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The end of the war comes quickly, but not without its own problems. One of them, namely, being that the entire GAR was now docked in or around Coruscant, ships full of impatient and bored clone troopers all waiting for what would happen next.
Which, of course, is what all the Command Class clones are trying to figure out right now.
Fox is only half-paying attention—barely any of the things they’re talking about apply to him, and he was, for some reason, the only Guard Commander that was actually invited to the meeting, which the others had been quite irate about.
Then, he snaps back to the present—because someone just mentioned his name.
“Alright, Fox can be our sitting Senator until we find someone more suitable,” Cody concludes. “How does that sound?”
There are nods from all the other commanders, light murmurs here and there as the vode discuss it amongst themselves.
…Someone more suitable?
Does someone like that even exist? Fox is hardly the type to brag, but no one in the GAR would be able to match his skills in navigating the Senate, not at this point. They could learn, sure, but it would take time. Time that he isn’t sure any of them would be willing to dedicate to the task.
But, even more than that—
He’s sitting right here. They didn’t even ask.
He glances around at all these people that aren’t even looking at him, already moving on with the discussion, like it doesn’t even matter what he thinks; after all, isn’t he the Commander that served a Sith? Isn’t he the paper-pusher, never even leaving Coruscant since he was stationed here, never seeing the real war?
Fox is used to not having a choice. That’s been his entire life, from the moment he was decanted. He didn’t get an opportunity to serve under a Jedi, under someone who actually gave a shit about him or his desires.
No one ever asks Fox what he wants.
“I worry about you,” Thorn had said, just one night before he left Coruscant (and Fox) to march to his death like a good soldier. “You never seem happy, Fox. I want you to find something that makes you glad to be alive.”
People don’t ask Fox what makes him happy. So this time, Fox is just going to take it.
“No.”
The room goes still.
Cody turns to him, frowning. He isn’t the only one, but he’s the one who speaks.
“Did you just say no?”
He doesn’t sound accusing—if anything, he sounds bewildered, like he can’t imagine Fox not being honored to take on that privilege.
And Fox—he almost takes it back. Would it really kill him to stay here, just a little bit longer? Just to make sure that the GAR aren’t left to flounder in the unfamiliar world of politics?
His hands are shaking. It’s getting hard to breathe, and the mere thought of spending the rest of his days on Coruscant is enough to lodge a fist around his throat.
Yeah, he realizes. It really would kill him.
“I said no,” he repeats, not breaking eye-contact. He discreetly breathes in, desperate to drag more air into his lungs. “You’ll need to find someone else.”
Cody sighs, but Bly is the one who speaks up—sweet, kind Bly, who used to hide behind Fox during training sessions when one of the Kaminoans walked by.
“Come on, Fox, don’t be difficult,” he says. He sounds tired. Like he’s speaking to some unruly trooper under his command, not a goddamn Marshall Commander.
“I’m not being difficult,” Fox disagrees, keeping his voice steady. He knows his eyes are beginning to sting, but he’ll hold back the tears. These people don’t deserve to see them. “I’m just making a choice. I thought we were all allowed to do that now.”
Bly flinches, at that, looking a little lost. Wolffe is the one to pick it up; Wolffe, who has never even tried to contact Fox for all the time he’s been on Coruscant.
“No one is expecting you to do this forever,” Wolffe says, waving a hand dismissively. “To be honest, the population of the GAR is much, much bigger than the Guard. If you go in and set the groundwork, someone more used to our way of doing things can step in and take over.”
Fox bristles, temper rising—and then he pauses. Takes a breath.
“If you think someone in the GAR would be better suited, have them take charge from the beginning. I’m not doing it, end of story.”
He stands, and when Cody reaches towards him, a concerned look on his face, Fox steps away.
“I have another appointment,” he says, not turning back. “I’m done with this. Figure it out yourselves.”
And among the shocked silence of his peers, Fox exits the conference room, head held high.
…
Biteback is experimenting. With pretty much all petty crime going back under the purview of the CSF, the Alpha clone was kicked out of his throne by the drunk tank, and now languishes alone and forgotten, wasting away. Or so he claims, anyway.
Fox had told him to get a hobby; Biteback retaliated by ensuring that Fox, in some way, had to accompany him through each and every hobby activity.
Today, it’s homemade tea.
“How is it?” Biteback asks expectantly. Behind him, Beartrap is attempting to chew her way through the leash keeping her attached to the kitchen door. The tiny cadet had been straining against it when Fox had arrived, desperately trying to reach the pile of ill-gotten snacks that Biteback hordes.
Fox stalls for time by clearing his throat, putting the cup back on the table and praying that they don’t notice that he’s barely taken a sip.
“It’s… different!”
He tries a smile, but Biteback gives him a somewhat amused look, and he leans over to grab the cup himself. Shamefully, Fox doesn’t say anything as Biteback pours the tea into his own, much larger mug.
“You know, Fox, it’s okay to say that you don’t like things,” Biteback says, almost absently. “It’s not a sin.”
Fox looks down, fidgeting with his hands. “I… yeah. I know. But it’s hard.”
They’re talking about more than just the tea, now. Biteback had been in favor of ditching Coruscant from the get-go; Fox doesn’t know his full circumstances, but he knows that Biteback has no interest in seeing any of the other Alpha clones.
“Life is hard,” Biteback laughs, taking a big swig. “That’s why we have to do everything we can to make things easier on ourselves. That’s not cheating, or taking the easy way out. It’s making use of the tools we’ve been given.”
Behind him, Beartrap has managed to wrap the cord of the leash around a sharpened table edge, and is now almost completely through sawing the cord in half.
“But what if, by doing that, I’m letting other people down?” Fox asks, helpless. He doesn’t want to abandon his vode, even after three long years of suffering. But he’s beginning to think that if he wants to survive this damn city, it’s the only thing he can do.
“Maybe you will,” Biteback admits freely. Fox has always admired that about him, for all that it stings—Biteback never shies away from the truth. “But if they have built themselves to be so dependent that they can’t survive without you, it’ll be a good lesson.”
Fox nods, only somewhat reluctant. That’s something that everyone in the Guard had learned—everyone was replaceable. They had to be.
He startles out of his daze when Biteback leans across the table, taking Fox’s hand with uncharacteristic gentleness.
“More than anything else, Fox, you deserve to be happy,” he says. Fox almost wants to shy away from the intensity of that gaze, but he doesn’t. He looks into Biteback’s dark eyes, taking comfort in having an older, (mostly) reliable figure to lean on, for once. “I want you to be happy, Fox. Of your choices here, which will help accomplish that?”
Fox shudders, ducks his head. He knows what he has to do.
Beartrap frees herself with a triumphant cry, and immediately scrambles towards the snacks. Biteback does nothing to stop her—and, in fact, looks quietly content as she rips her way through a bag of sweets that Fox is fairly certain that Biteback confiscated from someone in lockup.
Fox leans back in his chair, letting out a shaky laugh.
Yeah. It’s about time for them to move on.