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Fox’s head is pounding. He doesn’t remember. He—He doesn’t remember.
He left his office on an emergency call for Chancellor Palpatine.
And returned to his office with several messages from his brothers asking him what the fuck his problem was—killing a brother.
He would never.
His blaster is kept to stun. It always is. It’s a Guard mandate. All of his boys have to keep their weapons on stun, there are too many civvies to do anything but.
In the oppressive silence of his dark office, Fox digs the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees sparks. He doesn’t remember. He killed a brother and he doesn’t fucking remember a thing. He has killed a man before, has seen the spray of blood as the bolt exits the body. It doesn’t take much to imagine his own face on that murdered man.
He looks at the blaster belt sitting in the small halo of light coming from the chrono above the door. It wouldn’t take much to make that daydream a reality.
Despite being a clone, the Human body really is so delicate. All he would have to do is press the barrel underneath his chin. Pull the trigger.
He has pulled the trigger a thousand times, has seen his target fall every time.
He wonders what it would be like to be his own victim.
He wonders what Death feels like.
If it is painful, it can’t be any worse than what he feels now. This emptiness. This pounding in his skull. This ache of missing something but not knowing what.
There is a soft knock on his door.
He doesn’t answer. The lights are off. To anyone looking for him, it would appear as though isn’t here.
And maybe he isn’t. His thoughts are foggy, like his nightmares when he is running through the sands of Geonosis, but going nowhere. Going nowhere. What would it be like to go somewhere? To be free? To run through the streets without the weight of armor.
He realizes, belatedly, that his eyes are still trained on the blaster lounging there, upon his desk, just within reach.
The door whirls open and he squints against the fluorescent onslaught. “What do you want?” he barks.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Her voice is soft, delicate. Far too kind for what he deserves right now.
“Go away,” he growls.
Gratefully, the door whirls shut, but it is only when she trips over his bucket—he doesn’t remember how it got there, so carelessly left on the floor—that he realizes she has trapped herself in here with him. A defenseless bunny wandering innocently into the Fox’s den.
“I heard what happened,” she says.
He says nothing. He knows Thorn likely told her—that man can’t hold water against a beautiful woman. And Riyo Chuchi is beautiful. He has every curve of her memorized—the soft pout of her lips, the slope of her delicate nose, the gentle line of her eyebrows while sleeping.
All of this, but he can’t remember pulling the trigger.
“Fox?”
“Leave.”
“No.”
He growls. “I just murdered a man, Riyo. I’m—” Dangerous. A loose cannon.
“You wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You don’t know that!” He shoots from his chair. “I don’t know if I wouldn't. I—I killed Fives and I don’t even remember.” The words, spoken aloud, hang in the air, tighten his throat. “I don’t remember.”
His knees buckle. He falls to the floor in a heap. He doesn’t remember.
He can’t remember.
He’s a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode. She’s too close, standing right in a crosshair she can’t see.
She kneels in front of him—he feels her more than sees her. “Fox… does your head hurt?”
It always hurts. Every time he leaves Palpatine's office. His head aches, deep in his temple. “Yes,” he croaks.
Silence hangs between them—all Fox can hear is their shared breath and his own pulse in his ears.
She grabs his hand, he doesn’t recoil. Can’t find the willpower to move his body at all. In his open palm she signs one, single word in Galactic Sign.
Danger.
And just like that, his self loathing snaps away and he assesses the room. They are locked in his windowless office. The only glimmer of light still blinks from the chrono.
He flips her hand over and signs back.
Where?
Here. Eyes.
Grabbing her wrist, he hauls her to her feet. He retrieves the two pieces of armor he had shed along with his gun belt and charges to the parking garage where the Corrie Guard speeder bikes are kept.
They go to the place they meet—the one place Fox knows that there are no cameras. She clings to him as they twist and turn through the traffic to the top of an office building. There is a corner on the roof that is unsecure, but the building itself doesn’t contain anything worth stealing. Not wanting to risk unwanted recordings, he leaves both his vambrace and his helmet on the bike. A major breach of regulation, but Riyo is in danger.
“What’s going on?” he asks her, when they are safely secured behind the guard rail of the skyscraper.
“You’re in danger. All of your brothers are.” The loose tendrils of her updo dance in the wind of nearby traffic flying by. The lights of the city make her golden eyes glow.
He blinks. He's in danger? It doesn’t make sense. He’s the predator, she’s the prey. He isn’t the one who is hunted, she is. No one cares about the lives of clones, no one save for Senator Riyo Chuchi.
“How?”
“Sit,” she says, motioning to the pavement, “and I will tell you.”