Author's Note: I lied. There are more than four chapters left. Bit of a flashback in this chapter, you get to see what Fox and Izana were like… or at least the tragic end. But there may yet be hope for them… I mean, I haven't killed either of them (yet). Tell me what you think of them? Do you want more? (Maybe not in this story though. I'm not against writing tie-ins.)

.

Chapter 17: Sacrifices

.

two years prior

.

The Senate building was quite in the early morning before the day's session began. Commander Fox strode with purpose to the doors of the Gaianan senator's offices and knocked firmly. The Senator opened the doors almost immediately with a sad and tired expression on his face, so freckled it was nearly tan. Fox looked past him to the woman standing at the desk, her shoulders bent inward and her hands on her smooth belly. Her peach curls hung around her face, loose of the elaborate arrangement she usually kept them in.

Fox stepped into the office and quickly took off his helmet, giving the senator a worried look. The elder man dropped his eyes to the floor uncharacteristically.

"I can give you only a few minutes," the Senator told him softly, shutting the door. "I know it isn't enough." With that he slipped into his private study, leaving the pair alone.

"Izana, What is going on?" Fox asked, coming up beside the woman. Her lips trembled in a way he'd never seen before. He lifted her chin with one gloved hand. The fear in her eyes made his heart stop for a painful second.

"Parliament voted last night," she whispered, as if the words themselves were dangerous. "Since the Republic will not relax restrictions on cloning, they have elected to join the Confederacy of Independent Systems."

Separatist, Fox thought the word with a shudder, my wife is a Separatist. His body felt numb and his chest was so cold it was burning.

"We knew this was a possibility," he answered, finding his voice just as soft. He didn't realize his hand on her cheek was shaking until she reached up and held it more firmly against her face.

"I have to leave," she said, "now, with the Senator, before the Senate hears the decision. I would be a prisoner of war if I stayed. I know too much about who in the Gaianan Parliament can be convinced or bought, and, if our relationship was discovered, you would be punished."

"And I can't go with you," he said hopelessly. "I would be a prisoner as well if I didn't turn over what I know about the Republic Army; I can't betray my brothers that way, and you can't be associated with me, for your sake and our child's."

"Our son," she whispered and Fox felt his frozen heart leap. Against it all, he couldn't help smiling at the news.

"A boy?" he asked her. Izana smiled back at him and nodded.

"I found out this morning."

Fox put his hand over hers against her stomach. Fox had hoped his child, his son, might not have to live the violent life he had, that there would be a childhood that wasn't filled with war and pain for him. But the events that were set into motion by Gaiana's decision were tearing his hopes apart bit by bit.

"We both know the Republic won't let Gaiana go without a fight," he said gravely, his joy evaporating as quickly as it came. "The planet has too many resources."

"I know. The army will blockade Gaiana and try to invade the capital if they can."

"You won't be safe there."

"No safer than you are here," she whispered, meeting his eyes. She didn't need to say aloud that it would probably be the last time they ever saw each other. Fox was caught for a moment between desperately drinking in her face with his eyes, trying to memorize the pattern of her freckles and her pale eyelashes brushing her cheeks, and his need to crush her to his chest and claim her lips with his one last time.

The door of the Senator's office opened and the man bustled out hurriedly.

"The shuttle is ready, Izana," he said taking her arm. "I'm sorry. We have to go, now." Izana reticently let go of Fox's hand and it slid from her cheek.

It's too soon! He thought frantically the moment she turned away. There are so many other things I need to say: I'm sorry for this; I'm sorry for what I am; I love you; Be safe; Keep our son safe; Tell him I love him… that I loved him… Tell him all I wanted was a peaceful life for both of you; Tell him that's all I was ever fighting for.

"Kagiso," Fox said hurriedly and Izana turned back to look at him. Kagiso was the word for peace is ancient Gaianan. "Our son, name him Kagiso, for me." Her eyes filled with tears even as she tried to blink them away, and she nodded, knocking them free.

The senator wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led Izana away out the side door to the private landing pad. Fox watched her peach curls until the door had swung shut behind the senator and his aide. That was the last Fox had seen of her, the last time he heard her voice. He hadn't even touched her, not with his bare skin, just his gloves. The last kiss he had missed tortured him for years afterward.

.

two years later

.

Ahsoka was getting restless. She'd never been good at waiting, especially not when her friends were in danger. It had been almost three days since she picked up Ventress and Nyreen Vollen, and there had been no word from Jeu. Ventress's contacts were even less helpful. Ahsoka could barely sit still for more than a few minutes and every passing hour the anticipation and dread mounted. She knew her master would be pulling out his hair by now. She liked to think she wasn't quite that bad. But she had worried her lip until it bled. Like master, like student, she thought in a huff and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back to watch the star-lines streaming past the cockpit view-screen of Shard, her togruti freighter.

It wasn't the sleekest or the fastest ship she'd ever piloted but it was non-descript, common enough, and suited her needs. It was at least big enough for the three near strangers that found themselves as her passengers. The tension on the ship was nearly suffocating. Sayne was angry with her for Ventress's presence and he didn't trust either the Bounty Hunter or the pilot, Ny. Ventress was her usual anti-social self and Ny was… reserved. Ahsoka could sense a deep well of loneliness and uncertainty in the old woman. Despite those feelings Ny kept to herself, holding her circumstances and emotions close. Ahsoka didn't know quite what to make of her. Ventress was caustic at every exchange and to Ahsoka's relief stayed in her cabin most of the time. Despite that, her dark presence spilled out and Ahsoka had to repress a shiver every time she passed it. She told herself it was too eerily reminiscent of Anakin, refusing to admit that it might resemble something in herself. Ahsoka shifted restlessly in her chair. A sharp pain on her bottom lip made her realize she was biting it again. She clamped her teeth together firmly. Calm down, Ahsoka, she thought to herself. There's nothing you can do right now but wait and be prepared when Jeu calls. With force of will she slowed her breathing like she was meditating, something she hadn't done in a while. She tried to focus on her breath moving in and out of her lungs and nothing else. She imagined all the tension in her arms and legs filling up her chest and then exhaled it.

'Relax, kid. You're no good to anyone exhausted,' unbidden the clone captain's words from so long ago echoed in her head. Her rhythmic breathing hitched. Ahsoka shut her eyes tightly against the onslaught of emotions that followed. She pressed one palm to the burning scar on her shoulder. It tingled as she rubbed it through her shirt.

Ever since Sayne told her about the Purge on Riash Ahsoka's nightmares of Order 66 had returned. It was hard to know what parts of her terrible, blood drenched dreams were real events carried to her in the Force and what parts were inventions of her fear-driven imagination. It was all too easy for her waking mind to imagine the clones turning on the younglings among them. In her dreams they were clones she knew, men she had called her friends, and she was helpless to stop them. Sometimes she dreamed the younglings fought back and cut down the clones while she cried for them. Waking up from those dreams, Ahsoka felt sick and wretched with anger and self-disgust. She couldn't forgive herself for caring about men that had turned on her anymore than she could forgive herself for forgetting the friends she had fought and struggled beside for years.

But the worst was the one recurring dream in which she wasn't helpless. The scenery changed, but the situation remained always the same. Ahsoka held a blaster in the dream and Katooni clung to her arm, shielded by Ahsoka's body from the clone. He was standing between them and the exit, the chin of his helmet tipped down like it would when he was serious and the two pointed eye markings stared Ahsoka down from overtop the black, anonymous visor. Ahsoka pleaded with him in the dream and every time her words were different. The result was always the same. The clone raised his blaster and she raised hers, sighting down the barrel as he'd taught her right at his heart. She felt her finger depress the trigger and saw the flare of his DC firing. She woke up with a ghost pain in her shoulder and a helpless sob caught in her throat.

Ahsoka first had the dream the night after retrieving Sayne. She jerked awake, muffling a cry with her fist and drawing blood with her sharp teeth. The images of the dream remained wavering before her eyes like a mirage. They were too close to the real memory of being blinded by the shot of his blaster and the pain that followed. She shivered in her bed for an hour after waking from the dream and clutched at her burning shoulder.

With a jolt, Shard dropped out of hyperspace. The star-lines receded back into distant pinpricks of light in the blackness. A small shuttle hung in the void a few hundred yards off Shard's aft side. The communicator on the dash beeped as the shuttle hailed them. Ahsoka flicked open the channel.

"Thank you for being on time," Jeu's voice echoed in the cockpit.

"We don't have much else to do. Have you found anything?" Ahsoka asked.

"Nothing has changed. I will dock and come aboard. I can monitor my programs remotely from there."

"Thank you, Jeu," Ahsoka said. "Opening the mag clams, you're free to dock."

"Commencing docking," Jeu said and clicked off the channel. Ahsoka was monitoring the shuttle's gentle progress toward them when the cockpit door opened with a hiss. She didn't need to turn to recognize the presence behind her.

"Has your Slicer turned anything up?" Ventress asked grumpily.

"No. She's still watching," Ahsoka answered. She swung her chair around to face her former enemy turned business partner.

"Humf," Ventress huffed and leaned against the doorway. "She's not going to be much help if someone else gets to Djela first."

"Your contacts told us you're the only one searching for him," Ahsoka shot back. "If he had tried to collect on the bounty they would have heard about it by now."

"Then why hasn't Djela shown up?" Ventress hissed rhetorically, glaring at the hallway.

"He will," Ahsoka answered with forced assurance. He has to, she thought. Ahsoka couldn't help thinking of Katooni's scared expression and small cold hands gripping her arm from the terrifying dream.

"This is why I hate working with you; It's not profitable," Ventress growled, refereeing to their deal last time they had met on Coruscant.

"I did speak on your behalf," Ahsoka reminded her.

"I know," Ventress muttered. "It was always a long shot."

A tense silence fell between them. Ahsoka turned her attention to checking the docking clamps were properly coupled to Jeu's shuttle and there were no leaks in the airlock.

"You've changed, Tano," Ventress said. Ahsoka couldn't tell if there was a mocking tone to the voice or she just expected it.

"Maybe I just grew up," Ahsoka said lightly with a shrug.

"I'd heard you left the Jedi Order."

"I tried," Ahsoka nodded, a cold note in her voice. "It was harder than I expected. I'm still my Master's padewan to the Empire." And that was a death sentence.

"So they hunted you down as well," Ventress smirked.

"Is that why you left Coruscant?" Ahsoka pushed back for her own answers. Ventress just shrugged but her presence in the Force shifted. Ahsoka felt it grow turbulent before Ventress retreated behind her smooth, cold mental shields.

"So how does it feel having your own army turned against you?" Ventress asked acidly.

"I left the army," Ahsoka said seriously and her eyes narrowed. As much as she tried to hide it, the pang of betrayal bit deep. From the Bounty Hunter's satisfied smirk and the sadistic glint in her eyes, she caught Ahsoka's reaction.

"How many times did you stand against the droid ranks to protect your troops? Do you regret saving their lives after what they did?" Ventress taunted, looking happier than she had since arriving on Shard.

"Those men weren't the ones that came after me."

"I know. They had better things to do that night."

"What are you talking about?" Ahsoka asked, fighting the dread in the pit of her stomach.

"I saw the clones—Skywalker's battalion—"

"The 501st?"

"Those same clones you protected marched on the Jedi temple that night. They burned it to the ground and left no survivors."

"They… no," Ahsoka tried to deny it weakly. She'd dreamed of slaughter in the temple, blood running down the grand stairs, and hoped they were just dreams.

"So much for loyalty and humanity," Ventress said viciously.

"Gloat all you like," Ahsoka snapped back angrily. "The Sith drove you into hiding as well. Why else would you be scrounging out here at the end of the galaxy instead of profiting off the lowlifes on Coruscant? You seemed to be doing fairly good business there last time I saw you."

Ventress frowned, "with the Jedi gone the Sith doesn't have to worry about hiding. He would have found me easily there, so I moved on."

"So the hunter becomes the hunted," Ahsoka mocked the vicious tone.

"I've been hunted all my life," the older woman replied smoothly. "You're the one running from your so-called friends—what was that brave Captain's name again?"

"Enough!" Ahsoka jumped up and tried to push past Ventress to the hallway but the tall woman blocked her path.

"Who are you so angry with, Tano? The clones, the Sith, or the Jedi? And don't spout that pious banthadung about Jedi not feeling anger."

The words stung with truth. Ahsoka was fighting the anger she knew she shouldn't feel. Almost worse, Ahsoka didn't know how to answer. "Does it matter?" She deflected.

"Not really so long as you don't get us all killed," Ventress warned her darkly. "It may work for Skywalker but you wouldn't know the first thing about using your anger." Ventress stepped back out of the doorway with her last quip: "Leave that to me."

"You're right," Ahsoka retorted, holding her head high and staring straight into Ventress's cold, pale gaze, "because my master isn't a Sith. I was trained by Jedi." Ventress didn't flinch but in the Force Ahsoka felt a deep pit of grief swallowing the anger and every other emotion in the other woman.

"So was I, long ago," Ventress responded softly, her gaze steady on Ahsoka's. She turned around and disappeared down the curving hall away from the cockpit. Ahsoka just stared after the Bounty Hunter in confusion.

Could that be true? She wondered. The grief at least was real. Whoever she was now, Ventress had once been someone who cared for another being other than herself. She was alone in the world now. Ahsoka unexpectedly felt something akin to pity because she knew that feeling; it was how she felt when she left the Order. Absently she put a hand on her concealed lightsaber, the physical reminded that she hadn't lost everything that day. She shook off thoughts of Ventress and turned in the opposite direction to go help Jeu set up her equipment.

.

Having A'den around was, in a word, distracting. Considering he was there to fix her broken repulsor pallet he didn't spend much of his time working on it. He always found excuses to string out the job. Not that Vorpa really minded. She went to bed every night after his first surprise morning visit wondering if he'd be there again tomorrow. She woke up braced for disappointment until she heard him moving around in the hanger below her. It shouldn't be comforting to hear someone moving around uninvited, she told herself. But she relaxed anyway and got up to drink his caf and listen to his stories.

More than that, she enjoyed the company, even when he was silent.

The day he really got into fixing her pallet Vorpa decided it was past time to address the reluctant landing strut that had been shuddering on deployment for a few weeks. She set to work taking apart the hydraulic-powered arm that was as big as she was.

Vorpa stretched on her toes to reach the secondary-actuator nozzle up inside the strut well, where it retracted when in flight. She could just get her fingers around the cylindrical part but it didn't leave her enough purchase or leverage to unscrew the little greasy chaakar. Vorpa cussed at it under her breath and reached higher. Her hand slipped and she lost her balance. Vorpa grabbed the lip of the well to steady herself and knocked off the nozzle housing she'd just removed. It clattered to the floor. She looked around for something to boost herself on as she retrieved the part. Her gaze fell on A'den's back where he sat against the hanger wall with his head bent over the circuitry, reaching now and then for a tool from the precise and orderly rows he had arranged them into.

He's a few inches taller than me, she thought. Maybe it's my imagination but he seems even bigger than some of his brothers. They're clones though, she shrugged it off, they must all the same size.

"Hey, clone-boy," she called out to him, "come give me a hand." Before she'd even finished speaking she knew the words had been a mistake and she instantaneously regretted them.

A'den froze as he was returning a tool to his neat array and for a moment he was absolutely still, wavering between two minds. Anger won out. He dropped the tool without care for where it fell and jumped to his feet. A'den advanced toward Vorpa, his head down and dark eyes shadowed by his brow. Every muscle from his shoulders to his clenched fists was tense and straining against the straps of his armor. The nozzle housing slipped from Vorpa's fingers and she couldn't help backing away. Her back hit the hard durasteel of the landing strut, cornering her between it and six feet of rippling muscle and amber beskar. Vorpa looked up with wide fearful eyes, and A'den glared down at her without a flicker of good humor or recognition in his blazing eyes—just blind fury. A'den had become a terrifying stranger.

"You have a problem with your name," he said with painstaking calm, a tendon in his neck twitching and his gloves stretching audibly over his curled knuckles. "Well I have a problem with that word. I have a name and an identity. I will take every half-hearted insult you can think to throw at me, but I will not let you strip away what makes me a man with the demeaning label of 'clone'."

Vorpa flinched when he raised his hand, but it didn't touch her. A'den raise it over his head into the well of the landing strut and twisted free the stubborn nozzle with one hard sharp tug. He lowered it slowly and put it in her shaking hands without breaking eye contact. His expression remained murderously angry. Without warning he turned away sharply.

Vorpa took a deep breath like she had been drowning. She barely felt the tears that rolled down her cheeks or the sweat evaporating from her forehead. She swallowed her gasps and fumbled for the rag on her belt. She tried to focus on cleaning the caked grime from the nozzle instead of A'den's burning, cold eyes. Her shaking hands, slippery with sweat, could barely keep hold of the cold metal.

Larger hands took it from her after a moment of struggle and she jumped in surprise, her head snapping up to see A'den had returned silently. His face was blank and appeared outwardly to be calm. It was such a jarring contrast to the unrestrained furry from only moments before it left Vorpa feeling shell-shocked. He scrubbed the part wordlessly with complete focus for a few tense minutes. When he was satisfied with it, he returned it to the strut-well.

"That night camping, when I told you I was a clone, I didn't tell you the whole story," he said without looking at Vorpa, his voice soft and serious. He picked up the nozzle housing from the floor and set to work reattaching it as well, while she remained frozen against Gra'tua's landing strut, keeping as much distance between them as she could.

"I'm not identical to the rest of my brothers. Ordo, Mereel, Kom'rk, Prudii, Jaing, and I are different from the other clones created for the Republic. We were the first experiments with Jango Fett's genome. Ko Sai, the Kaminoan geneticist responsible for the project, pushed her research to its extremes with us. She wanted perfect soldiers: men who were smarter, faster, stronger, bigger, more violent, more resilient, and more loyal. She succeeded, but not quite the way she wanted to. We were everything she hoped—the perfect killing machines; remorseless, pitiless, highly intelligent, and deviously violent. Except, we were never loyal to her.

"'Uncommandable' was the word she used. I know because I remember it as vividly as I remember every second of my life—another gift of her genetic manipulation. This moment is as clear to me as the moment she—the closest thing we had to a parent back then—decided we were 'defective' and sent us to be injected with lethenol and recycled as raw material—protein, minerals, liquid—to support the production of more clones."

Vorpa couldn't help the strangled sound that came out of her throat. She quickly covered her mouth with one trembling hand. A'den picked up the next piece of the hydraulic housing and kept his eyes on his work.

"That's when we met Kal'buir; that was the day he saved us. That's why I'll follow him anywhere. He didn't care that we were different—unpredictable and volatile at times. He has always loved us, regardless of what we were… or what we've done.

"Certifiably, I'm a violent psychopath. I don't have any inhibitions about lying to, stealing from, harming, or killing other living beings. I have rapid mood shifts and I don't always respond to situations the way 'normal' people should." Something about the way he said 'normal' sounded resentful and Vorpa repressed a shudder. "Despite my efforts, I can loose my temper and act in ways that seem incongruous with the stimuli—like a moment ago." He reattached the last piece of the actuator and ratcheted the final bolt into place.

"It's logical for that to frighten you," he said, finally meeting her gaze. His expression was closed and forcefully neutral even if his eyes were creased with tense anticipation. For a silent moment they just looked at each other.

I should apologize, she thought. I shouldn't have said it. I should just say I take it back, N'eparavu takisit, I eat my insult. But her lips were numb and her tongue felt like lead in her mouth.

A'den held out the ratchet-wrench. She accepted it thoughtlessly. He stepped back slowly, deliberately holding his hands away from his sides and weapons. He turned, away from the repulsor pallet and toward the hanger door. Just before he turned his head, Vorpa saw his jaw tighten and his brow pull together in an expression of pain.

Shab! No, don't go! Vorpa thought frantically. She dropped the wrench and stumbled forward. She grabbed A'den's shoulder with one hand, pulling him back around. Her other hand roughly wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him down. Vorpa squeezed her eyes shut and kissed him, trying to put the words she couldn't say into the action, and hoping she wasn't about to get a knife between the plates of her armor.

A'den was passively unresponsive for a fraction of a second, his brain shorting out at the unexpected closeness. Then he turned into the kiss and drew Vorpa closer with one firm hand on the small of her back. The other cupped her face, holding her in the kiss, determined not to let it end as quickly as the last one. He wanted to enjoy this.

After a minute Vorpa pulled away and A'den let her go reluctantly, already storing the memory where he could revisit it later and remember the strange taste of her lips, slightly salty this time. When he opened his eyes she was looking back at him, tensed like she was waiting for a blow to land. Her hands on his shoulders held them barely half a foot apart, far enough that she could slip out of his grip if she needed to.

"Even?" She asked him softly.

One corner of his mouth twitched upward than the other, and he gave in to the smile.

"Do I get another kiss if I say no?" He asked. Vorpa's face twitched as she fought her own smile.

"Don't push your luck," she said with fake menace that came out sounding watery and grateful.

A'den tightened his grip on her waist and leaned back down to capture her lips in an enthusiastic kiss. Vorpa tensed in his arms, her hands on his chest-plate pushing him away while her lips eagerly reciprocated. The kiss left them both breathless.

"I like pushing my luck," he said in her ear, and was rewarded with the wide smile on her face when he stepped away. Vorpa kept her eyes on the ground, trying in vain to hide behind her hair. A'den chuckled and turned back toward the broken repulsor pallet. He was halfway across the hanger when Vorpa spoke.

There was no smile in her voice.

"It was my father." Her face was turned away from him, putting a curtain of dark green hair between them. She raised one hand to the scarred abdomen plate and ran her fingers along the lines of the silver starburst.

"Your father?"

"The person who tried to kill me, it was my father," she explained. "I wish I didn't remember it half as well as I do."

"You'll have to tell me the story sometime," A'den said, intentionally keeping a light tone. The curious part of his mind was burning with the hope she would take him up on it that minute.

"Sometime," she agreed to his disappointment. But she hadn't pried about his past; he felt he owed her the same. "Maybe after you fix my lock," she shot over her shoulder with forced good humor.

"It's on order. May take a while to get here."

"I guess I'll have to put up with you hanging around until then?" She asked with a hopeful note.

"'Fraid so," he replied, sitting back down with his project.

It was easy not to linger on worry or curiosity as he went back to work. He settled himself where he could see Vorpa in the corner of his eye and catch her glancing at him with her rare, beautiful smile. Every time she did he felt light, almost weightless—even his armor felt no heavier than flimsy. She knew what he was—she'd seen first hand a glimpse at the darker side of it—and still accepted him. He gave her every reason to run and she had kept him from leaving. That was enough.

.

Fox continually marveled at the Empire's ability to layer bureaucracy and triple the amount of paperwork that upheld the system. On Kamino he'd been told the mission reports, logs, and forms were all to keep the army running smoothly and improve efficiency. Working in the prison system on Coruscant Fox was starting to see that all the paperwork was just a big smokescreen to cover any number of illegal and immoral things the Empire did when no one was watching. ORSA was not an isolated case, he was sure. If a prisoner's files were lost, the physical person ceased to exist, meaning the Empire could do whatever they wanted with that individual: torture, experiment, kill, or just use as bait the way they had used Kenobi. Knowing it's true purpose made doing the paperwork harder than it had ever been.

Fox sighed heavily and set the datapadd of transfer forms into the out-going stack to his right and picked up the next padd from the heaping in-coming stack to his right. His commlink went off with a soft beeping and Fox nearly grinned with excitement. Maybe there's a prisoner to hunt down or a riot in the mess, he thought. He would take anything that would get him out of the cramped sweat-locker of an office and give him someone to yell at—or better, punch.

But the little device on his forearm wasn't blinking. Fox quickly dug in the hidden, inner pocket of his belt and drew out the little blinking device. Fox grabbed his helmet off the table and stashed it in the special drawer he'd lined with signal dampening sheeting. With that secured he pressed "accept" and opened the comm.

"You shouldn't be calling me," Fox said the moment the channel opened.

"I wouldn't if it wasn't important," Rex's hushed voice came out of the speaker.

"Something happened?"

"Yeah, I got promoted."

Fox frowned. "I didn't do it."

"No, I think it was Orsa. I'm to report to my new Captain at 0600 tomorrow at the Central Detention Facility. It looks like she's holding up her end of the deal. Either that, or I'm walking into my own reconditioning… again."

Fox shuddered and swallowed uncomfortably, his stomach churning. He's right, Fox thought. Rex is just as likely walking into his own death. But if he doesn't go I'll never know the truth. Fox ground his teeth and tried to calm the churning. He never thought the day would come when he was worried for Rex's safety.

"Are you backing out?" Fox asked. It was dare, a taunt, meant to pressure Rex and they both knew it.

"Shab, no. I'm following this trough, and not just for you!" Rex snapped back. "I called to give you a warning. We both know our minds are vulnerable. If either of us is caught we'll rat out the other whether we want to or not. If you don't hear from me in 24 hours, get to Dul's place. He'll help you find a way off Coruscant. It's the best chance you'll have."

More of a chance than you will, Fox thought with grudging respect. Damn your self-righteous bravado, Rex. "They'll know about Dul too," Fox said, "I'll find my own way if it comes to that."

"And your family?" Rex's voice was surprisingly gentle. "I wouldn't blame you if you ran now, vod. You have a head start for the moment. You could still get them to safety before this all goes belly-up."

"Next time, work up the guts to call me a coward to my face," Fox replied crassly. It bit to know that Rex was offering him an out, when Fox had just baited him into danger. "I'll talk to you in 24 hours."

"Yeah, yeah," Rex muttered and trailed off, his grumblings taking on the harsh consonants and cadence of mando'a curses.

"Rex," Fox said at the last minute.

"What?"

"K'oyacyi."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the comm.

"You too, Fox." With a click, Rex was gone.

Fox sighed as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms. Maybe Rex is right, a dark part of his mind thought. Mentally he tallied the light-years between him and his wife and son on Gaiana. Their world was on the edge of the Colonies but still entrenched in the Empire's control. Getting to them in Gaiana's capital city unnoticed would be difficult, if not impossible. Outsiders stood out on Gaiana and his face was too recognizable. Even if he could get to them, there was the danger of escaping with them. Neither of them were soldiers or spies, they were honest, upstanding citizens. They weren't used to running under the radar or hiding from their own government. It was never the life that he wanted for his family.

Fox put his head in his hands. The small, gray office had never seemed so much like a cell before. For the countless time he wondered if there had been a better way, a way they could have stayed together. But like always, he knew he could never have abandoned his duty to the Republic and his brothers. Even now, he found himself hoping that there was a way to continue serving his duty to the Empire without endangering his family. He owed the Emperor and the Senate his allegiance and his life—as he had since the day he was decanted. They had never betrayed him.

Until they dug around in his brain and stole every bit of privacy and freedom he had. He had always thought clones were less slaves than the Jedi because they were free to love who they chose. But Ven died for who he loved and Fox was living under a sword because of it. Wasn't that betrayal?

"No," Fox shook his head against the pounding that had started in the back of his brain. "I have a duty. I just have to find answers and go back to doing my duty." The pounding got louder, drowning out his thoughts and Fox gripped the sides of his head. Tears squeezed out of his eyes from the pain.

"I have a duty," he whispered to himself, trying to think of his son. But he couldn't remember the name he'd chosen for the boy. He couldn't remember what Izana's voice sounded like or what her last words to him had been. The memory slipped away like a dream.

.

Author's Note: Leave me a review if you're interested in more Fox/Izana stuff or there's something else you want to see in the later chapters. Till next time—I hope you enjoyed it. –Em.