#Rex is very ready to kill kaminoans after this chapter
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archivewriter1ont ¡ 19 hours ago
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Echo and the Cadet Batch Chapter 11: Babysitter Carousel (Part One)
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fantastic art by @littletroggo
One huge computer malfunction and a day later, it's finally out! Comment below if you'd like to get tagged when I post new chapters and updates. (Also if you don't want to be tagged and I did, let me know.🙃)
https://archiveofourown.org/works/58834273/chapters/157856722
(Still having trouble with Ao3 links...but this link takes you directly to Chapter 11!)
Summary:
The cadets are a handful, but side effects from their enhancements can slow them down in an instant. The 212th and 501st find out more about Hunter's mutations, the Batch's time on Kamino, and how to take care of the little 99s. Then Echo decides to go for a walk, and discovers that there is no alone time when you have four baby brothers.
@leapingbadger, @badbatchposts, @secretly-a-trekkie (love your cadet art!) and @kybercrystals94
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djarrex ¡ 4 years ago
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Countermeasures || 1
Archives
Fives x ofc!reader
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x | next chapter ->
| main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 |
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: mentions of lust? is that a warning? otherwise, nothing yet ;)
chapter summary: Renna (you), an intern who spent the entirety of her internship thus far filing paperwork in the archives of Tipoca City’s medical wing, finally is able to work with a real patient - that patient just so happens to be Fives.
note: Renna will basically be taking the place of AZI-3 in the Conspiracy arc. A lot of the dialogue I wrote is from the episode, and of course I added more to dig deeper into Renna and Fives as characters. When this idea came in my head I was only planning on writing it as a oneshot. As I starting writing this, however, I realized there was so much more that could be done with it since this arc is both a good one and a sad one. If you’re ready to go on this journey with me, then keep going under the cut! <3 Also, I wanted to add that there will be POV changes in this chapter. I don’t know if I’ll stick with that going forward, but we’ll see.
* tbh special thanks to @bvcketfvcker for coming up with the series title and being da Best™ 
***
The archives of the medical wing in Tipoca City, the capital of the watery planet Kamino, were always so cold and lonely. Every single day of your internship thus far has included you being nearly drowned in paperwork, no real field experience to show for it.
You’ve been on Kamino for your medical internship for what, close to six months now? You were still stuck doing paperwork. Maybe at the six month mark you’d be moved up to sterilizing all the medical equipment, which would seem terrible to anyone else, but at least you’d be in proximity to anything remotely “medical”. You were longing to get your hands dirty, to start real field experience, to learn how to heal. You wanted to help people, to help anyone in need. You wanted to learn the practices for saving someone’s life. Everything you wanted, you could not get if you were stuck in the archives with paperwork as your only companion. 
You decided within your first month that you would not let the paperwork and lack of real purpose get to you. So, you made your situation better by wearing - to the best of your ability - a positive attitude. On the day that marked the end of your first month here, the Kaminoans told you that music can be played in the archives as long as it’s not too loud, so you brought in a small radio the very next day. The start of your second month was a little better than the day before. You hummed to the music playing on the radio as you tried to make a game out of filing the paperwork. Turns out, not even a simple game could be made out of something so boring and tedious as filing paperwork.
You lost count of the days you’ve been in Tipoca City, within the archives shelled by the stilted dome structures, after your second month. Every day was exactly the same; you filed and shredded paperwork, organized reports, and finished filling out medical reports that the Kaminoan doctors didn't even want to bother with. Every day you woke up early, headed to the archives, and spent your entire day there in solitude until it was time to head back to your quarters for the night. Lunch was always dropped off to you by a couple of guards from the Kamino Security Team. The guards were always in full grey and white armor but you already knew what they looked like; they were clones, and you’ve seen their face in every file. They were handsome, sure, but there were literally hundreds of thousands of them out there. 
You were pretty sure you were coming up on month six of your monotonous internship. Waking up and getting ready was a routine ingrained in your bones. You were taking the regular route to the archives from your quarters when you were stopped by a couple Kaminoan doctors on the way. To your surprise, they asked you to follow them, which you were hoping translated to you not having to work in the archives anymore. Maybe month six was the lucky number.
You walked behind the tall and slender creatures through unfamiliar halls. You had no idea where you were following them to, but anywhere was better than where you were originally heading. 
They kept walking, with you in tow, when you passed by the only Jedi you’ve ever really spoken to - Master Shaak Ti, a calm and collected Togruta who was known to have a soft spot for the clones here on Kamino. The Jedi nodded in greeting to the Kaminoans in front of you, then over at you. With no words spoken, you were now following the Jedi through the halls, still unsure of the destination. 
Just around the corner, you saw two very decorated troopers coming towards you. They donned blue and white armor with a ton of other accessories. As they got closer, the one trooper removed his helmet and carried it at his side. This trooper had the usual dark brown hair and kept the common clone cut style. The way this clone walked with his helmet pressed to his hip had awoken something in you, though you couldn't put your finger on exactly what that something was.
“General Shaak Ti.” The other clone removed his helmet as he greeted the Jedi. He was blonde and sported a closely shaved cut; despite having the same face and body, the two clone troopers looked completely different. They were unlike any clones you’ve ever seen.
That’s when you noticed another trooper laying on a stretcher behind them; his hair was long enough to be worn in a bun, a tear drop was inked underneath one of his closed eyes. He was also unlike any clone you’ve ever seen - especially since he appeared to be unconscious, He was hooked up to oxygen, you also noticed, as two guards pushed his floating stretcher right by you and around the corner, out of sight once they went down the hall.
You realized how zoned out you were and quickly snapped back to reality - only for only a second, though - as you became transfixed on the clone in front of you on the right, the one with dark hair. You scanned his features a little more now that he was closer; he had a dark goatee that framed his chin and his right temple had the number “5″ inked on the skin. His armor was crazy different from the armor the guards here wore. He looked... good. Uh oh. 
For just a brief moment, the “good looking” trooper’s eyes broke away from his conversation with the Jedi and met yours. Slightly embarrassed, you snapped your head forward and glued your eyes to the Kaminoan’s ankles in front of you.
Just as you started listening in on the conversation, the two clones, the Jedi General, and Dr. Nala Se broke away and turned the corner in the same direction they took the unconscious trooper.
Kriff. You missed the entire conversation. The Kaminoans started moving forward, and you assumed you were still supposed to follow them, so you did. You still had no clue where you were going, but you’ll get there eventually. 
***
Fives’ POV
Fives walked to the left of Rex, a long-neck doctor in between them, while Tup’s unconscious body was guided by two Kamino guards behind them. 
“You will have to say goodbye to your friend now.” The long-neck broke the silence. Fives was worried for his friend. No one, not even Kix, could figure out what was wrong with him. Why would Tup shoot and kill General Tiplar? Fives noticed Tup was acting somewhat strange right before it all happened, but didn’t think too much of it at the time, Now, he’s racking his brain, trying to understand what set Tup off. He’s a good soldier, a good man. He’d never do such a thing in his right mind. 
It was suggested that Tup be sent to Tipoca City, to Kamino, back to his roots, for a better chance of figuring out what was wrong with him. Fives gladly accepted the offer to escort his friend there, and was overjoyed that Rex came along with them.
General Shaak Ti came into view, and the troopers came to a halt. Captain Rex greeted the General, and she turned her attention over to Fives.
“Fives, am I correct?” He nodded. Tup was being pushed from behind them and then around the corner in front of them, quickly going out of view. The General spoke again, her eyes glued on the unconscious trooper being led down the hall. “You’ve served with Tup?”
Fives was desperate to be by his friend’s side right now. “Yes.”
Then he saw you. You, a foreign species to Kamino. What were you doing here? It had been a while since Fives was last on Kamino, but he was sure there weren’t any others like you here before unless they were Jedi - but the only Jedi known to hang around Kamino was General Shaak Ti.
He had noticed you tailing the long-necks before you had even come entirely into view. Fives let his eyes flicker over to you as Tup was being taken away, only to have locked eyes with you for but a second. He noticed you blushed right before you snapped your head forward, obviously embarrassed that you’d been caught staring. General Shaak Ti’s voice broke Fives’ trance - didn’t even notice he was losing focus once he caught your eyes - and it was all over in less than five seconds. 
“You must come with me.” 
Fives quickly snapped his attention back to General Shaak Ti, “with... all due respect, General, I can’t just abandon him now.” The Jedi General smiled reassuringly, and turned to lead Fives and Rex down the hall in the same direction Tup was taken. 
Fives knew where his undivided attention should be, and that was on Tup - his friend - his friend that for some reason just gunned down a Jedi in the heat of battle in the space station just outside of Ringo Vinda, only to come to with no memory of what he had done. Fives cursed himself for thinking of you when his friend was about to be strapped to an exam table, being poked and prodded like some kind of lab scurrier. 
***
Renna’s POV
Dr. Nala Se, the Chief Medical Scientist on Kamino, approached you once you had gotten to the head medical lab and informed you that you’d be the one who would start procedures on a clone trooper who had potentially been exposed to a virus of some kind. You nodded, all too giddy as you gladly accepted the task.
You were escorted by two guards to where you’d be working with the patient. When the door whisked open, you slowly made your way into the quiet room, the door shutting quickly behind you. You glanced to the right, noticing the window that would normally allow you to see into the room next door was blacked out - put into the privacy setting. Strange. 
“You?” The deep voice - a voice that sounded like honey in your ears - put a halt on your thoughts about the darkened window. You knew it was the voice of a clone; the only voices you ever heard were either the slow, drawn out words of the Kaminoans or the clones’. Of course a clone would be in that room, of course a clone would be the subject of your testing.
Who you didn’t expect to see was the clone trooper you saw in passing not even a half hour ago - the one with the dark goatee and number 5 tattooed on his temple - the one who made you blush when he caught you staring. 
You felt yet another blush heat your cheeks before you even registered it was happening. What the hell were you blushing for? He’s a clone, and you’re here to take blood samples and body scans to make sure he’s okay. You knew you were staring at him like a fool, and for way too long. You shook your head slightly in an attempt to reorganize your thoughts. 
“You ok, Miss... miss?” He stood up from his seating position on the cot, and cocked his head to the side with his arms folded across his chest. You nodded your head slowly.
“Renna,” you nearly whispered your name to him - the words almost came out choked - for some reason you had forgotten how to speak in Basic for a moment. 
“Look, Miss Renna, I am not a threat. Neither is Tup.” 
Your brow raised as you studied the clone’s expression. It was hard; his eyes were piercing and his brows were furrowed. Crossed arms flew to his sides, hands tightening into fists. No doubt he was feeling angry and confused.
“T- Tup?” Was that the name of CT-5385? “You’re referring to CT-5385?”
“Tup! The trooper in that room right there?” He pointed over to the darkened window, “He’s a good soldier, my friend, and he’s in the room next door getting - getting tortured by those long-necks.” A beat. “None of us clones go by numbers anymore, by the way.” You closed your eyes for just a moment, trying to think about what to say next. You inhaled deep through your nose, then slowly out through parted lips, watching as his expression went from angry to more... afraid? Worried?
“Trooper, I promise Tup is in good hands. I’ve been briefed on his- his condition... they - we - just want to find out what made him kill Jedi General Tiplar, that’s all. They’ve asked me to do a couple of procedures on you, take some notes, since you were close with Tup. Maybe we can find something in you that will help your friend.” 
The trooper’s expression changed again, softening as his fists unclenched at his sides. Surely he had to understand the gravity of the situation; when you were briefed, it was mentioned that no one on Kamino had any idea why CT-53 - Tup - shot a Jedi General in cold blood, or why he keeps floating in and out of consciousness, murmuring things like “kill Jedi”. Clone trooper Tup seemed to have no memory of what he had done; and so far, no scans were showing anything wrong with him, though his health was deteriorating.
You walked over to the counter where the sterilized needles and scanners resided and started to prep the equipment, reading over notes to see what it is you needed and what you were supposed to be testing him for. Reading through the notes, you realized this trooper’s designation was ARC-5555, and the tattoo “5″ on his temple made sense now. It was actually kind of... cute.
It was silent for a couple minutes while you were getting everything ready when a loud, airy sigh coming from behind you made you turn around to face ARC-5555.
“The name’s Fives.”
***
Fives’ POV
Fives was getting more worried for Tup by the minute. His rising frustration didn’t help, either. General Shaak Ti had engaged the privacy setting on Fives’ only view of his unconscious friend, leaving him in the dark as to what the long-necks were doing to Tup in the room next door. 
Fives sat in the room in silence, alone with his worries and doubts. You were out of his thoughts at this point; the worry and fear he felt for Tup swallowed him whole - until you were the one walking through the door. It could have been any Kaminoan, any droid, yet you were the one they had sent. 
His eyes wide, he watched you slowly walk in as you immediately set your attention to the darkened window to the right side of the room. Fives wanted to know if you knew what they were doing to Tup, why they were hurting him, why Fives wasn’t able to be there by his side. He had a million questions, almost all of them relating to Tup, except for the ones he had about you. 
Fives was sitting on a cot on the other side of the room, and you hadn’t noticed him yet. What is she doing here? Who is she? She definitely isn’t a long-neck. He wanted to ask you all kinds of questions, a mix between wanting to know more about Tup and wanting to know more about you, but all he could muscle out was one word. 
“You?” Fives shook his head in disbelief as the first word he said to you left his lips. It did manage to get your attention, though, because you turned away from the dark window and were now staring directly at him. Fives felt his heart beat just a little harder when he could finally take in your whole figure in more than just a quick glance. You were beautiful - more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, and wearing the same thing he saw you in earlier; a tucked-in dark grey skin-tight top that came up your neck like clone under-armor blacks did, a white lab coat that came down to your ankles, hugging your curves in all the right ways along the way. The coat was open in the front, save for the one buttoned part right at your waist, just barely keeping the coat together. Your black boots were knee-high, your black leggings tucked into them. You stepped closer to Fives and his heart started racing; he was completely in awe of you, but there was something else, and it made warmth head straight to his groin.
***
Renna’s POV
Fives. That was his name. Not ARC-5555 , just like Tup wasn’t CT-5385. “No clones go by numbers anymore,” he had informed you. Being waist-deep in paperwork all the time never gave you an opportunity to actually work with the clones. All you knew about the clones were their designations, along with whatever the paperwork was filed for. It didn’t occur to you that they had names. 
“Look, is Tup gonna be alright? Have they found anything out?” Fives’ eyes were pleading, begging for some kind of reassurance. 
“Please, sit down.” He huffed, but obeyed. “We’re using hyper level tests, so we should get the results fairly quickly.” He nodded his head, thankful for any little crumb you could give him. “I’m gonna need to get started now, okay?”
Needle in hand and ready to go, you preemptively apologized. 
“Wh- ow!” You jabbed the needle into the side of his neck, a sympathetic smile on your lips. 
“I said I was sorry!” You chuckled quietly. Fives rubbed at his neck and you made you way back over to the counter, inserting the needle into the port next to the computer. 
“Well?” His hand still rubbing at his neck, you squinted your eyes to read the results displayed on the screen. 
“Everything... seems normal.” You weren’t exactly sure what to expect, but you were happy your very first patient wasn’t immediately dying on you.
“Oh, great! That means you can let me out, right?” The excited tone in his voice made it quite difficult to relay the next part to him.
With an apologetic smile, you walked back over and sat on the cot across from him.
“Actually... I’m afraid that’s not possible right now, Fives. I was instructed to keep you in quarantine until we’ve pinpointed the exact cause of Tup’s breakdown. We can’t risk any further casualties.” You couldn't bear to look at him now, so you glued your eyes to a fresh scuff mark on the toe of your boot.
“Like I told you before, I am not a threat, and neither is Tup!” You looked back up at him when his voice raised. Fives wasn’t angry, or at least it didn’t appear that way. He was worried for his friend. 
“I- I believe you, Fives. Unfortunately, I’m not the one to make those kinds of calls. I’m just- just an intern. This is my first day not filing paperwork in the archives. I don’t- I don’t want to mess this up. You’re my first real patient.” You stood up to leave the room, letting your hand rest on his shoulder for just a moment in an attempt to comfort him. Something you never thought you’d be doing - comforting a clone. You told him you’d be back later to check up on him and to perform any tests the doctors deemed necessary. Then you left.
***
As you headed for your quarters for the night, you couldn’t help but think back on your introductory meeting with your very first patient. You replayed your short conversation over and over in your head; you transfixed on his voice, the raw emotion in it that went straight to his facial expressions, and the way he looked at you. You’ve seen his face many, many times in the files you were doused with daily, but most of the clones on Kamino didn’t have anything significant to mark them apart from one another - no scars, tattoos, different hair styles, and were generally clean-shaven. When you first saw Fives, his tattoo and facial hair was what did it for you. You hated to admit it, but you may have just accidentally gotten a crush on the ARC Trooper.
This was all new to you. You never realized clones had such... emotion. Or capable of such emotion, for that matter. You were kept in the dark for the entirety of your internship on Kamino, and now you understood why. You weren’t Kaminoan, you weren’t a Jedi, you were just an intern. In their eyes, there was no reason as to why you should engage the clones, so they kept you busy with paperwork every day. You wondered if you were physically kept away from the clones because you were also human, and therefore were able to share the same emotion and ideals as them. That idea wouldn’t have made sense to you if you thought about it earlier today, but now that you met Fives, it made sense.
Maybe the Kaminoans were fearful that you would be a distraction to them, or them to you. 
***
Tags: @bvcketfvcker @deewithani @chromia7567
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mando-chicken ¡ 5 years ago
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Mental Occupation | Chapter 1
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“When Fives is killed, his essence refuses to become one with the force, instead, searching out the easiest sentient being to attach itself to. After years working beneath Palpatine, Fox has had his mental shields completely eroded and his defences completely shattered, making him the perfect person for Fives' essence to transfer into. The two of them must figure out how all this strange 'jedi stuff' works and how they can both coexist long enough to save their brothers and if they're lucky, perhaps the rest of the galaxy too.”
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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 501st 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 501st 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.  
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Text
The Cut That Never Heals
Words: 1.6k
Warnings: suicide ideation, ptsd, cutting, blood, torture, gaslighting
Rating: Mature
Summary: Dogma deals with his cutting issues and is daily put through torture under the hands of the Kaminoans, or as they call it, “Reconditioning”
Chapter 1/?
-
Dogma had blood in his hands.
This was the blood of his brothers. Because of his actions, of his inactions. Because of his mistakes. The blood was there, filling each crease of his palm to then overflow, dripping from between his fingers over his thigh, seeping through the white fabric of his pants.
Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family was more than blood, or so the mando’ade would say.
Well, now Dogma had neither. His brothers hated him. His superiors wanted him gone. Only Rex had showed up that one time, but Dogma wasn’t willing to grow attached to that glimmer of hope. It would only make it hurt worse when the captain never really came back for him.
The blood on his palm reflected the white light from the ceiling. It made it glisten as it slowly dripped from the open wound even though it had just started to coagulate now. Dogma had started to really hate his genetically enhanced ability to heal from smaller injuries.
The transparent door slid open and a med droid came floating in.
“CT-5345, you are injured again.” it said in a flat, emotionless tone
Dogma kept his golden-brown eyes on the small red pool on his palm.
“It’s my brother’s blood.” He said dully as the droid held his arm up to apply something to disinfect the wound on the inside of his forearm; he was feeling a tad dizzy “See?”
The droid merely pressed a bandage soaked in medical bacta to the cut, waiting for it to stimulate Dogma’s own coagulation.
“It’s Fett’s blood. Their blood.” Dogma said, sucking his lower lip pensively for a moment “Why is it in me? I shouldn’t have it. I don’t deserve it.”
The droid wrapped the bandage firmly around dogma’s forearm and then moved on to wiping the blood off his skin.
“Can’t you give it back to them?” Dogma asked earnestly “I shouldn’t keep it. It’s theirs.”
The droid cleaned the spaces between dogma’s fingers and buzzed quietly. It could’ve sounded almost like a sigh.
“We have been donating plenty of your blood to the clone army, CT-5345. If you keep injuring yourself, however, soon you’ll end up dying.”
Words that would have been concerning to many sounded like a hopeful promise to the disgraced clone trooper.
“You have your session with doctor Se today. You should remember that bleeding or passing out does not allow you to skip your reconditioning sessions.”
Yeah. Maybe that’s why Dogma had shoved his nail so deep in his skin today. He was hoping for a little more than bleeding or passing out.
-
“Come in, CT-5345.”
Dogma stepped into the room. The same oppressive white walls, the same Kaminoans dressed in white lab coats, the same white chair right in the middle of the room that made Dogma’s stomach churn just from looking at it.
Still, Dogma squared up his shoulders, eyes trained ahead like the soldier he is.
Was.
Needed to be.
“You know the procedure.” Nala Se said without looking up from her datapad
“Yes ma’am.” Dogma said sheepishly as he peeled his shirt off and began to fold it neatly
His body had always been more on the lean side for a clone, but it wasn’t up until today that he had noticed the way his ribs were showing. Nala Se walked up to Dogma and ripped the shirt from his fingers.
“Stop dawdling, clone.” she said sharply; then she lowered her eyes and sneered “What is that?”
Dogma instinctively looked at the red stain on his pants, covering it up with his hand.
“I… had an accident.”
The kaminoan looked deep into Dogma’s eyes.
“You are an accident.” she whispered angrily, pointing a long finger at the chair
Dogma didn’t need more than that. He hurried to the seat and sunk down on it, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he placed his arms over the armrests, hissing at the pain on his left one, the fresh cut still sensitive. He knew what happened to him every time he sat there. And he knew he had no choice but to. Hands come to pull the straps over his wrists, binding him in place and making him bite down on his lip not to scream when his injury is pressed against the armrest. Next, they pulled a strap over his chest, pinning him to the chair. He clenched his teeth, trying not to squirm. He wanted to be good. Wanted them to see he was getting better.
The kaminoans then bound his legs and began the usual process, sticking electrodes all over Dogma’s chest and temples and forcing a transparent teeth guard over his upper teeth. The thing always tasted bitter and it would hurt the roof of Dogma’s mouth, but at least it wasn’t too hard to speak with it on.
Nala Se stood in front of him, her voice calm and collected as it would usually be.
“What is your identification, clone?”
“CT-5345.” Dogma replies promptly, voice a little muffled by the tool over his teeth
He’s fidgeting with his thumb nail against his pointer finger and he can still feel the dried blood under it. Nala Se moves on to the following question:
“And what are you?”
Dogma bites his lip. He somehow always manages to get this one wrong. “Sergeant” hadn’t worked. Neither had “soldier of the 501st battalion”. Maybe if he were as neutral as possible…
“I’m a clone, ma’am.”
Nala Se gave him a stern look, pressing the screen of her datapad. Dogma felt the sudden jolt of electricity making his chest jump against the binds, and he bit hard on the mouthguard, grunting. Kark. Kark, kark, kark, he had gotten it wrong again.
“What are you?”
Dogma sucked in a breath, swallowing down. C’mon, it had been… a week? He had to pass this question at some point. He frowned, trying to think. His mind went to Captain Rex, to his example of leadership and bravery. To ARC Trooper Fives and Jesse. To Hardcase.
“A failure.” He says, eyes low on the ground
A sharp, choked sound leaves him as the electricity courses through his body again, making him unconsciously clench his fists and fight uselessly against his binds. He raises his golden eyes back up to Nala Se, his breath going shallower.
“What are you?”
Dogma fights the urge to tell her to shove her datapad up whatever hole would hurt the most, jaw moving mutely in a word he desperately seeks but don’t know. His instincts make him think of his training, of his lessons, what always mattered most to a clone trooper.
And there was something that was always above all else: their mission. That was the only thing that mattered. The mission was of the most importance, all else, including every single clone trooper, was just…
“…Expendable.” Dogma murmured, golden eyes pleading for… anything other than this misery
He wondered if he had finally gotten the answer right, and if he did, the Kaminoans would finally either let him die.
Nala Se, however, gave him a smile.
“Very good, clone. You are correct.”
Dogma gave a tiny smile, unsure if that was allowed, so he quickly suppressed it and sat up straight again, ready for whatever would come next.
“Next question: do you know who do you belong to?”
Dogma’s eyes widened up in panic. Oh no. How would he respond to that? He was… property of the Jedi army, right? But he had been born in Kamino, so maybe he belonged to them instead. And it was the Kaminoans asking this question, so… He closed his eyes, anticipating the electroshock.
“Kamino. I belong to Kamino.”
“Correct again.” Nala Se said, and Dogma opened his eyes with the tiniest sigh of relief “Which means that every single organ in your body, every inch of skin and bone, all of you is our property.”
She leans closer to Dogma, her tone still very gentle.
“This means” she continues “That every drop of blood inside you is ours. And as defective as you are, you’d better stop wasting it.”
Dogma felt his cheeks burning. He never meant to cut himself. It was just… something that happened throughout his incarceration. His head was too loud. His dreams were too vivid. He just needed to let… something out. Anything. And after losing his armor and rank, the sight of his blood, Jango Fett’s blood… was all he had.
“I’m sorry.” he mumbles sheepishly “I’ll do better, I’ll be better.”
The questions kept coming. Who did he owe his life to (the Kaminoans), who did he owe unquestionable obedience (the jedi). When he brought up the fact that Krell wasn’t  a jedi, Nala Se gave him a shock that lasted so long Dogma thought he would faint. His head lolled down, chin meeting his chest.
“Made me kill my brothers.” Dogma murmured with a grimace, feeling the moisture collecting at the corner of his eyes “He made me kill my…”
Nala Se grabbed Dogma’s chin roughly, forcing him to look up.
“And what are your brothers?”
Dogma’s lip tremble, and he tries to pull away from her, blinking his tears away. He thinks, thinks the words ‘brave’, ‘good’, ‘fierce’ and tucks them away in his mind, and his answer tastes like poison on his tongue:
“Expendable.”
Nala Se gives two cordial slaps to Dogma’s cheek.
“Very good.”
-
When Dogma is escorted back to his cell, he soon curls himself up on his bed, his whole body shaking as he holds his injured arm close to his chest, fighting the idea of just ripping the off bacta patch and shoving his nails on his radial artery so that he can just end this suffering already.
But his blood isn’t his. It doesn’t belong to him.
It’s the kaminoan’s property. He has no right to it.
He faces the plain white wall, tapping his thumb to his wrist right above the patch.
“It’s Jango’s. It’s theirs.” He mumbles quietly to then say in a faint, weak whisper of reassurance “It’s mine too.”
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