#stars are terrifing

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Wrapped In Red [Commander Fox x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: When a long-time friend of yours in the Galactic Senate invited you to one of the upcoming galas, you envisioned a night of lavish apparel, drinking, dancing, and dodging the attempts of too-friendly senators. Added security had not been a part of it, but it’s non-negotiable following an attempt on your friend’s life. Fortunately, you can make the best of a bad situation by making friends with your bodyguards — Clone troopers of the Coruscant Guard, including Marshal Commander Fox himself.  Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader, save for the color of her dress and accessories. Reader is the friend of an unspecified senator nicknamed “Aspen”. Political assassination attempt [off-screen, more focus is on the aftermath]. Brief reference of a riot and (civilian) violence against Clones. Elements of the ‘Lady/Knight’ or ‘Bodyguard Crush’ dynamics. Forced proximity. Reference and allusion to alcohol. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. Star Wars and real-world swearing. Some use of Mando'a. Prompt is highlighted in red. Requested by @returnofthepineapple from her previous account. 

Word Count: 10,817

For the past couple of years, you’ve been living a quiet life on one of Coruscant’s neighboring planets. Though you were born there, the hustle and bustle of Coruscant proved more than you could handle as you grew older. You longed for some place less choked by pollution, politics and power-mad bastards. 

So, just before the outbreak of the Clone Wars, you spread your wings and left the labyrinth-like nest. 

People dear to your heart still lived there, so you never left Coruscant completely behind you. 

One such person—a childhood friend—you’ve managed to remain quite close with in spite of your relocation, and their involvement in the Galactic Senate. Rising through the upper echelons in the political scene to make it into a senatorial position had taken time, but the friend you knew best as Aspen had never been the type who could be easily swayed from their goals, or their sense in doing the right thing. 

Thinking of you often, Aspen liked to send you invitations to some of the millions of events taking place on Coruscant at any given time. Mostly small things, like seasonal markets or something related to various hobbies and interests. 

“A certain someone I know would love the concert they're holding in the entertainment district this coming Zhellday!”

“Blast… I’m going to be busy that day! But you’re the best, Aspen.”

On rare occasions, the invitations Aspen gave you were to much bigger things than crafting workshops or concerts. 

The most recent of these larger invitations is to an upcoming gala being held at the very end of the month, meant to cap off the long proposal period of very important—yet divisive—bills and other legislation to the Republic. You knew from past experience this would be a very, very long month for Aspen with no shortage of headaches. They were probably ready to beg you to attend the gala if it came down to it. 

It took only a short moment of thought before coming to a decision upon receiving the electronic invite; hoping to surprise them with good news, a message was left with a member of their senatorial staff. 

Hey, Aspen, just thought I’d let you know I got your invitation to the upcoming gala. I know you’re busy, so you don’t need to convince me to attend. I’d be happy to come and see you. The gala sounds like fun. Already looking forward to it! 

You’ve attended a few parties with Aspen in the past, but you can’t recall one of this scale or importance. There were the small fundraisers where you ate so many jogan fruit tarts together you were nearly sick. Promotional campaigns where bets were made on how many flutes of champagne Aspen’s competitors would end up sucking back before the end of the night. Public appearances where you stood beside (or in place of) your childhood friend’s family to support and celebrate the hard work they’ve put into the planet you called home for a long, long time. 

Making the kind of differences Aspen hoped for in the galaxy would often be an uphill battle. You’ve regularly joked it was a good thing that they’ve always been a fan of climbing in all the time you knew them. 

By the time you made it to Coruscant, less than a week before the gala, you were faced with the horrible discovery of just how close Aspen had come to falling from those lofty heights.

You’re planet-side for all of five minutes—busy wrestling your things together in the spaceport terminal—before you find yourself face-to-helmet with a pair of white-armored men. By the way they had begun marching in the direction of the baggage claim from the moment you got there and the deliberateness of their stride, you had the feeling they were not simply on patrol. 

These soldiers—Clones—part of the Coruscant Guard, judging by the red paintwork, had been waiting for you.  

The rest of your luggage continued to sit on the revolving conveyor belt as you spoke with the shocktroopers for the next few minutes, trying to figure out what was going on in spite of the travel-fatigue. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time on Coruscant has seen more than their fair share of regular commuters and far-away travelers getting stopped by terminal security forces, so that in itself is not out of the ordinary. 

Getting stopped by members of the Guard, those who dealt with riots and political escorts… That was more unusual. It meant whatever was going on was pretty karkin’ serious. (You’re not in trouble, are you?) Comply. Be polite. They don’t sound angry yet when they start asking basic questions to confirm your identity. 

Starting with your name and date of birth, one of the troopers brings up his datapad clipped to his utility belt to verify your answers against information in their database. The other silently gathers the rest of your baggage from the carousel the next time it comes around, preventing some petty criminal from getting their hands on whatever's inside. Between giving the troopers the requested information, a million thoughts race all at once while wondering whether or not you’ll be asked to come with them soon enough. Unless the Corries are hurting for work so badly that they’re now working spaceport security, whatever this is about is undoubtedly serious. 

In a shaken voice, you try to find answers once there is a suitable lull in the questioning.

“Can I ask what this is about…? Am I in trouble?”

The trooper with the datapad in his hand turns to the other, saying nothing, but raises his shoulders and gestures with his free hand as if to say “How much do you think we can tell her?” to his partner. You grow all the more nervous as the silent exchange continues, the partner shaking his head at the first. 

“Not here.” the second trooper says, his head wagging sharply to suggest it isn’t a good idea. 

The first makes a hurried promise before he’s interrupted by the second. “You’re not in trouble-” 

“But you’re not safe, either. We can explain more once you’re about the gunship. We need to ask you to come with us.” (Gunship? Safe? Oh fuck.) The same trooper, nodding to a bag by your feet now says “Sayber, take the duffle bag. I’ve got the suitcase.” before instructing you to follow them. 

Struggling to match their militant stride, you want to do little more than shrink out of discomfort feeling hundreds of eyes trained on you as you march back the way the shocktroopers came through the crowded spaceport. Doing your best to ignore all the many faces glittering with curiosity, you instead focus on the LAAT/i emblazoned with the crest of the Guard lazily bobbing in place as it hovers over a part of the terminal’s platform. 

Aside from the pilot, there are three more soldiers. Two are waiting in the craft itself; another waits on the ground, hands planted firmly on each hip. 

He must be who Sayber and the second, nameless Clone now walking beside you report to, judging by the stance and differences in his armor. On his helmet, you see stylized wings painted above a black visor guard, framing the visor itself. Two ‘capes’ of flexible armor hung from his utility belt, swaying in the downdraft of the ship just behind him, and the left shoulder armor has an antenna of some kind. 

If you had to guess his rank, he’s either a captain or commander. “That didn’t take long at all.” he calls to his soldiers, tone neither impressed or surprised. “Have you and Naran verified she’s who we were sent to retrieve?”

“Yes, Commander Thorn. She matches the descriptions we were given.” Sayber, the trooper on your right, replies confidently. 

All the same, he and Naran show their superior the datapad, allowing him to look at the information for himself. Confirmed with the commander, you’re given the go-ahead to board. Naran and Sayber board first, one securing your luggage while the other helps you into the gunship. 

As soon as you’re aboard, the commander orders the blast shields closed. The sound of which makes you wince, but being so on-edge, you’re grateful for the feeling of extra security it brings soon after. As you’re being shown an overhead handrail to use in case the inertial compensator isn’t enough to keep you from being wobblier than a newborn bantha, you’re advised not to lock your knees once the military repulsorcraft takes off. 

“Flight shouldn’t be too long, but, because even the most routine escorts have surprises we have to ask: do you get airsick, ma’am?” Having met them just a short time ago, you can’t yet tell Naran and Sayber apart, but you’re pretty sure this is Naran who’s rooting through the on-board medical kit for something. 

“O-oh, I-”

Your hesitation and the commander’s interruption is enough for one of them to toss an airsick bag your way, just in case. “Nothing routine about this escort, boys. We’re gonna be wrapped in red tape for a while, so we should start getting used to it.” The pilot is signaled to take off from the spaceport and begin making his way to a coded location a few moments later. 

The word ‘escort’ is nothing unfamiliar to you, having gone through this song and dance one of the last times you came to support Aspen’s senatorial workings. But red tape creates enough dread to ice over your veins before it begins pooling hot and sour in your guts. 

“C-can I ask what’s going on now?” 

What’s happened that’s made all of this a necessity?

Naran, remembering the promise he made back at the terminal, begins to carefully explain the situation with a slight halt in his voice. Each word is chosen carefully, like perhaps he’s unsure just how much he can say, or how you might react. 

“Someone—we’re not sure who—tried to end your friend Senator Aspen’s life shortly before you got to Coruscant… They’re shaken, but ultimately unharmed. We were asked to bring you to the same secure location by one of the other commanders.” 

The remainder of your flight aboard the gunship goes by without another word. The troopers know this is difficult information to process, and you can’t think of a single thing to say about any of it. It’s hard to be afforded a moment of silence to reflect on any of this with the guttural drone of the engine eating up any sound below a stage whisper, but the soldiers around you do their best. It’s a small act of kindness to you. 

Until you step off the gunship, this will be your last opportunity to have any kind of time to yourself before you’ll be so caught up in red tape you would practically be wearing the stuff.

Upon arrival, Sayber and Naran once again wrangle your luggage for you to speed up the process of disembarking. 

The less hindrances you had the better. You needed to see Aspen. And Aspen needed to see you. Having a friendly face by your side made confronting calamity a little more bearable, someone wise once told you. (Or, maybe you read that somewhere on the holonet…) In this state of heightened adrenaline, thoughts become muddled and disjointed as Commander Thorn ushers you past several armed security guards down a long hall. 

You can only imagine your friend will be in a far worse state. 

“Senator Aspen is in here,” Commander Thorn explains, stopping in front of a modified blastdoor. “The two of you will be kept here until a security detail has been finalized.”

“That’s fine… Thank you, Commander Thorn.”

Commander Thorn wastes no time, waving you in ahead of him once he’s completed keying in the clearance code. Inside, you find your friend crumpled into a low multi-seater, face in their hands as the person seated on the other end of the couch appears to be explaining something either to them, or to the other armed guards posted in the corners of the panic room.  

From the armor kit, you know the man is another Clone like Sayber, Naran and Commander Thorn with a singular glance. But you’re less concerned with who he is right at this moment, never having been more relieved to see your friend than you are right now. 

“Once she’s here, I would like everyone to-”

“Aspen!”

The other Clone immediately falls silent as Aspen gets on their feet in a flash, all but vaulting over the caf-table in order to meet you half-way. Mutually crushing the air out of the other’s lungs in the strength of your embrace, neither of you can properly express just how grateful you are to see the other. Jumbled, rapid words give way to tears seeping into one another’s shoulders before long, so occupied with comforting each other that no attention is paid to the troopers being swapped out with Naran and Sayber once they have brought in your belongings. 

In a tight, choked voice your friend begins apologizing to you once they’re calm enough to speak. “I’m so sorry that we had to meet like… like this… but it’s so, so good to see you.” Pulling away, you get a better look at their face for the first time and your heart clenches painfully. They look so scared. So deeply shaken. Yet here they are, apologizing to you for something that’s hardly their fault. 

“Had to be the longest hour of my life, waiting here with the Commander for you to get to Coruscant…” Aspen continues, taking your hand to guide you to sit beside them on the multi-seater where it would be more comfortable than standing. “I wanted to talk to you. So badly. Just to hear your voice and find a little solace after- After everything.”

“I’m guessing you couldn’t?”

Your friend shakes their head no. “Not exactly. We weren’t sure if it would be safe to. I’m sor-”

It’s you who shakes their head this time before explaining why a second apology is not necessary. “Hey. I understand. The important thing was trying to keep you safe after you were almost… hurt. Or worse.” The simple fact your friend was unharmed—still living and breathing in front of you—was an incredible blessing.

“Your friend sounds like a smart woman, Senator Aspen.” 

Reminded of his presence after you’ve been paid a compliment, your friend quickly begins the process of trying to compose themself in order to begin proper introductions. “Y-yes, she very much is… Commander, this is my very dear friend I was trying to tell you about earlier when explaining who your men needed to find.” The second Commander nods in polite greeting, refraining from saying anything until introductions have been finished. 

“And this, my dear friend,” Aspen says in a well-practiced this-is-important tone of voice, “is Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. I believe he’s been tasked with security after what nearly happened.”

At this point, Commander Fox has gotten to his feet and taken a look at something on Commander Thorn’s datapad before consulting his own. “That would be correct, Senator.” Holding himself with purpose, this second commander standing beside Thorn differs from him in more ways than just the color-inversion of his chest armor, and the additional Corrie Crimson on his armor alone. “I am here by order of the Chancellor to create a strong security detail for you, and your friend, in light of the attempt on your life almost an hour ago.” His voice, while not too different from the Clones you’ve met today thus far, had strong tonal qualities of duty and seriousness that commanded a great deal of attention from everyone in the room. 

You’ll ask about “that” detail in just a moment. Right now, you’re more surprised there’s no fear or unease when he says he’s here to enact the Chancellor’s will. This comes naturally to him.

“Sorry, I just want to make sure I heard you correctly: you said by order of the Chancellor?”

Nodding stiffly, Commander Fox confirms his orders. “Yes ma’am. As the Marshal Commander, I’ve been asked by Chancellor Palpatine to personally ensure your safety at all times until it is no longer deemed necessary. While he understands the upcoming gala expects to see many high-profile guests, he was rather disturbed to hear what had nearly happened to Senator Aspen, and insisted upon a constant security presence.” 

“I may or may not have tried politely refusing the Chancellor’s offer.” Aspen explains to you, chuckling somewhat shamefully. “And he was right to insist upon my refusal; it was fifteen minutes after the attack and I certainly wasn’t thinking clearly… I… Well, I think Commander Fox or Thorn has the pictures.” 

Nodding less stiffly than before, Commander Fox takes one of the datapads and shows you a collection of the holo-stills and frames taken from nearby security feeds of the destruction left by the attack. While you look at the horrible state of Aspen’s senatorial office, the main window broken with thick shards of transparisteel strewn across the floor, your friend explains that they managed to escape the attack unharmed by sheer, dumb luck. 

“I survived because I tripped, if you can believe it.” 

Blaster marks have burned the back of Aspen’s chair and several spots in the floor. The main desk, made from a much heavier, more-solid material, is riddled with blaster burn in comparison. While you’re not an expert by any means, the window pane’s shatter pattern suggests that the weapon used by the would-be assassin was likely high-powered, or of uncommon caliber. 

“It was just a split second before the first shot. After that, I hid in front of the desk as best as I could until members of the Coruscant Guard showed up. All that Corrie Crimson surging into my office must have scared them off because the firing stopped almost as soon as the Guard got there.”

Dumb luck. Dumb luck saved your friend before the Corries came to protect them. 

Facing the whole emotional gamut as you view these stills, Commander Fox puts the datapad away the very second you cannot stand to see more, shaking your head no, no, no. 

Outrage and disgust blooms in your chest, acidic and bitter-hot. You had too many questions to ask all at once. Crime scene analysts had cordoned off Aspen’s office, currently combing over everything for the most minute of clues. Would they be able to figure out who could have possibly wanted to kill your friend? Did anyone see who it was before they got away?

What was the motivation?

Uncertain of the answers to the other questions, Aspen could only offer partial answers as to ‘why’ someone might have tried to kill them with much hand-wringing. 

On one of the planets the Republic has been hoping to change the neutrality status of, there had been a riot almost a month ago now that’s still so tightly wrapped up in red tape largely in efforts to keep details away from the press while investigations are still on-going. Because of that, Aspen can’t say who they believe started the riot, or for what reason. But they can tell you that several Clones were nearly beaten to death as a result, and the rioters responsible have been charged with destruction of government property for the time being. 

Aspen was spearheading an effort to re-file those charges under a different crime that they believe more accurately reflects the rioters’ intentions that day. Attempted murder. While the effort has seen a lot of support in the Chambers, there are a fair number of senators still dragging their feet on making a decision. 

A small handful of influential senators have had a far less positive reception to this effort the longer Aspen has encouraged these changes. Matters that were becoming complicated when some of them were beginning to react in ways that suggested hostility have now become even more complicated with the introduction of a botched assassination. 

Planning for the gala has gotten a whole lot more complicated as well. If it’s even going to happen at all…

“Did the Chancellor say anything about cancelling the gala at the end of the week?”

“Too many high-profile guests coming from across the galaxy to change anything at this point, I imagine. Some of them have been making preparations for half a year, or more.” Aspen explains, fruitlessly massaging their temples over the thought of it. “Great galaxies, I do not envy whoever is in charge of organizing security for that mess…” 

Commander Thorn politely clears his throat. “Will likely be me, now that Commander Fox is overseeing your security, Senator.” He quickly adds, “Or, it could be Commander Thire. We’ll get it sorted.” after sharing a fleeting glance with his fellow commander. 

Aspen winces sympathetically. 

“I’m so sorry…” 

“Don’t be, Senator.” Commander Thorn says. When he speaks again, his voice is a little softer than before, careful sympathy lacing every spoken word. “We’re sorry that your plans to get ready for the gala are going to have to be changed.”  

“How soon will that be?” Aspen wonders.

“Once Commander Fox has your security detail finalized.” 

Your friend makes a low sound in their throat, smiling grimly. “Very soon then, I imagine… May I ask what we can expect, Commander Fox?” 

In a calm and deliberate voice, Commander Fox explains that as investigations are being conducted, he and other members of the Guard are going to be accompanying the two of you everywhere leading up to the gala. They’ll be your security as well as your escort force; you’re going to be spending a lot of time under their watchful eyes and ready hands.

So if there are any reservations, now is the time to say something. 

You look to your friend and make a quiet offer after considering the Commander’s words. “You’re the one who invited me here, so I’ll follow your lead, Aspen.” You’ve known each other long enough to trust their judgement. If it was decided it would be safest for you to go home, then you would take a rain check on this visit and come back to Coruscant another time. 

While you’re prepared not to create more trouble for everyone, Aspen’s selfless nature rears its sweet head even in the wake of an attack. Turning to Commander Fox, who stands straight-backed as he is patiently awaiting a verdict before the two of you, your friend asks one final question of him. 

“I know plans will change, but will the security detail mean I can still help my friend prepare for the gala, Commander?”

Commander Fox takes less than a moment to think before deciding that would be a reasonable use of the service. “If that’s what you wish, Senator.” He nods politely not only to Aspen, but to you as well, you notice. A small gesture of professionalism, as well as respect. 

“Then we accept.” Aspen says, sealing your shared fate for the rest of the week leading up to the gala.

Though the two of you have only just met, the feeling that you’ll come to like this man has already begun to spark.

From the moment Commander Fox put the security detail into action, you decided for yourself that you would make the most of this situation and make conscientious efforts to get to know everyone making up this task force better going forward. Not only would it be polite, but it would make it easier to remain in close-quarters with these men for a long period of time when they were no longer strangers. 

The full team consisted of two parts: Clones who had been hand-picked to be stationed with Commander Fox full-time, and those who would be rotating through the force on an as-needed basis. That meant there would likely be more than a few soldiers you would get to know very well by the end of the team’s lifespan. 

Maybe even become friends. 

Already, you and your friend were making great progress getting to know Naran and Sayber in particular. These two soldiers—who were part of the permanent assignment—are not merely patrol partners like you had initially assumed when you first met them. They explained they were batchmates, meaning they had been created and trained together at the same time on the world known as Kamino, out in Wild Space. 

Naran and Sayber completed their training six months ago; stationed on Coruscant for five. It explains why their armor looks so new, and why the paint lacks much chipping, fading or transferring. They’re young, and have only begun breaking it in. There’s a term Clones like to use that pretty much means the same thing as “rookie”. 

“We’re not exactly a couple of ‘Shinies’ anymore, but we’re still fairly inexperienced compared to other brothers in the Guard… I’m not exactly sure why Commander Fox assigned us permanently.” Sayber confesses to you in a moment of quiet. 

Commanders Fox and Thorn are busy, following protocol to secure the room where you and Aspen will be sleeping; the batchmates are supposed to be focused on keeping their eyes on the two of you in the meantime, but Sayber’s curiosity is stronger than his worry over being “caught” bothering you by his superiors. 

Something that Naran quietly fumes with frustration about. (“You’re going to get yourself in trouble, di’kut…”) He much prefers to stay on task and engage only when addressed. It might take more time before he opens up to the two of you compared to his brother and patrol partner, who happily does more than enough talking for the two of them. 

You can expect to meet more of the Guard starting tomorrow; the rest of the day will likely be focused on getting the two of you settled in before any of the pre-gala preparations and errands can be conducted. Some will have to be done separately. Others can be done together, such as the shopping for a dress (on Aspen’s insistence), given that they are performed during set hours. 

And they will always involve an escort of no less than two troopers. 

You will not be permitted to wander around Coruscant, alone, at any given time. 

“Dammit. Sounds like getting some Hyellian musical noodles around two in the morning is out of the question, then.” you remark softly in jest during the first review of the safety plan once the Commanders have completed their protocol, shrugging animatedly in an oh well fashion. Won’t be the end of the galaxy. 

His review disrupted, Commander Fox’s dark T-shaped visor lifts from the screen and fixes itself upon you, quietly regarding you over the top of the datapad in his free hand. 

The thought that you just karked up strikes you in an instant. 

Thinking you’re being serious, Fox speaks seriously in turn. “I was unaware this was something I needed to account for. Forgive me, ma’am.” Your hammering heart skips a beat rather uncomfortably as he begins to pull up the keyboard on the device’s HUD, and your face grows hot with embarrassment. 

“No, I-! I was only making a joke. I’m sorry, Commander, I shouldn’t have.” 

Asking him to accommodate a silly little tradition of yours every time you made the trip to Triple Zero would create more work for everyone. Taking unnecessary risks. It would be selfish. 

Fortunately, you won’t have to worry about making fewer jokes just because Commander Fox has a stronger no-nonsense personality than you might be accustomed to for very long. Members of his own Guard have a way of softening the tension to keep things from getting quite so abrasive. 

“Grizzer and I could always make that run for you, ma’am.” There to listen in on the review, the ARF trooper that was assigned to guard the perimeter of the ‘safe house’ by the name of Sergeant Hound drops the lead to the massiff in question after issuing a command word. “Su!” The quadrupedal reptilian settles on their hindquarters, long tongue lolling between dagger-sharp teeth. 

“It’ll help her earn a turbodog once this is all said and done. Tradition of ours, for the big jobs.” 

Maker: it will take some getting used to being called or considered part of a “big job” like this. 

After a long moment, you decide to accept. “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” Since he was kind enough to offer, you make sure to give Hound an especially grateful nod. 

Commander Fox adds the offer to the approved actions he’s compiled once the exchange has finished, and moves swiftly on. There has been a lot of ground covered, and he intends to cover more before someone will be sent to collect that night’s dinner order. It’s evident enough that he’s a serious and hard-working man. He would have to be, seeing as he’s the Marshal Commander appointed to lead the Coruscant Guard. so…

So it comes as little surprise that any offer or invitation for a breather, a single moment off his feet has been turned down time and time again as the afternoon bleeds into the evening. Even in the securest of spaces, Commander Fox turns down reprieve and refreshment with the same four words. 

“No thank you,” either followed by Senator or ma’am. 

Your kindness refuses to falter in the face of his stoicism, but you’re smart enough to recognize when to let it go at the same time. 

“Okay. May I offer it to Naran and Sayber instead, then?”

Dinner had been sourced from 79’s in the entertainment district; largely finger foods made in outrageous portion sizes, meant to be shared between large groups. Aspen had ordered a slider for each of you, and a basket of protato wedges to share. There had been a slight mix-up, and the two of you ended up with a third slider and more than double the wedges that you could possibly hope to eat by yourselves. Trying to sort out the error was met with the offer to go ahead and keep the food as they were pretty slammed tonight. 

“If you wish, ma’am.” Fox replies, voice as politely disinterested as before. “I’m certain they won’t object.” 

True to form, the batchmates eagerly unseal their helmets before gratefully accepting the offered food, granted unspoken permission by their commander. It’s the first time you see any of the Clones’ faces since the start of all this unfortunate excitement. “Thank you, sir. And thank you ma’am!” Sayber exclaims. His broad grin brings out a dimple in the tanned left cheek, adding to how he looks far, far too young for this armor. 

He and Naran carry the food to the only other table in the room in order to eat, wasting no time in coming up with a way to halve the slider and wedges between them. While his men eat, Commander Fox discreetly consults the datapad he has clipped to the utility belt from which his dark kama hangs. What he’s reading is a mystery, but you could probably assume it had to do with either you, Aspen, or his shocktroopers. Maybe it was the safety plan and security detail for tomorrow. Maybe it was unrelated. 

Regardless, this seems to be the only sort of reprieve he allows himself. Once he’s finished, the tablet returns to the Commander’s hip and he reassumes position. 

His posture is meticulous, yet somehow almost elegant. Hands folded behind his back and chest high, the crimson commander does not budge so much as an inch from his post in the time it takes Naran and Sayber to put everything away. Only once they clean up and reseal their helmets will Commander Fox drop this extra rigidity. 

Fox’s earlier refusal now appears more purposeful than before when this time it is Naran who thanks you and his superior for the food. The shocktrooper’s words are met with a “Don’t mention it.” so softly spoken, it would be hard (but perhaps not impossible) to mistake it for a command. 

From this singular display of momentary tenderness, Fox has told you more about himself that he might realize: if you hope to have a better chance of befriending the commander, how his men are taken care of will likely be very important over the coming days.

Following that first night on Coruscant, you fell into a routine within a short couple of days. 

Waking up an hour (sometimes more) before Commander Fox arrived with the day’s security detail, you would quietly prepare for the day ahead of you just to have a small bit of time to yourself. Just you and Aspen. Together, you’d take this opportunity to have more intimate conversations without your second shadows in red and white armor present; to reflect on the days behind you.

And puzzle out a curious pattern beginning to develop… 

It was hardly surprising that there would be the most to say of Commander Fox out of all the Corries. You spent the most time with him. Not only was Fox the lynchpin to your collective safety, but the only time he was ever away from your side (save for using the ‘fresher) was to allow each of you to sleep for the night. 

He was by far the most reserved member of the Corries you’ve had the pleasure of meeting; the most aloof and strictly professional, all for good reason. Not only was he dealing with the Chancellor’s orders for a very serious situation, there was so much red tape for him to navigate through on a daily basis. It wouldn’t feel right to either of you to ask Commander Fox to behave in a more-friendly manner for the sake of protecting your own feelings. 

But more recently he was starting to become more warm with you, no longer just his soldiers. 

You’ve seen how he is with the younger soldiers in particular, like Naran and Sayber. Reminding them again and again to not tense their shoulders quite so much. Answering their many what-if questions. Encouraging the two of them to play a bit of holochess against you or the senator in his stead. 

Now Commander Fox was thanking you for your offers when turning down the invitation to take a short break or have something to eat. He was no longer passively listening to conversations you would have with the other Clones, but joining in on the rare occasion. You were no longer just ‘Senator Aspen’s friend’ or simply ‘ma’am’ when speaking of you, or being addressed. 

When Commander Fox began to use your name, that’s when things became a little more interesting. 

Aspen started to gently tease you after that, suspecting you were becoming somewhat charmed by the crimson commander. The gala was in two days. Your friend had promised to help you buy a formal dress here on Coruscant in order to save you luggage space. Neither of you certainly expected to have an audience, and Aspen wanted to make sure that you’d be okay with potentially being seen by Fox and a dozen or more Clones in a fancy dress or two.

Yes, the Guard was always, always very respectful of you both, but perhaps it might be a bit embarrassing. Or feel strange. Maybe you would feel self-conscious in front of Fox in particular… Something they promised was perfectly normal while you were busy getting ready together this morning as you waited for Fox and the Guard to arrive. 

“You’re saying that you think I have a crush on the commander?” 

You take a brief pause from tidying things on your side of the room, wondering whether or not you’d heard your friend correctly. Commander Fox was by and large what you might consider a “strong and silent” type of man, slow to let someone into their comfort zone, teasing the other person along inch by inch. Did Aspen really think that’s what was going on with you? That you were intrigued by some kind of thrilling mystery in interacting with someone like that?

“Well… Sort of.” Aspen admits with a soft laugh. “This kind of thing happens a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s Baby’s First Bodyguard, or you’re a seasoned professional when it comes to dealing with armed escorts. A lot of senators and diplomats tend to form some kind of feeling for the people who are there to protect them.”

You try to mask your doubt with a joking accusation. “Are you trying to feed me banthashit right now?” Is this truly as common as Aspen says it is, or are they trying to help you feel better in their typical selfless fashion? 

Sensing your doubt, Aspen promises they are telling the truth. “It really does happen all the time, sweetheart. It’s happened to me too! You know I wouldn’t lie about that. And you know I’m not going to judge you for feeling things for the commander, or possibly having a crush, either, right?” Before you can answer, you hear the sound of a distant LAAT/i, followed by several soldiers speaking at once. 

You’re going to have to wrap this up, quick. “Of course. I’ve known you for a long time, Aspen. I trust you.” They’ve always been a good friend to you; there’s never been a reason for doubt or distrust. 

Briskly getting up, Aspen helps you tidy and put away the last of your things not a moment too soon. Just as everything has been put away, Commander Fox makes himself known with four firm raps on the other side of the door. Here forty-five minutes exactly before the first of the boutiques is set to open, as discussed. 

The usual pleasantries are exchanged after Aspen has gone to answer the door. The ‘good morning’s and asking if the two of you slept well. Asking if there was anything either of you needed before joining the others back at the gunship and getting on your way. 

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you. Nice to see you, Commander.” 

Perhaps surprised by your choice of greeting, Commander Fox has a brief moment of pause before he’s able to reply. “You as well, ma’am. Very well. No need to inform our pilot of anything, then. We can be on our way.” Nearly positive you’re not imagining it, while still rather factual, there seems to be more warmth in Fox’s voice this morning. 

He’s still all-business, encouraging everyone not to waste any time getting to the gunship, but now his tone is less stern and terse compared to the days before. He almost sounds… friendlier. Maybe Fox just needed three days to thaw out before warming up to you. Could be that he’s in a good mood because his men are in a great one this morning, most of them comfortable enough around you by now to talk about last night’s boloball victory in whispers. 

Whatever the case may be, it makes you a little less nervous about the prospect of going shopping with such a large security detail. 

Commander Fox’s brightened demeanor hardly changes for anything. 

Even Sayber can’t ruin it by forgetting his training and speaking out with excitement while you and Aspen steadily shop around the first of the formal boutiques for a suitable dress. His reason for doing so was more than forgivable: right around the time you began reaching for a gown in a sort of pomegranate red, the young shocktrooper cried out “HAH! Eat your heart out, Police Inspector Dan Tivo! I knew the Corries would find a lead in the investigation before him!”, much to the disturbance of the other patrons. 

There would be much apologizing to do—Sayber for breaking protocol and to the shop for causing any additional inconveniences—before this would start to become the point where things really began looking up. 

The red tape would not yet loosen itself from you, but with any luck it should soon begin to lift.

Whether you believed it was a curious coincidence or not, you decided to go with the red gown you had been reaching for around the time news broke of the lead in the investigation. By cleverly pairing it with a few ivory accessories, you curated an overall image that would come close to matching with much of the Coruscant Guard. 

This way, you could quietly sort of “mark” the time spent in their company in the week leading up the gala without outright wearing any one Clone’s personal markings, or the iconography that belonged to both the Guard and the Senate. 

You also can’t pretend it was no small relief to have so many of these big decisions taken care of so quickly, or all at the same shop in a busy fashion district. What had been planned to take nearly all day was completed in the span of less than two hours. 

And the next two days went by in a feverish blur with Commander Fox working harder than ever to truly make sure your security at the formal event would be nothing less than ironclad. 

His men even claimed he was aiming to be better than beskar: creating plans for every possible situation and even going so far as to form redundancies. Mapping out where and when you would arrive at the gala venue. Choosing who would be watching over you and Aspen separately, and who would be watching both of you. How he can continue to take care of your needs. Until the time comes and the suspect behind the botched killing has been caught, Commander Fox has sworn to remain at your service, no matter how trivial the request. 

Or how foolish you feel to ask. 

With hours to go and anxieties rising, there are times that involving him in the hustle-and-bustle process of getting dressed up becomes simply unavoidable. With every instance, your gratitude for this man only continues to grow stronger than before. 

Dropped an earring under the dresser and it’s too far for you to reach? Naran and Sayber will need to lend him a hand, lifting the furniture aside so he can search for it on his hands and knees.

Hands shaking too much, and the clasp on your necklace giving you trouble? He’ll help you put it on - he only asks that you hold your hair out of the way for him. 

Turning over the string of delicate Castilon pearls, you move to stand in front of the commander. The most straight-forward way to secure the necklace will be to turn your back to Fox and allow him to fit it from behind. “Thank you, Commander. I can’t seem to get my nerves under control at the moment...” you explain, grateful he won’t see the soft flush breaking across your face as his dexterous fingers latch and unlatch the tiny set of claw clasps with relative ease. 

In his voice you hear the very same tenderness he imparts to the youngest of his brothers as he softly encourages you to relax. By the time you take a deep breath and count to five ‘battleship’s, he’ll have this taken care of. You’re going to be just fine. Ordinarily you would be, were it not for the electric ripple in your skin every time you feel the smooth material of his raven-dark gloves brush against you. 

Understanding the tensing under each feather-light touch is only a reflex, the Marshal Commander casually remarks that you’ll be hard-pressed to find a senator, dignitary or diplomat that isn’t a bit on edge or nervous about the gala. Fox says it in hopes of it serving to soothe you, rather than make you more nervous. 

“There you are,” he concludes once he’s finished securing the three-strand necklace. You allow him to check the matching earrings to make certain they won’t come loose for good measure. “I admit I may not be the best man when it comes to these kinds of things, but I give it my best effort.” 

Fetching your ivory clutch, you can at last turn to thank him once Commander Fox reports the ivory accessories are both secure. “Thank you, Commander. Fortunately I’m not looking for the very best, only a bit of help. I would say that it’s hardly a contest that you’ve been among the very best in providing an immense amount of help this week.” Your favorite pair of shocktroopers share in Aspen’s giggling amusement as Commander Fox maintains his professionalism rather than fully internalizing the compliment you’ve tried to pay him. 

“Thank you, ma’am: but I don’t believe I can take all the credit. My men have shown around-the-clock commitment to this assignment that I couldn’t be more proud of.” 

With a boisterous laugh, Sayber bravely advises his superior officer on what to say. “Now’s not the time to be all modest and humble, sir! No buts – just tell her thank you!” He’s close enough to still being considered a Shiny that Sayber can get away with speaking to a brother of higher ranking in a semi-teasing manner, and he knows it. 

Commander Fox knows it too. “You’re right, you’re right…” he relents, beginning to fix parts of his armor in a bid to stall for more time. Starting with the vambraces, he straightens them out like he’s adjusting a pair of cufflinks. “Thank you, ma’am. It is my hope that both you and Senator Aspen have felt nothing less than complete assurance in the security force I have tirelessly maintained.”

Finding it satisfactory, Sayber quickly concludes with “That’s better, sir!” after you and your friend confirm there have been no concerns in your armed escorts at any given point. 

There isn’t much time you can afford to waste, having to take alternative transport that would be kinder on any formalwear than a gunship. While helping you board the other transport, Naran politely comments on the care you’ve put into your appearance for tonight and offers his hope that you have a nice time. Doing so now just in case he doesn’t get a chance later. The same sentiment is then offered to Aspen as they are helped aboard after you. 

Fuck. You’re really gonna miss these guys when all of this is over. 

You’ll miss Naran and Sayber’s playful bickering, the way they shout “Ulyc, di’kut!” at each other when the other does something foolish. You’ll miss the pilots who have flown you over the more beautiful parts of the upper-city when there’s been time to kill; like Umate and Monument Plaza, even some of your old haunts from before. 

Miss the games of fetch with Grizzer to reward her for a good job, the meals that have been shared, and the stories of how these boys got their names. 

But most of all, you’ll miss the crimson commander.

It didn’t matter that he was rather aloof and distant. How he kept things almost strictly business. That he’s never once taken off his helmet in front of you. Only ever nodding, never showing you if his smile dimpled his left cheek like most of his brothers. Or that he never told you how he came by “Fox” for his name. Whether it had been one he claimed, or something he earned. 

Because that wouldn’t be what you’d miss Commander Fox for. 

You’d miss him for never drawing more attention to himself than he had to, shying from such spotlights in the interest of giving them to his brothers instead. Miss him for the unwavering politeness he’s had for you, treating you no differently than he would for another galactic senator, or even the Chancellor. 

All this security, all this red, had been the most reassuring feeling you’ve had all week. And it won’t be easy to say goodbye, to any of it. 

Or to Commander Fox. 

Between the sound of spirited chatter, ceaseless pop-and-chop of photographers’ camera shutters and lively, swelling music, entering the formal venue before the official start of the celebration proves easily-overwhelming near-instantaneously. 

Getting here early offers you time to acclimate. Elation and excitement should eventually find you, but there will be time to find somewhere to cool off, if necessary. It also serves as a chance for the Chancellor to visit with Aspen, hoping to speak and hear how they’ve been since Commander Fox had been appointed for protection, as well as to ask about his performance. 

The visit is kept brief, but your friend stresses the shared satisfaction you have in all Fox—and the rest of the Guard for that matter—has done for you before agreeing to speak more privately and at-length the following morning. The Chancellor is not here to detract from the hopeful enjoyment of the occasion for either of you; soon enough you are left free to enjoy the entertainment and pursue the available catering. 

It became apparent most of the music played tonight came from Naboo, much like the Chancellor - written by some of her people’s most respected and well-known composers. And much of the food was extravagant, tables showcasing what your own credits could never hope to see with plate after plate of hors d’oeuvres beyond your ability to even name. Same went for the drinks when you were unable to locate any cards or signage. 

The Commander quickly proves rather knowledgeable when you blindly select a sparkling crystal flute, scrutinizing the bubbling contents with a puzzling expression after it fails recognition by smell alone.  

“What’s this…?”

“Prized champagne provided by Pantora, ma’am. It’s recently proved rather popular.” Fox explains, hands moving from carefully held at his side to folded neatly behind his back as he approaches closer to the table. 

“And what about the tall and skinny glass, or the one with a short stem and large bowl?”

An erroneously-named Mantell mixer in the highball glass, supplied from a different planet in the Mid Rim. The snifter is a robust brandy reportedly of Wayyl origin. Commander Fox can only tell you what he’s heard when it comes to if they are any good, refraining from making any kind of decision for you or presuming what you would like. There are other drinks reported to be stationed throughout the venue, if none of them appear to be to your liking. If you would prefer something non-alcoholic, he knows where the sparkling cider can be found. 

You decide you’ll be starting off safe with the cider, for the time being. Less decision fatigue than coming up with an unfamiliar, strong drink to try. He again helps with identifying the human-suitable foods for you and Aspen to sample. That’s when you realize Fox is utilizing sensors and scanners built into his ‘bucket’ rather than strictly being knowledgeable upon a sharp pause in his explanation. 

“The cured meat is supposed to pair best with… no, wait. Damn artificial intelligence pulled up a recipe blog.” 

And rather than pressuring you to engage every instance, Aspen encourages you to go explore the venue instead of listening to them catch up with many of their fellow senators. Knowing who you’ll likely prefer for company (but might be too bashful to openly say), they give you their “blessing” to take Fox as your escort in the meantime. 

“Why don’t you go exploring for a while, dear friend? Just so I don’t bore you; I promise I’ll let you know if Senator Amidala or Chuchi are able to stop by before I catch up with you so you can decide if you want to say hello. I’ll ask Naran and Sayber to stay with me in the meantime. Perhaps the Marshal Commander can go with you… If he doesn’t mind?” 

The commander offers a cordial nod prior to replying. “Not at all, Senator Aspen.” He would be happy to, in fact. And though he will not be leading you, Fox is even offering to take you by the arm. 

You can attribute it to his work ethic and find it applicable etiquette for such a grand event. Considering there is both a chivalrous and protective tone to such a gesture, this is not a measure of control through the imbalance of a power dynamic. He is not here to dictate where you are permitted to go. 

Simply put, he’s here with no other intentions but to accompany you no matter where you go, and to comment as necessary as he listens to whatever you have to say. So when Commander Fox finds you quiet after some time, he surprises you by asking what’s on your mind. 

“Thought you would be making a small amount of commentary, ma’am. Something weighing on your thoughts?” 

Blinking in surprise, you chew over the thought of how honest you should be. “Well… there is something.” Unable to see through that impassible visor and faceplate, the hope of seeing this particular Clone’s face flickers anew. 

“S-someone…” comes the clarification. 

“Senator Aspen?” 

It’s less of a risk for him to hazard this guess, but it doesn’t make the mark. 

“No. No, not my friend.” 

After a pregnant pause, you confess that it’s him that weighs on your thoughts when he does not ask. “I can’t… I can’t get you out of my mind.” Your reasons are innumerable, and strange even to yourself. You’re not sure what explanation you can give Commander Fox that would likely not be found comforting, innocent or even sane. 

So you expect him to politely pull away. To put up walls of professionalism stronger than before. To kindly but firmly establish some boundaries. (Hell: it would hurt, but you could understand if he didn’t do it so kindly.) If you were slowly stoking the fires to a potential friendship, you might’ve just gone and done the one thing to completely stomp it out. 

And by hearing yourself say it, it sounds far more romantic than you might have intended it to. “Wait, sorry- I… I meant that very generally.” Attempting to clarify this now feels like a weak excuse to cover up that you’re backpedaling, but it’ll keep you up at night far longer if you don’t at least try. 

Commander Fox, surprisingly, does not suggest he is the least bit perturbed. Not by your admission. Not by your apology. Not even by the way you try to create distance from him yourself and begin to anxiously attempt to pull your arm free. 

An earnest “I believe you.” is all that is needed to stop you in your tracks. The gala, now well in full-swing, feels as though it is slowing down around the two of you as you feel very foolish – just staring at the red-armored commander. “I know what that sounded like. But I believe you.” he continues, now with insistence. 

“You-? You do?”

Starting with the soft use of your name, he again promises that he does - even going on to say why. 

“I’ve spent all week watching how you treat and interact with my brothers. Hearing how you speak to my men. And you’re always kind. You make honest efforts to remember their names and have a friendly word to say. Always expressing appropriate gratitude. All of it shows that you care about them, that you’re a good person.

“And good people are often honest people.” 

The work Commander Fox does for the Chancellor, the Senate, all of Coruscant… it’s thankless. What work he is thanked for is done with insincerity, often disingenuous and callous and empty. Senators like Aspen are a rarity. Ordinary people, people like you, are the most likely to thank him for his work outside of his bonds within the GAR. 

But you’re different even among ordinary people. You have truly meant your thanks each and every time he’s done what’s been asked of him. And you wouldn’t yet know it, but it has led to Commander Fox becoming so hopelessly wrapped around your little finger in the reddest thread in hopes of tasting such genuine kindness. Such a response couldn’t be conditioned or trained out of him. 

He may be a Clone, but he was not a perfect copy. Not of Jango Fett. Not of any of his brothers. It was part of that Factor H as described by Fett more than a decade ago to the Kaminoan cloners, likely before the commander’s own creation. 

‘H’ for ‘Human’. And humans… they have a base, instinctual need for forming connections with the people around them. It’s why isolation proves so detrimental. As a soldier, it was an unspoken expectation to simply not acknowledge those kinds of consequences to his formative years. 

Created in a high-tech petri dish. Decanted from a tube. Together forged by fire with a living sea of brothers. Getting planted on the singular-most crowded planet in this entire kriffing galaxy, where his failure to protect the heart of the Republic meant having to listen to more reports of dying vode. 

But tonight, he’s here, thinking of asking to dance in all of his blood-red armor with one of the most beautiful women at the gala. Having lost a complete sense of elapsing time, the two of you had been standing just on the inside to a respectably-sized dance floor when the venue appeared to be cueing up for either the first, or another of the largest shared dances. 

There’s no time to be coy about asking if you want to join your friend waiting off to the side, now that they and his shocktroopers have found the two of you. It appeared Aspen intended to have joined you, but it was now too late to step into the designated floorspace. There would still be time to step out. 

“Would you like to join your friend?” Fox politely offers. 

Historically, you and Aspen had platonically partaken in these duo-dances together owing to your closeness and long-stand friendship. Usually at some point during the night if Aspen was preoccupied with other senatorial attendees, but often at the first available opportunity. Dare you ask for another of their blessings to break a long-standing tradition?

“Aspen, I think I-”

“Go. There’ll be other dances!” Aspen urges, interrupting. They’re smiling, a promising sign you had worried for nothing. 

Hopeful, Commander Fox extends his hand out to you. A quiet offering. An implied invitation. If you’re going to accept, it has to be soon. “Another dance, then.” you promise to your friend, carefully trading off items like the ivory clutch in order to free up your hands. 

Naran suggests a crucial change before you can take the commander’s outstretched hand and join him further into the showfloor. 

“Sir! Your helmet!” 

“Right, right.”

This song with a famously long lead-in allows for the ordinarily simple unsealing and removal of the commander’s headgear to transform into something a bit more preformative, if rather hurried. With a polite doffing befitting of the high-class nature of the event, Fox removes the recently-polished helmet and allows you to see his face for the very first time since meeting earlier that week. It is then directly taken by Naran away from the dance floor, surrendered to his care and subsequently forgotten not long after. 

Following Fox, he leads you slightly deeper into the dancing crowd with a rhetorical “Shall we, ma’am?” where the two of you assume the appropriate starting position just before the lead-in concludes, and the dance number finally commences.

As a ballroom piece common to the Core Worlds, you’re given more than enough time to study the charming face of your dance partner as the two of you step through the poised and elegant choreography. 

While there is perhaps some truth to the erroneous adage “If you see one Clone’s face, you’ve seen them all!”, you are wholly committed to determining what little traits set him apart from his brothers while you have the chance. And kindly, the commander allows you to do so, encourages you to do so. 

“Do I look like you imagined?”

Mostly yes. But also, no. 

While he had the same round ala to his nose, there was faint scarring across the bridge you hadn’t yet seen in any of his brothers. (You would find others; one cutting into the arch of his right brow, and a freshly-pinked nick that tucked under his jaw on the left.) Fox’s eyes were the same, soulful brown; with an additional intensity that was hard to completely identify. A soft five-o-clock shadow along his jaw, now that you hadn’t expected. Or the touches of gray blending out in the dark waves and tight curls of his hair. 

You admit you’re starting to wish he’d taken off his helmet sooner, even though he was only doing his job… A long-suffering job that allowed you to even be here to begin with. If it wasn’t for him, your long visit home just to see Aspen would never have happened. Not the way it did. Without him, without the Guard, your friend would have asked you to take the first shuttle returning to your new home. 

You can’t even begin to fathom how you could possibly thank him enough for everything they’ve done to protect Aspen and get you to this point. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Fox pledges, both his voice and his smile tender. The dimpling in his left cheek is the most pronounced amongst any of the Guardsmen. A golden warmth that softens the watchful depths in his eyes. All of it brightens your heart with euphoria, pulse already keeping time to the soaring peaks of the strings’ music. 

When the song calls for those assuming the position of the dance’s “gentlemen” to pull their partner close, the Marshal Commander fits you so perfectly against his armor in order to make himself heard. 

His voice becomes softer—fonder—in the delicate shell of your ear. 

“But I know you’ll probably try...”

As the music begins the winding-down, Fox’s vambrace begins to squeal - an abrupt, demanding tone disrupting the pleasant, vulnerable moment between you. Needing to answer it, you assist him by depressing the instructed buttons after lowering the volume per his instructions. 

“CC-4477 to Commander Fox! We have the suspect behind Senator Aspen’s attempted assassination in our custody!” 

Fox does not reply right away, but rather he eyes the open comlink with a degree of great pride. But there is also great reluctance. After everything you’ve told him, after everything he’s told you, the long-shot he’s taken in asking to dance with you amidst all this formality and decorum, he has to leave now?

“Well done, Thire. Tell Commander Thorn-”

No. 

No, maybe just this once, he can get away with not answering a summons instantaneously. His duty may be to the Republic, but man of his honor his duty is also still to you. As of now, he is still charged with protecting you and the senator. It becomes socially acceptable to leave the gala without staining one’s reputation fifteen minutes from now, after these large, shared dances. His men can handle the suspect until then. 

Fox will not allow your standing to suffer now simply because of him. 

“Sir?”

“Tell Thorn I’m still wrapped up pretty tight here. Might take fifteen minutes to disentangle her and Senator Aspen from the gala. Maybe more.” Fox’s focused expression changes to one of warmth when the word “her” parts his lips, while his voice retains its authoritative tone. 

There’s a long silence on the other end of the comm before Thire comes up with a reply. 

“Understood, Commander. Thire out.”

Breathless and head light, you’re reeling with relief and elation that they’ve captured their suspect. This is the beginning of the end of Aspen’s nightmare. Your nightmare. But where there is joy, there too comes sorrow, knowing your time in Commander Fox’s company is coming to an end. Maybe not tonight, maybe not in the morning. But soon enough, you will part ways and return to your regular lives…

“I can’t believe they got the guy… Thank the stars, it’s finally over. If we need to leave so you can-”

“No, mesh’la,” Commander Fox interrupts you before his voice turns almost pleading. The song may now be over, but there is still music that can be danced to. Still time that he can spend with you. “Let me be a selfish man for once… Fifteen minutes is all I ask.”

Maybe fifteen minutes… can be a good place to start. 

Everything will still be there after fifteen minutes. The suspect, his men, the senator… but the clock will start to run out with you after fifteen minutes. And he’s not ready for that. 

“Okay. Fifteen minutes. We’ll… work out what comes after that.” 

When you’ve spent most of your service dealing with red tape, it’s going to take more than fifteen minutes to unwrap all of it. 

So you’ll make those minutes a very good place to start…

Thank you for making a request for my 200 follower event, Pina! Ended up longer than I initially anticipated even after everything I cut out of it, but I hope you enjoyed it! I apologize for the unexpected delays, so I hope this was well worth the extra time it took me to write it in order for you to read it! And in case anyone is curious why I chose the name "Aspen" for the name of our senator friend here, I took inspiration from the Greek word for shield, 'aspis'. I thought it felt fitting for a story focused around Fox working hard to protect even a complete stranger, being the dutiful and brave man he is. ���️

Taglist: @callsign-denmark @dreamie411 @dystopicjumpsuit

@dukeoftheblackstar @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636

[Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: CLOSED]

[oldshowbiz]

A psychedelic illustration of Lorne Michaels from 1971.

[shamlesspandanerd]

[dustykneed]

mckirk sharing a drink or mckirk/spones piggy back ride. Really love your art style

part 1/2 (will rb once i'm done w the other prompt :D)

anon your taste in these is superb lol !! just had to highlight the huuuge difference in dynamic between mckirk (ft jim "all the bridge crew and at least 2/3 of the ensigns have seen me cry, flirt at my coworkers or come back with absolutely no shirt and i experience no embarrassment or discomfort about this whatsoever" kirk) and spones (ft "if even ONE of my med interns sees me even remotely injured i have FAILED MY DUTY AS CMO and i will Die from Embarrassment and may also murder one jim kirk for giggling" bones mccoy

[splooosh]

Society of Justice

Don Kramer - Keith Champagne

[infinityinc4ever]

The Seventies JSA (with Super Squad!)

[whynot-animations]

Justice League vs. the Fatal Five (2019)

[wanderingmind867]

I had one last poll idea here. So here's me continuing with all of my comics polls:

[skybson]

3x16 - The Mark of Gideon

[collectorcookie]

I need to rant about Izumi as a character a bit because i always see him get misunterpreted. A lot. All of the time.

There's obviously the whole kidnapping makoto thing, which, don't get me wrong, is extremely messed up. But that causes almost everyone to think of him as only a psycho yandere and?? I disagree?

The izumi we see in the main storyline in !-era is an izumi that has already lost makoto, his innocent beloved childhoid friend once. And he blames himself for not having been able to protect makoto in the past from the modeling industry.

And then after he gets separated from makoto, the whole yumenosaki war thing happens where he meets leo. And he fails to protect leo as well. And leo was like, A WHOLE KING in yumenosaki, a natural born genius. But even leo got destroyed by eichi. And he blames himself for that as well.

So what happens when not only does he see makoto (whom he sees as very vulnerable) again, but he sees makoto trying to go against The Eichi Tenshouin, the one who started the whole yumenosaki war thing? The eichi who already destroyed the extremely powerful leo? He's ridiculously terrified of losing a loved one a second time and what eichi could do to makoto.

Only later when yumenosaki academy and knights as a unit stabilize a bit does he realize that what he did was not protecting, but further hurting makoto.

But i just don't agree with the entire fanbase being like "Look at how this character behaves after losing his childhood friend, seeing his fellow highschool students kill themselves in masses, seeing another loved one disappearing, and seeing his precious childhood friend go against the insane guy that caused the mass suicide in the first place. Not to mention he's a temporary unit leader of a unit that is immensely struggling even though that was never supposed to be his job in the first place. Clearly this is who he inherently is as a person and not a result of all the pressure on him"

Again none of this justifies the kidnapping but...please consider that the kidnapping isn't the only thing about him and thank you <3

[dailyjsa]

JSA All-Stars v1 #1

Writer: Geoff Johns and David S. Goyer

Artist: Sal Velluto

Inker: Bob Almond

Colors: John Kalisz

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hey, Frost! Congratulations on reaching 200 followers!!

This is Carol (@clonethirstingisreal), just asking on anon rather than my main account.

For my request, I was wondering about a fic focusing on Hunter & Omega with a father & daughter vibe (or just siblings is fine too.) I really don't have anything specific in mind. It could be after everyone (including Tech) is living safe on Pabu. Maybe Hunter comforting Omega about something...or vice versa. I don't know...sorry! If you need more to go on, let me know. I'm blanking...

Thanks!

New Night Routines [Hunter and Omega Family Fic]

Warnings and Information: Officially settling into island life after everything they’ve been through since the emergence of the Empire will take time, Hunter knows that. Patience is paramount in times like these, and the people of Pabu’s limitless generosity and neighborly nature make light work of helping all six members of Clone Force 99 lay down roots. Now, the biggest battle for him, his brothers, and Omega is getting a good night’s sleep.  TBB AU where everyone gets to live happily ever after. Reference and allusion to canon-typical injury and violence. Mainly fluff and feel-good family moments. Minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Limited Mando’a. Fictional sea creatures. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. 

Word count: 4,020

When the decision had been made to carve out a comfortable life for themselves at long last, Shep Hazard was all too happy to provide the Batch with a proper Pabuan house. He’d been insisting upon it for some time now, but the offer had always been turned down, saying the same thing each occasion.

“There’s still a lot to sort out. We need more time to come to a proper decision.”

They had the Empire to contend with. Brothers to help. Sowing the seeds of a growing rebellion.

So when the time finally came, Hunter was thrilled to take Shep up on the next offer. No more living on the run. No more sleeping and living out of the attack shuttle. They would have a safe roof to sleep under, and a steady supply of surf and sun to fill their days. The island community came together when news broke that they were here to stay, rolling up their sleeves to repay a multitude of favors from repairing Lower Pabu following the last sea surge. 

Without the whip-smart fishermen, rewiring the house would have taken Tech many long weeks of steady work in order to bring everything up to his standards on his own. 

Wrecker had the help of the community’s woodworkers in replacing anything suffering from wood rot and constructing newer, sturdier furniture. 

Artists pooled themselves together and slung paint in every room of the house under Crosshair’s watchful eye; by lunch every room had been given a base coat, and by dinner, detail-work began once it was agreed who slept where, giving those spaces tailored touches. 

Echo, though he would often be away assisting Captain Rex and the Clone rebellion, found ways to contribute to construction, incorporating hidden compartments and caches in their eventual living space for safekeeping their old armor and weaponry. 

Omega had grand plans to decorate not just the room she had all to herself, but the whole of the house all on her own if Hunter didn’t insist upon helping between his own odd jobs. The prospect of having more than just the barest of bare essentials, but now the ‘basics’ was entirely thrilling to Omega, and perhaps more than a little overwhelming at times for Hunter. 

There’s just so much… stuff.

Blankets and pillows had been small familiarities with the GAR, but patterned bedding and special linens? Decorative pillows? Was that all really necessary?

Maybe not to him, but making sure Omega felt like an equal contributor to putting together their home meant entertaining her enthusiasm in other ways when there were no tasks suitable for her to assist with. If there were heavy shelves to hang, Hunter helped her find the best baskets offered by the island’s artisans to use for storage. When the sturdier bed frames were carefully squeezed into the house, he went with Omega on a walk to collect the blankets that had been set aside for them by the many fibercraft artists. 

And every evening after dinner, Hunter promised to do whatever she wanted for an hour to reward her for being so patient throughout all of this. Occasionally, one hour often bled into two, sometimes three before both would be thoroughly worn out and ready to turn in for the night. 

Sometimes she wanted to sit under the weeping maya tree, gazing at the star-crusted indigo skies together. Other nights, Omega wanted to roam the Archium and proudly show off all she had learned from Phee, or Layana, or Tech about each of the valuable items stored here. They’ve crawled through several of the island’s coves in the growing twilight, collecting enough sea glass that Phee offered to find a jeweler who could turn the frosted fragments into beautiful sun-catchers for them. 

Enjoying this nightly routine with her, Hunter considered making this a weekly thing once the house had been finished, which wouldn’t be much longer now. While he and his vode were accustomed to sleeping in the Havoc Marauder during the Clone Wars, he was growing tired of it long term. 

Maker, he couldn’t wait to get into that house. 

As hard as it could be to accept, her brothers knew Omega wouldn’t stay little forever. She was a growing girl who needed more room to grow, to decide what kind of life to make for herself, to simply live. And a gunner’s mount was no place for any of that. 

Laying down roots on Pabu would be good for her. 

For all of them. 

After two weeks of continuous construction and regular after-dark adventures, the morning finally came that the Batch’s new house would be complete by lunch time. Perhaps even before, depending on how many members of this selfless community came together to help the vode furnish each room. 

Omega woke shortly before dawn, too excited to sleep, or think about trying. 

Hunter found himself roused from a comfortable slumber by a bright-eyed pre-teen, her pale, curly hair an adorably bedraggled mess as she gingerly shook his arm. 

“Hunter. Hunter!”

Crosshair, ever the light sleeper, began to stir in the bunk across from Hunter’s just as the other began to sit up and work feeling into his limbs. They had all promised her long ago that if she ever needed anything, and they meant anything, from one of them for any reason, she never had a reason to hesitate waking her brothers.

“What’s wrong?” 

Hunter tugged the blanket over the sniper’s head, chuckling warmly. “Go back to sleep, Cross. I’ve got it handled.” He didn’t even know what it was, but it didn’t matter. By nature of his engineering and training, Hunter had a life’s worth of experience in waking up suddenly and quickly. Alert in just a short time, he came up with something to do to let the others get as much sleep as they could while tugging on his boots. 

“Think we can find something new in our favorite tide pools that Tech hasn’t seen before?”

It should be enough to keep them occupied for an hour or two before joining the others in putting the finishing touches on the house. 

Omega nodded, enthusiastic and eager. 

“Atta girl.” 

Hunter ruffled her hair before sending her up to the cockpit to collect the beach bag Lyana had gifted her. This would give him more than enough time to shimmy out of the shirt he slept in and into something different. Once dressed, he rounded up a few more things around the Marauder he thought they might want - a drybag for when Omega inevitably wanted to splash her feet in the water, the datapad she used for her studies, and laid a change of clothing out for each of them at the foot of his bunk. Just in case. 

They met at the gangplank, Hunter keying in the appropriate sequence to lower the ramp. 

“All set, Havoc Five?”

Omega grinned, giddy and full of energy. “Ready, Havoc One!”

“Good,” Hunter returned the smile with one of his own. “Race you down to the water, then?” 

Scuttling down the ramp together, Omega tore off in a burst of gleeful giggles, Hunter close behind. 

Having been on the run for so long, living hand-to-mouth and facing peril after peril with the bravest of faces, Omega had begun laughing less and less. As their arrangement with Cid crawled to a boiling point, tempers flaring in the backroom of the Parlor, Bolo and Ketch found less and less success in making the adolescent laugh. After their treacherous ordeal on Ipsidon was met with complete apathy, it wasn’t much longer that the Batch parted ways with the Trandoshan without so much as a word. 

Phee selflessly sharing her safe haven had given Omega back her laugh. 

Pabu and the generosity of her people were giving Omega a chance at a normal life, with normal experiences. Making friends her own age exposed her to many new things. When Lyana and other girls their age invited her to her first sleepover, Tech helped her prepare for it the day before with research and reassurance. 

“If, in the event you miss us, just remember that you have Lula. She’s been with the team for a long time. She’ll help you be brave, Omega.” 

It wouldn’t be beloved tooka dolls alone that brought Omega her new-found bravery here in Pabu’s safe harbor. It would be her brothers, too. 

Patiently learning to act less like a team, and more like a family, they were navigating this new life together. Hunter would certainly never take this for granted after everything the Batch had been through to get to this point. 

Just as Omega claimed she was going to reach the beach first, Hunter would catch up in a burst of speed and swoop his sister into his arms. Both of them would reach the beach at the same time this way. The laughter shared between them felt good. Freeing. Racing down to the water without a care in the galaxy, still new and novel to each of them, would become a memory more valuable than any vault of credits he could ever imagine. 

He had wanted that kind of life, once. As a cadet, likely younger than Omega had been when they first met, the prospect of living lavishly with his rowdy band of brothers after the war had been among the grandest dreams. A distraction, really, from the growing pains that plagued him and the endless hours of rigorous training, testing and tweaking of his enhancements. 

Now, settling into an easy life from the Imperial forces that poisoned a predator with fear and slowly turned him into prey was his dream. A dream free of being faced with situations so dire and desperate he would be forced to gnaw off a part of himself to escape, or keep Omega safe. 

Safe to create new routines of poking about the deeper tide pools for shells and strange, quad-eyed crustaceans with her brothers, her family. 

“Look at this one!” 

Omega carefully plucks a large crab out of the saltwater pool, keeping her hands behind its largest claw. She holds it out to Hunter, showing it off like a trophy with the proudest of smiles that she could catch one. They were often lightning-fast, scuttling down to the surf in a flash. Crosshair had figured out how to catch them to make it less challenging for Tech to study them, but not without several pinched fingers, first. 

Once he’d mastered the technique, Cross taught it to Omega and encouraged her to show Hunter the next time he and Omega went down to the cove for their after-dark adventures. (Probably in hopes of scaring the hell out of Hunter, the little shit.) Crosshair had always been talented at finding ways to catch things that didn’t like being caught. It had been a useful pastime during the war. 

“Looks very nice.” Hunter said, verbally applauding her accomplishment. “Can you tell what it is, Megs?”

“This is a false flotsam crab!” she declared, indicating the lack of splinter-like spikes lining the smallest claw. 

Hunter had to stifle a chuckle over how much she sounded and acted like their bespectacled brother. After the sea surge, they had seen a lot of flotsam crabs and the pretenders in the wreckage of Lower Pabu. Upon identifying them, Tech declared both species were perfectly edible - though they would want more of the flotsam crabs than the false ones - and basketfuls of these crabs were collected. People may have lost their homes, but there would be enough food to prevent anyone from going hungry. 

It was like the sea’s way of apologizing. 

It was also the first time the Batch had seen the scale of Pabu’s generosity, and resilience. No wonder they had fled the Empire and come to Pabu; these were good people. Good people who were helping him give his sister a good life. 

Omega brought the false flotsam closer to her brother, holding it out to him.

“Do you want to hold it?” 

Hunter shook his head, smiling. “That’s okay. Maybe another time, Omega.” There would be plenty of chances to catch crabs in the future. Endless opportunities to splash in the cool coastal waters, and bask in the salt-laden breeze and island sun. 

Placing the cranky creature back in the water, Omega returns to the task of finding something new to show Tech before they return to the others, where together, they’ll make their house a proper home. 

When the sun has risen high enough, Omega leads the way to their new house, a large shell clutched tightly in her hands. Wearing her pack, Hunter follows behind, listening to her excited babbling of all the things she thinks her prize find could be. 

Found further down the beach by his sister, it had recently washed ashore, glimmering in the young sunlight of dawn the way Hunter had heard rumors of the appearance of kyber. Opalescent, clearer than ice. Some surfaces were smooth to the touch. Others, jagged and unpleasant. It was unlike anything the siblings had seen before. 

Omega called out their return the closer they were to the house. 

“Tech! Look what we found!” 

Hunter thought ‘we’ was being generous, but he did nothing to correct her. Tech, putting away his tools, takes the shell and examines it for all of ten seconds before announcing what they found. “Another glacial turban. That’s a rather remarkable specimen, Omega.” Omega pouts in disappointment to hear that they did not find something new, but it is soon forgotten as Tech spurs her youthful curiosity with a simple question. 

“Would you like to know what makes it so remarkable?”

“Yes!”

He asks her to wait there while he ducks inside a moment, collecting his datapad, most likely. When Tech returns, he has a second shell in hand rather than his trusty technology. “This is also a glacial turban.” he explains, kneeling beside her. Comparing the two together, he shows her how the first shell has far more opalescence and clarity than the other, and the color is stronger. 

Textbook perfect, he calls it. 

The others have crowded around to see, only opting to hold it once Omega says it’s okay. “S’beautiful, kid,” Wrecker says, carefully turning the turban over in his hands, “A real keeper!” Once he’s had a good look, the turban is passed to Echo, and the ARC trooper says the shell’s a real stunner. Crosshair says nothing, but the way he smiles as he studies the way the light warps and shifts on the surface explains more than enough. 

A teasing smile works its way free when Omega takes the shell back from him. 

“So? Do you like it?”

“Can’t get any better than textbook perfect, I suppose.” he replies, smiling wryly around a toothpick. 

Hunter lays a hand on one of Omega’s shoulders, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Sounds like we should find a special spot for you to show it off, then, Megs.” Now, looking up at his brothers, Hunter says the three words they had become very familiar with before all hell broke loose, once upon a time.

“You boys ready?”

Many hands make light work. Taking it room by room, they lay down rugs, make the beds and fluff up the pillows, and wrestle furniture into place. It would go a lot quicker if there was less fooling around, but making these new memories on what will soon be their first official day in a new house trumps efficiency. 

Phee drops in around mid-morning to check on their progress, finding the six of them piled on the floor, taking a short break in Tech and Wrecker’s room. “Getting tired? Neighbors have said you guys sound like you’ve been having a great time for several hours now.” Arms folded loosely against her chest, their friend is all smiles as Phee gives her report.

Tech adjusts his goggles before he replies. “Decorating a domicile has been more fun than I anticipated.”

Omega’s room is left for last out of the bedrooms, and every item within is a testament of love the people in her life had for her.

They started with the gifts from Phee and Lyana first. The sea glass sun-catcher was hung in a corner of the window, and a soft moon-yo toy was added beside Lula and her trooper doll on the bed. Next, each brother helped Omega fit his contribution to the room in only the most perfect places. 

The traditional telescope Crosshair had found and restored was tucked by the window, alongside other tools for stargazing. The bed frame that Wrecker had worked on longest of all was well worth the splinters when Omega lovingly awed over each embellishment that had been added by hand. The beaded curtains hung around her bed had been fashioned by Echo, worked on each night after she had gone to sleep. Tech gifted her a small set of shelves to display the special specimens she had collected in their travels. And adorning the bed laid the quilt Hunter had commissioned from one of Pabu’s reclusive-yet-crafty artisans, combining the common gray and red tones of Clone Force 99’s armor with the brighter hues found in Omega’s favorite colors. 

In spite of her excitement over her first proper bed since Kamino, Omega avoided climbing on it for fear of getting sand in the freshly-laundered sheets. Besides, they still had parts of the house to finish, chiefly the kitchen and living area, and Omega didn’t want them to lose the current momentum. If they wanted to have things finished by lunch, then they had less than an hour to do it. 

She would have the chance to find out just how comfortable the sleeping arrangements would prove at bedtime. 

Since the two of them had gone down to the beach before dawn, Hunter and Omega opted not to do a part of their nightly routine in favor of making their first night in a proper house an early one. Instead, they stayed with the rest of the Batch, playing a few short rounds of Sabbac or doing other things while waiting on their turn to shower. 

Wrecker would kindly offer to help Omega finish getting ready for bed while Hunter had his turn, but she declined. Her answer was less surprising than she might have expected; Hunter was already halfway to the refresher to get the water going before she had the chance to finish.

“I wanted to ask Tech to help me organize my specimens while waiting for Hunter…”

In good humor, Wrecker chuckles warmly before offering his sister’s hair a careful ruffle. 

“Alrigh’, ad’ika.” 

Ordinarily, Hunter never took long to wash up, but tonight he dawdled a bit more than usual to give Omega and Tech the opportunity to make decent progress. By the time he had dried, dressed, and detangled most of his hair from itself, he found the two of them sitting in the middle of Omega’s room. 

She had changed into a fresh pair of brushed-cotton sleepwear at some point, and was now allowing Tech to finish her haircare for the night. Joining this rather sweet scene, Hunter waits by Omega’s bed, quietly listening as they talk over her collection. Tech, kneeling behind her, is mostly focused on the instructions he is reading over her shoulder on how to start taking better care of the hair-type they have inherited from Jango Fett, the Clone template. 

“This appears to be mostly in chronological order, now. But a few items appear to be… missing.”

“I think some of them are still in your footlockers.” Omega replies, patiently enduring an unpleasant tug from the brush as Tech finds a rather stubborn knot. 

Promising to help her take care of getting the missing items in the morning, Tech asks Hunter to carefully set everything aside on the desk for the time being while he finishes up. He obliges his brother’s request, working quickly as both of them can see how drowsy she’s becoming. Being up before dawn will do that. Once he’s finished, Hunter lifts Omega from the floor, carrying her to bed.  

“C’mere, Megs. Bedtime.” 

He tucks her in, pulling the quilt up to her shoulder after making sure Lula is secure in Omega’s arms. It shouldn’t be long before she’s asleep, so Hunter and Tech don’t linger longer than it takes to say goodnight and shut off the light. 

“Jate ca, Omega.”

There’s little more than a sleepy hum in response. She is well and truly tuckered out. 

Omega sleeps soundly for about an hour before being stirred awake by something outside her window. It’s nothing more than playful moon-yo chatter outside, thankfully. Once they scamper off, she settles back down, but something feels… off. Not necessarily the room itself, but how quiet it is. After living on the run for so long, little more than a curtain between her and her brothers, the utter silence of the room is uncomfortable. Unsure what else to do about failing to fall asleep, Omega climbs carefully out of bed, and slips down to her brothers’ room. 

Hunter stirs before she’s gotten farther than the foot of his bed, waking easily with his keen sense of hearing. “What’s the matter, Megs?” His voice, low and sleepy, is partially muffled by his pillow before sitting up to address the situation. 

“It’s… it’s too quiet to fall back asleep. It’s making me feel uneasy.” she admits in a whisper, squeezing one of Lula’s paws to try to soothe herself. 

“... too quiet?” 

Hunter furrows his brow, wondering why a room being too quiet would make it hard to sleep when you’re sharing a room with someone. Then he remembers that she’s not sharing a room with anyone. She’s been given her own room, and she’s likely not used to being by herself anymore. Of course. All of them, for one reason or another, had forgotten to consider what might happen when she would be sleeping on her own for these new night routines… 

That was their fault, his fault, more than her’s. 

“C’mere, ad’ika. I have an idea.” 

Pillow under one arm and Omega in the other, he carries her back to her bedroom, giving her a choice. “Until we can find a sound machine to help you sleep, I’ll stay with you to help you get used to your room. Now, where do you want me to sleep?” Unsurprisingly, Omega quickly makes space so he can share both her bed and new quilt.

As she pulled it over them, she noticed the backing wasn’t just any old material. Her brothers had taken portions of their old bodysuits, carefully washing the material before donating these pieces to the blanket. Designs dear to them had been stitched in contrasting thread so she would know who particular patches came from. 

In the dark, fingers traced out the words “We’ll always have your back” at the very top of the blanket. The artisan’s neat work made her brothers’ collective loyalty and a promise all the more tangible.

As Hunter lay next to her, it wasn’t long before she was able to settle down again. Holding her close, he listened as her breathing evened out, eyelids growing heavier and heavier. Omega would be asleep before long, but not before she had one last thing to say. 

“Thank you, Hunter…”

“You’re welcome, Omega. Sweet dreams.”

Once she had drifted off, tucking her head under her brother’s chin, Hunter would carefully lay a kiss in the crown of her hair, bidding her to sleep well for the rest of the night. He listened to her for a while longer, quietly grateful that this instance of being unable to sleep was so easy to remedy. Grateful too, in a sense, that that was now among their biggest battles. 

Until their roots were firmer, settling down on Pabu would have a few growing pains. Adapting to change could be hard. Adjusting to new routines could be hard, too. 

But they didn’t have to be, so long as the Batch had each other’s backs.

Thank you for making such a sweet request for this little event Carol. I tried to include most of your ideas without rambling too too much, haha. I hope you enjoyed it! 🩷 (And apologies if the pacing feels a bit "off" in places as things were cut for brevity!)

Fic taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636

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