Just read through the long Rex x F!Jedi!reader and I have to say. Good fucking work, I haven't laughed, cried or smiled this hard to a fic in a long time (other than the fox x Jedi one shot, that one got me good) can't wait for the next 7 chapters! Keep up the good work.
Anon i want to give you the biggest hug in the world. Thank you! đ«¶
đ„ I think Regular Show would be a big hit for the older cadets. The younger ones would like Teen Titans Go!
đ The cadets absolutely have a hidden snack stash in their lockers. They might pocket some snacks during meals, then trade with each other late at night!
The questions: đ„ If cadets had access to real-world cartoons on Kamino, what would be their favorite and why?đ Whatâs your favorite head canon about cadets on Kamino?
How is it when I write my own little stories for clones I have a hard time even reaching at least a thousand words, yet with this event I'm well over a thousand and only still in the beginning part of the story I'm making for week 1 prompts?
(This is me saying this as a good thing by the way!)
đđđ
I guess all you needed was a little âšinspirationâš
Pairing(s): Domino Squad x F! Jedi Reader (Platonic) // Commander Colt x F! Jedi Reader (Romantic)
Summary: As Jedi Master Shaak Ti's Padawan, you find yourself being a trainer on Kamino. Early in the war, you develop a relationship with Commander Colt. Meanwhile, when you realize the Domino Squad is on the verge of failure, a late night lesson on teamwork ends up becoming exactly what they need to persevere.
Word Count: 11.4k ʞᶊá”á”Ëą
Warnings: none!
A/N: I should never be allowed to write a fic based on an episode ever again - I got a little carried away here. (Although it does diverge from canon slightly, don't hate me). This is not beta read, we die like Fives. join my taglist / masterlist / event masterlistthank you @summer-of-clones for hosting!
The overhead viewing platform of the Tipoca City military complex always had a strange, cold breeze despite it being inside. You stood at the edge of the platform, your hands resting lightly on the safety railing as you looked down into the massive open floor of the Citadel challenge. Beside you stood your Jedi Master, Shaak Ti. Her relaxed presence seemed to counter the aggressive energy radiating from the bounty hunter trainers, El-Les and Bric, also standing on the platform with you.
Down on the simulated battlefield, Bravo Squad was putting on a show.
They moved in perfect harmony. As a trio of training droids popped up from behind a barricade, the lead cadet slid flawlessly into cover, laying down a perfectly timed charge. Simultaneously, his squadmates flanked the perimeter, clearing the high ground with textbook precision. There was no hesitation. No crossed signals. Every movement had a purpose with sharp efficiency.
"Flawless rotation," El-Les murmured, his eyes tracking the cadets with genuine pride, "Their spacing is immaculate. They don't just mimic the drills, they understand them."
"Hmph. They're doing what they were bred to do," Bric grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were squinted, scanning the field for a mistake that simply wasnât there to find. "Don't throw them a parade just yet."
"Credit where it is due, Bric," Shaak Ti retorted. She turned her head slightly, her warm eyes focusing entirely on you. A small, proud smile spread across her face. "You have done exceptional work mentoring Bravo Squad, my Padawan. They adapted your teachings so fluidly. It is no exaggeration to say they are among the highest performing cadets Kamino has ever produced. You should be deeply proud of yourself."
A surge of pride bloomed in your chest, warming you against the chill of the observation deck. You offered your Master a respectful bow of your head. "Thank you, Master. They've put in the hours. I merely gave them direction."
Below, the final training droid clattered to the floor, its systems shutting down as a bright green light flashed across the top of the Citadel tower. Bravo Squad had completed the course. Not only had they passed, but the digital readout on the main terminal confirmed they had done so with a record breaking time.
From above, you watched the cadets lower their weapons. Before they turned to clear the floor, a few of the boys glanced up toward the overhead platform. You were high up enough that you knew they couldn't actually make you out from the others.
Still, you couldn't resist. Catching the eye of the squad leader, you raised a hand and gave them a swift, playful mock salute.
El-Les tapped a sequence into his datapad, resetting the simulation. "An exemplary run. Truly. Which squad is next?"
"The Domino Squad," Shaak Ti answered.
The name hit the air, and you instantly inhaled a deep breath. Your posture stiffened.
"Oh, brilliant. The defectives," Bric groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Iâve been complaining about this group since the day they dragged their asses into the final stage of training. Theyâre sloppy, theyâre deaf to orders, and they have absolutely no sense of discipline. Mark my words, they are a lost cause. Itâs offensive that they are even wearing training armor.â
You kept your face entirely expressionless, hiding the of annoyance Bric always managed to ignite in you. Instead of engaging with him, you drew your datapad from your belt. Your thumb immediately swiped away from the training rosters and tapped into the Tipoca City arrivals log.
You stared at the blinking cursor on the screen. The transport was late.
According to the scheduled rotation, the ARC Troopers tasked with overseeing and evaluating the Citadel challenge were supposed to have touched down on the southern landing platforms over an hour ago. And that meant he was late.
Commander Colt.
Just looking at his designation number on the manifest sent a rush through your veins, pulling your mind entirely away from the training course and dropping you into the comfort of your memories.
At the very beginning of the war, when the Senate had first deployed you and Master Shaak Ti to Kamino to oversee the production and training of the Grand Army, Colt had been part of the very first batch of troopers assigned to your care. You had been younger then, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the war and the daunting task of shaping lives meant for the front lines. Throughout all of it, Colt had been your rock.
Initially, your bond had been strictly professional. It was built on mutual respect and long hours of training. But Kamino was an isolating place, wrapped in endless storms and sterile white walls. Slowly, the boundaries had begun to blur. Late night gym sessions in the dark and empty training rooms turned into quiet conversations that lingered far past the end of dayâs schedule.
Eventually, those nights stopped ending in the training center. They ended behind the locked doors of your quarters, the two of you curled up together on your small couch, finding a desperate, quiet solace in each other's arms.
You knew the risks. If your Master ever discovered that her Padawan was harboring a secret, deeply intimate relationship with a clone, she would be utterly livid. The Jedi Code left no room for the kind of affection you felt for Colt. But in a galaxy rapidly tearing itself apart, it was a small, beautiful luxury you refused to deny yourself.
When Colt was finally shipped out to the front lines, it had been one of the most agonizing, bittersweet days of your life. You had watched his transport disappear into the gray Kaminoan rain, wondering if the war would steal him before you ever got to hold him again.
Fortunately, the Force - or perhaps a bit of selfish luck - had intervened. Not long after his deployment, your master asked you for recommendations on which veteran ARC Troopers should be brought back to Kamino to evaluate the final cadet trials. You hadn't hesitated. You had selfishly put Coltâs name at the very top of the list, praising his mindset and success on the battlefield. Master Ti agreed without a second thought.
Because of that, you got him back. About once every few standard weeks, his duties brought him back to Tipoca City. And for one night, the war vanished. For both of you, those hours together were everything.
"Padawan?"
The voice was soft, but it shattered through your daydream like a detonation.
You blinked, the glow of your datapad snapping back into focus. You realized that you were staring blankly at the arrivals log for far too long.
"Padawan," Shaak Ti repeated, her voice laced with a gentle, questioning amusement. You looked up to find her studying you, her head tilted slightly. "That must be the third or fourth time I have called your name. What is it that has you so distracted?"
"I- my apologies, Master," you stammered quickly, your thumb flying across the screen to switch the display back to the active training roster before she could catch a glimpse of the arrival logs. You cleared your throat, offering an apologetic smile. "I was just reviewing the upcoming weather forecast for tomorrow. I lost my train of thought."
Shaak Ti hummed, before turning her attention back to the simulator.
"Keep your focus here," she instructed gently, nodding toward the training floor. "The exercise is about to begin."
Down below, the heavy blast doors slid open, and the five members of Domino Squad walked out onto the floor.
Down on the floor, Domino Squad looked fractured before the simulation even kicked into gear. They didnât stand in a unified, tight perimeter like Bravo Squad. Instead, they practically vibrated with energy. Even from a distance, their body language screamed frustration.
"Look at them," Bric muttered, his teeth visibly grinding. "They're already falling apart, and the droids haven't even started firing yet."
The crimson warning lights flashed across the arena, signaling the start of the exercise. Immediately, a wave of automated training droids came to life.
What followed was a total catastrophe.
The squad dispersed as soon as blaster fire broke out. One trooper broke away from the designated defensive line without warning, abandoning his position to make a reckless, solitary dash toward a group of droids. This left a blind spot on the left flank, which another trooper immediately tried to compensate for by shouting repeated orders into his comm, his posture rigid as he tried to figure out what textbook regulation he could use now.
Meanwhile, a different trooper completely bypassed his squadmates, charging directly down the center of the battlefield with his heavy repeating blaster roaring. He didn't check his perimeter, nor did he look back to see if anyone was covering his rear. He simply tried to push through the entire droid battalion by sheer force of will, treating the other men like obstacles rather than a team. This left a trooper scrambling in the wake of the otherâs aggressive advance, desperately trying to close the massive gap left in the center line. Meanwhile the last trooper was forced into a frantic retreat just to keep from being pinned down. They were all exceptionally skilled individual combatants. You could see the raw talent in the way one trooper ducked a high blast, or how another precisely picked off a target while on the move. But they were completely blind to one another. This wasnât a group effort. This was five distinct wars being fought in the exact same room.
It was painful to watch.Â
Then, the inevitable happened.
A blue stun bolt caught a trooper squarely in the center of his chest. The energy slammed into him, his limbs losing their strength instantly as the electrical current surged through him. He collapsed hard against the floor, his blaster clattering at his side.Â
On the platform, Bric let out a sharp, mocking bark of laughter. "Ha! Look at that. Can you believe these guys? Lives up to his name, doesn't he? Thatâs the one they call Droidbait. Heâs out there doing exactly what he does best."
You didn't break your attention from the men below, keeping your expression as still and unreadable as dry stone. A hot spark of anger flared in your chest at Bricâs cruel humor. These boys weren't just toys, and they certainly weren't punchlines. They were living, breathing soldiers under your care, and treating their failures like a comedy routine was exactly why they were struggling to find their footing.
Down below, the dominoes fully began to fall. With Droidbait down, the remaining four cadets completely lost their rhythm. One was surrounded and overwhelmed by a concentrated crossfire. Another was clipped while trying to drag his brother back into cover. Two other two were picked off seconds later, their bodies hitting the floor in a messy, uncoordinated pile.
Before the training droids could even reset, Master Ti raised her hand, tapping the override on the console. The harsh red alarms stopped, replaced by the sterile hum of the quiet room.
"That is enough," she sighed softly, a rare hint of disappointment in her voice. She activated the facility's localized intercom. "99, please send a unit to clear the droids from the training ground."
While Bric continued to mutter strings of curses under his breath and El-Les quietly began logging the abysmal failure into the database, you subtly slipped your datapad out one more time. You glanced at the arrivals log.
Still nothing. The transport carrying Colt was officially severely delayed, likely held up by a hyperspace delay or the raging storm outside.
If Colt wasnât going to be here for hours, your evening was completely wide open. You didn't have to sit in your quarters waiting for a knock that wasn't coming anytime soon. Instead, you looked down at the battered, defeated boys of Domino Squad as they slowly pushed themselves up from the floor, entirely ignored by their lead trainer - Bric.
You had the time. And right now, they desperately needed someone who actually saw them.
"Master," you chimed in quietly, stepping away from the observation deck as your master began to exit.
You fell into step beside her as you walked out into the blindingly white corridors of Tipoca City. El-Les and Bric had split off toward the armory, leaving just you and your Master to walk the quiet hallways alone.
"Yes, my Padawan?" she asked, her long, elegant robes brushing against the floor as she kept a slow pace.
"I would like to make an unusual request," you began, choosing your next words carefully. "I want your permission to run a personal training session with Domino Squad. Tonight. Before their final test tomorrow."
Master Ti paused her walk, turning to face you fully. Her hands tucked neatly into her wide sleeves as she looked down at you gently, "Thatâs a highly irregular proposition, especially so close to their official evaluation. I suspect I know your reasons, but I would like to hear them from you."
You took a deep breath. "Bric's training method is abrasive, Master. Itâs built entirely on an individual, survival of the fittest mindset. That works for some clones, but I donât think thatâs best for the Domino Squad. They are constantly fighting each other because they've been taught that survival is an individual burden. They need a completely different approach. A unified one, perhaps. The exact same methods that allowed Bravo Squad to thrive."
Your master hummed, "And you believe a single evening can undo weeks of abrasive conditioning?"
"I believe they deserve the chance to try," you replied earnestly. "I worry about Bricâs influence on them. If they go into that Citadel tomorrow with the mindset they have right now, they will fail. And we both know what happens to squads that fail to pass the final trial. Those men deserve better."
Master Ti's expression softened as she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I understand your concerns, and I give you credit for looking out for them. They are under Bricâs direct instruction, but ultimately, I am the Master in charge of this facility, and you are the Padawan assigned to assist. You are allowed to step in and take command of a situation if you deem it truly necessary."
She paused, her eyes meeting yours with clarity. "Tell me, Padawan. Do you believe it is necessary?"
You took a breath, "Yes, Master. I do."
Master Ti smiled, giving you an approving nod, âThen that is your answer.â
As you began making your way to the clone barracks, you stopped suddenly in your tracks. When a Jedi walked into a room full of soldiers, the air filled with the sharp, synchronized snap of boots hitting the floor as the men flung themselves into rigid attention. You didn't want that tonight - besides, it always felt strange to you. If you walked into Domino Squad's bay as an authoritative figure, especially with how Bric has been treating them, the walls of willpower would go up instantly.
Instead, you slipped down a different hall, towards a service lift and took the rear maintenance entrance. Once in the barracks, you quietly made your way towards the boys you were looking for. You paused just shy of the Domino Squadâs barracks bay, pressing your back against the wall. You closed your eyes, letting your senses take in their stress, but mostly, you just listened.
"So I says to her," Cutupâs voice echoed out of the bay, laced with characteristic charm, "'Baby, you and me could really-'"
"You've never even met a girl," Fivesâ voice cut in flatly, his tone dripping with exhaustion and dry amusement.
A heavy, echoing clang shattered the conversation as a trooper slammed his training helmet onto the polished floor in a violent burst of pent up rage. You tightened your jaw, your hand hovering over your lightsaber. You considered stepping in right then, but the shuffling, dragging steps made their way over to the chaos. It was 99.
"You know, you shouldn't worry, because most clones pass," 99 offered, his voice quiet, carrying a gentle kindness that always made your heart ache.
"Yeah, but not all of us. Right, shortie?" the clone snapped back.
"Guys, we've got to follow orders. Come on," the one they called Echo chimed in like heâs said the line hundreds of times.Â
"I don't know. I think it went rather well," Cutup joked weakly, trying to inject humor into a room that was rapidly drowning under their own failure.
"Quit joking around!" Fives barked.
"Can we please stop arguing?" Droidbait pleaded.
"Can you stop being droid bait out there?" the clone that threw his helmet turned his frustrations directly onto his squadmate, his voice rising. "You're getting in my way!"
"Actually, our way," Fives added, backing his brother up with a sharp edge.
"Well, if you want to be the best, then you got to think like it," the clone retorted, "And I'm thinking like an ARC Trooper."
"Cut it out!" Bric's booming, raspy voice sliced through the barracks. You froze against the wall, instinctually closing your eyes.Â
"If you two would focus on fighting droids as much as you do fighting each other, you might stand a chance out there," Bric growled, approaching the center of the bay.
"Well," Heavy challenged, "I'd rather be taught by a Jedi than some mercenary bounty hunter."
A tense silence stretched over the room. You could practically feel Bric's temper flaring through the Force.
"Jedi don't have the time to train grunts like you," Bric complained in a mocking sneer that made your blood boil. "That's why they hired me. Listen, boys, when you were assigned to me, I had high hopes for you. Now we're approaching the end of your training, and you haven't advanced nearly enough. Even this bad batcher, 99, has more sense than you guys do, and he's a maintenance clone."
"You don't give them enough credit," 99 whispered defensively, his voice cracking slightly.
"You're all a waste of my time," Bric spat.
He turned on his heel, marching rapidly toward the main exit. You subtly pulled yourself deeper into the shadow of the maintenance alcove, watching him storm past, completely oblivious to your presence.
Inside the bay, the cadets of Domino Squad stood frozen, completely demoralized. This was your moment.
As soon as Bric's footsteps faded completely from the corridor, the men broke formation, their shoulders slumping. You stepped out from the darkness of the maintenance entrance, slipping into the bright light of the bay, and calmly sat down on a utility bench positioned directly between their rows of lockers.
The sudden movement caught Fives' eye first. He gasped, his eyes widening as he stumbled back half a step. Within a second, all five cadets froze, staring at you in absolute, wide eyed shock.
"Well, for starters," you said smoothly, crossing one leg over the other and resting your hands on your knee, pointing between Cutup and Fives, "now you've all officially met a girl. So there's absolutely no need to banter about that anymore."
Cutupâs jaw dropped slightly, but a slow, irrepressible smirk spread across his face as he darted a sideways glance at Fives, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. Fives just stared at you, his ears turning a distinct shade of red.
"And also," you continued, making eye contact with each of them, "Bric did just lie to you. Jedi absolutely have the time to train. Just none were assigned to your specific squad. Itâs nice to meet you, boys. I'm the trainer for Bravo Squad."
You stood up and extended a hand toward the first cadet line. But none of them moved. Their gazes were completely locked onto the gleaming silver hilt of the lightsaber clipped securely to your belt.
"You're a Jedi," Droidbait stammered, his eyes darting from the weapon to your face.
You let your face fall entirely flat, "No, I just carry this around for fun."
The cadet blinked, completely missing the sarcasm, his expression remaining entirely confused. Behind him, Echo let out a sharp groan, reaching forward to smack him on the back of his head. "Idiot," Echo muttered under his breath.
You exhaled, shaking your head. "Alright, let's assume your name isn't actually 'Idiot'. What do your boys call each other?"
The first cadet straightened up, clearing his throat. "CT-"
"No," you cut him off firmly, "Not your numbers. Your names."
The cadet stuttered for a fraction of a second, âHevyâ
"Droidbait," the second one said, offering a stiff, nervous salute.
"Echo," the third announced, his posture perfectly rigid.
"Cutup, sir," the fourth said, giving you a quick, roguish wink.
"And Fives," the last one finished, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intense, curious scrutiny.
You huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. "Fives, well, that's going to be incredibly easy to remember."
"With all due respect, sir," Cutup chimed in, "why exactly are you here?"
"Because I want to help you," you nodded, pacing slowly in front of them. "My Master has granted me permission to give you one training session tonight, before your final evaluation tomorrow."
Hevy grunted bitterly, crossing his thick arms. "So they wait until the absolute day before our final test to give us a Jedi. Typical."
Echo shot him an absolute look of horror, his eyes screaming dude, what the hell, that's a Jedi you're talking to, but you didn't let it phase you. You walked right over to Hevy, stopping directly in his personal space.Â
"This wasn't a standard deployment, soldier," you told him, ensuring the rest of the squad could hear you, "This was my own personal request. I watched your trial run from the observation deck today. I know Bric can be a little rough. And I think you boys just need a completely different approach to the problem."
You didn't give them a single second to debate or question you. You turned, heading back toward the rear door. "Follow me."
The boys who weren't fully suited up immediately reached into their lockers, grabbing for their training armor.
"Actually," you called out over your shoulder, pausing at the doorway, "you won't be needing your gear for this." You pointed directly at Hevy and Echo who were still wearing their armor. "You two, strip out of your armor and get into your standard sweat set. I'll meet you all right outside the corridor."
You stepped out into the hallway, letting the barracks door hiss shut behind you.
Inside the bay, Hevy let out a low, irritated grunt, tossing a piece of his gear into his locker. "How is going completely gearless supposed to help us with the simulations? It doesn't make any sense."
"Just keep an open mind, Hevy," Echo muttered, quickly peeling off his own regulatory straps. "She's the trainer for Bravo Squad. Look at how they ran the course today."
Hevy rolled his eyes, adjusting his shirt, "Yeah, well, Bravo isn't us." He slapped the locker door shut and followed his brothers out into the hall.
Once the five cadets filed out into the corridor, you turned and began navigating the halls of Tipoca City. The boys marched behind you in a disorganized clump, their steps clicking softly against the pristine white floors.
They expected to be led to one of the secondary simulation chambers or perhaps a briefing room. Instead, you bypassed the entire training wing entirely, guiding them deeper into the quiet, residential sectors of the complex.
"Sir?" Droidbait asked, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet hallway as you bypassed yet another reinforced blast door leading to the combat ranges, "Where exactly are we going? We passed the simulation rooms three corridors ago."
"We're going to your training," you answered smoothly, emphasizing the word âyourâ without looking back.
Behind you, Fives and Hevy exchanged a deeply skeptical look. You kept walking until you reached the quarters wing. It was a restricted zone where the Jedi, Kaminoan officials, and specialized bounty hunter trainers were offered small, apartment style residences.
Stopping in front of a sleek, unadorned door, you reached out and keyed your personal entry code into the wall panel. The door hissed open, revealing the warm, subtly lit interior of your private living space. You stepped inside and swept your arm outward in an open invitation. "Welcome. Come on in."
They hesitated at the threshold, freezing like uniform statues. Clones, especially cadets, were strictly forbidden from entering the private quarters of their superiors, let alone a Jedi's personal sanctuary. Cutup was the first to find his voice, peering nervously at your home.
"Sir," Cutup muttered, "Apologizes if I sound rude, but why exactly are we in your personal quarters?"
"Because what we need is here," you brushed it off casually, gesturing toward the large cushioned couch that dominated the center of the main room. "Take a seat. All of you."
They scrambled to comply, though their movements were awkward as five identical, broad shouldered men squeezed themselves onto the sofa, sitting shoulder to shoulder with textbook posture. They looked terrified to even lean back against the cushions.
You turned your back to them, stepping over to a sleek storage drawer near your desk. Reaching inside, you pulled out a single object. It was a simple, lightweight, half meter long rounded wooden stick. It was perfectly smooth and completely ordinary. And seemingly completely out of place.
Turning back around, you faced the couch. The boys stared at the stick as if it were an active thermal detonator. You walked over, sitting on the edge of the low table directly across from them. Without a word, you extended the index finger of your right hand, carefully placing the exact center of the wooden stick upon it.
You let go. The stick remained perfectly balanced, hovering horizontally in the air, supported only by the tip of your finger.
You locked eyes with Hevy. Giving him a firm, authoritative nod, you said, "Come here, soldier."
Hevy let out a subtle, silent sigh, rolling his shoulders. He gave his brothers a quick, 'what is this absolute garbage?' look before placing his hands on his knees and rising from the couch. He stepped forward, standing at your side.
"Watch closely," you instructed.
Still balancing the stick on your single index finger, you began to bend your knees. Slowly, you lowered your body toward the floor. Your eyes never left the wood, tracking its subtle shifts, adjusting your posture by slightly to compensate for the slightest off balancing force. You went down, until your knuckles literally brushed the floorplates. The stick never tilted. It never wobbled.
With the same fluid grace, you slowly rose back up, returning to your original standing position. With a quick flick of your wrist, you popped the stick into the air, caught it cleanly in your palm, and thrust it directly into Hevyâs chest.
"Your turn," you commanded.
Hevy caught it automatically, frowning down at the wood. "Sir? What does a piece of wood have to do with-"
"You boys asked for a Jedi to help with your training," you cut him off, "That is exactly what I am doing. Balance the stick, lower it to the floor, and bring it back up. Go."
Hevy grumbled under his breath, but he extended his index finger and placed the stick upon it. His hand was a rock. He balanced it perfectly, dropped his weight fluidly until his knuckles hit the floor, and rose right back up without a single tremor.
When he finished, he caught the stick and held it obnoxiously in front of your face, a smug, arrogant grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "What, am I an ARC Trooper now or something?"
You closed your eyes, slowly shaking your head at his stubbornness. "Sit down, cadet." Hevyâs grin faded slightly, and he trudged back to the couch, slumping into his seat. You pointed a finger at the next clone. "Droidbait, you're up."
Droidbait stepped forward, nervous but determined. Just like Hevy, his execution was flawless. He lowered the stick, raised it, and passed it along. You went straight down the line. Echo executed the task with precision. Cutup did it with a bit of dramatic flair, catching it with a theatrical spin before handing it over. Every single one of them passed the individual test easily. It felt like a joke to them.
Finally, Fives completed the exercise. He rose from his crouch, the stick perfectly level on his finger, a confident smirk on his face. As he caught the wood and turned to hand it back to you so he could resume his seat, you stepped forward.
You caught his shoulder, your grip firm. "I never told you to sit down, Fives."
He paused, his hand still gripping one end of the stick, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden spark of curiosity.
"Hold out your finger again," you instructed softly.
Fives complied, extending his index finger like he had done for the solo exercise. But this time, you didn't let him find the center of gravity. Instead, you grabbed the stick and placed one end of it brutally off center onto his finger. Then, you placed your own index finger under the opposite, longer end.
"We are going to lower and raise the stick together," you told him, "No talking. Just move."
Fives raised an eyebrow, letting out a breathy, "Alright."
You both began to bend your knees, attempting to lower your hands in tandem. Immediately, Fivesâ expression changed. His brow furrowed. "Weird," he muttered, breaking the silence. "It feels heavier."
You let out a half laugh, your eyes tracking the wood. "Strange, isn't it? And look at it."
Despite being supported at two points instead of one, the stick was wildly off balance. Fives tried to overcompensate by jerking his hand upward, but the sudden movement completely destroyed the equilibrium.
Fives dropped his finger fast, and the stick clattered loudly against the floor.
He stared down at the fallen piece of wood, a look of genuine shock and frustration flashing across his face. He looked up at you, expecting a scolding. Instead, you were just smiling.
You leaned down, picked up the stick, and turned to face the couch. "Everyone stand up," you ordered. "All five of you. Put one finger under this stick. You are going to lower it to the floor and raise it back up. Together."
The boys groaned, grumbling complaints under their breaths as they crowded around the small table. They stood in a cramped line, each extending a single index finger until the wooden stick was resting across all five of their hands.
"Begin," you instructed, stepping back, crossing your arms to observe.
It was an absolute disaster.
The moment they tried to lower it, Hevy dropped his hand too fast. "Whoa, watch it!" Echo snapped, thrusting his hand upward to catch it, which sent the opposite end flying off Fives' finger. The stick clattered to the floor within three seconds.
"Again," you ordered.
They set it up again. "Alright, let's do a countdown," Cutup suggested. "Three, two, one, go!"
On "go," Droidbait dropped his hand, but Echo didn't move until a fraction of a second later, arguing that they were supposed to move on one, not after one. The stick flipped into the air and hit the floor again.
"Again," you repeated.
What felt like forever passed. The initial amusement the Domino Squad felt had completely evaporated, replaced by grinding frustration. They tried counting down in different cadences. They tried going as slow as humanly possible. But every single time, someone would feel the stick slipping, jerk their hand up out of panic, and ruin the alignment for everyone else.
"Stop lifting your side, Hevy!" Fives yelled, "You're pushing it off my finger!"
"I wouldn't have to lift it if you guys weren't dropping like a rock!" Hevy fired back, slamming his hands onto his hips. "This is impossible! Itâs a stupid trick!"
"It's not a trick, you're just not listening!" Echo shouted, gesturing wildly. "If we follow standard regulatory pacing-"
"Quiet!" your voice rang out, not loud, but carrying an unmistakable authority that instantly slammed the room into a dead silence. The five clones froze, panting slightly, staring at you with varying degrees of exhaustion and anger.
You walked over to them, taking the stick from the floor where it had fallen for the seemingly hundredth time.Â
"You're failing because you're all trying to lead, and you're all trying to survive on your own," you informed them gently. "You're treating your brothers' movements like obstacles to fight against, rather than something to adapt to. You are going to change the strategy, based on who you actually are."
You looked at Echo. "Echo, you have a mind for structure and timing. You like to be the one that speaks. You will handle the countdown. No one else makes a sound."
You turned to Fives and Hevy. "You two are the anchors. You're standing at the absolute ends of the line. If you feel the stick tilting even a millimeter from your side, you do not try to fix it by jerking your hand up. You simply say one word: Halt. When they say halt, everyone freezes in place until the line levels out."
Finally, you looked at Cutup and Droidbait. "You two are the center. You are the bridge. I want you to completely ignore the stick. Do not look at the wood. I want you to lock your eyes entirely onto each other's hands. Keep your fingers perfectly level with one another, matching each other's height exactly."
The boys looked at each other, reviewing your instructions in their heads. The chaos of their individual panic was suddenly replaced by clear structure tailored specifically to their strengths.
"Set it up," you instructed
They stepped forward, placing their fingers under the stick once more. The room was deathly quiet.
Slowly, the five men began to bend their knees. Halfway down, the stick began to drift toward Hevy's side.
"Halt," Hevy said firmly.
Instantly, all five of them froze. Cutup and Droidbait kept their eyes locked on each other's hands, adjusting their fingers until wood flattened out.
They continued down. Their breathing was deep and unified. Slowly, all of their knuckles touched the ground. The stick was perfectly, beautifully level. Without a word, guided entirely by Echo they rose back up to their full height.
When the stick reached its original starting position, completely steady, a collective breath escaped the group.
Instantly, the boys erupted into absolute chaos. They were cheering, laughing, and slamming their hands against each other's hands in ecstatic high fives.Â
You stepped back, with a smile on your face. "See?" you said over the noise.
The boys stopped cheering, turning to look at you, blinking in confusion. "See what, sir?" Cutup asked.
"When you completed this exercise by yourselves earlier, it was easy, wasn't it?" you asked, "But when you were finished, there was no one to celebrate with. For starters, it felt like too simple of a task to even care about. And second, you were entirely alone. You were only worried about your own performance, and your individual success didn't mean a damn thing to anyone else in this room."
The smiles slowly faded from their faces as your words settled over them. They listened to you with intense focus.
"Now look at you," you continued, gesturing to the way they were standing together. "You just spent entirely too long failing at a task that should be simple, but because you conquered it together, you're celebrating. Blasting droids out on that simulation floor is not about who can shoot the most down. It is not about who can reach the citadel first. It is about conquering the battlefield together."
You stepped closer, looking at each of them. "It is about learning the strengths and weaknesses of every single man in your unit. You are brothers. You were born together, you train together, and you will fight together."
You reached out, gently tapping the wooden stick still resting in Echo's hand.
"The Citadel tomorrow is not a mountain of blasters and droids," you finished, your voice burning with an absolute, unwavering belief in them. "The Citadel is just a stick. A stick you all need to work together to raise. Now, do you think you can do that?"
The silence that followed your speech was thick with determination, the intensity of the boys' gazes proving that your lesson stuck its mark.
Then, the sudden hiss of your quartersâ door shattered the quiet.
"Babe. The hyperdrive went out again. What is it? The third time now? When are they ever-"
His voice cut off abruptly. Commander Colt marched into your quarters, his head buried deep into his datapad, his thumbs flying furiously across the screen. He took three aggressive steps into your living room, fully entangled in his own rant, before the stillness of the room made him halt.
Slowly, Colt lowered the datapad.
Five identical pairs of wide clone eyes stared up at him. The Domino Squad stood frozen, their bodies locked into attention at the sudden intrusion of an ARC Commander unceremoniously entering a Jediâs private quarters.
For a second, nobody breathed. Colt blinked at the boys in their training sweats, then finally snapped his gaze to you.
Without saying a word, you subtly tilted your head toward the closed door of your adjoining bedroom. "Commander, help yourself," you said smoothly, your voice carrying a nonchalant edge that implied his sudden arrival was entirely expected.
Colt stared at you, his brain visibly buffering as he tried to process the scene.
"Right," Colt cleared his throat, his authoritative tone snapping back into place.
Quickly, he crossed the room, opened your bedroom door, slipped inside, allowing the door to close behind him.Â
The moment the door shut, the atmosphere shifted from stunned silence to burning intrigue. Five heads snapped back to you. Cutupâs mouth was practically hanging open, and Echo looked as though he was having an aneurysm trying to understand the various regulation infractions that just occurred.
But it was Fives who caught your attention most. He was leaning back slightly, his eyes fixed entirely on you, scanning your face with an incredibly seductive look. A fire danced in his gaze as he bit his lower lip, his mind clearly piecing together why there could be an unannounced, late night arrival of an ARC Trooper to your quarters.
You didn't give him the chance to voice a single theory.
Extending your hand, you sharply snapped your fingers, the sound instantly breaking their focus. âBoys!" you commanded.
The Domino Squad snapped to attention.Â
"You have the tools. You have the strategy," you told them, stepping into their space and letting your gaze lock onto each of them one last time. "Tomorrow, you don't fight for Bric. You don't fight for the Kaminoans. You fight for each other. Raise the stick, Dominos. Get some rest."
You walked them to the main door, the blast panel hissing open into the quiet, dim corridor of the quarters wing. They filed out in an orderly line, a completely different energy radiating from them than the broken mess you had found in the barracks prior.
"Brothers," Fives blinked in astonishment, "we need to pass tomorrow."
The second you were alone, your composure evaporated. You turned, marching towards your bedroom.
"You know, Colt, a knock would have been fantastic!" you chided sharply, stepping into the room.
Colt was already out of his gear. His armor already neatly stacked in a pile right beside your bed. He was in the middle of pulling the lower hem of his upper blacks, stretching the fabric as he yanked the tight material completely over his head.
His voice was muffled from beneath the top. "And how, exactly, was I supposed to know youâd be hosting a meeting for a squad of cadets in your living room this late at night?"
He tossed the top onto the pile with his armor, his chest falling as he let out a long, exhausted sigh. His overgrown hair was messy from his helmet - you found it cute.Â
You opened your mouth to fire back a snarky retort, but the words completely died in your throat.
Your eyes snapped to his bicep, where a new wound took presence. Its edges were raw and stained with dried blood. Your irritation vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a sudden, protective urge to fix his arm. "What happened?" you asked, making your way to his side.Â
You reached out, carefully, as you wrapped your fingers around his forearm, gently turning his arm over to examine the injury. The wound was deep enough to cause a permanent scar. The skin around it was angry and inflamed.
Colt didn't pull away, but he let out a dismissive scoff, looking down at your hands. "It's nothing. Just a stray graze from a small blast. Itâs fine."
"This is not a graze, Colt," you countered, your thumb lightly brushing the uninjured skin just above the wound, feeling the heat radiating from the inflammation. "You should have gone to the med bay the second you touched down."
Colt reached across his body with his left arm, his hand wrapping completely over yours. He squeezed gently, slowly pulling your hand away from the wound, though he didn't let go of your fingers.Â
"I was waiting to put the bacta patch on until after I took a shower and got the grime off," he shrugged, "I wanted to see you first. I promise, I'm fixing it." He gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go, stepping back toward the entrance of your attached refresher. "I'm going to take a shower."
You stood by the edge of the bed, a small, playful smile finally breaking through your worry. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at his back. "Is that an announcement, Commander, or an invitation?"
Colt paused in the doorway. He stopped, looking back at you over his broad, bare shoulder. A comforting smirk tugged at his lips, and he playfully rolled his eyes with a quiet chuckle.
"Is that ever a question with you?"Â
Your smile widened. Without another word, you reached for the fabric of your robes, loosening the belt and letting the fabric fall in a soft heap straight to the floor, right alongside his discarded armor.
The steam from your shared shower lingered in the bedroom air, carrying faint moisture that was somehow comforting.Â
Colt sat leaning against the headboard of your bed, a fresh, bacta patch sealed securely over the gash on his inner bicep. The redness around the wound was already beginning to soothe under the gel. He was dressed in a pair of soft, dark blue civilian pajama bottoms and a grey sleep shirt. You were able to get yourself a matching set. It was a small luxury you two picked up together during a rare opportunity to spend the day together on Coruscant; hidden from the eyes of the Jedi Council or the Republic.
You crawled onto the mattress beside him. The moment you sank into the blankets, Colt reached out, his arm sweeping around your waist to pull you flush against his side. You let out a long, contented sigh, melting into him as you rested your head perfectly against his uninjured shoulder. You placed your hand flush against the steady rise and fall of his chest.
With a soft click of a remote, the small holoscreen on the opposite wall hummed to life, projecting a late night bolo ball match. Coltâs fingers began to move in slow, soothing circles against your arm, his thumb tracking upwards to trace the curve of your shoulder.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the quiet commentary from the holoscreen.
"Alright," Colt broke the silence, his mouth pressed directly against your cheek as he kissed the crown of your head. "What exactly were those cadets doing in your quarters so late at night? They looked like they saw a ghost when I walked in."
You let out a soft sigh, "That was Domino Squad. And they are a disaster, Colt." You shifted slightly, nesting closer into his side as you explained their predicament. "Individually, they are excellent. Their raw combat skills, their reflexes, their ability to hit a target. They have everything it takes to be excellent soldiers. But they lack any form of cohesion."
Colt hummed, his hand continuing its slow, mesmerizing caress down your spine. "Let me guess. Bric?"
"Exactly," you groaned, a trace of your earlier frustration bleeding back into your voice, "Bric's training style is brutal. They spend more time bickering and fighting each other during simulations than they do facing the droids. They completely bombed their trial run today."
You paused, the weight of the war pressed on your mind. "If they don't learn how to work as a team and if they don't learn how to look out for one another's blind spots, the Republic is just going to ship them out to the front lines. Theyâll be nothing but human targets out there. I couldn't just sit back and watch them fail without trying to break through to them."
Colt let out a low, deeply affectionate chuckle that vibrated into the mattress. He stopped his hand on your waist, squeezing you tightly against him. "Let me guess again. You brought them in here, sat them on that couch, and made them do the stick exercise?"
You blinked, letting out a soft laugh as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. "How did you know?"
"Because I will never forget the day you did the exact same thing to my squadron," Colt smiled. He turned his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "None of us would be ARC Troopers today if you hadn't forced us to look at each other instead of just looking at the battlefield. You taught us how to breathe as one unit. We owe everything to that lesson. We wouldn't have survived our first year on the field without it."
âAnd I saw the stick on the table,â he added, giving the top of your head a quick peck.
His gaze drifted to the holoscreen for a moment, his expression reflecting fond remembrance. "Speaking of the old squad. I got a transmission from the front lines today before we hit hyperspace. Hammer just got his official promotion to ARC Trooper."
A genuine smile bloomed on your face. "Hammer? Really? That's amazing." You shifted up onto your knees, straddling over him so you could look directly into his eyes. "That means your entire original training squad are ARC Troopers now, aren't they?"
"Every single one of them," Colt beamed. He reached up towards you, his hand gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tenderness that always felt like home. He leaned forward, catching your lips in a short, but slow, deep, kiss.
When he pulled away, he gave you an affectionate nudge, "See? I told you. You train the absolute best. That's why I'm looking forward to seeing your Bravo Squad in action during the final trial tomorrow. From what El-Les logged, they're incredible. Honestly, I'd love nothing more than to have them assigned directly to my battalion when they deploy."
Your smile faltered. You let out a soft, quiet laugh that caused Coltâs brow to instantly furrow with worry.
"What is it?" he asked, "What's wrong?"
You sunk into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as if you could physically hold him away from the war.Â
"If they join your battalion," your voice was muffled against his skin, "I'm just incredibly jealous of them."
Colt was holding you so close there was no space left between you. "Jealous? Of a bunch of shinies?"
You lifted your face out of his neck, settling back down on his lap so that you could see him, "Because if they are assigned to your battalion, they'll get to see you every single day. And yet here I am, having to spend every day wondering if you're going to make it back."
Touched by your words, Colt sighed. His hand left your face, tracing a slow path down to your waist where he pulled you into him again, tightening his embrace.
"You don't want to be out there," he assured you softly, his chin resting on your shoulder, "Trust me. Despite what you feel right now, you do not want to be on the front lines."
"Why?" you whispered, "I'm a Jedi, Colt. I can handle it."
Colt let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as he confronted the brutal reality he faced every single day.
"Because out there, itâs a graveyard," he admitted bluntly, "It doesn't matter how brilliant your strategy is or how advanced your training is. The front lines are a nightmare. Call me selfish, but I like knowing that you are here, safe on Kamino. I like knowing that when I close my eyes in a trench when I feel alone out there, I know youâre away from it all.â
He went quiet for a moment, his chest expanding against yours.
"I've seen things that would change how you look at the galaxy," Colt continued, "Iâve watched Jedi fall in seconds due to the sheer numbers, stray shrapnel, and overwhelming blaster fire. It is terrifying to see the galaxyâs best warriors drop into the dirt just like any other soldier."
He turned his head, pushing you away from him so his eyes could meet yours.Â
"If anything were to happen to you out there," Coltâs voice cracked slightly, âwhatever is left of me would be obliterated. I can't afford that when my brothers are counting on me to lead them."
A look of disappointment spread across your face, but Colt refused to let the darkness of the conversation steal the fact that tonight, you had each other. Shaking off the thoughts, he shifted your bodies together, sliding onto his back, then wrapping both of his arms completely around you like he was trying to cocoon you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck.
"But let's not waste our precious time worrying about the war right now," he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck as he pulled the soft blankets higher over both of you. "Right now, we are together. That's the only thing that matters."
You relaxed completely against him, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as you nestled into his chest, letting the comforting feeling of him sink in.
"And tomorrow's success matters too," you added softly. "You know, my Bravo boys and the Dominos passing their final test."
Colt squeezed you tightly in response. "I expect Domino Squad to pull through, if they actually paid attention to your stick game."
You let out a quiet, contented sigh, your eyelids growing heavy as the absolute security of his embrace finally pulled you toward sleep. "Yeah," you concurred sleepily, your hand resting over his heart. "I think they did"
With the ambient, flickering glow of the holoscreen fading into the background, the two of you comfortably drifted off to sleep, locked tightly in each other's arms.Â
The silence in the barracks was broken not by bickering, but by the Domino Squad assembling their gear - together. They weren't acting like five individual cadets trying to beat each other to the refresher. The chaotic tension that usually defined them had burned away, replaced by a newfound energy.
Fives was already fully suited up, except for his helmet, which rested under his arm. He was practically vibrating with anticipation as he watched his brothers secure their gear.
Strutting over to Hevyâs bunk, a smirk played on Fives' lips. He leaned in and delivered a playful punch directly to Hevy's shoulder plate. "Alright," Fives grinned, "You ready, or are we going to let a piece of wood be the only thing we successfully lifted this week?"
Hevy snorted behind his teeth, pulling his chest plate tight and locking the side straps with a satisfying click. He didn't fire back with his usual defensive anger. Instead, a confident smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That stick gave me a headache, Fives. Iâm ready to blast something that actually shoots back. Just make sure you don't drop your side of the line today."
"Not a chance," Echo chimed in from across the aisle, "As long as we work as a unit, we aren't dropping anything."
"Hear that?" Cutup laughed, "The reg book finally works in our favor."
"Alright, enough," Droidbait said, picking up his helmet and tucking it under his arm, "Let's go show them how our squad actually moves."
Fully armored, the Domino Squad marched out of the barracks and into the massive, echoing staging hangar. The polished white floor plates reflected the harsh overhead lights, but the boys didn't look down. Their shoulders were squared, their heads held high.
Waiting for them at the center of the hangar, was Commander Colt. Domino Squad, along with the others completing their final trial that day, halted in perfect lines in front of him, snapping into a flawless, textbook formation.
Colt took a slow step forward, his voice loudly against the hangar walls, âI want you troopers to Remember, we're shoulder to shoulder on those front lines. Brothers. And sometimes we may quarrel, but no matter what, we are united. Rule one: We fight together. So whoâs ready to step up first?â
He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, as he scanned the room. His helmeted glance stopped at the Bravo Squad.
âLet's start with the unit that ran the practice test in record time,â Colt paused, âARC Trooper time.â
âBravo unit, step up,â Colt ordered, stepping towards them, âShow an ARC Trooper how it's done.â
As the Bravo Squad saluted to attention, saluting Commander Colt.
Fives leaned over to Cutup, dropping his voice, âWell, Bravo to his girlfriendâs squad.â
Cutup choked back a sudden, violent bit of laughter, rapidly converting it into a rough cough as Echo shot them both a brutal, wide eyed glare.
"Move out, boys," Hevy muttered from the front of their formation, his jaw set as he ignored his brothers' antics, "Let's give them something else to talk about."
Once again, you were on the observation deck for the training grounds, confused as to why that breeze was up there. To your left stood your master. El-Les monitored his datapad with a quiet focus, while Bric paced back and forth, his arms crossed over his chest like he was practically praying for a failure to validate his skepticism.
The door at the rear of the observation deck hissed open. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Colt entered the observation desk and made his way right next to you.
A betraying wave of heat rushed up your neck, blooming into a faint blush across your cheeks. Seeing him now, all geared up, shook your composure to its core. He looked attractive - very attractive. To keep from giving yourself away, you forced your eyes straight ahead, staring down at the arena floor.
Colt didn't give you so much as a casual glance, seamlessly carrying professionalism the moment he entered the observation desk.
"Master Jedi," Colt greeted, as he offered your master a small nod. He reached out, taking the digital logs El-Les eagerly provided, his thumbs scrolling through the logs, "I was reviewing the preliminary performance files on the transport."
"I have to say, I am thoroughly impressed with Bravo Squad's metrics. They seem exceptional. Youâve outdone yourself," he added, signaling towards you with his chin, "Your training methods are producing some of the finest soldiers Iâve seen."
Beside you, Master Ti bowed her head slightly toward you, acknowledging your undeniable success. "She has dedicated herself completely to their development, Commander. I am glad the results speak for themselves."
"Let's see how they handle live ordnance before we start handing out medals," Bric muttered under his breath as the final trial for the Bravo Squad began.
Bravo Squad marched onto the arena floor in a pristine line. The moment the simulation began, they moved like a whirlwind. It was a display of flawless, textbook precision. Every maneuver was covered, every energy detonator was thrown with accuracy and every blast found its target. They scaled the column of the Citadel without dropping any of their momentum, finishing the course in, again, record time.
"Immaculate," El-Les released a massive sigh of awe, "An absolutely perfect run."
"Agreed," Colt stated, stepping up to stand directly shoulder to shoulder with you at the edge of the railing. He looked down at the boys below, "Outstanding execution. A testament to their instructor."
Colt reached over and placed a firm, affirming celebratory pat on your shoulder. It was a standard gesture of military camaraderie meant to look entirely platonic to the trainers and Master Ti.
But the moment his hand pressed against your shoulder, the physical touch sent an electric, jolt straight down your spine. The professional barrier between you dissolved instantly. You could perfectly sense the deep, warm, and intensely proud secret smile hidden behind his stern expression.
The contact lasted only a second before he pulled his hand away. Standing mere inches from the man you loved, you felt the reality flooded your mind again. You could share a bed in the dead of night, but right here, you were completely unable to do something as simple as reaching out to hold his hand in front of the others.Â
Colt cleared his throat, "Excellent work." He looked over at El-Les, "Who is next on the roster?"
"The Domino Squad," El-Les answered, tapping the interface to reset the course.
"The final unit," El-Les answered, his long fingers tapping the interface to reset the Citadel's automated defenses. "Domino Squad."
Bric immediately scoffed, letting out a harsh, derisive grunt, "A waste of everyoneâs time. Those defects are just going to embarrass us. They shouldn't even be on the field.â
Down below, the heavy blast doors ground open, and Domino Squad stepped onto the arena floor.
From the absolute first second the simulation kicked into active status, they were a completely transformed unit. The bickering that had plagued their past runs was entirely gone. Instead, they moved gracefully across the terrain, adapting to one anotherâs movements with ease. When Hevy charged forward to draw the automated laser fire, Droidbait was already sliding into position to cover his blind spot. Echo provided knowledge of what the next orders would be, and Fives and Cutup moved along the flanks, protecting the squadâs rear. They were communicating flawlessly, running the course better than they ever had in their lives.
Up on the viewing platform, El-Les stared at the monitors in utter awe, while Bricâs jaw tightened in silent frustration. You leaned against the railing, pride swelling in your chest. They were doing it. They were doing it.
The squad successfully reached the pillar, preparing to scale the steep summit to claim the graduation beacon. Fives took the lead, reaching back to his utility belt to pull his ascension cable.
He froze. His hands clawed at his side, then his back. One by one, the other four clones reached for their belts, their heads snapping toward each other in a sudden wave of panic. Their ascension cables were completely missing from their gear packs.
On the platform you let out an audible gasp, your hands gripping the metal railing until your knuckles turned white. It felt like sabotage.
Bric immediately let out a cruel chuckle, a smug, satisfied grin stretching across his face. He crossed his arms tightly and gestured toward the training grounds. "Well, look at that," Bric declared dismissively, "Must have gotten lost.â
"What did you do?!" El-Les stepped forward aggressively, his voice cracking with defensive anger as he glared at Bric.
âI thought you had faith They'd be the best, right? Well, the best pass, No matter what,â Bric spat back, not denying his role in the missing ascension cables.
While the two trainers erupted into a fierce, escalating argument behind you, you completely tuned out their voices. You spotted movement; a spark of brilliance.
Without looking back at the arguing trainers, you sharply raised your right hand, the gesture instantly interrupting the shouting match behind you. "Look," you nodded. You pointed your finger directly down into the arena trenches.
Colt immediately turned his head, tracking the line of your finger as he stepped one step closer to you.
Down below, Domino Squad wasn't giving up. They weren't panicking. Inspired by the lesson of the stick from the night before, they had quickly analyzed the situation, recognized their strengths, and found an entirely new way to conquer the obstacle together.
Working in perfect, breathtaking unison, the boys began using the disarmed cannons to hoist themselves up the pillar.Â
Bricâs voice was thick with forced amusement, âWell, I'll be. Creative little clones, aren't they?â
An triumphant smile broke across your face as you watched the Domino Squad successfully reached the top of the pillar, pulling the beacon from its post.Â
You looked up at Colt, who was standing right at your side. Even though his helmet obscured his eyes, the slightly cocked angle of his helmeted head told you absolutely everything.Â
Master Ti stepped closer to the railing, her serene expression softening into a look of genuine satisfaction. She watched the boys for a long moment before turning her gaze to you, "It appears," she hummed softly, "that their additional training session paid off beautifully."
Beside her, El-Les was practically glowing. Even Bric was forced into stunned silence.
Though you were high up on the observation deck, you could hear the Domino Squad cheering, laughing, and high fiving in pure relief. They had done it.Â
The remaining units on deck completed their trials quickly, however, none of the subsequent squads managed to capture the energy that Domino Squad had just left on the training grounds.
Once the final performances were complete, you took a step back from the railing. You quietly bowed to Master Ti, inclining your head respectfully to the trainers. "If you will excuse me, Master," you announced, "I will dismiss myself to prepare the medals for the graduation presentation."
Master Ti offered a gentle, approving nod. "Go ahead, young one."
You turned and walked toward the exit, standing in the open doorway for a lingering second. A desperate part of your heart secretly hoped that Colt would make an excuse to slip away and follow you immediately. But as you glanced back, you saw him deeply locked in a formal, professional debrief with Master Ti.Â
The supply room for the medals was tucked deep within the clone barracks. You stood alone over a metallic workspace. Meticulously, you began arranging the polished graduation medals into orderly rows.
The sharp hiss of the automated door suddenly shattered the silence.
You turned around quickly, expecting a Kaminoan administrator or a maintenance droid coming to check on your progress. Instead, Colt stepped into the room. He didn't say a word as the door slid shut behind him.
Colt didn't waste a single moment. He walked straight across the small room, and placed his helmet on the workbench. Reaching out, his fingers gently pried a medal right out of your hands, setting it down on the table.
Before you could even utter his name, Colt reached forward and pulled you firmly into his arms. This was nothing like the brief, platonic pat on the shoulder he had given you on the viewing deck. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist to lift you slightly off your feet, pressing flush against the plates of his gear. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck..
"That one cadet, Fives I think. He was right, you know," Colt confessed with a low laugh, "I didnât acknowledge it but I heard an interesting whisper from him this morning on the hangar deck. Bravo really is my girlfriend's squad. They were absolutely perfect out there. Kinda like you."
A sudden blush spread across your cheeks, and you let out a soft laugh, playfully swatting at his shoulder. But as the laughter died down, your gaze drifted over past his body, landing on a tray of polished medals resting on the counter.
"Bravo was textbook," you admitted as you looked back up at him, "But those Domino boys have my heart, Colt. They fought so incredibly hard just to get past each other, let alone the course."
"After the ceremony today, they don't belong to the training bays anymore," you whispered, the bitter reality of the galactic conflict coming to light, "They belong to the front lines."
Coltâs expression shifted, the amusement melting away into something deeply protective. "They won't be alone out there," Colt delivered the words like a sacred promise. "I'm going to pull a few strings to make sure they get a quiet first assignment together. Your boys are going to make it."
Colt looked down at you, his thumb lightly tracing your jawline before he leaned in, lacing his fingers perfectly through yours right over the trays of graduation medals. He pressed his lips to yours in one last, deep, and lingering kiss.
Yet somehow, you were still frowning.Â
âHey,â Colt smiles, trying to get a smile on your face as well.Â
âThe galaxy is going to try to keep tilting us, completely off balance - every single day we're apart," he continued, admiring the brief look of confusion on your face, âBut we take a moment and level ourselves out together.â
This got a pure genuine smile out of you.Â
Colt gave you one last, firm squeeze, his forehead lingering against yours for a moment before he reluctantly stepped back, âSomeone told me youâre really good at that.âÂ
You couldnât help but let out a soft, breathless laugh, "Whoever told you that must be a genius," you whispered back, your heart full despite him standing apart from you.
"An absolute expert," Colt winked as he reached for his helmet on the counter. He reached out, his finger lightly tracing the edge of the tray holding the medals for Domino Squad. "You know, when I was tracking them down after their run, I caught them crowded around the lift. They were practically shouting over one another, but Fives managed to quiet them down for a second."
He looked back up at you, a proud, warmth in his dark eyes. "He told the rest of the unit that they never would have made it up that pillar if they hadn't taken your lesson to heart. He said they owed their entire graduation to you." Colt's smile widened slightly, "The whole squad agreed. Every single one of them."
AÂ profound wave of relief and pride swelled in your chest. They had truly understood.
"They did the hard work," you shrugged, though you couldn't stop the smile from brightening your face. "They just needed to learn how to figure it out together."
"And you showed them how," Colt added softly. He slid his helmet over his head and lifted one of the prepared medal trays, âCâmon. Letâs go congratulate some shinies.â
You picked up the remaining metallic trays, your eyes catching the reflection of the polished medals as you walked beside him. Out in the grand hallway of the barracks, the echoing, proud voices of Domino Squad made you smile just a little more.
The galaxy outside Kamino was chaotic, violent, and entirely unpredictable. It was going to pull friends, brothers and lovers to opposite ends of the stars and demand everything you had to give. But as you marched down the hallway side by side with Colt, you felt entirely unshakeable. The war could tilt the universe all it wanted, you needed to find your balance.
Summary: The deployment on Ryloth has come to an end. Worried he won't get to see you again, Fives goes to extreme lengths to make it happen - even if life in the brig is at stake.
Word Count: 6.3k
Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, drunk clones
A/N: Anyone else looking forward to @summer-of-clones ? Anyway, this is not beta read at all so apologies in advance.
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You and Fives made the rendezvous - you always knew you would. Once you linked up with the rest of the squads, the final phase of the battle was over in a flash, leaving the 501st and the 327th with no more droids to scrap. And for the Republic, victory meant a swift exit. Before you or the men could even catch your breath, a massive Venator was already breaking the atmosphere and landing, ready to ship the two legions straight back to Coruscant.
Once back on Coruscant, you stood near the far edge of the transport platform. The remaining troopers of the 327th and the 501st streamed past you in a sea of sandy, scuffed plastoid, dragging supply crates and checking weapon tallies.
But beneath the calm exterior, your mind was a racing. The ambient thoughts of hundreds of clones, vibrating with the relief of survival and the exhaustion of campaign, beat against your empathic senses. Yet, through all the noise, your focus was anchored to a single, distinct presence moving down the ramp.
Fives.
He was moving with a stride that deliberately tried to mask the heavy limp in his right leg. His armor had been superficially scrubbed of Rylothâs red sand, but the thermal scoring from the crash remained. He carried a datapad in his hand, and his helmet in the other. He navigated the chaotic flow of men and made his way straight toward you. To anyone around, it simply looked like an ARC trooper was approaching a superior officer to deliver a standard post mission log.
He stopped only a couple steps from you, bringing his heels together in a sharp, regulation stance.
"General," Fives said, his voice entirely devoid of the raw intimacy that it held on Ryloth. He held out the datapad. "The casualty reports and equipment manifests from the crash site have been compiled. The 501st logistics team has logged the data. I figured you would like a copy."
"Thank you, Fives" you replied, your tone matching his professionalism as you took the datapad from his grip. Your fingers briefly brushed against his during the exchange, the point of contact sending a sharp tremor through both your bodies, "I appreciate your efficiency with finishing the report. We could use some of that in the 327th."
Fives didnât respond. Instead, he adjusted his stance slightly, leaning in just enough to ensure that the surrounding sound of the hangar wouldnât swallow his words.Â
"The boys are heading to 79âs tonight," he murmured, the words tumbling out with a quiet, eager intensity, "The whole battalion is looking to drown the dust of Ryloth with something strong. I- we would love for you to join us."
The invitation hung in the small bit of air between you. For a second, the image of that night at 79âs sitting at the bar with a glass of cheap liquor and the comforting weight of his shoulder against yours flashed vividly in your mind. But reality kicked in before you could think too much about it.Â
You looked up, locking your gaze onto his pleading eyes. "I appreciate the offer, trooper," you said softly, your voice dropping to match his, "But I think itâs best I keep out of this one. You men earned your celebration, and having a Jedi hovering around the tables after a mission usually ruins the fun. Enjoy the night off."
The rejection was delivered with absolute gentleness, but the physical reaction from Fives was instantaneous.
The shift in his demeanor was visceral. His shoulders, previously squared with a faint trace of hope, dropped noticeably. His jaw tightened so hard you could see the faint ripple of the muscle along his neck through his blacks. Through the Force, his presence didn't just dim, it curdled into a knot of disappointment.Â
The sight of his deflated posture twisted your chest. Desperate to soften the blow, to remind him that you were honest about your words on Ryloth, you let out a tiny, breathless laugh and leaned in slightly closer.
"Don't look at me like that," you teased in a daring whisper, "This isn't goodbye, Fives. Itâs just a see you later. Unless, of course, I happen to get myself killed on the next deployment. Then I guess itâs goodbye."
The dark, throwaway joke had barely left your lips before his composure shattered.
Fives went completely rigid. He didn't laugh. He didn't smile. The sudden, brutal realization that the woman he saw his entire future with could be erased by a single stray blaster bolt hit him harder than the crash on Ryloth.
"Don't say that," he rasped. The voice wasn't playful. It wasn't formal. It was a blunt, commanding snap that completely ignored the difference in your ranks. "Don't ever joke about that."
Before you could reassure him, the sound of heavy, uncoordinated jogging footsteps echoed from behind him.
"Hey, Fives! You turning in those data logs or reading through them?"
Jesseâs booming voice broke the moment. You snapped your posture back to something less casual, pulling your hands into the wide sleeves of your robes as Jesse and Kix approached. The two clones looked worn, but their expressions were light with the anticipation of Coruscantâs nightlife.
"Jesse, Kix. At ease." You turned a calm, warm smile toward Kix, "I was just thanking Fives for his thoroughness on these logs. Though, Kix, I do have one final request from you."
Kix arched a brow, his hand resting casually on his belt, "Sir?"
"Perhaps just a strong recommendation," you corrected playfully, gesturing slightly toward Fives. "Make sure this one actually stays off his feet tonight. He was favoring his left leg the entire trek back to the transport. I know you patched him up with bacta, but I have a feeling he has a tendency to ignore medical advice when he thinks no one is watching."
Kix let out a dry laugh, shifting his gaze to Fives, whose posture had gone completely defensive. "Understood, Sir. Iâll make sure he doesn't try to get too carried away on the dance floor. If he limps, Iâm bringing him to the med center."
"Hey, my leg is fine," Fives grumbled, his voice tight as he looked anywhere but at you.
"Excellent," you hummed, your eyes lingering on Fives for one final glance, "Stay safe out there boys."
With a formal nod, you turned on your heel, the hem of your Jedi robes swirling against the deck plates as you walked away, disappearing into the crowd of men unloading the transport.
The second your back was turned, Jesse stepped into Fivesâ space, a massive, teasing grin splitting his face. He nudged Fivesâ shoulder with his elbow, hard enough to make him stumble slightly on his bad leg.
"Alright, lay it out" Jesse demanded, his eyes gleaming suspicion, "The kriff was that about?"
Fives cleared his throat, desperately trying to ignore the sudden, telltale flush of heat crawling up his cheeks, "What was what about? She was reviewing the report."
"A report review?" Jesse smiled, letting out a loud laugh as Kix crossed his arms, a highly skeptical look on his face, "Fives, General Skywalker doesn't even look at Rex with that much intensity, and theyâve saved each other's skins a hundred times. She gave you a personal send off, she knew exactly which leg you were limping on, and then she smiled at you like you just handed her the keys to a luxury cruiser. What did you do out in that desert to earn that?"
"Nothing," Fives muttered, his voice sounding entirely too defensive as he adjusted his helmet under his arm, staring stubbornly at the hangar exit. "We survived a crash. We talked about the men we lost. I was just offering her condolences for the men she lost in the crash. Itâs a tragedy, thatâs all."
Jesse and Kix exchanged a long, slow look. Neither of them said a word, but the shared expression between them was absolute. They weren't buying a single word of it.
The music at 79âs didn't just play, it vibrated through your skin and settled straight in your chest. Blue and magenta neon strips slashed through the dark, cutting across a sea of identical faces. Clones from a dozen different legions packed the floor, slamming glasses onto sticky high tops, shouting over the beat of the music, and aggressively celebrating the simple fact that they were breathing.
It was loud. It was chaotic. It was exactly the kind of mindless, high energy sanctuary the Grand Army looked for after a rough campaign.
Yet Fives had never felt more completely alone in his entire life.
He stood near the entrance, physically present but entirely checked out. He felt naked without the top half of his armor and his right leg throbbed with a dull ache every time the heavy bass kicked. His eyes drifted over the crowd but he wasn't actually seeing any of it. His mind was on the other side of the galaxy, stubbornly trapped in the quiet, dusty shadows of Ryloth with you.Â
"Fives! Fives, you sexy bastard!"
The shout was the only warning he got before a heavy hand swung out of the crowd and slapped him squarely between the shoulder blades. The impact rattled Fivesâ teeth, jolting his bad leg and forcing a sharp grunt from his throat.
Hardcase bounced into his space, practically vibrating with a frantic, uncontainable surge of energy. He was already half red in the face, his forehead damp with sweat, and an almost empty pitcher of ale sloshing dangerously in his left hand.
"Look at this place!" Hardcase yelled, gesturing wildly with the pitcher toward the main bar, where a sprawling group of civilian women and off duty logistics officers were laughing with a few troopers from the 212th. "I told you Coruscant was going to turn it out tonight! There are more women in here right now than the entire last three deployments combined! The 501st is already running the table, Rex is off hiding in the corner somewhere, and Jesse is trying to convince a Senatorâs aide that heâs an ARC trooper! Itâs gonna be a beautiful night, brother!"
Hardcase grinned, a bright, manic expression, waiting for Fives to match his energy. Usually, this was the exact moment where Fives would smirk, throw an arm around Hardcaseâs neck, and layout a reckless strategy to completely take over the bar.
Instead, Fives just blinked. His expression didn't even flicker. He looked at Hardcase, then glanced over at the loud, laughing crowd by the bar with a dull, completely detached indifference.
"Yeah," Fives muttered, his voice completely drowned out by the music. "Looks great, 'Case."
Hardcase stopped bouncing. The manic grin on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a look of sheer alarm. He stared at Fives as if his brother had just grown a second head, his grip tightening on the pitcher. To the 501st, a flirting, confident, trouble making Fives was the heartbeat of a night at 79âs. Seeing him look at a crowded room full of beautiful women and free alcohol with the enthusiasm of a soldier being assigned sanitation duty was unsettling.Â
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hardcase stammered, stepping directly into Fivesâ line of sight and squinting at him suspiciously, "What the hell, Fives? Why are you looking like that? Did the clankers knock your on Ryloth? Kix! Hey, Kix!"
"Drop it, Hardcase," Fives snapped as he raised a hand to block his brother from waving down Kix. He forced his face back into a tight, strained mask, his jaw clenching. "Nothing's wrong with my face. I'm just tired. My leg's bothering me."
"Your leg?" Hardcase echoed, completely unconvinced, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in. "Since when does a bad leg stop you from looking at a pretty girl? You look worse than you did when you got back from the citadel.â
"I said I'm fine," Fives grunted, his patience evaporating. The noise of the bar was suddenly grating on his nerves. He gave Hardcase a firm, dismissive shove against his shoulder, clearing a path through the dense crowd. "I don't need my leg looked at. I just need a shot of something that burns. I'll be at the booths."
Without waiting for a response, Fives turned his back on Hardcaseâs bewildered staring, buried his hands deep into his empty holster pockets, and headed straight toward the back corner of the lounge where he knew Rex would be.
Tucked away from the pulsing neon of the main floor, the dirty vinyl booths claimed by 501st felt like a bunker in the middle of a drunken war zone. Fives slid into the furthest booth, sinking heavily into the padded seat. He let his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes for a brief, blissful second to escape the glare of the room. The throbbing in his right leg had settled into a steady ache, but it was nothing compared to the hole sitting squarely in his chest.
The slide of a heavy glass against the sticky table made him open his eyes.
Rex sat down across from him. He didn't say anything at first. He just slid that double shot of a dark whiskey toward Fives, before wrapping his own fingers around an identical glass.Â
"Hardcase says you're acting like a ghost," Rex said, his voice cutting easily through the ambient noise of the bar. He took a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact, "And Kix is tracking me down across the floor, complaining that you should be letting your leg rest. Want to tell me whatâs really going on, Fives? Ryloth was a rough, but youâve survived worse than a crashed gunship."
Fives stared down at the liquor, the ice clinking softly against the glass as his fingers twitched. He didn't touch the drink. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and bridging the gap between them. The exhaustion left his face, replaced by a sudden, intense focus that made Rex lower his own glass back to the table.
Fives dropped his voice to a blunt whisper. "How do you do it, Rex?"
Rex blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Do what? Manage you guys? Itâs not easy keeping you idiots from blowing yourselves up."
"No," Fives countered, his gaze narrowing as he leaned in even closer, ensuring the sound stayed strictly between them, "How do you cover for General Skywalker? How do you manage to help keep him and Senator Amidala a secret from the entire Republic?"
The reaction was instantaneous.
Rex froze dead in his tracks. His glass stopped mid air, just barely touching his lips. His eyes went wide. A drop of the liquor splashed over the rim, hitting his knuckles, but he didn't even notice. He lowered the glass slowly, his eyes scanning the immediate area with a frantic, defensive sweep before locking back onto Fives.
"He told you?" Rex hissed, the words coming out as a panicked confusion.
"No," Fives said, a ghost of a smirk finally pulling at the corner of his lips, though it lacked any real humor. "The General is a lot of things, Rex, but subtle isn't one of them. He isn't exactly great at hiding it. Anyone with half a brain cell can see the way he looks at her. So, Iâm asking you as a brother. How do you pull it off? How do you keep the Jedi Council from finding out?"
Rex sat back, the initial panic fading into an expression of sheer, exhausted bewilderment. He rubbed his hand over his face, letting out a long, ragged sigh that sounded like it had been building for years. "Fives. Why are you asking me this?"
Fives didn't answer right away. He just looked at Rex.
Rex stared back, analyzing Fivesâ sour mood, his complete lack of interest in the bar, the personal, lingering goodbye from earlier that afternoon that Jesse and Kix told him about.
Suddenly, Rexâs eyes went wide again. The pieces clicked together in his brain with the force of a detonator. His jaw dropped slightly, a look of profound, horrified realization washing over him.
"Oh, no," Rex breathed, leaning forward so fast his chest hit the edge of the table. âItâs the General from the 327th, isn't it? The one who had you and the other two ARC Troopers for the drop on Ryloth"
Fives didn't blink. He just gave the slightest, almost ashamed, single nod of his head.
"Fives, you are out of your absolute mind," Rex whispered, his voice cracking with a mix of terror and disbelief. "That is a Jedi General. If anyone even hints at this-"
"Itâs a little too late for a lecture, Rex," Fives half laughed, a dry, reckless sound that cut Rex off. He finally reached out and down his drink in one heavy, burning swallow, "Itâs already happened."
Rex stared at him, his mind completely boggled. "What do you mean it's already happened? You were only alone with her for a little over one rotation!"
"We didn't start on Ryloth," Fives confessed, the truth pouring out of him. He set the empty glass down with a soft clack. "We met here. Right here at 79's, the night before the deployment. I didn't know she was a Jedi. She was just a woman. A beautiful, funny woman wearing civilian clothes who had some drinks with me and didn't look at me like I was just like every other man in this bar."
Rexâs expression hardened, his protective instincts instantly flaring to life. His eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. "Wait. She knew you were a clone? She knew who you were and she still-"
"Don't," Fives snapped, a sudden, fierce heat in his voice that instantly shut Rex down, "Don't think for a second she manipulated me. We went over this. I was furious when I found out the truth. I felt like a game. But we talked. Really talked. She didn't know I was part of the Ryloth mission and she sure as hell didn't plan for our gunship to get blown out of the sky."
Fives sighed, his gaze drifting away from Rex, looking down at the wet ring his glass had left on the dark wood. "Meeting her, Rex. It didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like a beautiful punch straight to the chest. Iâve spent my whole life being told exactly where to stand, who to shoot, and when to die. But when I look at her? I don't see my life as a solider."
He looked back up, his eyes wide and burning with an unshakeable, terrifyingly profound certainty that made Rex freeze.
"It feels like destiny, Rex. I canât stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about a life after this war is over. A real life. With her."
Rex looked at him as if Fives had just confessed to tasting poison and wanting more. He has spent the war watching Anakin Skywalker tear himself apart over a secret love, watching the toll it took on his sanity. Now, his best friend was sitting in a dark booth, speaking with the exact same desperate, romantic madness.
"Fives," Rex pleaded, "You are romanticizing a feeling. The Jedi don't get that. Us clones don't get that. You just met here and have only had one mission with-"
"Iâm going to buy us a house by a lake," Fives interrupted, his tone completely conversational, entirely bypassing Rexâs logic. A genuine smile touched his lips, his eyes fixed on a vision Rex couldn't see. "Somewhere quiet. No durasteel cities. Just clear water and fresh air. Weâre going to raise our kids there. Iâm going to teach them how to swim."
Rex raised an eyebrow so high it practically reached his hairline. He stared at Fives in absolute, dumbfounded silence.
"Kids?" Rex finally managed, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "Youâve already planned out a family? Does she know about this?"
Fivesâ face fell slightly, a sheepish expression crossing his features as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it was my idea. But I laid it out for her before we found you. And she didn't raise any objections, Rex. She just smiled."
Rex let out a long, slow whistle, leaning back into the booth and shaking his head. He looked at Fives with a mixture of profound sympathy and absolute dread.
"Fives, my brother," Rex sighed, "You are in so far over your head."
"Iâm fine with that," Fives shot back, not a single shred of regret in his voice. He leaned back across the table, his eyes locked onto Rex with a sudden, sharp intensity. "Which brings me back to my first question. You think I could get any help with this? General Skywalker is the undisputed expert on breaking the rules and getting away with it. If anyone knows how to navigate a relationship under the nose of the Jedi Council, itâs him."
"Absolutely not," Rex shut him down instantly. He pointed a stern finger directly at Fives' chest. "I will protect you, Fives. I will keep my mouth shut. But if I were you, I would not drag General Skywalkerâs messy secret into this. He has enough on his plate."
Fives let out a frustrated huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. But I need to see her, Rex. I'm not waiting six months for our legions to randomly cross paths in the Outer Rim again. I need to see her before we get shipped out to the next meat grinder."
Rex stared at him. The irritation on Rexâs face slowly softened into something resembling grudging brotherhood. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a sharp breath. "This is going to be a common occurrence now, isnât it? How can I help you?â Rex added more before Fives could respond, âWithin reason."
Fives turned his head, his eyes scanning the chaotic, neon expanse of the main floor. He watched the shifting sea of men and their armor - the blue of the 501st, the red of the Coruscant Guard, the green of the 41st.
Then, his gaze locked onto a far corner near the game tables.
Standing by a high top table, throwing down shots with a couple of shinies, was a clone trooper wearing civilian gear, but his boots were heavily marked with a stark, unmistakable splash of bright gold paint.
A slow, dangerously reckless smirk began to spread across Fivesâ face.
"See that trooper over by the Sabacc tables?" Fives nodded his head faintly toward the back wall, "The one with the 327th paint on his boots over there?"
Rex squinted through the flashing lights, his brow furrowing, "Yeah. I see him. What about him?"
"I'm going to walk over there, slip his comms off his wrist and trigger his emergency distress beacon," Fives stated, his tone as casual as if he were ordering another round of drinks.
Rexâs jaw dropped. He stared at Fives in absolute disbelief. "You're going to what?"
"Think about it," Fives explained, the brilliant, terrifying logic clicking into place. "Standard protocol dictates that if a localized emergency beacon is triggered by a soldier on leave in the capital sector, an automated alert is routed directly to their commanding Jedi officer's personal datapad. If I pull the pin on that beacon, the system will ping her immediately. Sheâll think one of her men is in trouble, and sheâll come running to investigate."
"That is a horrible idea!" Rex hissed, smacking Fivesâ arm, "Fives, that was a safeguard that senators fought hard to put into our comms. Now you want to falsify an emergency? If a Jedi comes and thereâs no emergency, you, or that poor shiny over there will be locked up in a brig until you rot! And more importantly, she isn't the only General in the 327th. What happens if the beacon routes to her instead? You might accidentally summon General Secura down to a clone bar. How are you going to explain the lack of emergency then?"
Fivesâ smirk only widened. He was entirely consumed by the thought of you and right now, there wasn't a risk in the galaxy that could slow him down.
"Then I'll take my chances," Fives grinned.
Before Rex could grab his arm or bark out a direct order to stay put, Fives slid smoothly out of the booth. He didn't even look back as he stepped into the pulsing neon light, his limp entirely vanishing as adrenaline took over, snaking his way gracefully through the crowd and straight toward the unsuspecting shiney.
Fives moved through the thick of the crowd like a man on a mission. Despite the heavy throb of his leg and the shifting of the bodies around him, his stride was perfectly relaxed. As he neared the 327th trooper, a mechanical service droid hummed past, its hovering tray loaded down with a fresh round of synthetic spirits. Without breaking stride or even looking down, Fivesâ hand darted out lifting a tall, colorful drink right off the tray.
He stepped directly into the younger soldierâs space, effortlessly cutting him off from the chaos of the room, and slid the glass straight into his hand.
"Fives. 501st," he introduced himself. He flashed a charming smile, "Just wanted to say, your boys impressively handled the meat grinder on Ryloth. The 501st was proud to serve with you."
The younger trooper looked down at the drink in his hand, then to ARC armor that was still on Fivesâ lower half, then finally up at Fives, blinking in surprise. He was clearly a shiny. His posture was just a little too rigid for 79âs. But the sheer authority of an ARC trooper standing in front of him had him instantly squaring his shoulders.
Fives smoothly grabbed a second drink off another passing tray, raising it between them. He clinked the glass sharply against the kid's. "Hereâs to many more 501st and 327th co-ops."
The trooper paused, a bright, genuine laugh breaking across his face as he relaxed. He took a sip, then shakenly shook his head with a cheeky grin. "With all due respect, '327th 501st co-ops' flows a little better."
Fives let out a low chuckle, "Yeah? Weâll see about that, trooper." He nodded his head over toward the far wall, where a pair of chairs had just cleared up near the open sabacc tables. "Tell you what. Grab a seat over there."
The Shiny looked toward the empty seats, hesitant.
"Come on," Fives encouraged, laying the bait perfectly. "I might just share a few insider tips on how to make ARC trooper status. Me and one of my old squadmate still hold the official record for the quickest time from leaving Kamino for the first time to being handed our ARC promotion. I usually keep those secrets strictly for the shinies in the 501st, but after Ryloth? I developed a real fondness for you boys in 327th."
The young trooperâs eyes went completely wide. He looked thrilled, his jaw dropping slightly as his gaze drifted up from Fivesâ mouth to his tattoo on his temple. The kid froze, the realization hitting him like a stun.
"Wait," the shiny paused, his voice suddenly full of awe, "You're Fives?"
Fives was caught entirely off guard. The smug, smooth talking charm faltered for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing as a look of genuine confusion crossed his face. He let out a short laugh. "Yeah. Last time I checked. How the does a 327th shiny know my name?"
The trooper smiled. "99," he said softly, his voice full of nostalgia, "Back on Kamino, when we were just cadets in the barracks, 99 used to sit us down after the long training days. Heâd tell us stories about Domino Squad. About how you guys never gave up. He told us what you did at the Rishi outpost. Everyone in my batch knew who you were before we even earned our armor."
The words hit a soft spot right in Fivesâ chest. A genuinely humbling, bittersweet chuckle escaped Fivesâ lips. He looked down at his drink, a soft, solemn look taking over his face before he looked back up at the kid, his chest swelling with a quiet pride.
"99," Fives muttered, "Yeah. He was the best of us. A real soldier." He took a breath, shaking off the sudden melancholy, and slapped a brotherly hand on the kidâs shoulder. "I would definitely love to sit down and talk to you now, trooper. What's your name?"
"Tracker," the shiny replied proudly.
"Nice to meet you, Tracker. Let's go claim those seats," Fives grinned, guiding Tracker toward the open sabacc table.
As they walked, Fives glanced back over his shoulder toward the dark corner of the bar. He caught Captain Rexâs eye across the crowded room. Standing beside the glowing sabacc table, Fives flashed a confident thumbs up, signaling that his plan was going perfectly.
Back in the relative sanctuary of the 501st booth, Captain Rex groaned audibly. He slid a heavy, exhausted hand completely over his face, dragging it down his skin as he let out a ragged sigh of pure despair. He knew that look. He knew that body language. There was absolutely no stopping Fives.
âHardcase, get back here!â
The loud, chaotic shout came while Hardcase clumsily slumped into the booth across from Rex.
Hardcase slammed his fresh pitcher onto the table, splashing a river of foam over the wood, and threw his arms over the backrest. "Can you believe Fives, Rex? I tell him the bar is crawling with beautiful women, and he looks at me like he was just assigned sanitation duty! What happened to him in that crash?!"
"Fives is just being Fives," Rex rolled his eyes, his voice flat as he kept his eyes glued to the far side of the bat. He didn't even bother to wipe away the fresh puddle of foam Hardcase had just splashed across the table. "Heâs got a lot on his mind, Hardcase. Just let him blow off some steam his own way."
"Oh, come on! That is clearly a load of shit!" Hardcase complained, leaning forward with a heavily slurred, drunken pout. He gestured wildly with a sloppy hand toward the sabacc tables, nearly knocking his pitcher over a second time. "Look at him! Heâs sitting over there talking to a shiny from the 327th, not a woman! A shiny! Since when does Fives prefer small talk with a shiny over a pretty face? Itâs weird, Cap."
Rex let out a long, slow sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as a massive headache began to form right behind his eyes. "Oh, trust me, Hardcase. Iâm sure he will be talking to a woman soon enough."
Hardcase blinked, his brow furrowing as he tried to process the layers of dread in Rexâs voice. He stared at Rex for a few seconds, completely lost. "Honestly, Cap. I am way too drunk to understand whatever riddle you just threw at me. But whatever you say!â
With a bright, uncoordinated grin, Hardcase slapped his hands down on the table, hoisted himself out of the booth, and immediately spun around, stumbling his way right back toward the crowded dance floor.
Rex didn't watch him go. His gaze snapped instantly back to the sabacc table where Fives and Tracker were sitting.
Tracker was laughing heartily, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. But it was the center of the table that caught Rexâs attention. There were fresh glasses sitting between them. Four of them, all freshly poured.Â
Rexâs eyes narrowed as the full, appalled realization slapped him square in the face.Â
âThis idiot isn't just trying to pickpocket him,â Rex thought, his stomach dropping, âHeâs trying to get the kid absolutely blasted so he won't notice.â
"Kriffing hell, Fives," Rex muttered under his breath.
Realizing he couldn't just sit by and watch from across the room, Rex frantically scanned the dance floor until he spotted relief. He raised a hand, sharply flagging over Kix.
Kix saw the signal and made his way into the empty space Hardcase had just vacated. "If youâre asking me to watch Hardcase, heâs on his own until he passes out."
"No, it's not Hardcase," Rex shook his head as he slid out to the edge of the seat. "Just hold down the booth for a minute. Don't let anyone take the table."
Kix blinked, looking a bit confused but he nodded anyway. "Got it."
Rex didn't waste another second. He stood up and began marching directly toward the sabacc tables. As he approached the pair, Fives was in the middle of a sentence, leaning back casually in his chair . Tracker was slumped slightly forward, his cheeks heavily flushed, his eyes bright but distinctly unfocused as he gripped his third drink.
"Well, well," Rex announced, stepping right into the light of the sabacc table. "I have to say, I'm always happy to see the bond between two legions making it off the battlefield and into 79âs. Good to see our boys looking out for each other."
Trackerâs head snapped up at the sound of the deep voice. His eyes widened, a sudden wave of clumsy, intoxicated panic washing over his face as he recognized Rexâs paludron."C-Captain, Sir!" Tracker stammered, frantically trying to straighten his spine and failing miserably as his elbow slipped slightly on the slick table.
Fives didn't lose sight of his goal for a single millisecond. The exact moment Trackerâs head whipped around to lock onto Rex, Fivesâ left hand moved at alarming speed. His fingers darted out, perfectly catching the edge of the commlink strapped to Tracker's wrist. With a flawless twist, he popped the clip that kept it in place and slid the comm right out of its housing.
Rex saw the entire thing. From his vantage point, the theft was painfully obvious. He locked his eyes onto Fives, his brow dropping into a furious, stone-cold glare that practically screamed: âreconsider your life choices.â
Fives met the terrifying gaze with a completely shameless, innocent grin. He looked right past Rex, then turned a warm, bright smile back toward heavily intoxicated Tracker.
"Hey, Tracker," Fives hummed smoothly, pushing himself out of his chair and patting the younger kid reassuringly on the shoulder. "That look right there? That's my captain's kind way of letting me know that he needs me to go check on something. Very important ARC Trooper stuff."
Tracker blinked up at him, nodding slowly with an uncomprehending smile. "Oh. ARC Trooper stuff.â
"Exactly, youâll know someday soon!" Fives purred, stepping around the table and dropping his hand on Rexâs shoulder, leaning in close. I'll go take care of that little problem right now. Why don't you sit down and talk to Tracker for a bit? Tell him some old war stories. You'll love him, he's a fantastic kid!"
Rexâs jaw tightened, his chest expanding as he took a breath to bark out a fierce, immediate refusal.
"See you in a bit, Rex!" Fives chirped.
Before Rex could get a single syllable out of his throat, Fives spun on his heel and completely bolted, melting into the dark, before he could even reach out to grab his collar.
Fives pushed through the heavy doors of the fresher. The space was completely empty, except for the two men from the 71st making their way out.Â
He didn't waste a second. Stepping into the furthest stall, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out Tracker's commlink. Fives flipped open the back pannel, exposing the small emergency override panel. His thumb hovered over the button, his breathing shallow.
Suddenly, a cold spike of reality hit him, freezing his thumb right above the button.
âKriff,â he whispered a sudden knot forming in his throat. He realized then that he should have asked Tracker which general he actually reported to.
The 327th, like the 501st, was a massive, sprawling division. While a significant portion of the 327th served directly under you, about half of the men reported to General Secura. If Tracker belonged to a company detached from your command, this beacon wouldn't ping your datapad at all. It would route straight to General Securaâs. This is what Rex warned him about. He was too lost in love and blindly assumed the kid was from your specific unit just because of the color on his boots. It was a total gamble. A fifty-fifty shot at best.
Fives stared at the comm. He thought about your âsee you soonâ on the hanger bay. He thought about the look in your eyes when you told him to âstay safe out thereâ, as if you were already preparing yourself to never see him again. The thought of letting you slip away into the war without seeing you again. That would be worse than any brig sentence the Republic could throw at him.
"He goes nothing," Fives muttered to the empty room.
He took a deep, bracing breath and slammed his thumb down onto the override button, punching in the emergency frequency.
The commlink instantly flared to life, the small display screen flashing crimson as the location tracker began to ping. The buzz of a channel crackled through the small speaker.
Fives held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs as he waited for the automated system to route the call.
The line hissed with static for a second, and then a crisp, commanding voice broke through the channel.
"Trooper, your beacon has been logged. We are dispatching to your location immediately."
The voice was authoritative, professional, and chillingly calm. But as the words echoed off the durasteel walls of the fresher, Fivesâ stomach plummeted into freefall.
It was a woman's voice. But it wasn't the soft, comforting voice he had spent the last three rotations falling in love with. It carried the distinct recognizable accent of a Twi'lek.
âš Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. đ
This one is precious đ«¶
For myself - I just finished my first year teaching! It was NOT easy, but I survived and I'm looking forward to year two!
For my writing - I try to think that I am capable of writing emotionally charged situations well! It was really challenging at first, however, I just tried to find different ways to get me to write deeper emotion (listening to music, watching tv in the background, etc) and that helped a lot!
For @shenanigans-and-imagines - you have such a plethora of knowledge in so many lore heavy fanbases! Being able to write a fic that fits perfectly in the Star Wars universe, then write one that reads perfectly in the Marvel universal is such an impressive skill that no one talks about nearly enough!
Summary: You're bored out of your mind at a Senate banquet. Fortunately, Fox has some "confiscated contraband" that's enough to lure you from your post. However, this leads to a topic that catches Fox off-guard, leading him to slip out his best kept secret.
Word Count: 10.1k (i need therapy)
Warnings: Brief alcohol consumption, mutual pining, openly discussing sex like it's nothing, THIS IS SMUT - MINORS DNI
A/N: I am incapable of writing a SFW Fox fic. Thank you @bigbadbatch for beta reading this for me so I don't die like Fives.
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The heavy double doors of the Republic Senate Banquet Hall were designed to keep the chaos of Coruscant out, but all they really accomplished was trapping a different, far more exhausting brand of madness inside.
To the average galactic citizen, tonightâs gala was the pinnacle of high society. It was a dazzling display of unity, wealth, and unwavering resilience in the face of a grueling war. To you, it was a waking nightmare. The air inside the cavernous hall was heavily perfumed with imported Corellian lilies, expensive roasted meats, and the sweat of hundreds of politicians who had never seen the muddy trenches of the Outer Rim. The noise was a bruising weight on your ears. It was a chaotic symphony of clinking crystal glassware, high pitched forced laughter, and sycophantic conversations that made your temples throb.
Worse than the noise, however, was the clothes.
The formal ceremonial robes of a Jedi were clearly designed by someone who had never had to swing a lightsaber, let alone stand perfectly still for four hours under the blinding glare of high intensity lights. Your formal attire was a masterpiece of restrictive design. The inner tunics were woven from a heavy, stiff linen that scratches mercilessly against your collarbone. Over that sat the drapes. They were thick bands of dark, heavy fabric that pressed down on your shoulders like pieces of lead armor. The final insult was the formal cloak. The yards upon yards of floor-length silk caught on your boots every time you shifted your weight, wrapping around your legs like a fabric trap.
To the Senate, the outfit looked like discipline and flawless devotion to the Republic. To you, it just felt like a very expensive, very hot coffin.
You were stationed near the Chancellorâs elevated dinner table, ostensibly under the guise of "heightened security detail." In reality, you were a glorified living ornament. The Jedi Council loved to place its generals on display at these functions. You served as a subtle, visual reminder to the wealthy dignitaries that the Order was successfully bleeding for them on the front lines, so they should probably keep voting to fund the military.
Every muscle in your shoulders was locked into a painful knot. You tried to rely on your training, closing your eyes for a brief second to reach into the Force, searching for a thread of peace. But the Force in this room was a muddy, turbulent swamp.Â
One senator was hoping another senatorâs trade route would collapse. Meanwhile, a corporate delegate was furious that his glass of Alderaanian wine wasn't chilled to the exact, correct temperature.Â
The sheer, concentrated selfishness of the upper class was staggering. If you stayed inside for one more minute, you were going to entirely lose your composure.
Stepping backward into the deep, welcoming shadow of a massive marble pillar, you bided your time. You watched the crowd for a while, timing your exit perfectly between a boisterous burst of laughter from a group and the grand entrance of a fresh, distracting tray of rare Naboo appetizers. The moment the eyes of the surrounding dignitaries shifted toward the food, you bolted.
You snuck down the hallway and slipped through a pair of arched glass doors at the rear of the hall and stepped out onto a balcony.
The air out here wasn't exactly clean - it was the upper levels of Coruscant, after all. It tasted faintly of speeder exhaust, and the permanent metallic rust of a world entirely made of durasteel. It was cold, but more importantly, it was beautifully quiet.
You immediately leaned your forearms against the polished stone railing, letting your head drop forward. You closed your eyes and took a long, slow, deep breath, letting the wind whip at your robes. Slowly, the tight, throbbing knot behind your eyes began to loosen.
You knew you couldn't stay out here forever. Eventually, an aide or a fellow Jedi would notice your absence. If anyone asks, you firmly told yourself, crafting the mental script, that you are conducting a physical sweep of the perimeter. You were just assessing security vulnerabilities along the outer terrace. You are doing your job. That would work.Â
"You look like you're plotting an escape, General."
The voice was instantly recognizable. You didn't even have to open your eyes to know who it was. Regardless, you opened your eyes and turned your head, a genuine, unforced smile breaking across your face for the first time all evening.
Commander Fox stood in the balcony doorway. He wasn't wearing his helmet - it was tucked securely under his left arm. In his right hand, he casually carried two condensation beaded glasses of chilled liquid.
"Commander," you exhaled, letting your rigid posture slump just a fraction now that you were in safe, trusted company, "Are you accusing me of slacking?"
"Just making an observation," Fox replied smoothly, his boots clicking with each step against the stone tiles as he walked out onto the balcony. He stepped right up to the railing and extended his right hand, offering one of the glasses, "Here. It looked like you were about two minutes away from drawing your lightsaber on yourself."
You took the glass, your fingers brushing briefly against the rough, black fabric of his glove. You took a sip and nearly sighed with relief. The liquid was crisp, ice cold, and carried a sharp bite. It was the exact kind of drink you would get for yourself if you wanted to forget where you were.
"You're terrifying, Fox," you teased, raising the glass to him in a silent toast, "Did they teach you mindreading on Kamino, or is this a specialized skill they only give in Commander training?â
Fox took a slow, deliberate sip from his own glass, a rare, faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Neither, Sir. Itâs just what happens when a clone gets stuck on the same planet with his commanding officer for an entire war. You learn the tells. For instance, when you start rubbing the bridge of your nose right before the Chancellor speaks, it means I have approximately ninety seconds before you completely bolt."
You let out a soft, genuine laugh, "Am I really that transparent?"
"Only to me," Fox murmured. His eyes drifted away from you, fixing on the endless, swirling traffic lanes below, where millions of speeders blurred into rivers of red and white light cutting through the skyscrapers. His smirk faded, replaced by his usual, no nonsense professionalism, though his tone remained relaxed, stripped of the rigid military formality he used regularly, "And frankly, I don't blame you tonight. The banquet is a complete disaster. I've spent the last hour stationed near the western entrance listening to a senator from Bespin complain about the air quality on Coruscant."
You snorted into your drink, thoroughly amused, "You're joking."
"I wish I were," Fox exhaled, "A man who literally represents a floating city surrounded by toxic gas clouds spent fifteen minutes lecturing me on atmospheric filtration systems and the legal rights of Tibanna gas workers. Protocol dictates that I remain silent, stand at attention, and maintain a pleasant, compliant demeanor. But internally? I was calling him a colossal idiot in three different languages. It's pure bantha crap in there tonight, General. You don't want to go back in for the closing toasts. Trust me."
"And what do you suggest I do instead, Commander?" you asked, tilting your head back against the stone pillar, looking up at him with a playful, challenging glint in your eyes, "Desert my post entirely? Mr. Protocol himself, suggesting a retreat from a mandatory Senate function? I'm shocked. Truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had a hot date lined up down in the lower levels."
Fox actually scoffed, a short, sharp laugh that rattled the plastoid plating on his chest. "A date. Right. Because between managing logistics for this entire planet, dealing with the Chancellorâs endless security audits, and hunting down rogue bounty hunters, I have so much free time to court civilians."
He turned his head to look back at you, his intense gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual. "No date. But I did manage to acquire something far more valuable than a civilian companion during a customs raid in the lower docks this morning."
Your curiosity sparked instantly. Your strict Jedi training entirely failed to suppress the sudden, human urge to know what a tightly wound Clone Commander considered contraband worth bragging about. You leaned in slightly, your robes rustling. "Oh? Do tell, Commander. What did you find?"
Fox leaned closer, lowering his gravelly voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as if they were discussing highly classified Separatist intel rather than standing on a balcony at a public gala. "My men impounded a light Corellian freighter coming in from the Mid Rim. The captain was smuggling unmarked spices, but his personal cabin had some luxury items. Specifically, a pristine, high definition, completely functioning holoscreen. Color-accurate, localized audio, no blue hue. The whole works."
You blinked, a bit startled. "Fox. Did you steal a civilian holoscreen?"
"I requisitioned a piece of unmonitored electronic equipment for monitoring purposes," he corrected flawlessly, his eyes gleaming with a hint of rare, wicked mischief, "It is currently set up and fully operational in my quarters at the military ops center. And before we left for this nightmare gala, Thone got it hooked up to the local broadcast feed."
You stared at him, a sudden, ridiculous realization dawning on you. "Wait so youâre saying-"
"Dilf Dungeon," Fox beamed, âThat diabolical show you saw that ad for outside 79âs and have been curious about ever since? The season premiere is tonight. If we leave through the eastern maintenance lift right now, we can escape before the Chancellor's convoy blocks the main exits."
The sheer, glorious absurdity of the situation struck you right in the chest. A highly respected Jedi General and the fearsome Commander of the Coruscant Guard, elite protectors of the Republic, bailing on a crucial, high stakes political gala just to go watch trashy civilian dating drama on a stolen holoscreen.
"Fox," your voice was entirely devoid of any Jedi restraint as a massive, beaming grin split your face, making your eyes crinkle, "If I get caught, I am telling the entire Council that you baited me.â
Fox pulled his helmet from under his arm, sliding it back over his head. Through the visor, his voice carried a distinct, amused smirk. "They'll never believe you, General."
By the time Fox's private office door sealed shut behind you, the tension in your shoulders from the weight of your robes had turned into a dull, throbbing ache.
The main office room was exactly what you would expect from the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It was a functional, unyielding workspace dominated by a heavy central desk stacked with encrypted datapads and a flickering tactical grid mapping the lower districts. There were no personal trinkets and no signs of life outside of the strict demands of a soldier.
To the side, however, a narrow door led into his private quarters. It was a compact layout designed for sleeping and thatâs it. The quarters were dominated by a single, narrow cot pushed flush against the dark durasteel wall like a utilitarian daybed, and tucked just beside it was a private refresher.
"Make yourself at home, General," Fox murmured as he unlatched his chest plate. He set the plastoid armor into its designated spot for the night. "The security logs for the night shouldn't hit my desk for another few hours. We have time."
He stepped past the cot, bending down to pull a heavy, reinforced storage crate out from beneath the frame. He flipped the latches, fished out a folded bundle of dark fabric, and disappeared behind the sliding door of the refresher.
You leaned your back against the edge of his metal desk, crossing your arms tightly over the heavy, suffocating layers of your ceremonial robes. Every second spent wrapped in the stiff, chafing inner tunics felt like a minor form of torture.
When the refresher door hissed open a minute later, Fox stepped out completely transformed. The imposing Commander of the Guard had vanished. In his place was a man wearing simple, standard issue gray GAR sweatpants and a form fitting black t-shirt with a faded Republic cog stamped over the left chest. Stripped of the bulk of his armor, the sheer physical reality of his build was obvious. But most important, he looked entirely comfortable.
An immediate, sharp wave of jealousy hit you right in the chest.
"You've got to be kidding me," you groaned, looking from his relaxed collar down to your own heavily draped, velvet lined prison of a robe. "You look like you're about to take a standard cycle of shore leave, and I am currently sweating through three separate layers of formal roves. Do you happen to have a spare set of those in that crate, or am I expected to watch the premiere of Dilf Dungeon like an expensive human statue?"
Fox paused, an amused smirk tugging slowly at the corner of his mouth. He leaned his hip against the doorframe of the refresher, crossing his thick arms over his chest as he took in the sheer, tragic absurdity of your elaborate attire.
"The crate is strictly inventoried for Guard personnel, General," he hummed, his voice dripping with dry, playful trouble. "I'm fairly certain misappropriating Grand Army physical training gear for a Jedi civilian counts as a code violation. I'd hate to have to write myself up."
"Fox," you warned, narrowing your eyes at him with a mock-serious glare, "I am your commanding officer. If I have to sit on that cot in these formal drapes, I will make it my personal mission to make you audit the entire military inventory logs for the next three standard months."
Fox let out a short, low huff of a laugh, shaking his head. "Rank pulling. Truly unbecoming of a peacekeeper."
Despite the teasing, he moved back to the storage crate beneath his bed without a second thought. He dug through the neatly stacked contents until he found another bundle of dark gray and black fabric, tossing it directly at your chest. "Here. Go. Before you actually find a code violation to charge me with."
You caught the heavy, soft material with a triumphant grin, "Thank you, Commander."
You practically bolted into the small refresher. With an almost aggressive sense of relief, you began tearing at the intricate, stubborn bands at your shoulders. You unpinned everything, letting the thousands of credits worth of custom tailored fabric fall into a sad, crumpled, abandoned pile in the corner of the floor.
You shook out your arms, letting out a long, shuddering breath of pure physical freedom, and reached for Fox's spare clothes.
The moment you pulled the gray sweatpants up, however, the reality of the size hit you. Clones were engineered to be tall, heavily muscled soldiers. You, by comparison, were completely swallowed alive by the fabric.
The thick waistband of the sweatpants had to be rolled over three full times just to keep them from sliding completely off your hips, and even then, the heavy fleece cuffs pooled comically around your bare ankles. You pulled the black short sleeved t-shirt over your head, and the shoulder seams dropped halfway down your biceps, the hem hanging so low it reached nearly to your knees. You pushed the massive sleeves up your arms, took a breath, and slid the door open.
Fox was standing by the desk, adjusting the volume on the scavenged holoscreen. The moment the refresher door hissed open, his eyes snapped over to you.
He froze entirely. His gaze slowly tracked from the comically rolled up waistband down to the pooled fabric at your feet, then back up to the way the oversized collar shifted loosely against your bare collarbone.
A silence stretched across the room. Then, a deep, rumbling chuckle started at the base of Fox's chest.
"This is outstanding," Fox remarked dryly, a genuine grin splitting his face as he shook his head, "Good to know that if the Separatists ever cut off our supply lines to the front, we can use my spare physical training uniform as an emergency shelter for you. You're drowning in that, General."
"Oh, shut up," you whined, throwing your hands up in exasperation, though you couldn't help but laugh as you took a clumsy step forward, nearly tripping over the excess fabric of the left pant leg. You kicked your foot out toward him in mock defiance. "It is incredibly comfortable. And frankly, after three hours of standing like a statue for the Chancellor, I don't care if I look like a deflated balloon. Now, turn on the contraband, Commander. I didn't risk a lecture from the council just to stand here and be roasted by my own officer."
Fox let out another soft huff, the amused glint still lingering in his eyes as he walked over to the narrow cot. He plopped onto one side of the mattress, leaning his back straight against the wall, one leg bent casually up to support his arm.
You happily shuffled over, navigating the massive sweatpants, and plopped down on the opposite side of the cot. The mattress was firm but compared to standing on the cold marble floors of the Senate, it felt like absolute heaven. You pulled your legs up, crossing them securely beneath the massive folds of the gray shirt, using the far side of the durasteel wall to prop yourself up.
Fox picked up a small, heavily modified remote control, pointing it toward the crate near the foot of the bed. "The things I let myself get dragged into," he grumbled, "If anyone checks the power logs and asks why my quarters has a signal that is streaming a civilian broadcast, I'm blaming you."
"No one will check," you shot back smoothly, leaning your head against the wall. "Boot it up, Fox."
Fox paused, the remote control hovering in his hand. He didn't turn toward the screen immediately. Instead, he slowly turned his head to look back at you, his brow raised.Â
"Fox?" he questioned, his eyes locking onto yours with amusement, "So we're good to drop titles entirely now?"
You gave him an unbothered, playful tilt of your chin. "Iâm hiding in your private quarters, wearing your sweatpants. Titles can take a break."
 "Fair enough."
With a quick tap of his thumb, the holoscreen hummed to life. His quarters were instantly flooded with light, casting vibrant shadows across the cold durasteel walls.
Within two minutes, the sheer, unadulterated chaos of civilian entertainment exploded into the room. The showâs premise was laid out by a wildly enthusiastic Twi'lek host with entirely too white teeth and an obnoxiously shimmering vest. A group of young, incredibly glamorous civilians had been moved into a luxury estate on a tropical resort world, entirely unaware that the new batch of contestants entering the house to date them were, in fact, their own fathers.
Fox's expression went from mild curiosity to absolute, unfiltered horror in a matter of frames.
His jaw visibly tightened as a young human woman on screen began sobbing hysterically into a silk couch because her father had just entered the main lounge wearing nothing but golden swim bottoms and immediately tried to flirt with the woman she befriended moments ago.
"What? What is this?" Fox asked as if he were trying to analyze a crime scene that made absolutely no logical sense. His brow furrowed so hard the scar near his hairline twisted. "Why is she weeping? Why is the man in the gold short talking directly to the recording droids about his 'emotional journey'? Is this some form of psychological warfare?"
You burst out laughing, the sound echoing brightly in the cramped room as you watched his face. "No, Fox! Itâs a reality show. Itâs entertainment. Look at his face! He genuinely thinks heâs the most attractive man in the Core."
"He looks like an insecure man with zero emotional discipline," Fox groaned, his eyes wide with a mixture of disgust and profound disbelief as the screen cut to a commercial for luxury speeders. He turned his head to look at you, âThe civilian sector is completely untethered. If my men conducted themselves with this level of public instability, the Coruscant underworld would have dismantled the Guard in a standard week. Who watches this? Why would you want to watch this?"
"Because my life is filled with war, political corruption, and tragedy, Fox," you said softly, shifting slightly against the wall, your voice relaxing into the quiet space between you, "Watching entirely inconsequential people cry over entirely inconsequential problems is the only time my brain actually turns off. It's pure, beautiful, garbage, and I will defend it to the death as elite entertainment."
On screen, the dramatic music swelled as two contestants began a screaming match over who got the larger bedroom, but Fox wasnât looking at the screen anymore.
He was still staring at you, his head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowed in deep thought.
"I still don't buy it," he mused. He shifted his weight on his side of the cot, resting his forearm on his raised knee. "There's got to be a psychological angle here. I bet you only like this garbage because it represents everything the Jedi Order doesnât stand for."
You turned your head away from the screen, an amused smile playing on your lips. "And what exactly do you think is everything the Jedi Order doesnât stand for?"
Fox gestured vaguely toward the screen with the remote control held loosely in his hand. "The whole premise of this show. Itâs entirely centered on relationships, romance and sex. Those are the big no noâs, right? This is your way of experiencing all of that, but through civilians who don't have a code to follow." He leaned back slightly, a look of absolute certainty on his face. "It's all about relationships and sex. That's what you guys can't have, right?"
You let out a soft snort, leaning your head back against the wall. You looked at him, your expression entirely flat, completely devoid of the solemnity clones usually expected when their generals were discussing the Jedi Code.
"Relationships, no. Sex and romance? Yeah, we can."
Fox froze. The remote control dropped from his hand. For a second, his brain seemed to physically stutter, as his mind was trying to process a sentence that completely shattered everything he had been led to believe about the Jedi.
"What?" he asked, his voice dropping into a flat, stunned register. He blinked, shaking his head as if trying to clear a bad comms signal, "No really, what?"
"We are forbidden from forming attachments, Fox," you explained calmly, shifting comfortably within the massive, enveloping folds of his clothes. "We can't have possessive love, we can't get married, and we can't allow our personal feelings for another individual to dictate our actions or cloud our judgment. That leads to jealousy, fear of loss, and attachment. But the physical act itself? The Order doesn't forbid it."
Fox stared at you, his jaw tightening. To a man who had been bred, raised, and trained under strict, unyielding military protocols where every single action had a regulation attached to it, this loophole sounded completely lawless.
"How does that even work?" Fox questioned. He looked genuinely baffled as his hand dropped to his knee. "How do you just do that? How can anyone separate a physical act like that from emotional attachment? It's an intimate connection between two people. You can't just switch your brain off from attachment, right?"
You couldn't help but laugh at the sheer, intense gravity of his confusion. You gave him a playful, teasing look, tilting your head. "Oh, Fox. Look at you. You're a total romantic, aren't you?"
A dark, red flush crept up the back of Fox's neck, though he stubbornly refused to look away, his gaze locked onto yours with fierce curiosity. âIâm just trying to make sense of this.â
"It's strictly one night stands," you admitted, your tone softening as you laid out the cold reality of Jedi intimacy. You looked past him for a moment, watching the lights of the holoscreen dance across the ceiling. "Itâs simple. You see someone once, and you go into it knowing that if they vanished from the galaxy tomorrow, you wouldn't care. There are no names exchanged, no second meetings, no comm frequencies traded. It begins and ends in that room."
You paused, letting out a small, quiet sigh that felt heavy in the narrow space between you. "I admit, itâs unfortunate. But itâs a necessary boundary to avoid attachment. It ensures that my path through the Force remains clear and untainted by the threat of loss. We take what we need for physical release, and then we walk away as strangers."
Fox didn't answer right away. He absorbed your words, his eyes tracking the subtle shift in your expression. The quiet in the room stretched out, entirely detached from the dramatic chaos playing out on the scavenged screen across from you.
Fox cleared his throat. He changed his position on the cot, leaning forward slightly, his chest tightening as he gathered a level of courage he rarely needed on the battlefield.
"Alright," he exhaled, prefacing his next line with a sharp, heavy breath that signaled he was stepping into dangerous territory, "This is the big one."
You raised a brow, thoroughly intrigued by his sudden intensity. "The big one?"
Fox swallowed, his eyes darting to the floor for a fraction of a second before snapping right back to yours, "So, is it any good?"
A wicked, delighted smirk broke across your face. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, entirely unwilling to let him off the hook that easily, "Is what any good, Fox?"
Fox's jaw clenched, his shoulders squaring as if he were facing down a firing squad. "The sex," he said, the word coming out clipped, professional, and entirely forced, "Is it any good?"
You hummed, leaning back against the wall again, throwing a casual, nonchalant shrug into your shoulders. "Itâs fine. Itâs not all itâs hyped up to be, honestly."
Fox completely short circuited.
He didn't just look surprised - he looked visibly, utterly stunned. He sat perfectly still on his side of the mattress, his eyes wide as your nonchalant review fully registered in his brain. He had sat through this entire conversation fully assuming that you were speaking purely from a theoretical standpoint. He had expected you to say you didn't know because you had never tried it.
But with your casual tone and your effortless dismissal of it all, it pretty much confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, that you had. You had actually done it. With someone else. Someone nameless.
"Oh," Fox managed, the word coming out hollow.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Fox's gaze hardened, a strange, sharp tension suddenly flaring in his jaw. He placed his hand on his knee and squeezed, his knuckles turning white as he questioned the reality spinning out in front of him.
"You've actually done that?" he asked, "You've actually just gone out and found a stranger for the night?"
Fox sat perfectly still, his jaw locked so tightly that the small muscle near his temple twitched. The hollow, strained edge in his voice hung in the air between you, a tangible marker of the boundary he had just crossed by asking a question so raw and so entirely divorced from military protocol.
You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his reaction. The defensive, almost possessive sharpness in his dark eyes was entirely unexpected. To you, discussing the cold realities of the Jedi Code was as natural as discussing standard supply routes or hyperspace coordinates. But looking at Fox now, you realized his engineered, structured mind was fighting to process something that felt inherently lawless.
A sudden, lighthearted thought broke through your confusion. You leaned forward, resting your elbows casually on your knees, allowing the hem of his black t-shirt to sag loosely against your collarbone.
"You know, Fox," you began, letting out a soft, incredulous gasp as you tilted your head to look up at him, "Youâre sitting here looking at me like Iâve committed a crime. What exactly is stopping you from getting that kind of experience? Clones are technically allowed to. The Republic doesn't mandate celibacy for the Grand Army. We all know what the shinies are up to at 79âs when they are on shore leave. Rex in the 501st even told me one of his men found a long term girlfriend there."
Fox didn't blink. He stubbornly refused to break eye contact, though the blush that crept up his neck seemed to burn just a fraction more. His shoulders squared instinctively, a hard, protective instinct kicking in as he tried to save face, desperately scrambling to composure back over himself.
"My role doesn't exactly leave a lot of room for wandering around over there. Besides, when I do, you typically tag along and have never played wing-general for me," he joked, though his voice was in a defensive mumble. He cleared his throat, looking toward the far corner of the ceiling for a split second before forcing his gaze back to yours. "And frankly, if nameless encounters are as entirely mediocre as you claim they are, I don't mind waiting. Iâll wait for the right person."
His words were spoken with a stubborn conviction that made you pause. The teasing remark that had been forming on your tongue completely died away.
You stopped Fox in his tracks, your entire demeanor shifting from playful amusement to a deep, unyielding seriousness. You looked at the scars on his arms, then up to his hair. Your eyes dragged along the thin scar cutting into his hairline and down to the heavy exhaustion etched permanently under his eyes.
"The only reason itâs mediocre for a Jedi is because there is no passion allowed. There is no emotion, no vulnerability, no warmth. We purposefully drain the act of everything that makes it human so we can walk away without feeling anything."
You leaned back against the cold durasteel wall, pulling your knees up closer to your chest, your hands wrapping around your legs, "Itâs admirable that youâre holding out for the right person, Fox."
You turned your head to look at him, "Consider that a luxury you have. Once the war is over, you are a man with his own heart and his own destiny, you have the right to give yourself completely to another person. You have the right to feel that emotional intimacy where two people become entirely intertwined. You have the freedom to experience love in its purest, most passionate form."
Your voice cracked slightly, "But a Jedi will never know that. The Code ensures that we are permanently barred from that kind of intimacy. The freedom to love someone and to wait for the right person and give them everything you are; that is a beautiful, precious thing. Don't dismiss it just because my version of it is hollow."
Fox sat entirely paralyzed on his side of the cot. He never heard you speak with such unshielded vulnerability. To hear you call his capacity for love a luxury, especially to hear the quiet grief in your voice, tore an invisible tear through his heart.
"Look at them," you huffed, trying to inject a bit of your humor back into the room as the Twi'lek host began explaining the romantic drama. "This is a prime example of what I'm talking about. They can swap partners by the next broadcast cycle and they won't suffer a crisis of identity. It's the perfect model of detachment."
"Alright," he mused, "Let's say I accept the logic. If there's no emotion allowed, how does a Jedi even select someone? How do you choose a person to do that with? What's the criteria?"
You let out a genuine laugh this time. "Oh, it's incredibly scientific," you joked, throwing a wide, playful grin his way. "You don't overthink it. You just go into a cantina, look around, and pick the closest, tall, handsome guy who doesn't look like a total loser, but gives off massive 'one night stand' vibes. You look at them, they look at you, you reach an unspoken agreement, and that's it. It's safe. It's predictable."
You expected him to huff, or to make another dry, sarcastic comment about civilian lack of morals.
Instead, Fox completely slipped up.
"The woman I'm attracted to - hypothetically - I'm going to be attached to," Fox hesitated, for a moment. He stared at you, "I wouldn't want the idea of her with anyone else even scratching my mind. The thought of some random lowlife, some cantina stranger even looking at her like that."
You froze, the smile completely vanishing from your face as you stared back at him. The sheer, untamed ferocity in his voice was startling. You had seen Commander Fox face down angry anti-war mobs, corrupt politicians, and syndicates without ever losing his cool, but right now, he looked entirely ready to tear the galaxy apart with his bare hands over a purely hypothetical scenario.
"And that, Fox, is exactly why we look for guys who don't think like you.â Your voice carried a gentle but firm warning, "A man who loves with that kind of intense, protective possessiveness would get entirely destroyed by a Jedi. If a Jedi took someone like you to a room for a night and then walked away the next morning without ever looking back, it would break you. That's why random civilians are the only safe option. They don't care, so we don't have to care either."
The words were meant to be an explanation and a gentle reminder of why the boundaries existed. But inside Foxâs mind, the truth was an agonizing reality.
He sat there, staring at you, realizing the absolute, bitter irony of his entire existence. He was a perfect fit for every single piece of your physical description. He was the closest man to you, he was tall, he was undeniably attracted to you, and he knew damn well he wasn't a loser. He was right here. He was the safest harbor you had in the entire galaxy.
But because he actually cared, because he harbored a deep devotion to you that went far beyond military duty, he was permanently disqualified. A random, nameless scumbag in a dirty cantina was a safer choice for you than the man who spent every single day at your side. The fact that his attachment to you was the very thing that made him toxic to your Jedi way of life made him want to scream.
"Fox?" you asked softly, leaning slightly closer across the space between you, your eyes searching his face with genuine concern, âI can feel it. Youâre angry."
Fox closed his eyes. He took a slow, deep breath, "Itâs not that.â
He offered you a small, sad, and entirely heartbreaking half smile, "I'm not angry. I guess it just upsets me to think that out of everyone in this miserable galaxy, the person who deserves that kind of real, passionate love the most isn't even allowed to have it. Itâs a shame, thatâs all."
"Thank you, Fox," you said softly. You looked at the tired, dark lines beneath his eyes, giving him a gentle look. "But you know, you deserve that kind of love just as much as anyone else in this galaxy. Probably more than most."
Fox didn't answer. He simply gave a slight, microscopic nod.
You shifted your weight on the narrow mattress, stretching your legs out across the length of the cot. Without overthinking it, you casually rested your lower legs and feet right across Fox's lap.Â
Fox didn't move away. He didn't tense up, either. He simply let his hands rest on your legs, his thumb tracing a slow, subconscious circle against your shin, entirely accepting the casual intimacy of the gesture. He looked down at your feet in his lap, then cut his eyes over to the holoscreen where one of the girls was currently throwing a tropical drink into a dadâs face.
"This show is absolute garbage," Fox grumbled, "If you're that desperate for a distraction that we are watching this, letâs head down to the lower levels. Iâll personally escort you to the nearest cantina and help you scan the room for a tall, handsome stranger who fits your criteria. I'll even check his security clearance for you."
You slowly lifted your right leg and playfully nudged his forearm with your foot to get his attention. You tilted your head against the wall, a dangerously amused smile breaking across your face.
"Nah," you shrugged, "Iâve got one right here I can just look at."
Fox completely froze.
The circle his thumb had been tracing against your leg stopped dead. Slowly, almost painfully, he forced his neck to turn, his head pivoting until his intense, bewildered gaze locked back onto your face.
"Right here?" Fox questioned, "Are you telling me that I physically make the cut for one of your one night stands, but I donât make the final cut for the list because Iâm me?"
He expected you to laugh. He expected you to kick his arm again and call him an idiot.
Instead, the humor entirely faded from your face.
Your expression went serious. You looked at him, your gaze holding his with an intensity that made the smirk die instantly on his lips. The playful, teasing atmosphere evaporated.
"Fox," you said just barely over a whisper, "Trust me. You never want to be on that list."
Fox blinked, his brow furrowing, "Why not?"
"Because I don't even remember those men's names," you confessed bluntly, looking dead into his eyes. There was no shame in your voice, only the cold reality of the Code you lived by. "I can't picture their faces. If I passed them in a hangar or a corridor tomorrow, I wouldn't even recognize them. When I was with them, I felt pure apathy. They were a nameless, fleeting hookup meant to be forgotten. That is all they ever were, and that is all they were ever allowed to mean to me."
You paused, leaning forward, your knees brushing against his thighs, "If I woke up tomorrow and you were gone, I would be upset for quite some time. I would miss you terribly. I would miss your humor, your complaints, and the way you always know exactly when I need to escape. I care about you."
Fox's breath caught in his throat, his chest rising as your words sliced through his last defenses.
"If I put you on that list," you explained, "it would mean Iâd have to force myself to feel that apathy toward you. It would mean going into a room with you knowing that if you vanished from the galaxy the next day, I wouldn't care. And the truth is, Fox; I care far too much to ever do that to you."
He caught the beautiful, terrifying paradox immediately.
"Hold on," Fox paused, his voice dropping as he leaned in just a fraction closer, his eyes searching yours, "That kind of sounds exactly like the way you were describing what attachment is earlier."
A small, helpless, and incredibly soft smile broke across your face. You didn't look away. Instead, you looked at the man whose clothes you were wearing, whose lap your legs were resting in, and you gave him the ultimate, honest confession.
"That's why I'm sitting on the other side of your cot, Fox," you hummed.
"Well," he murmured with his familiar irony, "good to know that legendary Jedi self-restraint is actually functioning for something. I'd hate to think all that meditation was going to waste."
You let out a soft breath that was half laugh, half sigh. The casual warmth of your legs resting across his lap felt dangerously comfortable. But the sheer honesty of what you had just admitted, that you cared too much to ever reduce him to a nameless face, still lingered in the air
"If you keep looking at me like that, maybe you and I are just going to have to take a little trip to the nicer cantinas tonight. I'll help you find someone absolutely perfect for the night. Someone who is just right for you."
The reaction was instantaneous, and it wasn't the amused banter you had been angling for.
"No, no, no, no," Fox shut it down aggressively. His entire posture locked up, his hands tightening around your legs as he shook his head, "Absolutely not."
You blinked, surprised by the hostility of his rejection, "Fox, it was just a-"
"I know," he interrupted, doubling down. He leaned closer to you, his jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line, "If random, nameless encounters are as entirely bland and hollow as you say they are, then,â he paused, âI want the real thing, or I want nothing."
You stared at him, completely captivated by his romanticism. For a clone bred in a laboratory, his view on intimacy was staggering in its purity.
You tilted your head, âHow do you plan on identifying a feeling that complex?"
Fox didn't answer immediately. A sudden, quiet stillness washed over his face. A very small, private smile touched the corner of his mouth. It looked so soft, it completely transformed him.
"I know," he said simply.
The words slipped out before he could catch them. He froze for a second, his eyes widening slightly as he realized exactly what he had exposed. He rushed to correct it, "I mean- I'll know. When it happens. I'll know."
But the slip had already done its work. He kept his eyes fixed on the holoscreen, his heart thudding a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs. He had been keeping his feelings hidden for months, burying them beneath piles of datapads, late night security logs, and inventory records. The man was completely, deeply, and hopelessly in love with his General. He loved the brilliant, chaotic light you brought into his world. He loved the sound of your laughter in his quiet quarters. He loved the very fabric of your being. And keeping that truth locked away was becoming harder with every passing second.
You, however, had caught the slip, and your curiosity was instantly piqued. You pried at the sudden vulnerability, leaning closer across the gap of the cot.
"Fox.â You reached out, nudging his forearm with your foot again, demanding his attention, "Don't you dare try to 'I'll know' your way out of this."
Fox kept his head turned away, "I donât know what youâre talking about."
"Oh, bantha shit," you laughed, "There absolutely is someone in mind. Because if there wasn't, Fox, you'd just deny it. If you know youâre in love then what are you waiting for?"
Fox let out a long, ragged sigh that seemed to drag itself from the very depths of his soul. "I don't even know what I'm waiting for," he admitted in a defeated whisper. He looked down at your legs over his lap, "Even if I tried, it won't happen."
"Hey," you said, your humor instantly softening into a gentle, optimistic pep talk. You hated the absolute defeat in his tone. You couldn't understand why a man like him would ever count himself out. "Don't talk like that. You don't know until you try, Fox. You face down impossible odds every day. Whoever she is, you just have to take the leap."
Fox huffed out a bitter, hollow half laugh,"I do know. She's the only person in the galaxy I can't have."
The words were a direct, screaming confession, but your mind remained completely blind to it. You wouldnât even think of the idea that you were the center of his universe. You scoffed, throwing your hands up in a dismissive gesture as you rolled your eyes.
"Oh please," you exaggerated, entirely missing the mark as you rained compliments on him, "You know damn well you could get whoever you want, Fox. Look at you. You are incredible. You run the entire security of this planet without falling apart. You are handsome, you are fiercely dedicated, you are brilliant, and any woman in this galaxy would be damn lucky to have you completely devoted to them. Stop selling yourself short."
Every single word of praise tore through Fox. The compliments, meant to lift his spirits, actively hurt him. Hearing the person he loved list every single reason why he was desirable, while remaining utterly blind to the fact that his heart belonged entirely to them, was a form of torture the Republic wouldnât dare use on even its worst prisoners.
"Do you truly believe that?" Fox asked.
âI would never lie to you. You know that."
Fox looked away. The last line of hope inside his chest completely collapsed, leaving him entirely crushed. He stared at the far corner of the room, his face hardening into a mask of pure sorrow.
"Yeah," he whispered, his voice almost cracking, "Then it really is unfortunate."
The words echoed in the small space, bouncing off the walls. You sat perfectly frozen on your side of the cot, your mind racing backward through the entire conversation at lightspeed.Â
I'm waiting for the right person...Â
The woman I'm attracted to, I'm going to be attached to...Â
She's the only person in the galaxy I can't have...Â
That's why I'm sitting on the other side of your cotâŠ
The pieces finally clicked.
A sudden wave of realization crashed over you, leaving you entirely breathless. Your heart gave a massive, frantic thud against your ribs as your face dropped in shock. The blindness vanished in an instant, leaving truth exposed between you. It wasn't a civilian. It wasn't a senator's aide.
It was you. It had always been you.
"Fox," you softly whispered his name, the syllable barely carrying enough air to escape your lips.
He immediately locked down. Sensing the exact moment the realization hit you, his survival instincts kicked in with a vengeance. He completely shut his emotional vault, his face turning into an expressionless stone wall as he snapped his gaze upward. He stared fixedly at the ceiling, his eyes wide and unblinking as he deliberately avoided eye contact at all costs. His chest rose and fell. His breath came in strained, shallow gasps as he tried to pretend he hadn't just destroyed the only boundary he had left.
"Fox," you repeated, your voice stronger this time, filled with a sudden, fierce determination.
He didn't move. He kept staring at the ceiling as if his life depended on it.
Completely obliterating the physical boundary that had kept you safe on the other side of the cot, you crawled forward. You dragged your legs out of his lap, bending your knees as you slid across the mattress, closing the distance between your bodies until your chest was only inches from his.Â
You reached up, your hands entirely steady despite the frantic racing of your heart. You placed your fingers gently along the rough, scarred line of his jaw, your thumb resting against his cheekbone. The heat of his skin burned against your palms.
Gently, you guided his face down, forcing his head to turn. He still tried to look away, his eyes darting desperately toward the far wall, his teeth grinding together as he fought the pull of your hand.
You dropped your voice to a soft, incredibly intimate whisper, the sound vibrating directly against his skin.
"Hey."
The word was a command, a plea, and a promise all at once.
Fox's resistance completely broke. He finally, slowly, turned his eyes straight into yours. The depth of his devotion was entirely exposed, a quiet storm of love and terror swirling in his gaze as he looked at you from inches away, entirely at your mercy.
A breath shuddered out of him. The most fiercely guarded secret of Clone Commander Fox was laid out between you.Â
"You're right, Fox," you whispered, "I already failed in the attachment department. Because no matter what happens today or tomorrow, you will always mean something to me. You already do."
His hands came up, not to push you away, but to grasp your wrists where they held his face, as if your touch was the only thing tethering him to reality. His grip was tight, almost painful. Slowly, he leaned his face closer, his nose brushing against yours as his voice dropped.
"Please," Fox pleaded, "I know you forget those nights and the people you shared that with. But please, promise me you wonât forget this."
You began to breathe out, a soft, sweet response. A promise to never let him fade into the dark, but the words vanished entirely, swallowed whole as he leaned in and placed his lips on yours. There was no desperate collision. His kiss was claiming, deliberate and deep like slow, soul searching exploration that poured every ounce of his confessed devotion into you. His hands released your wrists to cradle your face, his touch tender, his thumbs tracing the arches of your cheekbones.Â
You melted into him, your own hands sliding up his chest, feeling the powerful, rapid beat of his heart through the soft fabric. You kissed him back with equal measure, pouring your own truth into it. It was your want, your certainty, your love, a word the Code forbade but your soul screamed nonetheless.
The kiss deepened, and grew hungrier. His tongue swept against yours, a slow, intimate dance. One of his hands slid from your face, down your neck, over your shoulder, coming to rest on your hip, his fingers pressing into the muscle there, possessive and grounding.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw and down your neck. You tipped your head back with a soft sigh, your fingers tangling in the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. He found the base of your throat and sucked gently, drawing a low moan from you. The sound seemed to galvanize him. His hands moved to the hem of your - his - t-shirt.
He paused, âMay I?â
The uncertainty in his voice melted you.Â
You pressed your lips to his ear, "Of course.â
That single fragment of permission was all it took to collapse the final wall of his hesitation. Foxâs hands slid beneath the hem of the shirt, his touch sending a shiver straight up your spine as his palms dragged upward. He was incredibly gentle, yet entirely checking for any sign of hesitation as he lifted the shirt over your head and cast it away into the darkness of the small quarters.
The cool air of his quarters kissed your skin. You sat before him in just his sweatpants, and you had never felt more seen. You reached for him, pulling his own shirt up. He helped you, his muscles shifting under your palms as you pulled the shirt over his head. His chest was a map of his service. There were pale scars from shrapnel, a deeper one from an explosion, but above that was the powerful build of a man who carried himself through war.
Fox reached back out to you, wrapping his hands around your back and pulling you closer until his lips were almost brushing yours. But he paused, blinking a few times and pulling his head back.Â
âI- What if-â he began, but he couldnât finish. The fear was too large. The fear of being inadequate, of being a disappointment, of giving you the most sacred thing he possessed only to have it filed away as a forgettable experience. The fear that his inexperience would mean he couldnât give you what others had, that heâd fail you in the one moment he wanted, more than anything, to be perfect.
You rested your forehead on his, sensing his fears, âI donât need this to be perfect. I need this to be you.â
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The answer to his fear was in the steady, sure pressure of his hands on your shoulders, a gentle but undeniable force that guided you backwards until the mattress met your back. You went willingly, your eyes never leaving his. The world narrowed to the space between your bodies.
He followed you down, bracing himself on his forearms, caging you in. t across your chest with each breath. His gaze traced the line of it, then lifted back to your face. He leaned in, slowly, his lips finding yours in a kiss. It was deep, unhurried, and profoundly quiet. A communication more intimate than words. His tongue swept against yours, a slow, claiming dance that tasted of shared breath and absolute trust. You could feel the slight tremor in his muscles, not from fear now, but from the intensity of his focus, the sheer magnitude of the moment.
He lowered himself, the heat of his bare skin meeting yours from chest to thigh. The sensation was so profoundly right it drew a soft, shuddering sigh from you both. He buried his face in the curve of your neck for a moment, breathing you in, his lips pressed to your collarbone. Then he lifted his head, his eyes finding yours again. In their depths, you saw a universe of feeling - awe, devotion, a tender, fierce protectiveness that stole the air from your lungs.
His hand slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweatpants and the soft cotton beneath. He paused, a silent question in his raised brow. You answered by lifting your hips. He drew the garments down your legs with a reverence that was never taught on Kamino. When you were bare to him, he simply looked, his gaze a slow, worshipful journey that made you feel not exposed, but seen. Truly, completely seen.
You returned the favor, your hands going to the waistband of his own pants. He helped you, shifting his weight, and soon the last barrier was gone, kicked to the foot of the cot. The reality of him, fully aroused and achingly ready, was a potent truth between you. The sight sent a fresh, liquid rush of heat through your core.
He settled back over you, and this time, the full weight of him pressed you into the mattress. The feel of him, skin to skin, from the hard planes of his chest to his legs against yours, it was an overwhelming, perfect intimacy. He kissed you again, as he positioned himself at your entrance. The broad, blunt head of him nudged against your sensitive folds, already slick and ready for him.
He stilled, breaking the kiss to look down between your bodies, watching. His expression was one of rapt, almost painful concentration. Then his eyes, dark and blazing with emotion, lifted back to yours. He held your gaze, a silent promise passing between you. This was it. No going back.
With a slow, inexorable press of his hips, he entered you.
It was a feeling beyond description. A stretch of initial resistance that melted instantly into a consuming, perfect fullness. He filled you completely, a joining so deep it felt less like penetration and more like two separate halves fusing into one whole. A low groan escaped his throat. It sounded like a mix of profound pleasure and overwhelming emotion. You cried out softly, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper, to take all of him.
He held there, buried into you, his entire body trembling with the effort of remaining still. His forehead dropped to yours, his breath coming in ragged, hot gusts against your lips. You could feel him, every throbbing inch of him, inside you. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart where your chests were pressed together. The connection was absolute, a circuit of sensation and emotion that left no room for thought.
Then, he began to move.
It was not a frantic pace. It was a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that seemed to originate from the very core of him. He moved with a natural, instinctive grace, his hips finding a cadence that worked perfectly. There were no words. The only sounds were the soft, wet sounds of him thrusting against you, the syncopated rhythm of your mingled breathing, the occasional, gasp or groan that was more feeling than sound.
Your eyes remained locked. In his gaze, you saw only Fox giving himself over to this experience with a trust that was humbling. You watched as pleasure consumed his face; the tightening of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelids, the parting of his lips on a silent moan. He watched you, seeing every flicker of ecstasy that his movements wrought within you, his own eyes darkening with a possessive, tender joy.
The coil of pleasure in your belly tightened, a sweet, relentless pressure. You could feel his own control beginning to fray at the edges, his rhythm gaining a subtle, urgent hitch. His thrusts became slightly harder, deeper, each one a deliberate press against that blissful, internal spot that made the galaxy burst behind your eyes.
You clenched around him and his eyes flew wide open, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat.Â
âPlease,â he managed to let out.Â
It was the only word spoken.
The peak, when it arrived, did not crash over you. It rose from the depths of the profound connection and radiated outward, suffusing every limb. Your climax was a silent, shattering expansion, a feeling of pure, radiant light flooding your senses. Your muscles clamped around him in rhythmic pulses, the sensation tearing his own release from him.
He didnât cry out. A deep, shuddering groan was wrenched from the very depths of his soul as he buried himself into you and held, pulsing inside you. His entire body locked, then convulsed in a series of powerful tremors. You felt the hot, intimate rush of his release, that triggered another, softer wave of pleasure within you.
Through it all, your foreheads remained pressed together. Your eyes, blurred with unshed tears of overwhelming feeling, stayed open, locked on his. You witnessed the exact moment of his surrender, saw the awe and the disbelief that washed over him. He saw the same in you.
For a long, timeless moment, there was only that point of contact and the emotion of a moment that was about far more than physical release.
Gradually, the tremors subsided. His breathing began to slow. He didnât collapse. He softened, his weight settling more fully upon you, but he kept his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still holding yours. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, tracing a slow path through the stubble on his temple. You didnât brush it away. It was a sacred part of this.
He had not lost his virginity through sex. He never wanted to. He wanted to by making love. And he did.Â
After a long moment, he shifted his weight completely off of you, rolling to the side just enough to pull you flush against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you like the whole army would be needed to try and tear you away from him.Â
You rested your head over his chest, your fingers mindlessly tracing scars on the edge of his shoulder. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, finally understanding the truth your Master spent your lifetime trying to protect you from.Â
The one night stands werenât intimacy at all. They never were. They were just the Jediâs fabrication of what they believed intimacy should be.Â
This is what it was actually supposed to feel like. It was supposed to leave you breathless, but not from sex, but from the sheer magnitude of caring about someone so much it hurt.Â
You let out a soft sigh and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against his chest. You spent your whole life following a Code that was designed to keep you from all of this. But lying there, wrapped in Foxâs arms, you knew there could be no darkness in this. You both were merely experiencing what love was supposed to be, with the person it was supposed to be experienced with.
Thank you to everyone who submitted prompts! Because of you, we have a very hard choice to make: picking out our favorite 26 out of 99 prompts đ (honestly a great problem to have!)
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