The clone nodded. “Well... yeah.” He shrugged, the armor shining in the dim lighting of the meeting room. The crows feet by his eyes wrinkled with his expression. “We are.” 

“Oh.” You inhaled. Your hands tightened on his metal bracers. “Oh.” The word was repeated. “You’re planing on-”

“Going to.”

“Kill the chancellor.” You finished. 

Fives grinned again, hands squeezing your waist through the ornamental robes. “Yeah. You’ve got it.”

His smile was some anchor to something near reality. He was dead, or supposed to be. Now he wasn’t. And he was planning on killing the chancellor. “You realize how- how just-” Your hands left his forearms and your gestured as if trying to gather your thoughts close. “How mad that sounds?” You settled on, gaze snapping back to his eyes.

“Yep.” Fives nodded. The long and dark curls brushed his forehead with the motion. His thumb traced over a corner of the decorative belt on your hips. 

“Didn’t that kill you the first time?” Your throat was dry suddenly. “Everyone heard that you were hunted down because you tried to kill him already.”

The smile flickered on his lips briefly. “Well, that isn’t... untrue.”

“And you’re trying again!”

“Finishing the job.” Fives said, words strong but less emotional and not nearly as stressed than yours. “You have no idea what he’s planning, cyare.” Fives’ jaw rotated and his fingers wrapped in the loose robe draping into the belt. He was pulling himself into you, trying to reel himself into clear thoughts but clearly chasing your presence. “It’s evil.”

“Oh, did he just tell you this?” You shook your head, the long earrings nearly brushing your neck. “Willingly?”

Fives hummed noncomitally. “Uh.... maybe.”

“Fives.” Your brow narrowed. 

“Yes.”

A heavy sigh left your chest and you looked away, trying to stiffen your lips. “You’re alive. I’m still recovering from that alone.” Your gaze returned to his armor, finger tracing over the blue pattern on his breastplate. The matte blue paint was dark, contrasting heavily to the glistening armor. Something about him and his new presence, this new Fives, left you breathless. And yet, with this new Fives, the leader with the new name, there were fragments of the old one you knew. Your lips formed into a shape, trying to push out words. Slowly your gaze pushed up to his, trying to form the words in your throat into anything coherent. Something about what happened to him, how he lived, how he got to be in the new position he was in- any logical questions any reasonable person would have. 

Instead, you managed a very shaky and fragile, “I missed you.” 

Under your hands, the Mand’alor deflated. His chest eased and he gathered you, the same brown eyes that had haunted you for months, years now, skimmed you. “I missed you too.” Fives held you with a close desperation, eyes flickering over you. “Force, I have missed everything about you.”

Words died in your throat as he pulled you in again, kissing you once more. You drew in a breath and grasped his shoulders. Something clawed in your chest. You had him again. Here. You leaned back and wrapped your arm around him, fingers tightening in his dark curls. Despite the death, the new armor, the new life, he still tasted like Fives- mint and chocolate lingered on him as his arms tightened around you, a hum leaving his throat. 

You pressed away from him, mind reeling. “I’m still trying to be mad at you.”

“Keep trying.” Fives hummed, head tilting as he kissed you again, shorter, briefer, a promise of things that were and things that would be. 

Anger and reason be damned. You chased his mouth again, hands landing on his cheeks. Reason was not existent any more. Reason said he should not be alive. You yanked him down, kissing him again. Again. Again.

Fives held you so tight your ribs nearly caved. His touch was still as passionate, as warm as it had been when he was still a soldier for an honorable republic. 

There was a polite sound behind you. One you recognized as a throat being cleared. You pulled away first, the back of your neck hot. Your eyes dropped from Fives’ face to your hands, now resting on his chest. Fives kept his hands on your waist, simply looking over your shoulder. “Mabol.”

“Rayshe’a,” You recognized the voice greeting Fives, and glanced back, watching as the Zabrak nodded her head respectfully towards him. Her orange helmet rested on her hip, her expression more relaxed than previously. If she had been embarrassed walking in on you both, she did not show it. "We have heard from some of the clan leaders. They're on the hologram in the war room."

Fives nodded. "Thanks, Mabol." He looked down at you for a moment. "Would you escort our guest to her quarters?"

You looked up at Fives again, head tilting as your hands dropped from him. "My quarters."

"Unless you would rather share." Fives raised his brows. Your face heated up again as Mabol nodded.

"Come along... Senator." She motioned to you, flicking her fingers. You looked up at Fives, slipping out of his arms. Fives smiled after you, watching, and you felt his eyes on your back as he left the room. Mabol tugged the orange helmet back on as she entered through the main room again, passing the dias and moving towards a narrow hall. You followed closely.

"You know he's planning on killing the Chancellor."

"Yeah, I do. We all do." The zabrak walked with a sure confidence. "That's why we're joining under him. And he's our Manda'lor."

"Isn't that a really hard process?" You quickened your pace to keep up. "Elected, or..."

"No. He's our Manda'lor." She repeated. After you said nothing she sighed. "He holds the Dark Saber."

"Oh." You mumbled. "Is that all it takes?"

"I don't make the rules."

You fell silent again. The rooms were all dark as you walked down the hall, the darkness of the Coroscaunt underworld enclosing around the Mandalorian hideout. "Is this an old base?"

"We have a presence everywhere." Mabol explained. "Including here."

"I never expected Mandalorians to be made up of such a diverse group."

"We're Mandalorians." She stated. "Divisions are few among us." She paused at a metal door, typing in a code. There was a buzz, and the door lifted. "Your quarters."

You blinked as you looked at her, cautiously. Slowly you entered, looking around as the lights flickered on.

"I'm sure Rayshe'a will come visit you later." Mabol stepped out of the room. "You'll have someone outside at all times. Stay in here until you're told otherwise by myself or Rayshe'a."

"Rayshe'a." You repeated softly. She said the name simply but with a clear dignity. "You've been calling him that." You winced. "It's his new name, I guess."

The helmet betrayed no expression, unfortunately, and the door slid shut behind Mabol. Alone with your thoughts again.

You turned to the room, quietly, looking over it. It did resemble a large barracks, with a few touches to feel less militaristic. Your hand smoothed over the small couch, well loved, but soft to your touch. Your eyes drifted to the bed- it was simple, larger than a cot, and sitting on it was a nightgown, folded up. You recognized it when you touched it; the material was unmistakable. Hand-spun Alderaan silk was cool against your fingertips. You owned one other nightgown, a soft white material a personal favorite of yours. 

“I have always liked how this silk feels. I need to go by Alderaan again.”

“Someday, we can both go.”

Thoughtful, tactful, Fives. He had been planning this. You laughed quietly and picked it up, holding it close. “Fives,” You said out loud, knowing you were alone in the room. “I am mad at you. I promise, I’m trying to be so mad.”

-

The hologram fizzled out, and Rayshe’a stood with a hand resting on his belt. He gave a soft breath, running a hand in his hair. Knowing his senator was safe brought him more relief than anything else- despite the remaining checklist, her well being had been a massive weight for him. Fives had died- Rayshe’a, Te Mirdala Mand’alor, Te Oyatug’yc Mand’alor - he had risen from the ashes of his brothers, victims to the plot surrounding the manipulation of their inhibitor chips. 

The Chancellor will burn.

“Lord Mand’alor.” Tanal’s gruff voice resounded behind him. “You look unwell.”

“Thanks for the concern, Tanal.” Rayshe’a said, voice falling flat. “Just... thinking.”

The Togruta’s presence behind him was a strong and silent support. “Thinking of what?”

Rayshe’a leaned forward, elbows resting on the holotable. His gloved hands clasped, and his chin rested in his hands. “About our next steps.” 

“If I know you as well as I think, Rayshe’a, then our next steps are secure.” Tanal moved up to his leader. A montral rested over his shoulder and on his chest, and the one growing down his back was battered, torn, twisted and gnarled with battles. “Another day of fighting is secure. Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc.”

Rayshe’a knew Mandalorian well now- every clone knew it, and he had continued learning it, speaking it, breathing it as he had grown in his new role. “Only issue is, Tanal, there’s more than one enemy out there.”

“This is true.” The Togruta walked by Rayshe’a as he moved towards the dias. “But once we squash this large enemy, the other ones will scatter like bugs.”

With a hum, Rayshe’a sat down on his throne. The main room was empty now, everyone likely out gathering intel or getting drinks, celebrating their camaraderie. “Easier said than done.” The leader sighed, lowering his helmet onto his lap. 

“It’s the senator.”

Rayshe’a’s eyes snapped up at Tanal, a tongue pressed to his sharp teeth as he looked down at his leader. “I’m only glad she’s safe.”

“She’s a senator. Is she not loyal to the Chancellor?”

“No.” Rayshe’a leaned back in his throne, a heavy breath heaving from his body. “She’s loyal to a true republic. Unity and peace.” And me.

Tanal gave a grunt that was not discernable to Rayshe’a. “You trusted the Chancellor. Will she not betray you too?” When Rayshe’a narrowed his brows, Tanal raised his hands. “I don’t want to go against your wishes or question you. I wouldn’t dare be insubordinate. But-” Tanal’s white markings brighetened in the neon lights as he walked towards the window. “I wish you to be cautious.”

The Mand’alor stood, a weary smile resting on his lips. “The concern is appreciated, Tanal.” He walked towards the dormitory hall, the door sliding open. “I’ll be retiring for the night.”

Tanal nodded as Rayshe’a exited, and moved between the doors. The hall was dark, but the silence was welcome. His pace slowed by Mabol, who was leaning on the door way for the Senator. “Mabol.”

“Rayshe’a,” She nodded lazily, voice modulated through her helmet. 

“How’s she been?”

“Haven’t heard from her.” Mabol shrugged. “Had a lot of questions, though. I wouldn’t be shocked if she’s showering or napping.”

Rayshe’a nodded, a fist under his helmet clenching slightly. She is here. She is safe. “Thanks, Mabol.”

“Want to come visit her later?”

“No. If she wants to come see me though, if she has questions...” Rayshe’a shrugged. “She’s more than welcome in my quarters.”

“You knew her before, didn’t you?” Mabol crossed her arms. A smirk laid in her voice dormantly, ready to tease.

Rayshe’a allowed himself to smile- Mabol was trustworthy, cool, and calm all the time. In his new family, his clans, he saw fragments of those he knew- bits of Commander Tano here, spinters of the Generals there, even some brothers... “I did.” 

“She thought you died.” The mandalorians knew what became of Fives, the origin of their leader.  Te Oyatug’yc Mand’alor.

Rayshe’a shrugged, stepping away from the door. “Lots of people did. Still think I’m dead.”

“They’re in for one hell of a shock, then.” Mabol called. Her shoulders rolled back as she leaned on the wall again. Her casual tone hid her excitement, the thrill of rebellion and vengance.

Rayshe’a looked back at her over his shoulder, chuckling. “They sure are, kid.” The helmet under his arm was heavy most days, a constant weight on his head. But clones were not meant to survive. Clones were meant to be used, then die, and be thrown out. 

Not for longer. For his brothers, for the republic, for freedom, Fives would have to claw his way out of the ashes. Rayshe’a was newer- stronger, harsher, and when the Mand’alor looked in the mirror he saw some remainders of that soldier he once knew. From the wound in his chest splintering out, Fives had burned away and only the Resurrected Mand’alor remained. Rebellion, leadership, fighting all required some coldness. 

But not for his senator. Not for her.

------

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