"Where the hell did you get that?"
"Do you really want to know, Commander?" Hunter asks.
"No," Wolffe says immediately. "Not really."
The gunship is barely serviceable but somehow, Clone Force Ninety-Nine has gotten it to fly. Wolffe takes two long, bounding steps and propels himself up to the troop bay. Wrecker catches his wrist and pulls him inside.
"Where are we headed?" Tech calls from the cockpit. The glass has been blown away; if it wasn't for the helmet comms, Wolffe wouldn't be able to hear him over the rush of the wind.
"Take us up," Wolffe says.
"Why up?" Crosshair asks.
"I just have a feeling," Wolffe says grimly. "Take us to the top, Tech."
There are only so many passages Fox can navigate in the Senate building before Grievous catches up to him. Taking a zigzag course to the upper levels would buy him the cover of a curling staircase and inhibit Grievous's movements. Being a seven-foot cyborg has its advantages in close combat, but in the comparatively narrow corridor of a Senate service shaft, his frame would be a hindrance.
Wolffe wants to believe that Fox is smart enough to realize that and incorporate it into his escape route, but then, his entire plan revolves around running for his life until backup maybe arrives, so maybe he's finally lost the last brain cell he had.
Tech shifts the gunship slowly, tracing the Senate's scarred outline with their course. Wolffe strains for any sign. Blaster-fire. Blazing last stands.
An explosion works too.
"Tech!"
"On it," Tech replies shortly. The gunship doesn't turn as much as it groans over the gradual gradient to which it's subjected, but at least it doesn't rattle apart.
"C'mon, Fox," Wolffe mutters. "Where are you?"
There's a Mando'a word for an act of complete and utter reckless stupidity: jaro. It's a term Wolffe heard Jango warn Havoc against every once in a while back on Kamino, but never Fox. No, Fox is level-headed. Fox is strict and by-the-book.
Fox would never hurl himself off the highest level of the Senate building on the off-chance he heard an LAAT/i gunship somewhere below him.
"Catch him!" Wolffe snaps. It's hard to remember to breathe. His throat is tight with rage or fear or both.
If the fall doesn't kill Fox, Wolffe will.
The gunship lurches and rattles as it climbs. Wolffe wraps a hand around the edge of the troop bay and leans out as far as he can manage. They get one chance at this.
Don't miss.
Tech swerves the gunship at the last second. Wolffe's hand shoots out and finds Fox's wrist gauntlet. The momentum of the sudden stop jolts him toward the edge. He stumbles and lets go of the gunship in an effort to regain his balance, but all it does is pitch him further forward.
"Hang on," Wrecker says, and suddenly Wolffe's on the floor of the troop bay breathing hard. Fox is beside him.
"Di'kut," Wolffe hisses. Fox coughs a ragged breath, trying to say something; when that fails, he just points.
Wolffe follows his gaze.
Grievous leaps from the same floor Fox must have been standing on, barking a rasping laugh to the sky. There's a decisive thud as he hits the top of the gunship, then an ear-piercing screech as he digs his talons into its plating. A heated hiss, a muffled crash, and the engines stutter and stop.
He's slashing at their ship.
He's going to knock them out of the sky.
"Hold on!" Tech yells. "We are most definitely going to crash."
Four sabers whirl into the troop bay, angled for Hunter's head. Grievous isn't far behind. Wrecker gives a cry and throws his weight into Grievous's side. Grievous stumbles, snarling, and Wrecker takes the chance he's given, wrapping a hand around Grievous's closest arm and flinging him from the craft.
The gunship is in a tailspin, screaming fire and smoke. Tech yells something over the comm but it's so garbled Wolffe can't make it out. He gets one of Fox's arms around his shoulders and hauls him to his feet.
"We're gonna have to jump," he yells over the screeching whine. "Hang on to me."
"I'm fine," Fox bites out. "Don't worry about me."
"Like hell, Fox."
"Look out!" Crosshair snaps, throwing himself into Wolffe and taking all three of them down. It's barely in time. Grievous's strike goes sailing over his head to sear through what's left of the gunship's side. Dimly, Wolffe realizes that he must have driven his claws into the hull and gone scuttling under the ship and to the other side.
Fox lunges to his knees and levels his pistol at Grievous. He doesn't get the chance to fire. Grievous's lower right arm snaps out, closes around Fox's throat, and lifts him high. Fox's pistol clatters down and away. He claws at his neck. Even through the screeching chaos that saturates his comm, Wolffe can hear his desperate, heaving gasps.
Grievous draws back a seething blue saber and laughs. He should just stab him, sling his body away, and leap out of the doomed craft, but he takes a moment to savor it –takes a moment to gloat. Wolffe's heart is in his throat. Can't fire. They'll hit Fox. Can't get to him – not in time.
Don't die.
The gunship stops falling so suddenly Wolffe's almost thrown into oblivion. As it is, he goes face-first into Wrecker's chestplate and nearly condemns them both to a very messy death.
Grievous flings Fox aside in favor of avoiding the same fate. Wolffe would breathe a sigh of relief – except that Fox is flying over the side of the gunship.
"Fox!" Wolffe cries, and scrambles toward Grievous and the edge, ripping Hunter's grip away from his shoulder. He doesn't know what he's going to do. He doesn't know what he can do.
He has to try.
Grievous roars at something Wolffe can't see and whirls about. He crouches, gathers, and launches himself into the sky. His talons find purchase in the Senate building and he punches through, again and again, skittering back and forth to dodge the blaster bolts.
They're blue.
Someone's shooting at him.
A lot of someones are shooting at him. Wolffe leans out to look up.
He's never been so happy to see Ahsoka Tano in his life.
Tano stands strong in a gunship above them. Her eyes are pressed closed. Her arms are outstretched. She's straining so hard she's shaking. Slowly, the gunship begins to descend. Wolffe takes a deep breath and swallows against the lump in his throat.
Just get it over with.
He makes himself look down.
Rex is hovering just below him with a jetpack. He has his arms hooked under Fox's, holding him tightly to his chest. "Commander," Rex says.
"Rex," Wolffe says, with an exhale like an explosion. "About time you made it down here."
"The Separatist command ship is gone," Rex says. "General Skywalker is leading the assault out-of-atmosphere. The Separatist fleet looks to be pulling back."
"Did we get reinforcements?" Wolffe asks. Badly outnumbered and thoroughly outgunned: repelling the invasion hadn't looked likely at all. "How are we winning?"
"We're just that good," Rex says, and Wolffe gets the distinct impression it's more of a dodge than an actual explanation. Maybe Rex doesn't know. For the moment though, Wolffe doesn't care.
As soon as the gunship touches down, he goes for Fox.
"Di'kut," Wolffe says, grasping his shoulders and knocking their helmets together as gently as he can.
Fox chuffs a laugh. Behind him, the 501st gunships are blasting their way through the oncoming droid lines. The rest of the Guard and 104th step back. "Sorry," he says hoarsely. "It worked though, didn't it?"
"Di'kut," Wolffe repeats, and squeezes his shoulders again. "You're crazy, vod."
Fox nods weakly. "We should get back out there."
Wolffe looks him up and down. Get back out there. Fox is barely in one piece. "No," Wolffe says. "We can handle this. You're done."
"I'm not going to sit on my shebs while the rest of my men are—"
"That's not a question," Wolffe says.
Fox doesn't have the energy to argue; his shoulders sag. Wolffe eases an arm around him and helps him to the Senate building. "You don't outrank me," Fox mutters. "For the record."
"Just stay here," Wolffe says, and presses him down next to the others. "If the medics say you're fine, you can help them with the wounded."
"I can fight," Fox mumbles. "Let me fight, Wolffe."
"Stay here."
Fox tugs his helmet over his head and slowly sets it aside. When he meets Wolffe's gaze, he's glaring over the dark circles beneath his eyes. "Stay here," Wolffe repeats. "Promise me you'll do that."
Fox scowls.
"Fox."
"I promise."
The oncoming droids have been completely demolished by the time Wolffe makes it back outside. Rex is blasting the last of them alongside his ARCs. "Where's Grievous?" Wolffe asks.
Rex twirls his pistols and replaces them in his holsters. "Making a run for it," he says. "Commander Tano and Ventress are giving chase."
Seething rage rips through his veins. Wolffe takes a measured breath. Breathe, ad'ika, Plo'buir would say. "Ventress," he says tightly. "What's she doing here?"
The stiff set of Rex's shoulders tells him the Captain's apparently only just realized that that's a name he should have kept to himself. "Long story," Rex says. "I'll explain later."
"People keep saying that," Wolffe says dryly. "I guess you know what happened to the Chancellor, too."
Rex shrugs helplessly.
"Yeah," Wolffe says. "I thought so." He takes a deep breath. "Do we have new orders, or are those classified too?"
"Blast the droids. Clean up Coruscant."
"That," Wolffe says, "I can do."
He hears it like an echo of a dream.
It's over.
The web fades away, shadows and sparks. Cody comes back to himself slowly. Dimly, he realizes his knees are stiff. His back aches. He's still clutching the hand Kenobi put on his shoulder. It takes him a long beat to remember how to move his limbs enough to let go.
Obi-Wan lurches forward, bracing his hands on the deck. "I'm all right," he says, before Cody can reach for him. "That was just…draining."
Cody's veins are still lightning and adrenaline. His heart is pounding. "Haven't crashed yet," he reports, though he can feel the creeping fatigue in every muscle of his frame. "I'm sure it'll hit me."
Kenobi chuffs a laugh. "I'm sure," he says, and eases upright, clutching the console to get to his feet. Cody follows him, tugging his helmet on. His legs wobble.
"Grievous escaped," Cody says.
"Yes." Kenobi's eyes are dark. "But we have Dooku in custody and successfully repelled the Separatist fleet. I think in many respects, we can consider this a victory."
A victory. Cody wonders about it as they board the gunship that will take them down to Coruscant. They've been locked in a stalemate with the Separatists for so long, seizing one front only to lose another. Now, for all the fire and the smoke staining the Coruscant skyline, Cody can't help but feel as if the tide has finally turned.
For the first time in three years, there's an end in sight.
The gunship soars past the Senate building. Cody casts Kenobi a quizzical glance. "We're not going to help with cleanup?" Cody asks.
Kenobi's face is grim. "No," he says. "I've been ordered back to the Temple. Apparently, they want me to explain in-person."
"About that," Cody says. Obi-Wan tilts his head at him. Cody hesitates a beat, then forges ahead. "Why did you believe me?"
"I'm sorry?"
"When I told you about the chips," Cody says. "Before we confronted Palpatine. Why believe me?"
Obi-Wan's silent for a long moment. "The bond, mostly," he says at last. "Everything you told me, you believed without reservation. I trusted your judgment."
"That was a hell of a gamble, sir."
Kenobi smiles tiredly. "That, and I've had my suspicions about Palpatine for some time," he says. There's a note of regret to his words. "At first I thought perhaps it was just my distrust of politicians, but the longer the war went on, the longer he was in office, and the more power he amassed, the more convinced I became that there had to be something else behind it."
"Because of the phantom menace?"
Obi-Wan quirks an eyebrow. "Yes," he says. "Because of Sidious. The Council was aware of his existence, just not his identity. The dark side clouded our vision."
It must have affected Kenobi's vision less than the rest of them, Cody's sure, since he was at least conscious enough to be wary. He doesn't say it out loud, though; the whole thing is a tangled mess. Jedi. Sith. Light. Dark. Clouded. Clear.
Shabla Force.
The gunship touches down on the Temple landing platform. The doors clatter open. Kenobi steps out and glances over his shoulder. Cody tugs his helmet off and tucks it under his arm. "I'm coming with," he says flatly. It's not a question.
"It would be helpful to have you along."
"Respectfully, General, I think I'd be of more use elsewhere." The Council is not the Senate, but for the Jedi, it serves much the same purpose. He's not built for politics, whether they're Force-related or not.
Obi-Wan makes an apologetic face.
"I don't have a choice, do I, sir?"
"They asked me to bring you, Cody," Obi-Wan says, "since I presume that you have more knowledge of the preceding details than I do."
Cody's heart sinks.
"Yes, sir," Cody says, and resigns himself to his fate.
The Temple is all but empty, silent and still. Kenobi tenses as soon as they step inside; his shoulders set back sharply. It's an odd reaction for a man returning home from war. Cody expected, if nothing else, a faint breath of relief, but instead the bond is rife with conflict. The closer they get to what must be the Council chamber, the worse it gets.
"Wait," Cody says, when they stop outside the grand entrance. Obi-Wan jolts like he's been startled out of a trance.
"What is it?"
"We don't have to tell them," Cody hedges. "About me being Force-sensitive."
"I see no reason that that information would be relevant," Obi-Wan says gently, and Cody feels a rush of relief at his understanding.
For years, Cody told no one, not even Rex, too afraid of Kamino's cold white halls and being forced to sleep and never waking up. Jedi or not, Kenobi or not, brother or not, he could never take the chance.
"I prefer it that way," Cody says, and Obi-Wan squeezes his shoulder and smiles faintly.
"Of course," Kenobi says, and leads the way inside.
What Council members that are not out cleaning up Coruscant are seated in a circle. The Coruscant sky is red behind them. "Master Kenobi. Commander," Windu says, and gives them a solemn nod. Cody snaps to attention. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," Obi-Wan says shortly. "Always happy to oblige."
Windu raises one eyebrow elegantly. He steeples his hands in front of him. "You understand the need for an immediate explanation," he says. "The Senate is in disarray."
Obi-Wan takes a measured breath. "Of course," he repeats. His tone is cool. The bond ripples with his frustration.
He doesn't want to be here any more than Cody does.
The door swings open behind them. Cody doesn't shift from the position of attention; he doesn't need to. He's long since learned what Anakin Skywalker feels like in the Force.
"Masters," Skywalker says, and stops on the other side of Kenobi. He gives Cody a nod. "Commander."
"Skywalker," Windu says. "We did not request your presence."
"I did," Obi-Wan says.
Every eye in the chamber turns to Kenobi. "He deserves to know," Obi-Wan says. "I will not speak without Anakin here."
By the dead silence that befalls the room, Cody guesses this isn't a move that Kenobi often pulls. "Very well, then, Master Kenobi," Mundi says, and folds his arms across his chest. His hologram shimmers a lighter shade of blue.
Skywalker smiles. Some of the tension corded through his shoulders slips away. His hand presses to Kenobi's shoulder, a silent show of strength and support, then falls back to his side.
Obi-Wan recounts the confrontation with the Chancellor, their journey to the Resolute, and his exercise of battle meditation. A murmur runs through the chamber; there's a washing wave of awe and unease and incredulity.
"General Grievous escaped," Kenobi finishes. "But we have Dooku in custody."
The Jedi are silent for a beat. Two. Three.
"You conducted battle meditation for the entire fleet," Mundi says at last. "And for our men on the surface. That's quite the feat, Master Kenobi. We have not witnessed a successful effort on that scale in many centuries."
"I had some help," Obi-Wan says evenly. It gets him a circle of confused stares. He doesn't elaborate.
"Your trust in Commander Cody is commendable," Windu says carefully. "But what evidence did you have besides his word?"
Kenobi stiffens. "We've all had our suspicions about the Chancellor," he says. "Certainly that was reason enough."
Yoda nods slowly. "Commander Cody," he says. "To you, we now turn. Reveal to us your journey, you must."
Cody suddenly wishes he had Rex and Echo and Fives and Fox beside him. The story is long and convoluted; ultimately, the only reason they knew Palpatine was a Sith was because he revealed it to Fives – and that was only because he intended for Fives to die.
"I can tell you some of it, sir," Cody says. "But if you want the hard evidence, you'll need to speak with ARC trooper Fives. He is the one responsible for having uncovered the chips in the first place."
"Fives," Windu says. He frowns and Cody sees in his eyes the same confusion that riddled Kenobi's earlier.
Fives is supposed to be dead.
Cody keeps forgetting that.
"Yes, sir," Cody says tiredly, and with a deep breath, begins.
If Rex had more hair, he would have pulled it all out by now.
As it is, by the time they've come up with what the Council deems a suitable explanation, Rex is ten seconds from scratching his scalp bald.
The evidence is all in Kenobi's hands now: Kix's data chip, a Sith holocron, and a drive containing classified Separatist intel that Fives eventually admitted he'd stolen from Raxus. How he even made it in and out of the Separatist capital without getting killed is not something Rex had the energy to ask. Kenobi must have felt the same; he just quirked a brow and told them that, with any luck, they wouldn't have to worry about the investigation any more.
Rex hopes he's right. If a shabla recording of Palpatine confessing his master plan to commit genocide via millions of unwilling proxies isn't enough to convince the Senate, nothing will be.
"Hey."
"General Skywalker," Rex says, and glances up. The barracks on Coruscant's surface are cramped and uncomfortable, but with the Resolute under repair in orbit, there aren't many alternatives. At this hour, most of the men are asleep. He'd assumed Skywalker would be too.
Anakin flashes him a tired smile. "I thought I might find you out here," he says, easing down onto the ground beside Rex and propping his back against the barracks wall.
The silence should be comfortable; it's strained instead. This conversation has been a long time coming. It's not that I don't trust you. I do. It's just that this is something I'm not sure how to tell you yet.
"I'm sorry, General," Rex says suddenly. "I wanted to tell you."
Anakin sighs. In the ambient glow of the Coruscant night, he looks exhausted, not invulnerable. "Why didn't you?"
Rex hesitates for a beat. His breath catches in his throat. "I didn't think you'd believe me," he admits.
"I don't blame you."
"Sir?"
Anakin pulls his knees to his chest and props his arms over them. "After what happened with Fives," he says. His voice cracks on Fives' name. He clears his throat, then shakes his head ruefully. "I can't blame you for not telling me, Rex."
"I didn't blame you."
Skywalker turns to look at him. "For Fives," Rex says. "I never blamed you."
Anakin swallows hard.
"The Chancellor," Rex says carefully. "We assumed that he kept people close to him because they were important to his plan. He did it to Fox – and he did it to you."
It doesn't seem to ease Anakin's mind. He's tense, coiled. His hands clench and unclench. "I was so close to never coming back," he whispers, a breath like fear. "I came this close to crossing that line."
"You wouldn't have," Rex says immediately.
Skywalker shrugs uneasily. Rex knows he's thinking of Tano, turning her back on the Order and everything she'd ever known because of the Council's mistake, of Senator Amidala, raising her voice in the Senate only to have it drowned out by war profiteers, of all the men that died screaming on Umbara because of Krell. Anakin is one of the most powerful Jedi in the Order's history. Rex can't imagine how tempting it must be to use that power to seize the control he so desperately craves: to break the nightmares and beat death to its grave.
But Skywalker is stronger than that.
"You wouldn't have," Rex repeats.
"I appreciate that, Rex," Anakin says. His voice is soft; he's staring at the sky like he can see the stars through Coruscant's lights. He rests an arm around Rex's shoulders and squeezes, once. "More than you know."
Rex leaves the easy hold alone. It's colder than he thought it would be, he needs to stop going outside in just his blacks, and after all the chaos and upheaval and could-have-beens, it's a comfort to have Skywalker safe and close.
"So," Anakin says, and blows out a breath. "Cody."
Cody. Rex sighs.
"He didn't tell you."
"More than that," Rex says dryly. "He lied to my face."
Skywalker winces. "I'm sure he had a good reason."
He was afraid. Of course he was afraid. "He did," Rex says evenly, and that's all. Skywalker doesn't press – and he doesn't ask about Fives having Force powers too. Rex realizes he must not know about that either, and for a brief and fleeting moment, he misses the blaster bolts that were flying at his head earlier.
'Stay alive and blow through the enemy lines' was a simple enough directive.
"What happens now?" Rex asks.
"Well, the cleanup is underway and we have an explanation for Padmé to give to the Senate, so the Council is finally willing to hear Ahsoka out," Anakin says. "I'm actually on my way to the Temple to find out what's going on."
Rex cringes. Tano's been waiting hours to say her piece and while he hasn't had the chance to see her for more than a passing moment, Rex couldn't fail to note the fire burning in her eyes. Something's got her on edge.
"What do you think it is?" Rex asks.
Skywalker's brow furrows. "I don't know," he says. His eyes are dark and faraway. He takes a deep breath, then pats Rex on the back and gets to his feet.
Rex follows him. "Good luck, sir," Rex says, and holds out a hand. Skywalker clasps his wrist and holds.
"Get some sleep, Rex," Anakin says. "I have a feeling you're gonna need it."
The barracks is dark and quiet when Rex steps back inside. The temperature in here isn't much higher than the air outside, but the halls seem to hum with warmth.
For the moment, at least, Torrent Company is safe and alive.
Cramped quarters means they're all crammed together. Rex slips into the room to which he assigned himself and the rest of the ARCs.
Fives leans over the edge of the top bunk when Rex steps through the door. "Can't sleep?" Rex asks softly, and Fives shrugs and swings to dangle his feet over the side.
"Echo's on the Havoc Marauder," Fives mutters. His face doesn't quite twist into a scowl, but it's close.
"He's been with Ninety-Nine for the last couple months," Rex says gently, and scales the bunk ladder. Fives scoots over to give Rex space to sit beside him. "He probably feels more at home there."
"That's what he said," Fives grumbles. "And I get it. I do. I just..."
He shrugs.
Rex puts an arm around him and squeezes tightly. Fives drops his head to Rex's shoulder. It takes Rex a beat to notice the way his breath shakes.
"It's okay," Rex says, and cards his fingers through his hair. Fives presses his eyes shut. A tremble runs through his frame. "It's okay, Fives. I'm here."
"Missed you," Fives mumbles, and wraps his arms around him and buries his face in his chest. Rex rests a hand on the back of his neck and holds him close. His throat is tight. Fives is here. Fives is alive.
"I missed you too, vod'ika," Rex whispers, and bows his head. "I missed you too."