."
"I'll stay, General," Cody says immediately.
There's a rush of relief through the bond; it washes over Cody like a wave. "You're much more familiar with battle meditation than Anakin is," Obi-Wan says. "You can certainly be of more help."
Help. Actively participate in battle meditation. Cody hesitates. "What do I do?" he asks haltingly. "I've never—"
Obi-Wan's smile is wan, worn, but still warm. "What you always do," he says. "I suspect you've already been engaging more than you know. Make your effort conscious. Reach out to your brothers. Bind them. Comfort them. Guide them."
No uncertainty. No miscommunication. Perfectly attuned. Cody glances at the door. Rex catches his eye. Cody tilts his head toward Kenobi. Rex nods shortly.
See you on the other side.
Obi-Wan makes his way to the front of the bridge and stops just in front of the viewscreen. For a moment, he's still, staring into the chaos and the carnage. Then he closes his eyes and very slowly lowers himself to his knees. Cody follows suit, carefully setting his helmet to the side. For a suffocating beat, his mind is deafeningly silent.
Just breathe.
It hits him like flood. Stay close and pick your targets and form up on me. There's fire and fury, pulsing adrenaline and thrashing pain and the lingering echo of a man's final scream. Cody's breath catches in his throat. A gentle grip presses to his left shoulder, and Cody clasps his right hand over it.
Just breathe.
It's a cacophony; for a long moment, Cody can't make sense of his own mind. There's a raucous roar: thousands of hoarse cries and pounding hearts and desperate wills driven to the brink. The web is tangled, the web is torn, he can't reach all of them, he can't find Rex, he can't remember to breathe. He has to breathe.
No emotion; only peace. No passion; only serenity.
Just breathe.
Cody reaches out until he finds Obi-Wan in the turmoil. Kenobi trembles, his terror roils, and Cody presses It's me, I'm here, you're not alone. The hand on his shoulder squeezes – and stays – and holds.
Don't let go.
The chaos eases; the web extends. The strength sings like steel, rippling and raging like lightning in his veins. Seething bright, blazing white: power like the storm of a dying star's core. Cody lets it flow through him then lets it flow away, pressing confidence and calm into the conduit and to every mind moving as one. It' s me, I'm here, you're not alone.
Just breathe. Just hold.
And go.
Obi-Wan jolts. It takes Cody a second to feel it, but when he does, he staggers. It's a bleeding void, a wound like a scar that never healed. It feels like blistering flame; it burns like scathing fire. A raw thrum. A piercing whine. A ragged scream. A surging tide.
Get out of my head.
In an instant, he knows.
"Fives," Cody croaks, and he's not sure if he says it out loud or in his mind. "It's Fives."
Fives rips at the web's threads, writhing wildly. It's me, Cody says, and pushes calm to him. Fives, it's just me. It's okay. It's me. You're safe.
Get out of my head.
"We have to get him out," Cody says, strained. Fives didn't accept the meditation when they were confronting the Chancellor and he won't now. Why, Cody's not sure; battle meditation's not an invasion of the mind; it's a projection of focus that enhances an army's calm, coordination, confidence, and timing. The connection is clear to everyone it encompasses, but it's to attune them, not read their thoughts telepathically.
"I know," Obi-Wan says. His voice is hoarse with effort. "I'm trying."
Between the fleet in space and the men on the ground, they're linking over a million minds. Finding and then excluding one from the link is a monumental feat all its own. Cody grits his teeth.
It's me, Fives. It's Cody.
Get out of my head.
Don't fight me, Cody says. I'm trying, Fives.
Get out of my head. It's a shattering scream; it's a shockwave of grief. A thousand lives lost. A million minds made machines. Now you see what no one will ever believe. Cody's breath catches in his throat. For an instant, he's there, staring into burning yellow eyes and a sick smile twisted by a sicker power. For an instant, his lungs are on fire and he's running for his life. For an instant, he's surrounded and he knows what he's seen and he can't breathe, he has to breathe, go for the weapon, get out alive.
Then they fire.
Then he dies.
For an instant, he was Fives.
It's all right, Cody presses again, a desperate gasp. There are tears in his eyes, on his cheeks. It hurts to breathe. It's all right, Fives. You're safe. It's me.
It doesn't soothe him. Nothing soothes him. Cody stretches out as far as he can manage, searching for the thread that will set Fives free, but the web is massive, tangled, and perfectly attuned, and pulling that one thread will undo it all.
He can't let go.
Cody's straining for a new solution when Fives stops struggling. The scream whispers away. The fire swells in new rage then, all at once, falls. In its place is a soothing cool, easing its way into the inferno and diminishing it from within. Fives' fear and pain falters and fades and finally, melts away.
"What the hell was that?" Cody asks shakily, when he can breathe again. Kenobi's grip on his shoulder spasms. He's shaking too.
"I think," Obi-Wan whispers, "that was Echo."
"Someone wanna tell me what's going on back there?"
Skywalker is tense at the boarding craft's helm, guiding it expertly through the minefield that is the Separatist fleet. If he has any focus to spare to sort through the clattering chaos he just heard from the hold behind him, Echo's sure it's not much.
"Nothing, General," he says. Fives is on the ground still struggling to take a steady breath so Echo stays kneeling beside him and keeps his hold on his shoulders. "We're just…adjusting to the battle meditation. It's weird."
He's also sure Skywalker wants a better explanation than that, but he doesn't have the time to ask for it. "We're almost there," Anakin says. "Hold on to something."
"I'm okay," Fives croaks, swatting at Echo's arm. He takes a deep breath and pushes himself to his feet, stumbling back to his seat. Echo follows him, vaguely aware of Ventress' piercing stare. He meets it head-on; for a long beat, neither of them moves.
"Stop," Fives mumbles, shoving Echo's shoulder. "She's on our side, remember?"
The hum in the back of Echo's mind isn't low and soothing; it's loud, crackling, and discontinuous. Echo reaches into the building storm and wills it calm again. Beside him, Fives relaxes.
Echo doesn't have the nerve to ask himself why he can do that.
The ship lurches dangerously. Skywalker swears. "Get ready to get out of here fast. They're not thrilled about our visit."
There's no time to turn it over any more. Echo lunges to his feet with the others, handing a pack of detonators to Jesse and helping Dogma secure his own load. Their task is simple: get in, get to the main reactor, and plant the bombs. Dooku will doubtlessly be aware of their presence, so they'll travel in two groups. Skywalker, Tano, and Ventress will locate Dooku, engage him, disable him, and secure him before he can escape.
The rest of them are on detonator duty.
The boarding craft doesn't touch down; it rips across the bay and screeches to a halt. Skywalker swings the nose wide and takes out the squad of droids headed for the starfighters they just glided over. The ramp touches down. They charge out.
"Go take out the reactor," Anakin orders. His saber hisses on. "We'll get Dooku."
Echo flanks Rex and Fives, conscious of Dogma and Jesse behind him. The last time he was on a mission without Force 99, he and Rex and Fives were the most elite ARCs in the 501st. Now Jesse and Dogma have joined the same ranks and, for all of the time he's been away, Echo couldn't be prouder to be fighting at their sides.
The reactor is on the lowest level. For the first few corridors, they encounter only minimal resistance. Maybe Skywalker, Tano, and Ventress are drawing the droids away, or maybe the battle is chaotic enough that their boarding craft has yet to be detected.
Or maybe they were just lucky.
"We've got incoming," Rex barks.
They dispatch the droid squad with a fluid efficiency Echo didn't know they possessed. Every ARC receives the same advanced training and every clone knows how to form a fireteam on the fly, but this feels unmistakably different; there's a flawless flow to their coordination. He knows when Jesse's going to charge the line so he can provide cover fire; he knows when Fives will drop and throw a spin-kick and when Rex and Jesse finish their targets and move to intercept the rest.
"So that's what happens when you have battle meditation, huh?" Jesse asks, a voice for Echo's awe. He tosses a B1's head away. "I like it."
"You okay?" Fives asks, and Echo nods, vaguely conscious of the low flame in the back of his mind. If it doesn't flare, Fives is fine.
"The turbolift should take us to the reactor's level," Rex says, already moving again. "From there, we plant the detonators and get back to the ship. In and out."
The ride is quiet. Dogma shifts uneasily from one foot to the other and taps a pistol against its holster. The turbolift's shaft insulates them from the battle raging beyond it; everything is muffled and faraway. All Echo can hear is the soft shuffle of his brothers' feet and his own breathing, harsh in his ears.
The reactor level is quiet. With all the alarms blaring distantly above, emergency lighting is on; the hallways are dim and bathed in a hazy red glow.
They move quickly down the corridor. Echo takes up guard with Fives one end of the corridor; Rex and Dogma cover the other while Jesse kneels to slice the console.
"This is going to take a minute," Jesse mutters.
"Make it less," Rex says.
"Doing my best, sir. This one's more complicated than your standard Separatist lock."
Behind them, Dogma shifts again. "Hang tight," Fives says. "He'll get it."
"I know," Dogma says tensely. "I just don't like being caught in the open like this."
Echo can't say he disagrees with him. The corridor stretches long behind and in front of them. It'd be easy to put a few squads of droids on either side of them and move in for a quick kill. They're completely exposed. They'd have nowhere to go.
"Jesse?" Rex asks.
The console sparks. Jesse yelps and waves his hand. "Working on it," he says, through grit teeth. "Shab, what a mess."
Echo keeps his weapons trained on his assigned sector. Nothing's moving: not the shadows, not the haze. Still, the foreboding swells in his chest. His head is heavy; the air is thick.
It's too quiet. Every nerve burns; his skin is too hot and too cold all at once. Beside him, Fives stiffens too. The hum in his mind becomes a ripple becomes a wave.
"We're about to have company," Fives says, even though there's nothing on their HUDs and no footsteps clanking and clattering toward them. Echo tightens his hold on his pistols and strains to see, knowing Rex and Dogma are doing the same to the other end of the corridor.
"Jesse," Rex says tightly, "get that door open."
"Trying to," Jesse says.
"You feel it too," Fives murmurs.
"Yeah," Echo says, and tries not to think about why. "I don't think it's droids."
Fives' hand drifts to his utility belt and settles over the saber. "Rex," he says suddenly. The urgency builds in his voice. "We need the general here now."
Rex doesn't ask questions. "General Skywalker," he says. "We're at the reactor. We're going to need some backup."
"A little busy right now, Rex." The audio is rife with static but Echo can still make out the droidekas. "You're gonna have to hold your own. We're almost to the bridge."
"Dooku's not on the bridge," Fives says. He slings his blaster onto his back and clasps the saber's hilt in his hands. Echo makes himself breathe, steady and even. Nothing's moving. There's nothing there. He's so cold.
"What do you mean, Dooku's not on the bridge?"
It's so fast Echo can barely make it out: a shadow whipping down the corridor. It leaps from one wall to the other, launching high and cutting toward them in a whirling dive. Echo lifts his gauntlet to shield his head but the attacker is coming at them too fast. The blade burns crimson, bearing down on him. Echo flinches back.
Fives lunges and ignites his saber in the same instant. It hums a pale gold, gleaming in the gloom, and meets Dooku's strike in a seething clash. Echo has half a beat to register the roiling shock in the Sith's eyes before he's gone, backflipping away from the struggle.
"A clone with a lightsaber," he says, tucking one hand behind his back and twirling his saber to a new stance with the other. "I must say, that is…unexpected."
"Dooku's at the reactor room," Rex snaps into the comm. "General Skywalker, I repeat, Dooku is at the reactor room."
"Hang in there, Rex. We're on our way."
Hang in there. This isn't the first Sith lord they've faced today, though Echo hopes it will be the last.
Fives shifts, saber held at the defensive. Every clone has been trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat, both with and without weapons; ARC troopers, even more so. Wielding the lightsaber with confidence and competence won't be an issue.
It's facing a Sith lord in single combat that might present a problem. Echo, Rex, and Dogma might be ARCs, but all they have are blasters and with Fives in the fray with a saber, targeting Dooku means giving Fives an extra obstacle to dodge. Maybe the battle meditation would take care of it. Maybe they'd get a clear shot.
But probably not.
"We just have to hold him," Dogma says grimly. "Fives, we just have to hold him."
"Easy for you to say," Fives says lowly. Dooku hasn't moved. In the fervid red glow of his blade, Echo can see his lips twist into a cruel smile.
"Almost there," Jesse says. His voice is strained. "Almost there."
"Are you certain you wouldn't rather surrender?" Dooku asks. "It might prove to be more interesting than a duel."
"We've already killed one Sith today," Fives says. "What's one more?"
Dooku chuckles. "You are very bold, ARC trooper. And very foolish."
"Echo," Fives says, and Echo shifts back to cover his six and shield Jesse. His heart is pounding.
They just have to hold him long enough for Skywalker to get here.
Dooku charges. Fives parries the first strike without giving ground, but Dooku's strength is such that he has to take a step back to stop the second. It's a relentless flurry, high then low then sweeping then stabbing, and it drives Fives back – again – again. One step. Two. Over. Rex and Dogma dive out of the way, weapons lifted and trained on the fight. They don't fire.
They can't risk hitting Fives.
"Jesse!" Rex growls. "The door!"
"Almost there!"
Fives regains his balance, launching a whirlwind of blows that forces Dooku onto the defensive. The Sith dodges the blows as if he knows where they're going to land before Fives even decides. One hand remains behind his back. His saber barely shifts to block each slash. It's a feat of footwork and carefully tempered control.
Fives is not controlled. He's always been aggressive in combat, quick to finish the fight. He doesn't conserve his energy for the second stage; he counts on winning in the first. Now, however, Echo's sure that that aggression stems from desperation instead of determination. Even with the coordination of Kenobi's battle meditation, the storm in Echo's mind is full of fire and fear, wild and barely restrained.
"Got it!"
The door hisses open. Dooku's gaze locks on Jesse. His hand comes out from behind his back and closes into a fist. Jesse snaps back like he's been shot, then he's flailing through the air. He collides with Fives and throws them both to the ground. Dooku leaps, saber held overhead. He's locked in time, hovering at the apex of his arc.
"Fives!"
In that brief and infinite beat, Echo dives. The saber flies to his hand and he's swinging it up and through. Crimson meets gold, a crackling crash, and Fives and Jesse scramble out of the way.
Dooku chuckles and thrusts his palm forward. It's a wave, it's a wall, it's a wind rushing in his hears; Echo can't tell which way is up or down and then his back hits the ground and rattles his teeth.
"Echo!" Fives cries, a distant plea past the ringing. Echo rolls to his feet and throws the saber just in time for Fives to catch it and step between Dooku's blade and Rex's throat.
Jesse and Dogma are nowhere to be seen. They must have gone inside the reactor room to plant the charges. The door is closed.
They're on their own.
"Foolhardy," Dooku says. His saber is locked with Fives'; he doesn't shift his gaze. His arm shoots out: a tempest crackles from his fingertips.
Suddenly, Echo's on fire. Suddenly, Echo can't breathe.
The hum becomes a buzz becomes a storm, spiraling, seething, and swelling; it's raw fear, it's unrefined rage, rushing and rising and twining into a riptide. It blisters. It burns.
And it breaks free.
Fives screams, a shriek like a shockwave. Dooku cries out. The lightning stutters and stops and between struggling for his next breath and trying to stay upright, Echo can see the Sith stumble, clutching at his head. Rex is on the ground beside him. Rex isn't moving.
"Rex—" Echo croaks, and reaches for him.
It's as far as he gets. It hits him like an aftershock, a pulsing screech. Echo drops, shuddering into a ball and squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at his helmet. It hurts to think. He can't remember to breathe.
He has to breathe.
"Dooku!"
Skywalker. Echo blinks desperately until his eyes focus. Three figures, all wielding sabers. Skywalker. Tano.
"Ventress," Dooku says. He flicks his wrist. His saber twirls elegantly. "How could you have possibly come by the mask of Darth Revan?"
"I think you have a much more pressing matter to be concerned with right now," Ventress says.
"That mask cannot change who you are," Dooku says. "You will always be a failure of an apprentice."
"No," she says. "You are a failure of a master."
As one, Ventress, Tano, and Skywalker launch their attack. Dooku rushes to meet them.
"Echo," Fives says hoarsely. There's a hand on his shoulder, pushing him to sit up. Once Echo's slightly more vertical, Fives scrambles to Rex.
"I'm okay," Rex coughs, swatting at his hands. "I'm okay. Where's—"
"Dooku's been engaged by General Skywalker's team," Echo says.
Rex nods slowly. Carefully, Fives helps them both to their feet. "Jesse," Rex says. "What's your status?"
The door rumbles open. "Charges are set," Jesse says. "As soon as Dooku's secured, we can get out of here."
"That's going to be harder than it sounds," Dogma says. "Dooku was waiting for us to make a move on the reactor. He must have a backup plan."
Fives blows out a breath. Echo swallows the urge to ask him about the scream. The storm is quiet, now – soothed. Better to keep it that way.
"I think they might actually do it," Fives says. There's a note of disbelief to his voice. Echo follows his gaze. Dooku's surrounded; for all of his graceful agility, they're overwhelming him. He stumbles.
It's all they need. Skywalker swings a kick into his blade's hilt, spins about, and holds his saber a few shimmering inches from Dooku's throat.
"You're done," Anakin says. Ventress stretches out a hand and taps a finger to Dooku's forehead.
He slumps.
"Teach me that trick," Skywalker mutters, and hefts the Sith over his shoulder. Ventress snorts.
"What's the plan?" Rex asks. "We still need to get off this ship."
"We can't go back the way we came in," Ahsoka says. "They've cut that route off."
"Well, we can't stay here," Anakin says, "so we're gonna have to figure something out."
"There's another turbolift at the other end of the corridor," Dogma reports. "I downloaded the schematics while Jesse was planting the charges. It leads to a maintenance bay. From there, we can make our way to the landing bay."
"How long on the charges?" Anakin asks.
"Twenty minutes," Jesse says, and taps his gauntlet. "Starting now."
There's no resistance on the way to the turbolift, or on the ride up. The door hisses open. Skywalker stops short.
The entire bay is full of droids – and every single one of them is leveling its aim at the turbolift.