Chapter Text
Prologue:
He was dead.
Granted, there was not much to live for anyway. As a clone- as a slave- he was never granted life like that of a regular citizen. Some debated if he even had a life.
What makes a life anyways?
Ah, he was taking too much of his brothers, which they themselves took too much of their Jedi generals. They were probably fighting right now, he thought. Out in the Outer Rim, being the heroes for Coruscant to see but never live out.
He imagined life out on the frontlines- every day, the threat of death would loom over his shoulder. But he would feel so alive. Yes, it was a life with constant death. But he supposed that’s what every clone dreamed of: to fight, knowing it can be taken away. That was the only way any clone from Kamino could achieve independence.
To fight: that was the only way to live on their own terms.
Fox imagined a battle. He was holding his pistol, one that used to be steadfast against his hip. Oh, how he dreamed of using it against a senator, against a fellow living being who refused to acknowledge his own humanity.
He opened his eyes, and he was back to dying. Dying against the flame that enveloped the Senate Building. He was leaning against the metal door, limp and lifeless against something metal, something inorganic. He opened his eyes back to the present. And he would have laughed had it not been the flames poisoning his lungs. Because in the end, he did not get to live but still faced death.
The searing pain from the flames was like another layer of skin. The suffocating air made him cough, one painful exhaust and then another.
At the very least, when he’s in the afterlife of whatever God or being, he can say it was against a terrorist. He died protecting those who wanted nothing more than his death. He hoped there was some nobility or honor in that. He doubted it.
Fox saw a shadow emerge from the flames and imagined the reaper finally coming.
“Oh, thank the goddess.” The figure said with a broken voice. Even past the hacking and dry coughing, it was a voice that made him comfortable. “Stay still, commander. I got you.”
“Who?” he croaked.
The figure emerged, more solid, more real. He didn’t imagine the reaper to be blue skin. He didn’t imagine anyone at all. But at the very moment when he was forced to face his death, Fox never imagined anyone more beautiful.
“Shh,” the figure said. “Save your energy.” Turning to a comlink, his savior replies: “I found him. I found the commander! He’s half-conscious but still well… no I’m unsure of the LOC... Yes! Please come with a medic as soon as possible. We are,” she turns around, frantically, looking for the answer.
Fox knows. And the idea of helping her gives him a dose of eager energy. “Floor A67, Sector 15.” But he coughs again.
“Stop talking,” she gently scolds him. She coughs her own before speaking, “Floor A67, Sector 15. Please hurry.”
She turns her attention back to him. He can see with a little more clarity. Her blue skin adorned golden markings. She had beautiful eyelashes battering against the golden eyes reflecting the flame surrounding them.
Had they met before?
“Who?” he wanted to ask again.
“You’re in no condition, commander. Please, save your energy. I need you alive.”
His next question wanted to be why. Why was she here? Did the senate guards- as useless as they are- fail their duty to evacuate all the senators? That seemed plausible. More likely than not.
For now, he laid next to his savior, wounded and beaten. Within the cocoon of the crackling fire, he found some sense to be still. He was feeling light-headed and a wave rolled over him. He imagined himself floating.
“Stay with me, commander.”
He blinked.
Stay?
For what?
There was no honor in what he did. He was just a lapdog…
There was no glory. He just sat in an office chair with paperwork that meant nothing…
There was no freedom. He was just a slave…
So why stay?
“Stay with me, commander.”
He blinked again. This time, he could see. He could see golden eyes, soft against the backdrop of heat and blazing chaos.
Yeah, he might be able to do that.
There was family. He had his brothers…
There was faith. He believed in the justice that the Republic promised.
There was hope.
In midst of the turmoil, in the most pivotal moment of Republic history, he had hope that the righteous will win. They will survive through the end.
He blinked. And he nodded.
He was willing to do it for her. Whoever she was. Even if he was prepared for the worst, he had a mission; keep her alive.
“If it wasn’t for you, this would have been much worse,” she said softly. He found his head resting against her lap. He stared up to find the golden marks, bright against the flare. “You saved countless lives- you saved mine.”
He swallowed some dry spit. Was she… thanking him?
Who was this person, to come back for him, to appreciate his humanity?
Maybe it had been a minute or another hour. But the walls crashed down and he could see the flame troopers swarm in. Something about setting a perimeter… He would have laughed: even in a fire, they were trained to treat it like a fight.
Had it been any other Coruscant guard, there would have been a witty joke. Maybe… a firefight?
The last thing he saw was a trooper’s hand on his savior. And the last thing he felt was a warm hand against his glove, melted against his skin.
Her eyes were painted with concern.
He hoped she was okay. He wanted to reassure her, but did not know how to.
Why did she look so sacred?
She was safe now.
He had done his duty.
And in the end, that’s all that mattered.