Summary: The end of the war brings changes you could’ve never imagined. And news you’ve never wished to hear. Now living on Pabu, you must find a way to keep going – even if your Commander in scarlet armor is no longer by your side.
Word count: 8k
Tags/Warnings: angst. like, this is pure angst; you guys remember me mentioning "tragedy" in the last chapter's warnings right?; mentioned major character death; flashbacks/memories in italics; a shit ton of crying; guilt; depression; suicidal thoughts; reference to death/serious injuries; hope i'm not missing anything; anyway this one's heavy
A/N: ok so my plan was to do 5 parts of this story, but this last one turned out so. fucking. long. and i'm yet to reach a conclusion. therefore i decided to split it. this is (i hope) the penultimate chapter
The air is cold at this hour of the night, and despite the dark red shawl wrapped tightly around your shoulders, you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine with every harsher gust of wind. It’s worth it however. You like the way the pale moonlight glistens on the water, shining like a spotlight for the bioluminescent dance of the green rays. It's beautiful; you can watch it for hours. You usually do.
And it’s also the best place to meditate, to somehow hold on to your former life. Your sad, tired mind can almost go quiet as you listen to the crashing waves.
Yet, it never brings you peace.
Not truly.
Because as the chilling breeze blows gently on your face, it always seems to whisper the same haunting accusation: you failed him.
You’ve been on Pabu for about a year now. Some time after the terrible Order, you ran into familiar faces. Faces you and your ori’vod used to work with – Clone Force 99. They explained everything and you actually cried tears of twisted happiness knowing that Cody – your friend, your brother – had not willingly tried to kill you. Then, they offered to take you to a place where you wouldn't have to run anymore, wouldn't have to hide and constantly look over your shoulder.
After months, you even found Cody again. Or, more accurately, he found you.
He reached out to Hunter after defecting from the Empire. He made his way to Pabu. He apologised on his knees at your feet. And he cried when you said it wasn't his fault, but you soothed his mind and promised you forgave him anyway.
His last mission for the Empire had broken him, and he needed some time to rest. To find his way back to himself.
So he stayed with you for a while, and he was there to hold you when Echo finally showed you Fox's file. When you read the words you’d never wished to see.
Status: deceased
It didn’t even make sense at first. It seemed impossible. You voiced that thought. You said they were wrong.
It didn’t happen, it couldn’t have.
You would’ve felt it – wouldn’t you?
It wasn’t real.
You didn’t understand.
You just hadn’t read it correctly.
Cody had to repeat it multiple times until the reality finally hit. And then he was there for the weeks you spent in mourning, barely eating, barely leaving your bed. He did his best to put you back together again.
But no matter how many times Cody tried to ease your guilty conscience, there would be no consolation. You always thought about that moment. It was the biggest mistake you've ever made. The war had twisted the Jedi Order in ways no one could've foreseen and you had been forced to do unimaginable things. But the one thing you couldn't justify, the one thing you couldn't forgive yourself for – it was turning your back on Fox.
Grief overcomes you, even after all this time. Hindsight is funny like that. This masochistic game of "should haves" and "why didn't Is". Hindsight doesn't offer comfort; it doesn't even pretend to do. It's a torture chamber the guilty mind willingly walks into, shutting the door and throwing away the key. And you’ve been trapped in there for months.
Your hand fists the coarse, damp sand, trying to ground yourself to the present. But it’s no use. His voice echoes in your head before you even pull your datapad out from your satchel.
“I’m gonna take a holo.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Fox asked.
“I’ll put it in an encrypted folder,” you replied. “No one but me will see it.”
“Alright, cyare.”
Your fingers tap the screen with automatic movements, not even bothering to inform your mind of their search. When the image appears on screen, it instantly fills your eyes with tears and your heart with sorrow. It’s the last holo-pic you ever took with him. Only one day before you left Coruscant with the 212th. And only two days before Fox took the life of your best friend.
The holo shows you in his arms, head rested on his bare chest. You were in his quarters lying on the uncomfortable mattress of his bunk, still catching your breaths and a little sweaty from the earlier activities. The memory of that night is so clear, almost as if your brain knew something horrible was about to happen and decided to recall every detail it could.
Fox had asked Thorn and Thire to cover for him, knowing it was your last night before deployment. He couldn’t get the entire day, but he was out of the Senate by four in the afternoon, and the two of you had a late picnic lunch in the abandoned garden before making your way back to his quarters in the Corrie HQ.
Looking back now, you’re not sure how you missed the signs that something was wrong. You’d gotten so used to how busy Fox was, you never questioned how, at the beginning of that week, he went radio silent for two whole rotations. It wasn’t the first time that had happened anyway – fairly regularly there were two, maybe three day periods you wouldn’t hear from him. But you were at war; the both of you were just busy sometimes.
And the haunted look in his eyes – the one staring right at you now through the screen of the datapad – you’d convinced yourself it was only exhaustion.
Nothing more.
Nothing darker.
“Maker, I look horrible,” Fox remarked after you’d snapped the pic.
“Nah. You’re fine,” you teased. “You don’t look a day over dead.”
“Very funny, cyare.”
You turned in his arms, tilting you head to see him better. “Fox, are you getting enough sleep?”
He scoffed as a response.
“I’m worried about you.”
Fox shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’m fine. Used to it.”
You should’ve pushed him to talk. You should’ve found a way to hear him. But instead you let him distract you with his perfect lips on your skin.
The next time you saw him was the last. And the words you threw at him, the pain and venom in your voice, the way he couldn’t even look you in the eyes – you will see it in your nightmares until the day that you die.
Suddenly, the sound of boots scrunching on the rough sand makes you jolt, and you turn your head to see Echo making his way towards you.
“What are you doing here so late?”
You quickly wipe your eyes. “I’m just… thinking.”
Echo catches a glimpse of the image on your datapad before you can lock the screen, and it’s enough to tell him everything he needs to know.
“It’s a good place to think,” he muses, sitting down beside you.
You hum, gaze lost to the dark horizon. The wind has dulled, and the sea is now quiet. In the distance, two large rays skip against the small waves, leaving a luminescent trail in their wake. It’s a beautiful view – one you will never get to share with him.
“Aren’t you leaving early tomorrow?” you ask, trying to force the horrible thought out of your mind. “Or, today I guess.”
“Yeah,” Echo breathes, “but there’ll be plenty of time to rest while we’re in hyperspace.”
“Omega will be disappointed,” you add, a smile briefly curling your lips. “She thought she would convince you to stay this time.”
“She’ll understand,” Echo shrugs. “The work Rex and I are doing is important.”
You nod, allowing the sound of the waves to be the only thing that fills the air for a while. But while the sea is beautifully calm, it can’t tune out your restless thoughts.
“How did Rex tell you?” you suddenly speak. “About… Fives. I don’t think I’ve ever asked.”
Echo turns his head to look at your profile, illuminated by the eerie blue light of the moon, but it doesn’t seem like you’re willing to meet his gaze. Truthfully, your question really worries him – according to both Hunter and Wrecker, you’ve been distant lately, isolating yourself again, all while assuring Cody through the comms you regularly share that you’re doing so much better. But the Commander is on the other side of the Galaxy, gathering intel with Rex, and since Echo was the closest to Pabu, he swung by to check on you before the next prison break the Underground is planning.
He saw it too these past few rotations. Grief seems to follow you around like a second shadow. But mourning is never a straightforward journey – he knows that better than anyone. He’s struggled with accepting loss just as much.
“Rex didn’t have to say anything,” Echo reveals, his voice low and tinged with regret. “I knew it the second I came to on Skako. He would’ve… he would’ve been on the rescue team. Nothing would’ve kept him away.”
A stray tear drops down your cheek as you let out a breath that almost sounds like a chuckle. You know he’s right. Fives would’ve torn down Purkoll city all by himself at the smallest hint of his twin being alive. He just never got the chance.
“I'm glad Rex didn't have to do it twice,” you murmur.
You’re still not sure how he even managed to tell you without breaking down. It was probably the only time you’d seen him so… distraught.
The second you’d seen his message you could tell something was wrong. You could feel it in your gut.
CT-7567: Comm me when you can.
You and the Captain were friends – but not the type of friends who called each other just to talk. And you knew whatever news he had to share was bad as soon as you saw his face, as soon as he said your name with so much sadness and regret.
“I… I’m sorry to have to tell you that–” he stopped to clear his throat, and you were certain you saw tears threatening to spill “–ARC… ARC trooper Fives–”
“No!” you gasped, cutting him off. “Don’t do this to me Rex.” You shook your head, your vision already blurring. “Please don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s… gone.”
The sob that was ripped from your throat was loud enough to draw the attention of the clones closest to you in the hangar. Cody heard it too, and he rushed to the LAAT you were ducked behind.
“Vod’ika, what’s–” His question died on his lips the moment he saw Rex’s holo-form.
“Tup as well…” Rex continued. “He and Fives were infected with a virus. That’s… that’s what the Kaminoans are saying anyway.”
Cody brought you in his arms, trying to quiet your sobs before Master Kenobi arrived in the hanger and heard you. The 212th was only minutes away from boarding the transports heading down to the surface of Akiva.
“Tup shot and killed General Tiplar on Ringo Vinda. And Fives tried to… he tried to assassinate the Chancellor. He fled but was eventually… shot too,” Rex told you.
“W-Who?” you croaked. “Who shot him?”
Rex’s lips formed a firm, straight line, and his eyes moved to Cody.
“Who did it Rex?” you insisted, voice getting louder, sharper… angrier. “Who killed him?!”
Cody’s arms tightened around you before Rex even managed to get the words out.
“Fox. It was Fox.”
A black hole opened in your chest, and for a long moment, all you could do was stare at Rex’s holo-form, shell-shocked and speechless.
“You’re wrong,” you eventually breathlessly whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Rex said. He sounded exhausted, fully wrecked. “I was there. Fives reached for a blaster and Fox… he had no–”
You severed the connection before he could finish, immediately bringing up Fox’s frequency and pressing call.
“Vod’ika,” Cody tried to stop you.
But you wouldn’t listen. You couldn’t. You broke from his hold and started pacing, staring at the screen of your comlink.
It rang and rang. But Fox didn’t pick up.
You tried again.
“Answer! Answer me, dammit!” you hissed under your breath.
But he rejected the call. And your whole world shattered.
He didn’t call back later.
He didn’t message.
He didn’t offer you a single explanation – not even when you returned to Coruscant and marched into his office demanding one.
You probably wouldn’t have listened anyway, even if he’d tried to defend himself. You were too angry. Too hurt. Too wrapped up in your own pain to notice that the man you loved was broken as well. And too selfishly clinging to your grief to recognise how badly he needed your help. You couldn’t even offer it when he later asked…
“Hey,” Echo speaks softly, watching you shiver. “Let’s get you back before you catch a cold.”
“I’m fine,” you argue weakly.
“Vod’ika.”
Without your permission, the dam breaks, flooding your eyes with large, hot tears. Echo doesn’t ask what’s wrong – he doesn’t have to. You wouldn’t be to articulate the words even if he did. He just brings you in his arms, holds you till the tears run dry, then walks you back to your small home on the reconstructed Lower Pabu.
You can’t bear to be alone tonight, and you grab his hand when he moves to leave – so Echo spends the rest of the night with you on your couch, half-watching whatever program you can get on your holo-screen.
The sun’s already up by the time he convinces you to go to bed, and it’s only because he has to leave for his mission. He tries to make you promise you’ll go out – help Omega with her studies, have dinner at Tech and Phee’s place like they keep asking – and you nod weakly, even though you both know it won’t happen. You doubt you’ll be able to leave your home any time soon – definitely not before he’s back in a few rotations and you have to pretend that you’re a functional person again.
And to think you used to be a Jedi…
The comm was chiming in his hand, the sound a sharp shriek that was piercing his ears. Somehow, it felt just as loud as a blaring alarm on the detention centre. His thumb was hovering right above the accept button. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t answer.
A missed call notification blinked on the screen for only a second before you were calling again. Fox hit reject.
“Vod,” Thorn said from the doorway. “You need to talk to her.”
He shook his head. “What’s the point? I just killed her best friend.”
“Yes, but if you just ex–”
“There’s nothing to explain, Thorn!” Fox erupted. “I killed him! I killed someone she loves.”
“Fox–”
“I hurt her just like I knew I would!” he continued, not really hearing his brother anymore. “She’ll hate me now and I don’t even blame her.”
“I saw the helmet footage,” Thorn insisted, stepping closer to Fox’s desk. “Fives grabbed the–”
“It didn’t matter!” Fox hissed. “It didn’t matter if he grabbed or if he didn’t grab the blaster. That– that wasn’t the mission.”
A cold understanding passed over Thorn’s face.
“I won’t be able to… to–” Fox cleared his throat, struggling to spit out the words, “–explain. It won’t let me.”
The loud scraping of durasteel pulls him out of his fitful sleep, and Fox cracks open one eye just in time to see the small hatch on his cell door open.
“Breakfast,” a cold voice on the other side announces, pushing a tray inside before slamming the hatch back shut.
Fox doesn’t bother getting up. He’s not particularly hungry and the smell of the grey slop they’re always getting isn’t particularly appealing either.
Grey.
Everything is grey.
The food, the walls, the ceiling, the jumpsuit he’s wearing.
For the past year, all he’s been surrounded by was grey.
He never thought he’d miss the red paint on the Guard’s armor. Or well, it’s not necessarily the colour he misses – it’s the brothers underneath.
There’s other clones imprisoned here too. Fox has caught glimpses of them as they’re taken to the lab, or sometimes heard muffled murmurs as they try to talk to each other through the vents. But they’re not his men.
His men are still on Coruscant and Fox sometimes wonders about them as he lays in his cot, staring up at the grey ceiling. Who's in charge of the Guard now? Thire? Stone? Or has one of his captains been promoted?
How many of the men he knew are still alive? How many met a fate similar to his, neck snapped with a flick of the wrist by a short-tempered darjetii?
How many got out?
He could've gone back to them – he should have – that's the whole reason Palpatine bothered to save him in the first place. But when he woke up from that surgery he just… didn't have any fight left in him.
All his tests were normal. The implants had merged perfectly with his spine. His range of motion was just as good as before the injury that nearly took his life. And yet, he couldn’t focus anymore. Couldn’t hit the targets and run through drills like he used to. Couldn’t act like a trooper. Like a commander.
"No longer performing within optimal parameters," was the assessment made by the Kaminoans.
He still remembers the scowl on the disfigured face of the Emperor and the way he sneered one single word: “Disappointing.”
Fox was too exhausted to argue with that. And well, there wasn’t really anything he disagreed with. He knew it all too well. Despite all his trying, despite all the blood and sweat and sleepless nights, despite everything he’d given to Coruscant, to the Republic – Fox was a disappointment. He couldn’t keep his men safe. He couldn’t keep Thorn from dying. He couldn’t keep being the man you thought he was, the one you fell in love with.
Palpatine should’ve just let him die.
So Fox expected to be decommissioned. But he wasn't as useless as he believed.
He’s not entirely sure what sort of prison he’s in. During the first few weeks, he was regularly taken up to a lab where he was scanned, poked and prodded. With the stolen glimpses he caught of datapads and terminal screen, Fox concluded they were doing some sort of genetic research, but he no longer cared what happened to him, and so he never questioned anything. He followed their instructions, stood still for their tests, then returned to his grey cell.
As the months passed, the tests grew scarcer, until eventually, they stopped taking him to the lab. It’s been weeks since they’ve needed him for anything, and Fox can’t help but wonder when the decommission order will come in. He'd be lying if he said he doesn’t hope it’s soon.
The metallic implants in his neck ache as he turns on his side – a sign of the changing weather, Fox has learned by now. From the very narrow, barred up window of his cell, he can see dark clouds slowly crawling along the pale blue sky. It'll rain tonight, he's sure of it.
It rains a lot on this planet, and Fox hates it. Not because of his aching joints or because of the suffocating humidity in his cell – although that’s never pleasant. No, he hates it because it reminds him of the worst day of his life. The day he lost you. And the last time he saw you….
The last time he saw you, there were tears. And yelling. And you begging him for an explanation.
"Anything, Fox, give me anything! Please!" you shouted through sobs.
But he couldn't. He couldn't say a word. Physically couldn't – but neither you nor him knew that. Because he wanted to. He wanted to say he didn't want to do it. He didn’t have a choice. He wanted to cry and beg for your forgiveness.
"Fives was my best friend!" you yelled. The anguish in your voice – the pain, confusion, anger – it still haunts him.
"Why wasn't your blaster on stun?! Why, Fox?!"
Why? Because he received an order and good soldiers followed orders. But he couldn't explain it. He couldn't voice it. The thing in his head kept the words from slipping past his lips. Kept them from taking form in the first place.
"Answer me!" you demanded. "Don't just stand there like a fucking droid!"
But he couldn't. He couldn't give you anything.
And you couldn't forgive him.
You stared into his eyes – cold, emotionless eyes – for a few moments longer. The way you looked at him crushed his very soul to pieces… You started at him like he was suddenly a stranger, someone you didn't recognise. Someone you didn't want to know.
Then you turned and walked away.
And that was the last time he saw you.
He did hear your voice once more, after Thorn died. Even through your pain and anger, you still had to call to check on him.
You were on Coruscant, at the Temple, and Fox asked to see you in the abandoned garden, pleading, almost begging. You broke down then, muffled sobs sounding through his comm and stabbing him right in his cold heart.
“I know how awful you must feel right now, losing Thorn,” you choked. “But the reason I know is because of you, Fox, and I– I don't think I can look past that.”
“Cyare, please,” he whispered. “I thought you loved me…”
“I’m sorry, Fox. I… I can’t. I just can’t,” you sobbed. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
You never commed again. Not once. But Fox still kept tabs on you. He read every single mission report that had you listed as commanding officer. He asked Cody for updates. He followed every Outer Rim campaign, from Anaxes to Utapau.
Until Order 66.
In some twisted way, Fox is almost grateful for that order. The thing in his head fully took over, and for a moment, he didn’t care about you anymore. Everything he’d ever felt was suppressed, his thoughts went almost quiet, replaced by cold, unquestioning obedience.
And when he read your name among the casualties of Utapau, he didn’t shed a single tear.
Those came later, after Vader snapped his neck. His best guess is that the chip malfunctioned during the surgery. Maybe it was the anaesthesia, maybe the electrical signals in the prosthetics connecting to his nerve endings, but he woke up with a heaviness in his chest that no amount of painkillers could dissipate.
It should’ve been him, not you.
Out of the two of you, you’re the one who deserved to be alive. You were kind and sweet, and your hands weren’t stained by so much blood. You were a bright star that was too good for this wretched galaxy, one he never should’ve been allowed to touch.
Because he corrupted your light. He hurt you so deeply that you turned bitter. The anger and pain that dulled your eyes the last time he saw you did not belong there. And it was never supposed to be turned on him.
But he deserved it. He killed a brother.
Vod kyramud.
He deserves this – this cold prison on an unnamed planet where he's being experimented on. The other vode in the cells around him don't – but he should be in here. He killed a brother. He killed your friend. He killed the person that could've stopped all this. He deserves to rot in here.
So when the explosions start rattling the walls, he doesn't even flinch. When the alarms start blaring and the cell door opens, he makes no attempt to move from the uncomfortable cot.
But strong arms yank him up. He's still a brother and brothers don't get left behind.
The universe sure has a cruel sense of humour, Fox can’t help but think as he follows his rescuer and the other freed prisoners. He knows the man leading the group through the grey corridors. Not personally – he's never met him, never spoken to him once in his life. But he knows who he is.
ARC trooper Echo, your friend, the one you lost and got back. Rex had told him about Anaxes and Skako the last time they commed each other, and Fox was genuinely happy for you.
He remembers the stories you told him about Fives and Echo. ‘Chaos twins’ you called them. An inseparable duo before the Citadel.
And he killed one of them.
He wonders if Echo knows that, or if he knows who he is – surely he would've left him in that cell if he recognised him.
More explosions rumble deep inside the facility as they board the transport. The second the ramp closes, the ship bolts out of there, and Fox can only assume the entire place will crumble to the ground. The other clones are cheering, smiling, thanking Echo for getting them out, but he keeps his head down and retreats to a corner of the cargo hold, finding a crate to lean against.
“Are you alright, vod?” a voice soon reaches him.
Fox looks up, a little startled, finding a young trooper standing in front of him. No one’s called him vod in a long time. It feels wrong. He’s no longer a brother. Vod kyramud more likely.
“Yeah,” he replies, keeping his voice low.
The last thing he wants is to attract any attention to himself. He's not sure where Echo is taking them, but hopefully, wherever the final destination is, he'll be able to slip away once they land. That's the extent of his plan however – what comes after is still a mystery.
“I'm Link,” the young clone says, holding out a hand. “Medical technician.”
“Nice to meet you,” Fox mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
Link keeps his hand extended in front of him for a moment before bringing it up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. “Okay… Well, if you're hurt or feeling unwell, just give me a shout. I know I wasn't an actual medic, but I can still help.”
Over the trooper's shoulder, Fox unintentionally makes eye contact with Echo, and a pit opens in his stomach. The ARC is studying him intently, head slightly tilted and eyebrows drawn together in a concentrated frown. Fox quickly drops his gaze to the floor.
“Thanks ad,” he says to Link. “But I'm good.”
Link perks up a little at the use of Mando’a, seeming to take it as an invitation to keep talking.
“Some of the guys are saying you've been in there the longest,” he remarks.
Fox hums a dismissive sound in response. Truthfully, he’s not really sure, nor does he care. He quickly scans the hold, noticing that Echo isn’t there with them anymore. That’s definitely for the best.
The young trooper lifts his hand, trying to offer some comfort, but hesitates and drops it before he can make contact with Fox’s arm. He clears his throat, deciding on words instead.
“If you ever need to talk about it, I’m–”
“Ad, no offence,” Fox interrupts, the words sharper than he intends. “But talking is the last thing I want to do.”
“Oh,” Link deflates, his tone faltering in a way that makes Fox instantly feel guilty. “Sorry, I uh… I understand.”
Link retreats before Fox can formulate an apology, leaving him to wallow in self-hatred. The poor kid was only trying to be nice, and he bit his head off at the first sign of kindness he’s been shown in months. But he doesn’t deserve it – and the young trooper would definitely not be offering if he knew what Fox had done.
His gaze returns to the durasteel floor as his mind once again drifts to you. Link looks very young; and as a med tech, Fox can only assume he doesn’t have any combat experience. He swears he can almost hear your voice softly admonishing him about being nicer to the shinnies.
You used to do that whenever you walked into the Guard HQ and found him disciplining one of the younger troopers, talking about how compassion and patience are a much better learning tool than anger and yelling. Fox used to roll his eyes and mutter about “Jettise” under his breath – but secretly he loved how much care and empathy you had for every clone.
When they don’t murder your friends that is. You no longer had empathy for him that day in his office; but Fox doesn’t blame you.
A pair of armored boots enter Fox’s field of vision, bringing him back to the present. He swallows before lifting his eyes, finding Echo standing in front of him. Maker, why won’t they just leave him alone?
“Commander Fox,” he says, his tone impossible for him to decipher. “How are you feeling, Sir?”
Fox grimaces. That title, that address – it all feels wrong now.
“Fine,” he mutters, moving his gaze back to the floor and hoping the ARC will take the hint and leave.
But he’s not that lucky. Echo keeps talking – possibly about where he’s taking all of them. He catches the words ‘refugee’ and ‘island, but he doesn't really hear what the ARC is saying.
Not until he says your name.
“What did you just say?” Fox demands, eyes snapping to the man in front of him.
Echo repeats your name. Casually. As if he didn't just invoke a ghost.
“I've commed ahead to let her know we found you. She'll be really happy to see you.”
Fox stares blankly. He doesn't understand the words Echo is saying.
“She's dead,” he blurts. “The reports said she's dead.”
“Well, the reports said you're also dead,” Echo counters.
His heart pounds harder and harder against his ribcage as the meaning of Echo’s words settle in his mind.
“She’s… she’s alive?” Fox asks, suddenly breathless.
“She is,” Echo nods, the confirmation filling Fox’s tight chest with a warmth he hasn’t felt in ages. “She’s on Pabu. I’ve told her we found you and she’ll be waiting when we land.”
The brief ecstatic relief he was feeling is instantly replaced by a dread so overwhelming, it shows plainly on his expression. He can’t face you. How could he after everything he’s done? He remembers the way you looked at him the last time you were in the same room together all too clearly. It still hurts him. And he can’t stand being rejected by you again.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says coldly.
Echo blinks, confused. After what Rex and Cody have told him about your relationship with Fox – after the pain he’s watched you carry ever since he showed you his file – that was not the reaction he expected from the Commander.
“She doesn’t want to see me,” Fox adds. The words leave his lips so quietly, it’s clear they weren’t meant for anyone to hear. All they are is pure fear, unintentionally taking audible form.
“I just talked to her, Commander. She– I haven’t seen her smile like that in months,” Echo insists. “She can’t wait to see you.”
Fox shakes his head as much as the metal implants allow. Echo must be wrong. You don’t want to see him. He’s hurt you too deeply. At most, you’ll be waiting to tell him he should’ve stayed dead.
You’re sitting underneath the weeping maya tree, hiding in its shade from the scorching rays of sun. It’s particularly warm today and you can feel droplets of sweat sliding down your back. Truthfully however, you’re not certain if you’re sweating this much from the heat or from your nerves. It definitely doesn’t help that your leg is rapidly bouncing, but you just know that if you stop its movement, you will implode.
Ever since Echo’s comm, you haven’t been able to sit still.
You sprang into action the second you got the news. With happy tears in your eyes you’ve tidied your entire house, scrubbed the kitchen and refresher, made the bed for the first time in weeks, prepared dinner and lunch for the next day. Then you moved on to yourself, starting with washing your hair after putting it off for longer than you’d like to admit.
It was all a distraction from the impossibly beautiful and terrifying fact that Fox was on his way. He was alive and coming to Pabu and you were going to see him for the first time in over a year.
For the first time since you turned your back on him when he needed you most.
You kept your mind and hands busy the entire day so that you could avoid thinking about it, but now that you’ve run out of things to do – now that all is left is sitting and waiting for the Remora to breach the planet’s atmosphere – everything is finally catching up. Not even Hunter could manage to get you to relax, despite all his attempts, and eventually you convinced him to leave you be so he could take care of any last minute preparations for the refugees.
Anxiously, you hug yourself tight, rapping your fingers on the skin of your upper arm. Fear and worry are flooding your brain faster than you can swim, and you can feel your chest tighten and your throat close.
Because what if he won’t be as happy to see you as you are to see him? What if he can’t forgive you?
What if he doesn’t love you anymore?
It’s been so long; maybe he moved on. Maybe it just… fizzled out. Maybe you’ve hurt him so badly by walking away that he now hates you.
That horrible thought does not leave your head until you see the ship approach for landing, and you stand so fast that it makes you dizzy. But you can't move. You're frozen in place as the transport lands, the repulsor noise completely drowned out by your thundering heart.
As the ramp lowers, you're not even sure if you're still breathing.
The first to disembark is Echo, who is immediately greeted by Shep and Hunter. About fifteen clones follow next, all in grey prison jumpsuits, shielding their eyes from the sun and eagerly looking around to take in every bit of their newfound freedom. They all look so happy, so relieved.
But none of them is the man you’re waiting for.
With shaky steps, you start crossing the distance to the ship, anxiety brewing in your gut. Echo sees you, says something to Hunter, then meets you halfway.
“Echo,” you say, voice so weak it’s only a whisper. “W-Where…?”
“He’s in the cargo hold,” Echo answers, a small frown darkening his face. “He… He’s insisting that I take him somewhere else.”
Your heart clenches almost painfully. You were right – he doesn’t want to see you.
“He said he’s hurt you enough,” Echo adds.
“W-What?”
The tightness in your chest doesn’t go away, it actually increases as the cold realization dawns on you. Fox blames himself – of course he does. You know how much he loved you, you know how much he wanted to protect you, keep you safe from all the pain this galaxy has to offer. But in the end, he’s the one who caused you pain – and you should’ve known the guilt would eat him alive.
“I’ve tried to tell him you want to see him, but he won’t believe me,” he sighs. “You should go talk to him.”
He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You run inside the Remora, nervous and excited and relieved and scared. Everything at once. Fox is right where Echo said he’d be – in the cargo hold, sat on one of the crates, head in his hands. The first thing you notice is his hair, with a lot more grey and white peppered in than the last time you saw him. But then you take in his form, and a pit opens in your stomach.
He looks so thin. The months of imprisonment are painfully visible all over his body. He feels… small. Worn down. And you can sense the mental fatigue radiating from him. Fox looks like a man at the end of the rope.
You take a rushed step forward, before stopping dead in your tracks. You don’t know what he’s been through, what horrors he’s had to face. As much as you want to run into his arms, you cannot risk startling him, overwhelming him.
So you softly say him name, not even realising it’s the first time you’ve spoken it out loud in months. Your voice is shaking just as badly as your hands, and it’s weaker than you expected. For a second, you’re worried he might not even hear it.
But he does. And he looks up.
His eyes. His beautiful whiskey-coloured eyes are wide as they find you, filled with too much emotion for one person to hold. His mouth opens, and your name leaves his lips in a sigh of wonder and relief.
A broken, strangled noise catches in your throat, so you clasp a hand over your mouth. All the happiness you’ve felt is suddenly overshadowed by regret. Slowly, you step closer, and sink to your knees right in front of him, placing your hands on his knees.
“I’m so, so sorry,” you sob. “Please forgive me.”
“What?” Fox asks, fully confused.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat.
Tears spill from your eyes, leaving wet streaks down your cheeks. Fox can feel his heart breaking at the sight.
“I don’t– why are you apologising?” he demands. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I did, Fox,” you protest. “I turned my back on you.”
“I deserved it.”
You shake your head decisively. “You didn’t! You didn’t deserve it and I failed you.”
The words cut right through his chest, unearthing deep rooted anger and self-loathing. That’s what he always does. He hurts people – he hurts you. He never deserved you, and he definitely never deserved your tears. The fact that you’re crying because of him makes him sick to his stomach.
“S-Stop,” he croaks. “Stop crying for me! Stop caring about me!”
“Please forgive me,” you rasp.
“No!” The word strikes you like a blade. “There’s nothing to forgive. I hurt you! I don’t deserve your forgiveness!”
You look up at him through wet lashes, gaze sharp and mind made up.
“You can think that all you want,” you say. “But you still have it.”
“W-What?”
“I forgive you, Fox,” you sniff. “And I know it wasn’t your fault.”
He’s panting now, the anger and pain not letting him catch his breath.
“How can you– I killed him! I-I pulled the trigger,” he shouts.
“But did you want to?” you ask.
The question seems to fry his brain. His mouth opens and closes, but no sounds come out. Then, one by one, tears start rolling down his face, and Fox breaks down, sliding from his seat onto the cold floor. He clings to you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, and your arms wrap tightly around him as you allow him to cry. Your own tears don’t stop. They keep falling even as you whisper soft reassurances into his ear. Even as your fingers run gently through his greying curls.
He never thought you would forgive him. He never thought it possible. He never even dared to dream of being back in your arms.
Your arms… your warm embrace. The only place he’s ever felt like home.
Relief settles deep into his bones as he melts into you, and you can feel how his fear and dread slowly begin to dissipate. The two of you stay like that on the floor for a long time. Your knees start to ache, but you ignore it; and you ignore every detail that’s not him. The cold durasteel floor, the sound of voices and seabirds coming from the open entryway of the ship – everything fades to the background. You’ve turned you back on him once, but you sure as hell will never do it again – you will hold him there, on the floor, for as long as he needs.
At some point you think you hear footsteps – Echo or maybe Hunter checking on you – but they only linger for a moment before retreating. No one dares interrupt the vulnerable moment.
Eventually his tears run dry, and Fox finally pulls away, wiping his face in a quick movement fuelled by embarrassment. He’s never cried in front of you before, never allowed himself to appear so fragile. But as quickly as the embarrassment came, it goes away, replaced by a heavy exhaustion that makes his entire body ache.
You cup his cheek, smiling softly when his gaze finds yours. It feels like coming home, and yet it also feels like meeting him on that balcony all over again.
“Hi,” you whisper.
Fox huffs a weak amused sound, leaning into your warm touch and bringing his hand to cover yours.
“Hi,” he rasps.
“You look like shit,” you tease.
That gets a real chuckle out of him. “I feel like it too.”
“Come on,” you urge with a short jerk of the head toward the ship's exit. “You need to get some rest.”
Fox nods and stands after you do, leaning a little into your side as you finally disembark the Remora together. The sun is only a small half disk now, quickly being swallowed by the horizon, and the island is bathed in a warm copper light.
He’s too tired to ask where you're taking him, and also too distracted. The entire walk down Pabu's streets, he does not take his eyes off you.
He still can't believe it. Not fully. The fact that you're here next to him still feels like a dream. For so long he’s mourned you – after the chip lost its hold on his mind – and not even in his wildest fantasies did he image you might still be alive. He’s never believed in miracles until now.
Only when you let go of his hand in order to open a door, does his mind catch up to his surroundings.
The house he’s stood in front of is small – a lot smaller than he expected a refugee center to look like. Because that’s not what this is, and his heart starts racing with the realisation. You type in a code on the panel by the entrance, and Fox sucks in a sharp breath as he catches a glimpse of the numbers.
One, zero, one, zero.
And the door swishes open.
His CC number. You made the code to your home his CC number. Maker help him, he’s about to start crying all over again.
You turn and hold out your hand, smiling softly. Fox hesitates for only a moment before taking it, letting you guide him inside.
Your home is cosy, with warm colours on the walls and a pleasant sweet aroma lingering in the air. Instinctively, Fox’s eyes sweep the area – old habit he just can’t kill from his days in the Guard – making note of every detail. The hallway stretches from the front door to a circular staircase, and looks like it can be crossed in seven strides. On the left, a round archway opens into the living area, based on the blush-coloured couch and permaglass caf table he can glimpse, while on the right, the two of you pass by a closed door – the kitchen most likely, Fox concludes.
The stairs lead directly up into the bedroom, and Fox can’t help but waver once he climbs that last step.
“Are you sure I should be here?” he asks, glancing between you and the neatly-made bed.
A knot forms in your stomach at his hesitation. Are you moving too fast? Expecting him to dive right back into a dynamic that has been dormant for so long?
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I just… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I’m not,” you promise. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat first? I-I can bring you something up.”
“I’m tired,” he says. “I think I just want to sleep, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
You walk over to the bed, pulling the cover aside and inviting him to climb in with a motion of your hand. Fox watches you a second longer, really taking in the fact that he’s here, with you, before exhaustion forces him to quietly follow your instructions.
He slides under the cover, sighing contently at the way he sinks into the mattress and at the softness of the pillow. It’s a comfort he’s simply never experienced before – not in prison, not in the barracks, and definitely not on Kamino.
A fond smile curls your lips as you see the tension slowly bleed out of his shoulders. Fox looks like he really needs the rest, and surely also the space to properly process his freedom and everything that has happened today. You take half a step back and turn towards the stairs, when a trembling hand darts out from under the duvet, fingers curling around your wrist in a timid grip.
“Don’t go,” Fox whispers, forcing his gaze up to meet yours. There’s a flicker of terror darkening his tired eyes – a raw fear that if he lets go, you’ll vanish, and if he closes his eyes, he’ll open then back in that prison cell. “Please.”
You nod, your chest too thick with emotion to even try to speak. His grip loosens, and you quickly round the bed, sliding in beside him. For a second, Fox stays rigid as the mattress shifts under your weight, almost afraid to get too close. Maybe it’s stupid. He was just in your arms earlier on the ship. But still, the worry that he’ll break the fragile spell – that he’ll remind you of why he doesn’t deserve to be here, with you – it’s overwhelming.
“I’m here,” you reassure, sensing the inner turmoil rippling around him in the Force.
His breath hitches, and he swallows the knot in his throat before finally turning to see you. The soft smile he finds waiting crumbles the last of his defences, and with a ragged exhale, he drops his forehead into the crook of your neck.
You don’t hesitate, immediately wrapping an arm around him and resting your chin on the top of his head as you run your fingers through his hair. It always relaxed him, always helped him fall asleep after long, demanding days back on Coruscant, and it seems to still work just as well. Within minutes, his breathing slows, and the hand around your waist, that had firmly gripped the fabric of your dress, softens its hold.
But as the silence of the room settles in, sleep doesn't come for you too. You lie there, staring at the faint moonlight filtering through the window, acutely aware of the man in your arms. Your mind cannot slow down, stuck in a whirlwind of past and present. Fox is right here, in your bed, in your embrace. He's alive and safe and by your side once more. And yet, Fives' laugh echoes from a distant memory, painfully reminding you that forgiving and forgetting are not the same thing.
The gift of forgiveness you offered him earlier was real – and you will not take it back. But you still have questions, cold, uncomfortable ones that you've been struggling to put to rest for so long.
Fox stirs in his sleep, sliding his arm around you to bring you closer to him. A soft chuckle unintentionally escapes your lips – but not loud enough to disturb him – and you press a kiss to the top of his head. How easily he can quiet the storms inside your mind, even without realising.
The questions can wait till the morning. For now, though, you just hold him.
Congratulations ✨ please do fox x reader and prompts35 and 22
Too Real
Pairing: Fox x fem!JediReader
Word count: 3.8k
Tags/Warnings: NSFW 18+; suggestive; a little enemies-to-lovers; heavy make-out sessions; Fox is an asshole who can't dance; implied pining
Promps: 22. You have exactly three seconds to stop looking at me like that. + 35. Undercover as a couple
A/N: Not me with 300+ followers still making my way through the 100 followers event requests 🫣 Really sorry it's taken so long.
taglist | Masterlist
You hated your assignment.
All your friends from the Temple had been given battalions, and were shipped off to fight for the Republic in every corner of the Galaxy.
But you?
You were kept on Coruscant – and sent to the Guard.
It wasn't actually that bad, but you'd spent the first year of the war still a Padawan, deployed with your master and his battalion. And well, the clones weren't exactly... thrilled about their brothers who, in their words, "were sitting the war out".
So you were maybe a little biased once you were knighted and assigned as the general in charge of the Coruscant Guard.
Of course, that bias went away quickly after you saw what your Corries had to deal with, after you learned how truly dangerous Coruscant was if you ventured lower than the midlevels.
They earned your respect instantly, from the first chaotic mission together – which happened to be the Zillo beast rampage. While your friend, Anakin, together with Master Windu, were fighting it, you and your men were sifting through rubble, getting people to safety.
You must’ve spent the entire night with Hound and the massiff unit, searching desperately for survivors while also coordinating with Thorn and Thire to apprehend the scoundrels taking advantage of the horrible situation for personal gain.
When you limped back in the HQ the next morning, and sat by them in the breakroom, they offered you caf and reassurance. And just like that you were one of them.
Most of them, anyway…
Because there was still one problem.
Commander Fox.
Maker, you hated him.
And he hated you too.
And of course – since the Force seemed to have a wicked sense of humour – it was him you had to work with the closest.
Well... “work with” is a generous term, since the atmosphere in most of your briefings is always so tense, all the other Corries actively avoid being in the same room with the two of you.
Fox is a master of passive-aggressiveness. But so are you.
And you clashed together like a cruiser with no shields flying through an asteroid field.
Which brings you to the present.
You're hanging out in the breakroom with Thire and Hound, trying to ingest the poor excuse for caf the Guard has access to. Hound is retelling the latest misadventures he's had with Grizzer – apparently she got a little overzealous when apprehending a suspect, the other day, and ended up with more than half his clothes in her mouth. Hound brought the nearly naked Rodian in for processing – but, as chance would have it, he walked in the Corrie HQ just as the Chancellor and a few other senators were being shown around. And to make matters worse, the man's trousers – which were hanging on by a thread – fell to his ankles right in front of senator Mon Mothma.
Fox was fuming.
You throw your head back, the laughter pouring out of you uncontrollably as you picture his reaction. You're laughing so hard, your abdomen is actually hurting.
And of course, that's exactly when Fox walks in.
He stands stiffly in the doorway, staring at you from behind the cold visor of his red helmet. The light-hearted atmosphere in the breakroom immediately falls apart.
“If you're done distracting the men, I need a word with you, General.”
Your jaw clenches. Maker this man can get under your skin so easily.
“I'm sorry boys,” you say, turning to Thire and Hound. “I forgot the Commander is personally offended whenever people take a break.”
Fox steps inside the room. “Maybe if you didn't keep them busy with chitchat, I wouldn't have to do everything myself and I could also afford a break or two.”
“Oh please!” you scoff with and dramatically roll your eyes. “If you trusted the work your men do and didn't insist on needlessly double checking every single report, maybe you'd have the time for that break.”
The men look a little uncomfortable, and Hound begins to slowly shuffle toward the door.
Fox clenches his fists, clearly biting back on a reply.
“If you could spare the time, General,” he says, voice low. “There's a new lead in the slave ring case.”
You jump off the counter, lips pressed into a thin line. This damn slave trade case has been giving you trouble for nearly as long as you've been with the Guard. Every time you get close to catching the sleemos kidnapping vulnerable, young girls from the lower levels, they somehow always slip away.
But now it seems you finally have a real chance. Someone is finally ready to talk. From the intel Fox has gathered, this contact might actually give you the identity of the head of the organisation.
The only problem is they can't come to the upper levels, so you have to venture into the underworld and meet them. And for some fucking reason Fox will not allow it.
“It could be a trap!” he barks.
“I am a Jedi!” you shoot back. “I'll be fine.”
“You are not going into some crime infested cantina by yourself!” he insists. “We'll go together.”
This kriffing, headstrong, asshole.
“Fine,” you groan, throwing your hands in the air.
The cantina is large and crowded, smelling of sweat, stale ale and bad decisions. Your stomach turns as you walk in and feel you shoes sticking to the dirty floor. The unpleasant feeling stops you after only two steps, and you put your entire focus into not making a disgusted face.
A hand on the small of your back nearly makes you jump. Fox is right beside you, coaxing you to keep moving through the crowd. He’s dressed in civvies, wearing a black leather jacket which thankfully covers the too-tight top he’s put on, and dark grey slacks.
It was… a little distracting when you saw him back at HQ. Not only could you gaze at his annoyingly handsome face – a rarity, since he almost always wears his helmet – but his arms and abs were unfairly highlighted by the stretched fabric. And it only got worse when you had to get on the speeder behind him and hold onto his torso.
At least, he didn’t seem to notice.
You pull on the hem of your very short red dress, and keep walking toward the bar, leaning into Fox. You’re hyperaware of the way he tenses – just as much as you do – but you have to sell it.
Tonight, the two of you are just a regular couple enjoying the most popular nightclub in the Entertainment District.
When you reach the bar, you quickly signal the woman behind the counter. She doesn't see you at first, but Fox has his eyes trained on you, slightly narrowed.
"What?" you ask.
"You think drinking's a good idea?" he counters.
You roll your eyes, before finally managing to get the bartender's attention.
"I'm blending in," you quietly tell him.
He nods, and orders a glass of whisky after you ask for some wine.
Once you have your glass, you turn and lean back on the counter, quickly surveying the place. The club is full of sentients of different species, mingling and dancing on the booming beat of techno music. You quickly spot two young Twi’lek girls handing credits to a Devaronian in exchange for some death sticks, before waddling together in the direction of the refreshers. Somewhere in the corner there’s a couple that you’re pretty sure is actively going at it, with no regard to all the people around, and by the exit, you watch a man get punched in the face before both he and his attacker get thrown out by the Besalisk bouncer. Maker, this place sure is a paradise for illicit activity.
You take a few sips of wine while still searching for the contact. All you know is that you're looking for a Balosar man wearing a green jacket, but with so many people around, and the dim lighting, it's nearly impossible to see details like that. You need to move – this spot gives you a much too limited view.
All of a sudden, the hairs on the back of your neck stand, as Fox's warm breath caresses your ear.
"Take it easy," he rasps. "Don’t want to have to carry you out of here."
The implication would instantly annoy you even on a regular day – but the glint in his voice is what makes your blood boil.
"Excuse me?" you manage to ask, clearly offended.
Fox hides a smirk behind his glass. “You’re a lightweight,” he declares.
“I am not!”
“I’ve seen you at the 79s, blackout drunk after only three glasses,” he says with a nonchalant shrug.
“That was one time!” you protest. “And after the busiest week possible, with virtually no sleep.”
“You can find all the excuses you want, cyar’ika,” he says, thoroughly amused. “You’re still a lightweight.”
Perhaps is the Mando’a petname that does it, but you have to close your eyes and call on the Force for patience. This is exactly why you avoid spending any more time than necessary around this man! He just has to be the biggest kriffing asshole in the entire Galaxy.
You’ll either locate your contact soon and finally get a lead in the case…or you'll kill the Commander. Either way, the night will end with a win for you.
You wash down the anger with the remaining wine in your glass, then, with the fakest smile possible, you take Fox’s hand.
“Let’s dance,” you say, pulling him through the crowd.
The Commander looks entirely caught off guard, and barely has time to down his whiskey. He lets you lead the way to the other side of the dancefloor, quickly catching on to your plan once he sees you surveying the place. But neither you, nor him have any luck in locating your target.
You step onto a slightly elevated part of the dancefloor and turn to face Fox. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he actually looks nervous when your arms lock around his neck.
“Put your hand on my waist,” you instruct.
Fox doesn’t move – at all – so you huff and irked breath and place his hand on you yourself, while giving him a disapproving look.
“Maker, have you never danced with a woman before?” you exclaim.
He looks away, and his reply is so quiet, you almost don’t hear it.
“No, I haven’t.”
The confession catches you by surprise. You know Fox is more closed off than his brothers, but you haven’t expected it to be to this extent.
“Oh,” you say, placing your hand back around his neck. “Just… move with the music. We’re on a date, remember? This is what people do on dates.”
Fox clears his throat, meeting your eyes for just a moment before glancing away. “Right. I know that.”
A very dangerous warmth flickers in your chest. Something in the way he said that was just so… endearing? You’re not even sure, and you curse yourself for thinking it in the first place. Damn this man and the way he makes you feel sometimes!
You sway on the beat for the first, second, and then third song. All while looking around for any sign of your contact. At first, you can ignore it, but the more you dance, the more you become aware of how stiff Fox is. It’s as if you’re holding a plank of wood.
“Are you even trying to be on rhythm?” you hiss.
“I don’t have any rhythm!” he snarls.
"Yeah, that's painfully obvious," you complain. "Just try to follow my lead."
"I am trying!" he insists.
The fact that he steps on your foot right as he says it does very little to help his point.
"Doesn't feel like it," you mutter under your breath.
Fox hears it, and his look turns into daggers. He seems just as annoyed as you are.
But then you wince when he steps on your toes again, and, to his credit, Fox mutters a guilty “sorry”.
Thankfully, you spot a group preparing to leave from a corner booth, and you stop dancing in order to snatch it.
"Let's sit down before you break something... of mine," you jab, tugging on his arm to follow.
Fox makes no complaint, and slides in the booth after you.
The space is narrower than you expected, and you have no choice but to sit very closely to the Commander. Well – there is the option of retreating against the wall, but that wouldn’t look good for your cover story, would it?
“I think our contact’s a no-show,” Fox comments.
“Feels like it,” you echo. He slowly nods.
You shift in your seat to see him better, and Fox tenses his shoulders as your thigh presses into his.
“Relax,” you murmur, leaning closer. “You look suspicious.”
Fox hums something – maybe in agreement, maybe in frustration – before he removes the leather jacket in one quick, abrupt movement.
The Force really is testing you today.
You cannot help but stare at the way his biceps and triceps flex underneath the stretched fabric of his top. Why – Maker, why – did he have to choose such a tight one? Even in the dim light of the cantina, the way he looks is just unfair. And his pecs? You genuinely have to curl your palms into fists to resist the urge to reach out and see if they’re as firm as they look.
Would he take the shirt off if you “accidentally” spilled a drink on it?
Kriff’s sake! What is wrong with you?
“You have exactly three seconds to stop looking at me like that,” Fox warns, his voice low and rough.
“I'm trying to play the part,” you argue, pretending you’re not mortified that he caught you gawking at him. “We're supposed to be a couple, remember?”
You force yourself to meet his eyes; the look you find behind them is not what you expected.
“You're making it too real,” he rasps.
His voice is almost strained. Are you actually having an effect on him?
You risk a quick glance down. And can't stop the smirk tugging at your lips when you see the noticeable bulge in his trousers. The sight instantly fills you with boldness.
“Am I turning you on, Commander?” you ask sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him.
His nostrils flare. “I suggest you stop.”
You place a hand on his thigh, a little too close to his growing erection.
“Or what?”
Fox snaps. Before you even realise what's happening, his mouth is on you. It can't really be called a kiss – it feels more like he's trying to devour you.
His lips are softer than you could've imagined, but they move against yours frantically, like he's in a race against time. It's as if he's expecting you to push him away, and he desperately needs to memorise your taste before that happens.
But to his surprise, you kiss him back.
You open your mouth, welcoming his warm tongue in with a muffled moan as your hands land on his strong chest. His left hand settles on your hip, gripping the fabric of your dress. The material has ridden up almost at your hips, and his fingers slither under the hem, splaying on your heated skin. And he doesn't stop there – slowly and carefully, his hand slides to your ass, giving it a squeeze so firm you gasp against his lips.
You lean into him, and are about to climb onto his lap – when abruptly, he stops and pulls away.
Fox stares at you with wide eyes and panting.
Then, without a word, he gets up from the booth and runs outside.
For a moment you're left frozen in shock. Not only from the kiss – but from the fact that he simply left you in there.
He looked scared, and he ran as if you suddenly turned into a BX droid.
You're speechless.
You're hurt.
You're... fucking pissed off.
Quickly, you grab his jacket, drape it on your shoulders and hurry to the exit. The neon advertisements assault your eyes as soon as you step out the cantina, momentarily disorientating you. It’s bright, and just as loud as inside – only, a different type of loud. The booming bass of music is brusquely replaced by the whirl of traffic and mingling voices of sentients. It takes you a moment to be able to focus the Force and search for him.
He hasn’t gone far. You find him in the small alley just around the corner. He is agitated, walking back and forth in short strides, fingers combing through his hair and massaging his temples. You can’t remember ever seeing him so… worked up.
Unfortunately, you’re also worked up, so you march over, anger and confusion written plainly all over your face.
“What the fuck was that?” you demand.
Fox turns to face you – but his eyes can’t meet yours. He straightens almost at attention, and clears his throat before speaking in that infuriatingly calm and rehearsed tone he always uses.
“I apologise, General. What I did in there was inappropriate. I hope we can both forget it happened.”
The words hit you like a physical blow.
Not because he regrets it.
But because he’s already packed it away – classified it, buried it, locked it behind the same walls he keeps everything else behind. A lapse in judgement. An error. Something to correct and move on from.
And suddenly, you understand why your chest feels so tight.
You didn’t want to name it before. You never let yourself. But it’s been there from the start – every argument, every sharp look, every moment he challenged you and didn’t back down.
You didn’t just crave the rush.
You wanted him to want it too.
“Forget it happened?” you shout. “Are you serious?!”
He takes a few steps toward you, face contorted in frustration. “What else do you want me to say?!”
“Why did you do it?” you retort.
“Why–” He stops, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I-I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You kiss me like you’ve been starving for it, but you don’t know why?!”
Fox slams his fist on the durasteel wall. The metallic sound echoes in the small alley, making you jump.
“What do you want me to say, General?” he barks, inching closer. “That kissing you is all I’ve been thinking about for days? Weeks? Months?”
One more step and he’s right in front of you, close enough to reach your hand and touch him. The damp air in the alley sparks like electricity.
“That when I saw you walk in my office in that dress, all I wanted to do was tear it off you?” he continues as his eyes hungrily drag down your body.
He shakes his head, jaw tight with anger and self-loathing.
“I shouldn’t even think it, let alone say it,” he spits the words out like they’re barbered wire in his throat. “But I… I’ve dreamt about it every night since I met you.”
You stare at him, stunned, and, for some reason, panting almost as heavily as he is. Then, without thinking, you close the short distance between you, hands gripping the fabric of his top as you crash your lips into his.
At first, Fox doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem to breath. He’s just as stiff as he was on the dancefloor and a chilling voice in the back of your mind starts screaming that this was a mistake.
But the second you start pulling away – Fox finally moves.
One of his hands lands on your waist, pulling you flush against him with a firm, possessive grip, while the other tangles in your hair. He deepens the kiss, his mouth desperate, almost as if he needs you more than he needs air. And you’re more than willing to give him everything he wants.
Your back hits the wall – either you moved, or he pushed you there, you’re not really sure – but what you’re sure of is him. Fox crowds you against the durasteel, blocking out the world around you. The dampness of the alley, the noise of traffic and people coming from the main street – it all melts away under the weight of his solid body pressed against yours. And, Maker, he is solid! You immediately take advantage of the proximity to explore his torso, palms sliding deliberately over the firm muscles.
His hand follows your example, slowly climbing higher and tracing over the silky material of your dress, until it reaches the underside of your breast. You instinctively arch into him, moaning softly just from the briefest graze of his thumb across your hardened nipple.
Fox breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are screwed shut as he’s trying to catch his breath. The look on his face is almost… pained, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. You need to erase it, so you lift on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss on the crease between his eyebrows.
“You're giving me hope,” he breathes, sounding pitifully forlorn. “I can't carry false hope around.”
“Who says it’s false hope?” you offer, nuzzling your nose to his.
Fox opens his eyes, gazing into yours. “Isn’t it?”
You shake your head, a small, timid smile on your lips.
“There’s nothing false about this,” you state before tilting your head to kiss him again.
This kiss is slow and languid, your tongue twisting with his in a silent oath of reassurance. You take your time to truly taste him, feeling the butterflies in your stomach travel lower as his hand fully cups your breast, kneading the flesh partially covered by your dress.
But Fox is greedy, and he needs you.
His mouth leaves yours, trailing wet, desperate kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. The hand that was cradling the back of head moves, sliding up and down your side before settling on your ass. A whimper escapes your lips when his teeth sink into your shoulder, and your fingers find their way to his greying curls, tugging his head back.
The hungry look in his eyes makes your knees weak – good thing his strong arms are anchoring you upright.
“Okay, let’s go,” he says between heavy breaths.
“W-What? Where?” you ask, a brief sting of disappointment instantly spreading through your chest.
“I’m not fucking you in an alleyway, mesh’la,” Fox declares, his tone a little teasing. “There’s a decent hotel not far from here. We’re getting a room for the night.”
You bite your lip, your imagination immediately running wild. Fox suddenly squeezes your ass, making you yelp.
“Behave,” he chastises, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Of course, Commander,” you purr.
Fox shakes his head as he rearranges his jacket on your shoulders. Then he takes your hand, threading your fingers together before leading you out the small alley with quick, determined steps.
You have a feeling the night’s only now beginning.
I'm not sure just how far this road will go (Part 2)
Pairing: Fox x Padawan!Reader / Fox x fem!Reader
Summary: After weeks of distance and silence, the fleeting moment you shared with Fox seems destined to fade into memory. But your Commander in scarlet armor has other ideas.
Word count: 8.7k (when i said he possessed me...)
Tags/Warnings: NSFW 18+; the plot got in the porn again; fingering; semi?-public sex; pinv sex; unprotected sex (armor up your little trooper before deployment guys); armor kink if you squint; pov parkour because I like knowing what everyone is thinking; so much fucking angst; slightly even more awkward!Reader; soft!Fox; would anyone be interested in a part 3?
Read part 1 here.
ori'vod - older brother ; vod'ika - little sister
vod - brother ; vode - brothers
cyar'ika - sweetheart, darling
ner - my
mesh’la - beautiful
Jetti - Jedi
shebs - ass
As much as you couldn't wait to message him when you got his frequency, you surprisingly simply... didn't. You got back to your cabin, all giddy and excited, you opened his comm channel and... you froze. You stared at the small typing bar flickering on the screen for what felt like hours urging your brain to let you do anything.
Cody said he asked for your frequency first, that meant he wanted to talk you – logically you knew this. But your damn anxious brain wouldn't let you message him.
You deleted what had to be five attempts at nice, normal greetings, scoffing at the weird phrasing. Everything you wrote felt off, as if you suddenly forgot all the Basic you've been speaking for your entire life. The words looked wrong and you triple checked the spelling on almost all of them, worried that you'd gotten the simplest ones like 'mission', 'system' and even 'weeks' wrong. It was infuriating.
After half an hour of staring at your comm you gave up, threw it on your bed and jumped in the shower, vowing to finally send a simple 'hi' once you were done.
But that was six weeks ago.
You're sitting on a cot in the medbay now, watching the clone medics milling around. The battle was long and exhausting, but it's finally ended and you're en route to Coruscant. You're not injured – you're there for moral support for Waxer, who caught a stray blaster bolt right at the end of the siege. He'll be fine, nothing major – you're actually in there to keep yourself distracted if you're honest.
You still haven't commed him. You thought about it daily, but you kept putting it off. And now you're on your way back to Coruscant where you'll spend the next seven rotations while the men finally have some much-earned leave.
And you're terrified.
Has he thought of you at all these past weeks? Does he still want to see you? You'd know if you'd managed to kriffing comm him… But your anxiety and insecurities didn't allow it. And well, there was also the other issue… the small, impossible-to-ignore issue of, you know, the fact that you’re a Jedi. You’re not supposed to form attachments. Not supposed to get involved with a clone. Not supposed to be hiding in the medbay, unable to focus on anything around you because all you can think about is seeing Fox again.
Will you even run into him? You don't really see how your paths might intersect – you have no business in the Senate, he has no business in the Temple.
Maybe at the 79s? But he's rarely there. In all the times you’ve been there with Cody, Rex and the other troublemakers of the 501st, you've never seen him in.
No... you doubt you'll run into him unless you actually pick up the comm and send him a message.
But it's been so long. Six standard weeks of no contact. And after what? One single night of drunken mistakes? One amazing night that you can't get out of your head... But who are you kidding – the odds of him clinging to it the same way as you have are slim. There's no way he's still thinking about you.
Fox watches the stream of troopers pour out of the transports, his eyes scanning for any sign of Jedi robes among the orange-painted plastoid.
He’s not really supposed to be there. He happened to be on patrol in the area, noticed the transports coming down, and decided to wait for Cody since he'd not seen him in a while.
Well… that’s the story he'll give him and anyone else who asks what he’s doing at the main Base. But the truth is he'd arranged his schedule this way. He wanted to be in the area, knowing that the 212th was returning on-world.
He wanted to run into you.
Fox had tried a second time to get your frequency from Cody – a couple of days after his vod had refused to give it to him – and he learned that you've also asked for his. And Cody gave it to you.
So Fox waited.
And waited.
And waited…
The first rotation passed as it usually did, with Fox dealing with the banthashit thrown at him by various senators or the Chancellor. He’d not even had the time to check his comm until the evening, and when he finally did, he was disappointed to see there was no message from you. He hadn’t even realised how much he’d been expecting it…
The next rotations were spent checking his comm increasingly often. At first it was a couple of time throughout the day, but as the days turned into weeks and you still had not reached out to him, Fox began to check it constantly… obsessively.
After four weeks he caved and sent a comm to Cody.
CC–1010: Are you sure you gave her the correct frequency?
His brother’s response came excruciatingly slow – the 212th was in the middle of a siege after all.
CC–2224: I did. She hasn’t messaged?
CC–1010: Oh she has, we’ve been talking all day, every day, and I’ve commed you for no kriffin’ reason.
CC–2224: Don’t take it out on me, vod. She probably came to her senses. It sucks, I get it. But she’s Jetti. You’re a GAR officer. I suggest you follow her example and snap out of it.
CC-1010: Thanks, vod. Always such a pleasure speaking to you.
He hated this. Hated that he expected something from you. That a part of him – the part that should’ve known better – kept hoping you hadn’t forgotten what it meant, even if it had only been once. You’d been his moment of warmth in a never-ending sea of anxiety, pressure and political nonsense. You’d been the first real connection he’d felt with another person in way too long.
And he thought you’d felt it too.
Cody was right, however. Fox had to snap out of it. He had to get his head back in the game. He was the commanding officer of the Corries. He had a duty to the Chancellor, to the people of Coruscant, to his vode. He had to focus on that. He had to get you out of his mind.
And yet, every time the comm lit up, he checked it.
And every time, it wasn’t you.
To his credit, Fox really did try to let it go. He tried to focus on anything else – even on the conversations of senators he usually tuned out. But you wouldn’t leave him. You haunted his dreams, your face appeared clear as day in front of him every time he closed his eyes. It was pathetic, infuriating. And it was really getting to him.
His mood had soured more than usual, his patience even thinner than before – he actually made a couple shinnies cry at one point. The others noticed. Thorn, Thire, Stone, even Hound – they all tried to figure out what had happened, their worry for their vod growing.
But Fox was Fox. The more they tried to reach out to him, the more he pulled away. Especially from Thorn, who knew about that night. Knew about you. Knew what to imply with his questions.
His vod tried, but Fox refused to speak about it. Every time Thorn approached him, he would find something that needed his attention, some place he needed to be. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to name it. Because once he did, it became real – and real things could be lost.
You asked Cody for his frequency. You had the means to contact him. So why didn’t you? Why even ask for it if you weren’t going to use it? You must’ve wanted to send a message – Fox was sure of it. Was it a rejection? Was that why you hadn’t commed yet –were you going to reject him, tell him that it couldn’t happen again, but you didn’t know how? Were you going to tell him it had meant nothing to you, or worse, that you did regret it?
All these questions swarming in his mind – it was driving him crazy.
You were driving him crazy.
So when he learned that the 212th was returning to Coruscant, Fox decided he needed to see you.
So now he’s here, stiffly stood at parade rest in the hangar of the main Base, as if he’s preparing for a thorough inspection.
Ideally, he wants to talk to you – but he knows he shouldn’t. Because what he really wants is to ask if you’d thought about him, if that night had meant anything to you. He wants to ask why you haven’t commed.
He wants… he just wants to be in your warm presence again, hear the melody of your voice – even if only for a moment.
It’s embarrassing, really, how much of an effect you had on him.
Fox steps to the side to let the medics pass, eyes briefly scanning the injured troopers laid out on hover-stretchers. The first transports are always filled with the wounded – those being moved from field medbays to proper infirmaries, or even to the GMF if the damage is bad enough. He’s actually relieved you weren’t on any of them…
He counts the LAATs that have already landed. He’s read the casualty reports – he knows how many transports should be allocated for the injured.
Then come the officers.
If he estimated correctly, you should be on the next one.
He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, the exhale filtering loudly through the voice modulator of his helmet. The transport is approaching. His left hand balls into a fist before he flexes his fingers a couple of times, trying to shake the nerves.
He shouldn’t be this nervous – it makes no sense. He’s never nervous. Not when chasing dangerous criminals through the lower levels. Not when dealing with temperamental, vindictive senators who throw a fit if they don’t get their way. He’s always calm, collected, in control.
Hell, he wasn’t even this nervous that night. He was the one in control – you allowed him to be. Sure, he was also emboldened by the vapours of alcohol, but there’d also been something about you – an openness that encouraged him to let his guard down, to flirt and tease. To be himself. Not a clone. Not a commander. Just–
“Fox?”
The voice almost makes him flinch.
Fox turns, seeing blue-painted plastoid approaching from behind him. His eyes then lift from the tally marks scratched into the vambrace to the bleached buzzcut of his little brother.
“Rex,” he greets with a nod.
Rex’s face lights up. “Didn’t think you ever left the Senate,” he says, clearly pleased to see his ori’vod. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“Saw the transports coming in, figured I’d catch Cody,” Fox replies casually. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”
Rex pauses, giving Fox a quick once-over. “You alright?”
“Still breathing,” Fox says, then hurries to change the subject. “I didn’t know you were on-world.”
“Special assignment with Skywalker,” Rex answers. “Redeploying tomorrow. It’s why I’m here actually. Was gonna ask Cody to join me at the 79s tonight.”
The hiss of the repulsorlifts draw Fox’s attention and he glances over in time to see the doors of the LAAT swish open. He swears his heart stops for a moment.
But the first to jump off is Cody.
Fox can pinpoint the exact moment his vod spots him. Cody’s walking beside his general, gaze scanning lazily across the hangar – until he freezes mid-step. His helmet snaps toward where Fox and Rex stand. And he just stares.
This isn’t ideal…
Fox hoped he’d manage to get your attention while somehow avoiding him.
Cody, who will immediately see through his lie and know the true reason he’s there.
Cody, who thinks of you as a little sister and is fiercely protective of you.
Cody, who he’d never seen furious – properly furious – until that night outside his office.
Their last interaction had been that comm exchange two weeks ago. It didn’t exactly end on a friendly note.
“– so you’re coming, yeah?” Rex’s voice cuts in, clapping a hand to Fox’s shoulder.
“What?” Fox blinks, only now tuning back in.
“To the 79s,” Rex grins. “You’re coming with us.”
“Uhm… sure,” Fox mumbles, his gaze already moving back to the 212th’s Commander.
Cody is marching towards them, his helmet now off, eyeing Fox with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Fox straightens instinctively, his posture going rigid.
The uproar of the chaotic hangar fills the gunship as soon as the doors open, momentarily drowning out the noise of your anxious mind. You’re among the last to disembark the transport, hovering around Waxer despite his protests that you have no reason to fuss over him. But you need something – anything – to keep your mind busy. To keep your mind from thinking of–
Him.
Hard plastoid hits your chest as you walk straight into Boil’s back, knocking the wind out of you for a second.
“Sorry,” you mutter under your breath. You bring your hand up to the left side of your sternum and rub what will undoubtedly become a new bruise – as if you didn’t already have enough after the siege.
“You alright, vod’ika?” Boil asks.
But you don’t even register his question. Your eyes lock on a figure you didn’t expect to see here.
Commander Fox – talking to Rex and Cody.
His scarlet armor is glistening in the iridescent light of the hangar and he is standing tall, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders squared. He looks just as imposing and maddeningly confident as you remember. As if nothing happened…
“I wonder what he’s doing here.” Waxer unknowingly voices the question buzzing in your mind.
Well… one of the questions anyway.
“Eh, can’t be anything bad” Boil comments. “No other Corries in sight.”
Their conversation doesn’t quite reach you – it’s like you’re listening to it from underwater. Plus, the sound of your heart thudding loudly in your ears seems to muffle all noise of the busy hangar.
You don’t know what to do.
Should you go over there and say hello? Risk embarrassing yourself – blurting out something idiotic, or worse, admitting you’ve been thinking about him nonstop for six weeks?
Or should you bolt?
He hasn’t seen you yet. You could make a run for it and catch up to Obi-Wan who’s heading toward the shuttle that'll take him back to the Temple. But he’s just given you permission to stay behind after you said you wished to remain with the men a little longer. If you suddenly change your mind he might figure out that something’s wrong.
No… the risk is too high – you don’t trust yourself to properly mask your emotions right now.
Maybe if you stick close to Waxer and Boil until you’re and out of the hanger… then head straight for the infirmary. There’s bound to be more than enough for you to do there. Help the medics. Focus on the walking wounded. Take the minor cases and lose yourself in the work.
Long enough for a certain Commander to return to the Senate where he belongs.
But you don’t get to make a decision.
You glance back toward the three men–
And your stomach lurches.
A shiver jolts through your body. He’s seen you. Fox is looking straight at you.
You’re sure of it. Even through the dark visor of his helmet, you can feel it. Your eyes meet – you know they do.
For a few moments you don’t move. You can’t – it’s as if you're frozen in carbonite.
Then, after what feels like an unreasonably long time of just staring, your brain kicks back into gear and you realise how ridiculous you must look. And how ridiculous this whole situation is. You are a Jedi – a damn good one too – and here you are, freezing like an Alderaanian deer in the headlights at the sight of a man you slept with once. Get it together. You’re supposed to be better than this.
Unfortunately for you, the others can see that something is wrong.
"Are you okay?" Waxer asks. "You look a little out of it."
"Uhh... fine," you manage to croak. You swallow hard, then start walking without another word.
Every step you take feels heavy, like wading through water. Your hesitance is impossible to hide. He's not making it easy either. The only sign of tension is the slight stiffening in his shoulders – barely noticeable, but you catch it. Though you don’t know what it means. He still stands tall, still looks unbothered. Calm. Collected. It makes your stomach twist.
Because a small part of you – a tiny, treacherous part – hopes that maybe, somehow, he’s here for you.
And that scares you. You’re worried that if you let that seed of hope take root in your heart, it’ll just be crushed. You can feel the heartache before it even takes place. Maker, you wish you’d bolted when you had the chance.
Captain Rex notices you approach, and warmly says your name.
“Captain,” you reply with a slight curl of your lips.
It’s a rehearsed smile – the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes – but it’s the best you can manage right now. Too bad Cody knows you so well – you really wish he didn’t look at you with such blatant concern written all over his face.
“How’d the siege go after we left?” Rex asks, glancing between you and Cody.
“Believe it or not, we can actually handle a few of droids without the 501st,” you sigh, rolling your eyes with theatrical flair. “Careful, Rex – it sounds like you’re letting Anakin’s overconfidence get to your head.”
“Never,” the Captain chuckles.
Next to him, Fox shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The slight movement catches your attention, and without your permission, your eyes glance his way again.
“Do you know Commander Fox?” Rex asks. “He’s–”
“We’ve met,” Fox cuts in.
His voice hits you like a physical blow. It’s not cold. It’s not bitter. Just… impersonal, completely devoid of any emotion. No wonder some troopers joke that the Corrie Guard Commander is secretly a droid – he might as well be, speaking and standing so damn rigidly.
Actually…
You look at him – really look at him. He’s too rigid. His voice is too emotionless. Not at all how you remember him from that night. He’s… different. Apprehensive. Maybe even anxious?
That little seed of hope stirs again in your heart.
“Yes,” you confirm. “We met at the fundraising gala.”
Your voice is lighter now, and the small smile you offer is more genuine. Maybe you’re reading too much into it – analysing the smallest movements – but it seems to have an immediate effect on him. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders and there’s a slight tilt of his helmet your way. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s hoping you’ll say more. Acknowledge that night in some way. You need to think of something quickly.
“The Commander actually saved my shebs,” you blurt out. Heat rushes to your cheeks as both Cody and Rex turn their heads to look at you. Maker, why did you open your mouth? “The Senator of my home planet he… uhh – there were these-these journalists taking photos – and, uhm, anyway I could’ve been in trouble.” You wince. “Still think that was abuse of power though,” the conclusion is accompanied by an awkward laugh.
Your eyes drop to the floor and you bite your lip, cursing your heart for racing and your mouth for spewing out incoherent nonsense. And yet, it worked.
“Brenko lost the election,” Fox says, voice steadier. “The new Senator actually seems decent.”
You glance back into the black of his visor, hoping that your eyes meet – it feels that way anyway. That sounded… more like him.
“Good. I couldn’t stand that fucker,” you chuckle.
A quiet, amused huff crackles out through his voice modulator. He laughed – sort of.
And just like that, that seed of hope is a flower in bloom.
“You were planning his murder if I remember correctly,” Fox says, the edge in his voice softening into something almost cordial – maybe even a little teasing. “Bold of you to admit that to the commander of the Guard.”
Definitely teasing.
“I said I was considering it, not actively planning,” you shoot back, slipping easily into the banter. “Don’t twist my words, Commander. That won’t stand in court.”
Another small huff escapes his lips and you can’t help the bright smile that lights up your face. Fox seems more at ease now – the tension in his shoulders has melted away and he finally releases his hands from behind his back.
“I could probably fabricate some evidence,” Fox continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ve already established I’m not above abuse of power.”
“I knew the Coruscant Guard was corrupted,” you exclaim dramatically.
Next to him, Rex frowns slightly, shooting Fox a quick, confused look. He’s not actually… flirting, is he? The confusion deepens when he glances at Cody – who is glaring at Fox. His jaw is clenched, and the helmet is gripped so tightly, his knuckles must be white under the glove. So Rex isn’t imagining it. Cody sees it too – and he’s clearly not thrilled.
Rex takes half a step back – he’d rather not be standing between the two commanders right now. But the movement startles both you and Fox, breaking the spell. You glance around the hangar, then at Rex, whose eyes flick between his brothers, suspicion written plainly across his face.
You feel it now – the ripple in the Force coming from Cody. Not as furious as that night outside Fox’s office, but still… very much not happy. You swallow hard and risk a glance. Just as you expected, an annoyed grimace darkens his face.
Fox sees it too, and his posture instantly goes back to rigid.
The uncomfortable silence that settles over the four of you is deafening, and as much as you’d like to talk to him for longer, you need to escape the tense atmosphere. You cannot deal with Cody right now, and you can basically see the wheels turning inside Rex’s head – he’ll figure it out if you don’t dissipate the tension soon.
“I uhh…” you start quietly, pausing to clear your throat. “I should head back to the Temple.”
Fox’s helmet dips toward you, then shifts ever so slightly to Cody. His left fist clenches and unclenches by his side a couple of times as he quickly runs a few scenarios through his mind. It can’t end well – he knows it – but he still wants to do it. He wants to be close to you just a little longer.
“I can give you a ride,” Fox offers. “I’ll drop you off before I head back to the Senate.”
Cody inches closer to you, in an unspoken plea for you to decline. But nothing he could do or say right now could stop you. Not when your heart is racing with anticipation and butterflies are fluttering in your stomach. All at the prospect of spending more time with him. Alone.
“Thank you, Commander. That’s… really kind of you,” you reply with a small smile.
Fox stands a bit taller. A warm flicker of pride swells in his chest every time you smile because of him. His eyes linger on you just a moment longer before he turns his head toward his brothers.
“Rex. Cody,” he nods at them before he starts walking.
“Bye guys,” you say as you move to follow. But your steps falter as you make eye contact with your ori’vod. “See you later, Cody?” you add timidly.
Cody exhales hard, shaking his head with a loud, disappointed sigh. “See you later, vod’ika.”
You mouth a silent “sorry” before jogging to catch up with Fox.
Rex’s watches the two of you disappear out of the hangar. “What… was that?”
“Don’t ask,” Cody replies flatly.
The BARC speeder wasn’t designed for two people, so you feel a little cramped sat behind Fox. At first, you try to give him space, gripping the seat's edges instead of him as the two of you leave the military compound, but Fox is having none of that. He lifts the bike up and accelerates sharply, then veers into a higher traffic lane, swerving around a transport like he’s in a podrace. A tiny squeal involuntarily leaves your lips, but you still don’t do what he wants.
“You’ll fall. Hold on to me,” Fox orders over his shoulder.
You don’t immediately comply, so Fox switches traffic lanes even more abruptly. This time, your arms fly around his waist, anchoring you tightly to him so you won’t slip. You hear him make a satisfied grunt and the bike significantly slows.
“Were you flying like a lunatic on purpose just to get me to do that?” you exclaim.
“You were being stubborn,” he deadpans.
“You… you are such an asshole,” you mumble.
A low chuckle comes through the voice modulator. “We’ve already established that, cyar’ika.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks at the Mando’a pet name – you’d forgotten how much you liked it when he called you that. Thank the Maker he can’t see your face; it’s probably the same shade as the paint on his armor.
You tighten your grip around his torso and lean forward, pressing yourself against his back and resting your chin lightly on his shoulder. You look around; Coruscant doesn’t look so bad from up here.
The durasteel buildings gleam under the harsh midday light and the colourful speeders flying around in all directions paint a chaotic picture of life. You close your eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool wind on your heated face. Then you breathe in. Underneath the smell of fuel that is ever-present in the busy traffic of the city, you can make out the clean, familiar scent of GAR-issued soap… with just a hint of bitter caf. His scent.
Fox hears your content sigh and turns his head slightly – but the sunvisor of his helmet makes it impossible to catch even a glimpse of your face. However, he can see ahead, and in the distance, the Jedi Temple already looms, tall and imposing. The end of the line. Another goodbye with no promise of tomorrow. No resolve, no clarity… no reassurances.
You see the Temple too. He can tell by the way you straighten, then let out a deep, defeated breath. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, like you're trying to get as physically close to him as possible. The hard plastoid must be digging into your skin, but you don’t seem to care. You just want to savour the fleeting moment for as long as you can.
He should be content. This already was more than he’d expected. He didn’t think he’d even get to talk to you, let alone have you so closely pressed against him. This is more than he could’ve hoped for.
But it’s not enough.
A few soft words policed by his brothers’ presence are not enough.
Your arms around him for half the duration of an already short speeder ride are simply not enough.
Fox needs more. He wants more.
And Maker help him – he hopes he’s right to think that you do too.
He veers sharply.
The sudden change of course startles you, and you look up as the speeder bike starts to descend. The Temple fades from view, swallowed by the skyline as the tall buildings rise around you. You’re getting closer and closer to the surface. You can’t pretend you’re not relieved.
“Are you kidnapping me, Commander?” you ask sweetly.
“Yes.”
You chuckle at his curt response, soft and amused, then rest your chin back on his shoulder. You have no idea where he’s taking you and, truthfully, you don’t really care.
Fox steers the speeder deeper into the planet. Sunlight fades, giving way to neon lights and flickering holograms as you enter the lower reaches of the Uscru District. But Fox doesn’t stop. You ride past glowing shopfronts and loud clubs, catching fragments of cheers and bursts of laughter. The nightlife of Coruscant is always awake this deep within the planet.
But he keeps diving lower. The light dims, the streets thin out, and the architecture grows more industrial. You’re somewhere in the mid-levels now – right on the border of what most would consider the lower levels. It’s not a place you’ve ever been before. The streets are rougher, more dilapidated – the kind you wouldn’t walk alone, even as a Jedi. But you’re not scared. You feel completely safe.
Because you’re with him.
The speeder glides to a stop on a narrow street in front of what looks like a warehouse. Fox dismounts and offers his hand to help you up. You accept, timidly curling your fingers around his. There’s no fireworks at the touch – just warmth and grounding steadiness. The kind that melt your insecurities away and encourages you to be at ease in his presence.
He doesn't let go once your feet are on the ground. Instead, he keeps your hand in his, tracing the back of your palm with his thumb. You take a breath in and step closer, looking up into the dark visor of his helmet. You wish he would take it off already.
Fox gently squeezes your hand, then let's go, his gloved fingers settling on the small of your back, applying tender pressure.
“This way.”
“You know, regular people go to a caf shop on their first date, not to dodgy industrial areas in the lower-levels,” you say half-teasingly.
Fox freezes for a second – is this a date?
He clears his throat. “We’re in the mid-levels. And uh… I’m not a regular person.”
You glance down at the floor and bite the inside of your cheek to temper your grin. He didn’t argue with the ‘first date’ part.
Fox guides you to the entrance of the warehouse, pulling his hand away from your back in order to pry open the control panel and start messing with the wires.
You chuckle at the sight. “Are we allowed to be here?”
“Abuse of power, remember?” he shoots back. You let out a soft laugh that makes his chest tingle.
The door half-opens with a mechanical hiss, just wide enough for a person to slide past. You glance at it, then at Fox, who gestures for you to step inside.
The lights begin to turn on one by one once you’re past the threshold and activate the motion sensor. You take a couple steps in–
Then you stop, eyes wide.
The room is large; you count at least two dozen support pillars lined in two parallel rows. But the size is not what captures your attention.
There’s grass on the ground. Actual grass – wild and unkept. The ceiling panels show images of blue skies and clouds – scattered with dark patches of faulty screens that keep glitching. There are large planters with purple-leaf bushes and even a couple of trees – you recognise the species as one native to Chandrila, although they’ve definitely seen better days. In the centre there’s a shallow dip in the floor – you can only assume it’s meant to hold a pond.
You’re speechless. You did not expect to encounter a corner of nature this deep in the heart of Coruscant.
“It was supposed to be a community garden,” Fox answers your unspoken question, coming to stand by your side. “There was an issue; something about permits, funding – whatever. Got tied up in red tape, so it’s been sitting like this ever since.”
“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.
“I thought you’d like it,” Fox quietly mutters.
The small comment wasn’t meant to reach your ears – but it does. You look up at him and find his helmet tilted your way. He’s clearly startled that you caught him. Fox clears his throat and abruptly looks away, then with a couple hurried strides he’s by the side of one of the duracrete pillars.
“There used to be bird songs too,” he says, pointing to the speakers mounted at the top of each pillar. “The sound system broke a while ago.”
“So you’ve been coming here for a while then?” you ask, slowly walking until you’re leaning against the pillar, facing him.
“Yeah,” Fox admits with a long sigh. “It’s a good place to clear your head.”
“And you come here a lot? As in…” you continue sweetly, “if I wanted to accidently run into you, would this be a good place you try?”
Fox turns to face you better, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you want to run into me cyar’ika, you could just use that frequency you asked Cody for and comm me.”
You straighten from the pillar, feeling your stomach drop and chest fill with embarrassed panic. “Y-You know about that?”
“I do.”
The garden suddenly feels too hot. You stare into the dark visor and swallow hard, even though your throat feels as dry as Tatooine.
“Oh…”
Your gaze drops, idly fixating on your boots. Silence settles around you, broken only by the low hum of the overhead lights and Fox’s breathing, filtered out through the voice modulator. But then – a hiss cuts through the air. You lift your eyes and watch as Fox finally pulls his helmet off.
He looks just as gorgeous as you remember – and just as tired. The bags under his eyes are still there – an ever-present part of him – but now there’s also a thin layer of stubble all across his jaw. His silver-streaked hair seems a bit longer as well. His duties must’ve kept him busier lately.
And, Maker, those whiskey-coloured eyes… your knees feel weak just at their sight. You could easily get lost in their amber hue. But the way he’s looking at you? It takes your breath away. There’s a longing in his gaze, a quiet hunger. And underneath all that, a softness you hope he holds just for you.
The corners of his lips lift into a small smirk and Fox cocks his head to the side. “You’re staring.”
“Maybe I missed your face,” you say in a kittenish voice.
“You've been surrounded by my face,” he snorts.
“No” – you shake your head – “not by yours.”
Fox studies your expression, his eyes lingering on your lips for a brief moment. Then he inches closer, voice dropping low as he utters the question that’s been tormenting him for weeks. “Then why didn’t you comm?”
The question is not accusatory. It’s not angry or disdainful. It’s raw, vulnerable – more vulnerable than Fox ever allows himself to be with anyone else. There’s a gentleness in his voice that stirs something in your chest.
“I…” you start, words eluding you at first, “I was worried you didn’t really want me to.”
Fox reaches his left hand and tenderly cradles your cheek. “I did, mesh’la.”
And then his lips are on yours.
It takes a second for your brain to catch up with what’s going on, and by then, your hands are already grasping his chestplate, fingers hooked at the base of his neck. Fox moves his lips against yours in a slow, deliberate pace, taking the time to reacquaint himself with your sweet taste. Your eyes flutter closed, melting at the way his thumb delicately strokes your cheek.
You shift a hand, lazily sliding it around his neck, until your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his skull. It’s soft – softer than you remembered – and just long enough now to start curling at the tips. Maker, you’ve missed him; and from the way he’s kissing you, it seems like he’s missed you too.
When you tentatively slip your tongue past the seam of his lips, something in Fox snaps.
There’s a faint thud as his helmet slips from his grasp, landing in the grass by his feet – but he pays it no mind. His right hand comes to tightly grip your hip, pulling you flush against him, as his body presses you firmly into the pillar. The hand that was cradling your cheek slams against the duracrete just above your head, caging you in.
The kiss deepens, turns hungrier. His tongue enters your mouth, sliding around yours in a desperate dance of needy intimacy. It’s so soft, and there's that taste of caf again, dark and earthy. Him. Oh how you missed the taste of him.
You match the frantic movements, your heart racing in your chest. It feels so good that you can’t stop the whimper that sounds from the back of your throat.
Fox breaks the kiss and pulls back, taking a moment to admire your heated cheeks and slightly swollen lips. A self-satisfied smile tugs at the corners of mouth.
“Am I moving too fast?” The question is half-genuine, half-laced with teasing.
“N-No,” you answer. You’re breathless, panting for air, but Maker, you do not want to stop.
“Good.” Fox leans back in. “Normally I’d be more patient,” – he moves his lips along your jaw, then start trailing down your neck – “but you made me wait, cyar’ika,” he murmurs into your skin. “I don’t like waiting.”
You gasp when you feel his teeth sink into the base of your neck. Fox chuckles, a low and dangerous sound that travels straight to your core, causing tingles of anticipation to shoot through your body.
Then his hands move, quickly travelling to your chest and sliding your overtunic aside as much as possible. His mouth returns to yours as his left hand cups your breast through the fabric of the undertunic. But his right hand trails lower and lower.
“We're technically in public,” you break the kiss to whisper against his lips, as if anyone could hear you in this desolate garden.
“We are.” His hand doesn’t stop, and it finally reaches the waistband of your trousers, fingers toying with the button. “If you want me to stop just say so.”
Your ragged breathing is the only sound you hear as you meet his gaze. His pupils are blown with lust and desire – and you know yours must be too. You want everything he has to give, and you want to give him everything you have in return.
“I... I don't. Don't stop, Fox. Never stop,” you pretty much whine.
“That's what I thought,” he leans in to rasp in your ear.
Fox unbuttons your trousers and slips his hand between your thighs. His fingers graze over the fabric of your underwear, moving back and forth in a slow, maddening pace. Your breath catches lightly every time they slide over your clit and without thinking, you start grinding into his hand, trying to build up that delicious pressure. His eyes are studying every shift in your facial expression, every crease of your brows and parting of your lips. But just as you think he’s about to slip his fingers underneath the thin fabric – he abruptly pulls his hand away.
“No! Why–” you start, your eyes snapping to meet his.
But you don’t finish your complaint.
Fox lifts his hand to his mouth, gaze locked on yours, and pulls off his glove with his teeth. The motion is fluid, controlled – intimate in a way that punches the air from your lungs. You swear your brain short-circuits. That was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
You gasp when he swiftly returns it to your core, this time slipping it underneath all layers of fabric. His fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before gently circling your clit. He repeats the motion, slowly dragging his fingers from your apex all the way to the edge of your entrance and back, but every time he reaches your sweet spot, his touch turns so featherlike, you can barely feel it.
Fox crashes his lips back into yours to keep you from objecting to his teasing. The kiss is deep and hungry, but you can feel the way he’s smirking against your lips. He’s very much enjoying the small vexed whimpers you’re making and the way you try to grind down on his hand. His codpiece feels uncomfortably tight, but he is determined to see you fall apart on his fingers before he does anything else.
“Fox…” you whine, breaking the kiss. “Please.”
“Please what, mesh’la?” he asks.
“Please stop teasing.”
“You want me to stop teasing?” he repeats between the kisses he’s planting along your jaw.
You respond with a nod, unable to form any words as you feel his fingers glide closer to your entrance. He pulls back to look at you, eyes darkening.
“I’ll stop teasing.”
And with that he pushes two fingers inside.
Your sharp gasp turns into a moan as Fox sets a rapid pace. His fingers pump in and out, curling just right along your walls. You can’t help the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, while your other hand is still holding on for dear life to the rim of his cuirass. His lips frantically return to yours, kissing you with a speed that matches the motion of his fingers. Then he trails his mouth lower, licking and nipping at the column of your neck. Your head falls back against the duracrete of the pillar, eyes fluttering closed.
“Don’t stop,” you beg.
The pressure is building, Fox can feel your muscles tense, clenching his fingers tightly. He keeps up the speed and brings his thumb to brush against your clit. Your eyes snap open, meeting his burning gaze. The determined look alone is almost enough to make you come. He’s not just trying to pleasure you. He wants to ruin you in the best possible way. To remind you exactly how good he can make you feel.
With just a few more thrusts of his fingers, Fox gets his wish. You squeeze your eyes shut as the pressure releases, and cry out his name. Pleasure spreads like electricity all over your body, surging through your veins in warm, rapid pulses. Fox doesn’t slow the relentless drag of his fingers until he feels your walls relax.
You’re panting heavily and your knees feel weak, like they might melt away at any second. But before you can even catch your breath, the world spins – and you find your front pressed against the cold duracrete pillar. Fox is right behind you, his body molding to yours, the hard edges of his plastoid armor biting into your back. Not that you mind – the pain quickly reignites the desire in your core.
His hands roam your sides, greedy and unrelenting, before one of them slides up to grope your breast. His mouth returns to your neck, the kisses now desperate. You can feel how worked up he is by the intensity of his movements. A hiss escapes your lips as he gets carried away and sucks on your neck a little too hard.
“Sorry,” he whispers, soothing the sting with the slow drag of his tongue.
“I don’t mind,” you breathe. “But I wouldn’t make them too visible if I were you. You’re the one in trouble if Cody sees them.”
Fox grunts. “Let’s not bring him up right now.”
Your giggle is cut short by Fox suddenly yanking your trousers and underwear down in one fluid motion, exposing your bare ass to the chilly air. There’s another small thud as something hits the ground, but before you can identify the sound, his hard length presses against your inner thigh. You arch back, encouraging him to slide through your folds and coat himself with your arousal.
“Kriff,” he mutters under his breath, hands tightly gripping your hips.
The tip of his cock catches at your entrance and your entire body tingles with anticipation. Then, without waiting any longer, he sinks in, accompanied by an incoherent Mando’a curse falling from his lips. You press your forehead to the cool duracrete as you adjust to the sting of the stretch, taking a couple of breaths. Fox pauses, buried to the hilt inside of you.
“Are you ready for me to move?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Just start slow please.”
Fox leans in and plants a gentle kiss on your cheekbone. “Alright, mesh’la.”
He begins to move, rolling his hips slowly and listening to every small whimper that leaves your lips. The painful sting soon gives way to pleasure and you start pushing back to meet his thrusts, letting him know he can move faster. Fox groans and buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. He can’t tell whether it’s perfume or shampoo, but whatever it is, it’s intoxicating – and his new favourite scent. His grip on your hips turns vice-like.
You reach your arm back, curling it around his neck, and you tilt your head against his shoulder in a silent invitation. Fox immediately complies, crashing his lips to yours in a messy, uncoordinated kiss. His hips pick up speed, and his armored chest slams against your back with every unforgiving thrust, knocking the air out of your lungs. You almost laugh – he’s quite literally taking your breath away. You squirm, trying to make room for your ribs to expand, and he notices. Shifting slightly off you, he braces one forearm against the pillar and leans to the side. The new angle is exquisite for the both of you.
“You feel so good,” Fox mumbles in your ear. “So… so tight. So good.”
You moan his name as a response, your vision starting to blur around the edges. The tip of his cock is hitting that spot inside of you perfectly and you can already feel your second orgasm approaching. He is not too far behind. More incoherent mumbles fall from his lips as Fox gets lost in chasing his pleasure. At one point you think he says “ner mesh’la Jetti,” and your heart skips a beat.
You probably misheard. But the thought alone? The thought of being his? It’s enough to push you over the edge.
Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling firmly at the strands, and you arch back into him. He groans, but you can barely hear it over the loud moans that leave your lips as the climax ripples through you. Fox keeps the rhythm steady as you ride out your high, not changing a thing until he feels you melt into his grasp. Then his hips pick up speed, the thrusts turning harsh, unforgiving, frantic, as his low grunts fill the air around you. He slams into you a couple more times before going rigid, his cock the only thing still twitching inside your walls, filling you with his warm release.
His head falls on your shoulder and his ragged breath feels hot on your skin. The hand on your hip wraps around you, holding you tightly against him. You bring your own to his, interlacing your fingers together as you simply stay there and breathe. The moment stretches on in comfortable silence and you savour every second of it. His armor is still digging into your skin – there will definitely be some bruises tomorrow – but you can’t bring yourself to break the spell. Not when his other arm wraps around your chest. Not when he’s holding onto you like you’re a rare sunny day, shining after weeks of cold, unrelenting rain. Not when you can feel how much he needs the closeness – how much he needs you.
But your body betrays you – the chilly air of the abandoned garden makes you shiver. Fox notices immediately and slowly slides out of you, tucks himself back in with two quick motions, then helps pull your trousers up.
“Thanks,” you say as you turn to face him.
The sight that greets you is one you want to carve into your brain. There’s a soft smile frozen on his lips and his eyes are bright, pupils still a little blown. A thin layer of sweat glistens on his forehead and the hair you ruffled during the act looks wild and messy. But the most striking thing is that he looks so young, so relaxed. It won’t last long – you both know it – but just for a moment the two of you and this garden are the only real thigs in the galaxy.
You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing him like this.
Without thinking, you reach your hand to smooth down his hair. Fox closes his eyes, a small hum slipping from him on the next exhale. It’s such a small, natural gesture, yet it fills his chest with a warmth he’s almost afraid to name. He opens his eyes and finds you watching him, your gaze soft in a way that stirs something deep inside. But there’s something else behind your eyes – something he can’t decipher.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
“Better than okay,” you chuckle. “That was amazing. Ten out of ten.”
“Maker,” Fox groans. “That joke was terrible then, and it’s still terrible now.”
“Too bad,” you grin, a little smug. “I’ll make it after every time.”
His brain short-circuits for a second. Every time. That implies a next time. A next time he’ll get to have you in his arms, to hear you moan his name. ‘Every time’ implies a future he’s never allowed himself to dream of. But now? Now that it’s standing in front of him, wearing your smile, he wants it more than anything.
He recovers fast, and arches a brow as he steps closer.
“Every time? So we’re doing this again?” he teases.
Heat rushes to your cheeks. “W-Well, I do-I’d like to” you stammer. “If you want to of course, I can’t demand-I-I’m not assuming you want to because it-it is against the rules and–”
Fox silences you with a kiss. Searing, but slow. Passionate, but careful. His tongue moves around yours in measured, deliberate motions, fully demanding your attention. It tastes dangerously close to a promise.
When he pulls away, you feel weightless, and can’t stop the bright smile that spreads across your face.
He plants another small kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Come on. I need to actually deliver you to the Temple before they send out a search party.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to show your disappointment. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever – but that doesn’t mean leaving won’t sting.
Fox reattaches the codpiece and picks his helmet up, then frowns as he looks around.
“Where the hell is that glove?” he mutters.
You both look around the pillar, but it’s like it vanished into thin air. After a few minutes of sifting through the tall grass, Fox gives up with a resigned sigh – he’ll just get a new one – and the two of you leave the garden behind.
The ride back flies by in comfortable silence. You hold onto him tightly, smiling the entire time. He doesn’t go to the hangar; instead, Fox pull up on a street close to the Temple entrance, but just out of sight from any Jedi that might walk past.
“Thank you, Commander,” you purr, sliding off the speeder. “It was so kind of you to give me a ride.”
You can’t see his face under the helmet but you can just about imagine his unamused expression – and the slight shake of his head confirms it.
But before you can leave, he catches your wrist.
“Don’t make me kidnap you again,” he says, his voice a low growl.
“You say that like it wasn’t the best kidnapping I’ve ever had,” you laugh.
“I mean it, mesh’la,” Fox continues. “Actually comm me this time. I… I want to see you again.”
There’s a slight anxious edge to his voice, one that immediately sends butterflies to your stomach. He wants to see you again. Whatever this is blooming between the two of you, he feels it too, you’re certain now. You gaze into his visor, briefly wondering if he can feel the racing pulse in your wrist.
“I will. I promise.”
His hand lingers a little longer, thumb gently stroking your skin.
“Good.” He lets go.
Then he’s off, revving the engine of the speeder twice before disappearing into the Coruscant traffic.
You walk away, still feeling the warmth of his fingers on your skin. You’re already planning the comm you’ll send tomorrow.
A/n: if anyone is wondering what happened to the glove, a rat took it. Give me a shout and i'll write the rat's pov too
Taglist: @selene131 ; @lilooos-stuff (hope you don't mind the random tag, but it was your comment from a few weeks ago that motivated me to actually start writing, so thnx)
Summary: What do a murder, a personal assistant, and a massif hound have in common? Commander Fox. Typically, an assignment with the Coruscant Guard is reserved for the hand picked candidates of the Commander. And when you’re suddenly thrust into the world of the Corrie Guard, you quickly realize that you’ve got your work cut out for you in dealing with Marshal Commander Fox.
You weren’t easily intimidated. You’d known plenty of shady, underhanded, questionable, and unquestionably corrupt politicians in your lifetime. Hell, you’d even personally escorted most of them around the city on private tours of Coruscant’s more circumspect alleyways.
But as you stood in front of the Commander’s office, waiting, you could feel your heart hammering in your chest.
You’d knocked twice already. It would be rude to knock again…right?
You glanced down at the slim watch on your wrist, the holoface lighting up against your skin to let you know a solid five minutes had passed with no answer. You began to gnaw on your bottom lip, your finger tapping anxiously against your thigh.
You weren’t nervous.
Nope.
Not at all.
Your bag felt like a heavy weight against your side, the strap digging into your shoulder as you shifted your weight from foot to foot uneasily. Another minute ticked by in silence as you debated whether or not to knock again. Finally, you raised your fist and rapped your knuckles on the dark wood, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.
Silence.
It rang in your ears, the sound annoys annoying trill in itself. A frown took over your features as you stepped back from the door and crossed your arms. You knew you were in the right place. Mas Amedda had personally sent you the floor plans days ago to memorize. You had also received a copy of the Commander’s schedule, which you knew was subject to change, but was fairly standard.
Right now, he should be looking over incident reports from the previous night, checking arrests, and overall status of the Guard.
You knew he was aware of your new position, and the fact you were supposed to be working closely with him.
So…why wasn’t he here?
With a huff of annoyance, you blew a strand of hair out of your eyes before tucking it behind your ear and scowling at the door.
You weighed your options, trying to decide what to do. The seconds ticked by in your mind, the buzz of quiet your only company as you rapidly tapped your finger on your bicep while you thought. Well, if all else failed, the morning debriefing was supposed to be in half an hour. You could stand to go for a caf.
Dammit.
You turned on your heel, getting ready to head back through the maze of hallways, when you came face to chest with shockingly white plastoid armor that was surrounded by crimson.
“Woah,” you exclaimed, quickly stepping back to avoid the collision. “Sorry!”
The trooper didn’t move, his helmet tilting to the side as he studied you. “Ma’am, this is a restricted area.”
You nodded, your thoughts racing as you steadied yourself and cleared your throat. “Right. I’m looking for Marshall Commander Fox.”
You could just imagine him quirking a brow at you by the way he crossed his arms. “What for?” he asked gruffly.
You smiled. “Well, I was hoping to meet him before the morning debriefing and being thrown into the chaos.” you said, tilting your head. “I’m supposed to be helping him with his workload, and whatever else he needs done.”
“Since when?” he asked, more than a little suspiciously.
You shrugged. “Today, I guess. Mas Amedda gave me the assignment last week, told me I had three days to prepare.”
“And you are?”
You introduced yourself, offering your hand. He seemed surprised, his shoulders rising as he reached to take it. “Commander Thorn,” he responded. “You’ve been waiting out here?” he asked, nodding to the door.
“Yeah. I’ve knocked several times and I’ve been waiting a solid ten minutes now.”
He let out a low whistle. “Kriff. You’ve got more patience than me. I would’ve left after the first knock.”
You snorted. “Does he make it a habit of making himself scarce in the mornings?”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
A small frown tugged at the corners of your mouth. You’d read through the schedules that Amedda had sent you, and all of them placed the Marshall Commander in his office precisely two hours before the morning debrief. You assumed it was because he had a routine of paperwork and other miscellaneous things he needed to do before the day started, but now you wondered if it was something else. “Is he…not here?” you asked tentatively.
Thorn barked out a laugh that immediately had your frown fully forming. “Oh,” he choked out, his arm clutching around his abdomen as he continued laughing. “Oh shit, you don’t know!”
“Don’t know…what?” you asked, a sense of morbid curiosity taking over. Given his reaction to your first question, you were honestly a little afraid of his answer.
Thorn cleared his throat and righted himself, a chuckle still finding its way past his lips as he did. “You have access to the schedule already?”
You nodded.
“Good. Pull up this morning’s debrief.” You did as you were told, grabbing your data pad from the bag at your side and looking at Thorn suspiciously. His helmet was impassive, and his body language gave nothing away. You keyed in your access code and watched as the system slowly logged you in. You made a mental note to ask Leru about that later. “The Marshall Commander runs a very tight schedule. If you don’t have your name on a time slot, you don’t see him.” he said with a shrug.
You blinked slowly before giving him an incredulous look. “…what?”
He nodded, gesturing to the schedule. “There. Look. Each Commander and Sergeant is assigned five minutes during the morning debrief to discuss any incidents, casualties, arrests, or anything else of importance. You see the names listed this morning? Myself, Stone, Hound…Shiny.” He snorted and shook his head. “Since we’ve got no new transfers, Shiny must be you, kid.”
You frowned. “Shiny?”
He shrugged. “That’s what we call new troopers that haven’t seen battle. Their armor is clean. No blaster marks or tallies.”
“Okay, hold on a second,” you said, putting the pad back in your bag and holding up a finger. “You’re telling me that the Marshall Commander locks himself in his office and ignores everyone unless they’re on his schedule?”
Thorn snorted and you could hear the amusement in his tone. “Like I said. You’ll find out pretty quickly how structured things are around here, especially with Fox in charge. And you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re on the schedule, Shiny.”
You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Please don’t start with me, Commander.” you said tartly. “I have not had nearly enough caf to deal with this…especially if it’s going to be long term.”
He chuckled, reached up and taking off his helmet. The smirk on his face made you wonder just what you were going to be getting yourself into. You’d had some experience with the clones during your tenure in the Senate building, but it was nothing compared to being thrust into the middle of the Guard. If this first interaction with Thorn was anything to go by, it was going to be one hell of a ride.
“Come on,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “The stuff they keep in the mess is sludge compared to what Hound manages to get his hands on. I’ll show you where we keep it.” You fell into step beside Thorn as he tucked his helmet under his arm. He ran a hand through his cropped hair, messing the short strands to stand up on end. “You’ll get used to Fox’s quirks pretty quick. He’s a bit of a stickler for protocol, but he’s a good man.”
You hummed. “What other ‘quirks’ does he have?”
Thorn grinned at you, flashing his teeth and letting out another brief laugh. “We don’t have all day, sweetheart. We need to be waiting outside his office five minutes before the debrief.”
Those kinds of quirks, then. you thought to yourself. Interesting.
You listened, taking mental notes as Thorn ran you through a standard morning routine. The small break room he led you to was just down the hall, which looked more like a converted storage closet than anything. It was large enough to house a small counter, a sink, and cabinets below the counter. He set his bucket on the little table that was pushed into the corner before turning back to the caf bar. There were two types of caf machines, and Thorn bent down to grab two mugs and the milk from the conservator. “I dunno how he pulls it off, but Hound always manages to get his hands on the best caf. Probably sweet talks the waitresses at CafAddicts.” he said. You grinned and watched as Thorn carefully began preparing the caf.
“How do you like it?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you.
“A bit of milk, no sugar.”
He raised his brows and let out a quiet huff that you equated to a laugh before quickly mixing the steamed milk and freshly brewed caf. After tapping the spoon on the rim of the mug, he stuck it in his mouth before handing you the cup and beginning to pour an obscene amount of sugar into the bottom of his mug.
You raised the caf to your lips, smirking to yourself as Thorn dumped in the brew and stirred it before adding the milk. “That’s a lot of sugar,” you said offhandedly.
Thorn turned to you, a grin on his face. “I need all the extra sweetness I can get,” he replied. “Helps to keep me from being salty.”
You snorted and choked on your caf, coughing and having to set it aside to catch your breath and calm your cough.
“What-“ you coughed again, covering your mouth as you tried to stifle a laugh. “What do you have to be salty about?”
He shrugged. “Eh, a grumpy Marshall Commander, shift hours that suck balls, barely any leave time, thankless citizens. Take your pick.”
Thorn was wearing a shit-eating grin, and you knew he was messing with you, but that didn’t stop the wrinkling of your nose. “I’m sure,” you said. He looked up at the sound of a knock on the doorframe, and you turned, a smile immediately taking over your face as you fell into the role of the helpful assistant you were supposed to be. The trooper standing there was looking at you with raised eyebrows, his lips pursed slightly and his head tilted to the side. You caught a glimpse of the tattoo on the side of his shaved head, but you had a hard time figuring out if it was the number 53 or 58.
“Ah, Stone! Just in time!” Thorn exclaimed, coming up beside you and slapping your shoulder. “Meet the Shiny.”
You rolled your eyes. “I have a name, you know.” you mumbled.
“A civvie?” the other trooper, Stone, asked. You weren’t surprised to see the curiosity in his expression as he took in your appearance. Your hair had been piled into a messy pony on top of your head, and your red and black chevron blouse was tucked into the waistband of your black slacks. Your height had been added to by the heeled boots, bringing the top of your head level with their chins. “I’m surprised the Marshall signed off on that.”
You snorted and shook your head. “It…wasn’t exactly his decision. Or mine, for that matter.” you explained as you sipped your caf. You introduced yourself and gave Stone a smile. “The Chancellor thought the Guard could use some help. I’ve got quite a bit of experience in relations, as well as management and assistance positions.”
Stone raised his eyebrows even further. “And they just plucked you out of a pool of candidates?”
“Not exactly,” you said with a wry smile. “I’ve got a history of working with some very high profile people and very discreet positions. Mas Amedda pulled me from the Senate building.”
He hummed. “That’s why you look familiar, then.” he said, nodding to himself. “I remember seeing you in the Senate building on my rounds. You worked closely with Senator Amidala on several projects, didn’t you?”
You raised your eyebrows, surprised he’d remembered. “Yeah. I’m impressed, Commander.”
He gave you a small smile. “You’ve done some good work.”
“Thanks.”
Stone nodded before gesturing to the caf machine. You quickly got the hint, moving out of his way and tightening your grip on your mug. “Hound should be stumbling in at any time.” he said. “He had to get himself seen at the med bay.”
Thorn raised an eyebrow. “Again?”
Stone shrugged and started making his drink. “I guess there was a shop robbery he was in the middle of stopping. One of the kids, probably no more than fifteen, shoved a shank through his shoulder.”
Thorn shook his head. “Damn. All the way?”
“From the sound of it. Jammer radioed it in after they got the robbers detained. Sliced clean through the muscle. Hopefully Kix was the one on duty.”
Thorn let out a low whistle. “What level?”
“Uscru District. It was actually one of the markets near 79’s.”
Thorn hummed. “Any relation to the Scrap and Scarab Garage incident?”
You frowned, your brow furrowing.
“I don’t think so, but Hound says it’s too early to tell. No bodies on this scene. Just some kids trying to steal some credits. But he said one of them did have the same tattoo as Kavo…I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a new Family trying to make a rise.”
“The…Scrap and Scarab?” you asked tentatively, your fingers digging into the ceramic mug as your heart began to beat a little faster.
Thorn nodded. “It’s a garage on level Level 250. We haven’t been able to tie anything solid to it, but I’m pretty sure there’s a laundering operation going on.”
You swallowed. “How long has that been going on?”
Stone shrugged. “Probably the last ten to fifteen years, I’d say. Judging by their records and everything we know about them, at least. Krass, the owner, is about as shady as they come. But, like Thorn said, we haven’t been able to tie anything solid to them. But if Hound has footage from his bucket, we might be able to ID this kid with the tattoo. If it happens to be some type of Family symbol, then we can set up an op to get more information.”
Ten to fifteen years.
The implication had your heart rising into your throat. But you couldn’t think about that. That wasn’t your job. You were there to help the boys with their workload. Not play investigator.
“Interesting,” you managed to choke out. “I didn’t think Coruscant had more than a few crime families.”
Thorn snorted. “You’d be surprised. Fox has managed to keep them stomped out for the most part. But every once in a while, one tries to pop up.”
You hummed before looking down into your mug, your eyes unfocusing as you felt your thoughts start to spin. Stone said something to Thorn, and they started up a conversation about their patrols the night before. You were thankfully left out of it, alone with your thoughts.
Thirteen years…had it really been that long?
You closed your eyes, trying to force the memory of the CSF on your doorstep out of your mind.
You were startled when you heard the harsh snap of a gravelly voice.
“What are you di’kuts doing standing around? We’re going to be late for the debrief.”
“Yeah, yeah, keep your kama on.” Thorn said, waving off his brother.
“Who the hell is this?”
You blinked, trying to drag your mind back to the present instead of your childhood. The trooper had his arms crossed (as best he could with one of them in a sling) and was wearing a type of helmet you’d never seen before.
Before you could answer, a growl sounded from beside him and you were startled to have a large massiff planting its paws on your midsection and letting out a rumbling chatter as its spines rattled. You let out a yelp as the creature began to nuzzle against you, its whole body practically wagging as it tried to shove its muzzle between the mug and your hands.
“Grizzer! Off!” he barked.
The massiff ignored him, happily chirping and rubbing against your abdomen. You threw a panicked look to Thorn and Stone, not quite knowing how to react.
“Do I…?”
The two commanders laughed. “I think he likes you,” Thorn said. “Go ahead and pet him.”
You looked quickly back to the other Trooper, your eyes wide and hands held out to avoid touching the animal without permission. He huffed out an annoyed sound before giving you a clipped nod. Looking down at the massiff, Grizzer, a small smile took over your face. “Hey buddy,” you said. A deep rumble came from within the creature’s chest and he leaned into your touch as you gently laid your hand on top of his head. His body began to wiggle even more as you scratched at his head, and your smile grew wider. “Nice to meet you too.”
The Trooper watched in silence as you doted on the massiff for several long moments. “They’re right,” he said gruffly. “He does like you.”
You looked up, having set your mug on the counter long ago, your smile lighting up your face. “I like him too.” you said.
He huffed again. “And you are?”
You glanced at Thorn and Stone. “The shiny, apparently.” you drawled.
He tilted his head, humming. “Interesting.”
“I take it you’re Sargeant Hound?”
“How’d you know?” he deadpanned.
You nodded to his injured shoulder. You could see the bandages under his armor and knew it was probably soaking in bacta. “Stone told us what happened to your shoulder.” you explained.
He grunted. Grizzer nudged your hands once again before dropping back to all four paws and padding into a heel beside Hound. He plopped into a sit, his tongue hanging out as he began to pant lightly, looking up at his handler. With his good arm, Hound reached down and patted Grizzer’s head, to which the creature closed his eyes and leaned into Hound’s leg. “Grizzer helped out a lot. Took down a couple thugs all by himself.”
“Good boy,” Thorn said with a nod. “He’s doing well.”
Hound nodded before squaring his shoulders with a wince. “Well. Are we going to stand around yapping all day, or are we going to get to work?”
Stone sighed and finished off his caf, setting the mug in the sink. “Fine,” he drawled. “Let’s go.” Both he and Thorn picked up their helmets, jamming them over their heads and making their way towards the door.
You followed suit, making a mental note to come back after the debrief and clean up the small break room. It wasn’t much, but you had a sneaking suspicion these boys liked things in order. Thorn led the way down the hall and you took up the rear, mentally going over your notes from everything you’d studied about the Guard.
But, then again, a lot of good it had done you so far.
It was a short walk to the Marshal Commander’s office, and you couldn’t help the butterflies that started low in your stomach. They all stood in a single file line, backs to the wall. None of them made a move to open the door, and you glanced down at your watch. There was still a few minutes of waiting.
You had a feeling that was going to be the death of you.
You heard the click of the door unlocking. You straightened your shoulders, seeing the rest of the boys stand at attention. You waited patiently for one of them to move, but you couldn’t help clenching and unclenching your fist at your side.
You couldn’t remember the last time you were this nervous for an assignment. Or, nervous at all for that matter. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that was setting you on edge, but the feeling was intense. Something deep in your subconscious was telling you that you were a Tooka that had walked into a Rancor’s lair. It was unsettling how quickly you’d found yourself being put in such a compromising mental state by a man you’d never even met.
In your line of work, you were used to being the one holding the Prime Sabacc. But in this case, you felt like you were stuck holding a one and six.
Your mind snapped back to the present when Thorn nudged you, motioning with his head to the door. Thorn led the way into the office, followed by Hound, Stone, and yourself.
You glanced around the space, noticing the shelves that took up the east wall that were filled with a surprising amount of books and bound records. Your eyebrows rose when you realized they were senate records, recognizing a few of the etchings on the spine. It made sense they would keep them somewhere safe…where safer than with the Commander of the Guard?
The desk was situated in the center of the room, stacks of folders and data pads scattered across the surface. A table the same length as the desk was sat in front of it, containing maps, diagrams, and even a few photos of crime scenes on the upper levels. The south wall was taken up by a large window, and your eyes narrowed as you examined it. The panes were no doubt made from the same layered and tempered glass as the ones on the Jedi star cruisers, knowing the level of security for the building you were in. But what caught your attention was the gentle shimmer of the shield.
Interesting.
To your right was a counter, what looked like a weapons locker, and a few crates. A few pieces of what you assumed to be spare armor was also scattered about, which made you raise your eyebrows slightly. Then your eyes fell on Fox.
The Commander himself was an imposing figure, sitting behind his desk with his visor trained on the datapad in his hands. His broad shoulders blocked the rising Coruscant sun from view. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his form. There were a few tell tale differences in his armor compared to the rest of the boys. While most of them carried the Guard’s insignia on their shoulders, you noticed that his was larger than the others. His armor was also a darker shade of red, probably from years of use. The different blaster marks that littered the plastoid didn’t escape your notice either.
He didn’t look up as the boys lined up at attention in front of the desk. You quietly and dutifully stayed beside Thorn, biting nervously at the inside of your cheek.
The room was silent for a few minutes before the Commander let out a long breath, the sound coming out distorted from his vocoder. “Report.”
Thorn stepped up first, his hands clasped behind his back. “A mostly quiet night, sir.” he started. “There were several speeder crashes, although none of them were serious or caused injury. Just a lot of shouting and cursing.”
Fox hummed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
“Reports were filed, inspections were done, tickets issued. Though, I’m pretty sure General Skywalker was able to talk his way out of the ticket.”
Fox reached up and pressed his fore and middle fingers into the temple of his helmet. You were sure if he wasn’t wearing it, he would be rubbing circles into his head.
“Of course he did,” he sighed. “Anything else?”
Thorn shook his head. “All quiet, sir.”
He nodded and Thorn stepped back. Hound took his place, Grizzer following.
“Another trip to med bay?” Fox asked.
Hound grunted. “A robbery interception at Stallo’s Market. A group of thugs, mostly teenagers, trying to get away with a few credits. My cam got recordings of the ones that managed to slip away, and I’ve got IDs on them. Commander Beck has issued warrants for their arrest.” He rolled his injured shoulder lightly, flexing the fist of his good arm. “Reported to Kix after everything was over. I’m wrapped in bacta for the foreseeable future, and he put me on desk duty for the next several days.”
Fox nodded once. “Logical,” he said. He reached forward, adjusting the stack of datapads on his desk and making you tilt your head in curiosity. “But I can’t say I’m happy with you.”
Another grunt.
Fox sighed. “Any civilian casualties?”
“No, sir.”
The commander tilted his head back and was quiet for a moment. “Good work.”
Hound nodded and returned to his place in line. You looked over at Stone, who stood a little straighter and stepped up to make his report.
“Patrols were quiet, sir. General Kenobi and General Windu were holed up in the library for several hours late last night, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. All squads reported normal activity around the Temple and Rotunda.”
Fox nodded. “As expected.”
If you had to wager a guess, you thought he sounded relieved. You saw the tenseness in his shoulders relax ever so slightly.
“Shiny.”
All eyes turned to you.
Your breath caught in your throat and you had to swallow hard and clear your throat before introducing yourself. Fox’s visor focused on you, unmoving and unwavering as you briefly explained your presence. “Chancellor Palpatine and Mas Amedda thought it would be good if you had some help. So…I’m here. If you need anything. Any of you.”
He continued to stare at you, leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. You resisted the urge to fidget, instead meeting the gaze of his blacked out visor unflinchingly.
Whether or not you felt sweat beading on your neck was your business.
He turned back to his desk, unfolding his arms and grabbing the holopad he’d set down when the group had walked into the office. His focus turned back to whatever paperwork he was working on and his deep voice cut through the room, slightly distorted by the modulator on his helmet.
“Dismissed.”
All the men quickly saluted before heading out of the room. You hesitated, unsure of what your exact assignment was at this point. You shifted your weight, clearing your throat. “Sir?”
“I said, dismissed, Shiny.”
You blinked slowly. “I…don’t understand. What exactly is it you want me to do? I’ve been trained in several areas-”
He slammed his hand on the desk, making you visibly jump. “Shiny. I gave you an order. I’m not going to tell you again.”
“…yes sir.” You gripped the strap of your bag with white knuckles, heading out of the office. Your heart thundered in your ears and you wondered if that little tickle in the back of your mind was fear. When the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a long breath and leaned against the frame, trying to calm your racing thoughts.
That had not gone as expected. Or as planned. Or…as hoped.
“You alright, kid?”
You looked up, seeing Thorn across the hall, his arms crossed. Slowly, you nodded.
“Not what you were expecting, huh?”
You shook your head. “Definitely not.” you agreed. “Is he…always…like that?”
Thorn raised an eyebrow. “Like what? Seeming like he’s got a stick up his ass?”
Despite the situation, the corner of your mouth began to tug up into a half smile. “Something like that.” you mumbled.
Thorn shook his head. “Nah, he’ll come around. It takes him a while to get used to changes in routine. Especially if there’s a new person involved. Shinies and transfers he can handle…but we haven’t had a Civ on board before. You’re throwing him for a pretty big loop.”
You sighed, nodding and straightening, before tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear that had fallen out of the pony tail. That made sense. You could work with that. Just give him some time.
“Right,” you said. “So…I’m guessing you’re headed back to your barracks?”
Thorn hesitated for a moment. “What’re you planning on doing?”
You shrugged. “Commander Fox obviously doesn’t have a need for me at the moment. But, I’ve got a lot to learn. My clearance level was upgraded, so I have access to plenty of files and data. For now I guess I’ll just be learning about protocols and trying to stay on his good side.”
“Shiny, you’ve seen the majority of this building. We’ve got the Mess, Hound’s special break room, the War Room, the Training Center, and the Flight Control Tower. Where you gonna work?”
You gave him a wry smile. “Guess that name’s gonna stick?” you asked with a chuckle. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I’ll figure something out. My job is to be resourceful.”
Thorn hummed. “You sure?”
You shrugged. “I’ll be fine, Thorn. Thank you for everything today. I really appreciate it. Go get some rest.”
He sighed but nodded. “Alright then. Good luck with…that.” he said, vaguely gesturing to the door behind you. You glanced over your shoulder and snorted. He grinned before taking off, stifling a yawn as he went.
You stayed put for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. Remembering the mugs that were left in the sink, you took a breath and rolled your shoulders. You made your way down the hall and back to the little converted supply closet. Seeing the Guard’s symbol painted on the doorframe to the left of the door made you smile softly, and you opened the door and flipped the light back on. Your bag was set on the counter and you set about washing the mugs and carefully putting them back where Thorn had gotten them from. When you were finished, you glanced at the chrono on your wrist and decided to make another cup of caf for yourself, using your same mug from earlier, before returning to your post to figure out what the hell you were going to be doing the rest of the day.
You hummed as you busied your hands, mulling over the options in your head. You still didn’t really have a set place to work…and you didn’t know what to do about it. The Commander was obviously going to be ignoring you, if the morning’s briefing had been any indication.
The Mess was at the opposite end of the building, which wouldn’t do if you needed to be in range of the Commander. The War Room would definitely have enough space, but it was also considerably farther from Fox’s office than you’d like to be. The fact that you still weren’t officially connected to their comm frequency (despite your requests) didn’t help matters either. And, considering Mas Amedda hadn’t given you anything other than an updated clearance badge and an official Coruscant Guard lapel pin, you didn’t really know what else you were supposed to do. There were no empty rooms or offices you could convert into your own.
You made the walk back to Fox’s office where you found yourself facing the same dilemma.
“It’s gonna be fine,” you muttered to yourself, tapping your fingers on the old fashioned ceramic mug (you made a mental note to be extra careful with the dish; you didn’t need Hound upset with you for busting it on your first day). The next best thing you could think of, as distasteful as the idea was, would be to tuck yourself into a corner on the floor. You’d be close enough to Fox’s office on the extremely off chance he would need anything, and it was the most centrally located room in the building. But you did want to check out the Flight Deck later, maybe poke around the hangar and see if you could run into a pilot or mechanic.
As you continued to mull it over, you grabbed the datapad from your bag with your free hand and brought up the schedule to make sure you hadn’t missed anything. Buzz, Locker, Grille, and Samson should be walking past you at any time. They were going to be leading the morning patrols. It was likely they had already checked over Thorn’s report from the debrief, which you’d seen him typing up out of the corner of your eye during the meeting.
As you stood in the hallway, off to the side to not be in the way, you raised an eyebrow as Fox’s door opened to reveal the troopers in question heading out on their patrol.
They nodded to you, but none of them really stopped to say anything.
Your eyes snapped back to Fox’s door, that was beginning to seal, and you bit your bottom lip.
You really wanted to get in there.
But Fox had made it abundantly clear that you weren’t welcome in his office. It was apparent he didn’t think you had any merit, which honestly raised your hackles.
So you’d just have to find a way to make yourself useful and stay out of his way at the same time.
“Might as well figure out where to get started.” you said with a sigh, shaking your head and adjusting your grip on your cup before carefully folding your legs and dropping to the floor with your bag and datapad in your lap.
It wasn’t the first time you’d had to work in an uncomfortable situation, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last.
You leaned against the wall, humming to yourself as you began sifting through all the files you now had access to. You blinked a couple times, eyeing the network with a small frown. You weren’t the best when it came to cybersecurity, but with as much time as you’d spent in the Senate Archives, you had learned your way around a few codes and back doors. The mess in front of you was just that…a mess. You knew there were a lot of files with a lot of sensitive information. Should an actual cyberterrorist decide to attack the network, there was no telling what kind of havoc they could wreak.
You decided to send a message to Leru, a friend you’d made that had former ties to the Techno Union and definitely knew his way around security.
Leru responded within moments, confirming his availability, and you shot back with the location of the Mess, asking him to meet you at 12:30.
You began sifting through the case files and notes, trying to make some sense of them. Your next, albeit self appointed, task was to create some sort of organization within the network, dividing the cases between open and closed, new and old, severity and scope. It looked like there had been an attempt at one point, but the system didn’t stick.
Everything was turned upside down as you tried to make sense of it. The deeper you dove into the files, the more complicated and confusing it became.
You lost count of the times you had to get up to refill your caf, knowing there would be no way you could continue working without it. By the time you were ready to pull your hair out, enough time had passed that it was getting close to the lunch hour. You sighed and scrubbed a hand down your face, shoving your glasses up on top of your head. You’d been staring at the screen so long you were staring to get a headache. You could probably use a break anyway.
You stretched, feeling your lower back pop with a crunch, and you sighed in relief as you dug your knuckles into your flesh, kneading it to work out the knots.
Sitting on the floor wasn’t as easy as it used to be.
You grabbed the few things you’d scattered around yourself and shoved them back into your bag before standing and letting the blood flow back into your legs before trying to make the trek to the common Mess. Stretching a little more, you decided to take your chances and knock on Fox’s door.
As expected, there was no answer.
“Commander?” you called, rapping on the door again.
Silence.
Sighing, you shook your head. “Look, I don’t know if you have your own hidden kitchen in there or what, but it’s getting close to lunch time. I can bring you something, if you need?”
Not even a whisper of an answer.
“Geez,” you muttered. “I’ll go ahead and assume you don’t want any caf…last chance to change your mind, Commander.”
If you didn’t know better, you’d say you were talking to yourself.
“Fine, suit yourself.” you said, shoving your hands in your pockets. “But if they happen to have Colo Claw Fish tails, don’t complain to me that you didn’t get any. I offered to bring you some.”
Without saying anything else, you turned and walked away, leaving the unanswering and cold door behind. There was a heavy feeling in your chest, something you couldn’t quite place. It irked you to no end that despite your skills, you were dismissed so easily.
Trying to push it to the back of your mind, you began heading towards the entrance of the JCDC to scan in Leru. It was a decent trek that took you about twenty minutes. You silently thanked the Force that you had been used to walking the length of the Senate building on the daily, otherwise you were pretty sure your calves would be burning right about now.
While you were waiting for Leru at the check in desk, you caught the eye of the trooper manning it. He gave you a bit of a side eye, making you frown. “Can I help you?” you asked.
He tilted his head toward you. “You’re Fox’s new Shiny, aren’t you?” he asked.
You forced a smile. “I’m something, alright.” you agreed. “But I don’t think shiny is one of them.”
He snorted. “Thorn said we’d be seeing you around. How your first morning with the boss go?”
You shrugged. “Haven’t seen him. Haven’t heard from him. If I wasn’t part of the debrief this morning, I would wonder if he even existed.”
He surprised you with a chuckle. “I like you. I’m Thire, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Lieutenant.” you said, giving him a clipped nod. That checked another off the list of officers you would need to meet.
He raised an eyebrow, eyeing you for a moment. “And you are?”
You introduced yourself, accepting the proffered hand to shake. “We’ll see if Fox tolerates me long enough for me to get this place in a bit of order.”
He snorted. “Fox is…particular.”
“So I’m gathering.” you replied with a sigh. “Has he always been like that?”
Thire hummed. “Not always. When he first took command, he was a lot more laid back. He’d even go to 79’s with the guys.”
You raised your eyebrows. From what little that you knew of the man, that didn’t sound like something he would enjoy. He seemed to be the type to like his peace and quiet. 79’s was infamous for being the exact opposite. “What changed?”
He shrugged. “The Chancellor started putting more pressure on him to be perfect. He got a lot more tense, more stressed, more overloaded. We tried to help him as best we could, but he was convinced there were some things only he could do.”
You frowned, beginning to worry your bottom lip. You’d had personal experience with the Chancellor, and that definitely sounded like something he would do. You knew when dealing with him, it was best to keep your head down and do as you were told. You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly, but there was something about that man that made your skin crawl. But, you’d managed to keep yourself in his good graces so far, and you planned to keep it that way. If he saw fit to bring you in to assist Fox and the Guard, there was a dangerous line you were going to be walking. And you had to make sure that Fox didn’t accidentally fall off the edge.
“They pulled you from the Senate Building, didn’t they?” Thire asked after a moment, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Hm? Oh, yeah. I did a lot of liaison work there. And I’ve got a decent background in…crisis management.”
He snorted. “I’d imagine so, if they’ve got you working beside Fox. The man is a walking crisis.”
You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. You’d seen it yourself.
“You waiting on someone?” Thire asked.
“Yeah. A friend of mine. He’s coming to do a consult on the security for the network.”
“That bad?”
“Could be better.” you responded honestly. “I’m pretty sure one of Thorn’s passwords is TookasAreSuperior1010…so. Yeah.”
The Lieutenant rolled his eyes. “You’re probably right.” he replied. “Try not to be too hard on them, though.”
You frowned. “What do you mean?”
He sighed and shook his head. “They’re doing their best. As you’ve probably noticed, we don’t have the same resources that the GAR does.”
Your frown only deepened. You knew that. But that didn’t mean you respected them any less. In fact, you probably respected them even more for the work they were doing. “Not everyone who fights the war gets to go off in fancy star cruisers, Lieutenant.” you said carefully. “I know the Guard isn’t taken as seriously as they should be. I’d…like to change that.”
He gave you a curious look. “You might not be so bad, civ.”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s better than Shiny, I guess.”
His face broke into a wide smile. “They’re giving you the shiny shit?”
A huff of annoyance left you. “Thorn told me that if I wasn’t on the schedule, I wouldn’t get to see the Commander. He showed me the debrief list…and there it was. ‘Shiny’. And he refused to use my name during the meeting, even though I know he’s aware of it. I’ve sent him plenty of mails over the weekend, and I know for a fact that Amedda did too. I swear, the kriffing nerve…” your voice trailed off into a mumble as you mentally began to curse Fox. It was becoming more and more apparent that you were going to have your hands full with him. And he hadn’t even said more than a few words to you.
Thire smirked before turning back to the line of people that began to form. He scanned their ID tags and let them in, noting all of them in a log. You spotted Leru about five people back. He was a tall Zabrak, his pale yellow skin a stark contrast against the black suit he wore. You raised a hand in greeting and he tilted his head in acknowledgement. As he approached the desk, you stepped up beside Thire, handing him your access card. “Leru is with me,” you said.
Thire hummed and snagged your card, running it though the scanner and taking Leru’s from him. “Purpose for your visit?” he asked the Zabrak.
“Security consult.” Leru responded, blinking slowly at Thire. “And to have lunch with an old friend.”
Thire glanced over at you, handing you a holopad to sign. “You know where you’re going?” he asked.
You rolled your eyes. “I might be new but I’m not helpless.” you teased. You signed the form and handed the pad back to Thire with a small smile. “General Mess is back towards the flight deck.”
He nodded his approval and grabbed the visitor’s pass that was being printed, sliding it over the counter to Leru. “Try not to get lost, Shiny.”
You groaned. “Not you too.”
He chuckled and gave you a two fingered salute and waved you off. Rolling your eyes you waved a goodbye and turned to head in the direction of the Mess.
“Well, well, well,” Leru said, holding a crooked arm out to you. He raised an eyebrow marking at you with a crooked smile. “Moving up in the world, aren’t you?”
The rest of the day passed quickly. Leru had been horrified to see the condition of the network and had readily offered his services as a cyber consultant. Considering that you were already in way over your head, you accepted. You weren’t sure what type of a budget, if any at all, you were working with, so for the time being, you were going to grit your teeth and dig into your savings. It was one of the first things on your list to bring up in the debrief with the Commander in the morning.
After lunch, you’d escorted Leru back to the entrance, made sure to drop off a caf for Thire and ask if he needed anything (a raise and an assignment change). Then your mind raced about a thousand miles an hour as you made your way back to your spot outside of Fox’s office.
And that was where you spent the rest of the day. You worked continuously on sorting through the case files, determined to bring some semblance of order and organization to the net.
While you were working through, there was one case file that kept building.
The Scrap and Scarab.
Three of the arrest warrants that Commander Beck had posted had been filled, and you looked at each of the mugshots. All of them in their early to mid teens, from the lower levels, orphans, and just trying to scrape by. The two other warrants were still open, and you pulled up the files, curiosity getting the better of you.
Ceot Ber and Zilcar Saun.
Saun.
You knew that name.
Frowning, you tapped on his mugshot. There was very little information in the file to follow, and you didn’t recognize the fifteen year old in the picture. He had chocolate skin smattered with freckles, and black dreadlocks with one side of his head shaved. The brass nose ring stood out, as did the piercings in his left eyebrow. He had blue eyes that screamed rebellion, and his lip had been curled up in distaste.
He’d been arrested several times for lesser offenses, but now he was wanted for assault and battery, theft, vandalism, and a slew of other charges.
But what caught your attention was the tattoo covering his throat.
A thin point of an elongated diamond started at the hollow of his throat and widened to a larger spike underneath his chin. Two shorter diamonds were on either side of the one in the middle. The first wrapped up the side of his neck and the second splayed across his collar bone.
It wasn’t the first time you’d seen that tattoo.
And if Fox was trying to make connections to a rising crime family, he wasn’t going to have to look much farther.
You quickly tapped out a mail and sent it off, not knowing if he was actually going to pay any mind to it or not…but it was worth a shot. You attached Zilcar’s file, a close up of his tattoo, a mention of the fact you’d seen it associated with several other warrants and arrests, and links to other cases connected to the Scrap and Scarab.
By the time you were finished, your hands were shaking. You had to take a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart.
You’d spent your early childhood in that garage.
Second to you, it had been your father’s pride and joy.
And it had gotten him killed.
Digging into the case had always been something you tried to get the CSF to do, and eventually the Guard, but it never seemed high on their priority list. And you’d never been in a position to push for it.
But now?
It was right there.
You were supposed to be working with the Commander of the Guard. You had clearance to access all of their case files and to their entire network. There was an active investigation related to your father’s death and the takeover of his business. All you had to do was push a few things in the right directions and all the pieces of the puzzle would fall together.
But…would it really be that easy?
You’d worked your ass off to get out of the Under City, to be able to send credits to your mother and sister, to try and provide for them the way your father had.
If you made the wrong move, if you said the wrong thing, if you dropped the wrong hint, that would all go away.
Everything you’d worked for, everything you’d built, gone in the blink of an eye.
You’d be accused of any number of crimes, arrested, and then where would you be? No closer to answers than you were on that first night.
With a sigh, you scrubbed a hand down your face and let out a quiet laugh. “Not here to play detective,” you reminded yourself. Knowing that you had at least pointed Fox in the direction you wanted him to go sniffing around, you shook your head and closed all the tabs related to the Scarab. Your hands shook as you did, and you had to set your datapad aside for a few moments to recollect yourself before setting about the organization task once again.
~*~*~*~
It was long past the shift change for the overnight crew. You hadn’t heard Fox’s door open once since the morning meeting, despite your attempts to coerce and bribe him into allowing you inside so you could deliver him a meal. He’d ignored all your messages…which honestly wasn’t all that surprising.
You’d lost track of everything you’d done for the day and the amount of caf you’d consumed. It had quit working somewhere in the late evening after you managed to scrounge up a snack of a ration bar and some Jogan fruit.
While you were waiting for the Commander to come out of his office, you had moved from your spot hidden in the corner to sitting just outside the door. The corridors were much less lively considering the late hour, and you didn’t think you would be in anyone’s way.
What you didn’t count on was being there so late that you fell asleep leaning against the doorframe.
So when the door finally hissed open, revealing the Commander, you’re startled awake with a jolt and a small yelp.
Fox jumps, surprised by your presence. You mirror the action, jolting away from the doorframe with a small squeak. You quickly reached up to fix your glasses, which had gone more than a little askew on your face before scrubbing your hand over your cheek. “Commander,” you said, scrambling to rise to your feet. “I’m sorry, I meant to have all this picked up-“
He held up a hand, stalling your apology mid sentence. “Shiny, what the hell are you still doing here?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. His voice was gravelly, even more so because of the vocoder in his helmet, and you had to clear your throat before speaking again.
“You, uh, never left…” you explained, gesturing weakly to his office. “It’s my job to be here when you are…so…here I am…heh.”
He looked at you for a long moment, and you could feel his eyes piercing your soul through the black emptiness of his visor. Finally, he sighed. “Go home. Get some rest.”
Tags: @jetii @milkshaketheboybringer @area-fiftyone @motherofoompaloompas (saw a post you said to tag you in any OCD Fox stories)
Sometimes I randomly remember that we’re getting a Bad Batch novel and that the summary is in Hunter’s POV and I literally start vibrating with excitement
stormborns
titsay
vaporwave
