Chapter Text
Flying meilooruns were definitely not on Fox's agenda for the day.
As he fought his way through the battlefield, ducking fruit bombs and dodging heathen enemies (see also: children), he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d ended up here. What had happened to his blissfully monotonous routine of paperwork, senate details, and rogue trooper murder? He’d finally convinced himself to stop tearing apart his own psyche, content with simply not having to think anymore (because, let’s face it, that was as close to a break as he was ever going to get), when the universe decided to pull this bantha shit on him.
Fox jolted to a stop as a rogue meiloorun spattered directly in his face. A high-pitched squeal of delight grated against his eardrums as the orange and red chunks slid down his bucket, obscuring his vision. Grinding his teeth, Fox found himself thinking, not for the first time, that if he had to choose between losing his mind and this , he’d gladly choose insanity.
With his visibility at zero, Fox was suddenly helpless to avoid the ever-mounting onslaught of fruit. He spun around, searching desperately for a way out of the battlefield. It was maybe a bit pathetic, but every fruit left behind a bruising sting that was somehow incredibly painful for a non-lethal projectile. Fox cursed the deadly combination of heavy weights and hard plastoid.
Shoving his way through the crowd, he definitely trampled at least one kid underfoot. He couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it, though; little bastard deserved it for tagging him. Finally, Fox swerved behind a ring toss stall and sighed in relief at the refuge. Dislodging his bucket, he began scrubbing the guts off his HUD irritatedly. The juice slithered down his arms, pooling uncomfortably between the cracks in his armor and cementing in the joints. Fox grumbled. That was definitely going to limit his range of motion.
Cramming his bucket back on, Fox adjusted the feedback settings in an attempt to filter out the incessant screams of glee before they could give Fox another headache. Karking Meiloorun Fair. It really made Fox miss the peace and quiet of the abandoned warehouse district.
He allowed himself one more groan before he turned his attention back to the fair. He still had a job to do.
It was difficult to make out any individual in the roiling mass of bodies forming the meiloorun war, which seemed to be the main draw of this blasted fair. Why anyone would want to spend their afternoon bombarded by fruit, Fox hadn’t the faintest idea. But there were also games and rides and food stalls like any good fair (not that Fox would know what makes a good fair), so maybe the fair could be considered enjoyable (not that Fox would know what was enjoyable).
Fox drifted his head lazily, letting his HUD do all the work in locating his quarry.
After a moment, the HUD zoomed in on a figure in one of the ferris wheel pods, identifying him by the stupid little five tattooed on his forehead. No wonder he was difficult to spot; he'd ditched the shiny armor he typically wore in favor of a bright pink poncho. In the name of blending in, Fox assumed. Though he had to admit, ridiculous was a good look on him. Really worked with his personality.
The ride glided to a stop, Fives’s pod swinging lightly from the top. Fox watched him stretch back, propping his hands behind his head as he lounged and took in the view. He looked relaxed, and Fox ground his teeth together at the possibility that the menace was actually enjoying himself. Mercifully, the moment was short-lived. Fives's wandering gaze found Fox's HUD, and Fox caught his eyes widening in realization, his mouth forming the words, oh shit . Smug satisfaction settled in Fox's chest at the sight of his cornered prey’s panic.
Satisfaction that was immediately dashed by the crazy motherfucker launching himself over the side of his pod and scaling down the ferris wheel. Fox shouldn't be surprised; he'd spent the last he-doesn't-even-know-how-many days watching this bastard lose his mind.
Still, Fox had lost the element of surprise. He bit back a curse as he sprinted after him.
“Target spotted near the ferris wheel, moving west,” Fox called into his comm. “I’m in pursuit.”
He barely caught the garbled, overlaid responses of “Copy,” “Fuck,” and something that sounded suspiciously like a crashing cart and a sputtering of “I’m so sorry, that was my bad, bla bla bla,” as he hit the base of the ferris wheel. Fox rolled his eyes. Rys was always too nice for his own good.
Fox barreled through the crowd, taking any opportunity presented to shove ambling people out of his way. A chorus of affronted scoffing and a few colorful curse words were directed his way, but Fox frankly did not give one flying fuck. If anyone complained, they could take it up with Palpatine. And the only good thing about working for Palpatine was that he preferred results in the field over stupid things like etiquette or respect for civilians.
So Fox could take just a little bit of his anger out on them without fear of retribution.
The pink streak of Fives’s poncho disappeared through the flap of a slowly sinking tent. Fox followed, hot on his heels. And immediately ran waist-first into the bar of a low fence, his entire body hooking over it and somersaulting face-first on top of a pile of tooka cats. They yelped in alarm, most of them darting for the corners of the pen. Fox was grateful for the armor that protected his skin from a few of the more vicious little monsters because his arms were a jelly mush, and he didn’t really have the energy to fight them off.
Sprawled on the ground with his face pressed into the dirt, he felt the overwhelming urge to just lie there, accept defeat. But he caught the sound of a soft snicker, and when he raised his head, Fives was smirking as he sauntered through the petting zoo and slipped out the other flap. A growl rumbled in Fox’s throat. He’d be damned if he let the smug bastard win.
Hauling himself to his feet and then over the fence, he fumbled with the fabric of the wall of the tent before ducking under and reorienting. Clocking Fives’s trajectory, Fox veered from the path, heading for a short-cut.
He weaved between the legs of the kiddie coaster. The steady click-click-click of an ascending cart was an odd sort of mirror to Fox’s antsy anticipation. Latching his hand around the final leg of the coaster, he swung himself around and pointedly ignored the way the entire structure shifted with his weight. Because if he didn’t notice it, he didn’t have to write up the clear safety violation. The kids’ screams followed him as he shot toward the giant inflatable castle in the center of the square (screams of delight or fear, your guess is as good as his).
Fives was right there in the doorway, neon pink like a glaring target, and Fox lunged.
Smack!
He stumbled backward, cursing as he righted himself and looked around for his quarry. But it wasn’t Fives in front of him anymore; it was a Coruscant Guard. Fox stretched a hand forward, felt it brush something cool and hard as the guard in front of him copied him.
The sigh that escaped his lips was long and deflating.
A mirror maze. Fan-fucking-tastic.
He took off again at a run, wobbling slightly on the bouncy floor but determined not to let the maze slow him down. After hitting a couple of mirrors hard enough that the rebound had him falling on his ass, however, he reluctantly decreased his pace. Still, every five seconds, smack! Straight into another mirror. How did he keep running into them? You would think the sight of his own reflection would register and deter him, but apparently not.
After an embarrassingly long time, Fox finally emerged from the castle with at least one new bruise blooming on his forehead. As expected, Fives was nowhere in sight.
“Commander, requesting an update. Do you have the target?”
Fox muted his comm.
He needed a drink.
But when he hit the food stalls, who did he see lounging at one of the picnic tables and digging into the most disgustingly juicy burger Fox had ever seen? The universe really did have a sick sense of humor.
He could just ignore him, walk away. Steal a glass of Corellian brandy and fuck off to the Garden District. Spend a relaxing evening taking in the sights for once in this pathetic, never-ending torment of a life. It wasn’t like catching Fives actually mattered; they were just going to wake up tomorrow and do this whole charade again. Or were they? For the first time in a long time, Fox had absolutely no clue what was going to happen next. For all he knew, he’d let Fives go, the day wouldn’t restart, and then he’d get his ass sent to Kamino for decommissioning.
Fox groaned, sounding a little (okay, a lot) like a petulant child as he dragged his feet all the way to Fives’s picnic table.
Pulling himself back together, he loomed over Fives and fixed him with his best death stare.
“Commander Fox,” Fives said evenly, not even bothering to look up from his meal. “Come to shoot me?”
Fox opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. What was he even supposed to say? He’d been using the same script for so long now, actually thinking was a rather foreign sensation. And a painful one; he could already feel the throbbing edges of an oncoming headache.
He knew what he should say. But honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it outloud. He preferred believing he’d simply lost his damn mind. He’d suffered a psychotic break from the stress of the job, and his brain could only rationalize his reality by interpreting the days as repeating, but Fox didn’t have time to be crazy, so he just continued to do his job and follow the script and never talk about this absolutely batshit predicament to anyone under any circumstances.
But he needed to know. He needed to know why this time was different. “You’re supposed to be in a warehouse right now.”
Fives froze, a fry hovering halfway between his plate and his gaping mouth. His eyes swiveled toward Fox, studying him with an expression that looked calculating, like he was weighing the risk of his response.
Slowly, Fives lowered the fry back down to the plate. “And how would you know that?”
“I think you know,” Fox deadpanned.
Fives didn’t answer, just kept glaring at Fox with a suspicious expression, daring him to admit it first. It was as if neither of them wanted to voice it aloud for fear that they’d misjudged the other person’s implication. So they just kept playing this game, waiting and baiting and hoping the other would confirm they weren’t actually crazy.
But Fox was getting really tired of games.
He wrenched his bucket off, slamming it down on the table as he plopped onto the bench opposite Fives. “Just spit it out already,” Fox groused.
“Fine,” Fives conceded. “We’re stuck in a time loop.”
The confession hovered in the air, comical and crazy and true .
“And we’re both aware of it,” Fox finished. “Why?”
“How would I know?”
“Because we keep reliving your death.”
Fives made a sound of indignation. “That doesn’t mean it’s my fault.”
Fixing Fives with an even stare, he waited, letting Fives squirm under his scrutiny. Because this was very obviously Fives’s fault; the loop always restarted when he died. Fox would call that enough correlation to warrant suspicion.
“Look, I’m just as confused as you are,” Fives said. “Do you have any idea how it feels to die and then wake up? And you think, okay, maybe that was just a bad dream. But then everything happens exactly the same as you dreamed it, down to the fucking letter,” Fries were tumbling over the side of the plate as Fives’s gestures got more and more agitated. “and then you die again and wake up again and wonder if you’re going crazy or if this is some gods awful punishment-”
“Alright, I get it,” Fox snapped, cutting Fives off before he could upend the entire table. Sighing, he massaged his temples. “So what changed?” he finally asked.
“What?”
“We’ve lived the same day about a hundred times by now. So why are we here ?” Fox gestured vaguely at their surroundings. The pretzel cart and candy floss stalls. The line to the dunking booth full of giggling kids. The sticky layer of popcorn coating the ground and the scream of a rollercoaster slicing through the air was a starkly facetious juxtaposition to their usual routine. “What changed ?”
Fives leaned across the table conspiratorially. “I’m testing a hypothesis.”
“What hypothesis?”
“Well, I’m glad you asked,” Fives said, popping another fry into his mouth as a manic gleam entered his eye, one that indicated to Fox that he would regret asking. “See, I was about halfway to 79s, like usual, when it hit me: what if I didn’t actually have to do what I always do? What if I wasn’t trapped in a hell being forced to watch helplessly as the worst day of my life played out over and over again, but I could actually do something different , change the ending, y’know? So I came here instead to test the theory.”
“But why a fair ?” Fox groaned, irritation itching at his skin. With the jostling, crushing crowds and deafening squeals and bright colors that stung his eyes, Fox thought a fair wasn’t exactly a step up from a hell.
Fives shrugged. “Never got to go to one before. Thought it might be interesting.”
Fox huffed.
“It doesn’t matter.” Fives waved his hand in a dismissal. “What matters is that my hypothesis was proven right; we can change things. So, to your question ‘why are we looping?’, I think I have an answer.”
There was a pause. For dramatic effect, Fox assumed, and he very pointedly rolled his eyes. “ Well ,” he prompted.
“The Force is giving us a second chance to stop the chancellor.”
Fuck . This was what Fox got for indulging the idiot.
“There is no us ,” Fox stated bluntly.
Fives’s mouth contorted into a pout. “What do you mean? We’re the only ones who know about the loops, so we’re the only ones who can do something about it.”
“No. I’m not a part of this.”
“We can try again and get some proof this time and expose Palpatine before he can turn all of our brothers against the Jedi!”
Fox had hoped all these loops might have mellowed Fives a bit, stifled whatever manic insanity had convinced him of this plot in the first place. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. If anything, these loops had made Fives even more fervent.
And if Fives wanted to believe this eternal torment had a purpose, then more power to him. Whatever he needed to keep going, Fox supposed. But it irked Fox to even consider the possibility that the Force would use Fox as a tool. Like everyone else did.
“I’m not helping you with your delusional conspiracy,” Fox spat.
Fives stopped short, fixing Fox with an offended and slightly incredulous expression. “Are you serious? You’ll believe we’re stuck in a time loop, but you draw the line at believing my conspiracy ?” The word ‘conspiracy’ was punctuated with air quotes.
“At least I have proof that the time loop is real,” Fox retorted.
Fives jerked to his feet, wrenching himself away from the bench and breaking out into an agitated pace. It was a bit satisfying to watch, knowing Fox could irritate Fives just as much as he annoyed him. Fox sneaked a couple of fries while Fives was occupied muttering to himself.
Finally, he rounded on Fox, mouth poised to speak, when a clatter drew their attention.
“Stop,” Rys called, blaster trained on Fives.
Fives scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Rys’s eyes flicked briefly toward Fox, still seated at the picnic table and snacking on Fives’s leftovers. He quirked a brow but wisely didn’t say anything about it. “Should we take him in, sir?”
A questioning tilt of the head from Fives met Fox’s contemplative stare. “No,” Fox said after a moment. “Shoot to kill.”
“What?!” Fives exclaimed. At the same moment, Rys asked “Sir?”
“You wanted to try again,” Fox reminded Fives, signaling a confirmation to Rys.
Fives sputtered, lurching forward as Fox rose from the bench and began dusting crumbs off his armor unconcernedly. “But- we don’t even know if it’ll loop this time- I mean, with all the changes- and what even causes the loop to restart is a different question-”
Fox met Fives’s gaze and smirked. “I’m testing a hypothesis.”
“You motherfuc-”
Rys fired.
~