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Even as he follows the Jedi and their Commanders through the Senate Dome, Fox can’t quite believe it.
The Chancellor, a traitor, playing both sides of the war. The Chancellor, a Sith, the Sith, the one they have been searching for. Surely not. Surely not the kindly, if frequently frustrating, man he has spent the last two and a half years protecting.
Fox hadn’t believed it, when the Jedi had first called him into a meeting to reveal their investigation and its findings. It seemed almost traitorous to even consider the possibility. But then they laid out their evidence, and he had to admit that he doesn’t like the picture it forms. Either the Chancellor is a traitor - as preposterous as the very phrase sounds - or they have leaks at the highest levels that he must be made aware of. It seems that all this time he has been closer to the war than he realised.
Besides, if the Chancellor is indeed a Sith that makes it the Jedi’s jurisdiction as much as his own, and they are set on their path. His invitation is a courtesy not a request. So here Fox is, following along to ensure that proper procedure is followed, and desperately hoping for an explanation that makes sense.
Fox can’t quite believe it, but as soon as the Jedi present the Chancellor with their accusations, Palpatine proves their claims without a doubt.
The first bolt of lightning sends Cody straight to the floor, twisting and writhing with a strangled scream. The second is caught against General Windu’s lightsaber, tangling around the glowing blade before overwhelming it and knocking back the Jedi behind. The third lightning bolt, Fox registers as a flash in his peripheral vision as he instinctively collapses.
Then… pain. Liquid fire coursing through his veins, whiting out all other awareness. He does not hear his voiceless gasp, does not feel the carpet against his cheek. For what could be a moment or an eternity, nothing exists except the burning light.
Awareness returns in fragments, beginning with the distant recognition that he is pulling himself to his knees. An odd rhythmic snap-hiss echoes in his ears and he blinks his eyes until he can make out bright smears of red and green and blue dancing wildly.
Oh. Lightsabers. Jedi. Sith. He should do something.
His arms are numb and twitching spasmodically, but he forces them to move in the direction he needs them. It takes several tries to retrieve his blast from its holster, to switch it to stun – can’t take the risk, not like this – to aim it at the red lights at the centre of the whirlwind of movement, and fire. It doesn’t hit, a crimson blade flicking away the blue ring contemptuously. But the moment of distraction is enough. A body hits the floor. The red light goes out.
Fox… drifts for a bit, then. He knows there is movement in the rest of the room, but he ignores it. Focuses only on steadying his breathing, on flattening shaking fingers against the cool plastoid of his armoured thighs.
“Fox. Fox!” Wolffe calling his name finally gets his attention. “Are you alright? I mean, of course you’re not, but…”
He could be, if he needed to. They are trained to keep going regardless of physical or emotional pain. But here and now… he looks up at his brother and lets himself be vulnerable.
“The lightning… It… Why did it feel familiar? I don’t understand.”
He feels lost, and yet there is a part of him that maybe does understand. A part that remembers missing hours, inexplicably trembling hands, and a haunting sense of dread. Thinks of the control chips removed from their brains. He doesn’t want to consider what it means.
Strong arms wrap around him, and he buries his face against Wolffe’s neck, hiding from the sad and terrible expression in his eyes.
“Oh, Fox’ika. I’m so sorry we left you with him.”