Chapter Text
When Fox finally snapped back to reality, the first thing he noticed was the relentless pressure he could feel bearing down on his skull. He was dizzy and off-balance, and he was almost certain that the dimly lit, dusty walls of the warehouse were swaying, until he realised that it was, in fact, him who was wobbling from side to side. It felt like someone was trying to force their way into his head with no regard for his already fragile mind, splintering his resolve and leaving him kneeling on the floor with his head drooping low as he tried desperately to pull himself together.
It took a while for the memories to slowly creep back to him – arriving at the warehouse to arrest a fugitive brother, listening to him rambling about the Chancellor, moving with his men to stun the trooper, realising that his pistol had somehow been switched from stun to kill – the horror of just what had happened hit Fox with the force of a raging rancor . His head shot up and he lifted his gaze back towards where the 501 st brother had been stood moments ago.
The feeling of bile raising up his throat had the commander choking just to get down enough air to fill his lungs, and he had to fight down the urge yank off his helmet and start gasping. His brothers were all gathered around Rex and the Jedi, looking to one another and at their mourning brother. Skywalker has a hand gently resting on Rex’s shoulder, offering his silent support as his captain fought to process the fact that his vod’ika was no more.
Fox didn’t understand what had happened. As a guard working regularly with civilians, his blaster was set to stun more often than it was kill, and he had been certain to ensure that his weapon was set correctly before leaving the Chancellor’s office. A single stun bolt to the chest would have been sufficient to take down the ARC trooper as quickly and painlessly as possible – stun blasts weren’t pleasant after all – if he’d wanted to put him down, he would have aimed for his unprotected head, not his armoured chest.
But Fox would never kill a brother, he wasn’t like the Kaminoans or the senators that looked down at his fellow clones in disgust and had no qualms with tossing aside their lives, he cared for each and every one of them just as much as any brother did. He was still reeling from the shock of making such a lethal mistake, and the terrible pounding of his head was not helping him to focus. It had grown so bad that he barely even registered when Rex had started shouting, and it took him longer still to realise that it was him Rex was screaming at.
He was lucky that Skywalker had grabbed both of the Captain’s shoulders in a firm grip, keeping the man from attacking Fox. His fellow Guards, the men under his command, all stood silent, watching and listening as Rex spewed all manners of hate, none of them moving to stop him, nor to defend their Commander’s actions. They were confused, some of them worried and some of them angry, all of them knowing how often Fox drilled it into them to stun their targets wherever possible, never kill, not unless it was the last available option. They weren’t able to focus on it long, however, for only a few moments later the building was swarming with other Guards, led by a handful of medics who were quick to shoo everyone aside and begin looking over their fallen comrade.
“What the hell happened here?” Fox could only blearily look up at Thire , briefly wondering when the other commander had managed to sneak up beside him. “Fox, are you okay?” Fox still hadn’t replied, still sitting on his knees with his head rolling slightly as he struggled to ponder the question. He could barely feel his limbs anymore, a terrifying sensation of numbness spreading through him and leaving his body cold and lax.
“What?” was all he was able to murmur , watching silently as Thire crouched down to his level.
“I’m just going to take your bucket off, okay?” the other Commander asked, moving his hands slowly up towards the sides of Fox’s helmet, pausing a moment in case he was met with an objection, before slowly breaking the helmet’s seal and gently prying it off Fox’s head. If Thire was trying to hide his concern, he did a poor job of it, his brows furrowing more with every inch of Fox’s face his eyes looked over. He briefly turned away, calling out for a medic, before reaching out to place steadying hands on Fox’s shoulders.
It was a relief to finally stop swaying quite so much, but Fox still struggled to keep a hold on of his consciousness . He was startled back into a state of wakefulness when a familiar medic appeared before him, grabbing a firm hold of his jaw and flashing something bright in his eyes, but just as quickly as he grasped some focus it began to slip away again. The soft beeping of some sort of instrument was the last thing Fox was able to identify before his eyes rolled back and the little energy he had fled his body, leaving him to fall unceremoniously to the floor.
Fives had never been a particularly heavy sleeper – living in an active warzone for up to several months at a time tended to make it difficult to fall into a deep sleep – so he was hardly surprised when the sound of a machine chirping close to his ear had him jolting awake. The medic inspecting him, however, was quite the opposite, jerking back away from the suddenly conscious trooper with a startled yelp.
“Where am I? What- what happened?” Fives quickly began to take in his surrounds, his eyes darting around the sterile med-bay as he took in all the people quietly shuffling around and took note of the location of each exit. The presence of brothers was a sure relief, but he knew better than to allow his guard down so quickly, especially after the events of the previous few hours.
The medic held out his hands placatingly, waiting until his eyes had stopped bouncing around the room before finally answering his questions, “You’re in the med-bay, Commander Thire brought you in after you passed out.” He hadn’t remembered seeing Thire in the warehouse, but he’d been a little distracted at the time, and slowly nodded for the medic to continue, “I’d say you went into shock, but we’ve had you in here for several hours now and your vitals seem to have evened out.”
Fives blinked in confusion. The last thing he remembered was the pain ebbing from his chest and the subtle scent of burning plastoid and flesh as his grasp on the living realm slowly slipped away from him. He was certain that he’d died, it wasn’t a sensation easily forgotten. It wasn’t like passing out at all, feeling instead like his very essence was drifting away from his pain-filled body. Yet, when he looked down at his chest, he found no gaping blastershot wound, not even a twinge of pain where he should have been aching.
Before Fives could even consider a response, Commander Thire stalked his way into the med-bay, ignoring the rest of the men as they snapped to attention and making his way directly toward him. The medic glanced up at Thire’s approach, offering him a nod in greeting before glancing back down at the datapad he had been using to note Fives’ vitals on, “I’m assigning you to bed rest for at least twelve hours,” the medic continued, switching his gaze to Thire , “I assume you can make sure he actually stays in his quarters?”
The edges of Thire’s lips twitched up briefly, but he seemed to quickly push his amusement back down, “I’ll walk him there myself.” The commander assured him, offering Fives a pointed look as though he was expecting an argument. He found it strange, confused as to why Thire thought he would attempt to dispute the orders of a medic and commander, but he supposed that given his recent uncooperative behaviour it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption.
Seemingly satisfied by Thire’s statement, the medic nodded to himself once more, “in that case, you’re free to head back to your quarters.” With that said, the other clone immediately turned away from Thire and Fives and straight towards his next patient.
“Ready to go?” the Commander asked, waiting until Fives nodded before offering a hand to him, pulling him from the cot and to his feet. “I’ve already taken care of the more pressing flimsiwork waiting for you, so you have no excuse not to get some rest,” Thire explained, planting a hand firmly on Fives’ back as he began to gently guide him away from medical and towards where he assumed the barracks were housed.
Fives wasn’t entirely sure what the commander meant by flimsiwork – he knew he had stirred up quite a bit of trouble, but dealing with anything more complex than a report was generally handled by a captain or commander, not an ARC – and filling out sheets of information wasn’t a particularly pressing issue, he was far more concerned with trying to get back in contact with his fellow members of the 501 st as quickly as possible.
“Thank you, sir, but would I be able to at least contact Captain Rex? There’s something I need to speak to him and General Skywalker about.” Thire met him with an odd look, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion as he hesitated slightly to continue walking. Fives wasn’t sure what he had said to prompt such an expression from the Commander, but as quickly as the look appeared it vanished, and Thire was back to manoeuvring him through the Guard base.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, vod , he’s not exactly in the mood to speak with you,” Thire replied as they finally reached the barracks, turning down one of the halls that led towards the commander quarters.
It was Fives’ turn to be confused, frowning at the commander. He knew that they hadn’t believed what he had been trying to say when he’d trapped Rex and the General, and attacking the Chancellor had, in hindsight, perhaps not been the most well thought through course of action, especially when he wanted to plead his case to the very people who were obligated to serve and protect him. But for Rex to be angry enough to refuse contact with him before he had even had the chance to defend his actions? Something didn’t feel right with it.
Eventually, the Commander stopped before one of the doors, quickly tapping in the access code and standing aside for Fives when the door swished open. When the medic had said to bring Fives to his quarters, he had assumed that Thire was there to escort him to some sort of holding cell, he was still wanted for treason after all. But upon seeing his hesitation, the Commander held up a hand and gestured for him to go inside.
Cautiously, with his senses still buzzing anxiously, Fives entered the room. It was simple enough, with a standard cot, a cabinet to presumably store armour, and what appeared to be an attached refresher. The room had clearly been used recently, but it was clean, and there were no personal effects to be seen. When he turned back to Thire, he noticed that the Commander hadn’t stepped inside yet, standing around almost anxiously by the door.
“I’ll just be in my quarters if you need me.” Thire was still watching him, seeming almost sad as Fives awkwardly shuffled from one foot to the other.
“You’re letting me stay here?” Fives couldn’t help asking, “not a cell or something? You're just going to let me stay in these quarters without a guard or anything?” He refused to believed that the Coruscant Guard were just going to let him use one of their rooms reserved for COs after he’d attacked the very person their entire lives revolved around. Sure, Fives had ample reason to try and strike down the man who was controlling his brothers, but there was no way they could have known his reasoning.
Thire looked absolutely shattered by his question, reaching out slowly to gently grasp Fives’ forearm, “Hey, it’s okay, no one blames you for what happened, you were just... doing your duty.” The Commander’s words were soft, almost a whisper as he moved to envelop Fives in a brief side hug, “everything’ll be fine, vod .” While the sentiment was greatly appreciated, it by no means helped Fives to make any more sense of what was happening.
“Okay?” Fives still wasn’t convinced but managed not to let his unease show by keeping his expression as neutral as possible. He muttered out a soft thanks when the Commander finally released his hold on Fives, stepping back to provide them with a little breathing room. He thought that Thire was going to say something else, but before he could his commlink lit up, flashing and beeping at chirping at him incessantly .
“A Guard’s day is never done,” Thire huffed, managing a fleeting, tired smile. “It’s probably nothing, but I’ll keep you updated if anything changes.” The Commander turned away too quickly to have caught the perplexed face that Fives made at the statement. Why would Thire be updating him on what the Guard were doing? There was no reason to it. But the other clone was already leaving the room, offering only a small wave in farewell as the door slid closed behind him, leaving Fives alone.
Just like that Fives could feel how exhausted he was. His body was tense and his nerves clearly vexed by the way he struggled to stand still, but it seemed that he’d finally run out of adrenaline to run on and his muscles were beginning to grow sluggish and heavy. He didn’t want to wait to try and contact Rex or General Skywalker – the information he possessed was far too important to chance losing – but he didn’t have access to a comm unit, and despite the Guards’ hospitality, he doubted they’d allow him to borrow one of theirs.
He had been stripped down to his blacks, likely by the medics so he would be more comfortable while he was laying in the med-bay, so he didn’t even have his stolen set of armour to wear. No weapons, no armour and no communications. The odds were rather set against the ARC trooper’s chances of escaping the base and making his way to the Torrent barracks, and coupled with his tired body and aching head it would be far more difficult a feat still.
Deciding that it would be in his best interests to rest and recuperate before making any rash plans of escape or the like, he wandered into the refresher. He was in dire need of something to drink and perhaps a warm shower to relieve some of the tension coiled around his shoulders and back. It took him a moment to find the light switch for the refresher, but the moment the lights flickered on overhead Fives was met with his reflection in the mirror, startling him badly enough that he almost fell over backwards.
While he was met with a clone’s reflection, it was decidedly not Fives who was looking back at him in the mirror. “What the kriff ?” he spat, watching as the reflection’s lips followed his words perfectly, copying his every movement despite looking so unnervingly different to the person Fives was used to seeing. Where Fives’ goatee usually sat was instead a thin layer of stubble that marked the beginnings of a beard, and while the ARC trooper usually kept his hair at regulation length, he vividly recalled shaving it all off on Kamino. Yet, his mirror-self had several short, silver hairs scattered throughout a thick mop of black.
Reaching up to run his fingers through the curly mess of hair, he had no idea how he had managed to miss the fact that he was no longer completely bald. He knew that clones grew quickly, but it was impossible for him to grow back an entire head of hair in only a couple of hours. Perhaps the most obvious problem was the fact that his unique number five tattoo was completely missing.
It was difficult for Fives to keep his hands from poking and prodding the strange face he saw, smoothing one of his fingers along the trail of a large scar leading from the side of his jaw all the way down his neck to where it disappeared beneath his shirt. His face was pale like it hadn’t seen enough sunshine, and the stress lines of his face seemed to make him appear several years older than he was, especially with the way his expression was twisted by such heavy scrutinization .
Something was very, very wrong, and Fives had no idea how he was going to figure out what.