Chapter Text
There has never been much permanence in Fox’s life. Not now, and not at any point reaching it.
On Kamino, change had stolen those closest to him between one day and the next. Squadmates would be found lacking by their Kaminoan creators and taken away, or they would fall during the course of their training and never get back up again. New clones would be introduced, and then subsequently forgotten about after they also failed some new test of their trainer’s imagining and went the same way as their predecessors.
On Coruscant, where Fox has now been stationed for the better part of two years, the ability to adapt to sudden change is what keeps him and his subordinates alive. Natborns are fickle, contrary beings, who control their lives based on a seemingly ever-fluid set of expectations and rules. Perhaps some of them might be predictable to a point, but it could be a deadly mistake to ever rely on that. Being able to contort themselves into whatever position is asked of them has become a skill of necessity.
Every expectation that Fox might have once had about what his life would look like as a commander has been slowly stripped away, and he thinks he would find himself buckling under the strain if it were not for there being at least one inevitability that he can rely on - one very permanent escape route that Fox can always take.
Perhaps in the form of a blaster bolt.
Perhaps in the form of a very long and unfortunate fall.
On his worse days, when a shiny is singled out to play the role of a senator’s punching bag, or when Fox is forced to grovel for the basic necessities of survival (or when his boss, bored, decides to torture him for fun or use him as part of some unexplained but definitely unethical experiment), it is even a comfort.
If nothing else, death is something that nobody can change the rules of or take away from him. This is the bloody truth that Fox clings to - at least, for as long as he is allowed.
—
The safety net is taken away from him at the end of what Fox would call a truly terrible week. Given his standards for terrible, he finds comfort in knowing that this description would inspire a very justified wince from his fellow commanders.
It isn’t terrible because of any one single disaster, however, but rather because the Chancellor has been even more erratic than usual. Fox can do the same thing two days in a row, and be praised one day while receiving reprimand the next. The man has definitely been distracted by something, cancelling meetings with little warning, and ordering Fox’s involvement in more off-the-books missions than he might in a typical month.
When Fox botches one such mission, instead of simply punishing him, the Chancellor makes his displeasure at Fox’s performance known in the form of promises to demote Fox and find a “less emotional” replacement for him. It’s a familiar threat, but there’s more bite to it than usual.
Fox, of course, still goes to him willingly when he calls. The world around him may be chaos, but Fox is nothing if not predictable when it comes to putting himself between his siblings and any threat that might be posed to them.
When he arrives at the Chancellor’s location, some research laboratory that Fox rarely has reason to visit, he forces himself into the mindset of unthinking obedience. The quicker he helps the man with whatever experiment it is that he’s working on tonight, then the quicker he can leave. It’s an almost familiar routine; Fox has witnessed a few experiments before now, bled for more, and, on this occasion, supplied the books of relevant research. Earlier that week he’d stolen a couple from a collector of ancient Force-related artifacts, and it’s those that the Chancellor now seems to be following in setting up his latest test.
“Hold still,” the Chancellor commands, and Fox listens. Then the man mutters something else, and Fox -
Everything after that is a blur. The details elude him.
Fox can remember the Chancellor raising a hand, and then electric light burning brighter than anything he’d witnessed before. He can recall some sense of loss; some great weight lifting off of him, or perhaps just something being ripped away.
He can even remember caring about it, in the moment. The moment, where he finds himself looking back at some other mirror image of himself - then the feeling of something snapping, of being torn in two without any regard for the neatness of the cut, and that other self disappearing from view entirely.
After the moment, he can’t find much reason to care about anything at all, muddled memories or not. He lets the darkness take him without struggle.
—
When Fox wakes up, Sidious is standing there waiting for him. Fox, only barely coherent enough to process this, falls back on instinct. Instinct leads him to obedience, and he kneels before the man.
In his hand, Sidious holds a small, red stone. No, not a stone, Fox realises as the light catches it - a crystal. The way Sidious is looking at it suggests that it holds some kind of significance, but he unfortunately doesn’t seem to be in the mood to start monologuing. Something about it makes Fox think that it is significant to him, too, and for the first time since waking he finds himself wanting something.
He doesn’t really want an explanation. He doesn’t even find himself wanting to do anything other than follow the instinct to sit and wait for orders. But he wants that crystal.
Fox, against all reason, begins to lean towards it.
Naturally, Sidious immediately seems to read his intentions, his gaze having shifted to Fox at some point without Fox having noticed. He tucks the crystal away with a smile.
“None of that, Commander. Perhaps later, if you earn it - and if this has worked. Come closer, would you?”
Fox does as he’s told, stepping within arm’s reach of his master - close enough that it is a simple matter for Sidious to ignite his saber and drive the burning blade of it up through Fox’s stomach.
Fox slumps, presumably as the saber cuts through his spine, finding dull surprise at the lack of hurt. There is pain, yes, but not the burning inescapable agony he has come to associate with wounds from such a weapon. Maybe it’s because this is a killing blow, he wonders, waiting for the shade of death to take him - but his vision never even dims. Even as he’s left to fall to the floor, strings cut, consciousness doesn’t abandon him.
Instead, he is acutely aware of the crack of bone and shifting of muscle and nerve, as his body stitches itself back together again.
Above him, Sidious watches. Movement returns to Fox quickly enough for him to turn and see his master smile. He should be relieved at such a response, some part of him prompts, but there’s nothing else within him to echo that instinct.
All Fox feels is an encroaching chill.
—
Fox isn’t allowed to return to the other clones, after that. He finds a complete lack of worry or care over the order. Even as hazy as they are these days, his memories tell him that he should want to return to them - but he doesn’t.
He doesn’t really want anything. Not sleep, not food, not sustenance of any kind… only orders. Anything to serve as a distraction from the inescapable cold.
—
Life, or whatever shade of life it is that Fox has found himself trapped in, goes on.
First, he undergoes further testing. It is all as brutal as the first test had been, and always yields the same results. Fox makes no complaint at the repetition, or anything else. Why should he? It’s no bother to him. It’s not much of anything, to him. The only thing of concern to Fox is that he’s given a new distraction, afterwards - something to focus on other than the lack of, well, anything else. It’s a reward for good behaviour, or so he is told.
Fox is tasked with bringing peace to the Republic through any means necessary, and does so. In the process, he faces the inevitability of death many times over, and still finds that it fails to claim him.
Nothing can keep him down for long, no monster nor Jedi nor any demise forced upon him by his master. There is no escape.
—
Sometimes, seemingly at random, the sensation of a hand on his shoulder, or at the nape of his neck, settles upon him. It’s a strange thing; an uncomfortable thing. Spikes of irrational hate follow it, or a wave of weakness, as if suddenly Fox is being drained of all the unnatural energy this state has led him to possess.
Fox isn’t sure if he should welcome it or fear it - because it leaves him room to fear it. The moments of near clarity are jarring, and there is never any explanation for it afterwards.
Perhaps he is defective. Fox remembers that before his change, this hadn’t been an unfamiliar concern.
—
One day, a few months into his new eternity, Sidious pulls him aside for a new experiment. Fox is only as wary as his new emotional distance allows, but still wary enough. No matter what might happen, his memories of what made him as he is are still relatively fresh.
The Sith leads him to a room with one of his brothers in it. The sight is an unfamiliar one at this point, and Fox can’t help the slight falter in his steps.
Luckily, Sidious doesn’t seem to care. “I thought you’d want to meet your replacement,” he turns to Fox and says. “Don’t fret - not for your role down here, but for your old role, above. Do you recognise him?”
Fox nods, mutely. He does. He suspects that he always would in a heartbeat, no matter what Sidious did to him.
It’s Thorn who lays unconscious before them, still and silent. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, and Fox’s newfound familiarity with the concept, he might have mistaken him for dead.
“Execute him.”
The order pulls Fox’s attention away from Thorn, but only for a moment. Sidious is looking Fox dead in the eye, as if assessing his response. Fox offers him a quick nod in acknowledgement, as he assumes is expected, before reaching for his blaster.
In the back of his mind, realisation blossoms; normally, he would be feeling something other than cold consideration about the quickest way to go about a task like this. The memories that lead to this realisation are still there - his memories of Thorn from his life before - but there’s no weight to them. They give him no reason that he can justify now to disobey orders, either, and he levels his blaster at the unconscious clone’s head.
Between flicking off the safety and pulling the trigger, however, Sidious raises a hand and stops him. Then, he hands something to Fox that Fox accepts on instinct.
Fox has enough time to realise that it’s the same crystal that Sidious had held during that first experiment those months ago, and during many further tests between, before the weight of everything that he’s done hits him like a blaster bolt to the chest.
All at once, the horror of it all comes flooding back; the helplessness, the fear, and the rage.
Instinct has his lungs struggling to draw breath that he doesn’t need.
It brings him to his knees, and he stares, wide-eyed, across at Thorn. The crystal bites into the skin of his palm of his clenched fist as he grapples with the realisation that he’d almost killed his brother and he wouldn’t have even cared -
With a quick application of the Force, Sidious rips the crystal from his hand. Fox flings himself after it without thinking, the memory of its effects on him still strong even with it out of his grasp.
Fox doesn’t want to go back to the cold. He knows that with certainty he wouldn’t have had the capacity to possess mere moments ago.
In the end, however, it is a useless effort. His immortality is of no use to him in the face of his master’s merciless manipulation of the Force. Fox is effortlessly pushed back, the crystal held well out of arm's reach, and his hope is left to fade to nothing as the seconds pass on by.
Struggling back to his feet, Fox can only watch as Sidious dangles the crystal on its chain in front of him, a taunting smirk spreading across his face as he does so. Then, he lets it drop into his palm, and closes his hand around it.
The gesture is echoed by the sensation of a hand closing around Fox’s throat.
It’s not like Sidious’ other applications of the Force - this time, it feels like his hand is really there, pressing with bruising pressure into his skin. There’s a sense of pain that comes with it, and a sense of dread, both of which are familiar. This isn’t the first time that Fox has experienced this recently, not even close, and suddenly his random spells of fear and drained strength, accompanied by that same ghostly touch, make much more sense.
Understanding dawns, and just as he had after that first, terrible experiment, Fox finds himself wanting something. Fox wants the only thing that he’s allowed to want - that he’s able to want. He wants the crystal.
Sidious holds his life in his hands, in the most chillingly literal sense, and Fox will do anything to steal it back.