Rex isn’t exactly sure what’s happening. Everything’s a little blurry, a little off-kilter. Fives is dead. Fives is dead and Fox killed him. Rex’s brain keeps hitting a wall, refusing to fully process what’s happening.
What he can process is the way Fox is just standing there, looking on from the sidelines as if nothing’s wrong. He hadn’t even joined the rest of the Guard in Rex’s grief.
There had been a time when Rex had believed Cody and Wolffe’s claims that Fox was just stressed and awkward, not heartless. That time has passed.
Rex pushes out of the circle of vod and advances on Fox, snarling in some grim satisfaction when the Commander lets him back them up to the wall. Fox is still just standing there, stumbling along like he’s the one who’s grieving. Rex slams his hand into the wall next to Fox’s head. Fox twitches.
“What is wrong with you?” Rex yells. Screams, more like, with the way his voice cracks in the middle of the statement. “I- How could you- Do you even-” Rex sputters, completely at a loss for words. “He’s dead, Fox. One of my men is dead because you’re such a kriffing robot that you can’t turn your gun to stun one time.”
Fox says nothing, just leans back as Rex moves closer. The back of his helmet hits the warehouse wall with a clang.
“You don’t feel anything at all, do you? You just follow orders like a good little soldier,” Rex spits, thinking with a shiver of Tup and his final words. He shoves Fox, pushing at his chestplate until he’s flat against the wall. “It should be you lying there, you know. I wish he’d shot first. I hate you,” he finishes in a vindictive whisper, voice too hoarse and heart too broken for anything else.
Rex waits for a moment for Fox to respond. When he doesn’t, Rex sneers one last, “Typical,” and turns on his heel to deal with the mess Fox has left.
The last thing he sees before carrying Fives’s body out the door is one of the other Corries (Thire, Rex thinks his name is) tugging Fox’s helmet off. Fox’s eyes are unfocused.
You have 134 unread messages.
CDR Cody: Fox, what happened?
CDR Cody: Rex just talked with me. I read the reports. What’s going on?
CRD Cody: Fox
CDR Cody: I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing
CDR Cody: Fox
CDR Thire: i’ve got your next shift covered. talk later?
Amidala, Padme: (five attachments)
Amidala, Padme: This should be everything for next week’s gala. If you need anything else, just shoot me another message!
CDR Stone: (shiftassignments.4.72.pdf)
CDR Wolffe: fox what the fuck is going on
CDR Wolffe: i hope you have this under control
Kingston, June: Commander, the Chancellor requests your presence tomorrow morning at 0715 in his main office. Does this time work for you? Thanks, Sec. Kingston.
Administrative.DONOTREPLY: Attention [CC-1010], one or more urgent forms type GAR-PERMRECORDS-DEATHCERTIFICATES have been submitted to your inbox and require action.
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Fox takes a moment to press the heel of his hand to his forehead, willing the pressure to drive out the headache. It doesn’t work. It never does.
He sets his ‘pad down, nearly missing the edge of the desk. He hasn’t been right since. Since. Since the warehouse.
Think it, coward. You did it, so live with it. Or don’t.
Since he ki-
Come on, do it. Hut’uun. Do it.
Since Fox killed ARC Trooper Fives. Since Fox drew his blaster and fired and shot him right in the middle of the chest. Since Fox went out of his own head for the millionth time and made another vod pay the price for it.
He’d come back to himself moments after the shot, just in time to have clear memories of Fives’s dying breaths. Just in time to hear Rex, Fox’s vod’ika, one of the ones Fox would die to protect, cry and scream and curse him out. Fox took it. It was pathetic penance, but it was a start. He’ll continue now.
Fox can’t remain in this position if he’s compromised. Whatever’s happening, whatever’s causing these blackouts, is beyond what he can handle. He can’t be the Guard Commander, can’t hold a position of power over his siblings, if he’s like this.
Even if they don’t declare him medically unfit, Fox could court martial his own Force-damned self with the helmet footage of what’d happened.
Hell, he might as well do both at once.
Mace is woken at some ungodly hour by the urgent chime of his communicator. He tries to ignore it, to savor the little bit of shore leave he has, but it sounds again, on the priority line this time. He sighs, sitting up and shoving at his blankets until he feels composed enough to view the message.
Priority Alert:
CC-1010: Requesting an on-duty nat-born officer to meet and discuss a court martial and potential removal from duty.
Depa Billaba: Sounds fun, but I’ve got to leave again at 0310. @Mace Windu should be available, though.
Mace Windu: Thank you for alerting me during my free slot, Padawan mine.
Mace Windu: @CC-1010, I will meet you in your office at 0255.
CC-1010: Thank you, General. I’ll be waiting.
Mace stands and stretches, reluctant to leave his quarters but taken by the sinking feeling that there is more to this situation than Commander Fox is telling. The Commander rarely requested nat-born interference in the Guard’s comings and goings, though he worked closely with the Sentinels and the Temple at large. Furthermore, Mace had never heard of him removing a Guard member from duty. He was known for his strict discipline, yes, but he seemed to go to great lengths to avoid the transfer or removal of any of his men.
Mace throws his robes on and prays this won’t turn into too big of a headache.
Mace arrives outside Commander Fox’s door at 0250, but his knock is answered almost immediately. Commander Fox stands just inside the door in full armor, save for his helmet, which is on the desk behind him. He’s also entirely unarmed.
“General. Thank you for your prompt response. Please, come in.” Fox backs into the room and stands behind his desk, clearly ill at ease. He looks awful, pale and shaky and tired, and Mace wonders if this has anything to do with the evening’s security catastrophe.
Mace sits in the visitor’s chair, hoping to encourage Fox to sit as well. He doesn’t. Mace clears his throat. “You called me here with concerns about a trooper?”
Fox shifts from foot to foot, hands clasped behind his back. His eye twitches minutely. “Yes, sir. Specifically, I’m reporting a trooper as medically unfit for duty and subjecting them to a general court martial for dereliction of duty, willful endangerment of civilians and fellow GAR soldiers, failure to report a compromising injury, and murder in the second degree.” Fox lets out a shaky breath. Shatterpoints flicker around the edges of Mace’s senses.
Mace raises his eyebrows. “That’s quite the laundry list, Commander. Provided you have sufficient grounds, you are well within your power to have the trooper detained and brought before a court.” Which begs the question: why hasn’t he? Nothing Fox has told Mace so far is beyond his ability to deal with. A higher-ranking officer than the Commander should only be needed once the paperwork goes through and the trooper goes to trial. “What is this trooper’s identity?”
Fox closes his eyes and the anxiety in the Force reaches a fever pitch. “It’s me, sir.”
“Commander?” Mace isn’t sure what else to say.
Fortunately, Fox has more than enough words for the both of them. “I’ve been experiencing memory loss and extreme dissociation, sir. It’s been going in for roughly 13 months and has only grown worse with time. I failed to report this to a medical officer and it recently resulted in the death of ARC-5555. If you’d like proof, General, the incident was recorded on several helmet cams, as well as the security footage from the warehouse itself.” Fox doesn’t falter during his speech. If Mace had to guess, he’d say it’s been rehearsed. “I surrender myself to your custody, sir.” Fox steps out from behind his desk, takes his helmet, and holds it out to Mace.
Mace blinks. “Commander, I believe I’m missing something. How did your condition result in the death of ARC Trooper Fives?” Mace has already read the preliminary reports from Five’s attack on the Chancellor and subsequent death. He hadn’t been surprised to hear it’d ended in death, though he had been somewhat annoyed that the Guard hadn’t brought the trooper back alive.
Fox stares resolutely over Mace’s shoulder. “I was having an, an episode when I received orders to detain Fives. According to regulations, I should have stunned him.” Mace nods. He knows the regs. “I thought it was set to stun. I didn’t want to kill him.”
Mace frowns. Fox is an exceedingly competent soldier. To make such a simple mistake, even in the throes of some sort of dissociative episode, would be very out-of-character. “Commander,” he begins. Fox’s eyes meet his momentarily before flickering away. “Do you remember shooting ARC Fives?”
Fox hesitates. “...No, sir. Not clearly. I… there are gaps. Vital ones.” Mace makes a curious noise and Fox stiffens. “I don’t expect you to believe me, General, and I’m not trying to excuse what I did, I’m just… trying to tell the full story.”
Fox’s mouth twitches once, twice, three times, then tightens to a thin white line. Mace takes a careful step forward. “I believe you, Commander. You have no reason to lie to me about this. However, I do have one request.”
“Anything, sir.”
“I’d like to take a look inside your mind. Nothing too invasive,” he assures when Fox flinches. “Just a surface-level once-over to view your recent memories and see if any glaring problems present themselves.”
Fox hesitates, then nods. “What do I need to do?”
Mace steps forward again until he’s within arm’s reach. “Just close your eyes and lower your shields. I’m going to place my hands on your head and reach out to you in the Force. Are you ready?”
Fox nods again, closing his eyes. When Mace touches his head, he can feel the tremors running up and down Fox’s body, too small to be seen. He’s tense, both physically and mentally, and Mace winces at the effort it takes to lower his battered shields.
Mace isn’t sure what he expected to find when he touched Fox’s mind. Some lesions, maybe. Some sort of evidence of the psychological torment he’d described. Possibly a brain injury.
The inside of the Commander’s mind is in shambles. All semblance of order has been abandoned, and a closer look reveals gaping holes with ragged edges, whole pieces of Fox’s identity and memories ripped out and left a bleeding blank. At the core of it all, a dark center, deeper still than the nova-bright LightDark that makes up Fox’s signature. It lies still and stagnant, as dead as a tumor in a healthy lung.
It’s a miracle the man’s still sane.
Mace withdraws carefully, not wanting to accidentally cause more damage. The feeling of something’s not right, this is bigger than you and Fox continues to prod him from the Force. Whatever Fox is experiencing, Mace needs a second opinion.
“Commander,” he begins, soft and slow. Fox startles nonetheless, eyes snapping open and flicking around the room before settling somewhere around Mace’s forehead. Mace reaches out and puts a hand on Fox’s shoulder. “I would like you to come with me to the Halls of Healing for an exam.”
“Sir?” Fox steps back, eyebrows furrowed. “I… I don’t understand. At the Temple?”
Mace nods. “Indeed. It appears as though your mind has been tampered with in the extreme, most likely by someone very strong in the Force. I should very much like to know how this happened.”
The Commander looks, somehow, even fainter than before, scarred face underscored with a grey tinge Mace is more than ready to attribute to exhaustion, both mental and physical. Shock possibly plays some role in it, as well. “A Force user?”
“Yes. As much as it pains me to say it, there are those of us who fall prey to the lure of power, especially of the kind held over other beings.” Mace sighs. “Any of the Temple Healers would be far more qualified than myself to investigate further, as well as to help you recover.”
Fox blinks. “Recover?”
“Commander Fox, I have no intention of court martialing you today. In fact, I’d go as far as to oppose any who might try. If my suspicions are correct, what you have done was out of your control and you need time to heal, not time in a cell.” Mace swallows back the knowledge that any fate that awaited Fox, should Mace court martial him, would not be found in a cell. “Now, is there anything you need to do before I take you back to the Temple?”
CC Group Chat (Ponds it's a CC Group Chat Ponds)
Thorn: hey what the fuck
Thorn: @Fox
Thorn: @Fox
Thorn: @Fox
Wolffe: thorn i will block you from this chat
Wolffe: what’s going on?
Thorn: idk that’s the problem
Thorn: someone with a clearance level WAY higher than mine just entered fox for “indefinite leave” and like two minutes later I got a message from Fox saying he’d be gone for a while and giving me a shit ton of paperwork and scheduling stuff
Thorn: and now he won’t answe me
Thorn: on anything
Wolffe: I’m sure it’s fine
Wolffe: Fox doesn’t do stupid shit, he’s probably going undercover or smth
Cody: no i just got a notif about a possible court martial under fox’s cc tag
Wolffe: what
Wolffe: kote i swear to shit if your pet fucking ct tried to pull shit on fox for what happened with the arc i will feed him my deecee
Cody: it wasn’t Rex
Cody: i already asked
Ponds: guys he’s with us
Wolffe: wdym
Ponds: general says not to say much, but I’m on leave on coruscant right now and fox is okay and with us
Thorn: i don’t like this
Cody: keep us updated, ponds
By now, Vokara Che is used to Mace Windu carting bedraggled young warriors into her Halls. It comes with the territory of being a kind soul with a clearance pass, she supposes. You see trouble, you fix it. It’s the Jedi way.
Still, another part of her heart breaks when she sees who Mace has brought to her today. He’d called ahead, of course, saying that he was bringing in a clone with an unspecified psychiatric problem. What he hadn’t mentioned was that this trooper was also suffering from just about everything it was possible to suffer from without sustaining an actual injury.
Vokara hates the way the Republic and the Jedi have used the clones. Of course she does. The way some members of the government are willing to bend over backwards to condone slavery will never cease to shock and disgust her. In that light, perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised to see the poor young man all but collapse onto her exam table, scuffed armor clinking and catching at the thin sheets.
“Healer Che, this is Commander Fox. Commander Fox, this is Vokara Che. She’s our best.” Mace gestures from Commander Fox to Vokara before stepping back and letting her get to work.
“Good morning, Commander,” she says, reaching out to shake his hand.
He stares blankly at her for just a moment before clasping her wrist and shaking, just this side of too firm. “Good morning, sir.”
“Now, first things first. Would you like Master Windu to leave? My understanding is that the issues you’re dealing with are private.”
Fox gives her another blank look, looking from her to Mace as though he’s not sure what he’s hearing. It makes sense, Vokara supposes, in a terrible way. One wouldn’t have privacy if one wasn’t considered sentient, after all. Well, there’s a first time for everything.
At last, Fox speaks. “He. The General can stay.”
Vokara glances back to Mace, who nods and takes a seat in her lone visitor’s chair. “Very well, Commander. With that out of the way, let’s get down to business. Master Windu informed me that you’ve been suffering from memory loss, amongst other mental health issues. Could you elaborate, please?”
Fox nods bracing his hands on his thighs. “About 13 months ago, I started experiencing… blackouts, for a lack of a better word. I, I know what dissociation feels like, and that’s not it. I have entire missing days, not just times where things feel foggy. I wake up and I don’t know where I am, or I remember things in pieces. It recently culminated in me-” Fox breaks off, staring at the floor between his feet with the determined air of one not accustomed to crying in public. “With me. I.” His voice drops to a whisper and the Force around him draws close. “I killed a brother,” he confesses. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. I don’t remember pulling the trigger. But I did. I watched him die.” A tear streaks down the Commander’s face.
Vokara reaches out and places a gentle hand on Fox’s shoulder. He starts and she responds with a soothing pulse of energy, a reminder that she is a peaceful presence. He relaxes, if only minutely.
“Commander Fox is accurate in his assessment,” Mace says before Vokara can find the words to respond. “What brings us to you, though, is the cause. When I looked in the Commander’s mind, I found evidence of tampering of a Dark nature. Someone has been in Commander Fox’s head with an intent to harm and control, and I should very much like to know who and why.”
Vokara nods. Mace’s commentary certainly sheds light on the peculiar tremor evident in Commander Fox’s Force signature, as well as the sorry condition of his shields. “Commander,” she begins. “Would you object to a brief survey of your mind? Though I can’t promise it won’t be invasive, I can assure you that it won’t hurt.”
The look Fox gives her is the look of a man who has nothing left to lose. What must it be like, she wonders, to have no bodily autonomy? To be raised in a place where things were done to you, taken from you, placed in you, at the will of those who claimed to own you?
Fox nods. “Do what you need to do.”
Vokara reaches and finds ruins.
Fox watches as Healer Che slips an IV into the crook of his elbow. With calm, cool hands, she pats his arm and tapes a thin layer of medical plastoid over the entry site. “To keep it from pinching in the night, dear,” she explains in response to Fox’s silence. Fucking Jettise.
General Windu left a few minutes ago, citing a vital conversation with the Council at large and telling Healer Che to join him as soon as Fox is settled. Something big is happening, Fox realizes, but having one’s mind sifted through and, in Healer Che’s words, “patched up enough to last the night,” leaves one with a feeling not unlike being five drinks into a bender you know will leave you hungover. Fox doesn’t like it, but it drives out the worst of the anxiety that keeps him awake against his will.
He’s never been so tired.
Healer Che finishes with the IV and steps back, gesturing to the shockingly nice bed they’d set up for him in one of the Halls’ private rooms. “Go ahead and relax, Commander. Force only knows you need sleep.”
Fox just blinks at her, ears ringing.
She smiles, gentle and understanding. “I’m sorry I’m not able to tell you more about your condition right now, but I can assure you that you’re stable and safe and in good hands. What you need now, before I can truly assess your psychological state, is rest and food and water. If you need anything else during the, well, I suppose, morning, don’t be afraid to page one of the junior Healers. They’re more than happy to help.”
Fox lies back, sinking into the pillow and wondering why exhaustion hurts so much. Healer Che pulls the soft, heavy blanket over his shoulders and sets a hand on his forehead. For a brief instant, Fox is thrown into another room in another building.
He’s going to do it again and there’s no way Fox can stop it, this has been happening the whole time and he’s always forgetting and it’s going to hurt he doesn’t want to hurt he doesn’t want to be hurt he doesn’t want to hurt others–
Healer Che just brushes his hair off his forehead. “Good night, Commander. Sleep well.”
She turns the lights off and closes the door when she leaves.
Sometimes, Fox forgets things.
Well.
Let’s try again. Sometimes, times unrelated to the random blank spots, Fox’s brain just… deletes things on him. Decides they’re unimportant and shelves them for later. Or maybe throws them right in the shredder. Force knows that’s what it fucking feels like.
Fox just doesn’t have the best working memory. Some part of his brain is fucked up. According to Quinlan, it’s probably the same part responsible for the balance problems and the hand-flapping and the need for certain things to be the same every time. Quinlan has ADHD. Fox is a clone trooper. He does not get tested for neurodivergence, only put down should it become too obvious.
He had a point. He casts around for the point. It’s been thrown out, just like he was fucking talking about—
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Last night. He’s in the Halls of Healing because he told fucking Mace Windu—
Because he’d killed—
And Rex—
He wonders how long he has until they decommission him. He wonders who will take over his position. He wonders what death feels like, and which religion’s managed to get the whole afterlife thing right (he’s actually a bit excited to find out). He wonders, giggling under his breath, whether he’ll have any visitors.
Hah.
Oh, Force, that shouldn’t be so funny.
Fox laughs until he’s out of breath and keeps laughing until a concerned Junior Healer comes in to see why his heart monitor’s beeping.
“Sorry, kid, I was just,” he pauses to take a breath, “just thinking about having,” oh, the concept is so hilariously sad, “about having visitors.”
“I want to see him.”
“No.”
“Sir, I understand the need for privacy, but Commander Fox is my CO and, as acting head of the Guard, I think I have a right to—”
“At this moment, the only thing you have a right to,” General Windu says, glowering down at Thorn from his spot in front of the doors to the Healing Halls, “is the right to return peacefully to your quarters. This is a matter of military intelligence, Commander. I would expect you, of all people, to understand.”
Thorn bristles, suddenly glad he left his helmet off. Windu deserves a faceful of contempt right about now. “All due respect, General, but the Commander is a person, not a piece of intelligence, and as a real, living person with real, actual feelings, he’d probably appreciate a familiar face.” Thorn knows full damned well that, was he in Fox’s position, hurt and disoriented and stranded in what might as well be enemy territory, he’d be worried about decommissioning right about now.
He also knows Fox well enough to infer a little something about what he’s thinking about himself right now, and Thorn wants, no, needs to be there and make sure he’s not in over his stupid little hard head.
Thorn needs to be there to make sure none of their worst fears come true. Jedi value life, he knows, but he also knows how many brothers die in the field, under the command of those same Jedi.
Windu sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I.” He stops, seemingly collecting himself. Thorn always thought Jedi had no emotions, but emotion is all he hears when Windu starts talking again. “Commander, it was not my intent to imply that Commander Fox is anything less than a patient deserving of the best treatment. I apologize for misspeaking.” Windu lowers his hand and looks Thorn in the eye. “The Commander has brought some serious and sensitive information to our attention. He’s also in a fragile condition, medically speaking. It has been the opinion of our Chief Healer that he not receive any visitors not briefed on the situation, at least for the time being.”
“Then brief me on the situation.”
“I can’t,” Windu insists, voice hard and brittle. “I understand your concern, Commander, but I simply can’t.”
Thorn has pleaded with medics. He’s pleaded with Senators. He’s pleaded with drunken vode. Kark, he’s pleaded with Commander fucking Fox. He knows how to work a good set of massiff eyes.
General Windu looks down at him.
He looks up at General Windu.
General Windu looks down at him.
He looks up at General Windu (and a little to the left, just enough into the light fixture that his eyes start to water).
General Windu huffs yet another sigh, this one resigned but free from surprise. Vaguely, Thorn remembers Windu mentioning a padawan. “What do you already know?”
To: [email protected], @[email protected]
From: [email protected]
CC: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], and 12 others
Subject: Return to Coruscant, Clearance 4.3b
I apologize for the short notice, but I’ve had very little warning myself. I can’t say much via holomail, but I will need Kenobi, Skywalker, and whatever officers you deem appropriate to return to Coruscant as soon as possible. I cannot overstress the importance of privacy and time and must ask that you tell no one why you are returning. Make whatever excuses you need to, just get back here.
Mace
Obi-Wan frowns. Mace has never been a casual holomail writer, and anything short of strict formality is alarming. “Commander Cody? I believe we have a trip to make.”