Chapter Text
The proposed peace agreement, naturally, is shut down.
The senators who’d supported it are dismayed and frustrated, especially Senator Amidala, and especially because as a result of the Separatist attack, the bill to deregulate the banks is pushed through. Not only is the chance of peace lost, but the Republic also sinks deeper into debt and into war.
“Five million more clones,” Dia hears the troopers mutter. “Like the galaxy needs that.”
Most of the troopers hadn’t even dared to hope for the peace. Dia had, and so he distracts himself with the clean-up work before the despair can swallow him.
An entirely-destroyed area has been cordoned off. A few troopers stand around the perimeter, keeping civilians away, while a dozen others and Dia drag debris to the disposal droid.
Straining, Dia hoists a heavy chunk of duracrete into his arms and begins walking.
Focused as he is, he doesn’t see the crumpled metal sheet on the ground, and stumbles over it, dropping the duracrete with a yelp.
It shatters the metal, and Dia feels a sharp slice against his cheek. He flinches in pain, hissing.
“Dia! Are you okay?” Coil asks, hurrying over.
“I’m sorry.” The cut stings, but Dia bends to pick up the duracrete again.
“Leave that,” Coil orders, leaning down to inspect Dia’s face.
“It’s fine,” Dia protests. He moves to wipe the blood away, but Coil catches his wrist.
“Here,” he says, fishing a cloth from a pouch on his belt. He presses it to Dia’s cheek and moves Dia’s hand to hold it in place.
“I’m alright,” Dia insists, keeping pressure on the cut.
“Get it treated anyway,” Coil insists. “We’re almost done here, so head back to the Center now.”
Puzzled at the allowance, Dia nods. “Thank you.”
A little stiffly, Coil pats Dia’s shoulder. Then he clears his throat and sends Dia on his way.
The Center is even busier than usual. With the power generator destroyed, blackouts have begun, and none of Coruscant’s citizens are happy about it – except the criminals, who are overjoyed.
Dia ducks around the harried clones and makes his way to the med bay.
The triage droid, TRG-33, peers over the desk at him. “Are you in need of emergency treatment?” they ask.
“No,” Dia answers. “Just a surface wound.”
“Please proceed to … beeeep … Section Three.” TRG-33 gestures to the room behind them.
“Thank you.”
Within the medbay, a dozen clones doze or scroll through datapads in white-sheeted beds. Some look up with tired smiles as Dia walks past. He waves to each of them with his free hand.
Dia’s visited the medbay often since he’s been on Coruscant. He passed his medical exams on Kamino – barely – but Stickers, the medic who had treated him on Dantooine, had personally forwarded the Guard’s Chief Medic a report about Dia’s lingering health problems from his time on Tatooine, and so the medics here insist on monitoring him closely.
Dia always chafes against it, protesting that he’s fine. In truth, a deep fear lurks at the back of his mind: what if they find him unable to keep working? What happens to him if they no longer have a use for him?
But some days, his bones ache – a remnant of those days – and he is silently glad for how the warming-pads soothe.
He steps across the line painted on the floor into Section Three; his usual section, at the back of the hall where it’s quieter. Sheets are pulled closed around a few beds.
Dia’s attention is drawn to a pained hiss.
Through a gap in the sheets around one bed, he sees Commander Fox, sitting forward with his shirt off. Nag, the chief medic, tends to a wound on his shoulder.
But it’s not that wound that catches Dia’s eyes.
Myriad crackling scars cover Fox’s chest. Like lightning, they arc and dart across his brown skin, some long-healed but others raw and angry.
A gasp escapes Dia. Too late, he claps a hand over his mouth.
Nag and Fox’s eyes both snap to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, resisting the still-instinctive urge to bow. “I- I just – ”
“Cadet.” Fox brushes Nag aside and crosses his arms over his chest. The action doesn’t come close to hiding all the scars.
Nag tugs the curtain open. “Are you injured?” they ask Dia.
“Just a small cut.” Dia forces his eyes up to meet the medic’s gaze, taking the cloth from his cheek. The blood has seeped through the cloth and partially dried, prickling painfully as it leaves his skin.
“From what?” Fox asks, beating Nag to the question.
“Clearing up the debris,” Dia explains with an apologetic half-shrug.
He doesn't miss how both Fox and Nag relax slightly.
Jabbing a stim into Fox’s shoulder, Nag tsks and ushers Dia towards the next bed over.
“You’re cleared to go, Commander,” they tell Fox, peeling off their gloves and moving to help Dia up onto the bed. “I’d tell you to rest, but…” The long-suffering medic shakes their head. “Just try and limit yourself to office work, please.”
Fox already has his blacks zipped back up, and is stiffly clipping his pauldrons into place. “Thank you, Nag. Diaro, recover quickly,” he adds, not meeting Dia’s eyes.
Dia nods, as Nag replaces their gloves and begins dabbing the blood from Dia’s face.
The commander picks up his helmet. A moment passes, where he simply breathes, as though steeling himself. Then he shoves his helmet on and strides from the medbay.
Nag treats Dia’s cut with quick efficiency, cleaning the wound and applying a bacta bandage.
Dia’s not-unreasonable belief that all clones of Jango Fett were male had been quickly disproven when he’d started working with the Guard. There were trans clones, non-conforming clones, and even cis female clones.
Scientifically, it isn’t as unlikely as one might think, Nag had explained once, as they’d broken down complex cloning diagrams and genetic equations for Dia, especially considering how the Kaminoans are having to stretch Jango’s DNA these days.
It explains Omega, too. Not for the first time, Dia wishes he’d gotten a chance to meet her on Kamino. Maybe once the war is over…
“You’re off-duty until tomorrow,” Nag tells Dia sternly, administering him something for the pain. “The commander might not listen to me, but you have to. Understand?”
“I do.” Dia hops down from the bed. “Thank you.”
Nag’s expression softens. “Feel better soon, kid.”
Dia walks back to the barracks, poking at the squishy bacta bandage on his cheek.
Boba is lounging on the lower bunk when Dia walks in, legs up against the frame and flicking through the holo-news on his datapad. He tilts his head back to look upside-down at Dia.
“Where were you?” he asks.
“Just got a bit hurt clearing debris.” Dia gestures to his bandage. “Nag says I’m off-duty for the rest of the day.”
Boba frowns. “You okay?”
Dia shrugs him off, but fidgets with the hems of his sleeves. “Hey, have you ever seen Commander Fox without his armour?”
Boba’s frown deepens. “’Course not. Why’re you thinking about that?”
Dia blushes. “I’m not! It’s just… his scars.”
With a shrug, Boba looks back to his datapad. “He’s an old trooper. And a commander, at that. Bound to have scars.”
“These were… odd.” Dia crosses the floor to sit on the bunk next to Boba. “Like electricity.”
“Electrostaff,” Boba offers.
Dia shakes his head. “I know electrostaff burns. These were different,” he insists.
Boba meets his eyes and sets aside his datapad entirely. “What do you think they were?”
“I don’t know,” Dia admits. “It’s just… strange.”
“There’s a lot of strange stuff on Coruscant,” Boba muses.
Dia flops on top of Boba with a sigh. “There sure is.”
He pillows his head on Boba’s stomach and Boba returns to his datapad. As both lose themselves in thought, Boba’s hand finds Dia’s hair, fingers twirling through grown-out curls.
---
In the aftermath of the bombing, Dia and Boba’s task to uncover the traitorous senators becomes even more pressing.
They’d noticed a few suspicious senators – especially the Kaminoan and Umbaran senators, not to mention the Banking Clan representative, Nix Card – but all had coldly snubbed all Dia’s attempts to associate.
They’re running out of ideas… but Obi-Wan had told them to take whatever legal liberties they needed, hadn’t he? And Hondo had certainly trained them well.
While Boba repairs a few discarded holorecorders from what they've both fished out of the Centre’s garbage collection, Dia furtively sabotages a select few senators’ droids.
When Nix Card summons Dia to repair a suddenly-malfunctioning protocol droid, he slips a holo-recorder behind the droid’s ocular sensors. The representative is none the wiser, shooing Dia away as soon as the droid is working again.
With a proud smile, Dia leaves Card’s office and quickly finds Boba, waiting at the meeting point by a tall window looking south over the city.
“Well?” Boba asks, voice lowered.
“All good,” Dia reports.
“Cadets,” a voice calls. They turn to see Fox walking up to them.
Both salute. “Commander.”
“Are you done with your tasks for the day?” Fox asks. “I can escort you back to the Center.” He hesitates. “Unless you’d prefer someone else accompany you.”
Dia shakes his head with a smile. “Of course it’s fine, commander. We – ”
His eye is caught by movement down the quiet hallway. He does a double-take as he sees Palpatine approaching, flanked by two masked Red Guards.
“Commander,” Dia hisses urgently.
Fox turns and all looseness of his muscles tightens into rigid lines. He steps in front of Dia and Boba and salutes. “Supreme Chancellor.”
Their view of the Chancellor half-blocked by Fox, Dia and Boba copy him.
Palpatine crosses the last few paces to stand before them. “Ah, Commander Fox.”
Around Fox’s pauldron, Dia sees a smile spread across Palpatine’s face – kindly and warm. So why does it make Dia’s skin crawl?
“You seem tired, my dear commander,” Palpatine says, voice oozing with sympathy. His eyebrows knit together as he tilts his head. “Your performance lately has been lacking, I am sorry to say. Perhaps you could do with some time off? One of the other commanders could step up in your place.”
Fox shifts, arms folding behind his back so his elbows block Dia and Boba’s eyes entirely. His fists curl.
“My apologies, Chancellor,” he says, voice emotionless. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Hm. See that it is not, commander.” There is something colder in Palpatine’s voice, something that brings the chill up to Dia’s neck. “Well, I’m afraid I must be off.”
“Yes, sir.” Fox’s arms move again, saluting, and Dia finds Palpatine’s eyes on him. Cold eyes, familiar in their unfeelingness; the eyes of someone who doesn’t care a thing for any living being but himself–
No, that can’t be right.
This is the Supreme Chancellor, the leader of the Republic, the one whom the Jedi trust and work with. Their judgement can’t be wrong.
Dia must be mistaken.
The Chancellor is just a harmless old man, right?
Yes, that’s right, the Chancellor is kind, grandfatherly, and trying his best to lead the Republic.
Palpatine smiles warmly at Dia as he turns to leave, and Dia returns the smile with a salute.
By the time he leaves the Senate Building with Fox and Boba, he barely remembers he’d felt like anything was wrong.
---
They give it two rotations. Then they catch Nix Card’s droid, shutting it off before it can tell who grabbed it. Dia retrieves the holorecorders and sends the droid on its way.
He feels bad about using droids against their knowledge or will, but the entire Republic could be at stake. When they review the footage, he feels even more justified.
They all but sprint to the Jedi Temple, barely remembering to grab a pair of Guard troopers to accompany them.
The temple guards recognize them and let them in, summoning Obi-Wan who arrives within moments.
“Are you alright?” he asks, blue eyes full of concern.
Dia nods, cradling the holorecorder in his hands. “We found something.”
Obi-Wan brings them to a secure room and connects the holorecorder to a datapad. He watches the footage with a furrowed brow, stroking his beard.
It shows Nix Card speaking with a representative of the Trade Federation, Lott Dod, and of the Techno Union, Gume Saam.
The three raise their glasses in a toast.
“To profit, gentlemen,” Nix Card says smugly.
“To profit,” Gume Saam agrees. “With the banks deregulated, five million more troops are on the way. More to feed the fighting machine.”
“Indeed,” Lott Dod takes a sip of his drink. “The attack has worked as well as we hoped.”
The three representatives share smug smiles…
… and the footage cuts out.
“This is troubling,” Obi-Wan murmurs.
“They were behind the bombing,” Boba says bluntly.
“So?” Dia asks, rocking eagerly onto his toes. “Are you going to arrest them?”
Obi-Wan tucks the holorecorder into a pocket. “Unfortunately, that won’t be possible.”
Dia frowns. “What? What do you mean?”
Boba just shakes his head like he saw this coming.
“This footage is very informative, and I thank you for your effort,” Obi-Wan says, “but due to how this information was collected… I’m afraid we cannot openly move against these senators.”
Dia’s shoulders slump. Boba was right: he should’ve expected this.
“I know this is frustrating,” Obi-Wan continues, “but this information can help us prepare for any motions they may put on the floor, and we will begin to gather solid proof against them.” He sets a hand on Dia and Boba’s shoulders, looking at each of them. “Thank you.”
Mollified, Dia nods.
With no time for tea today, they leave the room at the same time Ahsoka is walking past.
“Oh, hey!” She grins at Dia and Boba. “I was wondering when I’d see you two again.”
“Gonna introduce me, Snips?”
The tall human beside Ahsoka crosses his arms with a wry smile. He looks vaguely familiar; Dia thinks he may have seen him around the Senate Building.
“This is my Master, Anakin. Master, this is Dia and Boba.”
“They’re the children working with the Coruscant Guard,” Obi-Wan adds.
Anakin meets his eyes over Boba and Dia’s heads, and Dia can sense the unspoken words that pass between them. Boba senses the same thing, and looks up with narrowed eyes.
“Anakin was my padawan,” Obi-Wan tells Dia with a meaningful look.
“Oh.” Dia looks back at the other Jedi. “You’re from Tatooine? I used to- to live there, too.”
Boba shifts beside him, as Anakin blinks.
“Oh, yeah. I’m from Mos Espa,” Anakin says. “You?”
“Boba and I met near Mos Eisley.”
Anakin’s eyes flick to Obi-Wan’s again, then widen.
He looks back at Dia with a new attention and a wry smile. In a language Dia hasn’t heard since Tatooine, he asks, “You ever hear of a slave kid who won his freedom in a podrace?”
“You – ?”
Dia staggers back in shock, first from the revelation that this Jedi was once a slave, and second from connecting that half-fable story with the person in front of him.
“That was you?!” he replies eagerly in the same language. “That’s incredible! They said no human could ever win a podrace!”
Chuckling, Anakin preens a little. “Ah, you’re embarrassing me. I’m probably rusty by now.”
“I bet you’d still win.” Calming himself, Dia smiles. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Anakin nods once. “And you.”
Dia feels… something pass between them. Their personal experiences may be different, but as with every slave he met on Tatooine, there’s a shared thread of circumstance; an understanding.
Dia notices Boba staring at him, confusion apparent. Ahsoka, too, glances between Anakin and Dia with a raised eyebrow.
“Ahsoka, Anakin,” Obi-Wan interjects, “are you on your way to training?”
Anakin shifts his attention. “Sure are, Master.” He pats Ahsoka’s head with a smirk. “Meditation time.”
“Urgh.” Ahsoka rolls her eyes, which land on Dia and Boba. “Hey, do you two want to join us?” she asks, suddenly eager. “That’s fine, right, Master?”
Anakin shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
“Sure!” Dia agrees, excited to see more Jedi powers at work. Boba hesitates, shifting uncomfortably, and Dia backtracks. “Um. Or, maybe – ”
“It’s fine,” Boba mutters. Dia searches his eyes, and Boba gives a slight nod.
“Alright, let’s go.” Anakin beckons them, starting down the hallway.
“Have fun,” Obi-Wan calls after them with a smile.
---
The meditation room is large, the high skylight ceiling and beige walls giving it a sense of warmth and openness.
Anakin takes a seat on the floor in the center of the room, and Ahsoka sinks down cross-legged across from him. Dia and Boba exchange a glance, then sit on either side of Ahsoka – Dia to her left, Boba to her right.
“Alright.” Anakin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Slowly take a deep breath in. Hold it for a moment, then breathe out. Focus only on your breaths. Let yourself fall into a pattern.”
Boba rolls his eyes.
Closing his own eyes, Dia follows Anakin’s words.
“Breathe in… and breathe out.” Everyone’s breaths sync for several long moments. Then, “Focus your thoughts on your breathing. Let everything else go.”
Dia tries; he pushes away thoughts of the room around him, the other three breathing patterns, tries to stop listening for footsteps.
Breathe in…. and breathe out.
“Now, Ahsoka,” Anakin says after a long moment, “focus on the feel of Force. Can you sense anything about our friends?”
“I can,” comes Ahsoka’s slightly-surprised reply. “There’s a bond – between Dia and Boba.”
Dia opens his eyes, startled. He finds Boba already looking at him, brow furrowed.
“What do you sense?” Anakin asks, tone neutral.
“I sense… it’s not quite a Force-bond,” she muses, tilting her head thoughtfully, “but the Force is…” She trails off, swirling a hand through the air between Dia and Boba. “It’s connecting them.”
Dia searches Boba’s eyes. He knew there was an emotional bond between them – he felt it every day. And how could there not be? They had been through so much together.
He just hadn’t expected the Force to be involved.
“Does that mean it’s the Force that pushed us together?” Boba asks, frowning at Anakin. “It can do that, can’t it?”
Eyes still closed, Anakin shrugs. “The Force works in mysterious ways. But it seems to me like the Force is, in a way, reacting to the bond between you – not causing it.”
Boba’s shoulders relax slightly and he meets Dia’s eyes again.
Dia understands; Boba is still wary of all to do with the Jedi and the Force. But Dia… he wants to know more about both.
“What is the Force, exactly?” he finds himself asking. Embarrassed by his lack of knowledge, he stammers, “I- I mean, I know you use it to move things, but…”
Anakin chuckles softly. “Ahsoka?”
“The Force is energy, flowing through all living things,” Ahsoka explains warmly. She gestures as she speaks, sweeping her hands through the air. “Some people – Force-sensitives, like Jedi – can use the Force. But it exists in and around everyone and everything.”
Closing his eyes, Dia imagines it; warm, golden energy, flowing within and around everything. He pictures the bond between him and Boba, the tendrils of light circling them together.
Dia breathes out, and finds himself smiling. It’s hard to believe, and yet… he believes it.
---
Things don’t settle, per se, but a new precarious balance is found.
With a new caution after the bombing, Dia and Boba continue their work: patrols, guard duty, and odd jobs around the Senate Building as they keep an eye out for suspicious senators. Dia continues doing all he can to learn about politics, struggling to stay focused for Senator Amidala’s long-winded lectures and sitting in on every Senate meeting he can.
Visits to the Jedi Temple start becoming a regular occurrence. When Ahsoka is on-planet, Dia and Boba go to the Temple and spend a few hours training with her and the other padawans.
The Guard are wary of the Jedi. Maybe because they have no Jedi General of their own, which Dia had never thought about before, but finds odd. He tries to convince Fox and the others that the Jedi are kind, and would help the Guard, would protect them from the senators if they only asked.
They all shake their heads and warn Dia to just be careful around the Jedi.
Despite their warnings, Dia always enjoys his visits to the Temple. He follows meditations and is taught to build a mental shield against mind-reading; he learns to do a handstand, after much falling over while Ahsoka balances on a single finger and laughs good-naturedly; and he watches in awe as the padawans practice lightsaber forms.
He eventually convinces Boba to join in, arguing that if the Guard won’t let them train, they should take the Jedi up on the offer.
They begin training in unarmed combat – and usually end up flat on their backs. A Force-enhanced punch is quite something, even when followed by a padawan’s panicked apologies. But they keep getting back up. They learn to dodge and weave and strike with speed but without rushing.
Even Boba can’t deny they’re learning, improving.
But whenever they’re at the Temple, he refuses to let Dia out of his sight – he won’t let the Jedi take anyone else from him.
He nearly has a heart attack once when Dia makes a running jump and a pair of padawans hurtle him up with the Force to brush the high ceiling with his hand. But when Cal and Knox lower Dia gently back to the ground, all three laughing, Boba relaxes just a little.
Slowly, he grows less reluctant about visiting the Temple. In some ways, at least. The padawans are interesting and reliable enough, but the way the Jedi Masters always seem to lurk nearby unnerves him.
He sees Windu sometimes, and his skin seems to burn with rage. But he’s not stupid enough to attack the Grandmaster outright, especially in his own Temple.
So he just glares. And Windu just watches.
Then Windu begins to nod in acknowledgement when they pass each other in the hallways. Boba sees him hold Ponds’ shoulder warmly and call his troopers by name. He watches younglings run up and hug Windu’s legs, too young to know any better, and Windu lets them, only gently prying them off when he’s needed elsewhere.
The next time they pass each other in the hallway, Boba curtly returns Windu’s nod.
And that blinding rage… begins to fade.