Agen digs his fingers into the silver-veined bark, smiling a little. Pushes upright, flicking his hair back behind his shoulder, and pulls his outer robe off, draping it over a branch. “A trooper in distress,” he says, stepping forward. “I believe Jedi are supposed to rectify such things.” Two pairs of dark eyes snap to him, and Fives's widen with glee. He wriggles harder under Echo's pinning weight, like a landed fish, and cries, “General Kolar, help! I'm being overrun!”

“Well,” Kit says lightly. “This does seem to be a predicament, doesn’t it?” Pressed right up against him, gauntlets digging bruises into his almost-bare hips, Dogma squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “I'm going to kill my whole squad,” he says, perfectly certain and resigned to it.

“Oh,” Jaster manages, and it cracks right in half.

Fox has the galaxy’s greatest hero in his bed, he’s well-fed, he’s astonishingly well-rested, and he has a whole week of leave saved up that starts in about six hours, during which no one is allowed to bother him with anything work-related even if Coruscant gets invaded by brain-stealing worms. Again. He made sure Thorn and Thire both knew that. Which makes it ten times as unpleasant to wake up to someone bypassing the chime entirely and just pounding right on his door.

Jango takes a job for the Mining Guild, reinforcing security around one of their mines. There are slaves in the mines, and one in particular who breaks everything in his world right open.

Later, he will say it was a calculated choice, that he looked at the odds and looked at the clones and decided that better the Jedi he didn't know than the Sith he did. This is, as it happens, a bare faced lie. (or: A Sith Lord realises, abruptly and rather late, that war means casualties, and decides that the great Jedi genocide plan can go fuck itself.)

Fox is tired of Granta disappearing every time they turn their backs, so this time he keeps Granta with him when he goes to his office to do flimsiwork.