#ct-1010

From "Guide to the Grand Army of the Republic" by Karen Traviss and Ryan Kaufman, Star Wars Insider #84, p. 30:

SERGEANT FOX CT-0000/1010 Sergeant Fox was stationed on either Coruscant or Centax 1 with the 501 Legion for almost his entire career. He worked frequently with planetary security and established patrols in the undercity to monitor possible terrorist activity. As a result, he had significant exposure to human and alien civilians, and the rhythms of life outside the clone army. Fox was also fascinated by the Journeyman Protectors of Concord Dawn and longed for the war to be over to join civilian life as a Protector. He participated in the attack on the Jedi Temple, but by the time Bail Organa arrived and discovered the slaughter, Fox had lost his stomach for battle. He chased off the Senator and made no attempt to kill him.

501st Fox?? Fox with dreams outside of the GAR?? Dreams so strong that he longs for the war to be over when so many other clones feel the opposite?? Fox without the weight of commander on him?? Fox losing his stomach for battle??

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, Clone Commander Thorn (Star Wars) Additional Tags: 79's Clone Bar (Star Wars), Anti-Clone Prejudice (Star Wars), Fox Day 10/10 Event (Star Wars) Summary:

Lovers to Enemies to Lovers with some spy razzle dazzle AU~ 

Masterlist  Prologue 

Part 1 - Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You 

Warnings: Time Jump: Manipulation: Violence: Death: a hint of Angst: Mothers are their own warning, but yes mommy issues. Have you seen Tangled? Age gap could also be a thing, but I am thinking Rex is in his mid 20s while our is now turned 18 and while there is sexual tension and some touches, this is just the beginning mfs, I am a fan of time jumps. 

Washington D.C., US - 01/01/2067   06:30

It’s cold. So cold I can’t feel my nose and the air hurts my lungs.

Still, I keep running. I look down to see Ace at my side, happy to frolic in the snow and ice. At least one of us is happy. Laps around the Washington monument have become a morning routine the past year. At least I knew about moving to D.C. this time. Over the past three years, I have been dragged all over the world. Trained, tortured and honed into the weapon I was born to be. But I don’t dwell on the past. Learn the lesson and move on. Stop thinking about it.

I finish up my last lap and make my way over to the woman reading a newspaper on a bench. She looks unbothered by the cold in her black peacoat, and no nonsense look on her face. As if the cold knew better then to bother her.

I sit down next to her, and she passes me a coffee.

“Good morning mother.” I say, taking sips of the bitter deliciousness.

She hums in response. We sit in silence for a moment. Ace’s head on my lap looking unbothered by our morning run. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, enjoying the silence.

“I need to make my dinner reservations before it’s too late,” my mother states.

Here we go.

“Do you know what time you’ll be having dinner?” I ask.

“I’m thinking about 07:30 tonight.” She sniffs into the cold. “I’m bringing Mark.”

“A Special friend?” I can’t help the cheek in my voice,  

“A very special friend.” Mother Smirks into her coffee.

“Where will you and this special friend be dining tonight?” I look over at her.

She’s so regal. Poised. Dressed in all black, hair in a slick ponytail. Her Gray eyes are sharp, but the lines around them are soft. The faintest hint of a smile on her face is soft too. She looks over at me, and I feel 15 again. I want to trust her.

Don’t be fooled, I hear her voice in my head.

“Vermillion. I’m craving a steak.”

“And for dessert?”

She looks away before answering. “I don’t think I will have time for dessert.”

Red Flag. No Dessert means no extraction. I’ll have to get away on my own. This isn’t something I’ve done before. There is always an exit strategy.

“Grown-ups don’t always have time for dessert,” is left in the air. So many words between us are left in the air. They suffocate me.

“Dessert is overrated anyway,” I chuckle. Best not to dwell on things that will not change.

“But before I go to dinner, I need to go to the dry cleaners. Pick up 2 orders I’ve placed.”

She means I need to head to the armorer and pick up new gear. New Gear? No Extraction teams?  What’s going on?

“How’s your arm?” She asks, ending the former conversation that has my focus. Instructions were clear. The execution of said instructions are also clear.

“It’s Fine. Little stiff from the cold,” I reply rolling my shoulder. The twinge reminds me of my 18th ‘birthday gift’.

“Next time, maybe you won’t be so clumsy,” she says as she gets up.

Right. Clumsy. That’s what that was.

“I hope you enjoy dinner!” I call out to the women, picking up the newspaper she let on the bench.

“So do I!” She calls back without looking.

She never looks back.

 Washington D.C. – 01/01/2067   19:56

The bar is loud. Pulsing to a beat I don’t care about, with bodies bumping and humping everywhere. The air is sticky with the sugary sent of alcohol and the floor wet with substances I have no interest in discovering.

Perfect.

I move deeper into the bar, losing the long coat, throwing it across a passing chair. I let my hair down and move to the dance floor. I let myself get lost in the bodies, disappear into the heat of the animals I have now become apart of. Swaying and twirling, my hips moving this way and that. The adrenaline pumping through my veins puts a thin veil of sweat over my skin. To any on looker, I’m just a girl cutting loose. And I am, I take a brief second to enjoy myself.

But only for a second. As I move my hips to the deep base line, I twirl and keep watch of my exits. Looking for whoever might follow. I left the scene clean. There were no hiccups, dinner went as planned. But it was always better to stay vigilant. Always assume the worst.  

To blend in, you must believe the story you are selling, yourself. So I do just that. I let it all go. And I dance.

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 09:00

I make my way back to my apartment, thinking of my instructions while Ace walks paces in front of me.

‘I need to make dinner reservations before it’s too late.’ – She means I have a new mark with a quick deadline. Planning will be minimal, and location may not be private. Which means possible interference.

‘I’m thinking 07:30’ - obviously, meet the mark at 07:30. The sniff was her sign that this had a small window of opportunity. Less that 10 minutes.

Vermillion was the closest restaurant to the target. That’s where I need to be near before receiving exact coordinates to my mark.

‘Craving steak’ - this meant mark wouldn’t make it out of this dinner alive.

This would be my 5th time killing for the cause. Sleep isn’t as easy as it used to be. This is what I was trained to do. Mother would not accept failure. My shoulder twinged in reminder of the last time I failed.  When your own mother shoots you, because you fail to kill someone things are put into perspective fairly quickly. It was a reminder that I do not live in a perfect world that the republic would like us to believe.

I’m luckier than some. Mother shooting me was a lesson I had to learn, right?

Wrong.

It could be worse.

It could be him.

I resolve myself from my thoughts.

Only through victory are my chains broken. Then I shall be free.

I am breaking chains. That’s all this is.

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 21:02

For a little over an hour, I danced by myself and who ever I was around. It wasn’t until I was craving water and heading to the bar that I realized I could feel eyes on me. I looked and my eyes met his.

Handsome was my first thought.

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 14:22

After getting to my apartment, I started my prep. My go bag was secured, and Ace was made ready if I needed a quick escape and he had to meet me somewhere. When we made our move to D.C. permanent, I trained him to meet at the monument if he hears a bell, I can play by pressing a button on my cell. Smartest dog I have ever met that one. After showering, cleaning and prepping, I looked around.

I always felt detached when dinner plans were made. I still haven’t gotten used to living alone. The only thing that makes this place home is Ace.

Not wanting to linger, I made my way to the dry cleaners of Elm and Main. A front for a private armory for the cause. Supplied by smugglers and ran by the ugliest women I have ever met. Talzin was mean and cold. But she could fix anything and supply you with everything. It was like magic. Dark magic, really.

Walking in, a young bald woman behind the counter looks up at me with a blank face.

“I have a pickup for 2 orders.” I say nonchalant, picking up a sweet from the bowl on the dusty counter.

“Name?” the woman’s voice is raspy, like she’s smoked 5 packs a day and didn’t know how to quit.

“I hardly think that’s necessary. I frequent this establishment often enough. I’d like to speak with management please.” I huff. My face is straight, by my eyes scream try me.

Her brow narrows. “One moment please,” and she disappears into the back.

I hear the door lock behind me, ultra-aware of the fact that there’s now a man in front of the door. A rather large man in fact. His imposing figure doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. His nickname Savage was earned, my mother had told me. I didn’t ask for details on how. Thankfully, she never gave them. Just one of those things you get used to, I guess.

“Let her through Ventress,” I hear faintly from the back. Then the bald woman with dead eyes appears again, through the currents that lead into the back.

“You may-“She starts, but I was already moving past her, and into a hallway. I reach the end that leads to stairs down into a basement where the voice came from. I keep going until I reach the bottom and come out into the open room. It looks like speak easy, with Dark Maroon walls, and emerald, green flooring. But instead of a bar of alcohol lining the walls, its artillery. Firearms of many shapes and sizes: grenades, blades, rockets and mortars. On the other side of the room, It looks like a tailer. Suits and dresses, made of bulletproof fabric. Shoes with false bottoms and necklaces that record everything. Ignoring the setting, it’s all pretty cool one has to admit.

“Your orders are there on the shelf girl.” Talzin rasps from a desk behind the glass firearm bar. “You have an outfit, two standard Government Issue Glock .19s, a poisoned blade, a dress and a coat with a built-in vest. Invisible to the naked eye. All more than what asset like you deserves.”

“How do you know the dress will fit.” I snark back as I reach for the bags on the counter closest to me.

“It always fits.” She glares at me. Even from afar and sitting down it feels like she is looking down at me. “You also a little something extra in there.”

“For me? Talzin, you shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re too sweet. Have a wonderful day you old goat.”

“I hope you die, menace.”

I didn’t linger there either. With a nod out to savage on my way out the door, I head home to get ready.

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 21:03

Leaning against the counter further down the bar, He stared at me. I watched his eyes rake over me and watched him watch me do the same. He was tall. Thick thighs covered by black slacks. Strong shoulders and a chest covered by a white button up just trying to hang on for dear life. Clean jaw line, full lips. Dirty blonde curls, and the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen.

I pushed the thought away but held my ground and looked him in the eye. Men were easy. Act sweeter than honey, and they land on that flower quick like a bee. I put on the mask of innocent trouble, winked and turned away. I ordered some water, and while waiting to be served, I felt a presence at my back. The warmth sent chills through my body.

“Only one reason a girl dances like that,” is whispered in my ear, the low voice rumbles from his chest. I feel like the bee.

I turn and look up through my lashes. He looks down at me with a small smirk on his lips.

Oh, how I would love to wipe that smirk off those lips.

“And what reason is that?” comes out much softer and more breathless than I meant it to.

“You’re losing yourself, to run away from something,” He lowers his chin to look me more in the eye.

“What are you, a shrink” I deadpan with a raised eyebrow, and make a face.  

His laughter flows from him like oozing lava. “You’re too young to be dancing like that. You have all the opportunities in the world open for you.”

If only you knew.

“Compared to what, old man?” I challenge with a smirk and turn to reach for my water. My comment earns me another chuckle. I relish the sound as I sip from the tiny black straw.

“Ouch. I’m not that old, just old enough.”

“Old enough to be a prude it sounds like.” I stir my straw.

“Never been described as a prude before.”

“Shocking.”

“What’s your name, princess?”

Looking up at his question, I realize he’s gotten incredibly close. Practically caged in at the bar. All my instincts scream at me to get out of this conversation and get the upper hand. The secret voice in my head tells me I don’t want to be anywhere else.

“You think you’ve earned my name?” I cock my head at him.

“I asked nicely, didn’t I?” he cocks his head opposite of me. He’s enjoying this. The smile, the fire in his eyes. He almost looks ready to devour me.

He’s toying with you.

“I didn’t hear a please in there, old man,” earns me another chuckle.

“How about this, we exchange information. That way we both are gaining something from it. I will give you my name, if you’ll give me yours.”

“I don’t know, I kind of liked how princess rolled off your tongue.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Neither of us step down from this stalemate. Our Eyes are locked, and the rest of the bar just falls away for a moment. Dangerous in my unchosen profession. And yet, I could die happy with that warmth staring back at me if that’s what were to happen.

He breaks the tension by stepping back and offers his hand. “I’m Rex.”

“Princess,” I wink while taking his hand. My cheekiness earns me another chuckle. My toes curl at the low sound.

“Ok princess. Would you like to dance?” He asks with a bright smile.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 19:10

Wearing a black cocktail dress and heels that were provided under the Bulletproof jacket, I sat on a bench outside some steak restraint, and listened to the soft snow fall, with my face up towards the sky.

The calm before the storm.

PING.

I looked down at my phone. One new Notification.

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 21:40

Dancing with him felt like playing with fire.

“Rex” softly leaving my lips as he trailed kisses across my shoulder felt like a prayer.

“Princess” being whispered into my ears felt like God decided to answer.

My head said it was time to leave. Forget the man with eyes made of honey, and leave.

My Heart said stay, and so did his hands. He gripped my hips just so and oh-

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 19:28

I made my way into the Hotel, retrieving a room key from a pot plant in the corner of a hallway on the second floor.

I made my way to the 6th floor.

Room 612.

I knock.

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 21:59

We’ve been dancing so long that my feet start to hurt. I don’t want to stop. His arms around me make me feel safe. The grip of his fingers on my hips, moving them against his to the beat. He’s spun me and twirled me and let his fingers trail across my shoulders and arms, down my sides and just barely over my thighs more times than I can count. I let my hands wander just as much. His chest is broad and firm, solid and sturdy. His hands dwarf mine and consume them. His thighs are large, and oh so delicious. I must keep my thoughts on what I would do on those thighs at bay, lest I get more than I bargained for.

This is for appearances. An alibi. I’m trying to lie to myself that I’m not actually enjoying his warm body moving against mine. When did everything I do, start becoming I lie I have to tell myself?

 Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 19:29

Mark answers the door. He’s expecting a high-end escort and thinks nothing of the glint in my eye.

At least I do look expensive.

The door closes behind us.

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 22:01

His lips ghost the shell of my ear and I get goosebumps. I want to feel those lips outside of ghost stories that haunt the edges of my existence.

“Let’s get you something to drink, princess,” he purrs, and grabs my hand. I am helpless and follow.

It’s time for me to go. Stay. I have to be up early. Don’t go. “Another water?” he turns to me as we arrive at the crowded bar.

“Yes please.” I reply. Then think for a second. “How did you know it was water?”

“Princess, you barely look old enough to be in here, let alone drink.” His smile is soft.

“Why are you wasting your time with a child then, hmm?” I challenge with a dip in my brow.

His smile softens, if that were even possible. “You don’t seem like you’ve been a child for a very long time now.” If only I could count how many times I have gotten lost in his eyes tonight. “And I’m not that old.” He adds with a huff.

A giggle escapes me before I can stop it. “How old are you?”

“24. And you?”

“18.” I said squarely. His eyebrows rise.

“Wow, you are young.” He says, his eyes harden a tad bit and I am suddenly filled with insecurity I am not used to.

“And?” comes out my mouth, low and irritated.

“And? And nothing. You’re legal. And besides, we’re just friends.” He pokes the bear. His smirk irritates me more by the second. All that I was feeling has been channeled into annoyance. I can work with this. This can give me the upper hand.

“Oh? Friends, are we?” I challenge back.

“Oh, I hope so.”

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 19:30

He asks my name, and I give him a fake. Mark pretends it’s real and gives me his real name. I don’t care though. He’s still going to be Mark to me. Another Lie I have to tell myself.

He turns his back heading to the bar cart.

Sorry Mark.

Walking away almost felt too easy.

  Washington D.C. 01/01/2067 22:03

We stand there, leaning against the bar, just drinking each other in.  Drinks on the counter forgot.

Friends get hurt. I know. Fuck being friends. I know. Can’t even give him my real name. I know. I could drown in those eyes. I know. 

Love at first sight? It doesn’t exist.

At that, I hear myself say “Well Rex, It’s past this princess’s bedtime. See you around?”

With a raised eyebrow and a soft smile, he looks down at me. I detect disappointment and relief simultaneously as his shoulders relax but his jaw clenches. “Ok princess,” is more soothing than it should be. He grabs my hand, and brings it to his lips. 

“How can I find you again?” comes out of my mouth before I can even stop it.  

He chuckles, low and deep, more of a rumble than a chuckle, his fingers softly rubbing against my knuckles as he lowers my hand, still in his.

 “You won’t.” And with that, he lets go, turns and walks away.

And I? I am left reeling from whatever the fuck just happened. A thousand emotions are running through me and i-

PING.

I look at my phone.

One New Text Message from: Mother

Need to talk. Now.

Oh. I knew it was too easy.

----- 

rated G, light cussing, mando’a, Sgt Fox is actually a Corporal in most of my writing because they make Sergeant by the end of the war, friends with Appo, they/them pronouns

There’s Commander Fox, and then there’s Sergeant Fox of the 501st. CT-0000/1010 is fed up with the name confusion, but not enough to give up on their name. The other guy can give it up if he wants. Not Sergeant Fox.