And maybe, I'll find out
A way to make it back someday
To watch you, to guide you through the darkest of your days
If a great wave shall fall, and fall upon us all
Then I hope there's someone out there who can bring me back to you

"Padmé, I can't believe you're not taking this seriously!" Anakin practically growled, pacing her apartment's sitting room territorially. He frequently glanced at the two janitor droids hovering outside, cleaning the horribly graffitied clari-crystalline window of its death threat against the senator.

"I am taking this seriously, Anakin," his wife responded in a voice heavy with exhaustion. "But understand, with this new bill in the Senate about expanding the number of troops yet again, I'm getting threats by the week." She continued to scan the datapad in one hand as she ambled across the room, her other hand tugging on the japor snippet around her neck.

As the time to vote on the bill for more clones from Kamino loomed closer, senators assured of the bill's passage snuck articles into the fine print, mainly unnecessary expenditure for their own planets— or worse, themselves. Padmé read each additional article with an increasingly furrowed brow; her ambling morphed into a stalking gait, not unlike her husband's. Somewhere in her outrage of her fellow senators' attempts at cheating the system, she realized Anakin was still ranting.

"You usually get angry notes sent to your office, or you hear about some off-handed remark by some disgruntled nobody on the news, but this! This is your home, Padmé! They left this on your window!" Although halfway removed, the bright red message that she was stonewalling the senate still clung stubbornly to the window. Anakin forced both hands through his hair, almost snarling. "I can't stay to protect you. The Council is sending me to Ringo Vinda tonight. If I could just leave Ah—" His words fell short with shoulders slumping to underline his lost train of thought.

Padmé glanced up at him sympathetically. His old padawan's name often stopped him mid-sentence.

"...Rex with you, I'd know you're safe."

Padmé approached her husband, dropping the datapad onto a couch and releasing her necklace in order to clasp his face in both hands. "And I need Rex to go with you so I know that you're safe. Honestly, sometimes I think he's the only thing keeping you alive out there." She pulled back and slowly returned to half a room's distance away, cautiously glancing at the preoccupied janitor droids. "Anakin, I will be perfectly fine while you're gone. I can handle myself. Even the Council thinks I don't need an escort."

"I figured you'd say that," Anakin said, crossing his arms inside his robe sleeves in that particular Jedi manner. "The Council isn't sending anyone because there simply aren't Jedi to spare with this war on so many fronts now. So... I called in a favor." His wife's head snapped to face him; her positively dangerous gaze did not intimidate him from continuing, "I told the Chancellor my hesitance to leave you unprotected, and he's taking care of it." His relieved smirk, the one Anakin always wore when he was proud of an accomplishment, only made Padmé's muscles tense, her small hands balling into fists.

"Oh, really? You've been by-passing my wishes more and more lately," she said, her tone even despite her emotions, a honed talent from working in the Senate. "You may have no faith in my own ability to take care of myself, but now you have no faith in my security team, either? I wasn't aware Captain Typho made so little an impression on you."

Anakin opened his mouth to argue, but a decisive point with her index finger effectively silenced him.

"I prefer to not be followed around by Jedi and Senate Commandos because it shows the public that these death threats frighten me! The less notice I pay to these groundless threats, the less people will be inclined to send them! And here you are, my own husband, undermining me." She crossed her arms and turned away from him, huffing.

"Look, I'm worried about your safety, Padmé," Anakin almost pleaded, arms outstretched in a supplicatory gesture she didn't see. "Typho can't stop everything. I want to know there's someone well-experienced looking out for you."

"Isn't it time you met up with your transport?" his wife tossed over her shoulder.

Anakin gave a helpless flail of his arms. "I guess it is. I'll send him up when I leave, senator."

"Send him up?" she parroted. She finally turned to face him again. "Send him back!" But the turbolift doors slid shut, separating them. Padmé vented an undignified hiss before stomping about, sputtering and mumbling to herself. She eventually wound up on the veranda where she could glare and argue her point to the sun setting behind the skyline. It would've been a lovely view of soft sunlight slanting through deep-colored clouds if she hadn't been blinded by vexation.

Not long after, C-3PO tottered onto the veranda to interrupt her grumbling. "Ah, mistress! Your new escort is here!" Padmé squared her shoulders, discreetly slipped her necklace under her outfit, and returned through her apartment to the sitting room, C-3PO at her heels rambling about her new guard's merits. "I am pleased to introduce you to CC-1010."

An armored clone decorated predominantly in red paint, the Galactic Senate emblem adorning his left shoulder and a black kama hanging from his belt, stood professionally with his hands behind his back. He looked straight ahead probably at nothing, like he was trained to do, while the protocol droid prattled on. "...also known as Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard."

Although the possibly unique red marks he wore made him look like every other Coruscant clone to her, the name rang a bell. She spared him an obligatory, though tight-lipped, smile. "Nice to see you again, Commander Fox. It seems these days I'm constantly under someone's supervision, like a child. The Jedi almost always have someone escorting me, and now it's the Coruscant Guard. Aren't I lucky?" Venting at the sun had not helped to temper her outrage at all.

The clone slid his visor in her direction. "My job is to defend those who live here, sir," Fox replied in a crisp voice that sounded like Rex on his most formal behavior, "whether that's guarding buildings, overseeing a detention facility, or protecting a senator with substantial enemies."

"I've yet to see Bail Organa with this level of security."

"I've yet to see Senator Organa with your level of renown, sir."

"Ma'am," Padmé corrected, practically talking over him, hands daintily smoothing the front of her blue skirt. "Unless I look like a man to you?" Padmé had often heard the clones call their female superiors 'sir,' and that made sense because those women were their leaders and capable warriors; Padmé commanded no soldiers.

"N-not at all, s—ma'am." Fox assuming the more formal position of attention quelled Padmé's temper far faster than his words. She supported her forehead with one hand, sighing out all her frustration.

"I... apologize, Commander. Today's not been the best." Her other hand absently gestured to the window still inconveniencing the janitor droids. Now only a few red words remained.

"I understand, s—ma'am," replied Fox. "If you'll permit me, I will begin my security sweep of the apartment."

Padmé's automatic senatorial smile died on her lips as her mind recalled the pile of obviously male clothes in her bedroom. Although she wasn't sure exactly how thorough the commander would be in his checks, it was best to not give him reason to speculate.

"Yes, of course. Why don't you start here?" She motioned about the sitting room with a generous sweep of her hand. "I'll... not get in your way, Commander."

Fox tilted his head in acknowledgment before Padmé glided from the room, moving with a natural grace refined by years of training. The only noise she made was the rustling of her skirt; when she made it out of the room, she picked up her skirt and ran.

She found Anakin's clothes on the floor next to his side of the bed. It was slightly frustrating because if she reminded him to pick up after himself any more, she would officially upgrade to "mother" status. He used to be good at remembering, but ever since he lost Ahsoka, he hadn't been so quick to notice the simple, obvious things anymore.

Padmé swiped up the clothes and successfully stuffed them into a bin nestled in her expansive closet as her private communicator beeped. The one whose frequency was known by only a handful of people. She retreated further into her closet before slipping her small, round com out of a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt.

"Senator," came the familiar, albeit unusually low, voice of Captain Typho. "I've tracked them to the pleasure district; they're in the second story of a social house, but I don't know for how much longer."

"Good work, Captain. Send me your coordinates. I'll be there soon."

From her time as queen of Naboo, Padmé was no stranger to rushed clothing changes. But back then, she had a host of handmaidens to help her out of her grand outfits. Dormé had the day off like always when Padmé expected to see Anakin, leaving Padmé to climb out of her dress herself. She managed— eventually— and slipped into functional attire for traveling to the Coruscant lower levels: pants, boots, her trusty blaster, and a jacket that did not betray her political status. Her updo was much too intricate to easily take down, with varying sized braids criss-crossing around her head and wrapped into a thick bun in back, so instead she covered her head in a bland scarf. Leaving her senatorial clothes and necklace in a heap on her bed, she returned to the sitting room.

To find she still had company.

Fox's subtle double take at her change in wardrobe was mirrored by her own at the fact that he was still there. How did she forget he was there? His presence instantly slowed her impatient gait and derailed all her formulating plans.

Fox had barely swept half the room already, and immediately stopped tinkering with the clari-crystalline windows as his focus zeroed in on her. "Heading out, senator?"

Padmé effortlessly hid her gritted teeth behind a smile. "Yes, Commander, I was. I... have to run to the office quickly. I'll be just a moment," she assured him, slowly skirting him for the exit.

"I'll accompany you, ma'am."

Her stomach dropped at his words. Any guilty party she tracked down wouldn't hesitate to run if Commander Fox showed up to a social house in all his martial authority. For a second, Padmé considered dressing him in civilian attire to blend in with the crowds, but that would only beg the question of why she had men's clothes lying around her apartment in the first place.

So with a tight smile, Padmé let him follow her in full armor, pointedly announcing, "I'm driving."

Fox was a good soldier. He didn't initiate unnecessary conversation, he just constantly scanned their surroundings from his spot in the passenger's seat for any hint of danger as they flew over a city-planet alive with pulsing lights. It was almost nice having the benefit of someone's presence without the endeavor of talking.

Until they soared right past the exit for the Senate office building— the one with the rotating holographic sign two stories tall proudly wearing the Senate's seal.

Padmé's hands tightened around the steering wheel as she resolutely faced forward. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fox's visor pivot, taking in the view behind their speeder. Then it swiveled to face her.

"Ma'am." Even though she couldn't see the look on his face, he no doubt now assumed she could get lost in her own turbolift trying to find the ground floor. "That was our exit."

"Oh, was it?" She continued speeding along with the flow of traffic. "Well, since we're out this way, might as well stop and pick up a couple things."

"It's safer to send a droid out to purchase anything you require, ma'am," advised Fox. "The less you're seen in public, the better."

Padmé's tongue wedged between her teeth. The only time she worked with Commander Fox was when he more or less saved her from Ziro the Hutt years ago. There was no way to gauge how his military training would manifest in a situation like this.

"Isn't that why they sent you, Commander? To keep me safe?"

"Ma'am—"

"We'll be fine; I promise this won't take long at all." Padmé eased the speeder into the single descending lane, piloting them toward the lower skylane— the one leading straight to the buildings lit with pleasure district holoadverts. Several miles inside the district, the dense traffic almost didn't let her sneak into the exit she needed; a Kitonak in a shiny speeder came perilously close to rear ending Padmé as she took advantage of a space half the size of her vehicle to merge into the exit ramp— the one sloping straight between the legs of a large female hologram. Fox generously remained silent their entire ride past the buildings covered with more neon adverts than people.

Padmé slid the speeder into a landing slot on the top of a low building already crowded with vehicles. The rooftop basked in the light of taller structures and their larger-than-life, moving, musical adverts, all pinks and reds and yellows. The only entrance to the building below them was through the turbolifts at the opposite side of the rooftop.

Commander Fox was all alertness stepping out of the speeder. His visor swept not only the occupied landing spaces, but all the nearest buildings and even the skylanes above them. Once he found the area satisfactorily safe, he allowed Padmé to take the lead toward the three lifts, standing under a neon sign blinking Social Den.

"What exactly are you here to pick up, senator?" Fox asked, his edgy voice borderline demanding. "This isn't a store."

"You know this place?" she called back over her shoulder pleasantly enough; conversation was a good way to derail any line of questioning.

"The GAR blacklisted it for all soldiers due to its nefarious connections, ma'am, so I'll ask again: What are you here to do?"

Well, not quite derail.

Fox reached out and pulled her to a halt by her arm. The downward tilt of his visor resembled a glare, somehow.

"My head of security was good enough to track my vandals here," she said calmly, but with the full strength of her righteous political fury. "And they're going to tell me exactly who hired them." Padmé had not once been afraid to stand toe-to-toe against the Supreme Chancellor, or any one of the Separatist politicians; she had no trouble holding her own against a clone commander. "I am going in there, Commander Fox. And if you'll do me a favor, you won't get in my way."

Padmé tugged her arm free without the need of further arguing. Fox followed her into the turbolift where she daintily pressed the down button. The display over the doorway slowly counted up the floors as their lift hurried to meet them, but it left them in silence for what felt like ages. Padmé stood resolutely as if she was up against the full force of the Senate; she was waiting for further arguments and formulated rebuttals accordingly.

"This is a matter for the authorities," Fox said, "not for a senator to deal with single-handedly!" Even with the helmet filter, Fox's voice sounded strained, as if he wasn't used to his directives and opinions being tossed to the side.

Padmé threw a smile back at Fox. "But I'm not dealing with it single-handedly, Commander. I've got you here with me."

The lift arrived and they stepped in. Despite the Social Den appearing short in comparison to its neighboring buildings, it was a tall building in its own right, and the ride down to the second floor enclosed them in silence for the longest time, Fox standing with his visor unusually tilted. Padmé had seen other clone soldiers pause on their way through the Senate building to gaze in that askew manner before continuing on. That behavior never sparked her suspicion until now.

Fox's filtered voice broke the silence once he lifted his head. "When we get there, senator, please stay behind me."

"Oh, don't worry, Commander Fox. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, as everyone seems to be forgetting." Padmé brandished her sleek blaster pistol, the only weapon she used since her days as queen. "ELG-3A," she informed him, an almost cocky tilt to her chin.

Fox nodded once. "Cute. Does it have any settings besides stun?" Padmé's expression quirked into a glare as she holstered her blaster. Silence descended once more; their focus rested impatiently on the display counting down the floors.

"Ma'am."

"Yes, commander?" The lift finally bounced to a halt once the display hit "2."

"Do you actually have business to see to at your office?"

"No, I do not." The doors opened and Padmé led the way out of the turbolift to find Captain Typho and one other guard conversing within eavesdropping distance.

The second floor of the Social Den was one long, burgundy-colored hallway with dim overheads which made the nighttime rooftop look brighter. On either side of the hall stood similarly dark curtains, most of them drawn closed to hide the occupied, furnished rooms behind. At the opposite end of the floor was another set of lifts that only traveled inside the building, guarded by another Human dressed like Typho.

One of the first rooms on the left was unoccupied, curtain drawn aside, and Padmé found it a decent size, furnished snuggly with two dark couches that she almost wanted in her own apartment. The dividing walls between each furnished room were the same kind of curtains used as the door. Despite them stretching all the way to the ceiling, it sorely lacked a strong sense of privacy.

Padmé nodded in response to her guards momentarily snapping to attention, dropping her headscarf to hang around her shoulders. "Where are they?"

"Fifth room on the right," Captain Typho responded. "They've been meeting with someone for the better part of an hour." Typho's mouth quirked in indecision, as if he was about to run through his standard protest of her involvement in a dangerous situation, but she noticed his gaze flick to the armored clone next to her in assessment and he remained silent.

Padmé curled her fingers around her holstered blaster. As she started to advance, a pressure gripped her arm.

Commander Fox's helmet inclined just over her shoulder. "I'll go first, ma'am."

"No, you won't," she said simply, staring him straight in the visor with an authority she knew outranked his. "But you may follow directly after me."

And Fox did. He followed so closely to her down the hallway that the plastoid of his arm pressed against her shoulder. His helmet vents sounded loud right above her ear as he whispered, "Why don't you just have your guards storm in there, ma'am?"

"Because I will always use diplomacy first, Commander Fox, no matter the situation. And I want to see these vandals for myself."

They reached the fifth curtain and she grasped it just as she felt his hand on the small of her back, barely touching. Was this normal procedure for entering a potentially hostile situation?

She swung the curtain wide and stepped in, shoulders back, tapping into all her authority as a member of the Galactic Senate. She stared down the three occupants at a round table in the back of the narrow room, two ratty-looking Humans and one pale-skinned Neimoidian, dressed almost too sophisticatedly for this district.

It just had to be a Neimoidian.

Out of the three of them, the Neimoidian was the only one to jump to his feet, pointing and shouting, "What is she doing here?!" Before Padmé could even get a word in edgewise, the Neimoidian was calling, "Guards! Guards!" which spurred the two Humans at his table to fumble around for their blasters, weapons clearly rescued from a trash heap.

Padmé scowled, pointing her own blaster defensively. Fox stepped in front of her before the Humans even raised their weapons, and with one step back his plastoid armor bumped her towards the curtain.

Until blaster fire rang out in the hallway. Red and blue bolts flew past the open curtain; several of the occupied rooms now opened, revealing the Neimoidian's forces taking aim at Padmé's three guards.

Two Nikto wielding blasters appeared in the entrance then, shoulders so broad they completely blocked any attempted exit. Padmé's sudden pushback into Fox grabbed his attention, and with an instant pivot, surprisingly fluid for all that armor, Fox hooked an arm around her waist and spun both of them around so he faced the Nikto and she the ratty Humans again.

"Senator," the Neimoidian said from his spot in the corner. The arrival of the Nikto restored his composure from a subdued hunch. "This was very foolish of you." Like most of his race, his entire tone sounded thick with condescension. "But since you are here, we cannot let you leave."

For the briefest moment, the thought of Anakin sweeping in, lightsaber swinging, was a welcome idea. But as her logic outweighed hear fear, Padmé knew a weaponless Neimoidian and two confused Humans were hardly a threat, considering she had faced down countless battle droids and several angry, starving beasts before.

Loud blaster fire directly behind her rid them of the Nikto; they fell heavily to the floor as Fox swiveled, training one blaster on a Human while Padmé aimed at the other. The Neimoidian bent into a submissive position once again as his accomplices dropped their weapons.

"Commander Fox, how incriminating did that sound to you?" she asked pleasantly.

"Intention to kill a senator? Fifteen years easy, ma'am."

Another round of blaster fire broke out in the hallway, followed by a very human scream that almost physically pulled Padmé to the hallway. She immediately turned, the only thought occupying her mind was the urge to help her guards. Another Nikto and a large Weequay barreled into the room before she even managed two steps; she reactively raised her weapon, skidding to a stop and fatally shooting the closest threat. The second, the Nikto, already had his blaster trained on Padmé and he fired milliseconds before a shot from Fox dropped him.

Padmé had no time to feel a sense of accomplishment because all she noticed was a sharp, blazing pain that made her wide eyes water. She staggered. One hand immediately went to her ribs to press against the injury, even though the burn felt like it spread all along the right side of her body. The last time she felt so much pain was when a full-grown nexu stalked around an arena of cheering thousands.

Fox was already at the door, both blasters shooting down the hallway.

Gritting her teeth, Padmé turned back to the Neimoidian, all her effort directed to raising her blaster to a threatening level once again. The ensuing pain robbed her of her diplomatic finesse as she growled, "Call off your guards!" Her hand shook and her arm failed to remain level.

The Neimoidian's yellow eyes darted from her to his two useless comrades, his body bent behind quivering hands. After the longest moment of indecision, he clicked two buttons on his wrist com; blasterfire trickled to a halt in response, the last of it coming from Commander Fox. The ceasefire gave way to the sound of thundering footsteps and seconds later red-and-white armored soldiers rushed past the open doorway.

Padmé let her arm drop with a labored hiss and hung her pistol back on her belt with as little movement as possible. Fox was at her side, weapons holstered, in about two seconds as shouting could be heard from the hallway of soldiers taking control of the hostiles. Several Coruscant Guard troopers ran in to roughly detain the guilty lurkers and force them out of the room while Fox pried Padmé's hand from her side, assessing the injury. He requested permission to tend to it in the process of pulling off her jacket.

Padmé helped lift up her dark shirt with her left hand to uncover her wound as Fox pulled supplies out of the medkit on his belt. The cool feeling from the small antiseptic hand towel he used to wipe down the wound relieved half the pain.

"This isn't severe," he intoned before pulling gauze patches from his medkit, "but I can still send for a medic if you like."

"I've been through worse," replied Padmé, reaching further around her side to lift her shirt along her back, exposing most of her nexu scars. She had never been particularly proud of them, but the sound Fox made of pure amazement brought an accomplished swell to her chest. She felt something warm on her back then; her cheeks flushed upon realizing his gloved fingers were briefly tracing one scar. She watched him return to applying the bandage to her side. "All these soldiers... did you call for them back in the turbolift?"

"Can't have too much security, ma'am," he replied with a nod. She noticed his visor tilt to take in her back once more after her bandaging was complete. "Although I'm beginning to wonder why you were assigned additional security in the first place."

Padmé smiled up at him. "We make a good team, Commander Fox."

A noise slipped through his helmet vents, possibly chuckle, but then again it might've been a groan. "I've never had an assignment neutralize her own security threat before." He excused himself to converse with one of the soldiers in the hall.

Padmé carefully pulled down her shirt and reclaimed her jacket before ambling out of the room, repositioning her scarf to cover her hair. Nikto and Weequay bodies littered the hallway, Captain Typho gave a report to one of the Coruscant Guards as their medic looked after Typho's injured man; other soldiers questioned civilian eye-witnesses further down the hallway who were all curiously glancing in Padmé's direction to discover what had interrupted their quiet time. Among the spectators, a Balosar couple embraced consolingly as their clone questioner walked away.

Padmé's breath caught. It seemed so normal to show affection. The couple didn't attract attention from any of the soldiers or other patrons curiously watching the aftermath unfold, and for once Padmé felt a stirring of envy. She couldn't walk anywhere arm-in-arm with her husband; she couldn't even wear her japor snippet freely. For a senator who wanted to cut back on the lies permeating the senate, she herself lived a life far from truthful.

Something heavy fell on her shoulder then. For the briefest moment, Padmé assumed it was Anakin, the way he would politely interrupt her from her copious amounts of reading during the increasingly sparser occasions he found time to visit. It was just enough for her to automatically respond the way she always did: with her own hand curling around his fingers and her face leaning against his hand, trying to communicate all the feelings that couldn't be manifested publicly.

Her cheek felt cold plastoid; reality forced nostalgia to the back of her mind to cower in shame. Slowly, Padmé lifted her head to look back at the red-and-white clone commander standing behind her, his visor trained on her. She felt his warmth through his gloves, and a responding shiver running down her spine reminded her of that same warmth tracing her scars.

"Whenever you're ready to return home, senator," he said in a voice shared by all the other soldiers.

Fox quietly followed at her heels as Padmé thanked Captain Typho for his help and took in the scene one last time, her eyes hovering over the Balosar couple longer than anything else. It sent her spiraling into a silence that rode with her and Fox for the majority of the turbolift trip back to the roof.

Once the doors opened to the cold night air, Command Fox decided, "I'll drive us this time, ma'am." He held his hand out for the driving pass as they walked across the roof still bathed in lively holoadvert light.

"I'm perfectly capable of driving my own speeder," Padmé retorted with the faintest smirk. She flexed her right hand to find a stinging sensation shoot through her arm, triggering a grimace. Any sort of movement from the right half of her body caused pain. "Even with one hand."

"I don't question your ability. I question where we'll end up if you drive again." For once, the crisp, professional monotone was gone. In its place was a conversational voice harboring a friendly lilt.

Padmé smiled in reply, their entire ride here flashing through her mind. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Commander Fox, but you wouldn't have let me come otherwise." She caught his visor tilt in her direction.

"I see why you usually have an entourage of Jedi now, ma'am."

C-3PO shuffled to the turbolift doors as they opened into the sitting room. He was halfway through his usual welcome home speech by the time Padmé stepped into the apartment, and a flash of her bandaged side underneath her ripped shirt sent her protocol droid into a flurry of anxiety.

Padmé dismissed 3PO, assuring him she was fine in the same breath she used to invite Fox to have a seat if he liked. It was rather undignified of her, and her etiquette teacher back on Naboo would probably faint, but Padmé collapsed into one of the plush couches as soon as she reached it without waiting for her guest's answer. The stress of the day finally caught up with her, weighing on her as if she parked her speeder on her own chest. She could only watch Fox with envy, looking no worse for wear standing at parade rest next to the opposite couch.

So many thoughts flew through her head that it mirrored the busy skyway they drove along not twenty minutes earlier. Padmé wanted to apologize for holding his hand like her husband, but she certainly couldn't phrase it that way. She wanted to ask if it had affected him at all, or even if he paid any mind to it, without bringing the memory back up for him to dwell on any further. It was as embarrassing a gesture as it was inappropriate, but if he didn't broach the matter, then perhaps it was best if she let it go herself.

"May I offer you anything?" Padmé said at last. "I have a renowned collection of Naboo wine... although Luranian brandy sounds perfect right about now." She somehow managed enough strength to lift her good hand to rub her forehead.

Fox stood silent for so long it was quite possible he considered it. "I... can't. Not allowed to drink on duty, ma'am."

Padmé dropped her hand into her lap then, observing him. "Is it all right... well, if you don't mind, might I see your face?"

She had enough experience in the life of diplomacy that noticing discomfort turned into a sixth sense anymore. She saw his demeanor change under all that armor from the way Fox stiffened, to the way his helmet turned downcast. But he obliged her.

He removed his helmet and slowly tucked it under his arm with an unfamiliar hesitancy. It took a moment for his eyes to meet hers, but when they did, she noticed an almost vulnerable glint to them now that he stood unmasked. Fox had no special hairstyle or coloring like Captain Rex, no characteristic scars like Commander Cody. He looked like most other clones, aside from that relatable expression he wore. That sobering, hardened look of someone bearing the full weight of authority— the expression that completely endeared him to Padmé.

"That's the first time anyone's asked me that, senator," Fox said. His voice sounded diminished without his helmet. "In almost three years here."

With all her petitioning and fighting for galactic equality, for better standards of living, here was a soldier living the life of a slave, uncomplaining. While the Senate, the Jedi, and even she used him as a slave, unbothered.

Padmé's gaze dropped in reflexion; when she looked back up Fox was halfway through reattaching his helmet. Apparently, it gave him a sense of confidence because he announced, "Although if you've seen one clone, you've seen us all. Troops on the front lines can get away with it, but here on the home front, we're not encouraged to express our individuality."

Padmé's face fell. So many responses flew through her mind, none seemingly appropriate. Apologizing somehow felt out of line; hugging him was certainly out of line, despite them both being overdue.

Fox tilted his head in the same fashion as he had in the Social Den's lift. "The night shift is on his way, senator. Because you took out your own threat, I expect the Supreme Chancellor will soon recall extra guard duty completely."

Padmé managed a smile, small but genuine. "I was just warming up to you, Commander."

"I'll be back tomorrow, ma'am," he responded with a nod. The lift doors opened then, admitting a clone trooper painted not so conspicuously red.

Fox immediately began a handover brief to the incoming soldier, leaving Padmé's, "I'm looking forward to it," to fall on deaf ears.

終わり

A.N. Song: "Wherever You Will Go" by The Calling.

So from 1 to the Enterprise, how sailable... oh wait, wrong fandom.

Huge thanks to Starcrier for beta'ing this and making it 5x cuter than it would've been originally!