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Chapter Text

“The passion for comfort kills passion.”

– Craig D. Lounsbrough

–

There were no uneventful patrols for Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard, and that was by design. 

Managing the prisons and patrolling the Jedi Temple were for shinies. Survive a month of that – a far too small timeline but the only amount Fox could afford for shinies’ transition from Kamino to Coruscant – and they’ll move onto suburbs and hangars. Another month, their assignment may be extended to 1000 levels lower. Another month, another 1000 levels. Only a quarter year, and Fox could only pray to the Force they’d be ready for the cantinas, for the sentient traffickers, and more importantly, for the nat-borns capable of ordering their decommissioning at the drop of some supposed slight. 

That was a reason why Senate dealings were for Commanders and Captains only.

Same with Level 5127. 

That didn’t mean Commander Fox didn’t pull his own weight patrolling lower residential areas, though. Today they were a level just above the undercity but Fox wouldn’t discount its criminal activity bleeding its way into here too. The sun had fallen, and nat-borns were out and about enjoying dinner. He led a mixed team of shinies and painted troopers, more than enough to handle a confrontation occurring behind a restaurant.

“… inappropriate. Move or I will move you.”

“Ah just wanted to talk to ya and this is, hic, h – how ya respond?” An obviously drunk bellowed back. “Hey, uh, wait! Don’t walk away from me, you bitch – !”

Right as the intoxicated human reached for the other’s collar, their squad pounced.

Fox allowed a moment to smile under his bucket as one of the shinies took control of the detainment and transportation. Sure in his actions despite the man slurring out bloody murder and threats. It seemed like a fairly straightforward drunk pickup on an uninterested party that wouldn’t take no for an answer, but the Corries won’t be found lacking in their reports. He signaled the squad to return to patrols before him. 

Except, right as Fox turned to take the approaching other’s statement –

Yellow eyes. 

– Fox snapped his hand to his blaster. Body tense and desperate. With a command ready in his throat, the other took the final step out of the dim alley. Under the restaurant’s outdoor hanging lights, the yellow receded. 

Under second observation, their eyes were green. Yellow-green but more green with yellow flecks surrounding their round pupils. The blend was strange but natural. Zero bloodshot around their eyes. Not like those accursed yellow- terror-terror eyes staring down at him though he couldn’t remember where he’d seen them before – why didn’t he remember –

Fox shuddered, forcibly moving his hand away.

He’s okay, his men were okay, this wasn’t –

Fox breathed out shakily, counting through a mental exercise, to focus on the here and now. 

He couldn’t instantly discern their gender, their body lithe with flowing white hair down to their chest, held by two small braids down either side of their face and a low half-bun. Their face was an androgynous young pretty thing. Upon it, a discernible mark of a sharp S on their forehead looking more painted on than tattooed. They’re dressed similar to a Jedi, dark monk-like robes cinched at the waist with a black corset belt lined by parallel golden stripes.

Though, their sleeves fed into metal vambraces as did their pants into armored boots. That was distinctly un-Jedi like. Based on scuttlebutt, Jedi were mad folk that saw blastors and armor as uncivilized. Fox heard countless woes from his CC batchmates about the safety and health of their oh so wonderful Generals and Commanders. 

They stopped their approach, a good distance away from him. Distance that’d allow him to grab if needed but too far for their shorter reach to attack. Yellow-green eyes washed over Fox, over his paint and armor and somehow met his eyes through the bucket.

“It’s you, hm,” they mutter. Clearly said for only themselves but caught by his bucket’s sensors.

Fox was about to demand what about him, when – 

Clasping their hands together, their right fist against an open palm, they lowered into a deep martial bow. It made Fox notice a smaller braid wrapped around the low bun. Braided differently from the two in front. This one was thin and ratty, unlike any fashion statement Fox has had the displeasure of seeing on nat-borns, with yellow and red bands and a black bead, standing out against their stark white hair. It looked like a padawan’s braid.

Their introduction threw that line of thought off –

“Ailbhe Casey, Kage Warrior, he/him.”

– though that didn’t stop Fox from asking, even without spotting a lightsaber. “Are you a Jedi, sir?” 

He hummed, rising from his bow. There’s a small tilt at the corner of his lips. “Sharp,” a single word, but Fox straightened at the pleased tone around it. 

“Senior padawan learner under Master Yaddle,” the newly identified Commander said, except. “I am not part of the GAR.” 

Fox blinked at that, his hand freezing midway to a salute. He’d never met a Jedi outside of GAR command, really outside of the High Council, and he wavered at that. It reminded him of his brothers at the start of the war that were conflicted about their Generals’ and Commanders’ lack of understanding of the chain of command, of their request for more informal interactions. Nevertheless, Fox reoriented himself; protocol still required him to be respectful.

“What is your name?” A pause. “Or just rank, if more comfortable.”

Kriffing weird that the respect was stemming from the other side at the moment, but Fox has heard from plenty that Jedi were good people. Still weird to finally be witness to it himself, though. “Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guards, he/him, sir.”

“Not part of the GAR, only earned padawan title,” Com – Padawan Casey repeated. “No sir.”

Like his brothers, he’d been decanted with an eidetic memory. General Yaddle retired from the High Council just prior to the start of the galactic war following a major injury from Count Dooku himself, pre-Sith reveal. As such, she was assigned to a Coruscant-based intelligence unit, the Corries even having received some of those reports, yet why wasn’t her padawan enlisted alongside her? 

Before Fox could ask, Padawan Casey said. “Rather, I should call you sir, Commander.”

“I am a clone.” Fox couldn’t help but point out. “Sir.”

“You are a Commander and I am not, sir.”

Oh, this Jedi was fun.

Fox felt the corner of his lips twitching, amused and ineluctably excited. The banter was nice; Fox was an unapologetic asshole but he appreciated those that had the spine to snap back at him. More so if they came with the bite to the bark. More importantly though, here was a nat-born and a Jedi he and his brothers were made for just casually handing command over him. To a clone. To Fox. Most certainly not something any vode could attest happening to them, even from those on the front lines with closer relationships to their Jedi.

Not even Rex, with his famed brotherhood with General Skywalker, could escape the shackles of his mere captaincy. Either the general was incompetent, clueless to the process of promotions and the necessity of having a living commander, or had a power trip being the sole lead of the 501st legion. 

Fox sneered at it, either way.

Jedi were good people, and… that naturally came with some bad apples. (Just like those lost from the vode, unable to meet their template’s standards, even if that wasn’t the same –)

(It’s not exactly the same, but still –)

“In that case, Padawan Casey, would you mind telling me what happened tonight just then?” Fox asked, testing the waters. 

When the only response he received from the… slight loosening of formality was a nod and clean recounting of the incident, he relaxed.

Not a bad apple, thank the Force.

It was as he expected. The detained human had exited the restaurant intoxicated and approached Padawan Casey, demanding their acquaintance with heavy implication of sexual favors. Again, not a surprise. Fox would be blind to not notice Padawan Casey’s fine appearance; his delicate body and small waist, highlighted by the wide belt, and his doll-like face, more attractive than the human and near-human celebrities found monopolizing billboards, but it’s his striking eyes that Fox kept returning to. 

Yellow-green eyes that maintained their contact with his through the bucket. 

Yellow-green eyes that were starting to remind him more of the sun at its highest peak overlooking the vegetation of Coruscant’s nature preserves than the disgusting yellow that he couldn’t remember, that sent him into panic before.

The report was straightforward with zero embellishments, telling of Padawan Casey’s apprenticeship under an intelligence officer like General Yaddle. It was similar to how Fox and his brothers would report an incident, and at its end, Fox found no holes in the story. 

Just a single follow up, “Why were you down here, Padawan Casey?” 

Wandering around the back alley behind a restaurant, that was; only drunks wishing to empty their stomachs or restaurant staff discarding waste or criminals looking to dump a body went back here. They were nearly a thousand floors below the Jedi Temple, with far better choices to dine at between the way here.

Padawan Casey stared at him.

Fox stared back.

The silence stretched past the awkward seven seconds mark with Padawan Casey looking more and more like a mischievous cadet caught red-handed with their hand in the good basket of rations, though with an admittedly impressive sabacc face. It reminded Fox of kriffing Cody. Considering he was batchmates with one of the biggest conniving assholes ever decanted, that was unfortunately as competent as he was secretly petulant, Padawan Casey would not be fooling him.

Fox quirked a brow, “Well, padawan?”

Fox had to hand it to Padawan Casey. There were clone commanders and ARC troopers that fell to his stare, yet nary even a flinch or shuffling of feet from this Jedi. 

Only blinked guilelessly, then said. “The Force wanted me to meet you.”

What kind of kriffing banthashit – 

And why does that sound familiar – wait. Kark. This was exactly the kind of Jedi osik his batchmates complained about.

How did High General Mace remain attentive through an entire month-long campaign? The Force, Ponds grumbled, apparently it’s a Force healing ability. He found his General sleeping with his eyes open, balanced precariously on his feet between two large columns. Again and again and again, until Ponds finally emotionally blackmailed him by use of his shinies; they were his hands and feet and were allowed to only rest until Mace rested. Worked wonders, and Fox saw more than one brother taking notes. 

Why did High General Kenobi throw his lightsaber at Grievous instead of using it as intended? The Force, Cody groaned past his hands. The vibroblade so generously gifted by Grievous into Kenobi’s gut also made a better weapon to battle in the enclosed space.

How did General Unduli always look so impeccably dressed? The Force, Gree cackled. No one would’ve karking believed this of the Master Jedi had his man’s bucket not recorded it. Following a display of Jedi-brand acrobatics, amidst the chaos of blaster fire and explosions, the woman’s clothes appeared to birth a mind of its own. At Gree’s questioning, she simply grinned. With a flick of her wrist, “well Commander, a Jedi must maintain her composure even in the heat of battle. Besides, you wouldn’t want me tripping over my own robes now, would you?”

Why did General Secura jump off the V-19 Torrent starfighter? The Force, Bly slurred while on his third cup of pure whiskey. She sensed civilians under a collapsed building and thought it’d be more expedient to exit than request the pilot to circle back. “Isn’t my General so lovely like that? Near gave me a heart attack, though –”

Why did High General Koon accept a mission on a desert planet? The Force, Wolffe screamed as the comm cracked from his heightened rage and worry. Apparently the kriffing planet’s Force-sensitive and wanted a Jedi to break open an aquifer to restore its vegetation. “My General Buir nearly died because of it! Kriffing planet was distracting him through the Force while droids were all around us the entire time!”

Fox had zero desire to complete the set, consciously keeping his hand from reaching up to rub his temple. “Were you aware of my patrol schedule?” It’d explain why the Jedi was just randomly camping behind the restaurant.

“No, the Force told me where to find you.”

“My patrols span ten hours,” with plenty of detours depending on the Coruscant crowd’s and the Supreme Chancellor’s mood of the day.

“You would’ve passed by here eventually.”

He almost didn’t want to ask. “And how long have you waited here?”

“What time is it?” The Jedi returned. 

Fox gritted his teeth, reading his HUD. “It’s fifteen before nine.”

“Oh,” humming and looking not at all bothered. “A little over three hours, then.” 

Karking Jedi. Fox would bet the entirety of his non-existent salary that this Jedi stood there like a pretty, serene statue the entire time. 

“And why, pray tell, did the Force deem it so important that you meet me? Do you need my assistance?” As the highest ranking commander present on Coruscant, Fox or any other vode, authorized and deployed by him, could fix most problems.

Except, Padawan Casey shrugged, kriffing shrugged at that. “No. Just to meet you, and now I have,” looking so pleased about it as yellow-green eyes never wavered from Fox, never wavered from who pleased him.

It made Fox want to dive head first into a hive rats’ nest. 

What was so karking pleasing about him?

A part of Fox wanted to demand explanations, subdued based on his hard learned lessons from clones attempting to question nat-borns – something they should’ve known from Kamino, but hope was a foolish thing, why did they think Coruscant would be any different? – but they swirled in his head. Why him? Why now? He’d been deployed to the Corries for almost a year already. 

Nevertheless, he could recognize Jedi osik when one’s standing pretty right in front of him. He may be unfamiliar with Jedi, the Corrie’s General position a gaping maw, but he heard enough of his brothers’ advice on just rolling along with it even if it irked him. Believe in the Force like your General and Commander believe in it, they said. What-the-kark-ever. Fox knew believing in the Force didn’t translate into preserving life; General Skywalker’s casualty statistics were an exemplary example of it.

But now with Fox called out by said supernatural entity, purposefully led to this non-GAR Jedi for some unclear reason, he could foresee multiple headaches in his future.

Until the Force or this Jedi deemed themselves merciful, Fox will likely suffer more sleepless nights about this. Pondering over his why’s. Why him, why now? Clone commanders despised lack of control and unclear objectives the most, and this situation despite the seemingly absence of danger and complications, despite how this could be defined as a meet-cute from Thorn’s cringey contraband holos, hit both marks.

Fox held too many responsibilities and too many of his brothers’ lives in his hands – was too much of a paranoid bastard – to carelessly see this meeting as some boon. As some gift with no possibility of strings looping around his neck.

Unperturbed to or ignoring Fox’s thoughts because empath – there’s no way the Jedi couldn’t read his spiraling mood – Padawan Casey said. “If you are available, I request your escort back to the Temple. The Council stated I am not to wander alone.” 

Like how he was obviously alone at this moment? Karking great, was this Jedi a rule breaker?

Fox mentally sighed. “May I ask the reason why?”

“Because of the situation on Quarzite.”

Quarzite, Inner Rim planet. Home to the Kage and Belugan species. Due to its mostly uninhabitable surface, Fox recalled it escaped the galactic war front; not that the planet was at peace between the two native species. 

He didn’t know beyond that.

Padawan Casey stared at him, curiously intent, as if awaiting Fox to demand more information. 

And that… that made Fox back off. “Understood,” he just said. 

Most of his brothers would jump at the opportunity, seizing intel from an unusual source and dropping some light manipulative words to seal continued contact. Bite them, but they were genetically mercenary. The Force orchestrated their meeting for a reason, though and Fox may be reading this six ways wrong to Primeday, but Padawan Casey’s stare felt like a challenge.

Maybe not from the Jedi himself. 

But nevertheless a Force given challenge over something, over something about him, and he didn’t karking know about what. 

But at least he had a starting point. 

Research and reading scout reports were viable during slow patrols and there were still a good number of hours left to his present shift. The vode’s default commands were to protect civilians, protect the Republic, and serve the war effort as appropriate. Padawan Casey was a civilian. Quarzite was a Republic planet. Something on that planet was affecting a Jedi, and it was the vode’s duty to address it regardless if they were GAR.

They were made for the Jedi.

This investigation would fulfill that, along with this minor service.

Shooting off a quick message to Sergeant Hound, Fox instructed him with their current location to rendezvous with Padawan Casey and provide transportation back to the Jedi Temple via landspeeder. 

Fox had patrols beckoning him back and a slew of additional tasks piling up on his desk, some unknown on why it even fell upon him. In his professional estimation, he had already gone above and beyond in accommodating this peculiar circumstances with this peculiar Jedi.

“It was nice meeting you, Commander Fox.” 

And Fox… paused. 

As his sergeant confirmed the pickup, he turned back towards the Jedi. Because those words… spoken with that tone… it sounded so genuine that Fox had to look. The pleased expression from prior could’ve been discounted as Padawan Casey’s mere compliance with the will of the Force, but it surfaced once more. 

Like Padawan Casey would’ve truly enjoyed their meeting even without the Force’s influence; nat-borns just didn’t do that, and yet he did.

It made Fox’s cold beskar heart shudder.

“You asked for my escort,” the words left his mouth before Fox could stop it. 

Padawan Casey blinked at that, “I did.”

“I will take you back to the Jedi Temple.” Fox swallowed heavily. “The landspeeder is enough for three.”

A hum, accompanied by a small tilt of his lips. “A pleasure.” He did not speak further, did not clarify what he found pleasure in, and did not call out Fox’s flip-flop. 

Fox was thankful about the latter point; he honestly had no idea of his reasons. 

As such, he determinedly kept his focus away from the strange Jedi, who’d taken to alternatingly staring at him and staring at the gross alley wall, beside him. Karking Jedi osik.

Corresponding with Captain Blow in the patrolling squad, Fox wrangled out reassurances from the man on his newfound leadership with Fox’s absence. He trusted all his brothers – he did, shut up, inner voice Gree – but some of them were decanted dumb as a kalak. Blow, for example, received his name because the chump carelessly suggested blowing up a suspected Black Sun ammunition warehouse, which based on the scouts, its inventory would’ve taken out at least a few roofs of Coruscant’s levels. Thorn had smacked him upside the head before the order went through. Nevertheless, Fox had to make sure priorities were fitted straight on Blow’s rattling bucket; the majority of that squad were shinies.

The roar of a landspeeder brought Hound and, of course, his massiff. 

However, his sergeant’s salute broke at the sudden tug of the beast’s leash. “Commander, ah oh, kark, stop Grizzer –”

With a wag of its stubby tail and an excited bark, Grizzer bounded out in all its massive glory and made a beeline for Padawan Casey. Fox’s instincts pushed him to step in between the charging beast and the Jedi. Only for the massiff to duck between his feet in a stark display of athleticism, nearly knocking him away because kark – the thing was huge, what the kark did Hound feed it – and leaping straight onto Padawan Casey’s chest and instantly collapsing the Jedi. 

“Grizzer, bad girl, no no no.” Hound scolded, yanking at the quickly recaptured leash. “We don’t pounce on random civilians –”

“It is alright,” said Padawan Casey, albeit muffled, beneath enthusiastic forked licks and joyful squirms. Which only exponentiated when the Jedi reached out to stroke its scaly snout. To the clones’ surprise, they could visibly see the usually fierce and imposing massiff, that has on record bitten through multiple criminals’ throats, melt into a puddle of contentment and affection. 

“She is a good girl,” Padawan Casey said, despite being pinned as he was. “She has worked hard all this time, a moment to relax and be pampered is only fair.”

Grizzer responded with a squeaky whine.

… Well, then.

Allowing a moment to breathe – they weren’t in trouble, the Jedi didn’t sound angry – Fox huffed. “While that may be true, we need you to be able to enter the landspeeder.”

“I am able,” came Padawan Casey’s foolish statement.

Only to be proven true by Padawan Casey rising with the massiff in his arms, walking blindly yet confidently towards the transport. His face was completely obscured by the bulk of reptile muscles, yet not even shaking under the still enthused beast’s wagging tail and wagging shebs. Hound couldn’t mute the choked awe in time, Fox similarly gaping at the casual show of strength. 

Oh. Kark, not foolish at all.

Was this how his brothers felt witnessing their Generals on the field?

With the Jedi in the backseat, more safely secured via crowding massiff than seatbelt, they were finally on route to the Jedi Temple. Unfortunately, Fox had decided to sit beside his brother. And Hound saw that as permission to be a nosy shebs.  

Constant demands to “spill the tea, Commander,” on Fox’s and Padawan Casey’s relationship. Unbelieving at Fox’s curt response that they just met. Curious on why Fox was personally escorting this Jedi home, goading that “they’ll find out sooner or later, the Corrie’s scouts would love to know” in their internal comms, which only served to grate on his nerves because of the karking truth of it. Fox was decanted with a thinner face than the rest of their genetic breed, unknown to most since he’d sooner bully anyone asking face first into the training mat or promote them to lavatory duties. Both of which were becoming a sooner than later future for Hound with every one of his increasingly ridiculous speculations of Fox’s reasons.

Pointedly tilting his bucket towards the dreary passing Coruscant scenery, Fox rolled his eyes when he noticed Hound taking the scenic route. 

More time in a closed confined space only worked on the Corrie’s detainees.

Hound may think Fox wouldn’t retaliate due to Jedi presence – which he’s karking right, clones had an image to maintain – but Fox has mastered the art of paying polite attention. Hound had nothing on demanding Senators and none of the protections their title afforded to him.

A chuckle had Fox glancing at the rear view mirrors, swallowing at the reflected sweet scene.

The massiff was glued to the Jedi’s side, wiggling every so often as if the impenetrable closeness wasn’t enough and purring contently with every stroke of Padawan Casey’s hand over the massiff’s spines. “Oh, you like that, Miss Grizzer?” The whisper was caught by Fox’s bucket, said so softly as if the massiff was capable of having a private conversation, “tell me, you’ve got quite the list of achievements while terrorizing Coruscant’s underbelly.” 

Eyes bright with what almost seemed like understanding, the massiff responded with an enthusiastic bark.

Fox couldn’t help but recall Cody’s tales of his and General Kenobi’s encounter with feral Naboo natives and their even more feral narglatch mounts, triggered by a skirmish that accidentally pushed their squad into protected territory and was met with hostility. Jedi and their beast magnetism. Apparent truth, if Cody’s version of a hysterical scream were to be believed. The Negotiator once more lived up to his title though it was curiously more effective on the mounts. 

Fox hadn’t quite believed it; his batchmate was on his fourth shot, then, and was spouting nonsense about one of the beasts trying to sneak onto their star destroyer following the scent of General Kenobi like a forsakened lover.

Fox could believe it more, now.

“… is that so,” Padawan Casey continued.

Rounds of clicks and barks answered, the hum of the landspeeder eclipsed by the engaging one-sided conversation. 

“No need to prove yourself to me, vicious lady. You are powerful and stubborn.

“That’s right.” Those yellow-green eyes suddenly caught Fox’s through the mirror, heavy and intent. “I know you would protect your precious boys.”

Fox had to snap his head away at that.

Heart in his throat, his gloves squeaked at the pressure of his nails burrowing into his palm; similarly, Hounds’ gloves squeaked around the steering wheel. Padawan Casey’s words were coincidentally spoken in the lapse of Hound’s hounding.

Dangerous, no way the Jedi didn’t know how such a statement would have affected them.

This Jedi was karking dangerous, a dangerous distraction, and the Force sent him to Fox.

Despite the brevity of the trip, each passing moment seemed to stretch on endlessly. The silence from his brother only forced Fox’s focus onto Padawan Casey’s ever growing presence, his words echoing in Fox’s mind like a persistent refrain. Fox had enough self-awareness to recognize he was unconsciously hanging onto Padawan Casey’s words, ever since those first ones exchanged, his attention drawn to the Jedi’s mood and circumstances – again, he had no reason to be here, no reason to personally escort him nor later on research Quartzite, but he was and was going to – like a good soldier attuned to his General’s commands. 

But the Corries didn’t have a General.

As such, Fox nearly sighed in relief at the first sighting of the Jedi Temple’s spires. He had quite enough of this dangerous Jedi throwing him off-kitler.

To the untrained eye, the Jedi Temple was a picture of serenity.

To Fox, at this moment, it was akin to a kicked fire wasp nest.

The Temple Guards at the entrance were keeping pretenses well, near perfect emulations of Force-sensitive statues, but something was bothering them. There were subtle twitches, the shuffling of robes at their feet and the flexes of their gloves, as if they desired nothing more than to escape their station to dash merrily towards the Coruscant skyline. 

The instant Padawan Casey exited the landspeeder, shuffling around the whining massiff and shutting the door before it could follow, Fox pinpointed that something.

Nothing could be a more obvious tell than the Temple Guards snapping their masks towards him; Fox has never seen Temple Guards move that quickly outside an incident before. Actually, scratch that; one of them instantly abandoning their post to stomp towards Padawan Casey triumphed over that.

“Where in the sithhells were you?” The mask’s vocoder was similar to that of the Corries’, voice coming out slightly robotic but the worry was evident through its delivery. “You were ordered not to leave the Temple – more importantly, how did you even leave without detection?! And don’t you dare quote –”

“The Force,” Padawan Casey said.

“– the Force with me – !” 

The Temple Guard stuttered at that interruption though was quick to recover with a growl, closing the distance to clap a hand upon Padawan Casey’s shoulder. Both in a show of camaraderie and, Fox suspected, in restraint.

So the Jedi osik extended to other Jedi.

Good to know.

This Temple Guard must be part wookie because they towered over everyone present, nearly double the height of Padawan Casey, pairing the interesting situation with a striking visual.

“You didn’t take your comm, not a note left explaining your disappearance, and Master Yaddle was as besotted and unhelpful as ever, droning on about respecting boundaries of teenagers, even though you know better and should be well past those nightmarish years,” a deep breath. “Well, then. What do you have to say for yourself, Elva?”

Padawan Casey – Elva? Must be a nickname. Like Kote for Cody, or Little King for Rex – tilted his head up at the livid statue. “Hello, Feemor, I missed you.”

A moment passed of just the Temple Guard, Feemor, staring down Padawan Casey; bewilderment painted across that bland mask against Padawan Casey’s calm blankness.

Then, Feemor deflated like one of Grizzer’s toys when introduced to its protruding teeth. They lifted their other hand to press at their temple, like what Fox desired to do then and now. “For Force’s sake… Yes, yes, hello to you too, Elva. It’s been a while.”

Padawan Casey nodded and leaned in to their touch. “Over two months.”

“Yes, due to your… rather exciting actions during a certain mission in Quarzite.” Somehow the metallic gold lining of their masks conveyed what Fox could only assume was a very disapproving frown underneath. “Which resulted in probation and mandatory sessions with a mind healer, both requiring you to remain within the Temple. You need constant supervision, little padawan, no matter how much that annoys you. It’s as much for your sake as ours. What happened there, I –” coughing, “we were worried.”

Fox absorbed that snippet of information as it’d be helpful during later research. 

“I was not alone,” and Padawan Casey waved his hand towards Fox and Hound. 

As if they hadn’t just met less than an hour ago, the mere time it took to report the altercation and transport, and Fox knew for a fact Padawan Casey camped for over three hours in a shady alley prior.

“Oh,” as if just now noticing their presence, Feemor bowed. 

Fox and Hound returned it with a quick salute. Temple Guards were not part of the GAR, more focused on defense like the Corries, but due to the close proximity of their headquarters, it didn’t hurt to treat them as such; over politeness and formality to nat-borns never hurt.

“Thank you for bringing Elva back, gentle-beings. I apologize if he caused any issues,” with a tone clear that Feemor thought of Padawan Casey as a walking talking stacks-of-paperwork-generating-dung-stirrer. “I can only request that if you find him once more outside the Temple,” heavily implying a repeat performance, great, “please do send him back promptly or alert one of the Temple Guards. Elva should not be around alone right now.”

“I was not alone,” Padawan Casey repeated, and Fox held back a retort. Another hard learned lesson was that nat-borns didn’t appreciate being corrected by a clone in public and especially before their peers. At least it wasn’t their presence he was insisting on. “I have the Force.” Because, of course.

“And what of your probation?” Feemor pressed.

“I did not take my lightsaber.”

Fox jerked at that. This Jedi was wandering in the lower levels and got accosted without a weapon? Fox just assumed it was hidden somewhere, not missing altogether. His spike of emotions must’ve somehow broadcasted because Padawan Casey glanced at him. 

“I was not defenseless.” He amended. “Do not worry.”

Feemor sighed. “Your hand to hand prowess will not work on Coruscant’s mutant beasts.”

Padawan Casey tilted his head, acknowledging. “Correction, I was not unarmed.”

An even deeper sigh. “Your probation order didn’t confiscate… those things?”

Padawan Casey shrugged. 

That made Feemor tilt their mask skyward, muttering. “Master Yaddle had a hand in that, didn’t she? Of course she did. Nothing less for her favorite padawan. Her little Maverick Jedi. Fine. Kriffing fine. This is worse than karking Qui-Gon, bless his soul. Did she excuse it with the High Council based on medical or cultural reasons?”

“Both.”

“Both,” Feemor repeated faintly, lowering their head to tilt at the painted mark on Padawan Casey’s forehead. “A different excuse for each one, right?” 

“They are an inherited set. They center me.”

“Using those things as emotional support… You sound like a Mandalorian,” Feemor groaned. “Kriffing warrior cultures.”

It was looking more and more like those things were weapons. Must be small enough to be hidden in Padawan Casey’s clothing; now that Fox’s looking, his robes were quite bulky around the back and waist area. It settled some part of Fox that tensed when learning of the absence of Padawan Casey’s lightsaber.

Feemor wrapping his arm around Padawan Casey’s shoulder was a silent closure of their conversations, bowing towards the clones in eerily synchronization Fox suspected could only be aided by the Force. 

“See you later, Commander,” added Padawan Casey.

And again, that sounded so genuine that Fox had to look. Under that yellow-green gaze, he withheld the salute towards him, angling his towards Feemor, and merely gave a respectful nod. 

Padawan Casey smiled.

The jolt of fulfillment at that face was uncalled for. He had prided himself on being above such easily earned approval from any Jedi – the Corrie’s did not have one, did not need approval from one – yet here he was, inexplicably feeling lighter after a long time. 

See you later, Commander, the Force-sent Jedi said.

Hopefully not too soon, Fox thought. He had things to research.

Chapter Text

The Quartize situation was a kriffing skud in a krill pond to find.

For a Republic planet, information about and from Quartzite was almost as hard to find as Cody’s contraband. Of which Fox adamantly believed in its existence, no matter how much their batchmates refused to entertain its truth; Fox saw Cody hiding those infuriating smirks of his multiple times at the mention of the topic. 

Anyways, Quartzite? 

Somehow a karking revolution that ended a centuries upon centuries long war between the Kage and their Belugan oppressors, triggered by the very public assassination of said oppressors’ leader, didn’t make galactic-wide media headlines. 

Only within the darkest of caverns of Jedi mission reports. Had Fox not actively searched for Quartzite and padawan and kriffing probation, he would’ve never found it. 

Except of report #C-72645, written by Shadow Master Orbooroz Woull –

“… For Padawan Casey’s Shadow Trials, I accompanied him to Quartzite and entered under the guise of Black Sun armory merchants. As a Mon Calamari, I was assigned to initiate contact with Belugan leader, Lord Otua Blank, leveraging our shared aquatic heritage for rapport. Meanwhile Padawan Casey as a Kage would engage with fellow Kages. 

“The High Council assigned two primary objectives: 1) assessing the planetary war’s status and 2) gauging the Belugan and Kage positions in the Republic-Separatist conflict. See Repo M-13.Q.114 in the Jedi Archives for more information about the Quartize conflict between the native Belugan and Kage species.”

Fox could only assume Jedi Trials were graduation exams for promoting padawans to Jedi Knights, to Jedi Generals. In addition, Shadow Trials… shadow, like General Vos – kark that bastard – black ops.

That explained some of Padawan Casey’s attire, the lack of lightsaber, and overall weirdness. Even weirder than the usual Jedi.

Just look at the vode trained in black ops. They were maliciously complaint at best. 

“Upon greeting, Lord Otua Blank kept a short hand upon the chains of a young Kage woman, abused and injured, and announced that he would be holding their public wedding within a standard week-cycle. Visibly unwilling on her part and based on her Force presence. In my disguise as a high-ranking Black Sun soldier, I was invited as an honored guest and took it instantly. It was a golden opportunity for infiltration. In the midst of that, Padawan Casey took off without consulting me. I could only speculate he’d done so due to the heightened emotions caused by the young Kage woman. I understood and empathized, but we had a mission to fulfill. 

“A standard week cycle passed without communication.

“As Master Yaddle’s padawan, such behavior was inexcusable and unprecedented of one from her lineage.

“I used the week productively in building relationships and gathering information on the Belugan’s military might and stance on the Republic and Separatists. I received contrary information from individuals and was unable to meet Lord Otua Blank again following that first meeting, but I had my ears on and shared meals with his officers. It would understandably take a bit, perhaps a second or third trip to Quartzite, before I was elevated to his personal circle. 

“It was difficult hearing of their belittling of the Kages, wishing for the genocide of their species yet salaciously praising their leader for his forceful marriage. Nevertheless, I had a part to play.

“During the public wedding that was broadcasted nationally, a dark-robed assassin appeared behind Lord Otua Blank without detection. Even hidden from the Force, thus my inaction. They stabbed two swords into Lord Otua Blank’s throat and heart, then activated the voltage inside them. It burnt him from the inside out, killing him instantly. The weapons best resembled electro swords, which an elite martial group called the Kage Warriors specialized in, though the assassin lacked their distinctive uniform. The assassin was able to slip away before I or the Belugan guards could pursue.

“As if planned, there were coordinated attacks upon Belugan bases by the Kages soon after. Centuries upon centuries, the two species were at war, and the Belugans without leadership were toppled practically overnight. As Belugans escaped by swimming across major bodies of water, the Kages came out from their underground settlements and strategically seized and occupied their structures. I barely escaped being swept up in the heightened activities, forced to shed my disguise when surrounded by the Kages.

“When I finally reunited with Padawan Casey, he admitted to his stay with the Kage clan heads during the wedding and assassination and his sympathies with their cause. 

“He was uncooperative in finding the assassin.”

Fox didn’t expect anything else.

“When pressed, Padawan Casey said, quote, ‘the Force wanted Lord Cradle Robbing Fatty dead. He would’ve died sooner or later, and this way he died quickly. Good for him.’

“I could not formulate a response to that.”

Ha! This Jedi was quite generous in dishing out his Jedi osik, huh?

But Padawan Casey was speaking Fox’s language. No sentient would expend any energy outside of celebrating the death of their oppressor's leader. Had Fox received news of mass deaths of the long necks or some of the vode’s trainers, Fox would’ve gleefully consumed his weight in cheap alcohol. 

Or, like Padawan Casey –

“Instead of prioritizing his Shadow Trials and subsequent investigation, Padawan Casey had dedicated the past week to reconnecting with his Kage heritage. It included a ceremonial rite overseen by Kage clan leaders where Padawan Casey was bestowed dual electro swords, and the Kage leader personally painted the traditional warrior mark on his forehead.”

– oh, how Fox would’ve jumped upon the Mandalorian culture he and his brothers had been denied of. For Padawan Casey, that Kage culture, that sharp S he noticed then must’ve been said warrior mark.

The remaining report was monopolized by how General Woull lead – better read, attempted – negotiations. 

“… As the new planetary leaders, the Kages asserted their neutrality in the Republic-Separatist conflict, citing the need to rebuild their planet. They openly declared their intention to intercept and disable vessels from both factions should any attempt unauthorized entry into the planet’s atmosphere. Such a firm declaration forced my hand in calling the mission suspended.”

Fox made a mental note to brief his fellow Commanders about Quartzite. The last thing he wanted was them assuming an Inner Rim planet as Republic-aligned, then getting shot down because they stuck their dirty boots in their mouths. Even if the Corries were in a… complicated standing with the rest of the vode over annoying misunderstandings on their battalion’s objectives. Fox knew first-hand and based on casualty reports that dealing with karking clankers was sometimes safer than meeting with some peace-advocating – in big karking sarcastic quotes, better middle-fingered quotes – Senators. 

If only his fellow Commanders, even his batchmates, would stop for a moment lamenting their own woes and look – look at his Corries dying –

In light of this, Fox understood General Woull’s plight; an outsider’s words to quell an oppressed species’ newfound drive would always fall upon deaf ears, even words coming from a Jedi. If a Master Jedi failed, surely there was little Padawan Casey could do.

Except, apparently the Jedi thought differently. 

Particularly at least half of the High Council, based on a summarized excerpt of their meeting reviewing Padawan Casey’s Shadow Trials. It was a mixture of positive and negative reviews, though unfortunately it seemed the sour ones prevailed.

Yaddle: Displayed courageous initiative, my padawan has.

Oppo Rancisis: Failed to communicate the importance of the Kage’s recruitment into the GAR. A great loss.

Depa Billaba: Even securing neutrality upon that planet is a monumental achievement.

Eeth Koth: Neutrality borned from the assassination of the opposing force’s leader, while Padawan Casey congregated with the Kage, despite his Shadow training. Zero notice of their intent. Zero remorse for Lord Otua Blank’s death. Zero desire for investigation. Sympathy for his own species has blinded him on the correct course of action. 

Yaddle: Unfair you are, padaman mine, not a diplomat.

Kit Fisto: Acknowledged. Nevertheless, Padawan Casey was trained as an investigator, and he had nothing to show in that week-cycle aside from personal gains.

Adi Gallia: Perhaps peace could’ve been negotiated with more information…

Mace: Despite the outcome, Padawan Casey failed to establish communication with Master Woull before their parting. Shadows usually work solo, but their Trials nevertheless must consider proper communication and protocols.

Agen Kolar: It is all speculation at this point, but the GAR may have benefited from Padawan Casey following those protocols.

Oppo Rancisis: A great loss, indeed. 

Concluded in the report was Padawan Casey’s failure to achieve primary objectives and ending with General Woull’s recommendation that his knighting be put on hold until mental evaluations. An evaluation of attachments, blah-blah sympathies blah for his own species’ suffering, and probation from any further Jedi duties.

Which… huh. 

Smelled a lot like General Woull placing his shares of failing the objectives onto a padawan. Didn’t the High Council assign the mission to both of them? And this General was in prime location to actually secure the assassin at the time of the incident. What happened to the tracking capabilities of the Force?

Karking great.

Apparently Jedi had bullcrap bureaucracy in their highest ranks too. Those kriffing bad apples, so small in number, yet so annoyingly impactful. 

Look at General Skywalker. Look at General Krell.

Look at his brothers dying –

In addition, so focused on the GAR, the High Council seemed to miss the other glaring flags.

Although the report did not explicitly implicate Padawan Casey in the Kage revolution, Fox’s commando instincts screamed. First, the close relations between Padawan Casey and Kage clan leaders within just a standard week-cycle? Second, a perfectly executed assassination and revolution just so coincidentally timed with the Jedi’s presence? Something the Kages had struggled with for centuries. Third, the assassin being a Kage – because what else could they have been? – bearing electro swords but not dressed like them? Like the electro swords Padawan Casey legally owned just right before the assassination. A Kage Warrior like how he first introduced himself. Even before a Jedi. Finally, with Fox as witness, the hints dropped by the conversation with Temple Guard Feemor.

They all congregated into such neat puzzle pieces in Fox’s head.

… Not that Commander Fox could do anything. These suspicions might as well have been tossed into Kamino’s endless storms.

A Jedi like Padawan Casey must’ve been deliberately shielded from GAR recruitment, likely by his Master’s manipulations, because Fox could read in between the lines. General Yaddle may no longer sit on the High Council, but she must still be respected all the same, and her precious padawan – those my padawan, padawan mine endearments were telling – was sent for his Trials despite the current process of field promotions for padawans. Padawan Casey being a Shadow was trivial, just look at that bastard General Vos; he was assigned leadership of a battalion despite it.

Padawan Casey did not succeed this time but it’s highly unlikely his Jedi Trials redo would be anywhere close to the battlefield. Anywhere close to the vode. General Yaddle did not allow it the first time, highly unlikely there would be any following.

Fox heard stories of the frankly terrifying protective streak of Generals for their Commanders.

Battalions of clankers, gone, and the landscape, rearranged, before a Jedi’s rage.

Yet the Force felt otherwise.

It led Padawan Casey to him. Out of everyone in the vode, him. 

Fox had suspicions, then, and somehow even more questions, now.

Because, why him? Why now? 

Why this Jedi, when he wasn’t even a General or Commander? Why now, so soon after this disastrous mission?

In the privacy of his office, Fox pinched the bridge of his nose at the roar of yet another headache. With his eyes stinging from nonstop datapad hours, it was prime time for patrols. Otherwise a resting Fox would be all too easily interpreted by his medics that something was wrong with their top commander. Medics were crazy at normal levels. A concerned, vindicated medic was more feral than garbage worms gorging on disposed psychoactive drugs, near gleeful to poke him with needles, even his shiniest of shinies.

Yeah, kark, time to head out.

Patrol was uneventful. 

Until it wasn’t.

Because like a Jedi sent by the Force itself, there Padawan Casey was. Once more standing pretty, intercepting his patrol route, and standing blankly before drunken thugs.

The kriffing Force did this, didn’t it? 

Fox was going to blame it, either way. 

“Commander,” came Padawan Casey’s bell-like voice. “Hello there.”

The four thugs surrounding Padawan Casey had such lustful intentions, panting and looming over the Jedi, Fox nearly gagged from it. And yet, those yellow-green eyes never even batted at them; not even when one dared to step between him and Fox’s approaching squad, growling like a pretentious beast to stay away from their prize. Daringly claiming a Jedi, even unknowingly, as their prize before the vode made for them. Fox felt they just earned at least three days jail time on principle, in addition to whatever he could slap on them for being drunken public spectacles.

But Padawan Casey did not care about these nat-borns.

They were Padawan Casey’s focus. 

Those yellow-green eyes sought out each clone, lingering in substitute of a silent greeting that ended on Fox. They remained steadily transfixed on him as Padawan Casey boldly separated from the group and approached him. Fox’s steps faltered for a brief moment as he unconsciously studied Padawan Casey’s composed demeanor and confident stride, cataloging with each closing step his possible wants and needs and how could Fox best serve –

Until a man yanked at Padawan Casey’s arm, spittle flying as he repulsively and demeaningly demanded the Jedi’s attention.

Not just Fox jumped into action.

More spittle flew at the sudden harsh jab of Padawan Casey’s elbow into the man’s stomach. Weird for a Jedi to jump into a brawl – he thought only General Vos did that, based on how often the Corries had to pull him out of bar fights – but Fox approved of the instant retaliation.

The confrontation escalated swiftly though still relatively controlled and safe, stun weapons drawn against practically anything the group could grab. No blasters they had, but compared to the prior drunk attracted to Padawan Casey, these were coherent enough to put up a fight. Annoying but nothing their training hadn’t accounted for. Even against flying trash cans and broken chair legs and bubbly beverages. Again, karking annoying. But a bit of running alcohol over Fox’s bucket HUD and paint didn’t deter him from twisting the man’s arm that dared grab Padawan Casey right to its socket’s max strain. 

A commotion to his left had Fox flinching. It was the one that growled at them, that worse than the man beneath him, dared to claim Padawan Casey, and that was currently facing off against a shiny. Before he could snap at his captain and other older squad members to come to the shiny’s aid – something they should’ve karking been aware of because a Commander would always prioritize the Jedi – the said Jedi practically materialized behind the man. 

One, two. “Hrrrk,” he choked. 

Precise and striking like a serpent, Padawan Casey had slipped under the man’s guard and mercilessly slammed an open palm into the man’s throat. 

Then, Padawan simply stepped back and signaled for the shiny – so fresh off Kamino he could only grow a thin stubble and went by ‘18, the latter configuration of his product code, if Fox recalled correctly – to detain.

Once binders were secured, ‘18 perked his head towards Fox. 

Instantly relaxing at the lack of negative visuals from his commander – because of course not, Fox was karking proud of the semi-solo takedown even if he had an image to maintain – ‘18 then startlingly turned to Padawan Casey. Fox guessed why: adhering to the genetic modifiers of their breeders to seek approval from the only present Jedi. Hound must’ve made everyone aware of the non-GAR Jedi Fox personally escorted, and despite the non-GAR tag attached, ‘18 still turned to Padawan Casey.

Fox understood why, though his stomach churned uncomfortably. Corries lived day in and day out tethering the line of obscurity and zealous commitment to a mission, knowing that failing either could lead to decommission. They didn’t have a General. They didn’t need a Jedi’s command or approval or even presence to complete their missions; they were capable enough alone, and yet… they were only human.

‘18 should be better than this, they all should be better than this, and yet –

As if reading that cold fear and burning longing, Padawan Casey smiled. It was a small thing but bleeding warmth like sunlight, and Fox swore he could somehow feel it upon his skin.

‘18’s shoulders rose, warring between surprised and elated.

Even without a visual check, Fox could hear the rest of the squad do that quiet, flustered shuffle, the slight clacking of their boots whenever a Senator – always Senator Amidala or Senator Organa – treated them like an actual sentient with rights and feelings.

Comparatively, Fox was far too disciplined for that. 

Staunchly ignoring his own reaction to the Jedi’s smile, the sudden evenness of his stomach and breath, Fox seized the distraction to direct his squad back towards headquarters with a landspeeder filled in the backseat with four new hissing, spitting misdemeanants. Ignoring the unsubtle side-eyes when they realized Fox wouldn’t be joining them. And definitely ignoring the lopsidedly large presence of the small Jedi; Padawan Casey had closed the distance to stand besides Fox, like a General to his Commander, to see his squad off.

Not that he could for long, now that the two were alone.

In lieu of a greeting, Fox blurted out. “I read about Quartzite and your trials.”

“Oh? And how did you do that?” Padawan Casey’s tone was questioning and flat, flatter than anything Fox’s heard from him before; a feat considering the baseline Jedi serenity osik. “Our trials should not be accessible to anyone outside of the temple.”

Fox paused as he recycled Padawan’s Casey question in his head. It wasn’t a why, but how. Specifically, he wasn’t being questioned on his capability of digging up the Quartzite situation but on the trials. And that’s… that’s a good point. 

Padawan Casey wasn’t part of the GAR.

If a vode wanted information on a Jedi mission, on a private citizen’s personal employment information, not even Cody as Marshal Commander of the 7th Sky Corps should’ve gotten instant access; much less Fox who only led a single legion on Coruscant. It should’ve logically taken months of red tape, circling between the administrators of the High Council or Senate or both, just to receive a censored copy.

Yet his clearance most certainly exceeded the need to know. Now that he’s thinking about it, he was casually querying straight from the Temple’s records, wasn’t he? He thought only the Office of the Supreme Chancellor and a very select pool of the Senate had such access. 

Kark, he’ll need to pester his batchmates to test their clearance. Open access to their General’s and Commander’s private information would most certainly trigger them. 

A sooner-than-later but Later Fox’s problem. 

“I will investigate it,” promised Fox, and correct it promptly. At this moment though, “Will you answer some of my other questions?”

Padawan Casey tilted his head, an invitation. Thankfully not put out by Fox’s unintentional but unauthorized access. 

Fox took a moment to survey their surroundings, even checking the lack of thermal readings. “The assassin that killed Lord Otua Blank,” he said leadingly. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

A slow blink.

Then yellow-green eyes narrowed.

“When you spoke with Guard Feemor, you said you were not unarmed.” Without time to second himself, Fox closed the distance and took firm grips around Padawan Casey’s upper arms. Fox had inadvertently come to loom over the Jedi – a prick on his conscience that he was copying those men from prior – but the position was too awkward. It’s not much of a restraint against a potentially armed suspect. Nor really a means to interrogate. A Commander of the Republic he may be, he has no jurisdiction on an Inner Rim planet. 

Honestly, Fox didn’t know what he was doing, but he needed to know – he just wanted some karking answers to his questions –

Only a day-cycle had passed since their first meeting, and he was done with stressing over this. Cody would mutter that he was an impatient asshole. Fox would tell him to get karked, preferably by General Kenobi. 

“If I searched you now, would I find the exact electro swords that killed Lord Otua Blank?” 

Padawan Casey hummed, leaning back not to break free but so he could look directly at Fox. “You guessed that from a single mission report?”

“It’s not just that,” and here, Fox dropped his suspicions. The compulsion to share his thoughts was strange but all-consuming. (It didn’t hurt though, not this time, and Fox wondered why he thought it should’ve –) There was no point in keeping them to himself, when they all pertained to the Jedi before him, but revealing them entirely felt equally pointless. Jedi were good people. His batchmates believed it so, foolheartedly, so he had to believe – that even if he spoke his mind, even if he just desired this taste of freedom where he could freely share his thoughts – 

He would not be hurt from it.

He was rewarded by no interruptions.

As he delved further, his hypothesis taking shape into some coherent storyline, his voice grew steadier, the inherent fear driven away by the heady mix of frustration and curiosity. Fox has never spoken this much to a nat-born before. At the end of his monologue, there was a steady pressure building in his head as if he’d conveyed everything in a single breath.

Only for him to be unable to recover his breath in the next.

Because Padawan Casey’s expression – 

Fox gulped. 

It was all but confirmation.

Yellow-green eyes were wide, strikingly intense like that of Kamino’s planet-shattering thunderbolts. Padawan Casey’s mouth hung open, lips curling only at one side, in a viciously gleeful snarl. It reminded him of General Skywalker during his most eventful conquests, the Hero of No Fear snarling down a whole parade of droids. Of himself when a traitorous rat fell right into his traps. Fox never imagined such a look could come from a pretty thing like Padawan Casey; his otherwise delicate features were twisted into something sly, almost feline, yet it suited him. 

He was a predator. One that Fox had unwittingly provoked and was all too happy to play. The invitation was clear, dangerous yet alluring. 

Keep talking, the pressure around them seemed to speak.

Keep spilling suspicions-turned-truth. 

Fox’s hands twitched involuntarily around Padawan Casey, torn between the instinct to hold tighter and the urge to flee.

He stood his ground and sunk his hand in, then asked. “Why was Quartize chosen for your Trials?” 

“Master Yaddle did not wish to promote me through the war, and she knew I had unfinished business upon my birth planet.” Padawan Casey revealed. Unsurprising, like Fox suspected, but still surprising at the admittance; within the Republic, draft evasion was considered a criminal offense, though there may be some leeway for Jedi. 

“Business to break through the Belugan’s oppression?” Fox guessed. “Was the kill personal? I was not aware that the Jedi sought revenge.” 

He couldn’t help but think how much easier things might’ve been for his brothers, for the galaxy as a whole, if Jedi were more selfish. More outspoken at the frankly ridiculous Senate battle plans. More trained because sometimes their battle plans were ridiculous. More passionate, more accepting of his brothers’ devotion; he’s not even witness to Bly’s and Cody’s pining but even the retellings are karking annoying. Though most importantly, he sometimes wished they more self-serving and more fearful about their own lives. The fatality count of Jedi exceeded the number of days since the declaration of war, and the Padawan-Commanders deployed were only getting younger and younger.

Loath to admit it, there could be more brothers made.

Jedi could not be.

There was a very real risk that Jedi would perish before the vode, and what would they be once their reason for existence was gone?

And here was one Jedi, having avoided the draft yet still got involved with another war. Fox was truly starting to understand Jedi osik translated into trouble magnet.

Padawan Casey replied. “Every Kage has been affected by the war in some way. There is no merit in personal matters as emotionally driven actions would bear more cons than pros.” Spoken like a true serene Jedi, a being above mortal needs and sentiments. Fox nearly laughed. “The large-scale coordination would’ve been impossible, otherwise. I am an orphan, with my parents being killed during a supply route by a random missile strike. I was captured and sold off before my clan could complete my education.”

Fox jerked at that. “Sold?”

“By Belugans in a bid to gain favor from Black Sun.”

Fox didn’t want to ask, but “How old were you?”

“Four standard.”

Oh, Force. The vode started training even younger than that, but even an asshole like Fox would never wish such abuse to occur to a child. 

“The Jedi saved you?”

“I saved myself,” corrected Padawan Casey. “I crashed their ship when they just exited a hyperlane into the Outer Rim –” which, what. A tiny Padawan Casey must’ve been on that ship he’d crashed, yet he still – Fox only knew of the most suicidal pilots, or adrenaline junkie brothers, that had such balls “– then Feemor Searched for me later on Crait.”

Searched – assumingly, found and rescued – by Feemor, that Temple Guard; that explained their close relationship. 

But more importantly… Crait, a mineral planet in the Outer Rim, Fox thought, small, desolate, uninhabited save for native non-sentient species. Fox didn’t know tiny Padawan Casey’s state, only cadet age then; he could only assume slight dehydration and minor injuries, and with Feemor saving him right after the crash. Fox didn’t know how he could’ve survived otherwise. 

“And you… you remember all that?” Fox was no medic but he understood that nat-borns often lost memories from their formative years. “You remember your birthplace, even though you were ripped from it at only four?” 

“Kages are near humans. We are born with fully developed brains, Commander.” 

Of course he remembered then. It made Fox almost sick. It also highlighted Padawan Casey’s brilliance, his species’ primal instincts and intelligence, that he could even survive – no matter, for a few hours or days stranded – while that young by himself. Only four standard, kark. 

Padawan Casey continued. “I am a Kage and from a clan known for producing stealth warriors, and soon after my birth, I had already sworn to the creed.”

And here, the circle connected. Fox nodded. “To break free from the Belugans.” He didn’t question the logistics and capability. Kages were born with fully developed brains, he said; early education could occur even in their cribs. It would be like the vode being programmed with basic speech capabilities while still in the tubes.

“Certainly a major driving objective,” Padawan Casey conceded. “As our creed simply requires Kage Warriors to swear to fight for and celebrate freedom.”

A rather vague and selfish creed. Even the Mandalorian Creed had more material than that.

Fox couldn’t help but ask, incredulously. “That’s it?”

With a crooked smile, Padawan Casey expounded. “There are three guiding principles on how to achieve that.” Ticking a finger for each, “Protection of individual rights, not groups. Practice of equality under law. And finally, that our swords are wielded only in defense.”

“Defense,” Fox repeated. 

Unbidden, a memory surfaced of a trainer evaluation of Fox. A defensive fighter, ‘won’t come out of his foxhole unless pushed.’

It was criticism. It was nigh a call for decommission as Fox did not have mandokarla. What copy of Jango Fett, the galaxy’s greatest bounty hunter, assassin, mercenary, their Mand’alor, didn’t want to fight? He was a sham, a coward.

Fox just didn’t want to lose any brothers.

And yet, here, Padawan Casey’s creed was based around it.

Yellow-green eyes stared at him, assertive and weighted. “Defensive does not mean weak.” Fox barely withheld his flinch. “The Kage Warriors are meant to protect, not provide, that is the government’s duty, thus our strength is defensive. Defense of life, of liberty, and of property – this is our principle of non-agression.”

Starkly different from the non-aggression of the New Mandalorians too.

Temple Guard Feemor lamented Padawan Casey coming from a warrior culture, but Fox thought he couldn’t be any more different from the Mandalorians. 

Nevertheless, the creed made sense and granted both Padawan Casey’s actions and those of the Kages’ better perspective. “That’s why the Kage leaders would never reject your help. With your Jedi magic –” Padawan Casey huffed at that “– you could accomplish what they couldn’t for centuries. Did you volunteer, or did the leaders push you to strike at Lord Otua Blank? No, wait,” Fox muttered, backtracking. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You said Kages fight for freedom, and Jedi reject slavery.”

At least, on paper. With Quartize in Inner Rim territory, the Republic outlawed slavery upon it. Based on his limited knowledge of Shadows, he knew General Vos wouldn’t have hesitated to take creative means. Black ops typically, more often than not, interpreted mission objectives and stretched to headache-inducing degrees the means of achievement. It could just be a Jedi thing too; General Kenobi and General Skywalker certainly made a living out of it.

For Padawan Casey, assessing the planetary war’s status, could easily turn into: ending planetary war.

Removal of a slaver, as a Jedi.

Defense of the young woman, as a Kage Warrior.

It was simply stars-aligned that Lord Otau Blank held the chains. A death that would’ve occurred sooner or later, Padawan Casey said in the report. Nothing in his creed dictated mercy, yet Lord Otau Blank died quickly, electrocuted from within.

Good for him, most certainly.

“You could’ve claimed any motivation, but the instant you landed on Quartzite, it would’ve ended with Lord Otua Blank’s death, wouldn’t it?” It came out more a statement than a question.

A tense silence seized them, eyes transfixed on each other as Fox pushed and pushed and pushed. Padawan Casey had been forthcoming thus far, and Fox prayed for just one more. One more confirmation. It was foolish of him to be greedy, a mere clone beseeching a nat-born, but his instincts had not betrayed him yet. There was an assassin in his arms, unrestrained, with no reason to comply, and yet his instincts told he was at no risk. 

And what a reward that came from it.

“Very sharp, Commander.” Padawan Casey smiled in that viciously gleeful way. There was a fang peaking out, too sharp and cutting for a human, that only added to his words’ effect. “After all, slaves are more easily freed when the slave owner and all of their enforcers are dead.”

Likely how Padawan Casey was freed. Even from such a tender age, and Fox shuddered at that with rage, he was already fighting for freedom. Some of the Black Sun must’ve survived the crash, only to be on the wrong end of a lightsaber when Temple Guard Feemor dropped in. Four standard with a fully developed brain he may be, but an enslaved child would’ve taken such an experience to heart.

How easily that translated into assassination of a planetary leader. How motivated he would’ve been.

“I understand,” Fox said. And he did. 

Padawan Casey hummed. “You really do understand me, don’t you?” 

Fox shuddered, his throat tensing, as the strange pressure that always seemed to follow Padawan Casey once more reared its head. Dangerous and alluring. Demanding attention by way of wrapping around his throat, like an immense predator’s jaws opening around it, then gently running its teeth along his throat’s length, stroking, pleased, at Fox’s deduction. 

It didn’t… feel like a threat, but oh, how it could be, Fox’s spiraling thoughts latched onto. More like a predator made of only weapons and was limited in its means to convey pleasure.

“Only my Master, Feemor, and crèchemate has accused me of the kill,” said Padawan Casey. “Not even the High Council has.” Tilting his head, that damnable smile still present, weighty and dangerous and challenging, “So I must ask, what are you going to do about it?” 

“Nothing,” Fox said.

And he meant it.

Fox did not give a kark of the murder of an oppressor; the blubbery bastard was seeking a predatory marriage, dragging his would-be bride to the altar by collar and chains. Quartzite didn’t have representation in the Senate, thus since the start, were written off of participation and resources within the Republic-Separatists conflict. That marked off any reason why Commander Fox would give a kark, too.

“I only wanted to know.” Fox admitted, forcibly unhooking each of his fingers and quickly dropping them to step back. 

The pressure followed despite the added distance. 

Padawan Casey was still staring at him with those striking yellow-green eyes.

Hesitating but still largely curious, he asked. “But why… why did you admit all this to me?” 

Fox was a mere clone. Fox was Coruscant’s top Clone Commander, duty bound to Republic laws that punished draft evasion and political assassination. He did not give a kark of the latter. The draft evasion… well, he’s not exactly a Jedi at the moment, not with that probation, and normal private citizens weren’t under any mandate to enlist. Still this Jedi could’ve, should’ve, stayed silent and not incriminate himself.

“The Force,” said Padawan Casey.

Fox snorted. Of course –

“But I also wanted to.” A meaningful pause. “You, you’re interesting.”

Something changed when Padawan Casey said that, and it took a moment for Fox to realize.

The yellow-green gaze at their first meeting in reflection now seemed… so normal, still unusual like a nat-born granting him direct but polite attention towards any other nat-born, but now… there was true weight behind it.

Only his batchmates ever came close to looking at him like this, like just his existence and companionship was enough. Like he was worth something.

But even then, that was coupled with an underlying understanding that he was their youngest and smallest, that he needed to be protected because he couldn’t himself. It pissed him off endlessly growing up; he survived Trainer Priest’s interest, for Force’s sake. He could beat the combined shebs of Cody, Bly, Wolffe, Ponds, and Gree plus Cody’s annoying little blond shadow.

This Jedi had no such obligations, no history or shared trauma with him. 

Only vode could truly understand the grief-guilt-anger of being the survivors of their batch, all decommissioned before they could even step off that water planet of their birthplace and living nightmare, and only they could understand the near instant connection between other survivors. The gasping desperation of waking and reaching for a brother – Gree, he’s here, he’s still here, (“Ten-Four is here, Ten-Ten, breath”) – because they didn’t want to lose another batch, didn’t want to lose that sense of belonging again –

This Jedi could not understand that.

And yet, you’re interesting. 

Fox was interesting to this Jedi.

It was not how his batchmates would speak of him, but somehow as equally gratifying. 

Fox’s breath hitched. “You,” swallowing, “I…” He didn’t know how to respond.

This Jedi was so dangerous. Though vexingly, him being also alluring seemed to append to Fox’s mental profile of him. 

In the face of Fox’s bewilderment, Padawan Casey’s serenity was rather annoying, and Fox wondered maddeningly what it’d take to coax that vicious playfulness back out.

“I have my own questions,” started Padawan Casey. At Fox’s nod, grateful for the topic change, “I too looked you all up. At least ten years, you all have existed, yet no Jedi I’ve questioned knew why. Everyone says you were ordered and purchased by the Jedi Order, yet Mace didn’t know nor did my Master, who is in charge of the Shadows, knew about you. No archived documentation. Only claims from the Kaminoans and the Chancellor. You all are a greater mystery than the war.”

Fox blinked. But that… that couldn’t be possible? Fox was decanted eleven years ago, with a few Alphas, including Boba Fett, and other designations even before that.

All of the trainers and even Prime, according to the long necks, were under contract by the Jedi Order. Even simple supply delivery runs were traceable by contracts.

“We did not know about you, but you knew about us. Your creators and trainers were so sure that you would be needed, that you would be led by the Jedi even though we have never been in a war of this scale since a millennia ago, with the Jedi-Sith War before the creation of this Republic. There are no Generals and Commanders in our ranks with the Rusaan Reformation, and yet here we are.”

The strange pressure swirled, buzzing and prowling around Fox, even though the Jedi remained still. “Isn’t that just so interesting, Commander?”

Interesting would not be the word Fox would’ve used. 

Instead, it reeked of headaches and off the records investigations, because there’s no way Fox would leave this revelation sitting. It stunk of conspiracy, and put the frankly lackluster performance of some Jedi on the field in a different light.

The Jedi were not soldiers. They were not trained to be Generals or Commanders. 

They had no reason to order a large-scale army.

And yet, Fox and his brothers existed… because of who? For what reason? 

It also begged another question, which Fox made sure to keep his voice even. “So then, why… are the Jedi participating in the war?” Some, to the point of grief and dissent that led to their eventual death?

“The Senate writes our paychecks and controls what missions we receive. Led by Chancellor Palpatine himself, the military draft was issued to the Jedi.” Padawan Casey said. It was the crux of it, but somehow, Fox didn’t think that was the real answer. “The High Council felt our participation aligned with our role to protect key planets and meditate for peace.” Again, not the real answer, at least not one Padawan Casey believed in. 

Padawan Casey stared at him, likely picking up on his doubt, then smiled. “But perhaps more importantly, it’s because we cannot regret you.”

Fox went taut at that.

“The Jedi I know, they are fighting in this war for you. They pity you. They trust you. They love you. They wish to witness your lives following this war, when you all can truly live your lives, and the GAR without the Jedi would not have fought for that.”

The strange pressure lifted away at that, a predator satisfied at leaving its final mark and leaving Fox shaking. Despite his training and usual beskar control, those mere words left him reeling, only able to stare agape, in denial and horror, as Padawan Casey stepped towards him.

Your people died for us, Fox breathed shakily, why, why, why, we’re only clones –

They didn’t need us, didn’t want us, yet were taking responsibility for us.

The Jedi cared about us.

Enough that they were dying for us.

There could be more brothers made, Jedi could not be, and yet –

The Jedi we were made for were being forced onto the frontlines because of us. The Jedi were dying because of us. 

The realization nearly made Fox collapse onto his knees. How in sithhells could Fox respond to that? How to even start begging for forgiveness –

With Padawan Casey’s approach, he was free to wipe at the remnant alcohol on Fox’s bucket with long sleeves clutched in his hand, cleaning the stains from the Corrie red paint. Padawan Casey was still smiling. How could he still smile at Fox – 

“I can see why now.”

Fox jerked back. 

A small fang peeked out at that, his smile playful, not that viciousness but still triumphant, like he’d figured out some inside joke only privy to him. 

Only privy to him and the karking Force. 

Never Fox, though, his confusion still rampant. 

Padawan Casey then bowed, his right fist against an open palm, in what Fox could only assume to be a Kage Warrior’s greeting. A warrior to another, rather than as a Jedi due to the probation that prevented Padawan Casey serving, and identifying, as a Jedi. A Jedi that participated in a war, not because of the vode. Cleanly and carelessly ending the conversation that had only spiraled, that answered yet did not answer Fox’s ever growing list of questions, of concerns, only to top it off with the worst realization of the war’s unbalanced undertaking of the Jedis’ and his brothers’ lives. Padawan Casey ended it before Fox could apologize.

“Do call me Elva from now on, Commander. Thank you for today, and see you later.”

Fox could only watch his retreating back with a racing heart.

Chapter Text

There’s been a flood of reports recently about beaten up nat-borns left upon the streets. 

They’re curiously familiar faces, most prominent amongst violent crowds and always weidling hate-filled eyes and bigoted language against clones.

A zabrak sporting missing front teeth and a crooked horn that once loudly confessed that the Corries were a convenient punching bag to release his frustrations from a bad divorce. A rodian, sobbing over a broken foot, that per a dare by his drunken friends bulldozed over an unsuspecting shiny and stomped on their face. Then sneered that it was a gifted mark that required no ink. A female administrator of a GAR support branch sobbed into the hospital with a thorough facial of pepper spray; she once forced a Captain to strip in her office just so he could receive the rations allocated to his squad.

No victims that the Corries would ever stress over, tellingly by the instant drop of three opened investigations into the backlog despite their freshness and clear lead for a connection. 

Being that there’s someone striking karma onto nat-borns.

Another, being that only nat-borns that have harmed the Corries were targeted.

And Fox didn’t know how to feel about that.

As if entertained by Fox’s dilemma, another report promptly came. Another nat-born, a scrappy male near-human, and of course one that had harmed a Corrie. By way of once brutally swinging a metal bat into the back of a Corrie’s bucket, screaming, “Die, fleshdroid!” The bucket had protected the vod from any lasting damage but still left him with a nasty concussion. Not to mention the night terrors. The nat-born turned up with bruises all over his arms, unable to move them or resist the Corries that collected him, whimpering pathetically of a masked assailant, of glowing yellow eyes, “it’s here, that feeling – it’s following me, save me, save me please –”

An investigation was opened and went straight into the backlog.

Fox at least did his due diligence as the commander, noting that the primary suspect had glowing yellow eyes. Or, Fox highly suspected, had some variation of yellow eyes.

… Like the yellow-green eyes belonging to this karking patrol-interrupting Jedi.

“Padawan Casey,” Fox groaned and longed to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Elva,” came the correction. 

Fox would not be making a habit of calling nat-borns by some pet name, and definitely not in the company of one of his squads. All of whom were blatantly eavesdropping. Gone were their lessons and fear – sith spit, even respect to their commander – before this Jedi to not even act like they weren’t.

This Jedi, who’s not even part of the GAR, has become a far too familiar face amongst his men.

“Padawan Casey.” Fox stressed, ignoring the pout from Padawan Casey. “Was there something I could help you with?” 

It was an empty question at this point. They all knew why Padawan Casey sought him out; why, though not truly why, but usually an exchange of greetings would suffice whatever the Force wanted for a moment. Until the next time, usually the following day or at most three. Each meeting did well to keep him on his toes, unable to accept, to enjoy, a nat-born seeking him out just for him. Without expectations and without favor. He could simply say hello, grumble about some stupid stunt from his men, or just stay silent to work through his grief – another complaint, another careless demand for decommission – and exhaustion, and Padawan Casey would accept it all.

Fox did not fear his or his men’s lives with Padawan Casey.

The rest, he kept tight reins upon. 

Human emotions were such inconvenient things for Fox knew – he knew and feared – for what would happen lest he allow his greed-hunger-desire free upon this Jedi.

For all the nice and sweet acquaintanceship they’ve built up, Force intention or no, Padawan Casey did not deserve being drowned by unnecessary feelings. His people were already dying for them, and Fox had enough consciousness and discipline to make sure they did not cause more harm. The Corries did not have a General, and there were no other neat little puzzle piece amongst them that a stray Jedi could fit.

Said stray Jedi, as always, did not care for Fox’s dilemmas and shook his head. “I came to see you,” he said with a smile.

There were tales of emperors and planetary leaders falling for pretty faces, treasuries emptied and society crumpling into madness, simply so they may bask in one sentient’s attention. Fox would never be that stupid, but he knew himself. Knew his stupid men. The cusp of that desire was damningly present across their genetically same gazes.

Stop, ugh, karking stop it.

Their violent, barren childhood shouldn’t be rearing its head now. This Jedi wasn’t up for grabs or anything traitorous like that.

“You saw me,” Fox turned away. “If that was all you needed,” that the Force needed, more like, then “please return to the Temple.” 

“Of course, Commander.” It wasn’t a purr, Padawan Casey’s tone was too monotone for that, but Fox felt there was something amused and teasing behind it. “But not yet.” 

Here, Fox finally noticed Padawan Casey wasn’t empty-handed this time. 

Oh, stupid him, there he was, getting distracted by that pretty face.

“What’s with the duffel bag?” In comparison to Padawan Casey’s lithe body, the duffel bag was nearly half his height and stuffed to the brim. 

A cynical bastard like Fox should’ve cataloged it for threats instantly, of bombs or materials stuffed inside to construct one, or other weaponry; why else would someone carry a duffel bag of this size nowadays with transport droids littered across Coruscant? None of that even passed his mind, though, not with Padawan Casey. None of the suspicion that Coruscant’s top Commander should’ve pinged when Padawan Casey waltzed right into a bustling street, into the crowd of his men with an unusual carry-on, once more intercepting their patrols. Intercepting their duty and livelihood to serve the Republic, and none of them vocally raised concerns about that.

Fox was already getting quite tired of these stupid feelings, getting compromised, and it hadn’t even been long since first notice.

Padawan Casey grinned, and yeah, he’s definitely being playful. “Just a little treat for you and your kits.”

His what.

Mind whirling, he found a definition for kits. The young of certain animals, such as the beaver, fox, ferret, and mink – Fox would not call his men, not even his shinies, his young.

In addition, Kages were not some animal variant species, so the label was way out of left field. Your kits, ha. What in sithhells? Jedi were karking weird.

And here, Padawan Casey dropped the bag, unzipping it under the undivided attention of the surrounding squad. Their stance telling of their bright curiosity even with their buckets, some unable to help themselves and drawing close. Fox first noticed the unmistakable scent of actual food – non-rationed, flavorful food – wafting through the air. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the familiar snacks and refreshments, the same items he had seen circulating through the Corrie’s barracks in recent trades. They narrowed even further when his men cheered, unsurprised, at the reveal.

“You’re the source of these.” These newfound contraband items, bribes being tossed around, that even some of the visiting battalions drooled over. He’s had the displeasure of witnessing his men devolve into raving monkey-lizards over scraps of these.

Padawan Casey gestured nonchalantly at the stash. “It is nothing much.”

Stepping back to allow the squad’s captain, with a merry little salute, to enthusiastically start fetching each piece for distribution. Only his rank and Fox’s presence, he suspected, prevented the squad from descending upon it in a mad free-for-all. Like karking monkey-lizards. How did these bucketbrain nerf herders even pass their evaluations? 

Fox scoffed. Nothing much, really.

These nothing-much snacks and refreshments had put genuine smiles on his men’s faces. Not even the dubious safety of Kamino, when his men still had full squads to bicker with, could compare. 

They were smiles that didn’t belong in this sithhells of Coruscant, yet did anyway.

“Ah, be careful shaking that.” Padawan Casey placed a gentle hand on one of the CTs’ wrists, who’d taken to tossing a small bottle of sparkling blue liquid. “That is Thala-siren milk soda. Refreshing and slightly salty but very fizzy. Shake it too much with the cap on, and it’ll shoot out into your face.”

More than one bucket swiveled to stare at the bottle intensely, no doubt nefarious pranks forming in their heads. A more cunning one shuffled to seize a similar blue bottle straight from the duffle bag. Fox, on the other hand, cataloged them all for future cleaning duties.

“Um, sir? What… if I may ask, what is this, sir?” A recently graduated shiny asked, holding up a bright orange fruit in his hands, leveled with his face, as if it’d shield his nerves. It was an uncommon face on him. Named Chuckles because he found even the silliest things gut-wrenchingly hilarious like some of the Senators’ outfits, understandable, or some of the vode’s names, pot calling the kettle black, or oversized stray animals in Coruscant streets, the stupid child should stop rolling them down slanted walkways if he didn’t want scratches and bite marks.

“No sir. I am not part of the GAR,” said Padawan Casey, repetitive but not unkind. “That is a meiloorun. Sweet, juicy, and a bit tangy. Gives quite a nice energy boost, but be careful biting into it. Its spikes grow outwards, so there may be hidden ones, just hardened, right under its skin.”

Chuckles allowed Padawan Casey to move his hands, running his fingertips at specific textures of the fruit as a means to locate newly forming spikes, a shaky but wide smile on his face. One that was growing, more familiar with his namesake, as Padawan Casey’s gentle behavior persisted. 

As he gave straightforward answers. Like during the Jedi’s and Fox’s first meeting, no hesitation or embellishments. 

No distaste even when answering to vode that were getting his people killed.

Fox shuddered, the knowledge still sitting wrong with him. 

It sat worse with his batchmates, passed through an encrypted holocall because there was a conspiracy happening. A message wouldn’t have been enough, wouldn’t have been safe. Too many unknown parts and players, all with intent to drive the Jedi and his brothers to death, but the Jedi’s lack of training needed to be known. Their motivations needed to be known, regardless of Wolffe’s sorrowful-angered howl, Bly immediately dropping the call to rush to General Secura, Gree’s red-rimmed eyes, Ponds cracking the two cups in his hands, his caff run for General Windu all but forgotten, and Cody’s blank horror because he was the only Marshal Commander left on the call with Bly’s absence, he needed to keep his composure even as their world collapsed around them –

Fox wagered in no less than two cycles, the entire vode would be aware.

The entire vode would scream.

It changed nothing because the war was still ongoing. Count Dooku and the Supreme Chancellor, more unintentionally on the latter’s part, were fueling the flames, and the Jedi and vode were dying.

It changed everything because there had been stragglers. Vode that didn’t step off Kamino with loyalty to the Jedi in their heart, only their mind, beaten into out of fear from decommissioning. Like the Corries that needed no General. Like Fox. There would surely be no more vode like that.

“– too spicy, Dantooninian-make,” breaking Fox out of his reverie, Padawan Casey traded a wrapped bar in colorful foil with a small box into ‘18’s hands. The same ‘18 that Padawan Casey saved before. “Take this instead, a jogan fruit pastry. It’s soft and sweet.” And much better suited for ‘18 who couldn’t even handle the bitterness of caff, which, seriously, what the kark was wrong with this kid? Something must’ve gone disastrously wrong during ‘18’s incubation to birth such hatred for caff. It’s caff! Anyways, Padawan Casey shouldn’t have known that, but Fox was willing to file it under Jedi osik.

At ‘18’s hesitant thanks, Padawan Casey smiled. Then reached to pat his head, as if he wasn’t a Jedi half a head shorter than ‘18.

Not just ‘18 froze at that.

But ‘18 was the first to melt into the touch, lowering his head, just slightly, probably more unconsciously than anything, to lean into that pale, gentle hand.

As the Commander, tasked with his men’s safety and wellness, it was Fox’s obligation to halt any foolishness. Like getting spoiled by a Jedi. 

“Where’d you get the credits for this anyway, Padawan Casey?” He sniped. 

The contraband started showing up weeks ago, and based on his men’s reactions, so readily accepting like they’d received the gifts before despite their rotating patrol schedule, Fox could safely assume at least ten duffle bags worth of items were given. Food during wartime was not cheap. Even senator aides were complaining about inflation, not just on their more luxurious items, but just normal catering. 

This was a suitable distraction, by how ‘18 jerked and shuffled away, hands clenched tightly around the gifted box as yellow-green eyes blinked at him. 

“I had some…” a light hum, “generous donations recently.”

That couldn’t have been worded any more suspiciously. 

What the kark.

The Jedi’s karking with them, he must be.

Besides, weren’t Jedi notoriously poor? As in, a cultural and religious entity who, based on their altruistic nature, could only survive off of scrappy Senate budgeting and donations? 

Padawan Casey looked at him, all guileless serenity, beautiful, and karking fake. Fox’s bullshit radar was blaring left and right. This situation was, admittedly, very amusing, but Fox was a good Clone Commander. He had a duty to ward off crimes on Coruscant, even implied ones committed by a Jedi. 

Crossing his arms, Fox arched his brow. “I was not aware that the Jedi committed highway robbery.”

“Nothing of that sort.” Padawan Casey chuckled, playful. “People can be surprisingly generous when properly motivated.”

There were no generous people on Coruscant. 

Think of it, and thus, the world answered. 

If only it worked with Sith Lords, preferably when they were in full combat gear, equipped with slugthrowers each. But nope. For the Corries, it was always the petty influentials, high on power, or the petty street trash, all bark no bite; today’s special was the latter.

“– fucking flesh-droids, stinking up the walkway,” came an annoying rasp from one of the passerbyers, garbed in military wear, no medals or insignia. He had a vicious snarl, tightly clutching a scantily clad woman to his chest. “Scram, ya lab rats!” He barked out. 

Sithhells. Fox rolled his eyes under his bucket. Territorial porgs were more threatening.

“Hey, hey, don’t be mean to the little plastic soldiers,” the woman crooned sweetly, poisonously. “That’s why they must have real commanding officers like you, honey.” Unlikely. There were no stripes or bars on that plain olive uniform; even the clone captain crouched over nat-born treats, like a silly cadet just discovering the wonders of contraband, ranked higher. 

A group of nat-borns, dressed ruggedly, in eavesdropping distance cackled. 

One of them opened their mouths, face maliciously gleeful, only for the pressure around them to suddenly sharpen. Like a whipping thunderstorm of Kamino’s worst, capable of cutting skin with pellets of rain and debris, witnessed yet somehow still felt through the safety of the cloning facilities’ windows.

The Force, Fox belatedly realized. This was…

This was Padawan Casey’s doing, during Fox’s questioning before and at this moment… 

It was the same. (It was somehow familiar but not, but where would Fox have felt the Force used this way before?) The pressure was something intangible yet undeniably real, felt by more than just him, his men anxiously wavering their hands over their blaster from it.

The hecklers and rugged group, who had been so bold and brazen just a moment ago, faltered. Fox could see it in their eyes – the flicker of fear, confusion, and… recognition? 

Fox snapped his head towards Padawan Casey.

Padawan Casey hadn’t moved but for a hand lifted to cover the lower half of his face. His spread fingers and palm worked like a veil, only his yellow-green eyes the visible feature and they were piercing, as always, and stern. 

“Be nice,” was all Padawan Casey said.

There was no threat in his tone, his voice as steady as a tranquil breeze, lacking malice in his body posture. In fact, there was something innocently deceptive about the way he stood there, dressed in casual robes and no lightsaber visible, just a small figure amongst the armored squad who had taken to surrounding him like a shield.

And yet, the effect was immediate.

The nat-borns recoiled, almost in unison. In particular, the military man’s sneer was replaced by that of stark panic. When the woman looked at him in confusion, obviously wanting to continue their fun, he clenched hard around her waist. She hissed in pain as he stuttered out a nervous laugh. “Nice – nice! Of course, Ah can do tha’.” 

Fox blinked dumbfoundedly as the man saluted them. Nearly throwing her to the ground in his haste, his bravado completely stripped, he announced loudly. “Thank y – ya, uh, thank ya for yer service! Sirs!” 

“That’s right, we thank you greatly! Sirs!” The group echoed. “Uh, ma’am? Zirs? Why would clones have different pronouns –” A loud smack, hurriedly spoken over with a “You all are the Republic’s pride! Separatists shake in their boots before you!”

“If blasters ran on charm, you’d never run out of ammo.”

“Oooh yeah, that! That’s it! You must have been cloned from a charm factory because you’re winning over the whole squad,” paired with two stiff finger guns.

“Is it just me, or um, do you take orders better than a protocol droid on maximum compliance mode?” Then a mumbled, “Kark, that was horrid…”

“You fight so well, even the droids are sending in preemptive repair tickets!” They all cheered at that, proud by the creative compliment and nodding like the most grateful citizens on Coruscant, like the vode themselves gifted them lottery tickets, a fully paid tour of the galaxy, and delivered their babies.

Fox gaped at the absurd performance, glancing at Padawan Casey because what the kark was happening? Was this how the Force affected nat-borns? Was this why Jedis were all weirdos?

Padawan Casey simply dropped his hand, a small smile indicating his satisfaction at the attitude change, and the hecklers took that as permission to scramble away. Practically fleeing the street as if their lives depended on it, ignoring the woman’s shrieking and throwing more and more appreciation behind them even after they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Fox’s bucket still caught tailends of a “… heat-seeking missile of awesomeness” and “… smoother than a speeder in fifth gear!”

Absolutely ridiculous.

Fox turned to Padawan Casey, his voice deliberately gruff to mask his bewilderment. “What… did you just do to them?” 

Padawan Casey shrugged, careless, full of bantha druk. “A reminder that a little kindness and generosity are good.”

Something clicked in Fox’s head. “You threatened them before, didn’t you.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question. He knew. Even the chump-est of vode would know. All those backlogged reports of injured nat-borns, who have harmed the Corries, accumulated to that of glowing yellow-ish eyes injecting fear and karma and propagating the practice of generous donations into Coruscant’s most delinquent crowd.

Fox stared at his primary suspect, all but confirmed. “You kriffing robbed them. Padawan Casey, what the kark?”

The violent, bantha dung stirring, probation-breaking – a combination of words Fox never thought to associate with a – Jedi stared back then raised a chocolate bar towards him.

“Call me Elva,” he said.

Sithspit. Padawan Casey didn’t deny his accusation. 

Definitely confirmed, then.

When the bar only resulted in a raised chin from Fox – because what? A single contraband for both the name request and keeping silent of his misdeeds? Fox was a Commander, not some pet, able to be yanked around, no karking way – Padawan Casey doubled it. The second bar was caff flavored.

Fox huffed, unable to stop the smile under his bucket, and accepted the bribes for what they were. The reports weren’t that high priority. Some could run cold, and the culprit seemed content to remain within Corries’ grabbing distance for the foreseeable future; plus, the Corries didn’t have a cell to contain a Jedi anyway.

For now, Fox used that distance to clasp a firm hand over Elva’s shoulder. He had a bastard Jedi to return to the Temple.