Chapter Text
Fox couldn't breathe.
Invisible fingers curled around his throat and squeezed, tearing his breath from his throat as he scrabbled futilely at his neck. His feet flailed where they hovered above the ground, trying to find something, anything, to stand on, but he couldn't reach anything.
In front of him, holding him in the air, his horrible, sickly yellow eyes flashing with menace, was the Chancellor -- no, not the Chancellor, Darth Sidious. The mastermind of the war, the Sith Lord the Jedi were searching for, and Fox's killer-to-be.
"You've served your purpose, puny clone," Sidious snarled. "Commander or not, you are no more than a pawn." He clenched his fist tighter and Fox let out a pained wheeze as the fingers tightened on his throat, almost tight enough to crush his windpipe entirely. Pain seared through his entire body. "You would have done well not to forget that."
Fox was about to die. But he wasn't going to go out without one last stand. He had to say something. Anything at all.
"Kriff… that…" Fox choked out, as his vision blurred and pain shot through his muscles, a rushing building in his ears. "I'm… finally… free…"
And, with a final snarl of rage, the Sith Lord snapped his hand to the side, breaking Fox's neck with a horrible crunch, and then everything went black.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Fox! Fox! Ori'vod! Are you okay? Fox!"
Fox regained consciousness with a yell, whoever had just tried to wake him jumping back with a yelp. Shooting upright, fingers clenched into fists, the memory of what had just happened returned to him.
The memory of his own death. Choking, scrabbling uselessly at his throat, involuntary shudders of pain wracking his body.
Am I marching on? Is this the Manda? Fox wondered, shaking his head. He raised his hands to rub his eyes and --
Oh Force.
Were those his hands? They were tiny! And chubby! And now that he looked around, why did the Manda look so much like his batch's quarters on Kamino? He swiveled to face the person who'd been shaking him. It was a cadet, about four years old, eight years physically, with wide, dark eyes, and a bandage wrapped around the left side of his forehead.
"Fox?" the cadet questioned nervously, edging closer. "Are you okay? You-you screamed in your sleep." "Y-yeah, I'm fine," Fox managed, and Force, he didn't remember his voice being this squeaky when he was four. "Just a bad dream." If you can call living through a little over the next decade, over half of which you spent at war, then dying to the hand of the Sith Lord that nobody found before waking up in your child body a bad dream, he thought a little wryly.
Is it a dream? he wondered for a moment before dismissing the idea. This was too real. His gut told him it was real, and he trusted his gut. And as for that whole life he'd lived before… there was no way he was creative enough to come up with that, even in his subconscious.
You have a second chance, something told him. Don't waste it.
I won't, Fox thought, looking at his tiny, chubby hands. Then he looked up at his brother, who was sitting back on his heels, concern and fear clear on his face.
Cot'ika.
It was undoubtedly Cody. He had a bandage over the left side of his face, and the little skin that Fox could see peeking out from under it was red and inflamed.
Well, that answers the question of the date, he thought. Cody had gotten his scar when they were about eight years old physically, four years old actually. He remembered it clearly. It had been about three days after their fourth Batch-Day. Cody had tripped over his own feet in one of the hallways and smashed his head into a metal railing. Fox smiled fondly -- he remembered how only his batch knew that that was how it really happened, and how he would tell everyone else that he got it in a particularly vicious spar with Prime.
"Are you sure you're all right, Fox'ika?" Cody asked. Fox smiled again. It had been so long since he spoke to Cody. His brothers had turned away after he killed Fiv-
He killed Fives.
Fox balled his hands into fists, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to force back the tears.
He didn't deserve this second chance. He was vod'kyramud, brother-killer. He killed Fives. He killed Fives.
"Fox? Ori'vod?" Cody inched closer. "What's wrong?"
"Nightmare," Fox ground out.
No need to scare my brothers. They're still too young for this.
We all were.
"Oh," said Cody softly, concern sparkling in his dark eyes and swirling around him like mist, radiating off of him in waves. "C'mon. You can sleep in my bunk, if it makes you feel any better." Fox's throat constricted and he bit his lip as waves of guilt and pain washed over him at the memory of Fives. Unable to speak, cold tears sliding down his cheeks, he nodded and clawed his way out of his bunk and into Cody's, his vod'ika scooting aside to make room for him.
Fox might be the oldest, he thought, as his brother curled up next to him, dragging him close and holding him close as if to reassure him that he was still there, but Cody had always been their big brother.
Comforted by that thought, that if his old timeline was still out there somewhere, Cody would take care of his vod'e, Fox closed his eyes. Maybe he had another chance, but that didn't mean he had to deal with it right kriffing now. He was tired -- he'd just been killed and come back to life. Besides, it'd be odd if he just… left.
And he needed the rest after his little emotional breakdown, anyway. So he settled in, nestling deeper into the blankets of the little and wrapping his arms tightly around his vod'ika.
I won't fail you again, Cody, he thought, tightening his grip on his brother as he closed his eyes to sleep. Ponds, Bly, Rex, Wolffe, he thought, listening to their quiet breathing as they slept on, not having noticed Fox's distress. None of you. I won't fail you again, any of you.
I'll die first.