The humidity on Pabu makes Sister’s hair a hassle to wear loose so she’s often seen in two braids. Omega wants to match, but she’s never braided hair before.
In my head Pabu is like a socialist or communist utopia. Like I picture them having free housing and healthcare and no “real” money just people trading with each other for what they need and want with what they already have. Also just a STRONG sense of community. People work but anyone who doesn’t work is still taken care of and there’s like a big daycare and school for all the kids. Is this just me or does anyone else think this?
Summary: The end of the war brings changes you could’ve never imagined. And news you’ve never wished to hear. Now living on Pabu, you must find a way to keep going – even if your Commander in scarlet armor is no longer by your side.
Word count: 8k
Tags/Warnings: angst. like, this is pure angst; you guys remember me mentioning "tragedy" in the last chapter's warnings right?; mentioned major character death; flashbacks/memories in italics; a shit ton of crying; guilt; depression; suicidal thoughts; reference to death/serious injuries; hope i'm not missing anything; anyway this one's heavy
A/N: ok so my plan was to do 5 parts of this story, but this last one turned out so. fucking. long. and i'm yet to reach a conclusion. therefore i decided to split it. this is (i hope) the penultimate chapter
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The air is cold at this hour of the night, and despite the dark red shawl wrapped tightly around your shoulders, you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine with every harsher gust of wind. It’s worth it however. You like the way the pale moonlight glistens on the water, shining like a spotlight for the bioluminescent dance of the green rays. It's beautiful; you can watch it for hours. You usually do.
And it’s also the best place to meditate, to somehow hold on to your former life. Your sad, tired mind can almost go quiet as you listen to the crashing waves.
Yet, it never brings you peace.
Not truly.
Because as the chilling breeze blows gently on your face, it always seems to whisper the same haunting accusation: you failed him.
You’ve been on Pabu for about a year now. Some time after the terrible Order, you ran into familiar faces. Faces you and your ori’vod used to work with – Clone Force 99. They explained everything and you actually cried tears of twisted happiness knowing that Cody – your friend, your brother – had not willingly tried to kill you. Then, they offered to take you to a place where you wouldn't have to run anymore, wouldn't have to hide and constantly look over your shoulder.
After months, you even found Cody again. Or, more accurately, he found you.
He reached out to Hunter after defecting from the Empire. He made his way to Pabu. He apologised on his knees at your feet. And he cried when you said it wasn't his fault, but you soothed his mind and promised you forgave him anyway.
His last mission for the Empire had broken him, and he needed some time to rest. To find his way back to himself.
So he stayed with you for a while, and he was there to hold you when Echo finally showed you Fox's file. When you read the words you’d never wished to see.
Status: deceased
It didn’t even make sense at first. It seemed impossible. You voiced that thought. You said they were wrong.
It didn’t happen, it couldn’t have.
You would’ve felt it – wouldn’t you?
It wasn’t real.
You didn’t understand.
You just hadn’t read it correctly.
Cody had to repeat it multiple times until the reality finally hit. And then he was there for the weeks you spent in mourning, barely eating, barely leaving your bed. He did his best to put you back together again.
But no matter how many times Cody tried to ease your guilty conscience, there would be no consolation. You always thought about that moment. It was the biggest mistake you've ever made. The war had twisted the Jedi Order in ways no one could've foreseen and you had been forced to do unimaginable things. But the one thing you couldn't justify, the one thing you couldn't forgive yourself for – it was turning your back on Fox.
Grief overcomes you, even after all this time. Hindsight is funny like that. This masochistic game of "should haves" and "why didn't Is". Hindsight doesn't offer comfort; it doesn't even pretend to do. It's a torture chamber the guilty mind willingly walks into, shutting the door and throwing away the key. And you’ve been trapped in there for months.
Your hand fists the coarse, damp sand, trying to ground yourself to the present. But it’s no use. His voice echoes in your head before you even pull your datapad out from your satchel.
“I’m gonna take a holo.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Fox asked.
“I’ll put it in an encrypted folder,” you replied. “No one but me will see it.”
“Alright, cyare.”
Your fingers tap the screen with automatic movements, not even bothering to inform your mind of their search. When the image appears on screen, it instantly fills your eyes with tears and your heart with sorrow. It’s the last holo-pic you ever took with him. Only one day before you left Coruscant with the 212th. And only two days before Fox took the life of your best friend.
The holo shows you in his arms, head rested on his bare chest. You were in his quarters lying on the uncomfortable mattress of his bunk, still catching your breaths and a little sweaty from the earlier activities. The memory of that night is so clear, almost as if your brain knew something horrible was about to happen and decided to recall every detail it could.
Fox had asked Thorn and Thire to cover for him, knowing it was your last night before deployment. He couldn’t get the entire day, but he was out of the Senate by four in the afternoon, and the two of you had a late picnic lunch in the abandoned garden before making your way back to his quarters in the Corrie HQ.
Looking back now, you’re not sure how you missed the signs that something was wrong. You’d gotten so used to how busy Fox was, you never questioned how, at the beginning of that week, he went radio silent for two whole rotations. It wasn’t the first time that had happened anyway – fairly regularly there were two, maybe three day periods you wouldn’t hear from him. But you were at war; the both of you were just busy sometimes.
And the haunted look in his eyes – the one staring right at you now through the screen of the datapad – you’d convinced yourself it was only exhaustion.
Nothing more.
Nothing darker.
“Maker, I look horrible,” Fox remarked after you’d snapped the pic.
“Nah. You’re fine,” you teased. “You don’t look a day over dead.”
“Very funny, cyare.”
You turned in his arms, tilting you head to see him better. “Fox, are you getting enough sleep?”
He scoffed as a response.
“I’m worried about you.”
Fox shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’m fine. Used to it.”
You should’ve pushed him to talk. You should’ve found a way to hear him. But instead you let him distract you with his perfect lips on your skin.
The next time you saw him was the last. And the words you threw at him, the pain and venom in your voice, the way he couldn’t even look you in the eyes – you will see it in your nightmares until the day that you die.
Suddenly, the sound of boots scrunching on the rough sand makes you jolt, and you turn your head to see Echo making his way towards you.
“What are you doing here so late?”
You quickly wipe your eyes. “I’m just… thinking.”
Echo catches a glimpse of the image on your datapad before you can lock the screen, and it’s enough to tell him everything he needs to know.
“It’s a good place to think,” he muses, sitting down beside you.
You hum, gaze lost to the dark horizon. The wind has dulled, and the sea is now quiet. In the distance, two large rays skip against the small waves, leaving a luminescent trail in their wake. It’s a beautiful view – one you will never get to share with him.
“Aren’t you leaving early tomorrow?” you ask, trying to force the horrible thought out of your mind. “Or, today I guess.”
“Yeah,” Echo breathes, “but there’ll be plenty of time to rest while we’re in hyperspace.”
“Omega will be disappointed,” you add, a smile briefly curling your lips. “She thought she would convince you to stay this time.”
“She’ll understand,” Echo shrugs. “The work Rex and I are doing is important.”
You nod, allowing the sound of the waves to be the only thing that fills the air for a while. But while the sea is beautifully calm, it can’t tune out your restless thoughts.
“How did Rex tell you?” you suddenly speak. “About… Fives. I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”
Echo turns his head to look at your profile, illuminated by the eerie blue light of the moon, but it doesn’t seem like you’re willing to meet his gaze. Truthfully, your question really worries him – according to both Hunter and Wrecker, you’ve been distant lately, isolating yourself again, all while assuring Cody through the comms you regularly share that you’re doing so much better. But the Commander is on the other side of the Galaxy, gathering intel with Rex, and since Echo was the closest to Pabu, he swung by to check on you before the next prison break the Underground is planning.
He saw it too these past few rotations. Grief seems to follow you around like a second shadow. But mourning is never a straightforward journey – he knows that better than anyone. He’s struggled with accepting loss just as much.
“Rex didn’t have to say anything,” Echo reveals, his voice low and tinged with regret. “I knew it the second I came to on Skako. He would’ve… he would’ve been on the rescue team. Nothing would’ve kept him away.”
A stray tear drops down your cheek as you let out a breath that almost sounds like a chuckle. You know he’s right. Fives would’ve torn down Purkoll city all by himself at the smallest hint of his twin being alive. He just never got the chance.
“I'm glad Rex didn't have to do it twice,” you murmur.
You’re still not sure how he even managed to tell you without breaking down. It was probably the only time you’d seen him so… distraught.
The second you’d seen his message you could tell something was wrong. You could feel it in your gut.
CT-7567: Comm me when you can.
You and the Captain were friends – but not the type of friends who called each other just to talk. And you knew whatever news he had to share was bad as soon as you saw his face, as soon as he said your name with so much sadness and regret.
“I… I’m sorry to have to tell you that–” he stopped to clear his throat, and you were certain you saw tears threatening to spill “–ARC… ARC trooper Fives–”
“No!” you gasped, cutting him off. “Don’t do this to me Rex.” You shook your head, your vision already blurring. “Please don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s… gone.”
The sob that was ripped from your throat was loud enough to draw the attention of the clones closest to you in the hangar. Cody heard it too, and he rushed to the LAAT you were ducked behind.
“Vod’ika, what’s–” His question died on his lips the moment he saw Rex’s holo-form.
“Tup as well…” Rex continued. “He and Fives were infected with a virus. That’s… that’s what the Kaminoans are saying anyway.”
Cody brought you in his arms, trying to quiet your sobs before Master Kenobi arrived in the hanger and heard you. The 212th was only minutes away from boarding the transports heading down to the surface of Akiva.
“Tup shot and killed General Tiplar on Ringo Vinda. And Fives tried to… he tried to assassinate the Chancellor. He fled but was eventually… shot too,” Rex told you.
“W-Who?” you croaked. “Who shot him?”
Rex’s lips formed a firm, straight line, and his eyes moved to Cody.
“Who did it Rex?” you insisted, voice getting louder, sharper… angrier. “Who killed him?!”
Cody’s arms tightened around you before Rex even managed to get the words out.
“Fox. It was Fox.”
A black hole opened in your chest, and for a long moment, all you could do was stare at Rex’s holo-form, shell-shocked and speechless.
“You’re wrong,” you eventually breathlessly whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Rex said. He sounded exhausted, fully wrecked. “I was there. Fives reached for a blaster and Fox… he had no–”
You severed the connection before he could finish, immediately bringing up Fox’s frequency and pressing call.
“Vod’ika,” Cody tried to stop you.
But you wouldn’t listen. You couldn’t. You broke from his hold and started pacing, staring at the screen of your comlink.
It rang and rang. But Fox didn’t pick up.
You tried again.
“Answer! Answer me, dammit!” you hissed under your breath.
But he rejected the call. And your whole world shattered.
He didn’t call back later.
He didn’t message.
He didn’t offer you a single explanation – not even when you returned to Coruscant and marched into his office demanding one.
You probably wouldn’t have listened anyway, even if he’d tried to defend himself. You were too angry. Too hurt. Too wrapped up in your own pain to notice that the man you loved was broken as well. And too selfishly clinging to your grief to recognise how badly he needed your help. You couldn’t even offer it when he later asked…
“Hey,” Echo speaks softly, watching you shiver. “Let’s get you back before you catch a cold.”
“I’m fine,” you argue weakly.
“Vod’ika.”
Without your permission, the dam breaks, flooding your eyes with large, hot tears. Echo doesn’t ask what’s wrong – he doesn’t have to. You wouldn’t be to articulate the words even if he did. He just brings you in his arms, holds you till the tears run dry, then walks you back to your small home on the reconstructed Lower Pabu.
You can’t bear to be alone tonight, and you grab his hand when he moves to leave – so Echo spends the rest of the night with you on your couch, half-watching whatever program you can get on your holo-screen.
The sun’s already up by the time he convinces you to go to bed, and it’s only because he has to leave for his mission. He tries to make you promise you’ll go out – help Omega with her studies, have dinner at Tech and Phee’s place like they keep asking – and you nod weakly, even though you both know it won’t happen. You doubt you’ll be able to leave your home any time soon – definitely not before he’s back in a few rotations and you have to pretend that you’re a functional person again.
And to think you used to be a Jedi…
The comm was chiming in his hand, the sound a sharp shriek that was piercing his ears. Somehow, it felt just as loud as a blaring alarm on the detention centre. His thumb was hovering right above the accept button. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t answer.
A missed call notification blinked on the screen for only a second before you were calling again. Fox hit reject.
“Vod,” Thorn said from the doorway. “You need to talk to her.”
He shook his head. “What’s the point? I just killed her best friend.”
“Yes, but if you just ex–”
“There’s nothing to explain, Thorn!” Fox erupted. “I killed him! I killed someone she loves.”
“Fox–”
“I hurt her just like I knew I would!” he continued, not really hearing his brother anymore. “She’ll hate me now and I don’t even blame her.”
“I saw the helmet footage,” Thorn insisted, stepping closer to Fox’s desk. “Fives grabbed the–”
“It didn’t matter!” Fox hissed. “It didn’t matter if he grabbed or if he didn’t grab the blaster. That– that wasn’t the mission.”
A cold understanding passed over Thorn’s face.
“I won’t be able to… to–” Fox cleared his throat, struggling to spit out the words, “–explain. It won’t let me.”
The loud scraping of durasteel pulls him out of his fitful sleep, and Fox cracks open one eye just in time to see the small hatch on his cell door open.
“Breakfast,” a cold voice on the other side announces, pushing a tray inside before slamming the hatch back shut.
Fox doesn’t bother getting up. He’s not particularly hungry and the smell of the grey slop they’re always getting isn’t particularly appealing either.
Grey.
Everything is grey.
The food, the walls, the ceiling, the jumpsuit he’s wearing.
For the past year, all he’s been surrounded by was grey.
He never thought he’d miss the red paint on the Guard’s armor. Or well, it’s not necessarily the colour he misses – it’s the brothers underneath.
There’s other clones imprisoned here too. Fox has caught glimpses of them as they’re taken to the lab, or sometimes heard muffled murmurs as they try to talk to each other through the vents. But they’re not his men.
His men are still on Coruscant and Fox sometimes wonders about them as he lays in his cot, staring up at the grey ceiling. Who's in charge of the Guard now? Thire? Stone? Or has one of his captains been promoted?
How many of the men he knew are still alive? How many met a fate similar to his, neck snapped with a flick of the wrist by a short-tempered darjetii?
How many got out?
He could've gone back to them – he should have – that's the whole reason Palpatine bothered to save him in the first place. But when he woke up from that surgery he just… didn't have any fight left in him.
All his tests were normal. The implants had merged perfectly with his spine. His range of motion was just as good as before the injury that nearly took his life. And yet, he couldn’t focus anymore. Couldn’t hit the targets and run through drills like he used to. Couldn’t act like a trooper. Like a commander.
"No longer performing within optimal parameters," was the assessment made by the Kaminoans.
He still remembers the scowl on the disfigured face of the Emperor and the way he sneered one single word: “Disappointing.”
Fox was too exhausted to argue with that. And well, there wasn’t really anything he disagreed with. He knew it all too well. Despite all his trying, despite all the blood and sweat and sleepless nights, despite everything he’d given to Coruscant, to the Republic – Fox was a disappointment. He couldn’t keep his men safe. He couldn’t keep Thorn from dying. He couldn’t keep being the man you thought he was, the one you fell in love with.
Palpatine should’ve just let him die.
So Fox expected to be decommissioned. But he wasn't as useless as he believed.
He’s not entirely sure what sort of prison he’s in. During the first few weeks, he was regularly taken up to a lab where he was scanned, poked and prodded. With the stolen glimpses he caught of datapads and terminal screen, Fox concluded they were doing some sort of genetic research, but he no longer cared what happened to him, and so he never questioned anything. He followed their instructions, stood still for their tests, then returned to his grey cell.
As the months passed, the tests grew scarcer, until eventually, they stopped taking him to the lab. It’s been weeks since they’ve needed him for anything, and Fox can’t help but wonder when the decommission order will come in. He'd be lying if he said he doesn’t hope it’s soon.
The metallic implants in his neck ache as he turns on his side – a sign of the changing weather, Fox has learned by now. From the very narrow, barred up window of his cell, he can see dark clouds slowly crawling along the pale blue sky. It'll rain tonight, he's sure of it.
It rains a lot on this planet, and Fox hates it. Not because of his aching joints or because of the suffocating humidity in his cell – although that’s never pleasant. No, he hates it because it reminds him of the worst day of his life. The day he lost you. And the last time he saw you….
The last time he saw you, there were tears. And yelling. And you begging him for an explanation.
"Anything, Fox, give me anything! Please!" you shouted through sobs.
But he couldn't. He couldn't say a word. Physically couldn't – but neither you nor him knew that. Because he wanted to. He wanted to say he didn't want to do it. He didn’t have a choice. He wanted to cry and beg for your forgiveness.
"Fives was my best friend!" you yelled. The anguish in your voice – the pain, confusion, anger – it still haunts him.
"Why wasn't your blaster on stun?! Why, Fox?!"
Why? Because he received an order and good soldiers followed orders. But he couldn't explain it. He couldn't voice it. The thing in his head kept the words from slipping past his lips. Kept them from taking form in the first place.
"Answer me!" you demanded. "Don't just stand there like a fucking droid!"
But he couldn't. He couldn't give you anything.
And you couldn't forgive him.
You stared into his eyes – cold, emotionless eyes – for a few moments longer. The way you looked at him crushed his very soul to pieces… You started at him like he was suddenly a stranger, someone you didn't recognise. Someone you didn't want to know.
Then you turned and walked away.
And that was the last time he saw you.
He did hear your voice once more, after Thorn died. Even through your pain and anger, you still had to call to check on him.
You were on Coruscant, at the Temple, and Fox asked to see you in the abandoned garden, pleading, almost begging. You broke down then, muffled sobs sounding through his comm and stabbing him right in his cold heart.
“I know how awful you must feel right now, losing Thorn,” you choked. “But the reason I know is because of you, Fox, and I– I don't think I can look past that.”
“Cyare, please,” he whispered. “I thought you loved me…”
“I’m sorry, Fox. I… I can’t. I just can’t,” you sobbed. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
You never commed again. Not once. But Fox still kept tabs on you. He read every single mission report that had you listed as commanding officer. He asked Cody for updates. He followed every Outer Rim campaign, from Anaxes to Utapau.
Until Order 66.
In some twisted way, Fox is almost grateful for that order. The thing in his head fully took over, and for a moment, he didn’t care about you anymore. Everything he’d ever felt was suppressed, his thoughts went almost quiet, replaced by cold, unquestioning obedience.
And when he read your name among the casualties of Utapau, he didn’t shed a single tear.
Those came later, after Vader snapped his neck. His best guess is that the chip malfunctioned during the surgery. Maybe it was the anaesthesia, maybe the electrical signals in the prosthetics connecting to his nerve endings, but he woke up with a heaviness in his chest that no amount of painkillers could dissipate.
It should’ve been him, not you.
Out of the two of you, you’re the one who deserved to be alive. You were kind and sweet, and your hands weren’t stained by so much blood. You were a bright star that was too good for this wretched galaxy, one he never should’ve been allowed to touch.
Because he corrupted your light. He hurt you so deeply that you turned bitter. The anger and pain that dulled your eyes the last time he saw you did not belong there. And it was never supposed to be turned on him.
But he deserved it. He killed a brother.
Vod kyramud.
He deserves this – this cold prison on an unnamed planet where he's being experimented on. The other vode in the cells around him don't – but he should be in here. He killed a brother. He killed your friend. He killed the person that could've stopped all this. He deserves to rot in here.
So when the explosions start rattling the walls, he doesn't even flinch. When the alarms start blaring and the cell door opens, he makes no attempt to move from the uncomfortable cot.
But strong arms yank him up. He's still a brother and brothers don't get left behind.
The universe sure has a cruel sense of humour, Fox can’t help but think as he follows his rescuer and the other freed prisoners. He knows the man leading the group through the grey corridors. Not personally – he's never met him, never spoken to him once in his life. But he knows who he is.
ARC trooper Echo, your friend, the one you lost and got back. Rex had told him about Anaxes and Skako the last time they commed each other, and Fox was genuinely happy for you.
He remembers the stories you told him about Fives and Echo. ‘Chaos twins’ you called them. An inseparable duo before the Citadel.
And he killed one of them.
He wonders if Echo knows that, or if he knows who he is – surely he would've left him in that cell if he recognised him.
More explosions rumble deep inside the facility as they board the transport. The second the ramp closes, the ship bolts out of there, and Fox can only assume the entire place will crumble to the ground. The other clones are cheering, smiling, thanking Echo for getting them out, but he keeps his head down and retreats to a corner of the cargo hold, finding a crate to lean against.
“Are you alright, vod?” a voice soon reaches him.
Fox looks up, a little startled, finding a young trooper standing in front of him. No one’s called him vod in a long time. It feels wrong. He’s no longer a brother. Vod kyramud more likely.
“Yeah,” he replies, keeping his voice low.
The last thing he wants is to attract any attention to himself. He's not sure where Echo is taking them, but hopefully, wherever the final destination is, he'll be able to slip away once they land. That's the extent of his plan however – what comes after is still a mystery.
“I'm Link,” the young clone says, holding out a hand. “Medical technician.”
“Nice to meet you,” Fox mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
Link keeps his hand extended in front of him for a moment before bringing it up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. “Okay… Well, if you're hurt or feeling unwell, just give me a shout. I know I wasn't an actual medic, but I can still help.”
Over the trooper's shoulder, Fox unintentionally makes eye contact with Echo, and a pit opens in his stomach. The ARC is studying him intently, head slightly tilted and eyebrows drawn together in a concentrated frown. Fox quickly drops his gaze to the floor.
“Thanks ad,” he says to Link. “But I'm good.”
Link perks up a little at the use of Mando’a, seeming to take it as an invitation to keep talking.
“Some of the guys are saying you've been in there the longest,” he remarks.
Fox hums a dismissive sound in response. Truthfully, he’s not really sure, nor does he care. He quickly scans the hold, noticing that Echo isn’t there with them anymore. That’s definitely for the best.
The young trooper lifts his hand, trying to offer some comfort, but hesitates and drops it before he can make contact with Fox’s arm. He clears his throat, deciding on words instead.
“If you ever need to talk about it, I’m–”
“Ad, no offence,” Fox interrupts, the words sharper than he intends. “But talking is the last thing I want to do.”
“Oh,” Link deflates, his tone faltering in a way that makes Fox instantly feel guilty. “Sorry, I uh… I understand.”
Link retreats before Fox can formulate an apology, leaving him to wallow in self-hatred. The poor kid was only trying to be nice, and he bit his head off at the first sign of kindness he’s been shown in months. But he doesn’t deserve it – and the young trooper would definitely not be offering if he knew what Fox had done.
His gaze returns to the durasteel floor as his mind once again drifts to you. Link looks very young; and as a med tech, Fox can only assume he doesn’t have any combat experience. He swears he can almost hear your voice softly admonishing him about being nicer to the shinnies.
You used to do that whenever you walked into the Guard HQ and found him disciplining one of the younger troopers, talking about how compassion and patience are a much better learning tool than anger and yelling. Fox used to roll his eyes and mutter about “Jettise” under his breath – but secretly he loved how much care and empathy you had for every clone.
When they don’t murder your friends that is. You no longer had empathy for him that day in his office; but Fox doesn’t blame you.
A pair of armored boots enter Fox’s field of vision, bringing him back to the present. He swallows before lifting his eyes, finding Echo standing in front of him. Maker, why won’t they just leave him alone?
“Commander Fox,” he says, his tone impossible for him to decipher. “How are you feeling, Sir?”
Fox grimaces. That title, that address – it all feels wrong now.
“Fine,” he mutters, moving his gaze back to the floor and hoping the ARC will take the hint and leave.
But he’s not that lucky. Echo keeps talking – possibly about where he’s taking all of them. He catches the words ‘refugee’ and ‘island, but he doesn't really hear what the ARC is saying.
Not until he says your name.
“What did you just say?” Fox demands, eyes snapping to the man in front of him.
Echo repeats your name. Casually. As if he didn't just invoke a ghost.
“I've commed ahead to let her know we found you. She'll be really happy to see you.”
Fox stares blankly. He doesn't understand the words Echo is saying.
“She's dead,” he blurts. “The reports said she's dead.”
“Well, the reports said you're also dead,” Echo counters.
His heart pounds harder and harder against his ribcage as the meaning of Echo’s words settle in his mind.
“She’s… she’s alive?” Fox asks, suddenly breathless.
“She is,” Echo nods, the confirmation filling Fox’s tight chest with a warmth he hasn’t felt in ages. “She’s on Pabu. I’ve told her we found you and she’ll be waiting when we land.”
The brief ecstatic relief he was feeling is instantly replaced by a dread so overwhelming, it shows plainly on his expression. He can’t face you. How could he after everything he’s done? He remembers the way you looked at him the last time you were in the same room together all too clearly. It still hurts him. And he can’t stand being rejected by you again.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says coldly.
Echo blinks, confused. After what Rex and Cody have told him about your relationship with Fox – after the pain he’s watched you carry ever since he showed you his file – that was not the reaction he expected from the Commander.
“She doesn’t want to see me,” Fox adds. The words leave his lips so quietly, it’s clear they weren’t meant for anyone to hear. All they are is pure fear, unintentionally taking audible form.
“I just talked to her, Commander. She– I haven’t seen her smile like that in months,” Echo insists. “She can’t wait to see you.”
Fox shakes his head as much as the metal implants allow. Echo must be wrong. You don’t want to see him. He’s hurt you too deeply. At most, you’ll be waiting to tell him he should’ve stayed dead.
You’re sitting underneath the weeping maya tree, hiding in its shade from the scorching rays of sun. It’s particularly warm today and you can feel droplets of sweat sliding down your back. Truthfully however, you’re not certain if you’re sweating this much from the heat or from your nerves. It definitely doesn’t help that your leg is rapidly bouncing, but you just know that if you stop its movement, you will implode.
Ever since Echo’s comm, you haven’t been able to sit still.
You sprang into action the second you got the news. With happy tears in your eyes you’ve tidied your entire house, scrubbed the kitchen and refresher, made the bed for the first time in weeks, prepared dinner and lunch for the next day. Then you moved on to yourself, starting with washing your hair after putting it off for longer than you’d like to admit.
It was all a distraction from the impossibly beautiful and terrifying fact that Fox was on his way. He was alive and coming to Pabu and you were going to see him for the first time in over a year.
For the first time since you turned your back on him when he needed you most.
You kept your mind and hands busy the entire day so that you could avoid thinking about it, but now that you’ve run out of things to do – now that all is left is sitting and waiting for the Remora to breach the planet’s atmosphere – everything is finally catching up. Not even Hunter could manage to get you to relax, despite all his attempts, and eventually you convinced him to leave you be so he could take care of any last minute preparations for the refugees.
Anxiously, you hug yourself tight, rapping your fingers on the skin of your upper arm. Fear and worry are flooding your brain faster than you can swim, and you can feel your chest tighten and your throat close.
Because what if he won’t be as happy to see you as you are to see him? What if he can’t forgive you?
What if he doesn’t love you anymore?
It’s been so long; maybe he moved on. Maybe it just… fizzled out. Maybe you’ve hurt him so badly by walking away that he now hates you.
That horrible thought does not leave your head until you see the ship approach for landing, and you stand so fast that it makes you dizzy. But you can't move. You're frozen in place as the transport lands, the repulsor noise completely drowned out by your thundering heart.
As the ramp lowers, you're not even sure if you're still breathing.
The first to disembark is Echo, who is immediately greeted by Shep and Hunter. About fifteen clones follow next, all in grey prison jumpsuits, shielding their eyes from the sun and eagerly looking around to take in every bit of their newfound freedom. They all look so happy, so relieved.
But none of them is the man you’re waiting for.
With shaky steps, you start crossing the distance to the ship, anxiety brewing in your gut. Echo sees you, says something to Hunter, then meets you halfway.
“Echo,” you say, voice so weak it’s only a whisper. “W-Where…?”
“He’s in the cargo hold,” Echo answers, a small frown darkening his face. “He… He’s insisting that I take him somewhere else.”
Your heart clenches almost painfully. You were right – he doesn’t want to see you.
“He said he’s hurt you enough,” Echo adds.
“W-What?”
The tightness in your chest doesn’t go away, it actually increases as the cold realization dawns on you. Fox blames himself – of course he does. You know how much he loved you, you know how much he wanted to protect you, keep you safe from all the pain this galaxy has to offer. But in the end, he’s the one who caused you pain – and you should’ve known the guilt would eat him alive.
“I’ve tried to tell him you want to see him, but he won’t believe me,” he sighs. “You should go talk to him.”
He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You run inside the Remora, nervous and excited and relieved and scared. Everything at once. Fox is right where Echo said he’d be – in the cargo hold, sat on one of the crates, head in his hands. The first thing you notice is his hair, with a lot more grey and white peppered in than the last time you saw him. But then you take in his form, and a pit opens in your stomach.
He looks so thin. The months of imprisonment are painfully visible all over his body. He feels… small. Worn down. And you can sense the mental fatigue radiating from him. Fox looks like a man at the end of the rope.
You take a rushed step forward, before stopping dead in your tracks. You don’t know what he’s been through, what horrors he’s had to face. As much as you want to run into his arms, you cannot risk startling him, overwhelming him.
So you softly say him name, not even realising it’s the first time you’ve spoken it out loud in months. Your voice is shaking just as badly as your hands, and it’s weaker than you expected. For a second, you’re worried he might not even hear it.
But he does. And he looks up.
His eyes. His beautiful whiskey-coloured eyes are wide as they find you, filled with too much emotion for one person to hold. His mouth opens, and your name leaves his lips in a sigh of wonder and relief.
A broken, strangled noise catches in your throat, so you clasp a hand over your mouth. All the happiness you’ve felt is suddenly overshadowed by regret. Slowly, you step closer, and sink to your knees right in front of him, placing your hands on his knees.
“I’m so, so sorry,” you sob. “Please forgive me.”
“What?” Fox asks, fully confused.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat.
Tears spill from your eyes, leaving wet streaks down your cheeks. Fox can feel his heart breaking at the sight.
“I don’t– why are you apologising?” he demands. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I did, Fox,” you protest. “I turned my back on you.”
“I deserved it.”
You shake your head decisively. “You didn’t! You didn’t deserve it and I failed you.”
The words cut right through his chest, unearthing deep rooted anger and self-loathing. That’s what he always does. He hurts people – he hurts you. He never deserved you, and he definitely never deserved your tears. The fact that you’re crying because of him makes him sick to his stomach.
“S-Stop,” he croaks. “Stop crying for me! Stop caring about me!”
“Please forgive me,” you rasp.
“No!” The word strikes you like a blade. “There’s nothing to forgive. I hurt you! I don’t deserve your forgiveness!”
You look up at him through wet lashes, gaze sharp and mind made up.
“You can think that all you want,” you say. “But you still have it.”
“W-What?”
“I forgive you, Fox,” you sniff. “And I know it wasn’t your fault.”
He’s panting now, the anger and pain not letting him catch his breath.
“How can you– I killed him! I-I pulled the trigger,” he shouts.
“But did you want to?” you ask.
The question seems to fry his brain. His mouth opens and closes, but no sounds come out. Then, one by one, tears start rolling down his face, and Fox breaks down, sliding from his seat onto the cold floor. He clings to you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, and your arms wrap tightly around him as you allow him to cry. Your own tears don’t stop. They keep falling even as you whisper soft reassurances into his ear. Even as your fingers run gently through his greying curls.
He never thought you would forgive him. He never thought it possible. He never even dared to dream of being back in your arms.
Your arms… your warm embrace. The only place he’s ever felt like home.
Relief settles deep into his bones as he melts into you, and you can feel how his fear and dread slowly begin to dissipate. The two of you stay like that on the floor for a long time. Your knees start to ache, but you ignore it; and you ignore every detail that’s not him. The cold durasteel floor, the sound of voices and seabirds coming from the open entryway of the ship – everything fades to the background. You’ve turned you back on him once, but you sure as hell will never do it again – you will hold him there, on the floor, for as long as he needs.
At some point you think you hear footsteps – Echo or maybe Hunter checking on you – but they only linger for a moment before retreating. No one dares interrupt the vulnerable moment.
Eventually his tears run dry, and Fox finally pulls away, wiping his face in a quick movement fuelled by embarrassment. He’s never cried in front of you before, never allowed himself to appear so fragile. But as quickly as the embarrassment came, it goes away, replaced by a heavy exhaustion that makes his entire body ache.
You cup his cheek, smiling softly when his gaze finds yours. It feels like coming home, and yet it also feels like meeting him on that balcony all over again.
“Hi,” you whisper.
Fox huffs a weak amused sound, leaning into your warm touch and bringing his hand to cover yours.
“Hi,” he rasps.
“You look like shit,” you tease.
That gets a real chuckle out of him. “I feel like it too.”
“Come on,” you urge with a short jerk of the head toward the ship's exit. “You need to get some rest.”
Fox nods and stands after you do, leaning a little into your side as you finally disembark the Remora together. The sun is only a small half disk now, quickly being swallowed by the horizon, and the island is bathed in a warm copper light.
He’s too tired to ask where you're taking him, and also too distracted. The entire walk down Pabu's streets, he does not take his eyes off you.
He still can't believe it. Not fully. The fact that you're here next to him still feels like a dream. For so long he’s mourned you – after the chip lost its hold on his mind – and not even in his wildest fantasies did he image you might still be alive. He’s never believed in miracles until now.
Only when you let go of his hand in order to open a door, does his mind catch up to his surroundings.
The house he’s stood in front of is small – a lot smaller than he expected a refugee center to look like. Because that’s not what this is, and his heart starts racing with the realisation. You type in a code on the panel by the entrance, and Fox sucks in a sharp breath as he catches a glimpse of the numbers.
One, zero, one, zero.
And the door swishes open.
His CC number. You made the code to your home his CC number. Maker help him, he’s about to start crying all over again.
You turn and hold out your hand, smiling softly. Fox hesitates for only a moment before taking it, letting you guide him inside.
Your home is cosy, with warm colours on the walls and a pleasant sweet aroma lingering in the air. Instinctively, Fox’s eyes sweep the area – old habit he just can’t kill from his days in the Guard – making note of every detail. The hallway stretches from the front door to a circular staircase, and looks like it can be crossed in seven strides. On the left, a round archway opens into the living area, based on the blush-coloured couch and permaglass caf table he can glimpse, while on the right, the two of you pass by a closed door – the kitchen most likely, Fox concludes.
The stairs lead directly up into the bedroom, and Fox can’t help but waver once he climbs that last step.
“Are you sure I should be here?” he asks, glancing between you and the neatly-made bed.
A knot forms in your stomach at his hesitation. Are you moving too fast? Expecting him to dive right back into a dynamic that has been dormant for so long?
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I just… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I’m not,” you promise. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat first? I-I can bring you something up.”
“I’m tired,” he says. “I think I just want to sleep, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
You walk over to the bed, pulling the cover aside and inviting him to climb in with a motion of your hand. Fox watches you a second longer, really taking in the fact that he’s here, with you, before exhaustion forces him to quietly follow your instructions.
He slides under the cover, sighing contently at the way he sinks into the mattress and at the softness of the pillow. It’s a comfort he’s simply never experienced before – not in prison, not in the barracks, and definitely not on Kamino.
A fond smile curls your lips as you see the tension slowly bleed out of his shoulders. Fox looks like he really needs the rest, and surely also the space to properly process his freedom and everything that has happened today. You take half a step back and turn towards the stairs, when a trembling hand darts out from under the duvet, fingers curling around your wrist in a timid grip.
“Don’t go,” Fox whispers, forcing his gaze up to meet yours. There’s a flicker of terror darkening his tired eyes – a raw fear that if he lets go, you’ll vanish, and if he closes his eyes, he’ll open then back in that prison cell. “Please.”
You nod, your chest too thick with emotion to even try to speak. His grip loosens, and you quickly round the bed, sliding in beside him. For a second, Fox stays rigid as the mattress shifts under your weight, almost afraid to get too close. Maybe it’s stupid. He was just in your arms earlier on the ship. But still, the worry that he’ll break the fragile spell – that he’ll remind you of why he doesn’t deserve to be here, with you – it’s overwhelming.
“I’m here,” you reassure, sensing the inner turmoil rippling around him in the Force.
His breath hitches, and he swallows the knot in his throat before finally turning to see you. The soft smile he finds waiting crumbles the last of his defences, and with a ragged exhale, he drops his forehead into the crook of your neck.
You don’t hesitate, immediately wrapping an arm around him and resting your chin on the top of his head as you run your fingers through his hair. It always relaxed him, always helped him fall asleep after long, demanding days back on Coruscant, and it seems to still work just as well. Within minutes, his breathing slows, and the hand around your waist, that had firmly gripped the fabric of your dress, softens its hold.
But as the silence of the room settles in, sleep doesn't come for you too. You lie there, staring at the faint moonlight filtering through the window, acutely aware of the man in your arms. Your mind cannot slow down, stuck in a whirlwind of past and present. Fox is right here, in your bed, in your embrace. He's alive and safe and by your side once more. And yet, Fives' laugh echoes from a distant memory, painfully reminding you that forgiving and forgetting are not the same thing.
The gift of forgiveness you offered him earlier was real – and you will not take it back. But you still have questions, cold, uncomfortable ones that you've been struggling to put to rest for so long.
Fox stirs in his sleep, sliding his arm around you to bring you closer to him. A soft chuckle unintentionally escapes your lips – but not loud enough to disturb him – and you press a kiss to the top of his head. How easily he can quiet the storms inside your mind, even without realising.
The questions can wait till the morning. For now, though, you just hold him.
