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rooksunday · 1 month ago

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for @corrieweek day five: fix-it

this crossover came to me in a vision. shiv and widget are my corrie ocs.

Shiv eyed the natborn with the kind of look she usually gave to Fox: unimpressed, with a chance of derision. To her disconcernation, the nattie simply grinned wider.

“You’re very good at that! The whole glowering thing, I mean. I can see why you’re in charge.”

“I’m not in charge,” Shiv said at once. Flattery wasn’t the way to her viscera. Nil points, nattie. “I’m Chief Medical Officer for the Coruscant Guard. If you’re looking for someone in charge of this posting, you need Commander Fox.”

Because Commander Thorn was still on Scipio.

“Commander Fox is the big one with the coffee stains on his armour, am I right? Wanders around under a cloud of existential despair and smells a bit like premeditated murder?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that description.”

The nattie had definitely met Fox.

Another smile. “Of course! Anyway, whoever that was, and I’m not saying it was Commander Fox, but they told me to ‘piss off and bother someone who gives a single solitary shit’, although they said it in a language I don’t think they thought I knew, so.” The nattie spread their arms wide and wiggled their fingers. “Here I am!”

Shiv didn’t groan or bury her face in her hands because she hadn’t let Fox break her yet but fierfiek, give a genetically modified girl a break. How Fox hadn’t been decommissioned was the biggest mystery on Coruscant.

“Again, while I can neither confirm nor deny anything about any being you may have encountered prior to arriving in my office—“

“Naturally.”

“What is it I can assist you with?” Shiv asked. “Stranger who has yet to introduce themself,” she added, arching her eyebrows.

“Ooh, you’re good at that as well, aren’t you? Well! I’m— Hang on, I’ve got a card, just a tick.” The nattie fished around in the pockets of their pinstripe suit jacket—an odd fashion that Shiv hadn’t seen on Coruscant, but admittedly, she didn’t pay particular attention to anything but blasters and dresses—until retrieving a small wallet with a triumphant cry. They flipped it open so Shiv could read it. “Here you go! My credentials. Pronouns are he/him, and I’m—“

“‘The Doctor’,” Shiv pronounced.

“Exactly! Now you say—“

“Doctor Who?”

He nodded like a toy dog perched in the rear of a speeder. He had a lot of teeth for a nattie.

“Yes yes, there’s a whole bit, but you see— And this bit is important, Chief Medical Officer of the Coruscant Guard, but I need a doctor. Another doctor. I’ll take a medic. Several, if you’ve got them,” the Doctor said, his rambling turning frenetic. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s been a bit of an accident, you see.”

Shiv shot to her feet. “If you’ve hurt one of my Corries—“

“No! At least, I don’t think so. Chap wasn’t wearing armour. Silly, really—“

“You hit a natborn and came here?”

They were all going to die.

Shiv pushed the Doctor ahead of her, following the sweep of his increasingly wild gestures towards a blue rectangular box that looked like four doors stuck together. It was plonked in the middle of the Corrie foyer, with no clear indication of how it had gotten inside. Widget had his blaster out but was holding it as if by habit, and not in readiness. He shrugged when Shiv gestured a question at him.

“It just appeared, sir,” he said.

“What’s this?” Shiv asked the Doctor.

“My vehicle. It’s licensed, don’t worry. More importantly, see, is what’s inside.”

“Yes, do show us your victim.”

The Doctor made an odd grimace and opened the door to his odder vehicle. “It’s bigger on the inside, yes, yes, but the thing is— Oh dear. I think he’s dead. There’s bits of him all over. People don’t tend to recover from that kind of thing usually.”

Shiv stared into the vehicle for a long, long moment. At the lumpy black and red bits spattered about the inside of the Doctor’s vehicle. At the familiar, impractical robe that she had always thought absurd. She glanced at Widget, who looked a question back. Finally, she returned her attention to the Doctor. He looked like one of Fox’s feral tookas that had just delivered a rat, but to his credit, he was disguising his smugness reasonably well.

But he hadn’t been raised in armour. Shiv read glee all over his pinstripes.

“You appear to have killed the Chancellor of the Republic in a-a road traffic accident,” Shiv said.

“I do appear to have done that, yes,” the Doctor conceded, without an admirable effort at contrition.

Shiv hummed and looked at Widget. Widget was disguising his glee excellently. “Have we got a procedure for that, Trooper?”

“I think there’s a fine, sir.”

“There you go, Doctor. There’s a fine. Payable to the Coruscant Guard Retirement Fund.”

Widget jerked. “Are we retiring, then?”

“I certainly am.” Shiv tilted her head at the Doctor, who grinned back, as if anticipating her question. She jerked a thumb at the Doctor’s vehicle. “Got room in there for a few more?”

The Doctor slung an arm around Shiv’s shoulders. “My dear Chief Medical Officer, I have room for an army.”

#i wrote this on a plane and can only point the finger at thin air #coruscant guard #corrie week #corrie week 2024 #original clone characters #oc: cmo shiv #oc: clone trooper widget #rook writes things #star wars #the clone wars #doctor who

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zealfruity · 1 year ago

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Meet Gold Squad!

Their paint designs will change and improve as time goes on and I draw them more. Most fo the changes I’ll end up making will mostly show up on their phase 2 designs once I make those.

Cake’s first actual appearance beyond simple theory. Him and Poppy get along great.

#361st battalion (ocs)#tcw #clone wars #my art #star wars #ocs #character design #original character #star wars oc #clone ocs #clone wars oc #original clone characters #digital art #clone armour #lgbtq characters

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stardustloki · 1 month ago

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To be Remembered

You are replaceable.

This is the first lesson that CT-4729 ever remembers learning.

They are all going to die, even if they make it off Kamino, and what will be left? What will there be to remember them by? What marks will there be to prove they ever existed?

Teen, No Archive Warnings, Original Clone Character(s), Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Remembrance, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Read it on ao3 here or below the cut.

You are replaceable.

This is the first lesson that CT-4729 ever remembers learning.

Clones are not important, they have been bred to die, and when they do another number will step up and take their place.

Some of his brothers like the fact that they are ‘the same’, clinging to their similarities as if that makes them special, as if that will keep them safe. And perhaps this is true, ‘29 thinks as he watches ‘28 get taken away by a Kaminoan who has spotted his aversion to bright lights and loud noises, an aversion that has no place on a battlefield. ‘28 doesn’t return.

‘31 dies in a training accident. There is a fault in ‘26’s genetic structure.

Each night ‘29 holds them in his heart, tries to remember them, but the memories become fuzzy, overwritten by watching the same identical faces day after day after day, until he cannot be sure of what was real and what was imagined.

A sense of panic starts to settle into his bones, like an itch that can’t be scratched. They are all going to die, even if they make it off Kamino, and what will be left? What will there be to remember them by? What marks will there be to prove they ever existed?

‘29 is not important. He knows this, he is told this every day, but there is an ache inside of him that longs to be, that longs to matter beyond his worth as a cog in the machine that will be the GAR.

It is this more than anything that has him taking out his training knife and scratching his number into the wall above his bed. He knows it’s a stupid idea, even as he makes the first mark, but he can’t stop. This bed is his, it is where he sleeps, it belongs to him (even as nothing is meant to belong to them, everything should be interchangeable). Carving his number seems to prove it.

I was here, he thinks, finding himself calmer and less desperate as he stares at the jagged lines, barely recognisable as Aurebesh. I was here and I won’t be forgotten.

It is an aberration, a defect, and when a maintenance droid informs the Kaminoans they are not pleased by his attempts to be an individual. They summon one of the trainers, who seems to take a great deal of pleasure in hurting him, of reminding him of his place, before dragging him off by his hair as ‘29 struggles to keep his feet underneath him. There is nothing special about you, Clone, he says, you’re not important enough to matter to anyone, and when they decommission you no one will bother to remember you.

Despite the feeling of anguish that is crushing him, ‘29 cannot bring himself to regret his actions, not even as he curls into a ball in the isolation pod, waiting for the long-necks to kill him. Everyone dies, perhaps now he will be remembered too.

It is a surprise when they let him out. His batchmates tell him he was in there for three days, under blinding bright lights that left him shaky and delirious, unable to rest, sure he would go mad.

Still, he has been given a second chance, and he knows he must be smarter this time.

He carves notches into his armour, scratches a line into the bottom of his DC-15, digs a little indent into the underside of the table where he eats. Small things to show he was there.

His batchmates call him ‘Scratch’.

And Scratch will die, he knows this, but at least the little marks he leaves prove he had once been alive. That he had been a living breathing human being, and his life had meant something, even if it was never supposed to.

The itch under his skin eases a little.

Scratch is deployed, and he finds himself on a ship, far away from the surveillance of the Kaminoans.

He carves his name onto the wall beside every bunk he calls his own, his name joins others etched into bar tables at 79s, he makes scratches on rocks and fence-posts, and on crates of ammo.

A few months in, he wins a holo-recorder in a sabaac game. Its owner, Brew - who has a wide smile and intricate patterns shaved into his close cropped hair - dies a week later due to an anti-tank missile. But Scratch has a picture of him, and a video of him losing badly at cards two days after he’d lost the holo-recorder. He is gone, but not forgotten.

Scratch takes pictures of everything - his brothers, their antics, the planets they visit, the people they meet, the food, the bad karaoke nights, the art on the LAAT/i's - and as he does the terror that had gripped him for so long seems to fade. He makes a blog on the holonet, and starts creating an archive of everything that wouldn’t give their position away to the Separatists.

He stands over the bodies of dead shinies and wonders, is there anyone left who remembers them, is there anyone that knows their names?

The months draw on and his archive lengthens, but then so too do his doubts. Most of the brothers who started this war with him are gone, replaced by an ever turning carousel of new faces. The Clones are the only ones who would ever care for his memories, and before long every last one of them will be dead - the war cannot end in Republic victory with casualty numbers this high.

“Thank you,” Tis says to him, tears streaming down their face as they watch a vid of their now-dead vod’ika pulling stupid faces into the holorecorder. “Thank you for remembering him.”

Scratch sighs. Perhaps this is all for nothing, perhaps it won’t matter in the end, but it matters now, and that has to count for something.

He shuts his eyes, opens them again, and takes a breath as he watches the Separatist-held planet of Parto come into view. He clutches the stone he’d picked up from Orisc in his hand, as he brushes his thumb over the scratches he’d etched into it, he allows their rough edges to sooth him.

Whatever would happen, Scratch knew he had lived.

Two hundred years later, the sun shines high over the fields of Parto. The debris of battle, the corpses, the landmines, all gone, replaced by carefully tilled plots of burmillet. Nothing about these fields would tell you a war had ever taken place here, nothing would tell you the scale of the slaughter, when even the jagged craters, the vestiges of the explosions that had claimed Clones and Droids alike, have been smoothed over to make harvesting the grain easier.

Almost nothing.

Ti Yar, eight years old and with the gait of a child who hasn’t quite figured out what to do with all four limbs yet, comes tromping through the tall burmillet, brushing the stems out of his way - an explorer chopping through the undergrowth to reach his destination.

Despite his imaginings, he remains surprised when he stumbles over something on the field, his ankle twisting slightly as his foot falls off something solid. Scowling, he looks down to see the cause of his interrupted game. His eyes widen.

It’s a stone, sure, but way better than the red-grey rocks that litter their soil. This one is a deep blue-back, with lighter streaks in it that almost seem to glow in the light of the sun, like crystals set in marble. Ti doesn’t know what it is, he doesn’t know which planet it was from (though he has a sneaking suspicion ‘not this one’ might be the correct answer), but what he does know, as he gazes at the smooth rock with open-mouthed astonishment, is that he has found his treasure.

His fingertips brush over the rock’s surface as he starts to examine it in greater detail, and his thumb presses down on a section at the back that seems almost sharp. He turns it over.

There are notches carved in the stone, jagged letters in aurebesh:

Scratch

CT-4729

12.8.4345.7.87643.

He frowns at the last part. A holonet address, perhaps?

After Ti arrives home, the stone clutched firmly in his hand, he logs on to the holonet and meticulously types the address in.

It does take him to a holonet site, the design of which seems weird and old, and takes so long to load that Ti almost gives up. The caption at the top declares that the owner of the blog is called Scratch, which is kinda a weird name, but then again everyone who comes from another planet has a weird name.

There are lots of pictures and videos, all of Scratch and his brothers. They all look pretty similar (then again all humans do) but they cut their hair in funny ways to set themselves apart. He knows they’re soldiers, because they all wear bright white armour with different green patterns on it, and sometimes Scratch has posted training videos.

He stays up, scrolling through the blog, for long after he should have gone to bed, hiding his datapad under his pillow when his parents come to check on him. There’s something exciting about this, about the feeling that he’s found something that no-one else knows about. He’s learnt now that there was an entire army of ‘Clones’ on this planet, but he’s never heard about this before from anyone. He wonders if his grandparents know about it.

He watches vids of Scratch laughing, playing pranks on his brothers, singing songs that contain words he’s pretty sure none of his family would want him to hear. They talk funny, like in old holonet dramas or the recordings played in the history lessons he tries not to fall asleep in, but he likes them all the same, and finds himself grinning along with them. Another strange thing is the pictures on the walls beside some of their beds, of beings without all their clothes on. Ti doesn’t get it, and prefers the walls that have ancient ship designs pasted to them, but he supposes that people in the past did weird stuff.

Late the next morning, his parents help him research the ‘Clone Wars’.

He’s heard about the fall of the Republic at school, about how it became an Empire, about how it hurt people and destroyed Alder… something, and that there was a Jedi hero called... Luka Skywalker, but that was old stuff, stuff that happened way before anyone he knew was even born, and it has never seemed to matter.

This does.

This stuff, Scratch’s smile as he gives Ti a tour of the ship’s mess-hall, this is real. This matters.

There is a part of Ti that wonders why Scratch lost the stone, hopes that he’d just dropped it out of his pocket, or left it for someone like Ti to find. Maybe he did this on every planet?

His parents have searched the holonet for him, and have found no other records of CT-4729.

But there’s another part of him that knows what happened, a part that he finds hard to face. If he scrolls up to the top of Scratch’s blog, the very last holo-image is one of Parto, taken through a transparisteel window. If he focuses hard enough, Ti can see a pale reflection of Scratch outlined on top of the red plains below.

Ti looks down at the stone and grips it tightly in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the smoothed and weathered aurebesh lettering, and wonders if he and his family are the only people alive that remember him.

Next week, at the village school, they are asked to create a three-minute presentation about an important historical figure.

Before, Ti would have reluctantly thrown something together that would maybe have lasted half that time. Now, he puts more effort than he has into anything he’s ever done for school in his life, and tells the class about the creation of the Clones and the fall of the Old (but not the Oldest) Republic, and about what Scratch’s favourite ration bar was.

As kindly as possible, the teacher stops him after he hits the 10 minute mark.

And Ti grows and changes, but the stone on his bedroom shelf, sat beside a holo of Scratch and his brothers remains.

30 years later, Dr Ti Yar the renowned historian, stands before a crowd inside the National Museum of Parto, ready to open a new exhibition.

If you were to walk past him, and turn the corner to look inside, you would see hundreds of flickering holos, the ones captured by Scratch along with others that have been donated or found in archives around the galaxy. The captions beside them tell the story of the Clones, and dotted around the room are surviving sets of armour and other objects from the war that Ti has picked up over the years.

In a glass case in the centre, the blue-grey stone stands. Beneath it lies a plaque, etched into it are the words;

In Memory of Scratch. CC-4729. 31 - 19 BBY. You are eternal.

#whumptober2024 #n.11 #“Leave no trace behind like you don't even exist.”#sw #tcw #original clone trooper #original clone characters #angst #bittersweet ending #implied/referenced character death

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xteacakes · 1 year ago

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#the mandolorian #star wars #the bad batch #the clone wars #clone troopers #clone art #clone oc #original clone characters #original clone trooper #armour #armour template #Star Wars template #Star Wars Lineart #clone Lineart #clone template

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jedi-enthusiast · 1 year ago

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The Final Chapter is Up!

The 3rd, and final, chapter of How One Pissed Off, Half-Sane Medic Saved the Galaxy is up! I hope you guys like it!

And, once again, a very big thank you to @frostbitebakery for making this absolutely gorgeous art of Grim <3

#and yes frost's art is making me simp for my own oc #sue me #star wars #sw prequels #the clone wars #ao3 fanfic #pro jedi #fanfic #original clone characters

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ghostofskywalker · 26 days ago

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for haunted clone week this year, i got to finish up a wip that i couldn't get to in time last year, and i had a lot of fun writing it, even if it did make me cry a little 😂

All This Way (For What?)

words: 2,756

gen: fives & rex & jesse || fives & original clone characters

summary: On a special rescue mission looking for troopers that had gone missing, Fives bonds with the survivors on their way back to the transport. However, things on this planet certainly aren't what they seem, and he's left with more questions than answers.

content warnings: descriptions of death, dead bodies, and blood

#haunted clone week #haunted clone week 2024 #clone wars fanfiction #arc trooper fives #original clone characters

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phoenixyfriend · 2 years ago

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Okay so, originally, I pitched this on discord:

Ahsoka… but distressed dapper. She's still a tog and all, but she's otherwise right out of a film noir setting. Rugged Detective. If Anakin were still around he'd be freaking out over the cigarette.

@jebiknights responded with:

this is a great image for post-jedi Ahsoka but also ngl part of my brain went straight to padawan Ahsoka trying to solve a mystery in the temple pretending to be a noir detective, sucking on a lollipop with a fake mustache like Nino did in s4 of Miraculous Ladybug fdijirdgjs She hasn't received shadow or spy training yet shes got a long way to go 😂 she hums her own theme music whenever she can get away with it

And we were off to the races!

I met us in the middle: after she leaves but before RotS.

Her sleuthing leads to Sidious through the most ludicrously indirect route possible.

She's not even a PI. She's a mechanic on the lower levels. She just stumbled into a thing and put on a costume to hide her identity through judicious use of Hat.

She's got an apartment across the hall from some girls who work in the red light district and one time some guys were harassing them and Ahsoka kicked them out through judicious use of Armbars And Catching Punches, which was impressive without being actively violent or revealing her Force abilities, and it was... fine? They're friends now, have pizza once in a while. Ahsoka likes hearing about their lives.

But then they decided to come to her for advice on a whole Thing at work, where they overheard some stuff about a drug deal that's taking place worryingly close, and maybe she could just keep an eye out when the deal goes down in case things go south? Please?

Ahsoka does so. She overhears things about the war in the deal (which is about information, not drugs), and. Well. She doesn't want to call home for help when she's making a whole point about needing to find herself away from them, so maybe she can just do a little digging of her own?

The red light girls insist she needs a cool outfit for her PI work (they do not care that it's not PI work). They are very excited about this.

At some point she runs into a junior Corrie Guard and steals him for a bit. He is officially "missing" and unofficially Fox was just like "fuck it, sure, help the shiny not-Jedi, I don't care." Now Ahsoka has a clone roommate/sidekick/backup who is, in fact, much more experienced in this than she is, but also has far fewer contacts and resources since they can't use CG databases while they're running this op. Meanwhile, Ahsoka has Friends, and some of her friends know a guy who knows a guy.

Fox doesn't tell the Jedi because technically this doesn't involve them (Ahsoka didn't mention the war stuff), and he has an Outside Contractor and a Coruscant Guard working on it.

He'll let them know if it goes anywhere, but for now he's assuming it's grandstanding lowlifes, and will leave it to the baby Jedi and babier Guard.

jebiknights:

a probably way too young cg helping Ahsoka while Fox aggressively pretends it isn't happening has such good- ohmygod this has psych vibes just a lil bit I've been on a psych comparison kick lately tho so

Ahsoka is trying so hard to be cool

listen psych is my favorite framework for the consulting detective schtick lmaooo AND SHES TRYING SO HARD but shes like what 16? just not there and living in the non-jedi/non-battlefront world for the first time sidgier

Her hypercompetent psychic is a babyfaced 9yo

i was thinking that she would be the psychic bc jedi but honestly convincing everyone that its the shiny corrie is so much funnier also just imagining all the stupid names they call each other as aliases

Sidekick I meant hypercomptetent sidekick

that… makes more sense ngl i was ready to yes and you all the way tho turn it into a gods whats the Jude Law movie where "Watson" is the genius who hires an actor to play "Sherlock" and has him pretend to be the genius or st?

I am, however, open to a Detective Conan situation, which has a lot more context so I'll actually use a different reference and say she pulls a Cyrano de Bergerac.

Ahsoka is stage-whispering instructions to her Corrie Guard, feeding him lines so he can pretend to be psychic while she sneaks around with significantly less eyes on her.

Also the red light girls stay involved they are so excited to Help even though Ahsoka keeps trying to keep them uninvolved for Safety. The girls love teasing her shiny friend. Please remember that all of this nonsense is happening while Ahsoka tries to dress like a prototypical film noir detective.

wait wait wait but if we go back to the original gag of, lowkey being a lil Psych/chaotic Sherlock inspired… shiny being a baby medic?? he tries to be a voice of reason but also enjoys the chaos too much, gets wayyyy too into the play acting and bad covers, but also knows how to patch up the reckless former jedi lol. Ahsoka sometimes just showing up in the Corrie medbay not for a check up but to drag the shiny into shenanigans

Fuck yeah, baby shiny Guard is now a baby shiny medic (Guard). Ahsoka regularly sneaks in through the vents to kidnap him.

Quinlan figures out she's doing Things through psychometry by accident but decides to let sleeping dogs lie until she finally shows up a the Jedi's door like "hey I need help."

The Jedi and various commanders all think it's a standard "the world is bigger and harsher than I thought and as a teen I want to come back to stability," but instead... it's "Chancellor's a Sith Lord."

Though tbh the shiny might just suggest she go to Quinlan first.

REAJGRIGJAERI Quinlan was not prepared for this at all I'm just imagining him as the airplane gag where every new thing Ahsoka reveals is just "I picked a bad day to stop [addiction]"

tbh I initially pitched the AU for Gay Reasons and that's why I was thinking post-RotS but I am now in love with mostly-competent-fumbling teen Ahsoka and her shiny friend.

#Ahsoka Tano #Original Clone Characters #Commander Fox #Original Characters #Quinlan Vos #star wars #the clone wars #film noir #kinda #psych #phoenix posts

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tcwmatchmakingau · 1 year ago

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One Call Away - Pt. 1

Summary: Thorn wants Fox to find love, and he’s counting on Daria to make it happen. An unstoppable force is about to meet an immovable object.

Pairing: Commander Fox x Daria Trace (OC)

Rating: G (later chapters will get spicy 👀)

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 2886

Written to: The Archer by Taylor Swift

Massive shoutout to @deejadabbles not only for taking the first/last look but also encouraging me so much. Wouldn’t have made it without her 🥰

Matchmaking for the clones was nothing like matchmaking for the smarmy elites of Coruscant. The most noticeable difference was the way they showed their gratitude after a successful match. Daria had received expensive bottles of whiskey, opera tickets and even furs from clients. The gifts were accompanied by generic messages clearly written by their aides, and while Daria wouldn’t say no to good whiskey or a fun night at the theatre, the gifts were perfunctory in nature.

The clones, however, showed their appreciation with their hearts. Daria had received flowers clearly stolen from someone’s greenhouse that perfectly matched her lavender hair, gift cards for iced coffee, all manner of fidgets to keep her occupied, and her favorite, new photos of them with their new partners.

Commander Thorn in particular was immensely grateful for his new girlfriend, but when he’d come by bearing a gift he’d also had a request.

“I’m always happy to see you Thorn, but I’m curious as to why you have a knife in my office,” Daria said, eyeing the blade Thorn was twirling around.

“You like to keep your hands busy, right? So you can learn to spin this, and eventually how to throw it,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “Your hands will never be bored again.”

“A bold claim,” she said, following the knife’s movements. There was something alluring about such a dangerous plaything in motion, and she found her fingers twitching in anticipation. “Ok, I’ll try it.”

“That’s my girl!” He brought the knife to an abrupt stop offering it to her handle first.

Daria took the knife and began slowly moving it through her fingers. Thorn watched her work out the best way, as her hand was much smaller than his, and bare. After one minute, the knife was flipping through her fingers quickly and smoothly.

“Kriff, this is really fun,” she confessed quietly. She couldn’t play with it around other people, unless she was hoping to intimidate them, but when she was alone it would definitely be in heavy rotation amongst her other toys. “Thank you, Thorn.”

“You’re welcome, and now for the part where I beg for assistance.”

Daria stopped the knife, placing it on her desk with a decisive click.

“She does not wish to receive heart-shaped jewelry, so go back to the drawing board on that one,” Daria said after a moment of scrutiny.

“Wha-, how did you-?” Thorn stammered. Daria’s uncanny ability to snatch up threads of thought still left him speechless every time. But he was a man on a mission, and recovered quickly. “Consider the jewelry scrapped. I need to bring someone to you. He needs your help.”

Daria’s dark brown eyes lit up instantly. A smile played around her full lips, as she grabbed her datapad.

“You’ve got my attention,” she said with a raised brow.

“Excellent. It’s my ori’vod, Fox,” Thorn said, his face growing serious.

“Marshal Commander ‘Fall in line or fuck off’ Fox?” Daria asked.

Thorn nodded, “That’s the one. He practically lives in his office still, and he needs someone to get him out. Someone that makes him want to take his days off. Someone who he can’t intimidate. Who won’t take his shit.”

“You want me to find someone who’s not intimidated by the most intimidating authority figure on the planet? Possibly in the quadrant?”

“You’re Daria Trace. You found someone that made Wolffe smile. Not a ‘last thing you see before you die’ smile, but an ‘I’m so in love’ smile,” Thorn said, his bright eyes soft and hopeful.

“While everything you just said is true,” Daria conceded. “Commander Wolffe wanted my help. I feel like Commander Fox will toss me in a holding cell, if I so much as suggest he needs my assistance finding a date.”

“But he does,” Thorn insisted. “Just meet him. If he’s hopeless, he’s hopeless. If he’s not, promise me you’ll find someone for him.”

Daria adored the clones, but the way they wielded those big brown eyes was brutal. It was nearly impossible to deny them anything in one’s power.

“Bring him in,” she said finally, caving to Thorn’s masterful tooka eyes.

“Wizard! I knew you’d be up for it,” He cheered. “This means the world to me, Daria. He deserves to live his life.”

“You all do,” she assured him. “I promise I’ll do all I can. Now put on your helmet and get out of my office.”

Thorn shot her a winning smile, and left with a pep in his step. The door had barely closed behind him before Daria was researching Fox on the holonet while she twirled her new vibroblade.

***

Fox never thought he would miss the rules that led all of his vode to keep their relationships under wraps, but then Right to Love set up shop. He now had a battalion of love struck shock troopers, who couldn’t stop going on and on about their new partners, and their matchmakers.

Everywhere he went it was:

“Tarsi changed my life.”

“I owe Yen everything.”

“Daria is a miracle worker.”

Daria Fucking Trace. She was Thorn’s favorite, and he’d been bugging Fox to come and meet her ever since his first date with his now girlfriend. Every three to five business days, he’d be back at it again. Fox loved seeing his brothers happy, and thriving. Especially Thorn, even though he was testing Fox’s patience.

Fox had made the mistake of saying Thorn’s lunch looked tasty, and he’d eagerly explained his girlfriend made it for him, and Fox could have homemade lunches with love notes too, if he would just meet Daria.

“Look, Fox, I know you’re very attached to your nocturnal, work is my life persona, but we’re free men now,” Thorn said before biting into his lunch, humming with joy at the taste. “We deserve to be happy. Especially you, vod.”

“Free or not, we still have a job to do. One of us has to stay focused, so the rest can go off with pretty nat borns,” Fox countered, sipping on an iced caf.

“You should be out with pretty nat borns too. Why are you punishing yourself?”

“I’m not punishing myself. I’m just too busy for a relationship. Someone has to keep this place in order. As Marshal Commander,” Fox began.

“As Marshal Commander,” Thorn mocked with an exaggerated voice. “Just go with me to meet her. If it doesn’t work, I’ll kriff off. But if she can find you a nice young woman or man to get the stick out of your ass…”

“Will you leave me the kriff alone if I say yes?” Fox demanded.

“Yes! For a time.”

“And I won’t have to hear about Daria Trace for the next 30 rotations minimum?”

“Sure thing…but you’ll go?” Thorn looked so excited, even Fox felt himself melting a little. His soft spot for Thorn would never harden it seemed.

“Fine. Set it up.”

“YES!” Thorn cheered before taking a victorious bite of his lunch, grinning as he chewed.

***

Daria waltzed to the lobby promptly at 1259 hours, and found Blizzard obsessively straightening his desk.

“What are you doing, Blizz?” She asked with barely concealed amusement.

“The Commander Fox is coming here. I just want everything to be perfect.” He leaned closer and offered in a conspiratorial whisper, “He’s so kriffing cool. Total badass. I’m equally terrified and in awe.”

“Is that so?” Daria asked with a grin.

Blizzard nodded, and opened his mouth to say more, but at 1300 hours on the dot the door was opening to admit Commander Thorn with Commander Fox in tow.

Thorn always brought wonderful energy into any space, and Daria found his presence comforting if a bit wild.

Fox’s energy was an entirely different story. Contained, but utterly commanding with the fiercest protective intent. She couldn’t focus on anything else no matter how she tried, but the part that surprised her was the blissful feeling of being utterly secure. Safe. Relaxed.

Her constant desire to fidget was quelled. Her fingers rested in her pockets. Her weight held in place rather than shifting. Her heart was steady, calm.

Is this what other people feel like all of the time? Daria thought, offering a dazzling smile to the pair of commanders.

Thorn, never being one for ceremony, scooped Daria up into a bear hug, squishing her against his armored chest until she wheezed in protest.

“I’m happy to see you too,” she coughed out, as he placed her back on her feet.

“I forget how tiny and soft you are,” Thorn said as though he was amused.

“Scientists and therapists under 5’7” aren’t known for breeding kids of the blaster-toting, knife-gifting variety,” Daria said, lifting one expertly arched brow.

“It’s ok, Daria, we can’t all be perfect,” Thorn said, pulling his helmet off, and shaking his curls free. “This is Commander Fox. Fox, this is Daria Trace. The miracle matchmaker.”

“Is that what you’ve been telling people about me?” Daria asked, her face warming up instantly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m sure my exploits were greatly exaggerated. Especially coming from my dear little brother,” Fox said, his tone bored, and drier than Tatooine.

Oh this will be fun. Daria thought.

“Well, I’ll let you do your thing, and find Fox a wife or a husband. He’s not picky,” Thorn said with a smirk. “He can’t be with that face.”

The modulator did nothing to hide the sigh of sheer exhaustion from Fox.

“You have the same…clone humor. I should have expected nothing less from you,” Daria said with a soft laugh.

“Don’t indulge him,” Fox said tilting his head at her disapprovingly.

“Sorry. Follow me,” Daria said, with a laugh.

Fox followed the matchmaker down the hall. Everything about her said she’d never followed a rule in her life. From her mismatched earrings to the way she walked like there was music playing only she could hear. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes, the way her rich voice wrapped around the word Commander like the concept of authority amused her. It was completely unsurprising that Thorn was fond of her.

Reaching her office, Fox scanned the room quickly. A wall devoted to her successful matches no doubt, as he saw several of his brothers’ faces, including Thorn and Wolffe. There were a number of small toys scattered across Daria’s desk. Fox counted 10. Some brightly colored, some durasteel, and before she could stash it in a drawer…

“Is that a vibroblade?” he asked, folding his arms, as he took a seat at her desk.

“Gift from Thorn,” she said, closing the drawer where she kept the weapon turned fidget toy.

“Don’t cut yourself with it,” Fox said. “It’ll be a mountain of paperwork when you have to explain to a doctor how a matchmaker got stabbed with a vibroblade.”

“Don’t lose sleep over it, Commander,” Daria said, whipping the knife out of the drawer and spinning it quickly through her fingers while keeping her eyes on his visor.

“How long have you been practicing that?”

“Every free moment for 3 rotations,” she confessed.

Fox shook his head. That tracked.

“You didn’t come all the way here to discuss my knife skills. You need a date.”

“I’m only doing this to get Thorn off of my ass,” Fox said, folding his arms, and sitting back in the chair across from Daria.

“Ah so you’d like to hang out in my office, kill an hour, and then go back and pretend I’m a fake?” Daria asked, with a raised brow.

“Something like that.”

Daria laughed, and Fox noted the sound was pleasant, infectious. “Nope. My professional reputation is as sparkling as your service record, Commander.”

“Please. This is guess work at best,” He argued.

“Oh yeah? Try me.”

“How?” He asked.

“Talk to me.”

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

Daria released a sigh, and fixed him with a look. “I mean about something real like why Thorn is so invested in your love life.”

“Because he’s a nosy little brother. As an only child, you wouldn’t know about that,” He said, relaxing his arms, as he made himself comfortable. He was disappointed when his revelation was met with a satisfied little grin instead of surprise.

“I hope you found something more interesting than that in my background check,” She said, placing her elbows on the desk, and resting her chin on her crossed fingers.

“Perhaps. I’d never show all of my cards right away, Trace,” He said with a light shrug. “And neither would you.”

You wanna play hardball, let’s play. She thought.

“Ok, you think I'm a fraud; I think you’re afraid.”

The lightest shift in energy in the room told Daria she’d struck a nerve.

“What makes you think that?” He asked, keeping his voice professional and even.

“A very long list of things that I couldn’t get through with 2 full rotations devoted to you, so let’s split my lunch, Thorn’ll think we did the whole thing, and you can go back to pretending you’re happy.” Reaching into her bottom desk drawer, Daria pulled out her lunch, and set about portioning out half for Fox.

“Here,” She said, passing him half of her pasta, and half of a large pastry.

He’d been on the verge of declining and walking out, but he was absolutely starving, and it looked so delicious. Especially the pastry. His sweet tooth wouldn’t let him say no. He accepted the food, and watched as Daria got comfortable in her chair, one leg tucked beneath her, as she started eating.

There was a light hiss, as Fox unsealed and removed his helmet. He was acutely aware of the matchmaker’s gaze, as she took in his features. He could hear her mentally noting the differences between him and his brothers. The scar on his nose, his curls held back by a red headband, the dark circles under his eyes.

He shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth, and resisted humming in pleasure. Of course it’s delicious. Perfect. He thought, annoyed.

“Good?” She asked, swallowing her current bite, and looking hopeful.

“Yeah,” He confessed. “I don’t really make time to cook.”

“I’d be more surprised if you did.”

They continued to eat in a surprisingly companionable silence until Fox bit into the pastry. Fuck, ok. He thought.

“I’m not pretending I’m happy,” he blurted out before taking another bite of the fluffy treat.

“I didn’t peg you for a liar, Commander.”

“I’m not lying,” He shot back, brow furrowed.

“You were bred for war, told you’d see the stars, and got stuck in this corrupt skughole,” Daria said, twirling noodles onto her fork. “Your life is your own now, but you insist on clinging to what you know because it’s safe, simple, comforting.”

“You don’t have a sense of duty, clearly,” Fox said with a roll of his eyes.

“No, I do. I just also believe that my life is mine, and feeling fulfilled is important. That can look different for different people,” she replied. “Do you feel fulfilled?”

He stared down at his food for a moment. “You’re irritating, did you know that?”

“I’ve heard it a few times.”

After another long moment, Fox confessed, “Maybe coming home to someone wouldn’t be terrible, but they’d have to understand the job comes first. My hours aren’t normal, and I don’t dance.”

“Now, we’re getting somewhere,” Daria said, scooping up her datapad and making some notes while she munched on half of the pastry. “Do you like animals?”

“No.”

“This is going to take forever, if you keep lying to me,” she said without missing a beat as she marked yes.

“How do you do that? It’s exhausting,” Fox snapped, shoving the last bite of pastry into his mouth.

“It’s always been like that,” Daria looked up then, and fixed him in her gaze. “You have a sweet tooth. It’s bad.”

“So find me a baker.”

“It’s not that easy.”

After another hour of getting raked over the coals by the matchmaker, Daria escorted Fox back to the lobby.

“I’ll call you,” she said with a mysterious little smile. “Bye, Thorn.”

“Bye, Daria. Thank you,” Thorn called as she made her way back down the hallway.

Fox watched her go before slipping out of the front door and taking a deep breath once it had closed behind him.

“She’s amazing, right?” Thorn asked, joining him.

Fox pulled on his helmet. “She’s as obnoxious as you without the shared DNA to make it tolerable.”

“Whatever, you love me,” Thorn said, as he donned his own helmet. “Let’s go get food. I’m starving.”

“I already ate. Go take your girlfriend to a food stand, and I’ll see you in a little while,” Fox ordered.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Thorn replied, taking off towards the train.

Alone with his thoughts, Fox wandered back towards the barracks.

Daria Fucking Trace was an absolute menace. There was no doubt about it.

***

No less than 15 minutes after Fox’s departure, Daria was twirling her blade, and flipping through profiles. No one currently in the system would suit the salty Commander, but she was determined to find someone who could make that man smile. He might have been hard on the outside, but those soft insides deserved someone who would cherish him.

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