Heya there! my name’s Xenoquien, but you can just call me Xeno! I use they/them pronouns and identify as nonbinary! this is a space to just come chill and be yourself! and if you ever need a place to vent when ever something is tough and you need a little help or just someone to listen, my DMs are open!
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I do have anxiety and other mental health problems so i do take breaks from here and my other socials, and from writing. I have MDD (Major depressive disorder), PTSD, BPD, Anxiety, and POTS. I may speak on my experiences here and am comfortable with any questions regarding my disability or mental health.
The main fandoms you’ll see reposted on my page are: Predator, Ghost, and transformers as those are the fandoms I’m most active in. However you’ll occasionally see others as well as the occasional fanfic from me!
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Pronouns: They/them mostly but I go by/respond to anything!
Age: 18
My blog contains 18+ content so I ask for no minors to interact with my content I know I cannot control you or what you choose to read but I ask for you to not interact
Pedos, zoos, homo or transphobes, terfs or racists are not allowed on my page, if I find out you are you will be immediately blocked and removed from my page!!!
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DNIs are fucking stupid and useless for a lot of reasons. But my favorite is when someone has a DNI (specifically against proshippers) then get pissed off if people in the fandom block them preemptively for it
I'm sorry, I thought you wanted your DNIs enforced? Or are they actually just a show you put on to feel moral and good
This reminds me of a throw back, i had an IRL friend who legitimately was okay with proship, proceeded to join a proship server with me, AND THEN FUCKING STOPPED BEING FRIENDS WITH ME MUCH LATER BECAUSE SHE DIDNT HEAD “DONT LIKE; DONT READ”
She had a full on crash out about it, and i have had a major argument on discord before with someone because in a minor heavy server i was in (my friend who’s only like a year and a half younger than me runs it), decided to talk about proshippers and how they hope they kill themselves in very VERY GRAPHIC descriptions. Again this was a minor heavy discord server and they were over 21.
Like i get not agreeing with certain things being written and not wanting to consume that media. Like it’s your choice, but purity culture is coming back and getting way out of control. i mean have you seen what people are saying about AO3??? they’re losing their minds over the fact there is legitimate tags for underage or incest… Like that is there for a reason and so is the filters button so you can purposefully filter out what you do not want.
What drives me up the wall though is when people go into a HEAVILY proship/darkship community and get pissy when so much of what is written is darkship or proship. Like my friend i spoke about earlier??? yeah that happened with the band ghost. A LOT of fandom stuff that people write is considered proship. It just boggles me that people do not heed tags or get pissy when someone they follow writes something they don’t agree with.
sorry for this long ass rant it just drove me up the fucking wall bro lmao
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Summary: The deployment on Ryloth has come to an end. Worried he won't get to see you again, Fives goes to extreme lengths to make it happen - even if life in the brig is at stake.
Word Count: 6.3k
Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, drunk clones
A/N: Anyone else looking forward to @summer-of-clones ? Anyway, this is not beta read at all so apologies in advance.
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You and Fives made the rendezvous - you always knew you would. Once you linked up with the rest of the squads, the final phase of the battle was over in a flash, leaving the 501st and the 327th with no more droids to scrap. And for the Republic, victory meant a swift exit. Before you or the men could even catch your breath, a massive Venator was already breaking the atmosphere and landing, ready to ship the two legions straight back to Coruscant.
Once back on Coruscant, you stood near the far edge of the transport platform. The remaining troopers of the 327th and the 501st streamed past you in a sea of sandy, scuffed plastoid, dragging supply crates and checking weapon tallies.
But beneath the calm exterior, your mind was a racing. The ambient thoughts of hundreds of clones, vibrating with the relief of survival and the exhaustion of campaign, beat against your empathic senses. Yet, through all the noise, your focus was anchored to a single, distinct presence moving down the ramp.
Fives.
He was moving with a stride that deliberately tried to mask the heavy limp in his right leg. His armor had been superficially scrubbed of Ryloth’s red sand, but the thermal scoring from the crash remained. He carried a datapad in his hand, and his helmet in the other. He navigated the chaotic flow of men and made his way straight toward you. To anyone around, it simply looked like an ARC trooper was approaching a superior officer to deliver a standard post mission log.
He stopped only a couple steps from you, bringing his heels together in a sharp, regulation stance.
"General," Fives said, his voice entirely devoid of the raw intimacy that it held on Ryloth. He held out the datapad. "The casualty reports and equipment manifests from the crash site have been compiled. The 501st logistics team has logged the data. I figured you would like a copy."
"Thank you, Fives" you replied, your tone matching his professionalism as you took the datapad from his grip. Your fingers briefly brushed against his during the exchange, the point of contact sending a sharp tremor through both your bodies, "I appreciate your efficiency with finishing the report. We could use some of that in the 327th."
Fives didn’t respond. Instead, he adjusted his stance slightly, leaning in just enough to ensure that the surrounding sound of the hangar wouldn’t swallow his words.
"The boys are heading to 79’s tonight," he murmured, the words tumbling out with a quiet, eager intensity, "The whole battalion is looking to drown the dust of Ryloth with something strong. I- we would love for you to join us."
The invitation hung in the small bit of air between you. For a second, the image of that night at 79’s sitting at the bar with a glass of cheap liquor and the comforting weight of his shoulder against yours flashed vividly in your mind. But reality kicked in before you could think too much about it.
You looked up, locking your gaze onto his pleading eyes. "I appreciate the offer, trooper," you said softly, your voice dropping to match his, "But I think it’s best I keep out of this one. You men earned your celebration, and having a Jedi hovering around the tables after a mission usually ruins the fun. Enjoy the night off."
The rejection was delivered with absolute gentleness, but the physical reaction from Fives was instantaneous.
The shift in his demeanor was visceral. His shoulders, previously squared with a faint trace of hope, dropped noticeably. His jaw tightened so hard you could see the faint ripple of the muscle along his neck through his blacks. Through the Force, his presence didn't just dim, it curdled into a knot of disappointment.
The sight of his deflated posture twisted your chest. Desperate to soften the blow, to remind him that you were honest about your words on Ryloth, you let out a tiny, breathless laugh and leaned in slightly closer.
"Don't look at me like that," you teased in a daring whisper, "This isn't goodbye, Fives. It’s just a see you later. Unless, of course, I happen to get myself killed on the next deployment. Then I guess it’s goodbye."
The dark, throwaway joke had barely left your lips before his composure shattered.
Fives went completely rigid. He didn't laugh. He didn't smile. The sudden, brutal realization that the woman he saw his entire future with could be erased by a single stray blaster bolt hit him harder than the crash on Ryloth.
"Don't say that," he rasped. The voice wasn't playful. It wasn't formal. It was a blunt, commanding snap that completely ignored the difference in your ranks. "Don't ever joke about that."
Before you could reassure him, the sound of heavy, uncoordinated jogging footsteps echoed from behind him.
"Hey, Fives! You turning in those data logs or reading through them?"
Jesse’s booming voice broke the moment. You snapped your posture back to something less casual, pulling your hands into the wide sleeves of your robes as Jesse and Kix approached. The two clones looked worn, but their expressions were light with the anticipation of Coruscant’s nightlife.
"Jesse, Kix. At ease." You turned a calm, warm smile toward Kix, "I was just thanking Fives for his thoroughness on these logs. Though, Kix, I do have one final request from you."
Kix arched a brow, his hand resting casually on his belt, "Sir?"
"Perhaps just a strong recommendation," you corrected playfully, gesturing slightly toward Fives. "Make sure this one actually stays off his feet tonight. He was favoring his left leg the entire trek back to the transport. I know you patched him up with bacta, but I have a feeling he has a tendency to ignore medical advice when he thinks no one is watching."
Kix let out a dry laugh, shifting his gaze to Fives, whose posture had gone completely defensive. "Understood, Sir. I’ll make sure he doesn't try to get too carried away on the dance floor. If he limps, I’m bringing him to the med center."
"Hey, my leg is fine," Fives grumbled, his voice tight as he looked anywhere but at you.
"Excellent," you hummed, your eyes lingering on Fives for one final glance, "Stay safe out there boys."
With a formal nod, you turned on your heel, the hem of your Jedi robes swirling against the deck plates as you walked away, disappearing into the crowd of men unloading the transport.
The second your back was turned, Jesse stepped into Fives’ space, a massive, teasing grin splitting his face. He nudged Fives’ shoulder with his elbow, hard enough to make him stumble slightly on his bad leg.
"Alright, lay it out" Jesse demanded, his eyes gleaming suspicion, "The kriff was that about?"
Fives cleared his throat, desperately trying to ignore the sudden, telltale flush of heat crawling up his cheeks, "What was what about? She was reviewing the report."
"A report review?" Jesse smiled, letting out a loud laugh as Kix crossed his arms, a highly skeptical look on his face, "Fives, General Skywalker doesn't even look at Rex with that much intensity, and they’ve saved each other's skins a hundred times. She gave you a personal send off, she knew exactly which leg you were limping on, and then she smiled at you like you just handed her the keys to a luxury cruiser. What did you do out in that desert to earn that?"
"Nothing," Fives muttered, his voice sounding entirely too defensive as he adjusted his helmet under his arm, staring stubbornly at the hangar exit. "We survived a crash. We talked about the men we lost. I was just offering her condolences for the men she lost in the crash. It’s a tragedy, that’s all."
Jesse and Kix exchanged a long, slow look. Neither of them said a word, but the shared expression between them was absolute. They weren't buying a single word of it.
The music at 79’s didn't just play, it vibrated through your skin and settled straight in your chest. Blue and magenta neon strips slashed through the dark, cutting across a sea of identical faces. Clones from a dozen different legions packed the floor, slamming glasses onto sticky high tops, shouting over the beat of the music, and aggressively celebrating the simple fact that they were breathing.
It was loud. It was chaotic. It was exactly the kind of mindless, high energy sanctuary the Grand Army looked for after a rough campaign.
Yet Fives had never felt more completely alone in his entire life.
He stood near the entrance, physically present but entirely checked out. He felt naked without the top half of his armor and his right leg throbbed with a dull ache every time the heavy bass kicked. His eyes drifted over the crowd but he wasn't actually seeing any of it. His mind was on the other side of the galaxy, stubbornly trapped in the quiet, dusty shadows of Ryloth with you.
"Fives! Fives, you sexy bastard!"
The shout was the only warning he got before a heavy hand swung out of the crowd and slapped him squarely between the shoulder blades. The impact rattled Fives’ teeth, jolting his bad leg and forcing a sharp grunt from his throat.
Hardcase bounced into his space, practically vibrating with a frantic, uncontainable surge of energy. He was already half red in the face, his forehead damp with sweat, and an almost empty pitcher of ale sloshing dangerously in his left hand.
"Look at this place!" Hardcase yelled, gesturing wildly with the pitcher toward the main bar, where a sprawling group of civilian women and off duty logistics officers were laughing with a few troopers from the 212th. "I told you Coruscant was going to turn it out tonight! There are more women in here right now than the entire last three deployments combined! The 501st is already running the table, Rex is off hiding in the corner somewhere, and Jesse is trying to convince a Senator’s aide that he’s an ARC trooper! It’s gonna be a beautiful night, brother!"
Hardcase grinned, a bright, manic expression, waiting for Fives to match his energy. Usually, this was the exact moment where Fives would smirk, throw an arm around Hardcase’s neck, and layout a reckless strategy to completely take over the bar.
Instead, Fives just blinked. His expression didn't even flicker. He looked at Hardcase, then glanced over at the loud, laughing crowd by the bar with a dull, completely detached indifference.
"Yeah," Fives muttered, his voice completely drowned out by the music. "Looks great, 'Case."
Hardcase stopped bouncing. The manic grin on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a look of sheer alarm. He stared at Fives as if his brother had just grown a second head, his grip tightening on the pitcher. To the 501st, a flirting, confident, trouble making Fives was the heartbeat of a night at 79’s. Seeing him look at a crowded room full of beautiful women and free alcohol with the enthusiasm of a soldier being assigned sanitation duty was unsettling.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hardcase stammered, stepping directly into Fives’ line of sight and squinting at him suspiciously, "What the hell, Fives? Why are you looking like that? Did the clankers knock your on Ryloth? Kix! Hey, Kix!"
"Drop it, Hardcase," Fives snapped as he raised a hand to block his brother from waving down Kix. He forced his face back into a tight, strained mask, his jaw clenching. "Nothing's wrong with my face. I'm just tired. My leg's bothering me."
"Your leg?" Hardcase echoed, completely unconvinced, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in. "Since when does a bad leg stop you from looking at a pretty girl? You look worse than you did when you got back from the citadel.”
"I said I'm fine," Fives grunted, his patience evaporating. The noise of the bar was suddenly grating on his nerves. He gave Hardcase a firm, dismissive shove against his shoulder, clearing a path through the dense crowd. "I don't need my leg looked at. I just need a shot of something that burns. I'll be at the booths."
Without waiting for a response, Fives turned his back on Hardcase’s bewildered staring, buried his hands deep into his empty holster pockets, and headed straight toward the back corner of the lounge where he knew Rex would be.
Tucked away from the pulsing neon of the main floor, the dirty vinyl booths claimed by 501st felt like a bunker in the middle of a drunken war zone. Fives slid into the furthest booth, sinking heavily into the padded seat. He let his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes for a brief, blissful second to escape the glare of the room. The throbbing in his right leg had settled into a steady ache, but it was nothing compared to the hole sitting squarely in his chest.
The slide of a heavy glass against the sticky table made him open his eyes.
Rex sat down across from him. He didn't say anything at first. He just slid that double shot of a dark whiskey toward Fives, before wrapping his own fingers around an identical glass.
"Hardcase says you're acting like a ghost," Rex said, his voice cutting easily through the ambient noise of the bar. He took a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact, "And Kix is tracking me down across the floor, complaining that you should be letting your leg rest. Want to tell me what’s really going on, Fives? Ryloth was a rough, but you’ve survived worse than a crashed gunship."
Fives stared down at the liquor, the ice clinking softly against the glass as his fingers twitched. He didn't touch the drink. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and bridging the gap between them. The exhaustion left his face, replaced by a sudden, intense focus that made Rex lower his own glass back to the table.
Fives dropped his voice to a blunt whisper. "How do you do it, Rex?"
Rex blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Do what? Manage you guys? It’s not easy keeping you idiots from blowing yourselves up."
"No," Fives countered, his gaze narrowing as he leaned in even closer, ensuring the sound stayed strictly between them, "How do you cover for General Skywalker? How do you manage to help keep him and Senator Amidala a secret from the entire Republic?"
The reaction was instantaneous.
Rex froze dead in his tracks. His glass stopped mid air, just barely touching his lips. His eyes went wide. A drop of the liquor splashed over the rim, hitting his knuckles, but he didn't even notice. He lowered the glass slowly, his eyes scanning the immediate area with a frantic, defensive sweep before locking back onto Fives.
"He told you?" Rex hissed, the words coming out as a panicked confusion.
"No," Fives said, a ghost of a smirk finally pulling at the corner of his lips, though it lacked any real humor. "The General is a lot of things, Rex, but subtle isn't one of them. He isn't exactly great at hiding it. Anyone with half a brain cell can see the way he looks at her. So, I’m asking you as a brother. How do you pull it off? How do you keep the Jedi Council from finding out?"
Rex sat back, the initial panic fading into an expression of sheer, exhausted bewilderment. He rubbed his hand over his face, letting out a long, ragged sigh that sounded like it had been building for years. "Fives. Why are you asking me this?"
Fives didn't answer right away. He just looked at Rex.
Rex stared back, analyzing Fives’ sour mood, his complete lack of interest in the bar, the personal, lingering goodbye from earlier that afternoon that Jesse and Kix told him about.
Suddenly, Rex’s eyes went wide again. The pieces clicked together in his brain with the force of a detonator. His jaw dropped slightly, a look of profound, horrified realization washing over him.
"Oh, no," Rex breathed, leaning forward so fast his chest hit the edge of the table. “It’s the General from the 327th, isn't it? The one who had you and the other two ARC Troopers for the drop on Ryloth"
Fives didn't blink. He just gave the slightest, almost ashamed, single nod of his head.
"Fives, you are out of your absolute mind," Rex whispered, his voice cracking with a mix of terror and disbelief. "That is a Jedi General. If anyone even hints at this-"
"It’s a little too late for a lecture, Rex," Fives half laughed, a dry, reckless sound that cut Rex off. He finally reached out and down his drink in one heavy, burning swallow, "It’s already happened."
Rex stared at him, his mind completely boggled. "What do you mean it's already happened? You were only alone with her for a little over one rotation!"
"We didn't start on Ryloth," Fives confessed, the truth pouring out of him. He set the empty glass down with a soft clack. "We met here. Right here at 79's, the night before the deployment. I didn't know she was a Jedi. She was just a woman. A beautiful, funny woman wearing civilian clothes who had some drinks with me and didn't look at me like I was just like every other man in this bar."
Rex’s expression hardened, his protective instincts instantly flaring to life. His eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. "Wait. She knew you were a clone? She knew who you were and she still-"
"Don't," Fives snapped, a sudden, fierce heat in his voice that instantly shut Rex down, "Don't think for a second she manipulated me. We went over this. I was furious when I found out the truth. I felt like a game. But we talked. Really talked. She didn't know I was part of the Ryloth mission and she sure as hell didn't plan for our gunship to get blown out of the sky."
Fives sighed, his gaze drifting away from Rex, looking down at the wet ring his glass had left on the dark wood. "Meeting her, Rex. It didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like a beautiful punch straight to the chest. I’ve spent my whole life being told exactly where to stand, who to shoot, and when to die. But when I look at her? I don't see my life as a solider."
He looked back up, his eyes wide and burning with an unshakeable, terrifyingly profound certainty that made Rex freeze.
"It feels like destiny, Rex. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about a life after this war is over. A real life. With her."
Rex looked at him as if Fives had just confessed to tasting poison and wanting more. He has spent the war watching Anakin Skywalker tear himself apart over a secret love, watching the toll it took on his sanity. Now, his best friend was sitting in a dark booth, speaking with the exact same desperate, romantic madness.
"Fives," Rex pleaded, "You are romanticizing a feeling. The Jedi don't get that. Us clones don't get that. You just met here and have only had one mission with-"
"I’m going to buy us a house by a lake," Fives interrupted, his tone completely conversational, entirely bypassing Rex’s logic. A genuine smile touched his lips, his eyes fixed on a vision Rex couldn't see. "Somewhere quiet. No durasteel cities. Just clear water and fresh air. We’re going to raise our kids there. I’m going to teach them how to swim."
Rex raised an eyebrow so high it practically reached his hairline. He stared at Fives in absolute, dumbfounded silence.
"Kids?" Rex finally managed, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "You’ve already planned out a family? Does she know about this?"
Fives’ face fell slightly, a sheepish expression crossing his features as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it was my idea. But I laid it out for her before we found you. And she didn't raise any objections, Rex. She just smiled."
Rex let out a long, slow whistle, leaning back into the booth and shaking his head. He looked at Fives with a mixture of profound sympathy and absolute dread.
"Fives, my brother," Rex sighed, "You are in so far over your head."
"I’m fine with that," Fives shot back, not a single shred of regret in his voice. He leaned back across the table, his eyes locked onto Rex with a sudden, sharp intensity. "Which brings me back to my first question. You think I could get any help with this? General Skywalker is the undisputed expert on breaking the rules and getting away with it. If anyone knows how to navigate a relationship under the nose of the Jedi Council, it’s him."
"Absolutely not," Rex shut him down instantly. He pointed a stern finger directly at Fives' chest. "I will protect you, Fives. I will keep my mouth shut. But if I were you, I would not drag General Skywalker’s messy secret into this. He has enough on his plate."
Fives let out a frustrated huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. But I need to see her, Rex. I'm not waiting six months for our legions to randomly cross paths in the Outer Rim again. I need to see her before we get shipped out to the next meat grinder."
Rex stared at him. The irritation on Rex’s face slowly softened into something resembling grudging brotherhood. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a sharp breath. "This is going to be a common occurrence now, isn’t it? How can I help you?” Rex added more before Fives could respond, “Within reason."
Fives turned his head, his eyes scanning the chaotic, neon expanse of the main floor. He watched the shifting sea of men and their armor - the blue of the 501st, the red of the Coruscant Guard, the green of the 41st.
Then, his gaze locked onto a far corner near the game tables.
Standing by a high top table, throwing down shots with a couple of shinies, was a clone trooper wearing civilian gear, but his boots were heavily marked with a stark, unmistakable splash of bright gold paint.
A slow, dangerously reckless smirk began to spread across Fives’ face.
"See that trooper over by the Sabacc tables?" Fives nodded his head faintly toward the back wall, "The one with the 327th paint on his boots over there?"
Rex squinted through the flashing lights, his brow furrowing, "Yeah. I see him. What about him?"
"I'm going to walk over there, slip his comms off his wrist and trigger his emergency distress beacon," Fives stated, his tone as casual as if he were ordering another round of drinks.
Rex’s jaw dropped. He stared at Fives in absolute disbelief. "You're going to what?"
"Think about it," Fives explained, the brilliant, terrifying logic clicking into place. "Standard protocol dictates that if a localized emergency beacon is triggered by a soldier on leave in the capital sector, an automated alert is routed directly to their commanding Jedi officer's personal datapad. If I pull the pin on that beacon, the system will ping her immediately. She’ll think one of her men is in trouble, and she’ll come running to investigate."
"That is a horrible idea!" Rex hissed, smacking Fives’ arm, "Fives, that was a safeguard that senators fought hard to put into our comms. Now you want to falsify an emergency? If a Jedi comes and there’s no emergency, you, or that poor shiny over there will be locked up in a brig until you rot! And more importantly, she isn't the only General in the 327th. What happens if the beacon routes to her instead? You might accidentally summon General Secura down to a clone bar. How are you going to explain the lack of emergency then?"
Fives’ smirk only widened. He was entirely consumed by the thought of you and right now, there wasn't a risk in the galaxy that could slow him down.
"Then I'll take my chances," Fives grinned.
Before Rex could grab his arm or bark out a direct order to stay put, Fives slid smoothly out of the booth. He didn't even look back as he stepped into the pulsing neon light, his limp entirely vanishing as adrenaline took over, snaking his way gracefully through the crowd and straight toward the unsuspecting shiney.
Fives moved through the thick of the crowd like a man on a mission. Despite the heavy throb of his leg and the shifting of the bodies around him, his stride was perfectly relaxed. As he neared the 327th trooper, a mechanical service droid hummed past, its hovering tray loaded down with a fresh round of synthetic spirits. Without breaking stride or even looking down, Fives’ hand darted out lifting a tall, colorful drink right off the tray.
He stepped directly into the younger soldier’s space, effortlessly cutting him off from the chaos of the room, and slid the glass straight into his hand.
"Fives. 501st," he introduced himself. He flashed a charming smile, "Just wanted to say, your boys impressively handled the meat grinder on Ryloth. The 501st was proud to serve with you."
The younger trooper looked down at the drink in his hand, then to ARC armor that was still on Fives’ lower half, then finally up at Fives, blinking in surprise. He was clearly a shiny. His posture was just a little too rigid for 79’s. But the sheer authority of an ARC trooper standing in front of him had him instantly squaring his shoulders.
Fives smoothly grabbed a second drink off another passing tray, raising it between them. He clinked the glass sharply against the kid's. "Here’s to many more 501st and 327th co-ops."
The trooper paused, a bright, genuine laugh breaking across his face as he relaxed. He took a sip, then shakenly shook his head with a cheeky grin. "With all due respect, '327th 501st co-ops' flows a little better."
Fives let out a low chuckle, "Yeah? We’ll see about that, trooper." He nodded his head over toward the far wall, where a pair of chairs had just cleared up near the open sabacc tables. "Tell you what. Grab a seat over there."
The Shiny looked toward the empty seats, hesitant.
"Come on," Fives encouraged, laying the bait perfectly. "I might just share a few insider tips on how to make ARC trooper status. Me and one of my old squadmate still hold the official record for the quickest time from leaving Kamino for the first time to being handed our ARC promotion. I usually keep those secrets strictly for the shinies in the 501st, but after Ryloth? I developed a real fondness for you boys in 327th."
The young trooper’s eyes went completely wide. He looked thrilled, his jaw dropping slightly as his gaze drifted up from Fives’ mouth to his tattoo on his temple. The kid froze, the realization hitting him like a stun.
"Wait," the shiny paused, his voice suddenly full of awe, "You're Fives?"
Fives was caught entirely off guard. The smug, smooth talking charm faltered for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing as a look of genuine confusion crossed his face. He let out a short laugh. "Yeah. Last time I checked. How the does a 327th shiny know my name?"
The trooper smiled. "99," he said softly, his voice full of nostalgia, "Back on Kamino, when we were just cadets in the barracks, 99 used to sit us down after the long training days. He’d tell us stories about Domino Squad. About how you guys never gave up. He told us what you did at the Rishi outpost. Everyone in my batch knew who you were before we even earned our armor."
The words hit a soft spot right in Fives’ chest. A genuinely humbling, bittersweet chuckle escaped Fives’ lips. He looked down at his drink, a soft, solemn look taking over his face before he looked back up at the kid, his chest swelling with a quiet pride.
"99," Fives muttered, "Yeah. He was the best of us. A real soldier." He took a breath, shaking off the sudden melancholy, and slapped a brotherly hand on the kid’s shoulder. "I would definitely love to sit down and talk to you now, trooper. What's your name?"
"Tracker," the shiny replied proudly.
"Nice to meet you, Tracker. Let's go claim those seats," Fives grinned, guiding Tracker toward the open sabacc table.
As they walked, Fives glanced back over his shoulder toward the dark corner of the bar. He caught Captain Rex’s eye across the crowded room. Standing beside the glowing sabacc table, Fives flashed a confident thumbs up, signaling that his plan was going perfectly.
Back in the relative sanctuary of the 501st booth, Captain Rex groaned audibly. He slid a heavy, exhausted hand completely over his face, dragging it down his skin as he let out a ragged sigh of pure despair. He knew that look. He knew that body language. There was absolutely no stopping Fives.
“Hardcase, get back here!”
The loud, chaotic shout came while Hardcase clumsily slumped into the booth across from Rex.
Hardcase slammed his fresh pitcher onto the table, splashing a river of foam over the wood, and threw his arms over the backrest. "Can you believe Fives, Rex? I tell him the bar is crawling with beautiful women, and he looks at me like he was just assigned sanitation duty! What happened to him in that crash?!"
"Fives is just being Fives," Rex rolled his eyes, his voice flat as he kept his eyes glued to the far side of the bat. He didn't even bother to wipe away the fresh puddle of foam Hardcase had just splashed across the table. "He’s got a lot on his mind, Hardcase. Just let him blow off some steam his own way."
"Oh, come on! That is clearly a load of shit!" Hardcase complained, leaning forward with a heavily slurred, drunken pout. He gestured wildly with a sloppy hand toward the sabacc tables, nearly knocking his pitcher over a second time. "Look at him! He’s sitting over there talking to a shiny from the 327th, not a woman! A shiny! Since when does Fives prefer small talk with a shiny over a pretty face? It’s weird, Cap."
Rex let out a long, slow sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as a massive headache began to form right behind his eyes. "Oh, trust me, Hardcase. I’m sure he will be talking to a woman soon enough."
Hardcase blinked, his brow furrowing as he tried to process the layers of dread in Rex’s voice. He stared at Rex for a few seconds, completely lost. "Honestly, Cap. I am way too drunk to understand whatever riddle you just threw at me. But whatever you say!”
With a bright, uncoordinated grin, Hardcase slapped his hands down on the table, hoisted himself out of the booth, and immediately spun around, stumbling his way right back toward the crowded dance floor.
Rex didn't watch him go. His gaze snapped instantly back to the sabacc table where Fives and Tracker were sitting.
Tracker was laughing heartily, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. But it was the center of the table that caught Rex’s attention. There were fresh glasses sitting between them. Four of them, all freshly poured.
Rex’s eyes narrowed as the full, appalled realization slapped him square in the face.
“This idiot isn't just trying to pickpocket him,” Rex thought, his stomach dropping, “He’s trying to get the kid absolutely blasted so he won't notice.”
"Kriffing hell, Fives," Rex muttered under his breath.
Realizing he couldn't just sit by and watch from across the room, Rex frantically scanned the dance floor until he spotted relief. He raised a hand, sharply flagging over Kix.
Kix saw the signal and made his way into the empty space Hardcase had just vacated. "If you’re asking me to watch Hardcase, he’s on his own until he passes out."
"No, it's not Hardcase," Rex shook his head as he slid out to the edge of the seat. "Just hold down the booth for a minute. Don't let anyone take the table."
Kix blinked, looking a bit confused but he nodded anyway. "Got it."
Rex didn't waste another second. He stood up and began marching directly toward the sabacc tables. As he approached the pair, Fives was in the middle of a sentence, leaning back casually in his chair . Tracker was slumped slightly forward, his cheeks heavily flushed, his eyes bright but distinctly unfocused as he gripped his third drink.
"Well, well," Rex announced, stepping right into the light of the sabacc table. "I have to say, I'm always happy to see the bond between two legions making it off the battlefield and into 79’s. Good to see our boys looking out for each other."
Tracker’s head snapped up at the sound of the deep voice. His eyes widened, a sudden wave of clumsy, intoxicated panic washing over his face as he recognized Rex’s paludron."C-Captain, Sir!" Tracker stammered, frantically trying to straighten his spine and failing miserably as his elbow slipped slightly on the slick table.
Fives didn't lose sight of his goal for a single millisecond. The exact moment Tracker’s head whipped around to lock onto Rex, Fives’ left hand moved at alarming speed. His fingers darted out, perfectly catching the edge of the commlink strapped to Tracker's wrist. With a flawless twist, he popped the clip that kept it in place and slid the comm right out of its housing.
Rex saw the entire thing. From his vantage point, the theft was painfully obvious. He locked his eyes onto Fives, his brow dropping into a furious, stone-cold glare that practically screamed: “reconsider your life choices.”
Fives met the terrifying gaze with a completely shameless, innocent grin. He looked right past Rex, then turned a warm, bright smile back toward heavily intoxicated Tracker.
"Hey, Tracker," Fives hummed smoothly, pushing himself out of his chair and patting the younger kid reassuringly on the shoulder. "That look right there? That's my captain's kind way of letting me know that he needs me to go check on something. Very important ARC Trooper stuff."
Tracker blinked up at him, nodding slowly with an uncomprehending smile. "Oh. ARC Trooper stuff.”
"Exactly, you’ll know someday soon!" Fives purred, stepping around the table and dropping his hand on Rex’s shoulder, leaning in close. I'll go take care of that little problem right now. Why don't you sit down and talk to Tracker for a bit? Tell him some old war stories. You'll love him, he's a fantastic kid!"
Rex’s jaw tightened, his chest expanding as he took a breath to bark out a fierce, immediate refusal.
"See you in a bit, Rex!" Fives chirped.
Before Rex could get a single syllable out of his throat, Fives spun on his heel and completely bolted, melting into the dark, before he could even reach out to grab his collar.
Fives pushed through the heavy doors of the fresher. The space was completely empty, except for the two men from the 71st making their way out.
He didn't waste a second. Stepping into the furthest stall, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out Tracker's commlink. Fives flipped open the back pannel, exposing the small emergency override panel. His thumb hovered over the button, his breathing shallow.
Suddenly, a cold spike of reality hit him, freezing his thumb right above the button.
“Kriff,” he whispered a sudden knot forming in his throat. He realized then that he should have asked Tracker which general he actually reported to.
The 327th, like the 501st, was a massive, sprawling division. While a significant portion of the 327th served directly under you, about half of the men reported to General Secura. If Tracker belonged to a company detached from your command, this beacon wouldn't ping your datapad at all. It would route straight to General Secura’s. This is what Rex warned him about. He was too lost in love and blindly assumed the kid was from your specific unit just because of the color on his boots. It was a total gamble. A fifty-fifty shot at best.
Fives stared at the comm. He thought about your “see you soon” on the hanger bay. He thought about the look in your eyes when you told him to “stay safe out there”, as if you were already preparing yourself to never see him again. The thought of letting you slip away into the war without seeing you again. That would be worse than any brig sentence the Republic could throw at him.
"He goes nothing," Fives muttered to the empty room.
He took a deep, bracing breath and slammed his thumb down onto the override button, punching in the emergency frequency.
The commlink instantly flared to life, the small display screen flashing crimson as the location tracker began to ping. The buzz of a channel crackled through the small speaker.
Fives held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs as he waited for the automated system to route the call.
The line hissed with static for a second, and then a crisp, commanding voice broke through the channel.
"Trooper, your beacon has been logged. We are dispatching to your location immediately."
The voice was authoritative, professional, and chillingly calm. But as the words echoed off the durasteel walls of the fresher, Fives’ stomach plummeted into freefall.
It was a woman's voice. But it wasn't the soft, comforting voice he had spent the last three rotations falling in love with. It carried the distinct recognizable accent of a Twi'lek.
Summary: The deployment on Ryloth has come to an end. Worried he won't get to see you again, Fives goes to extreme lengths to make it happen - even if life in the brig is at stake.
Word Count: 6.3k
Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, drunk clones
A/N: Anyone else looking forward to @summer-of-clones ? Anyway, this is not beta read at all so apologies in advance.
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You and Fives made the rendezvous - you always knew you would. Once you linked up with the rest of the squads, the final phase of the battle was over in a flash, leaving the 501st and the 327th with no more droids to scrap. And for the Republic, victory meant a swift exit. Before you or the men could even catch your breath, a massive Venator was already breaking the atmosphere and landing, ready to ship the two legions straight back to Coruscant.
Once back on Coruscant, you stood near the far edge of the transport platform. The remaining troopers of the 327th and the 501st streamed past you in a sea of sandy, scuffed plastoid, dragging supply crates and checking weapon tallies.
But beneath the calm exterior, your mind was a racing. The ambient thoughts of hundreds of clones, vibrating with the relief of survival and the exhaustion of campaign, beat against your empathic senses. Yet, through all the noise, your focus was anchored to a single, distinct presence moving down the ramp.
Fives.
He was moving with a stride that deliberately tried to mask the heavy limp in his right leg. His armor had been superficially scrubbed of Ryloth’s red sand, but the thermal scoring from the crash remained. He carried a datapad in his hand, and his helmet in the other. He navigated the chaotic flow of men and made his way straight toward you. To anyone around, it simply looked like an ARC trooper was approaching a superior officer to deliver a standard post mission log.
He stopped only a couple steps from you, bringing his heels together in a sharp, regulation stance.
"General," Fives said, his voice entirely devoid of the raw intimacy that it held on Ryloth. He held out the datapad. "The casualty reports and equipment manifests from the crash site have been compiled. The 501st logistics team has logged the data. I figured you would like a copy."
"Thank you, Fives" you replied, your tone matching his professionalism as you took the datapad from his grip. Your fingers briefly brushed against his during the exchange, the point of contact sending a sharp tremor through both your bodies, "I appreciate your efficiency with finishing the report. We could use some of that in the 327th."
Fives didn’t respond. Instead, he adjusted his stance slightly, leaning in just enough to ensure that the surrounding sound of the hangar wouldn’t swallow his words.
"The boys are heading to 79’s tonight," he murmured, the words tumbling out with a quiet, eager intensity, "The whole battalion is looking to drown the dust of Ryloth with something strong. I- we would love for you to join us."
The invitation hung in the small bit of air between you. For a second, the image of that night at 79’s sitting at the bar with a glass of cheap liquor and the comforting weight of his shoulder against yours flashed vividly in your mind. But reality kicked in before you could think too much about it.
You looked up, locking your gaze onto his pleading eyes. "I appreciate the offer, trooper," you said softly, your voice dropping to match his, "But I think it’s best I keep out of this one. You men earned your celebration, and having a Jedi hovering around the tables after a mission usually ruins the fun. Enjoy the night off."
The rejection was delivered with absolute gentleness, but the physical reaction from Fives was instantaneous.
The shift in his demeanor was visceral. His shoulders, previously squared with a faint trace of hope, dropped noticeably. His jaw tightened so hard you could see the faint ripple of the muscle along his neck through his blacks. Through the Force, his presence didn't just dim, it curdled into a knot of disappointment.
The sight of his deflated posture twisted your chest. Desperate to soften the blow, to remind him that you were honest about your words on Ryloth, you let out a tiny, breathless laugh and leaned in slightly closer.
"Don't look at me like that," you teased in a daring whisper, "This isn't goodbye, Fives. It’s just a see you later. Unless, of course, I happen to get myself killed on the next deployment. Then I guess it’s goodbye."
The dark, throwaway joke had barely left your lips before his composure shattered.
Fives went completely rigid. He didn't laugh. He didn't smile. The sudden, brutal realization that the woman he saw his entire future with could be erased by a single stray blaster bolt hit him harder than the crash on Ryloth.
"Don't say that," he rasped. The voice wasn't playful. It wasn't formal. It was a blunt, commanding snap that completely ignored the difference in your ranks. "Don't ever joke about that."
Before you could reassure him, the sound of heavy, uncoordinated jogging footsteps echoed from behind him.
"Hey, Fives! You turning in those data logs or reading through them?"
Jesse’s booming voice broke the moment. You snapped your posture back to something less casual, pulling your hands into the wide sleeves of your robes as Jesse and Kix approached. The two clones looked worn, but their expressions were light with the anticipation of Coruscant’s nightlife.
"Jesse, Kix. At ease." You turned a calm, warm smile toward Kix, "I was just thanking Fives for his thoroughness on these logs. Though, Kix, I do have one final request from you."
Kix arched a brow, his hand resting casually on his belt, "Sir?"
"Perhaps just a strong recommendation," you corrected playfully, gesturing slightly toward Fives. "Make sure this one actually stays off his feet tonight. He was favoring his left leg the entire trek back to the transport. I know you patched him up with bacta, but I have a feeling he has a tendency to ignore medical advice when he thinks no one is watching."
Kix let out a dry laugh, shifting his gaze to Fives, whose posture had gone completely defensive. "Understood, Sir. I’ll make sure he doesn't try to get too carried away on the dance floor. If he limps, I’m bringing him to the med center."
"Hey, my leg is fine," Fives grumbled, his voice tight as he looked anywhere but at you.
"Excellent," you hummed, your eyes lingering on Fives for one final glance, "Stay safe out there boys."
With a formal nod, you turned on your heel, the hem of your Jedi robes swirling against the deck plates as you walked away, disappearing into the crowd of men unloading the transport.
The second your back was turned, Jesse stepped into Fives’ space, a massive, teasing grin splitting his face. He nudged Fives’ shoulder with his elbow, hard enough to make him stumble slightly on his bad leg.
"Alright, lay it out" Jesse demanded, his eyes gleaming suspicion, "The kriff was that about?"
Fives cleared his throat, desperately trying to ignore the sudden, telltale flush of heat crawling up his cheeks, "What was what about? She was reviewing the report."
"A report review?" Jesse smiled, letting out a loud laugh as Kix crossed his arms, a highly skeptical look on his face, "Fives, General Skywalker doesn't even look at Rex with that much intensity, and they’ve saved each other's skins a hundred times. She gave you a personal send off, she knew exactly which leg you were limping on, and then she smiled at you like you just handed her the keys to a luxury cruiser. What did you do out in that desert to earn that?"
"Nothing," Fives muttered, his voice sounding entirely too defensive as he adjusted his helmet under his arm, staring stubbornly at the hangar exit. "We survived a crash. We talked about the men we lost. I was just offering her condolences for the men she lost in the crash. It’s a tragedy, that’s all."
Jesse and Kix exchanged a long, slow look. Neither of them said a word, but the shared expression between them was absolute. They weren't buying a single word of it.
The music at 79’s didn't just play, it vibrated through your skin and settled straight in your chest. Blue and magenta neon strips slashed through the dark, cutting across a sea of identical faces. Clones from a dozen different legions packed the floor, slamming glasses onto sticky high tops, shouting over the beat of the music, and aggressively celebrating the simple fact that they were breathing.
It was loud. It was chaotic. It was exactly the kind of mindless, high energy sanctuary the Grand Army looked for after a rough campaign.
Yet Fives had never felt more completely alone in his entire life.
He stood near the entrance, physically present but entirely checked out. He felt naked without the top half of his armor and his right leg throbbed with a dull ache every time the heavy bass kicked. His eyes drifted over the crowd but he wasn't actually seeing any of it. His mind was on the other side of the galaxy, stubbornly trapped in the quiet, dusty shadows of Ryloth with you.
"Fives! Fives, you sexy bastard!"
The shout was the only warning he got before a heavy hand swung out of the crowd and slapped him squarely between the shoulder blades. The impact rattled Fives’ teeth, jolting his bad leg and forcing a sharp grunt from his throat.
Hardcase bounced into his space, practically vibrating with a frantic, uncontainable surge of energy. He was already half red in the face, his forehead damp with sweat, and an almost empty pitcher of ale sloshing dangerously in his left hand.
"Look at this place!" Hardcase yelled, gesturing wildly with the pitcher toward the main bar, where a sprawling group of civilian women and off duty logistics officers were laughing with a few troopers from the 212th. "I told you Coruscant was going to turn it out tonight! There are more women in here right now than the entire last three deployments combined! The 501st is already running the table, Rex is off hiding in the corner somewhere, and Jesse is trying to convince a Senator’s aide that he’s an ARC trooper! It’s gonna be a beautiful night, brother!"
Hardcase grinned, a bright, manic expression, waiting for Fives to match his energy. Usually, this was the exact moment where Fives would smirk, throw an arm around Hardcase’s neck, and layout a reckless strategy to completely take over the bar.
Instead, Fives just blinked. His expression didn't even flicker. He looked at Hardcase, then glanced over at the loud, laughing crowd by the bar with a dull, completely detached indifference.
"Yeah," Fives muttered, his voice completely drowned out by the music. "Looks great, 'Case."
Hardcase stopped bouncing. The manic grin on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a look of sheer alarm. He stared at Fives as if his brother had just grown a second head, his grip tightening on the pitcher. To the 501st, a flirting, confident, trouble making Fives was the heartbeat of a night at 79’s. Seeing him look at a crowded room full of beautiful women and free alcohol with the enthusiasm of a soldier being assigned sanitation duty was unsettling.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hardcase stammered, stepping directly into Fives’ line of sight and squinting at him suspiciously, "What the hell, Fives? Why are you looking like that? Did the clankers knock your on Ryloth? Kix! Hey, Kix!"
"Drop it, Hardcase," Fives snapped as he raised a hand to block his brother from waving down Kix. He forced his face back into a tight, strained mask, his jaw clenching. "Nothing's wrong with my face. I'm just tired. My leg's bothering me."
"Your leg?" Hardcase echoed, completely unconvinced, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in. "Since when does a bad leg stop you from looking at a pretty girl? You look worse than you did when you got back from the citadel.”
"I said I'm fine," Fives grunted, his patience evaporating. The noise of the bar was suddenly grating on his nerves. He gave Hardcase a firm, dismissive shove against his shoulder, clearing a path through the dense crowd. "I don't need my leg looked at. I just need a shot of something that burns. I'll be at the booths."
Without waiting for a response, Fives turned his back on Hardcase’s bewildered staring, buried his hands deep into his empty holster pockets, and headed straight toward the back corner of the lounge where he knew Rex would be.
Tucked away from the pulsing neon of the main floor, the dirty vinyl booths claimed by 501st felt like a bunker in the middle of a drunken war zone. Fives slid into the furthest booth, sinking heavily into the padded seat. He let his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes for a brief, blissful second to escape the glare of the room. The throbbing in his right leg had settled into a steady ache, but it was nothing compared to the hole sitting squarely in his chest.
The slide of a heavy glass against the sticky table made him open his eyes.
Rex sat down across from him. He didn't say anything at first. He just slid that double shot of a dark whiskey toward Fives, before wrapping his own fingers around an identical glass.
"Hardcase says you're acting like a ghost," Rex said, his voice cutting easily through the ambient noise of the bar. He took a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact, "And Kix is tracking me down across the floor, complaining that you should be letting your leg rest. Want to tell me what’s really going on, Fives? Ryloth was a rough, but you’ve survived worse than a crashed gunship."
Fives stared down at the liquor, the ice clinking softly against the glass as his fingers twitched. He didn't touch the drink. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and bridging the gap between them. The exhaustion left his face, replaced by a sudden, intense focus that made Rex lower his own glass back to the table.
Fives dropped his voice to a blunt whisper. "How do you do it, Rex?"
Rex blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Do what? Manage you guys? It’s not easy keeping you idiots from blowing yourselves up."
"No," Fives countered, his gaze narrowing as he leaned in even closer, ensuring the sound stayed strictly between them, "How do you cover for General Skywalker? How do you manage to help keep him and Senator Amidala a secret from the entire Republic?"
The reaction was instantaneous.
Rex froze dead in his tracks. His glass stopped mid air, just barely touching his lips. His eyes went wide. A drop of the liquor splashed over the rim, hitting his knuckles, but he didn't even notice. He lowered the glass slowly, his eyes scanning the immediate area with a frantic, defensive sweep before locking back onto Fives.
"He told you?" Rex hissed, the words coming out as a panicked confusion.
"No," Fives said, a ghost of a smirk finally pulling at the corner of his lips, though it lacked any real humor. "The General is a lot of things, Rex, but subtle isn't one of them. He isn't exactly great at hiding it. Anyone with half a brain cell can see the way he looks at her. So, I’m asking you as a brother. How do you pull it off? How do you keep the Jedi Council from finding out?"
Rex sat back, the initial panic fading into an expression of sheer, exhausted bewilderment. He rubbed his hand over his face, letting out a long, ragged sigh that sounded like it had been building for years. "Fives. Why are you asking me this?"
Fives didn't answer right away. He just looked at Rex.
Rex stared back, analyzing Fives’ sour mood, his complete lack of interest in the bar, the personal, lingering goodbye from earlier that afternoon that Jesse and Kix told him about.
Suddenly, Rex’s eyes went wide again. The pieces clicked together in his brain with the force of a detonator. His jaw dropped slightly, a look of profound, horrified realization washing over him.
"Oh, no," Rex breathed, leaning forward so fast his chest hit the edge of the table. “It’s the General from the 327th, isn't it? The one who had you and the other two ARC Troopers for the drop on Ryloth"
Fives didn't blink. He just gave the slightest, almost ashamed, single nod of his head.
"Fives, you are out of your absolute mind," Rex whispered, his voice cracking with a mix of terror and disbelief. "That is a Jedi General. If anyone even hints at this-"
"It’s a little too late for a lecture, Rex," Fives half laughed, a dry, reckless sound that cut Rex off. He finally reached out and down his drink in one heavy, burning swallow, "It’s already happened."
Rex stared at him, his mind completely boggled. "What do you mean it's already happened? You were only alone with her for a little over one rotation!"
"We didn't start on Ryloth," Fives confessed, the truth pouring out of him. He set the empty glass down with a soft clack. "We met here. Right here at 79's, the night before the deployment. I didn't know she was a Jedi. She was just a woman. A beautiful, funny woman wearing civilian clothes who had some drinks with me and didn't look at me like I was just like every other man in this bar."
Rex’s expression hardened, his protective instincts instantly flaring to life. His eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. "Wait. She knew you were a clone? She knew who you were and she still-"
"Don't," Fives snapped, a sudden, fierce heat in his voice that instantly shut Rex down, "Don't think for a second she manipulated me. We went over this. I was furious when I found out the truth. I felt like a game. But we talked. Really talked. She didn't know I was part of the Ryloth mission and she sure as hell didn't plan for our gunship to get blown out of the sky."
Fives sighed, his gaze drifting away from Rex, looking down at the wet ring his glass had left on the dark wood. "Meeting her, Rex. It didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like a beautiful punch straight to the chest. I’ve spent my whole life being told exactly where to stand, who to shoot, and when to die. But when I look at her? I don't see my life as a solider."
He looked back up, his eyes wide and burning with an unshakeable, terrifyingly profound certainty that made Rex freeze.
"It feels like destiny, Rex. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about a life after this war is over. A real life. With her."
Rex looked at him as if Fives had just confessed to tasting poison and wanting more. He has spent the war watching Anakin Skywalker tear himself apart over a secret love, watching the toll it took on his sanity. Now, his best friend was sitting in a dark booth, speaking with the exact same desperate, romantic madness.
"Fives," Rex pleaded, "You are romanticizing a feeling. The Jedi don't get that. Us clones don't get that. You just met here and have only had one mission with-"
"I’m going to buy us a house by a lake," Fives interrupted, his tone completely conversational, entirely bypassing Rex’s logic. A genuine smile touched his lips, his eyes fixed on a vision Rex couldn't see. "Somewhere quiet. No durasteel cities. Just clear water and fresh air. We’re going to raise our kids there. I’m going to teach them how to swim."
Rex raised an eyebrow so high it practically reached his hairline. He stared at Fives in absolute, dumbfounded silence.
"Kids?" Rex finally managed, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "You’ve already planned out a family? Does she know about this?"
Fives’ face fell slightly, a sheepish expression crossing his features as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it was my idea. But I laid it out for her before we found you. And she didn't raise any objections, Rex. She just smiled."
Rex let out a long, slow whistle, leaning back into the booth and shaking his head. He looked at Fives with a mixture of profound sympathy and absolute dread.
"Fives, my brother," Rex sighed, "You are in so far over your head."
"I’m fine with that," Fives shot back, not a single shred of regret in his voice. He leaned back across the table, his eyes locked onto Rex with a sudden, sharp intensity. "Which brings me back to my first question. You think I could get any help with this? General Skywalker is the undisputed expert on breaking the rules and getting away with it. If anyone knows how to navigate a relationship under the nose of the Jedi Council, it’s him."
"Absolutely not," Rex shut him down instantly. He pointed a stern finger directly at Fives' chest. "I will protect you, Fives. I will keep my mouth shut. But if I were you, I would not drag General Skywalker’s messy secret into this. He has enough on his plate."
Fives let out a frustrated huff, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. But I need to see her, Rex. I'm not waiting six months for our legions to randomly cross paths in the Outer Rim again. I need to see her before we get shipped out to the next meat grinder."
Rex stared at him. The irritation on Rex’s face slowly softened into something resembling grudging brotherhood. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a sharp breath. "This is going to be a common occurrence now, isn’t it? How can I help you?” Rex added more before Fives could respond, “Within reason."
Fives turned his head, his eyes scanning the chaotic, neon expanse of the main floor. He watched the shifting sea of men and their armor - the blue of the 501st, the red of the Coruscant Guard, the green of the 41st.
Then, his gaze locked onto a far corner near the game tables.
Standing by a high top table, throwing down shots with a couple of shinies, was a clone trooper wearing civilian gear, but his boots were heavily marked with a stark, unmistakable splash of bright gold paint.
A slow, dangerously reckless smirk began to spread across Fives’ face.
"See that trooper over by the Sabacc tables?" Fives nodded his head faintly toward the back wall, "The one with the 327th paint on his boots over there?"
Rex squinted through the flashing lights, his brow furrowing, "Yeah. I see him. What about him?"
"I'm going to walk over there, slip his comms off his wrist and trigger his emergency distress beacon," Fives stated, his tone as casual as if he were ordering another round of drinks.
Rex’s jaw dropped. He stared at Fives in absolute disbelief. "You're going to what?"
"Think about it," Fives explained, the brilliant, terrifying logic clicking into place. "Standard protocol dictates that if a localized emergency beacon is triggered by a soldier on leave in the capital sector, an automated alert is routed directly to their commanding Jedi officer's personal datapad. If I pull the pin on that beacon, the system will ping her immediately. She’ll think one of her men is in trouble, and she’ll come running to investigate."
"That is a horrible idea!" Rex hissed, smacking Fives’ arm, "Fives, that was a safeguard that senators fought hard to put into our comms. Now you want to falsify an emergency? If a Jedi comes and there’s no emergency, you, or that poor shiny over there will be locked up in a brig until you rot! And more importantly, she isn't the only General in the 327th. What happens if the beacon routes to her instead? You might accidentally summon General Secura down to a clone bar. How are you going to explain the lack of emergency then?"
Fives’ smirk only widened. He was entirely consumed by the thought of you and right now, there wasn't a risk in the galaxy that could slow him down.
"Then I'll take my chances," Fives grinned.
Before Rex could grab his arm or bark out a direct order to stay put, Fives slid smoothly out of the booth. He didn't even look back as he stepped into the pulsing neon light, his limp entirely vanishing as adrenaline took over, snaking his way gracefully through the crowd and straight toward the unsuspecting shiney.
Fives moved through the thick of the crowd like a man on a mission. Despite the heavy throb of his leg and the shifting of the bodies around him, his stride was perfectly relaxed. As he neared the 327th trooper, a mechanical service droid hummed past, its hovering tray loaded down with a fresh round of synthetic spirits. Without breaking stride or even looking down, Fives’ hand darted out lifting a tall, colorful drink right off the tray.
He stepped directly into the younger soldier’s space, effortlessly cutting him off from the chaos of the room, and slid the glass straight into his hand.
"Fives. 501st," he introduced himself. He flashed a charming smile, "Just wanted to say, your boys impressively handled the meat grinder on Ryloth. The 501st was proud to serve with you."
The younger trooper looked down at the drink in his hand, then to ARC armor that was still on Fives’ lower half, then finally up at Fives, blinking in surprise. He was clearly a shiny. His posture was just a little too rigid for 79’s. But the sheer authority of an ARC trooper standing in front of him had him instantly squaring his shoulders.
Fives smoothly grabbed a second drink off another passing tray, raising it between them. He clinked the glass sharply against the kid's. "Here’s to many more 501st and 327th co-ops."
The trooper paused, a bright, genuine laugh breaking across his face as he relaxed. He took a sip, then shakenly shook his head with a cheeky grin. "With all due respect, '327th 501st co-ops' flows a little better."
Fives let out a low chuckle, "Yeah? We’ll see about that, trooper." He nodded his head over toward the far wall, where a pair of chairs had just cleared up near the open sabacc tables. "Tell you what. Grab a seat over there."
The Shiny looked toward the empty seats, hesitant.
"Come on," Fives encouraged, laying the bait perfectly. "I might just share a few insider tips on how to make ARC trooper status. Me and one of my old squadmate still hold the official record for the quickest time from leaving Kamino for the first time to being handed our ARC promotion. I usually keep those secrets strictly for the shinies in the 501st, but after Ryloth? I developed a real fondness for you boys in 327th."
The young trooper’s eyes went completely wide. He looked thrilled, his jaw dropping slightly as his gaze drifted up from Fives’ mouth to his tattoo on his temple. The kid froze, the realization hitting him like a stun.
"Wait," the shiny paused, his voice suddenly full of awe, "You're Fives?"
Fives was caught entirely off guard. The smug, smooth talking charm faltered for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowing as a look of genuine confusion crossed his face. He let out a short laugh. "Yeah. Last time I checked. How the does a 327th shiny know my name?"
The trooper smiled. "99," he said softly, his voice full of nostalgia, "Back on Kamino, when we were just cadets in the barracks, 99 used to sit us down after the long training days. He’d tell us stories about Domino Squad. About how you guys never gave up. He told us what you did at the Rishi outpost. Everyone in my batch knew who you were before we even earned our armor."
The words hit a soft spot right in Fives’ chest. A genuinely humbling, bittersweet chuckle escaped Fives’ lips. He looked down at his drink, a soft, solemn look taking over his face before he looked back up at the kid, his chest swelling with a quiet pride.
"99," Fives muttered, "Yeah. He was the best of us. A real soldier." He took a breath, shaking off the sudden melancholy, and slapped a brotherly hand on the kid’s shoulder. "I would definitely love to sit down and talk to you now, trooper. What's your name?"
"Tracker," the shiny replied proudly.
"Nice to meet you, Tracker. Let's go claim those seats," Fives grinned, guiding Tracker toward the open sabacc table.
As they walked, Fives glanced back over his shoulder toward the dark corner of the bar. He caught Captain Rex’s eye across the crowded room. Standing beside the glowing sabacc table, Fives flashed a confident thumbs up, signaling that his plan was going perfectly.
Back in the relative sanctuary of the 501st booth, Captain Rex groaned audibly. He slid a heavy, exhausted hand completely over his face, dragging it down his skin as he let out a ragged sigh of pure despair. He knew that look. He knew that body language. There was absolutely no stopping Fives.
“Hardcase, get back here!”
The loud, chaotic shout came while Hardcase clumsily slumped into the booth across from Rex.
Hardcase slammed his fresh pitcher onto the table, splashing a river of foam over the wood, and threw his arms over the backrest. "Can you believe Fives, Rex? I tell him the bar is crawling with beautiful women, and he looks at me like he was just assigned sanitation duty! What happened to him in that crash?!"
"Fives is just being Fives," Rex rolled his eyes, his voice flat as he kept his eyes glued to the far side of the bat. He didn't even bother to wipe away the fresh puddle of foam Hardcase had just splashed across the table. "He’s got a lot on his mind, Hardcase. Just let him blow off some steam his own way."
"Oh, come on! That is clearly a load of shit!" Hardcase complained, leaning forward with a heavily slurred, drunken pout. He gestured wildly with a sloppy hand toward the sabacc tables, nearly knocking his pitcher over a second time. "Look at him! He’s sitting over there talking to a shiny from the 327th, not a woman! A shiny! Since when does Fives prefer small talk with a shiny over a pretty face? It’s weird, Cap."
Rex let out a long, slow sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as a massive headache began to form right behind his eyes. "Oh, trust me, Hardcase. I’m sure he will be talking to a woman soon enough."
Hardcase blinked, his brow furrowing as he tried to process the layers of dread in Rex’s voice. He stared at Rex for a few seconds, completely lost. "Honestly, Cap. I am way too drunk to understand whatever riddle you just threw at me. But whatever you say!”
With a bright, uncoordinated grin, Hardcase slapped his hands down on the table, hoisted himself out of the booth, and immediately spun around, stumbling his way right back toward the crowded dance floor.
Rex didn't watch him go. His gaze snapped instantly back to the sabacc table where Fives and Tracker were sitting.
Tracker was laughing heartily, gesturing animatedly as he spoke. But it was the center of the table that caught Rex’s attention. There were fresh glasses sitting between them. Four of them, all freshly poured.
Rex’s eyes narrowed as the full, appalled realization slapped him square in the face.
“This idiot isn't just trying to pickpocket him,” Rex thought, his stomach dropping, “He’s trying to get the kid absolutely blasted so he won't notice.”
"Kriffing hell, Fives," Rex muttered under his breath.
Realizing he couldn't just sit by and watch from across the room, Rex frantically scanned the dance floor until he spotted relief. He raised a hand, sharply flagging over Kix.
Kix saw the signal and made his way into the empty space Hardcase had just vacated. "If you’re asking me to watch Hardcase, he’s on his own until he passes out."
"No, it's not Hardcase," Rex shook his head as he slid out to the edge of the seat. "Just hold down the booth for a minute. Don't let anyone take the table."
Kix blinked, looking a bit confused but he nodded anyway. "Got it."
Rex didn't waste another second. He stood up and began marching directly toward the sabacc tables. As he approached the pair, Fives was in the middle of a sentence, leaning back casually in his chair . Tracker was slumped slightly forward, his cheeks heavily flushed, his eyes bright but distinctly unfocused as he gripped his third drink.
"Well, well," Rex announced, stepping right into the light of the sabacc table. "I have to say, I'm always happy to see the bond between two legions making it off the battlefield and into 79’s. Good to see our boys looking out for each other."
Tracker’s head snapped up at the sound of the deep voice. His eyes widened, a sudden wave of clumsy, intoxicated panic washing over his face as he recognized Rex’s paludron."C-Captain, Sir!" Tracker stammered, frantically trying to straighten his spine and failing miserably as his elbow slipped slightly on the slick table.
Fives didn't lose sight of his goal for a single millisecond. The exact moment Tracker’s head whipped around to lock onto Rex, Fives’ left hand moved at alarming speed. His fingers darted out, perfectly catching the edge of the commlink strapped to Tracker's wrist. With a flawless twist, he popped the clip that kept it in place and slid the comm right out of its housing.
Rex saw the entire thing. From his vantage point, the theft was painfully obvious. He locked his eyes onto Fives, his brow dropping into a furious, stone-cold glare that practically screamed: “reconsider your life choices.”
Fives met the terrifying gaze with a completely shameless, innocent grin. He looked right past Rex, then turned a warm, bright smile back toward heavily intoxicated Tracker.
"Hey, Tracker," Fives hummed smoothly, pushing himself out of his chair and patting the younger kid reassuringly on the shoulder. "That look right there? That's my captain's kind way of letting me know that he needs me to go check on something. Very important ARC Trooper stuff."
Tracker blinked up at him, nodding slowly with an uncomprehending smile. "Oh. ARC Trooper stuff.”
"Exactly, you’ll know someday soon!" Fives purred, stepping around the table and dropping his hand on Rex’s shoulder, leaning in close. I'll go take care of that little problem right now. Why don't you sit down and talk to Tracker for a bit? Tell him some old war stories. You'll love him, he's a fantastic kid!"
Rex’s jaw tightened, his chest expanding as he took a breath to bark out a fierce, immediate refusal.
"See you in a bit, Rex!" Fives chirped.
Before Rex could get a single syllable out of his throat, Fives spun on his heel and completely bolted, melting into the dark, before he could even reach out to grab his collar.
Fives pushed through the heavy doors of the fresher. The space was completely empty, except for the two men from the 71st making their way out.
He didn't waste a second. Stepping into the furthest stall, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out Tracker's commlink. Fives flipped open the back pannel, exposing the small emergency override panel. His thumb hovered over the button, his breathing shallow.
Suddenly, a cold spike of reality hit him, freezing his thumb right above the button.
“Kriff,” he whispered a sudden knot forming in his throat. He realized then that he should have asked Tracker which general he actually reported to.
The 327th, like the 501st, was a massive, sprawling division. While a significant portion of the 327th served directly under you, about half of the men reported to General Secura. If Tracker belonged to a company detached from your command, this beacon wouldn't ping your datapad at all. It would route straight to General Secura’s. This is what Rex warned him about. He was too lost in love and blindly assumed the kid was from your specific unit just because of the color on his boots. It was a total gamble. A fifty-fifty shot at best.
Fives stared at the comm. He thought about your “see you soon” on the hanger bay. He thought about the look in your eyes when you told him to “stay safe out there”, as if you were already preparing yourself to never see him again. The thought of letting you slip away into the war without seeing you again. That would be worse than any brig sentence the Republic could throw at him.
"He goes nothing," Fives muttered to the empty room.
He took a deep, bracing breath and slammed his thumb down onto the override button, punching in the emergency frequency.
The commlink instantly flared to life, the small display screen flashing crimson as the location tracker began to ping. The buzz of a channel crackled through the small speaker.
Fives held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs as he waited for the automated system to route the call.
The line hissed with static for a second, and then a crisp, commanding voice broke through the channel.
"Trooper, your beacon has been logged. We are dispatching to your location immediately."
The voice was authoritative, professional, and chillingly calm. But as the words echoed off the durasteel walls of the fresher, Fives’ stomach plummeted into freefall.
It was a woman's voice. But it wasn't the soft, comforting voice he had spent the last three rotations falling in love with. It carried the distinct recognizable accent of a Twi'lek.
