oooo, because its an idea thats been nibbling away at my brain, Fox and the slow dawning realization he's missing time?
au where fox or other commander of the coruscant guard end badly injured and are brough to the temple to heal for any reason by mace? obi-wan? agen? idk and then they start to realize that there's something not quite right, but also hurt/confort
“Hey, vod, how’d your mission go?” Thorn asks, leaning around Fox to steal the last sugar packet from the caf station.
Fox bats his hand away, just managing to save the last of the cream for himself. “What mission?” he demands, and stops short when Thorn empties the sugar into Fox’s cup.
Thorn gives him a smirk, snagging the creamer out of Fox’s lax fingers and adding it as well. Adding more than Fox usually takes, but—exactly how much he actually likes. “The one you were on yesterday. I asked the Chancellor about giving you my report and he said you were taking care of something in the Works.”
Fox frowns. “I didn’t take a mission yesterday,” he says, but when Thorn presses the cup into his hands, he takes it, giving him a sideways look. “The Chancellor must have been mistaken.”
Thorn tips one shoulder in a shrug, taking another cup for himself. Black, the way he always drinks it. Fox should have remembered that, but—his head’s been feeling a little fuzzy all day. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, droll, and Fox snorts, but—
He’s distracted, trying to remember what he did yesterday. Paperwork, probably. That’s what he usually is doing when he can't remember anything else.
“I finished up some forms on the Bindai incident,” he says, more to himself than Thorn. “That’s all.”
“Must have been a mistake, then.” Thorn taps the back of his hand, raising a brow pointedly, and Fox rolls his eyes and takes a sip.
He doesn’t normally drink it with sugar. It’s such a little thing, but he’d forgotten how good it was.
From Thorn’s smile, he can tell what Fox is thinking, but he doesn’t say anything. Just nudges Fox’s shoulder, then takes his caf and disappears from the room. Fox watches him go, then sighs, rubbing his eyes as he turns back towards his office. His eyes are burning, he’s so tired, but—it’s going to be a long day.
He finds the paperwork on the Bindai District incident still on his pad, incomplete and unfiled. He must have forgotten to save it when he finished, that’s all.
“Commander?” Jek asks, and Fox startles, not-quite-drowsing breaking into sudden and almost painful alertness. He twists around, coming to his feet, and then stops short at the way Jek is looking at him.
“Jek,” Fox manages after a moment. His mouth feels dry, and his throat hurts like he’s been inhaling glass. “What is it?”
Jek watches him warily, but holds up a datapad. “Thire said you needed the files on that senatorial aide’s murder before your meeting this afternoon.”
Fox blinks, but reaches out to take the pad. The aide was killed in a drug den deep in the undercity, but it’s still something the Guard needs to look into. “That meeting isn't until Zhellday,” he says, frowning. “It’s only Centaxday.”
There's a pause, careful. “Sir, it is Zhellday,” Jek says after a moment. “The meeting’s in three hours.”
Fox opens his mouth to deny it, even as his eyes fall on the clock on his holo-display. The date is clear there, undeniable, and Fox freezes.
He was absolutely sure it was Centaxday. Yesterday was his meeting with the Chancellor, the usual meeting for the start of the week to set his schedule. Fox remembers that meeting being yesterday, but—
It’s a false memory, that’s all. Time must have gotten away from him.
“Right,” he says, and it rasps painfully in his throat. “My mistake.”
Jek is still watching him, still frowning. “Are you all right, sir? It sounds like you were breathing in spice dust.”
It’s an attempt at a joke, but it falls flat when Fox doesn’t respond. He can't, though. It does sound like that.
The aide was killed in a spice dust den, he thinks, but—he never visited the crime scene himself. It must just be a cold that’s starting. Genetic engineering can't do everything, and it still can't defeat the common cold.
That’s all it is, Fox tells himself, and closes his eyes to avoid Jek’s worried look. That’s all. That’s all.
He comes to in CoCo Town with his last memory of the hallways outside the Chancellor’s office, and his head aches like an open wound.
Fox stares blankly at the windows of the diner in front of him, and he feels torn open, confused and laid bare. He’s in his armor, with a vibrosword across his back and a blaster still warm against his hip, but he doesn’t know why.
Last week he ended up in the basement of the Senate building, and there was blood on his boots.
(The week before that he thinks he did something because there was a mark like fingernails dug into his helmet, long hair caught in the joints of his gauntlets, but he can't remember. There's only the Senate hallways and then an entirely different scene.)
Sleepwalking, Fox tells himself, desperate to believe it as he closes his eyes, pressing his knuckles to his helmet. He was sleepwalking, even if the Guard’s medic says that’s not how sleepwalking works at all. But what else could it be? Fox isn't a malfunctioning clone. He wouldn’t have made it to the position he has, if he were faulty. Thorn would have noticed, or Thire, or Stone—
Except they’ve all been busy, been away. Fox keeps missing time, and there's no one to help him find it.
Fox stumbles forward a step, another. Every breath feels like a knife in his chest, a monumental effort, and he closes his eyes as his boot hits the curb, stumbles and sits down hard. It’s impossible to get enough air, and he reaches up, hauls his helmet off.
He’s bleeding. There's a slice from a vibroblade that cut right through his chestpiece, and it burns.
“Kriff,” Fox mutters, and puts his head down, resting his elbows on his knees and digging his fingers into his hair. He doesn’t know how he got here. He doesn’t know why his head hurts. It’s like the last time he opened his eyes he was in the Senate, and now he’s here, with no in-between. “Kriff.”
“Hey now,” a deep voice says, and a hand closes over Fox’s shoulder. “This isn't the place for you to be sitting. Not when there’s a nice soft seat behind you.”
Slowly, Fox lifts his head. There's a Besalisk leaning over him, in a stained white shirt and a worn apron, his expression attentive with concern. Slowly, feeling like he’s moving through syrup, Fox looks from the Besalisk to the diner behind him, and swallows.
“I don’t—” he starts, and then has to stop and close his eyes. Breathes in, and then says more steadily, “I don’t have any credits.”
The Besalisk just chuckles. “That’s not a worry,” he says, and thumps Fox’s shoulder lightly. “Why don’t you come on in? let me call someone for you, hm?”
Fox’s throat is too tight. “There's no one to call,” he says, harsh. None of his men can know. If they lose faith, if they start to doubt, they’ll be at risk of—
Of something. Fox just can't remember what.
For a moment, the Besalisk just watches him. Then, lightly, he hooks a hand under Fox’s elbow and pulls him to his feet. “I know who to call, then,” he says confidently. “A good friend, that’s what you need. And I know the best friend any sentient could have. And luck you, he’s enjoying my cooking right now.”
Fox is too tired to protest as the Besalisk gently steers him into the diner, murmuring something to the droid waitress as he passes. There are only a handful of people, and Fox closes his eyes at the quiet after the cacophony of the city outside, and remembers belatedly that his helmet is still sitting out there, abandoned on the ground.
“Dex,” a voice with a Coruscanti accent says, warm and bright. “I was wondering when you’d finally join me—oh.”
Dex chuckles. “Got a little something for you, Obi-Wan,” he says, and Fox’s eyes fly open despite himself as he stiffens. Dex doesn’t even hesitate, though; he dumps Fox into the booth, right across from a Jedi High General, who looks mildly startled.
“Commander Fox,” General Kenobi says, and there's already concern slanting into his voice. “What are you doing in CoCo Town?”
Fox stares at him for a long moment, still hardly able to breathe. But—he’s a general. He’s a Jedi.
If Obi-Wan Kenobi can't help him, no one can.
Slumping forward over the table, Fox buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says, and the words crack in his mouth. “I woke up here. I don’t know.”
He can hear General Kenobi's indrawn breath, and a moment later a hand touches the side of his face, light, lingering. “Fox,” General Kenobi says with concern. “Fox, please.”
Fox swallows, and it takes an effort, but he opens his eyes and looks at General Kenobi, and—
His next breath comes just a little easier when General Kenobi curls a hand around his cheek, impossibly gentle.
“It will be all right,” General Kenobi says. “We’ll figure this out, Fox. Why don’t you come back to the Temple with me, and I’ll take you to the Halls of Healing? The Healers will know what to do.”
Fox will never admit that he leans into the touch of General Kenobi's hand, the brush of his thumb. “Thank you, General,” he says, hoarse, and General Kenobi smiles at him.
“Of course, Fox,” he says. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you.”
Fox closes his eyes again, and almost lets himself believe it.
