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Bail looked at the child- Fox- who they’d finally managed to coax out from under the desk. He was too thin and bruises of varying ages played over every visible bit of skin. The way he held himself, perched on one of Bail’s comfortable guest chairs, spoke of many more injuries concealed under the ill fitting, plain clothing he wore. Although the child was relatively clean, bare feet aside, there was a faint, unpleasant smell that spoke of infected wounds even to Bail’s inexpert nose. He needed care, but who to take him to?

Fox had bitten him at the prospect of other clones being called, but Bail knew they usually preferred to treat their own siblings’ injuries to avoid those who did not see them as sentient from making life or death calls. The second obvious choice was the Jedi temple, but with the threat of political chaos looming and the ongoing war, he knew they were stretched thin. He didn’t know the details of their fight with the former Chancellor Palpatine, but there had been a great number of stretchers rushed out of the Senate the afternoon before. That left the Alderaan diplomatic delegation's private doctor.  

He turned to Padme, who had been trying, without success, to tempt the little cadet with some of the candy Bail kept in his desk. Fox might’ve taken it if she ordered, but after a few years being guarded by clones, she had offering things without demanding down to an art. Fox had been looking between her and the bowl, the whites of his eyes visible as he clearly tried to figure out what she wanted him to do. 

“Padme, I want you to stand for both of us during the emergency meeting. I’ll be on coms the whole time, but I’m going to take Fox here to see a doctor.” The boy flinched, either at his name or the word ‘doctor’ then relaxed, the uncertainty gone from his tired face. Bail winced. “It’s not a decommissioning.” The mix of disappointment and confusion in Fox’s expression was heartbreaking. 

Padme straightened up, putting the candy bowl back on Bail’s desk. “Are you sure? Maybe your secretary or one of my handmaidens would be a better choice. I can call one-” 

“I don’t have to be there in person. Stars know some of the others will be calling in. Hiding in their apartments in case there’s any more magical, exploding politicians in the building.” It was his responsibility to make sure the child he found was properly treated and his story uncovered. It was sure to be an unhappy one. 

“Very well.” Padme picked up her datapad she’d left on his desk upon their discovery of Fox and swept out of the room with a purpose. 

“Shall we, Fox?” It was strange to say that name to someone besides the former marshal commander of the Guard. Bail knew Commander Thire was more than competent, but he still missed seeing Commander Fox around. He’d just gained enough trust that the man would joke once in a while... Shaking off his melancholy, he focused on the present, unpleasant as that was. 

The boy slid off the chair obediently, trying to straighten up and wincing with the effort. Definitely something wrong with his back then, Bail noted. Fox limped out into the hallway, a few intentional steps behind and to the left of Bail, bare feet making a distinctive sound on the doubtlessly icy cold floor. After the bite he’d received by reaching out to the child, Bail doubted he’d welcome being carried, but it would be a painful, slow process to get to the speeder bay if he continued like this. 

“Fox, may I carry you?” He asked gently. 

“It’s your choice, senator.” Was the diplomatic answer. Fox’s face was gray tinged and covered in a sheen of sweat. With a mental apology to all clones and their lack of choice, Bail lifted the boy into his arms with a soft grunt, accompanied by a muffled whine that escaped from behind Fox’s tightly closed lips.   

“I’m sorry.” Bail murmured as he walked quickly through the building, trying not to jostle the damaged body in his arms. There were senators and aids who had braved the building, but only a few glanced his way. 

Senator Burtoni, on the other hand, actually started to walk towards him, looking irritated and troubled, but she was intercepted by Representative Binks, speaking at full volume. With a mental note to send Binks a frog jar, Bail made his escape. It would slow things down if he stopped to kill Burtoni  with his bare hands in the foyer. He’d send the Guard after her once Little Fox was safe. After all, how else could a clone cadet have gotten into the senate dome? It was probably as some new sick advertisement or a bribe to an even sicker member of government who- no. He couldn’t consider the why of this child’s presence. Not just now. 

Fox had remained silent the entire time, but when he’d seen the Kaminoan he’d hidden his face in Bail’s shoulder, one bruised hand fisting in expensive fabric. It spoke to the Kaminoan’s effect on him that, frightened of Bail as he was, he’d automatically sought to hide against him. Fox didn’t emerge until Bail murmured he was putting Fox in the speeder. 

Just like he had in the guest chair, Fox sat forwards in the seat, keeping his back from taking any of his weight. Although the part of himself that knew proper child vehicle safety protested, Bail didn’t tell the child to buckle himself in and it didn’t seem to occur to Fox to do so. 

When they arrived at the floor of apartments used by Alderan’s diplomatic service and those who supported them, Fox actually held up his arms so Bail could pick him back up more easily. Either his pain was getting worse, or Bail’s assurance of no decommissioning had been effective. He had an unpleasant suspicion it was the former. 

Dr. Weaver, a female Ryn, was ready for them, since Bail had sent a message ahead. There was no surprise or judgment on her face at being faced with a clone cadet on Coruscant, just a soft smile and calm voice. She had Bail deposit Fox on the exam table and then ignored him, all attention on her patient. 

“Do you want Senator Organa to stay?” The nuna-in-headlights look he gave her signaled he didn’t know the correct answer. She shifted approaches immediately. “I’ll have him sit in that chair so I can tell him if we need anything.” 

“I have some work to do anyway. Don’t mind me.” He said casually. He took out his datapad and settled an earpiece so the doctor wouldn’t be distracted by political talk as the senate tried to organize an emergency election alongside the Jedi investigation into the former chancellor and his allies.  Even as he tried to focus on the debates, which were dominated by fear mongering about the Jedi and clones as well as accusations of treachery leveled at those closely associated with Palpatine, he kept an eye on Fox’s exam. Before long, he wasn’t even aware of the meeting; all his mind had space for were the awful marks of abuse littering Little Fox’s body. 

After a scan, the results of which made the natborn doctor’s eyes go all tight around the edges, Fox had somewhat expected her to declare him too damaged to bother with, but instead she wordlessly brought out numerous tools and supplies, all laid out on a tray where he could see. It was a bit like being forced to see the implements that would be used on him during a punishment session.   

When she tried to remove his shirt, Fox was not able to stop his hiss of pain. Even though he hadn’t been burned while wearing this shirt yet, pus, discharge and blood from cracked blisters had stuck it to the exposed, infected lines that criss crossed his back. He thought she would rip it off, but instead she carefully cut it from him and used cool water to ease the removal of the sections still all but glued to his skin. It took longer than was efficient and still hurt, but he was a little relieved. This way there would be no new threads embedded in his wounds.  

He heard her sharp intake of breath when the burns were fully revealed and hung his head, ashamed of all the failures marked out on his skin. They’d been allowed to fester as further punishment. Now the strange senator would know how bad Fox must’ve been to earn all this… 

“Tell me what caused these, if you know.” The natborn’s voice still had that calm, bland tone, but there was a touch of strain there. Fox had limited experience identifying emotional changes in natborn voices, but he thought this strain might be anger. 

A question he knew how to answer and an order to do so. Finally something that made sense. 

“A lightsaber that used to belong to a Jedi who died due to my incompetence, sir.” He reported. Something clattered on the floor and Fox flinched, looking over at Senator Organa, who had dropped his datapad and was looking at him with horror. Fox knew better than to meet someone’s eyes, but now he couldn’t even bring himself to look at Senator Organa’s chin. Jedi were revered by more people than just clones. His fault there was one less hero defending the Republic.

The doctor was silent for a long, terrible moment and Fox hoped the senator would just change his mind about decommissioning rather than anything worse. When Senator Organa spoke, it was so much worse. 

“I will summon the Jedi. Continue treatment for now.” 

Fox sagged, swollen eyes stinging, though he was seemingly too dehydrated to start crying again. The total despair must’ve shown on his face because the senator hurried over and dropped to one knee beside the exam table, looking up at Fox. The novelty of perspective (had he ever seen an adult from this angle?) gave Fox pause. 

“The Jedi will not hurt you. I don’t know what happened, but no Jedi I’ve ever known would approve of such a thing.”

“That’s not what the Chancellor says, sir.” Fox whispered. 

“Well he isn’t Chancellor anymore, so whatever he said to you was ba- absolute nonsense.” For the first time, Senator Organa sounded angry, but strangely Fox didn’t think it was at him. He was experiencing novelty after novelty today, it seemed. 

“The Jedi will decommission me if they don’t want to punish me.” He tried. Bail had seemed very set against the idea of decommissioning him, so maybe the threat of that would discourage him from calling the Jedi. 

“They can’t. You know the Jedi serve the Senate as the central power of the Republic, right? Well I’m a Senator so they can’t hurt you if I say not to.” The man sounded so confident that it would’ve been hard to argue even if Fox was brave enough to try. 

“Exactly right.” Dr. Weaver seemed to have recovered, backing up her employer. “Now, I’m going to give you a quick shot before I get to work on these.” 

Fox looked doubtfully at the hypo she was holding. “I don’t deserve that.” 

“Don’t worry; it’s just a quick pinch.” 

“No,” As if he was such a tubie that he couldn’t sit still for a shot! He wouldn’t have survived to 6 if he were. “I mean I don’t deserve painkillers! The Guards don’t have enough because of me and they never have, so I shouldn’t get them now.” 

The senator made a wounded noise, moving like he wanted to take Fox’s hand before thinking better of it. Seeing his own red teeth marks on the man’s hand, Fox felt a fresh surge of guilt. Dr. Weaver should be treating that, but instead… She was still smiling down at him, though her expression had picked up a frozen quality. Her tail was lashing violently and Fox wondered if he was about to find out what happened to cadets that didn’t behave in the medbay. 

“I’m the doctor here. I’m going to follow the proper procedures when it comes to your treatment. You wouldn’t tell me to break the- the regulations, would you?” He was trapped. He didn’t have any right to tell a natborn what to do. She could just stick him, but she seemed to want him to agree and he knew the correct course of action when a natborn wanted him to say something. A part of him was also swayed by the mention of regulations. Clones who broke regs got in trouble. Maybe it was the same for natborn doctors. 

“No, sir. I’ll be still for it.” 

“Thank you.” He barely felt the pinch, the feeling lost in all his other hurts. Moments later those hurts, which had been with him for more than a month, began to feel distant for the first time. Dull rather than immediate and all consuming. He also felt a bit light headed and sleepy. 

The doctor had him lay on his front and set up an IV to rehydrate him while she treated his back. As she worked, she talked about what she did. It was so different from a med-droid checkup. Fox liked knowing what was happening behind him and why. 

At some point, Bail Organa left the room and Fox felt a twinge of unhappiness followed by confusion. One less natborn should be a good thing, but the Senator had been nice, if rather confusing. 

After applying a thick layer of bacta she helped him sit up and bandaged his torso with clean, fresh gauze and dressed him in a much too large hospital gown. He hadn’t realized how itchy he’d been before now. The IV was also removed which was a relief.

“Better?” She asked. The drug made him slow to answer. Each blink was an effort to complete. 

“Yessir.” Should it be ma’m? He was about to check when she held out a pouch. It looked like a hydro pack but the label had bright pictures of fruit he’d seen in flash training. 

“Sip on this while I wrap your ankle and set the bone knitter up for your left hand.” It was an order, so he took the drink. The first taste was so intense it made his eyes water, but he managed not to spit it out onto her. It wasn’t bad, but it was the sweetest thing he’d ever put in his mouth. 

After the ankle that always seemed to have a sharp, intense pain in it was carefully bandaged and his hand was resting under the arm of a machine more expensive than Fox’s entire batch, there was a moment to breathe and think. Could Bail Organa really protect him from more punishments or a decom? What if enough people DID want those things for Fox that they would out-rank the senator? Why would he want to protect a clone cadet anyway? Fox was a failure, incapable of doing the things required of a clone. 

Even as he thought it, the door opened and Senator Organa was back. He wasn’t alone. Fox recognized the Jedi general he’d seen in the Chancellor’s office and dropped his near empty juice pack, jumping off the table. He was unsure if he meant to kneel on the ground like he’d learned these last weeks or salute the being he had inconvenienced the day before. 

Bail saw Little Fox’s leg buckle the moment it touched the floor. He moved faster than he had in his life, instinctually stepping forward and catching the boy before he could fall to the floor. He set Fox back up on the exam table even as Dr. Weaver rushed back over to check Fox’s ankle and reposition his hand under the bone knitter. Fox was so startled that he looked directly at Bail’s face, as if there was some great mystery to be solved there. 

Plo Koon cleared his throat and Fox flinched, his face closing off again as he peered around Bail to see not only the Jedi general, an elderly Twi’lek master from the Halls of Healing and Marshal Commander Thire. When Fox laid eyes on the older clone he made an almost inaudible, shivery noise and, probably surprising himself as much as Bail, grabbed a handful of his senatorial robe and hid his face in the man’s hip. 

Without a word of explanation, the commander of the Guard turned on his heel and left the room. Bail heard the unmistakable sound of running boots as soon as the door slid shut again. 

Plo Koon came forwards slowly and Bail felt Fox tremble where he was still pressed close. He was glad the Jedi had left his lightsaber at the Temple with his commander. Bail didn’t think he could stand seeing one of them at the moment, let alone how frightened Fox would’ve been. For Bail’s part, he couldn’t get the image of one of those brilliant, humming blades searing into a screaming child out of his head. 

Uncertainly, wanting to provide some sort of comfort to the child, Bail stroked Fox’s hair a few times, seeing the grip on his robe tighten and then relax. He watched Fox’s shoulders rise and fall twice before he emerged from his hiding place to see Plo kneeling on the floor. 

“Hello again, young one. I am sorry we frightened you so badly yesterday. You are in no danger. I also know who you are now and wish to reassure you that neither you nor your adult self is deserving of pain.” 

Fox’s jaw dropped, eyes gone comically round. Bail was left confused. When he’d reported finding Little Fox the Temple had confirmed that a cadet held captive by the former chancellor had gone missing and they would be arriving directly. What did Master Koon mean by ‘adult self?’

“H-how can you say that, general, sir?” Fox managed to choke out. “If you know, why- why aren’t you…” He looked up at Bail, expression full of confusion and heartbreak. “Do you know too?”

“I do not. I do, however, know that nothing you could have ever done would have justified the way you’ve been treated.” Fox’s shoulders slumped and he looked at the floor, but he didn’t let go of Bail, which was encouraging at least. 

“I-I’m the old marshal commander. The one who got the power grid bombed and- and all the rest of it.” It was barely a whisper. Bail’s mind went blank before he had to bite back a torrent of questions no one had time for right now. 

“I- uh- I see. I’m glad you’re alive, Fox. I've missed you.” Was all he could think to say, all too aware of Master Koon’s amused huff. 

The conversation that followed between Dr. Weaver and the two Jedi mostly went over Bail’s head. It seemed they didn’t know  exactly what had been done to turn Fox into a child with no memories beyond his age, but that it was most likely reversible once they studied the artifact that had caused it. Someone named Vos was already working on tracking the ‘echos’ of Palpatine to a third location where the old man could have indulged in whatever ‘the darkside’ entailed. 

They asked Fox a few questions, trying not to talk about him like he couldn’t understand. The boy answered to the best of his abilities, but was clearly frightened of saying the wrong thing each time he was prompted to speak. Despite the mind boggling revelation that this Little Fox was the same Fox Bail considered a work friend, he didn’t step away from the child, who still seemed to be drawing some kind of comfort from his presence. 

Dr. Weaver eventually transferred her exam and treatments notes as well as the initial medical scan over to the Twi’lek, only looking a tiny bit bitter when she agreed that the Temple would be the best place for Fox to be cared for.  At her words, Fox stiffened once again and looked up at Bail, almost pleading for an instant, but the expression was gone in an instant. 

Bail found himself wishing he could keep the young Fox here under his protection, but dismissed the thoughts as soon as they surfaced. Fox would receive the best care possible at the Temple and Bail had no rights over him. He was unequipped to handle Fox’s predicament. 

He did allow himself to promise that he would visit Fox every other day, to make sure he was doing well. The offer made a little of the tension leave Fox’s expression as he nodded. He still didn’t look too happy to be going to the Jedi Temple as the Healer said they could finish mending his bones in the Halls of Healing and Master Koon removed his outer robe so Fox would have something to wear over the hospital gown. 

Then they were gone and Bail was left to consider the horror of Fox’s situation and the terrors that the Jedi’s mystical Force was capable of. 

—

Late that same night, in a private room at the Jedi Halls of Healing, Wolffe looked down at the sleeping cadet in silly patterned pajamas and tried to reconcile the memory of Fox, as a cadet and as a Commander with the battered, lost little boy they’d found in the Chancellor’s office. Had they ever been that small? Logically, he knew the cadets back on Kamino were this age and plenty smaller, though there was talks about stopping production for a time until the clones’ fate as a group of people was decided. But the cadets back on Kamino weren’t Fox. And according to Thire, Plo and the healers, this was. 

When they’d been sent to arrest the Chancellor alongside Windu and Kenobi, they’d been told to be aware Commander Fox might be a hostage, but not been told what Wolffe’s batcher would look like. Thire hadn’t thought anyone would believe him when he went to High General Yoda, hadn’t fully explained where the presumed-dead Marshal Commander was until he heard the cadet they’d found had gone missing. 

Wolffe had never seen one of the corries so openly angry. Or maybe afraid was a better word. Then it had come out and Thire had sent Guards to comb the massive senate dome. Even with the massifs helping, they hadn’t been able to find the deaged Fox until Bail Organa called them to come to his personal doctor’s office. 

Wolffe hadn’t been able to leave his duties when a small group went to retrieve Fox, but he’d trusted Plo to bring his brother back. By the time he was done, Fox had been treated, fed, clothed and put to bed, but Wolffe had to see him. It had been awful thinking Fox was dead, lost on some filthy lower city level with an MIA next to his number in GAR systems and the last, bitter angry words they’d exchanged never soothed or forgotten. Here Fox was, alive and asleep and farther away than he’d been at any point during the war, no matter what part of the galaxy Wolffe was in. Talking about his feelings or trying awkward apologies would do this cadet no good and a spar to work out feelings was out of the question for multiple reasons. 

Sighing, he shifted in the visitor’s chair, the package in his lap making a soft rustle as he did so. The noise was enough to wake Fox, even though he probably still had drugs in his system. They looked at each other for a few moments in the dim night cycle lighting, Fox’s eyes wide with fear. He was still, silent and so, so small. 

“How are you feeling, Fox?” Wolffe asked, hoping that the soft volume would make up for his naturally gruff tones. He’d never really worried about that with clone children before; they were used to gruff and angry voices. Fox seemed more fragile than the handful of cadets Wolffe had interacted with after his deployment.  

The boy struggled to sit up fully, gaze fixed on Wolffe, still looking apprehensive. His hand twitched as if he were fighting the urge to salute. 

“Are… are you really Wolffe, sir? I mean- my Wolffe.” He asked softly, shier than Tens had been when they were cadets. It was so wrong to think of any version of Fox calling him ‘sir.’ 

“Yeah. All grown up.” Wolffe gave him a half smile, blinking a few times as Fox focused on his white prosthetic and the thin scar that cut through his eyebrow. 

“I feel better, but I’m not sure if I’m functional for anything other than- anything else the Jedi might ask of me.” He reported, making Wolffe bite back a growl before switching topics without further elaboration. “They kept you on active duty after you lost your eye.” It was a statement, but he could tell Fox was trying to solve a puzzle. During training, the loss of an eye would’ve been an automatic decom. Even Wolffe had assumed he’d be killed or moved to a logistics focused role, off the front lines. 

“My general wouldn’t have let them.” He said, the warmth he felt for Plo leaking into his voice. Fox’s brow knit slightly, turning that information over in his mind. “General Plo values us as equals. Stands up for his men.” 

“Why?” 

“Because clones are people.” 

Fox blinked, looking doubtful before he focused back on the eye. “How did you lose it?” 

“A separatist assassin clocked me across the bucket with a lights-” He cut himself off with a wince; he’d been briefed on his vod’s injuries and the fact Fox froze up whenever he saw even a deactivated saber. 

“Oh… That hurts.” Fox murmured, face worryingly blank as he half reached up towards his own shoulder. 

“Right. But it doesn’t anymore. Yours won’t either.” He said firmly. Fox made a noncommittal little noise, not looking at Wolffe. 

He wished he could just scoop up the cadet, give him the physical comfort from a vod that was every clone’s first memory of safety. He resisted by remembering what Thire had told him about this Fox’s probable relationship to adult clones. If he hadn’t been busy worrying about Fox, he might’ve done Thire an injury for the things he’d admitted to watching. 

Speaking of Thire… Maybe there was some physical comfort he could offer. 

“They Guards sent you something.” Wolffe dropped the brightly colored, soft parcel on the bed at Fox’s feet. 

“The Guards?” Fox asked, eyeing the parcel like it might be a bomb. 

“They’re glad you’re free. I know a few of them want to visit you. But only when you say it’s okay, understand? The right answer on this is when or if you feel up to seeing them. They want to apologize.” 

Fox gnawed on his lip, looking nervous. If he didn’t think it would make things worse, Wolffe would’ve been tempted to throw the thing in the bin. Instead, he tore off the paper himself so Fox wouldn’t feel threatened by a hypothetical trap. 

The fox plushie under the flimsy was about 2 feet long and extremely soft. Fox stared into the doll’s red and white face, the suspicious expression he was wearing so like the adult version’s that Wolffe had to smother a smile. 

“Why.” Now that sounded like the cadet he remembered from what passed for their childhood. Suspicious, serious and unimpressed by the galaxy. 

“Well, it’s got the same name as you.”

“What’s it for, I mean?”

“For holding?” Wolffe wasn’t completely sure what natborn children used them for either. He’d seen plenty of kids holding them for comfort during relief operations, but the actual purpose… 

Fox took Wolffe’s uncertain statement as an instruction, reaching out and pulling the thing into his lap. He smoothed his unbandaged hand over the fox’s back, eyebrows rising in an unmistakably pleased way. 

“Soft.” He flicked the tail so it was closer to the visitor’s chair, easy for Wolffe to reach out and touch. He accepted the invitation, removing a glove to touch callused fingers to the plush. 

“Huh. You weren’t kidding. Makes sense if you’re supposed to sleep with it.” 

Fox nodded thoughtfully and gave the fox an experimental squeeze. He then rested his chin on top of the thing’s head, eyelids fluttering as he yawned. The calming medicine he’d been given was pulling his over-extended body back to the world of sleep, now that he knew Wolffe was no threat. 

When he lay down, still holding the doll to his chest, Wolffe couldn’t resist pulling the blanket up to his chin before getting out of Fox’s personal space. 

“Why’re you being so nice?” Fox asked sleepily. 

“You’re my brother! When am I not nice to you?” The statement had the desired effect; Fox snorted, his first sign of amusement since his arrival in the future. Wolffe could be kind. He was rarely nice. “Well, let’s just say I’m relieved to see you alive. I’ll be mean again when they turn you back to an adult.” Wolffe conceded. 

“So you’re… not… disappointed in… me?” Fox’s words were becoming slurred, his eyes barely open a slit. 

“Never. Even when you’re an asshole, I’m proud that you’re my brother.” He put all the firmness and sincerity into the statement that he could. He hoped Fox heard it, even if that would have to be in dreams. 

—

It was dark. Fox blinked against it but the shadows remained unyielding, not a sliver of light able to reach him from where he… 

Where was he? He couldn't even seem to manage to orientate himself in the space around him. Sometimes he reached out in front of him and his hands met the cool and familiar surface of a cupboard door, and sometimes he reached out and found nothingness. The darkness was crushing, unforgiving. He must have made another mistake, another failure worthy of punishment (any failure, then, he knew by now), and had been locked away again, trapped. 

As if summoned by the thought of punishment, a beam of light burst out of the void in front of him, a crackle of energy sounding as it appeared. A lightsaber. And behind the lightsaber…

The figure of the Chancellor was expected, of course. He was, more often than not, the one to dole out punishment wherever appropriate. What was less expected was the sight of the clone troopers that stood behind him, watching stoically as the lightsaber bore down on Fox. Not just any clone troopers, though – members of the Guard. Brothers that Fox had failed. 

They stared him down, and irrationally, Fox found himself holding back a whimper. It was another faulty instinct, he knew, because he shouldn't fault them for wanting revenge, not after everything that he had done or not done for them. 

As focused on them as he was, it took Fox a moment (or maybe several, keeping track of anything was becoming increasingly difficult) to realise that a smaller figure stood amongst their number. 

"Wolffe?" he couldn't help but call out. 

Fox would have recognised his batch brother anywhere, but something about seeing him here, in this place, warped his words into a question. It seemed wrong to see him standing there along with the Guard, but the longer he stood there, the more sense it made. Fox must have failed Wolffe too, somehow.

Irrationally, the thought had Fox wanting to reach out to his brother, stretching out a hand as if Wolffe might allow Fox to pull him close, away from the group of brothers that was silently judging him.

The only response Fox got was a sneer.

Then Wolffe turned away, and Fox made an aborted step to follow, but was stopped by the saber and its searing light–

In the space of a heartbeat the world around him seemed to lurch, and the sight of his brothers fell away from him. 

Suddenly, Fox was surrounded by a different sort of darkness; softer, interrupted by a glow from beyond a doorway. Nobody stood nearby, brother or otherwise, and the only looming shadows came from the furniture of a room that both felt familiar and not as Fox struggled to blink his eyes open. The sound of his own breathing filled the space, sharp and fast. He couldn't let go of the tension that was coiled within him, couldn't help but brace for when the world around him would twist itself again into another prison or punishment.

At least the bed beneath him felt solid, he thought to himself, hands shaking as he pushed himself upright; the bed, and the fabric that he brushed against when he shifted, fabric that was soft and fluffy and like nothing he'd ever had access to in his months in the Chancellors' care. 

Fox found himself pulling the softer object towards him, newer instinctings telling him to hug it to his chest. He did so, the motion unfamiliar yet comforting, and he let out a shuddering breath.

The material gave easily beneath his arms when he clutched it, and eventually he was able to focus enough to make out a pair of ears and a long tail, and a familiar soulful expression. He blinked, taking this in, before pulling it back towards him. The soft material molded against his body as he clutched it, another sensation that he could have never imagined up for himself in his dreams.

He took a deeper breath in, and exhaled. He ran his fingers through the fox's fur as he did so – the fox that had been passed onto him by Wolffe, he can now remember, gifted to him by members of the Guard.

He took a deeper breath in, and exhaled.

After some time, Fox found himself feeling present enough to consider his next move. Going back to sleep didn't seem feasible, the echo of the nightmare and a dozen faceless brothers (and one that he could only wish had been faceless) still too recent for him to consider confronting again. Similarly, staying in this room, alone, with only the little fox for company, also didn't seem like a good option.

Fox wasn't sure what he wanted to do, and so let instinct lead him, finding himself slipping out of his room and into the common area. The room was empty, but at least a different space than the one he'd woken up in. 

He was just about to settle into one of the armchairs and dig out a training module when the door to one of the adjacent rooms slid open. For a moment he tensed, caught between instincts that told him that this might be a threat to be wary of, or that he had been caught doing something he shouldn't and should brace for reprimand of some kind.

The figure that emerged from the smaller bedroom didn't warrant either response, however, and Fox quickly felt silly for even considering them. 

"Fox?" came Wolffe's voice from the doorway, "is everything alright?"

The shadows obscured his face as he talked and for a second Fox expected to see a sneer across his expression– but then the moment passed, and Wolffe was blinking into the light with a look of what could only be concern.

Fox wasn't sure how to respond, absentmindedly tugging the little fox closer to him, watching as the movement drew Wolffe's eye and a smile out of him. 

"Well, hey," Wolffe continued, seeming to sense Fox's dilemma just as easily now as he had when they were both the same age, "I'm glad you're not all alone out here, at least. Would you mind a bit more company?"

The question, and all questions like it, were still something that made Fox pause. For a long time, the only reason anyone had for asking him anything had been to test him. 

He wanted to treat it like those tests again now, knew that he shouldn't rely on the kindness of his batchmate to cover for his own weaknesses, but Fox was tired, and Wolffe was wearing an expression of sincerity so familiar to Fox's memories of him that Fox couldn't bring it in himself to do the right thing and assure his brother that he would be fine out here alone.

Instead, he nodded, and quietly shuffled over to make space for Wolffe beside him. 

He wasn't aware of the point at which he finally drifted off to sleep again, smaller fox tucked under one hand and the silent but steady presence of his brother beside him, but Fox was aware of the morning light that woke him gently, hours later, after a night of dreamless sleep. 

—

“Fox?”

Fox waited for a moment after the knock on his door, before remembering what he was supposed to do.

“Come in,” he responded. The little ritual still felt odd, but everyone seemed to require it of him, so he complied. Perhaps as Marshall Commander, there had been the risk of visitors interrupting important business? But Fox didn’t hold that rank now, and he certainly wasn’t doing anything important. On Kamino, Fox had always been busy training. With the Chancellor, he’d mostly been busy being punished. Now, no one seemed willing to do either. When he’d finally worked up the nerve to ask the Jedi General what he was supposed to be doing, he’d been told to ‘just focus on healing.’ Whatever that meant.

From outside the door came an adult clone with long (nonregulation) blond hair, and Coruscant Guard armor. Fox flinched, then immediately regretted it. He’d given permission for the Guard to visit him, figuring it was better to get the worst over with. But now… bad enough to be caught with his attention wandering, but he’d also made the Guard angry with the flinch. Stupid – a week ago, he would have been strong enough not to flinch. But between the bacta and the bone-knitter, Fox was in so little pain right now, and it made him sloppy.

At least that was about to be fixed. From the stormy look on the Guard’s face, this was going to hurt.

“Fox.” The clone’s voice was surprisingly gentle for someone about to punish him. “I know you probably don’t remember me, but my name is Thorn. I am- I was - one of your commanders since the start of the war.”

Kriff.  

(Fox’s vocabulary of curses had expanded dramatically in the past couple of days. For some reason, people kept seeing his broken and bruised body, and saying words that they decided a second later cadets shouldn’t know.) 

If Thorn really was a commander, and had served under Fox for even longer than Marshall Commander Thire…

“I’m sorry,” Fox said meekly, knowing better than to think it would lessen his punishment. Commander Thorn deserved to hurt him more than anyone, and he hadn’t even had the chance to get the edge off the way Commander Thire had.

“You don’t have to apologize!” said Thorn, confirming Fox’s fears. “It’s hardly your fault you can’t remember.”

One of the few things in the galaxy that wasn’t Fox’s fault, then.

“It’s- I know how strange this is. I’ve heard so much awful stuff from Thire, and-”

Kriff.

“And I know you don’t remember right now, but you’re one of my closest friends, and I missed you. And I needed to tell you how much we- me, the whole Guard really- cares about you, and respects you, and hopes you’re doing well-”

Wait, what?

“I know Palpatine told you we didn’t,” Thorn said hurriedly, and Fox realized he’d accidentally voiced his astonishment out loud. “I know he- made Thire say we didn’t. But. It was a lie, all of it. We love you, all of us. So, so much. We would never want you hurt. There was so much to do when the Chancellor died, and the medics wouldn’t let us see you, and Thire said it maybe wasn't a good idea anyway and- that’s probably the only reason you haven’t been mobbed by well-wishers from the Guard by now!”

Fox stared.

“And- we got the soft toy,” Thorn said, nodding at the large plush fox sitting quietly on Fox’s bed. “Like I said, we couldn’t come see you, so Wolffe delivered it for us. But we wanted you to have something, and- the others sent me with this too, here-”

Thorn thrust out his arm and Fox caught himself before the flinch this time, taking a small crinkly bag, filled with-

“They’re candies,” Thorn said. “Sweet foods natborns make. We couldn’t get you your favorite, because the medics said you shouldn’t have caff in a body this young even if it was just flavoring with chocolate. But these were your second favorite, we asked Amidala for some. They’re hard candies, you put them in your mouth and suck on them and they taste like strawberry- that’s a kind of fruit- at least they’re supposed to, I haven’t actually had a strawberry, and- would you like to try one?”

Fox had been starting to get lost in Commander Thorn’s strange babble, full of things he didn’t – couldn't – understand. But Fox recognized an order when he heard it, so he opened the little bag and carefully pulled out one of the … objects.

It was wrapped in plastic foil, red with little yellow dots on it. Where his fingers held it, the foil was all twisted up to close it, and it was green instead, with a jagged line to border between the two colors. Moving cautiously, Fox unspun the foil and pulled it down, revealing shiny red oval shape. He was supposed to eat this? It didn’t look like any of the rations Fox had ever had, but he wasn’t going to disobey an order, especially when Thorn inexplicably wasn’t hurting him yet.

Fox put the little object – ‘candy,’ apparently – in his mouth.

It was … sweet. Very sweet. More so than the juice box. But not just sweet. There was a little undertone of flavor Fox couldn’t name … he found himself rolling the thing around on his tongue trying to decipher it, and found that he liked it. Liked it a lot, actually, and he wanted to chew on it to get more of the flavor between his teeth, but Thorn had said he was supposed to suck on it instead-

Thorn! All the sensation from the candy had distracted Fox from the very real threat in the room. Thorn was sure to be furious. Especially since, Fox realized, he’d accidentally made a little noise in the back of his throat when he’d realized how good the taste was. 

Stars, Fox was so stupid . The Chancellor had worked so hard training Fox to be silent, and just a few days away and Fox was getting so sloppy! The Chancellor would be furious at all that wasted effort, would have to repeat all the punishments or maybe just cut out Fox’s tongue, like he’d threatened to when he’d ground his heeled boots into Fox’s fingers and Fox hadn’t been able to stop whimpering. And- was that what the candy had been for? A trap for Fox’s disobedient tongue? To show what a useless thing it was, for a clone who’d never be a soldier or commander, someone who the whole galaxy would be better off if he never spoke again?

Somewhere in the back of Fox’s mind, as his breathing raced and sobs threatened, Fox thought that if he was about to lose his tongue, then a strawberry candy wouldn't be so bad as the last thing he’d ever taste.

“Fox!”

Even hyperventilating, Fox snapped to attention at the sound of his name.

“Fox, I need you to breathe with me, okay? Just like in training. In three, hold four, out seven. Ready?”

Fox nodded mutely, still shaking, still not willing to spit out the candy in his mouth unless Thorn forced him to. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Over and over again, Thorn guided him through the exercise. 

It was strange, realizing the adult clones really had gotten the same training as Fox and his brothers. Of course they had; they’d been Fox’s brothers, once, even if Fox had lost that privilege when he’d failed them so thoroughly. But they all knew how to calm down a panicking cadet just the same.

“You back with me?” Thorn asked gently, tone so familiar from batchmates asking Fox the same question after a bad training day. His voice was deeper, but the words were the same. The Chancellor had never calmed Fox down when he was panicking, and neither had Commander Thire. For a moment, he dared imagine…

“Are you going to hurt me?” Fox asked, grateful the breathing exercise had finally given him the courage to ask.

“ No. ” Maybe the exercise had given Thorn courage too, because he wasn’t rambling like before. Just looking straight into Fox’s eyes, words confident and sure. “I am never going to hurt you, Fox. Neither is any of the Guard, not ever again. I swear it on all of our lives.”

And that- Fox shouldn’t believe it. Had no reason to trust Thorn, not really, and so many bandaged and still-healing reasons to disbelieve him. But…

“But I failed you,” Fox said, still more calmly than he should be able to say those words. “Over and over again. I did awful things, allowed awful things, for the whole battalion. All of you hate me.” As if in contrast to Thorn’s sureness, there was the slightest curl of uncertainty, almost like doubt, almost like hope , in his final sentence.

“You never failed us.” Again, Thorn didn’t let his eyes leave Fox’s. He was so, so hard to disbelieve. “Not once. I was by your side for three years. I saw you work miracles to try and keep us all safe, from the separatists and the senators and the- Chancellor. You did miracles , Fox, and no one in the galaxy could have done a better job. When we got hurt, when our supplies ran low or decommission orders came through – the only thing keeping us going was knowing that you’d done everything you could to help us. And that meant everything possible to do, or sometimes more. There’s not a single Guard, living or dead, who’d disagree.”

Fox didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t- it couldn’t be true. But he didn’t know how to disagree with Thorn, either.

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me yet,” Thorn said, voice impossibly gently. “But if you’d like – and only if you’d like – there’s plenty of people in the Guard who’d like to see you. I’m sure they’d all be happy to tell you how much you mean to them. How much good you’ve done. Would you-” Thorn hesitated, some of his earlier uncertainty seeming to return. “Would you like that?”

Another trap question. Part of his mind was imagining a swarm of red-armored Guards descending on him, all beating him at once. Part of him worried what Thorn would say if he gave the wrong answer, and which answer that was. But part of him-

“It’s soft!” Fox said in astonishment. He was being stupid, of course, not answering Thorn’s question. But- “The candy. It’s soft now! And it tastes different.” Fox hesitated, swirling the squishy sweetness free of the remaining hard shell. “Am I allowed to chew on it now?”

Thorn laughed. It was only the second time Fox had heard an adult clone make the noise, and it felt completely different being the source of it. Completely different from the Chancellor’s laugh, too, the one that came whenever Fox was suffering particularly well. This one felt softer. Like the plush toy on Fox’s bed. Like the new texture of the sweet candy in his mouth.

“Yes, you’re free to chew the filling! You can chew them from the start, actually, it’s just that- your older self- would always judge anyone who did. Said we weren’t ‘savoring the experience.’” Thorn laughed again, and Fox decided he liked the sound.

Fox gave a few experimental chews of the filling, then some far more vigorous chews as the stuff got stuck in his teeth.

“There’s more in the bag if you finish that one,” said Thorn. “And we can get you more bags if you want. I’m sure Senator Organa will smuggle them to you if we ask.”

“You know Senator Organa?” Fox asked, realizing a moment later it was a stupid question.

“Yes, he’s one of the few senators we can trust,” said Thorn. “I don’t know him as well as you- did, though. I’m glad he’s been able to help you. And Wolffe too, and all the others.”

Fox looked carefully at the candy bag in his lap for a long time. He was glad to know he could get more, that Senator Organa (“call me Bail”) would deliver them. Even if he didn’t want to see any more of the Guard, it seemed. It was all a little unreal.

“You … can send more of the Guard,” Fox said quietly, eyes still on the candy. “One at a time, I mean. If you want. I don’t mind seeing them.”

Thorn smiled, and Fox realized that the nice thing about having a big, grown-up sized face, was that his smile was bigger too.

“Thank you, Fox. From all of us.”

That great big smile was still on Thorn’s face when he left.

—

The first visitor the next day was another commander Fox didn’t know. He introduced himself as Stone in an unusually soft, rusty voice. After an awkward pause he spoke again. 

“A mission I was leading went very wrong. One of the diplomats we were escorting died. The overall mission was a success, but I was punished.” Seeing Fox’s expression he hurried to add, “By the Chancellor, not you. I wasn’t so good for Senate duty after that. I could do it but…” He shook his head. “Anyway, you didn't demote me or worse. Instead you put me in charge of the prison almost full time. Before that we all rotated, but you changed the system. Just for me.” 

In the silence that followed, Stone looked down at his hands and Fox tried to fit the story into his self image. It wasn’t the act of a man who put standard procedures over the health of his troops. 

“I’ve got to go. They’re arresting senators today and I get to welcome them to their new quarters. Wanted to see you first, though, since I’ll be happily busy for a couple days.” Stone said with a slow, savage smile that froze Fox in place, but nothing worse happened. Instead, the commander took a brown cylinder out of his utility belt and offered it to Fox. 

“Since you can’t have caff. It’s a scented candle. Organa helped me pick it and the Jedi will give you matches.” He left. 

Fox found he very much liked the smell of the candle and the little flame was relaxing to watch after he was given yet another dose of painkillers. 

Around lunch time the same day, a beaming clone wearing a medic’s uniform came in bearing a large plastic bag which gave off wonderful, unfamiliar smells. He sat in the same chair every visiting commander had and started to unload white disposable containers onto Fox’s bedside table. 

“I’m Countback. You saved me from reconditioning by switching my number into a KIA list you hadn’t submitted yet. 9851 isn’t my real number. You did it for lots of vode with decom and recon requests for their numbers. It’s why we weren’t supposed to share our names with natborns. Easier to hide us if we’re just numbers, you said.” Without pausing for breath he switched topics while Fox filed that piece of information into ‘Things That Contradict What The Chancellor Told Me.’ “Hyssop and Risk couldn’t come today since we can’t all leave the medbay and also we’re supposed to be coming one at a time, but the CMO told me your favorite, least spicy take out spot and I cleared it with the Jedi medics so long as you have small portions. Thorn warned us some flavors you usually like might not be fun for you right now.” The whole speech was very fast and Countback’s sunny smile never faltered once, even when he mentioned the decommissioning and reconditioning statistics the Chancellor had tormented Fox with or the dead brother whose number had saved him. 

Countback placed one of the containers on a lap tray and laid it over Fox’s legs. The contents were… indescribable and steaming. Fox’s mouth flooded with saliva and his stomach gave an embarrassing, loud gurgle which the older clone tactfully didn’t mention. Fox liked the Jedi temple food he’d had for dinner and breakfast and looked forward to trying something else new. It was all so far removed from the things he’d eaten all his life that he wasn’t sure he’d notice if he DIDN’T like something. What did he have to compare it to after all? 

The hypothetical unliked food was definitely not takeout, he decided as soon as he bit into a fried cylinder filled with meat and vegetables. He couldn’t help a happy rock to each side as he chewed. He froze at his own childish behavior and glanced at Countback, who was digging into his own lunch and watching Fox with a softer sort of smile. 

—

There were more visitors the next day. Not just Wolffe and the nice Senator Organa but even more guards, each one knocking on his door and waiting while he decided if he was up for seeing one of them. Not all of them brought gifts, but enough had that he worried he’d run out of room on his bedside table. What was he supposed to do with all this? Would it be thrown out once he was better and not in the Temple medbay anymore? 

One trooper was a Corrie pilot who had subbed onto a mid level patrol during the personnel shortage caused by the Zilo Beast rampage (which apparently had not been Fox’s fault). The patrol had been attacked by slavers and taken to the lower levels. 

“You found their hideout before they could transport us off world.” Flicker told him, eyes shadowed. “You led the rescue team in person. Because you know the city and you’re one of the best fighters. And because you always did your best to take care of us.” He left Fox with a small toy called a fidget that he said was good for long hyperspace trips and maybe for long medbay stays too. 

Another medic, introducing himself as Risk, sat down with Fox next. He spoke very softly and steadily of all the times that Fox had refused medical care to conserve supplies for the other Corries, of the many sacrifices he'd made to ensure that they could continue to do their jobs and keep their medbay running. 

"As medics," he explained, "we're meant to be responsible for the lives of everyone around us. But you were the one who stepped in, and put our lives before your own. I hated it to begin with, sure, but your stubbornness probably saved us a dozen times over from one disaster or another. I'm glad to have you back, sir, and I'm glad that we can finally return the favour."

The trooper that approached Fox after that was a quieter presence, but seemed just as oddly earnest as the rest. Infra was one of the troopers who worked primarily in the senate building, apparently, taking some time to explain the work they did there, and the many demands that had been placed upon them. "We were never really trained for any of this, you know," he said after a while. "The diplomacy modules on Kamino can't really prepare you for working with natborns the way we were expected to." 

He paused, looking across at Fox with an unfamiliar expression. Fox had seen it on the faces of his brothers watching the older clones training them, on some of the faces of troopers telling stories over the past few days. Admiration.

"If we hadn't had you there to figure things out for us, to step in and teach us everything that you'd figured out the hard way about the natborns in the senate, we'd have lost many more men than we did. You were the best commander we could have been assigned to work under, sir. Truly."

“My name is Tree,” said the new trooper, holding something behind his back like so many of the others. Fox was still doing his best to commit to memory the names of every Corrie in this strange parade. “I was so disappointed to be assigned to Coruscant,” said Tree. “Ever since I was your age, I’d dreamed of leaving Kamino and getting to see real plants. Real trees, you know? But of course there aren’t any here.”

Tree looked down for a moment, and Fox had to suppress a bizarre urge to comfort the older trooper. “You figured out ways to get me on escort missions off-world. Even arranged for me to guard Senators Organa and Mothma on a trip to a botanical garden. They got me a potted plant to look after and you let me keep it in your office because it’s got the best light. And so I asked Senator Mothma for a favor when everyone was getting you gifts – here!”

Tree brought his hands around from his back and held – what seemed like a little orange cup, with something round and green in it.

“It’s an echeveria. A succulent, so it’s really hard to kill. You only have to water it every few weeks.” 

Carefully, Fox took the little thing. He poked cautiously at what he supposed were its leaves, arranged concentrically around the center. They were thick, and bounced back a little bit when he touched them.

“It’s … alive?” Fox asked in wonderment, amazed anyone would trust him with a living thing after what he had hadn’t? done. 

“Yeah!” Tree was beaming at him, with something too soft and tender under his expression. “It took me like that, too. It’ll grow if you take care of it, and you can name it, and everyone says they grow better if you talk to them. But nothing will go wrong as long as you give it light, and little bits of water. Nothing’s gonna hurt it.”

Fox looked down at his (his!) little plant. He held the pot carefully, tracing his finger along the edges of the leaves. He thought maybe he liked plants. He thought maybe he liked Tree, too. And, an even more strange thought, it seemed like Tree liked him.

—

Fox was … thoughtful, as the last of the Guards left his hospital room. They’d all seemed to be honest, those grown-up clones looking at him with such affection. Fox couldn’t quite bring himself to believe all the things they said about the grown-up version of himself, not when he already knew them to be false. But, well, it felt good to hear. Maybe that was the point. The big clones wanted to comfort Fox, so they told him things that would make him feel better. Even if they weren’t true.

(And if they were? If Fox really had done good things for his men, back when he couldn’t remember? Maybe he was still a failure, but at least he’d done a few things right. Made life better for a few of his brothers.)

Not all of them, though.

Not all of them.

Thire, Jare, and Paints. The last two names, Fox hadn’t known until later. The three troopers whom the Chancellor had rewarded. The ones who’d hurt him. Fox knew beyond a doubt that those three, at least, deserved their hatred of him. They’d told him so themselves.

And they hadn’t come to see him. They didn’t forgive him like the other clones inexplicably did. Fox was a little disappointed in that, but comforted too. At least it was one thing that still made sense, in this upside-down world.

—

“You need to see him.”

It was Stone who finally said it. His expression was as stoic as ever, but there was an edge to his voice that said he knew exactly how much of a kriffing coward Thire was being.

“How can I?” Thire asked, voice hoarse. “He’s still scared of every clone he sees. Because of me, Stone. Because I hurt him, and let him get hurt. What am I supposed to do? Just go in there and say sorry?”

“Yes,” Stone said bluntly, as though it was obvious. And maybe it was, to someone who didn’t still see Fox’s sobbing face beneath his fist every time he closed his eyes. How could Thire possibly deserve to see Fox?

Stone sighed, relenting only slightly. “There’s someone else you have to talk to, then.”

As long as it wasn’t Fox, he’d agree to anything.

—

“Commander.” Paints sounded as miserable as Thire felt.

“Paints. Jare. What … is all this?”

Jare looked around him, the area around them littered with small sweets, toys, cards and drawings. Thire noted that foxes played a prominent theme in the scattered objects, as well as sentiments like ‘we’re sorry.’

“We … we wanted to give him something.” Jare’s voice hesitated. Broke. “All the others are. Trying to comfort him, you know. They say he’s getting less scared of them. But…”

Stars, they were all one big sopping mess, weren’t they.

“You need to talk to Fox,” Thire said, knowing he was a hypocrite, and knowing also that Stone’s advice had been right. “Apologize in person. All this stuff looks great.” Though, perhaps not all of it at once. Trying to give Fox all of the gifts Paints and Jare had acquired and discarded was liable to bury the poor little cadet.

Paints looked up at Thire with an expression that broke his heart. How Thire had hoped, as much as he’d dared hope anything once becoming Marshall Commander, to never have to break his trooper’s spirits the way he’d done to Paints and Jare.

“Will you … come with us? Please?”

The vulnerability in Paints’ voice broke Thire’s heart. Again. For all that they were the same age, Thire felt a fierce surge of protectiveness for his brother. Much as he didn’t want to say it, there was only one answer Thire could give. “Of course, vod. ”

—

“I’m sorry.”

The words had been on Thire’s lips the moment the door opened to allow him, Paints, and Jare into the little hospital room. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough.

Fox had said it first.

Thire’s mouth just opened and closed like a fish, because what could he say to that, but-

“You don’t have to be sorry, vod, ” said Paints, finding words where Thire couldn’t. “Please, it’s- it’s us that’s sorry. For everything.”

Fox looked between the three of them, eyes too wide and too knowing.

“We got these for you,” Jare hurried to say. They’d chosen a small assortment of the potential gifts. A little stuffed toy, one of Paint’s drawings, and a collection of sweets that the other brothers said Fox had liked. 

Fox didn’t say anything. Just watched the presents be stacked onto the growing pile on his bedside table.

“We’re sorry,” Thire tried to say, but the words didn’t come. They stuck in his throat just as they had so many times in the Chancellor’s office. 

“We didn’t mean what we said,” Paints managed. “Not when- we didn’t have a choice. He’d have hurt you worse if we hadn’t.”

“It almost killed us, hurting you like that,” Jare echoed. “The things we said. They were true because we couldn’t lie. But none of it was your fault. We all knew none of it was your fault. Not the rations, not the decommissions, nothing! We just- the Chancellor said he’d do worse, if we said it wasn’t your fault. I swear we didn’t want to, Fox.”

Fox still didn’t say anything, as Jare finally fell silent. In his lap, his hands stroked a soft-looking plush toy which was almost half his size.

“You didn’t hate me?” Fox asked finally.

“Never!” Paints rushed to answer. Thire remembered that Paints had been a Corrie even longer than Thire himself had. He’d known Fox longer than Thire, even if he never knew him as well. “We could never hate you, Fox. Not then, and not now. Never. We swear it.”

Beside him, Jare was nodding firmly, and Thire…

Thire was still rooted in place. He could scarcely breathe with Fox’s eyes on him, let alone move. Let alone speak.

Please, do be careful in what you say to him. If you give him an inflated sense of self worth, I will be forced to cut his ego back down to size

Fox looked at Paints, and then at Jare. Then, inexorably, his eyes returned to Thire instead. He seemed to come to a decision.

“I’d like to speak to the Marshall Commander alone, please.” Fox’s voice was high and quiet, and it wasn’t shaking.

Paints and Jare exchanged looks, looking worried for a second, before acceding to Fox’s request. How could they not? How could any of them deny Fox anything, after what they’d done?

The door closed, and it was just Thire and Fox alone in the little room. Fox in his bed, Thire in the visitor’s chair. Thire should talk, now. Should apologize, he knew it, or else should get up and flee like the coward he was.

Somewhere within, the phantom gaze of the Chancellor kept him still.

“You can hit me.”

“What?” The words were so startling that Thire was finally able, briefly, to speak.

“I know you’re upset,” Fox said, voice still small, but confident. “All the others apologized, but you don’t have to. It’s okay. I know I left you.”

You left me. The words that had shattered Thire’s heart to say, and Fox’s to hear. The ones that still rang out in his nightmares.

“I don’t-” Thire tried to say, but once again, the words didn’t come. Too many times, he’d been forced to stay silent, as he watched Fox be hurt. He couldn’t seem to break the habit now.

“You’re allowed to hate me,” Fox continued, voice far too old and too young at the same time. “I don’t mind. Everyone else is apologizing, but you know all the things I did. You know how I deserve to be treated.”

Horror was rising and Thire needed to stop this, needed to say something but-

You object to my treatment of the cadet, CC-4477? I am most terribly sorry. Of course, you must want his punishment to be more severe; let me find something that suits.

Saying anything, objecting to the horror, trying to make it stop , had only ever made it all worse.

“You can hurt me,” Fox said, quiet. “I won’t tell the medics. I won’t fight back. You- I know he gave it to you as a reward. So, please. I want you to hurt me. You deserve it, as thanks. For keeping the Guard safe when I couldn’t.”

Well done, Commander Thire, echoed that horribly familiar voice in Thire’s mind. Now punish him.

Something inside Thire broke.

Fox was confused. He thought he’d done a good job in asking. Being punished was his job, after all, even if so many people didn’t want to do it now. Even Chancellor Palpatine, who was always sparing with compliments, had said Fox was good at asking to be hurt.

So, he couldn’t understand why Marshall Commander Thire had just broken down in tears.

Before the Chancellor died, Fox hadn’t known that grown-up clones cried. He’d thought he was the only one still weak enough for that. But since then, he’d seen so many of his brothers crying. Wolffe, the 104th troopers, and oh-so-many of the Guards. Fox didn’t understand it, especially why the Jedi didn’t reprimand them for it. But then, Fox was young and stupid, so perhaps it was okay that he didn’t understand. 

Even still, Fox had never imagined that Marshall Commander Thire would cry.

Fox knew, because the Chancellor had said it, that his replacement had done infinitely better at leading the Guard than Fox ever had. If he made mistakes, if the Guard still got hurt, it was only because Thire was spending all his time making up for Fox’s incompetence. That was good, and Fox was glad the Guard’s new commander was so much better than him.

Fox knew, because he’d seen it, that Commander Thire was strong. He’d always admired it, as he shook and tried not to scream from the Chancellor’s punishments. Thire was always so calm, counting out Fox’s pain, listing his failings (even if he was listing the Guard’s failings, Fox knew it was really his fault). Thire’s voice never shook or broke. He never messed up, like Fox did over and over again. He always knew just what to say, when the Chancellor asked him how Fox ought to be punished. 

Even though it was foolish, Fox often wished he’d grown up to be like Thire, instead of the failure he knew he’d become.

So why was Thire crying now?

“It’s … okay?” Fox hazarded. He didn’t really know how to comfort a grown up clone, although he’d been getting a lot of practice in the last few days. He racked his brain for what he might have said wrong, because this was surely Fox’s fault.

“I can fight back if you prefer it?” Fox offered. “I mean, I know just hurting me isn’t enough to make up for having to clean up all my mistakes. But I promise, if there’s anything else you want, I can do it for you. I really am grateful that you took care of the Guard so well.”

Still nothing but sobs, and sobs, and sobs.

“I’m sorry I left you,” Fox said, quieter. “You were probably better off without me, but- I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Thire hated himself, that it had taken this long to be able to speak. That he’d had to wait to hear Fox say yet more agonizing things before he was able to force the first words past his lips. They weren’t ‘I’m sorry,’ but they should have been.

“I love you,” came a voice through the sobs, and Fox froze.

“I love you, Fox. You were my best friend before all this, and I thought I’d die when you were gone. I would have, if I thought for a moment it would get you back.”

Fox didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe, as words, impossible words, kept flowing forth amidst tears.

“I tried so hard to keep you safe. I know it doesn’t matter, but I promise you I did everything I could. Everything I did was to keep him from hurting you more and I just- I failed, Fox. I failed the Guard and I failed you and I just-” a choking, heaving breath. “I’m so sorry, Fox. I don’t deserve to tell you that, to look at you at all after what I did but- I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

This wasn’t right. Fox knew it wasn’t right. Even after everything Wolffe and the Jedi and all the Guards had told him, Fox knew this wasn’t right. Not from Thire. Commander Thire and his well-deserved hatred had been one of the few certainties Fox had left.

“But … you hurt me.” Fox hated how small his voice sounded, how weak and bewildered.

Thire finally stifled his sobs, and looked up at Fox with red, puffy eyes.

“I will never forgive myself for that,” Thire said, and the steel in his voice was strong like it’d been when he’d called for Fox’s punishments. “Never. You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know. Any time I tried to help you, to stop him, the Chancellor only hurt you worse. I wasn’t brave enough to defy him, not with your safety on the line. There was always a worse punishment to fear, and I- all I could think to do was play along. It was like dying, watching you be hurt.”

“It never sounded like you minded,” Fox said, not sure if it was denial or accusation.

If possible, Thire’s face broke open even further at that.

“It’s something you learn when you grow up,” Thire whispered. “If you’re a Corrie, you learn it with someone’s life on the line. How to lie.”

Fox felt something wet on his cheek. He clenched his fists, cursing himself, because surely he wasn’t crying. Even if Commander Thire already was.

“You said I deserved to be hurt.”

“I lied.”

Fox shook his head, desperate not to hear all these things that couldn’t be true. Because then-

“You said you’d keep me safe.”

Thire’s voice was a broken, shattered thing. “I lied then, too.”

Now, it was Fox’s turn, to cry, and cry, and cry.

—

The road to returning Fox to his adult self was a rocky one, predictably. He was later told that the process had left him unconscious for a number of days, which he believed very easily. Nothing had made much sense to him in the time immediately after waking, and the exhaustion that had weighed him down had been bone-deep, somehow worse than anything he'd forced himself to work through before that point. It was as if the years of putting off sleep for just a couple of hours longer had suddenly caught up to him all at once, a decade of weariness making his mind slow and limbs heavy.  

It meant that after they'd provided him with their explanations, far fetched as they seemed, all he had left to do with his time was mull over where the many gifts, a small potted plant, and the one tiny plushie fox had appeared from. The plushie in particular seemed to stare at him soulfully, inspiring a sense of comfort that made him want to call over a healer and question who had gifted it to him.

(There were also some things he decided that he didn't have the energy to question, though, like why it was so much easier to fall back into sleep with it tucked under one arm.)

When Fox spent any time examining his memories, however, he found a paradox. A potential source of headache, if it were not contending with many other more pressing causes for one ( the Chancellor, dead! ).

Where he had once looked back on his childhood (if any of them could call it that), and only had the memories of cold Kamino waiting for him, now he could recall some vague sense of warmth and security, alien to the memories of the ocean planet. Flashes of an office, one of those that he'd seen on duty in the senate building, but from a different angle, interspersed the bleak hallways and uniform training rooms. 

And on the opposite end of the emotional scale, his memories of the training itself melded into something that he wanted to believe was a nightmare but felt too vividly real. Interrogation resistance hadn't been something that any of them had faced until much later in their growth cycle than when his brain seemed to insist that it had occurred.

So, it was a mixed bag of good and bad that he was left to sift through in the early days of his recovery, between long stretches of sleep. 

The strangest thing that he had to try and reconcile with his memories of how things should have been, was when he sat down and opened one of his many gifted bags of sweets, and found that he now seemed to prefer sweets of the strawberry variety instead of those flavoured with caff. It was a very little thing, really, such a minor change in his tastes to find himself stumbling over, but it felt significant somehow when caff had been one of his few sources of comfort for so long. Now, he picked through the packet of sweets, and found his tastes sweeter when he'd never before been given the chance to develop any tastes of his own at all. 

The whole thing reminded him of Thorn's laughter and a conversation that he couldn't quite grasp, but left him with an unshakeable feeling of contentment – and that was another novelty, there. 

Fox could settle back into his bed, surrounded by small comforts and reminders of the people who he cared for (and cared for him, the proof right there in front of him), and feel content. There were no looming deadlines, or meetings with violent consequences to plan into his schedule, or even any flimsiwork left for him to slog through. 

All he was left with was a fox tucked under one arm, a quiet room to rest in, and the knowledge that he'd be able to talk to his brothers in the morning. Fox, finally, felt safe.