Glasses clink for a toast. The sour taste of whiskey goes down Fox's throat with a smoothness he doesn't feel. Laughter rings around the table as Rex spills his drink down his shirt.
White teeth gleam in the dark bar from clones all around celebrating the death of the Sith and the start of a new beginning.
Fox watches his brothers with detached delight and wonders why a piece of him feels missing.
He sets his glass down, a small clink clouded out by the music pouring through the place.
He slides out easily with a comment of "getting some air" towards Cody to prevent him from following. He exits 79s with more than one shove, wiping at a stain on dress uniform. It shouldn't matter but still he grimaces at the sight.
"Stupid shinies," he mutters, shaking his head.
A clatter from the side of the building has him pausing. Fox tilts his head and debates. It's his day-off; he's not technically on duty and therefore, whatever is there is not his responsibility. A phantom crushing on his heart, a ghost breeze to his hand: it has curiosity building in his veins.
"Hello?" Fox calls out, walking slowly towards the sound. His hand goes to his belt and he inwardly curses at the lack of a blaster there.
In for a credit, in for a mile.
The shadows of the alleyway does little to hide the body standing there. His cloak however doesn't. It covers the person's face and a glance down shows his hands nowhere to be seen. Fox swallows and chances on the hope that he won't be killed immediately.
"Are you okay?" Fox can tell by the leaning of their body weight on the wall that they must not be in the best of shape. "Do you need help?" He's sure there must be a medic somewhere in the bar. Would they be sober?
Probably not but better than nothing, he supposes.
"Kot'e." Fox stops at the word. The head raises just a bit for a line of gold to pass through. "That was your brother's name before he changed it."
Fox's heart skips at the words. At the non-Vod voice that emitted it. Only the Vod'e know about that, and even then, it's not many who remember it.
"Ruse," he starts again, "was the name you wanted but-"
"Who are you?" Fox doesn't ask so much as demands.
The natborn grunts, their steps unsteady. The urge to reach out has Fox's fingers twitching but he holds back. He doesn't know this man.
"You told me," he stops. Starts again. "I thought-" he mumbles before huffing. Huffs then lets out a choked laugh. "Doesn't matter." he says loud enough for Fox to hear. "It never matters."
Fox isn't fast enough to stop his fall when he crumbles to the ground. His hood comes off, dark locks spread in a halo. For a darker man, he's pale and it surprises Fox to see blood when he lifts his hand back up.
He presses against the wound and the man grunts in pain. Fox opens his mouth to yell, call for a medic or help, or anything, but the man shakes his head.
"No." The word has Fox's teeth clinking together in a shut. "Please."
Fox can't move his hands to do the actions needed to stop the bleeding, to make it better.
He knows basic first aid and yet...his mind is blank. Completely blank. Except for the dark eyes that meet his.
It's the most beautiful color he's ever seen.
A tear slips down his cheek and the man chuckles. "'I've never seen you cry before."
Fox shakes his head slowly. "We've never met before." Despite the anonymity of this natborn, grief squeezes Fox's heart like a vice.
The man smiles slow, half-formed almost.
"Now that’s a lie." He swallows a cough, his chest rising in protest. "We're meeting right now." Fox hates the blood that splatters his teeth.
"Besides," he starts up again. "I know all about you." Fox raises a hand to the man's cheek when he coughs again and he leans into it as though he's been deprived of touch. "You're Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. Best soldier the Corries have and worst cook to ever step on Coruscant."
The chuckle that Fox lets out does nothing to stop the sob that comes after. Only his batch knows of his disastrous skill.
"Who are you?" He asks again and the man breathes through his nose.
He doesn't answer for several moments and Fox wonders if he ever will.
"If I tell you, will you promise not to leave?" Fox furrows his brows but nods nonetheless.
The man smiles. "Quinlan Vos. I married you three time loops ago."
Fox blinks. No clone has rights to their own body much less to marry. He's never met this man before tonight; nor, with a quick glance to the man's hand, does the man carry a ring.
Thoughts rush through Fox's head, question after question despite his analytics to the phrase.
Yet the only thing Fox can think to ask is "what's a time loop?"
The man laughs. Coughs again, blood staining his chin and Fox's dress uniform. "Hopefully, nothing you'll be caught in."
The man curls into himself as the next wave of coughs leave his shaking, and blood pours from the unknown wound.
It's this that snaps Fox out of his thoughts and he grabs the cloak to press against where he thinks the blood is coming from. "Medic!" He screams, and the man bitterly laughs at the call.
Fox's continuous yells gather enough clones to create action. A medic who's stupid drunk chugs water in an attempt to sober up but all it causes is puking and shouts.
Desperation digs into Fox's veins and he tries to stop his cries from being frantic. He can't crack.
He has to be calm. He has to help.
Why did he not call for help sooner?
"It's no use," the man says despite being crowded by useless clones. He pulls Fox close, hands shaking on his collar. He pulls Fox close enough to whisper in his ear. "I'm glad I got to love you, Ruse."
Fox's hands don't stop shaking for days.
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