the big rat who makes all the rules

“So what do you do for fun, anyway?”

Vos’ hand was crumpling a spare piece of flimsi. Fox found himself staring at it. It was littered in scars and burns. Some patches of flesh were tough and discolored. “Not much.”

“We can change that.” A grin split Vos’ words, always so light and easy. “Let’s get drinks, Captain. You can spare an hour from work, right?”

“No, sir.” Fox made a show of returning to his datacomm, looking entirely away from Vos. “Fraternization with Jedi is against regulations.”

“C’mon, man! Can’t you just say kriff the cops for once and have some fun?”

“I am the cops, sir.”

“You got me there.” Vos’ voice was easy and affable. “And the military police. And the judicial system. And the prison system. No wonder you have no time to get any drinks. Our good Captain Fox is too busy playing judge, jury, and executioner.”

“That would be correct.” Fox visibly busied himself judge, jury, and executioner’ing his way through whiny mailcomms. “You’ve used up your requested five minutes. Lieutenant Stone will be here momentarily to remove you from the premises.”

Cheerfully, Vos said, “You’re a cruel man, Captain Fox. So frigid! Your heart’s as cold as khyber.”

“My personal attributes have no relationship with regulations.”

“It was just a joke.” Vos looked a little fascinated. “Clones are terrible with metaphor and sarcasm. You’re all such serious little guys.”

Straight faced, Fox said, “I never joke.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

*

“What are you thinking about?”

Fox startled. He turned to look at Vos, who was cheerfully beating the last of the flames out of his leather vest. Behind them, his men were efficiently intercepting the last of the arsonists. Damn. Vos hadn’t given him a single second to peacefully zone out in the past three days. Wouldn’t stop cheerfully rambling about their ‘adventure’ and ‘bonding time’ and ‘isn’t this fun? Aren’t we having fun right now? We should have more fun’. While digging up the terrorist group that had begun setting fire to guard outposts. 

Intelligently, Fox said, “Huh?”

Vos sniffed his singed vest, making a face. “You’re always staring into the distance. What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing, sir.”

“Everybody thinks about something.”

“I don’t bother with things like that.”

Vos’ muscles rippled as he stretched his arms and shrugged the vest back on. Some people were too built. Others spent way too much time and energy flaunting it. “You know, Captain, you only have one life. You ought to live it.”

It didn’t occur to Fox to stop himself or bite his tongue. He usually didn’t have to. Some of Fox’s batchmates resented always having to play dumb. Make themselves smaller or quieter. Fox never really had to pretend. He didn’t have much to hide. “We have a six month average life expectancy once deployed. There’s not much point in over-investing in life.”

“Then why won’t you get drinks with me?”

Quinlan Vos looked at Fox, simple and easy. As if he was actually sincere, and wasn’t just trying to investigate Fox’s covert operations. As if he really was as happy and carefree as he acted, and his smile didn’t drop when he turned away.

“If none of it matters,” Quinlan Vos said, “then why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Fox said. The armored vehicle was finally approaching the alley, and he raised his hand to make a few gestures. The arsonists - terrorists, once the paperwork went through - were going to disappear into that van. Quinlan Vos would investigate night and day to discover where Fox would send them. He wouldn’t figure it out. Fox held every advantage. “My men are here to escort you back to the Temple, sir.”

“You’re so mean.”

*

“Come on. You have half the senators wiretapped. You have to have the good gossip.”

He did. Fox pointedly typed away. 

“I’ll trade you.” Vos was outright sitting on his desk now. It was wildly inappropriate. If Fox ever let him in again, he was going to start stealing his chair. “I think your batchmate Bly finally confessed to my Aayla.” He leaned in, whispering conspiratorily. “They’re going out.”

If Fox was much stupider and less foolish, Vos would have just casually signed his own padawan’s death warrant. “I don’t want to know about my brother’s love life.”

Peacefully, like the monk he supposedly was, Vos said, “And I don’t want to hear about my padawan’s love life. Yet here I am. Let’s suffer together, Captain.”

“You can leave me to suffer alone.” Fox pointedly stared at the intercom on his desk. “Speaking of alone.”

“I’ll never leave you alone,” Vos said nobly, drawing himself up like a great Jedi hero of old. “I swear never to abandon you, Captain. ‘Til death do we part.”

“Six months, then.” Fox rattled away at his comm. “I’ll put it on the calendar.”

Vos looked delighted. “I finally made it into your calendar?”

Fox could not suffer this shit for one more second. “Yes. You do. Here.” Fox skipped ahead six months in his calendar and carefully blocked out an entire day, flipping the screen display to show Vos. “This is your day. I am scheduling this day for you. The entire day. Let’s die together six months from now. Now get out of my office.”

It was like Life Day had come for Vos. He hopped off the desk, shoving his hands casually in his pockets. And slipping the datastick he lifted from Fox’s desk into his pockets. He was welcome to it. It was just garbage recordings of nonsense natborn wiretaps. They weren’t even listening to any of them. Vos didn’t understand that yet, and so he continued wasting his one and only precious life in the noble pursuit of justice. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Vos saluted. He probably thought it was very rogue and cool. “In six months, then.”

Fox pressed a button on his intercom. “Lieutenant Thire.”

“Mean!”

*

“What are you thinking about?”

Fox was so exhausted. He wanted to rub at his swimming eyes, but he didn’t want to show weakness in front of Vos. “Why do you keep asking that?”

“I’m curious.” And chronically investigating you. Can’t forget about that. 

“I’m busy. Just go away.”

Somehow, at some point, a thermos of caff appeared on his desk. Vos was gone. 

It was a little confusing. But when Fox unscrewed the thermos he saw that the caff was warm. When he drank it, he even tasted it. It tasted like…

*

“Fox?”

Two fingers snapped in front of his eyes. The sight jolted him back to attention before the sound, and Fox startled. He looked around, confused, before he finally came to the sight directly in front of him: Vos, leaning over the desk, frowning at Fox.

“General Vos.” Fox was feeling that way again. In front of Vos, no less. Damn. “Can I help you?”

“You were already helping me. You were refusing to tell me where those peaceful protestors were being held.” Vos straightened, frowning. It didn’t seem right on that face. Far too honest. “What were you thinking about?”

“Home.” Fox shook his head, lost. “Home, maybe…”

Vos’s eyebrows rocketed upwards. “Kamino? What, am I evoking some childhood memory or something? What were you thinking about?”

“I don’t know,” Fox said. “I never know.”

Vos was silent.

*

Fox squinted at the calendar block. The name of the event was ‘Die with Quinlan Vos’. What…?

“I told you!” Vos cried triumphantly, jabbing his finger at the datacomm display. “You put it down right here! You promised! Come on, it’s officially your day off. I’m buying drinks!” He was grinning widely, practically bouncing up and down. “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. I turned down an off-planet mission for this. You, sir, are stuck. With me!”

Blankly, Fox said, “When did I do this?”

“Six months ago. When you promised to die with me, remember? You can’t go back on a promise!”

“Oh. Yeah.” Fox stood up, absently grabbing his bucket. If he had promised…and his day was free… “Where are we dying?”

“Someplace with bantha burgers! I’m starving!”

*

Fox crammed a fried tuber slice in his mouth, masticating it in a placid tempo. Quinlan was on his…fourth or fifth beer, something like that, and was still joyfully nattering on about his latest escapade. It apparently featured busting a sentient rights trafficking ring, rooting out a secret Separatist sympathizer, and a threesome. 

“And that’s why I’m banned from Alderaan,” Quinlan finished grandly. “Pity, right? Everyone talks about how it’s a fantastic vacation spot. I’ll have to go back under a new identity. What do you say, Captain Fox, wanna take an Alderaanian vacation with me?”

Fox looked down at his plate. It was nothing but tubers. Unsalted. He looked around, and was somewhat nonplussed to find himself in a diner. “I should be working right now.”

“You should be dead.” Quinlan raised a beer in the air, as if he was toasting Fox’s imminent demise. “You’ve outdone your life expectancy by yet another month yet again. Look at you fighting fate!”

“Do we really have to celebrate every month?” Fox asked blankly.

“I don’t know why this always gets you out of your office, but I’m not complaining.” Quinlan winked rougishly at him, tipping the beer into his mouth. “We should start celebrating my continued survival too. What do you say, Captain, when should I mark my life expectancy? Us Jedi are dying off like flies, anyway.”

“You still have a year and a half,” Fox informed him. “There’s nothing to celebrate yet.”

Quinlan lowered his beer, blinking at him. “That’s specific.”

Fox shrugged. “I’ve thought about it.”

Quinlan grinned, pressing a hand to his heart. “You’ve thought about my continued survival? You’ve contemplated my mortality? Captain Fox! I didn’t know you cared!”

“I don’t?”

“Let me have this.”

“Have whatever you want,” Fox said, almost affably. “It’s not worth much to me.”

Quinlan Vos stole one sliced tuber off his plate. But that was all.

*

Vos sat in the chair on the other side of his desk, quietly scrolling through a datapad. His smile had fallen, and his large and boisterous posture had neatened into a monk’s simple ease. His cheek was propped on one fist, and his eyes scanned the thick blocks of text with incredible speed. 

“I’m sorry,” Fox said, “do you need something?”

“Yup,” Vos said, popping the ‘p’. “But you aren’t giving it to me. So I’m sitting here, whiling away my hours. Hoping against hope that you wander away from your datacomm so I can break into it. In the name of our friendship.” 

“You deserve our surveillance.”

“And you deserve mine.” 

They sat there, surveilling each other. Or maybe Fox was surveilling him: for once, he was the one looking straight at Quinlan Vos, and Vos was the one ignoring him. Felt very…

“Cody doesn’t actually hate General Kenobi.”

Vos pumped a fist in the air, crowing in victory. “I fucking knew it!”

“They’re not fucking.”

“I knew you’re lying!” Vos jabbed a finger at Fox so empathetically that he almost fell off his seat. “They’re way too obsessed with each other! Obi-Wan won’t shut up about how he wants to dissect Cody’s hateful little mind! He wants to study him under a microscope! Cody wants to rip him apart with his teeth! And study him with a microscope! They have to -”

“It’s weirder than that.” The situation would be so much less stupid if they were fucking.

“They’re just repressed,” Vos cried, as if this was some great proclamation about the nature of humanity and clonehood. “They’d be normal if they just -”

“Nothing will ever make Cody normal.”

Vos sagged. Defeated for the first time. “Same with Obi-Wan. He used to be normal, you know.” Fox didn’t want to know a single word of information about Obi-Wan Kenobi. He tried to convey this with his eyes. Vos blithely ignored him. He understood just fucking fine. “He joined a baby war when he was a baby. Didn’t come back for almost a year, and he came back all weird. Then he was stuck on Mandalore in a civil war for another year and came back even weirder. Aayla and I have been around the block, but Obi-Wan must be the only Jedi I know who’s led armies before all of this.” Vos sighed, tilting his head back. “I love him just as much as ever. But I miss that initiate sometimes…maybe that’s why.”

“Why what?”

Vos lowered his head, fixing Fox in place with an unshakable stare. “I can’t leave it alone. I can’t leave anything alone. I really can’t mind my own business at all, Captain Fox.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“What are you thinking about?”

Fox opened his mouth. 

*

“Two years!” Vos sang, kicking his legs on the side of Fox’s desk. Because he was lying on the desk. Just - just fully lying on the desk. “Outlived yourself by a year and a half! How’s it feel, soldier!”

“Please get off my desk.”

Vos cracked an eye open, grinning wickedly at Fox. Fox mimed shoving him off the desk. “You decided to start investing in your life yet, Captain? Are you ready to start treasuring your one and only life?”

Straight faced, Fox said, “I’ve already overdrawn. My time’ll be up any second.”

“Don’t say that,” Quinlan Vos said. Still smiling. “You promised to die with me.”

Fox mimed stabbing Quinlan straight in the heart. Quinlan faked an elaborate death scene, complete with gestured spurts of blood.

He passed away on top of Fox’s flimsi and datapads, arms lolling off the table in death. His locs fanned out around him, covering the typing display of his datacomm completely. The stillness and quiescence of death looked strange on him. For a weird, disconcerting second, Fox realized that he didn’t like it. That he really hated it. 

Fox mimed stabbing himself in the heart. He didn’t close his eyes or slump in his chair. He stabbed himself with eyes wide open, staring down at Quinlan Vos’ peaceful face. Never turning away. 

He saw Quinlan’s eye crack open just in time to watch him stab himself. Fox stared down at him, expression stone, and something strange crossed Quinlan’s expression. He wondered if Quinlan saw something dead in him after all.

“I promised.”

*

“She didn’t do anything! She’s innocent!” Vos thumped his desk with one fist, scattering his flimsis. Fox eyed them with disinterest. “The charges are bantha crap and you know it! How can you let her take the heat for this?”

Fox was bored of this. He’d been bored of it for days. Anakin Skywalker stomping into his office, Obi-Wan Kenobi following him around in a shitty interrogation, Mace fucking Windu breathing down his neck. “All evidence points to her.”

“She’s your batchmate’s commander!” Vos cried. Fox hadn’t seen him this fired up in a long time. They’d stopped going on adventures. “She’s my best friend’s grandpadawan! She’s a sixteen year old girl! And if you keep stomping all over justice like this, refusing to give a shit about right and wrong, she’s going to die!”

Rex, sitting on a bench outside his office. Jumping his leg, biting his nails. He’d never admitted it, but it was perfectly obvious: Rex was not ready to see Ahsoka Tano die. Fox suspected that he wouldn’t be ready to see her die even when the time came. Bly and Wolffe had been planning to do something stupid for months, but at this rate Rex was going to start planning to do something stupid too. 

Maybe he’d already started, and he hadn’t worked up the courage to commit. He hadn’t even worked up the courage to step inside Fox’s office. Smart, for once. 

“Is this really that important to you?” Fox asked. For a stupid second, he felt as if he was speaking to Rex. “Is this the hill you’re going to die on? She’s not even your padawan.”

Vos bared his teeth. He planted both hands on Fox’s desk and leaned in, eyes alight. Fox didn’t bend backwards - he never did. But he met Vos’ eyes. He rarely did that. “Ahsoka Tano is a child of the Jedi Order. A child that we have already failed. This corrupt Republic’s already tossed her into the middle of a war - I can’t allow your corrupt joke of a justice system to shove her in front of a firing squad!”

Corrupt, huh? That felt right. Some part of Fox was corrupted. Vos knew it. They were headed inextricably downwards.

“I’ll give you two more days. That’s as far as I can extend the grace period.” Fox broke eye contact with him, bending back down over his desk. From his peripheral vision, he saw Vos retreat from his desk - shocked. “Tell Anakin Skywalker that if he tries to bully any more of my men into talking then I’m cutting it down to six hours.”

“That worked?” Vos said, baffled. “You - I convinced you? That worked? Huh?”

“Get out of my office,” Fox said. “I need to go back to wasting my one and only life.”

*

A screwed thermos of caff was sitting on Fox’s desk.

He didn’t know when it got there, or what it was doing there. But he didn’t really wonder. There was no confusion. 

*

“Three years,” Quinlan Vos sang, raising his mug in a toast. “You’ve beaten your six month life expectancy by two and a half years. How’s it feel, Fox? Have you seized your days? Learned the value of friendship? Gotten laid?”

“Fox? What are you thinking about?”

“Hey, Fox. Didn’t you mention my life expectancy?”

“Three months,” Fox said absently, sipping his beer mug. It was almost empty. 

“Wow. That little?” Vos laughed. He thought Fox was joking. “Guess you and I have to make the most of these last three months.”

“It’s not my life expectancy.”

“But we’re going to die together,” Quinlan Vos teased lightly. “You promised.”

*

All four men nodded. They were standing very stiffly at attention.

Fox rubbed his eye. He was tired. “Marshal Commander Cody, do you need support from an Alpha squadron?”

“I do not.” Cody spoke so perfectly crisply. So perfectly at attention. “The 212th is up to the task.”

“He’s the finest duelist in the Order.” Classic clone bravado. And this room held the four biggest egos in the military. “The Lord Emperor is claiming Windu’s life because he knows that we aren’t capable. Kenobi gives Windu a run for his money. A twelve person Alpha adjunct squadron will probably be necessary for your success.”

Cody’s eyes were burning. “Sir, I have been waiting three years for my kill. Do not rob me of what I have earned.”

Under his breath, Bacara muttered, “Can’t deny that.”

“He deserves it,” Neyo muttered back. “Reparations.”

“The Alphas don’t deserve this.” Were his eyes burning, or were they wild? They were alight with something. Fox was almost jealous. “Alpha-17 dealt with him for three months. I have spent three years. With that. Giving them my kill wouldn’t be honorable.”

Okay. Well. Whatever. Clearly every single fucking batchmate was going to make a stupid-ass decision. Maybe they were sleeping together. Fox hadn’t actually investigated this, because he did not want to fucking know.

Fox should probably care a bit more if Obi-Wan Kenobi lived or died. His survival would probably mess with the Empire. Man had the capability to cause a lot of damage. 

Or maybe not. His psych profile said that framing him for a catastrophic mistake would make him run off and hide in shame. This probably wouldn’t have any consequences. 

Fox had a random, insane thought: maybe they should all die together. Maybe we should all die together.

Cody and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Rex and Ahsoka Tano. Bly and Aayla Secura, Wolffe and Plo Koon, Grey and Caleb Dume. Every clone and every Jedi. The GAR and the Jedi Order. The galaxy ought to be rid of every pestilence. Clean, safe, secure. All toxins removed, all mold cut away. This rotten and corrupted galaxy could not be salvaged - only purged. And this corrupt Captain Fox…

“Fine,” Fox said. “His life and death are your responsibility, Marshal Commander Cody.”

Cody saluted sharply. “Always has been.”

Idiot. But Fox must be the stupidest batchmate of all, because he didn’t say a word. 

*

“Two days.”

Quinlan halted, caff cup half-raised to his lips. “Two days of…?”

“Your lifespan.” Fox peacefully typed away at his comm. This was all going to be for nothing. Very, very soon - it would all be useless. “Make good use of it. Seize your days or whatever.”

Quinlan gave him a strange look, slowly lowering the caff cup. “I don’t even know if you’re joking or not.”

“Who do you want to kill you?” Fox asked politely. “I can arrange for whoever.”

Finally, Quinlan smiled. He took a sip of the caff again. “You’re always doing me the best favors, Captain. Can I ask you for the honor of killing me?”

“I thought we were dying together.”

“You can kill me after you die,” Quinlan amended. “Easy.”

“I can arrange that.” Fox paused a beat. “We were both wrong, by the way. Cody definitely hates Kenobi.”

“Oh, there’s no way.”

“It’s true,” Fox said. “If you just love someone, you let them go. Or whatever. But if you hate them just as much as you love them, then you’ll never be rid of each other.”

“So that’s what you think about,” Quinlan said, impressed. “I can’t believe I finally found out. With two days to spare, too! I was beginning to think that you were telling the truth about never thinking about anything.”

“Believe it or not,” Fox said, “I don’t lie very often.”

“I believe it. That’s why I like you so much.”

Fox gave Vos a very unimpressed look. It effortlessly conveyed that liking Captain Fox of the Coruscant Guard was a very, very stupid thing for General Quinlan Vos to do.

“Don’t get me wrong. I know I’m wasting my time with you.” Vos grinned at him, so simple and clean. His eyes were creased. Fox had never seen him smile like that - with creased eyes, so brightly. “But that’s a waste of my one and only life that I don’t mind at all.”

*

Fox stood in front of the cell, rereading the report on his datapad. He didn’t need to - he’d already read it three times, and he had an eidetic memory - but it seemed like the thing to do. Vos was still glaring up at him, eyes burning.

Glaring wasn’t the right word. Fox recognized that expression, and Vos had never glared at him. Vos was looking up at him with sharp and narrowed eyes, and Fox knew it was the eyes of somebody drafting a thousand battle plans on how to get out of this. The cameras had already caught him exploring the cuffs. No luck there. They were a new model. None of the familiar faults.

“Four weeks,” Fox announced. Impressive already - Fox had an entire squadron on the man, as well as his obscenely robust surveillance network. “Would have lasted longer if you hadn’t played the distraction so the juveniles could escape.”

They had only just apprehended him. Fox had hustled to the holding cells the second he got word that Quinlan Vos was finally captured, and he was still in his capture restraints. Two large Force nullifying cuffs attached together and affixed to a port on the floor. Force nullifying collar fixed to the port as well. Legs chained together. Fox silently urged Vos to feel honored by all of this. They wouldn’t have brought out this many restraints for Mace Windu. Granted, they would have just killed Mace Windu. 

All of that inside the cell specialized for holding Jedi. It was Vos’ second time in the cell. He’d toured it, years ago. He walked around inside and propped his hands on his hips and loudly admired it. Who do you expect to have in here, he’d asked, Count Dooku? Fox’s men had snickered. 

Vos just stared at him. Oh, right. He was gagged too. That was mostly so he wouldn’t bite through his tongue. Fox slid around some settings in his datapad, remotely deactivating the gag. 

Vos immediately coughed, hanging his head and spitting on the ground. Fox patiently waited for the quip. He would deny this man movement of every last one of his limbs, but he would never deny the quip.

Finally, Vos lifted his head and spoke in a clear and strong voice. Fox had heard him clear his throat several times so it wouldn’t be hoarse. “Outlived my life expectancy by four weeks, huh? We should celebrate.”

“We’re both a bit occupied, inmate.”

Vos smiled a little - thin and sharp, without conviction. “I never got you to call me by my name, huh…too bad.”

Fox turned off the datapad, sticking it underneath his arm. “You can’t be very surprised. You always knew what I was doing. You’ve been investigating the Lord Emperor for corruption for years. You’ve suspected that he was holding the puppet strings of the war for months. And you’ve always found the clones highly suspect.”

Sometimes Fox wondered who Vos had told. If his old master had approached him with his suspicions first, and if they’d been investigating together. If he’d tried to warn Aayla away from Bly, and she’d blown him off. If Fox had suspected that his student’s boyfriend was plotting to kill her, he really wouldn’t have waited for proof before forcibly separating them with a laser sword. Maybe Vos hadn’t been so certain after all. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to believe it. 

“You’ve gunned down every other Jedi in the street,” Vos said. “What makes me so special to warrant a capture, huh?” He bared his teeth. You couldn’t really call it a grin. “Don’t tell me Captain Fox is sentimental.” 

Fox didn’t say anything. His perfectly blank face and empty body showed nothing. There was really nothing to show. 

Vos’ eyes widened. “Huh. I thought you were joking.”

“I never joke.” Fox stepped back, gesturing to his silent guards. “You are a repository of Jedi secrets. Including the hiding places of your fellow fugitives. You’ll be transferred to the Citadel and interrogated. They’ll likely use you as bait for the other fugitives.” 

“Never mind,” Vos said. “You do joke.” 

The guards entered the cell. One was already pulling out a hypo syringe. Vos eyed it carefully. He would have shied away from it, but he couldn’t move an inch. 

Hands folded behind his back, Fox blandly said, “The average lifespan once a prisoner has entered the Citadel is six months.”

Vos huffed a laugh. “‘Til death do we part.”

“I’ll put it into my calendar,” Fox agreed. “We’ll celebrate then.”

They both knew, as they always did. Fox had faith in Quinlan Vos’ ability to escape one measly little jail. He would be very disappointed if it took him six months. 

When Quinlan Vos escaped, he would probably have some revenge to take. Or he would have a padawan to run off and find. A best friend to track down. A resistance to start, or a rebellion to join. And Fox would be here - in the same office, at the same desk, doing the same work he’d always done. 

Fox would block off the day. Just in case.

Vos couldn’t struggle. He couldn’t budge an inch. He knelt on the ground as the guard jammed the hypo into his neck, and those cutting eyes eventually slid closed. A guard was already calling for transport. The prisoner was too dangerous to move awake. They would keep him drugged and asleep in transit. If he escaped during transit, that would be impressive - but Vos could occasionally impress. He worked hard. Some people always worked their hardest to survive. Fox was one of them. 

He unsheathed Vos’ lightsaber from his belt, flipping it around easily in his hand. In the cell, the prisoners loaded the unconscious Vos onto a stretcher. 

Fox pressed the unlit end of the lightsaber against his chest, pressing into his heart.

What are you thinking about, Fox?

*

Fox reached out his hand for the thermos of caff, hitting nothing but air. 

His desk was empty. Nothing was on it.

“I’m thinking about you,” Fox said - the one admission he could never make, or the final thing that he never let himself admit.