#Fox/Thorn fanfic

[stealthetrees]

Unhinged Fox is here

Summery:

Commander Fox is not happy about many things. Or people. He is determined to do something about it, and doesn’t understand why his troops keep saying things like “that’s illegal” and “stealing is bad” and “you can’t murder someone just to frame your political rival” when he is just trying his best to help them.

Come get y’all’s juice

@mindless-bibliophile @ariathepurebullet @parad0xd @hastalavistabyebye @kyotoagnes @knifecatanthology @continous-mistakes @falling-among-the-stars @tazmbc1 @mirigold-mayflowers

I just tagged y’all that commented enthusiastically on the other post about this fic.

[weyrwolfen]

Caveat Emptor: Chapter 1 - Mens Rea

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Commanders Fox, Thorn, Thire, and Stone

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, loss of autonomy

I will be posting future chapters here on Tumblr and here on Ao3

“… require to complete your mission?”

Fox’s right hand hovered over his left vambrace. A light was flashing on the right side of his armor’s control panel, signaling the completion of some task. He’d been typing something…

Little gods, his head hurt.

“CC-1010, what do you require to complete your mission?” the same voice, a very familiar voice, repeated.

“Thorn?” Fox asked, looking up. His vision was blurred, but not so severely that he couldn’t make out Thorn, Stone, and Scav lined up on the other side of his desk, all three fully armored and standing at precise parade rest.

Thorn’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly, and he asked, “You back with us, Fox?”

Fox would have liked to answer, but his head was pounding viciously in time with his pulse. His stomach heaved, and he tore at his helmet, pulling it off with shaking hands.

Someone shoved a wastebin on the desk in front of him, just in time to catch the mess as his stomach violently emptied itself.

Thorn cursed a steady stream of invectives in at least three languages. Someone pried Fox’s helmet out of his grip, and a gloved hand landed on the back of his neck, heavy and grounding. He had no idea who it was, and he wasn’t exactly in a position to look up and check at the moment.

Ration bars and nutrient slurry had about the same texture going down as they did coming back up, but the accompanying stomach acids bit at the back of his throat and burned inside his sinuses where some of the vomit had taken a decidedly unwelcome alternate escape route. All of that would have been unpleasant enough, but Fox was much more concerned with the way every move, every twitch, sent burning agony searing behind his eyes.

Something metallic pressed against the side of his neck. There was a quiet beep, a soft hiss, and then a wave of tingling cold.

The pain receded, dragged down by a now-familiar cocktail of powerful painkillers, anti-nausea medications, and stims to try to counter the mental fog and artificial exhaustion caused by the other two. Fox locked his knees, hands braced on his desk to either side of the wastebin to stop them from trembling too obviously.

He karking hated his men seeing him like this.

Scratch that, he just karking hated this. Full stop.

Fox spat in the bin, trying to clear some of the taste from his mouth. “How long?” he asked, throat raw and voice correspondingly hoarse.

“Four hours,” Thorn answered somewhere off to Fox’s left. “We think.”

Four hours. Not so long, all things considered.

Four hours during which his highly-trained, highly-competent body was up and wandering around Coruscant, doing kark even knew what, utterly outside of his conscious control.

Fox forced himself to keep breathing slowly and evenly, clamping down on the sick horror that was creeping down his spine. He really ought to be used to this by now. It certainly happened to him enough.

“Here,” Scav said, voice no longer filtered through his helmet’s vocoder. The hand on Fox’s nape vanished, and an open canteen appeared in his slowly clearing field of vision.

He accepted it, took a small sip to rinse out his mouth, and spat again. A drop of blood landed in the bin, bright red against the rest of the yellowish mess and empty stim wrappers.

“I’m bleeding,” he admitted flatly. They’d been tracking his symptoms for a while now, trying to figure out what the kriff was going on. The headaches and nausea were getting consistently worse. The blood was new though.

“Let me see,” Scav said. It wasn’t a request.

Fox straightened, stance unnaturally stiff to counter his lingering unsteadiness, and gestured vaguely towards his face. Scav just pressed his lips together in a thin, unhappy line before fishing a few squares of sterile pads out of his medkit.

“Here,” he said, handing Fox the pads. “Pinch your nostrils closed with that and tip your head forward. Not backward. You’ve already puked once today.”

The look Fox leveled at Scav was scathing.

The medic just stared back at him, thoroughly unintimidated and unimpressed.

Maybe Fox was slipping. Maybe the shakiness and wastebin of puke on his desk was detracting from his usual ability to intimidate his troopers. Or maybe the Kaminoans electroshocked any kind of reasonable fear response out of medic-track clones. Who even knew at this point?

Fox pinched his nostrils closed and tipped his head forward, glowering out from underneath his lowered brows.

Scav ignored him and instead turned his attention to pulling the liner out of Fox’s wastebin and tying it off. Thank kriff for that.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Thorn asked, hands gripping the back of the chair on the opposite side of Fox’s desk.

Did they really need to do this standing? Stims or not, Fox’s head was swimming.

Kark it, he was still the commanding officer here. He was going to sit down before he fell down.

“I left Disc in charge of security for Senator Leshro’s press conference to respond to a report of outages affecting the cameras in Thesh 16,” Fox said, lowering himself into his chair. The worn, battered thing was more comfortable than it had any right to be. “I spoke to Odal, something about rodents chewing on the wiring. Someone commed me…”

Whatever these lapses really were, they always started with a comm. That had been the first thing they’d recognized. To date, it was just about the only pattern they’d been able to pin down related to these incidents.

It was difficult even thinking about it. Fox’s mind tried to gloss over the gap, slither away from even considering it. As best as they could tell, these blackouts started as soon as Fox arrived on Coruscant, but it had taken months for him to even recognize that something was happening. They’d been infrequent at first, sporadic, but they were picking up in frequency and duration as time went on.

He should have reported the lapses to the Chancellor as soon as he had realized what was happening, but something always stopped him. The same self-preservation instinct they’d all learned back on Kamino, where hiding weaknesses of any kind was necessary to their survival. Sheev Palpatine smiled at all the right times and said all of the right words, but every time Fox was in the man’s presence, he left in a cold sweat. It was irrational; Fox couldn’t identify a single piece of solid evidence to explain his body’s involuntary reactions. But there were only two things he trusted without thought or question: his instincts and his brothers. Everything else had to earn it.

Especially natborn politicians with gentle smiles and cold, sharp eyes.

And so Fox had instead informed a select number of his brothers.

As it turned out, he wasn’t the only one experiencing missing time and unexplainable inconsistencies in his reports. His lapses had just been happening more frequently than the others’.

The fact that he was not the only one had sunk Fox’s initial idea for how to fix the situation. A single death among the Guard’s commanders could be made to look like an accident. But all four of them would be nearly impossible to conceal. And even then, it wouldn’t guarantee that the underlying threat had been removed. If they were all already compromised, then there was no telling how extensive the problem was.

And if anyone outside of the Guard learned about their situation, chances were good they’d all be decommissioned en masse. His own death Fox could accept. But not the deaths of all the brothers under his command.

So they investigated. They’d had no other choice. None of them had been trained for it, but on Coruscant, they’d had to learn. As more and more duties were piled on their heads, they’d had to learn fast.

But finding any actionable leads proved to be difficult.

As the most frequently affected, tracking Fox’s actual movements seemed like a critical first step. However, it rapidly became apparent that one of the first things he – or rather CC-1010 – did when he received those comms was to deactivate his armor’s recording devices. The three times they’d tried hiding a tracking chip or recording device inside Fox’s armor, CC-1010 had removed them, too.

Fox was fairly certain that the others had figured out another way to keep track of his movements. They never said anything concrete, and he made sure to not ask.

Now, if he could just remember something. Anything.

Four kriffing hours. There was no telling what he might have done.

Scav was talking again, words buzzing against the edges of Fox’s wandering attention. He needed to focus, but the meds were making it difficult.

The meds. Sure. Not like a command-track clone would be weak enough to disassociate in the comfort and security of his own office.

Medical scans. Scav wanted permission to perform a medical scan, to check Fox for additional injuries.

Fox nodded.

It took a few minutes for Scav to run his tests and interpret the results. Minutes Fox didn’t want to admit he needed to re-engage with his surroundings.

The others just stood guard, Thorn at Fox’s side and Stone blocking the door.

Fox was mildly dehydrated and his blood chemistry was beyond irregular. The scanner flagged Fox’s brainwaves as ‘anomalous,’ whatever that meant. He had a variety of minor cuts and contusions scattered across his body, but who on base didn’t? There was nothing concrete in those scans, nothing actionable. Scav still wanted Fox to report to the medbay for observation after the other two commanders were done with him.

There was no point in arguing. At least no one tried to object when Fox gathered up a stack of datapads on the way out of the room. The work of running the Guard didn’t disappear just because Fox’s body took the occasional ‘involuntary side-mission.’

Fox was just steady enough on his feet to march down to the room they converted for their off-the-books investigation, buckets back on as an unspoken message to any passing Guard that they were not to be bothered.

When they arrived, Fox put his own codes into the security panel and pushed his way inside. Anyone searching for blueprints of the building would only see a small broom closet surrounded by storage rooms too full of shelves and crates to make it obvious that their dimensions didn’t quite match the ones recorded in the official floorplans. And if any trespassing natborn did get a little too nosy for their own good, the door panel would return a rather benign-looking error message and send out a security ping in response to anything other than a Guard commander’s personal codes.

The Guard’s slicers did good work, and all of them knew when to refrain from noticing things around base.

Fox had never meant for things to go this far, involving more and more of their men in this deception, but they were all in too deep to course correct now.

There was a medical cot situated in one corner of the space. Fox made his way towards it, placing the datapads on a nearby table before turning to face his brothers, hands out and palms up. Waiting.

Thorn and Stone worked over Fox’s body like it was an active crime scene.

Maybe that was what it was. Maybe that was exactly what Fox was.

They dusted his plate for fingerprints and swabbed his gauntlets for chemical residues. They misted him from bucket to boots with luminol and sampled anything that fluoresced. They imaged and tweezed, bagged and tested. All according to cobbled together CSF protocol, all completely off the books. The terminals they were using weren’t networked with the rest of the base. The equipment had been reported as damaged and disposed of in the Guard’s official inventories or ‘borrowed’ from CSF surplus.

Data started to roll in, providing disturbing hints, but no solid answers.

His blasters’ charge packs were at 87% and 92%. They should have been full.

There was blood on his gauntlets, just a single drop nearly lost against the red paint, and even less than that on his right pauldron. The sample on his hands tested as clone-standard. It was most likely his own, probably from his nosebleed earlier. The sample from his pauldron was human but lacked the genetic markers of a Fett clone. To get any more detailed identification, they’d need to run the sample through the CSF’s database, and that would require some creativity and the help of one of their slicers.

In addition to the blood, Fox had traces of chemical accelerants on his hands and greasy soot on his kama, something organic and too degraded from the heat to properly identify.

They brushed all sorts of fine particulates out of the treads of his boots, fibers and foodstuffs and flecks of plascrete. Some of it was identifiable – the red filaments were consistent with the carpeting in several of the hallways in the Senate dome, the keratinous ovals were shed massif scales, the brown grains were crystals of instant caf powder – and some of it was not. Fox doubted any of it would be useful, but Thorn and Stone bagged and tagged it all anyway, storing it away for later reference, just in case.

Then his armor came off and they started the same process on his blacks.

More blood, more chemical residues. Two silver hairs, human or near-human in origin.

Then on his skin.

The entire process was invasive as all kriff, but no more so than their medical screenings had been back on Kamino. At least here, he had datapads of busywork to distract himself from the poking and prodding, swabbing and sticking.

At least he was safe among brothers he trusted.

“Huh,” Stone said thoughtfully. “Thorn, come here.”

Fox looked up from the requisition forms he’d been signing and found his brother hovering in front of him holding a small UV stick next to Fox’s cheek.

Thorn, who’d been entering something into the terminal, immediately dropped what he was doing and walked over to the exam table.

“What does that look like to you?” Stone asked, passing the stick from left to right in front of Fox’s face.

Fox’s eyes tracked the light for a moment, and then took a moment to assess Stone’s scrupulously neutral expression and Thorn’s badly concealed fury.

“Don’t touch it,” Thorn finally said, turning on his heel and going back to the desk.

Fox caught Stone’s eye. “Tell me,” he said, tone just shy of a direct order.

“There’s an oval-shaped bruise here,” Stone said, fingers hovering near Fox’s left cheek without actually touching. “And four more here,” he continued, shifting to Fox’s right cheek and down towards the underside of his jaw. “They’re too faint to see under regular light just yet, but the spacing suggests–”

“A handprint,” Fox interrupted. Someone had grabbed him by the face, palm over his mouth, and squeezed hard enough to bruise. Why? He took a deep breath, ruthlessly stamping out the instinctive need to raise a hand to his cheek to press down on the bruising so he could feel it. He could imagine several dozen different scenarios for how he might have gotten those bruises, each worse than the last. “Any idea whose?”

“Standard human to near-human digit number and configuration, no evidence of claws or other anatomical markers,” Stone reported, keeping the report strictly professional. “We’ll need measurements to be sure, but I’d guess a hand on the larger end of medium human-standard. And there is some kind of residue coating each fingerprint.”

Thorn was back with a recording device in hand. “I need images before we try pulling samples,” he explained unnecessarily. Fox knew perfectly well how this all went.

White light images, then UV. Adhesive peels, then chemical swabs. The chances they could pull a usable print off his Fox’s skin were next to nonexistent, but measurements of the bruising and chemical analyses of the residues might prove useful.

What were the chances?

Thorn and Stone took blood sample, saliva samples, sweat swabs, kriffing urine, but they finally let Fox get into a set of clean blacks and his thoroughly decontaminated plate. Thorn stayed behind to keep running analyses while Stone delivered Fox to the medbay along with the first round of test results.

It took very little bullying from Scav to convince Fox to take a real water shower in the medbay’s ‘fresher. Fox felt unclean, in every possible interpretation of the word.

His usual room was ready and waiting for him, thin scratchy sheets turned down like a sad attempt at kriffing five-star penthouse hospitality.

Scav made an appearance right about the same time Fox had started approving the updates to the Guard’s patrol schedules. The medic ran an IV and hung what he swore was just a saline drip above Fox’s cot.

It wasn’t only saline. The sedatives kicked in when Fox was only half-way through his stack of prisoner-transfer requests.

Medics were meddling shabuire. All of them.

“Fox, wake up.”

The voice sounded distant and muffled, like Fox was hearing it through water. He was usually a light sleeper, but the vague, dark dream he was having seemed resistant to letting him go completely.

“Kriff, how much did Scav give him?”

“Enough to keep him under for a full eight hours.”

“So, enough to kill a mid-sized bantha. What can you give him to get him back on his feet?”

That sounded like Thire. Maybe. But Thire didn’t have red-shot, yellow eyes.

“That’s really not a good idea. His bloodwork is still a trash fire.”

“We don’t have a choice, it’s the Jedi calling.”

“Kriff. Right. Hold on.”

Fox drifted, not really awake and not really asleep, something like dread tugging at the edges of his consciousness. Finally something prickled along his senses, tipping the scales towards wakefulness.

The dull, throbbing ache behind his eyes reasserted itself. It was nothing in comparison to before, of course, but deeply unpleasant all the same. The sound he made was half protest, half dire threat.

“Rise and shine,” a familiar voice said, full of easy sarcasm and false cheer. Thire.

“Get karked,” Fox said, but his voice sounded rough and still half-drugged. He cracked his eyes open and glared at Thire.

That earned a brief snort of amusement. “There’s my cheerful commander.”

“I can and will kill you.”

“Hold that thought,” Thire said, craning around to look at something off to Fox’s right. “I need the room.”

Fox turned his head to the side and caught sight of Clave, Scav’s second, backing out of the door and shutting it behind him with an audible click.

It took some doing, but Fox managed to shove himself up into a sitting position without tangling himself in his IV line. “I take it there’s a situation,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

The false front of teasing fell away, leaving Thire’s expression suddenly grim. “The Jedi council has requested your presence in the Chancellor’s office at your earliest convenience.”

‘At your earliest convenience’ was quite the loaded phrase. Fox could only assume that it meant, ‘Drop what you’re working on and go now.’

“Why the Chancellor’s office?” he asked, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. His blacks were still in reasonable shape, folded on the shelf next to his neatly stacked armor, which Thorn had scrubbed down to the molecular level yesterday. Fox could be presentable and on his way in a few minutes, just as soon as the lingering sedatives lost their fight with the new influx of stimulants in his bloodstream.

It was a kriffing wonder of Kaminoan engineering that his liver hadn’t given out months ago.

And Thire still hadn’t answered Fox’s question.

He looked up and found Thire watching him, expression gone impossibly darker. Fox was about to snap at his subordinate commander when Thire finally answered.

“The Chancellor is missing.”

The words sent Fox’s stomach into freefall, but Thire wasn’t done speaking.

“It looks like you might have been the last person who saw him yesterday.”

That didn’t make any sense, unless…

“I didn’t have a meeting with the Chancellor yesterday,” Fox said, voicing the obvious protest even though he already knew what Thire was going to say. He balled his hands into fists on top of his scratchy sheets.

Something in Thire’s eyes looked anguished, but his voice was as even and steely as before when he said, “Yes, you did.”

AN: This is something of a sequel to Clocking Time, not that you need to have read it to understand this one. Just call it the logical next step when you're in the jaws of a rabid plot bunny.

[rooksunday]

we met honk! here: username: honk!

widget is a an oc baby corrie who enjoys spreadsheets.

“I don’t recognise this trooper designation, sir, but I think their shift logs must be incorrect. They’re logging more hours than Commander Fox. Could you take a look at the figures before I send them to Central for sign off?”

Thorn set his stylus down and gestured for Widget’s datapad. “Someone probably messed with the formulae again, let me have a look.”

“Yes, sir.”

To Widget’s confusion, Thorn didn’t make any adjustments to the open document, only huffed a short breath and handed the datapad back after scanning it briefly. How could anyone be working longer shifts than Commander Fox without Widget hearing CMO Shiv complaining about it?

“The calculations are correct. Those hours are for our latest hire,” Thorn explained, without explaining anything at all.

“We can hire staff now, sir?” Widget tried to keep the surprise from his voice. Surely scuttlebutt would have reached him about something like that. By the amused tilt of Thorn’s bucket, he figured he’d failed. “Can I ask who this is? In case of questions. It’s a lot of hours.”

Thorn picked up his stylus and twirled it lazily around his fingers—Widget had lost so many styluses trying to emulate that—before making a mark on his ‘pad. He spoke as he flicked between documents.

“MD-8151411, who you may know as Honk!, is our inaugural hire for the Command Security Team.” Thorn paused in his work and glanced up. His tone, already dry, turned parched. “Honk! submitted its application, reviewed its credentials, and confirmed its appointment with scrupulous diligence. I think it checked how jobs work on the holonet, and decided that involving anyone but the candidate in the process would be… inefficient.”

Widget let out a giggle before he could stop himself. He knew the mouse droid had personality—all droids did, but Honk! seemed to be part-buir, part-nexu—but he hadn’t realised it had decided to join the Coruscant Guard.

“So Honk! is a Guard now? And it wants to work security for the Senate?”

“It wants to work security for Commander Fox, specifically, but you can guess how he’d feel about that if he found out. So we’re not going to tell him, are we, trooper?” Thorn asked, as serious as any other order.

Widget shook his head. “No, sir!”

“Good. The figures are fine to go to Central. If Commander Ponds has anything to say about it, forward the message to me. Good work as always, Widget.”

With a brisk salute, Widget turned on his heel, and went to leave Thorn’s office— then he paused and turned back around.

“Sir. About Honk!…”

“What is it?”

“You didn’t say what rank it holds. Should we be saluting it?” Widget asked, partly from curiosity, but mostly, he could admit, from mischief.

In response to the question, Thorn—usually the most reserved of the commanders—let out a groan and slumped slightly over his work. He rubbed his visor with one hand and pointed sharply at Widget with the other.

“I didn’t even— Don’t you dare repeat that question in front of Sergeant Hound. Dismissed, trooper.”

“Sir!”

Widget saluted again and left the office.

Sergeant Hound was usually on patrol with Grizzer around now…

[clonemando]

Fluff for Fox/Fives please? Or even Fox/Fives/Rex. They deserve a happier ending to their encounter 🥲

Fox/Fives!!! Yes! With Rex too. I can do that! I love them. Fives and Fox enable each other but Rex helps keep them from going too far. A good group. Thank you for the prompt and enjoy!

Rex was frozen as he stood in the doorway, a stolen bag of Fox's favorite chocolate covered berries under one arm with a berry half way to his mouth. He was dressed in an oversized blue hoodie with his signature Jaig eyes painted in white and a pair of bright red boxers he had stolen from Fox's closet.

"What the kriff did I walk in on?" He asked and Fox growled lowly in frustration although he didn't look up from his task.

"Your ARC-" he started but Rex cut him off with a noise of complaint.

"Why is he suddenly my ARC when he pisses you off? We agreed that on Taungsday he's the Guard's idiot." He said and finally popped the berry into his mouth and finished entering the room.

Fox was sitting on the couch with Fives positioned between his legs on the floor and a hair brush to his side. Half of Fives' head was arranged in what Rex might have called a high Nabooian style if he was being kind but was honestly just a lot of rubber bands and knots. The other side was twisted into many different braids. Fives was just staring ahead looking resigned to whatever was going on.

"Fine, my idiot ARC let a bunch of cadets use him as a doll and I'm trying to undo the damage without just shaving it all off." Fox finally looked over as Rex flopped on the couch beside him and offered Fox a berry which he took distractedly and ate with a little pleased hum.

"Thorn said they were good at it! I'm going to put green dye in his shampoo." Fives whined.

"You didn't realize Thorn lies like 80% of the time after he convinced you to eat that soap bar shaped like a piece of pie?" Rex asked raising an eyebrow as he stretched out and shoved his feet into Fox's lap so his boyfriend had to lean over them to look at Fives' head.

"It honestly didn't taste that bad." Fives said holding out a hand for a berry as well and Rex rolled his eyes but gave it to him.

The peace that filled Rex as he laid there with Fox slowly unknotting Fives' hair while Fives chattered about his ongoing feud with Thorn had him melting into the worn cushions. There had been several points in the war he had almost given up. Little moments like this made him grateful he kept fighting.

[depressed-sock]

a prompt for you! commander thorn and sparkle.

Thank you! :D 💜💜💜

...

“So I know what this looks like.”

“Thorn,” Fox groans, nose pinched between his fingers. Headache day then. That's alright, Thorn can work with that.

“Listen, we're just doing the Chancellor a favor. You know? Making his day a little more… sparkly.”

Fox sighs. It’s a heavy heave kind of sigh that tells Thorn he's not going to have to fight hard to win this one. It takes effort to hold on to the placid blank look he's perfected.

“Don't get caught.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, Sir!” Thorn grins, motioning forward his accomplices. “I'll take pictures!”

“Please, don't create evidence.”

[five-oh-thirst]

In Your Head

Pairing: Fox/Thorn

Summary: Fox has a hole in his memory that he can't seem to fix, and when he starts hallucinating about the clone he killed, it leads to dire consequences.

Tags & Warnings: 18+, character death, alcohol, drunkenness, hallucinations, paranoia, minor suicidal ideation, violence, whump

Word Count: 6.4k

Notes: So, this is a fic I wrote on my non-cloneshipping blog, and I repurposed it into a cloneship fic. All that I ask is that you please don't go looking for the original. I want to keep my two identities a secret. Thank you in advance 💙🫶💙

Read on AO3

Music Vibe:

Fox sat hunched over his desk and anxiously rapped his stylus against the side of his data-pad. He'd read the report five times now and each pass yielded the same results. His CC number was littered throughout the paragraphs, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember any of it.

He looked up at the chronometer again and shook his head. Time had moved, but he hadn't. He'd been sitting here at his desk doing flimsi-work since early morning, but the report stated otherwise.

It wasn't just the strange lost time that concerned Fox either, or the fact that his CC number was in a report. That was normal. What bothered him about this report was the fact that it clearly stated in paragraph four, line six, that he shot and killed a clone.

And no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn't remember it. He hadn't moved from his desk, and yet, the timestamp put the incident at an hour ago. An hour ago he was at his desk. An hour ago he was doing flimsi-work.

Fox rapped his stylus faster and tapped his foot to match the rhythm, the nervous energy in his body escaping through the repetitive movements. He wouldn't shoot a clone without a reason, would he?

The Coruscant Guard had stunned countless rowdy reckless, and even dangerous clones, but a brother doesn't shoot another brother with the intent to kill. That's not part of their culture. Even 'bad' clones deserved to explain their actions, but those were few and far between.

It must've been a mistake–a typo. There had to be a logical explanation as to why his CC number was in the report even though he wasn't there. Still, he had this odd sinking feeling scratching at the back of his mind that it might not have been a mistake.

The clone he allegedly shot was from the 501st, from Torrent Company–one of Rex's men. Fox had sent a simple comm message to Rex offering his condolence, but Rex's silence worried him. It wasn't like Rex to leave a comm unanswered.

Fox dropped the data-pad onto his desk with a loud clack and his chair creaked when he leaned back. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and brushed the damp curls out of his eyes. It must have been a mistake. There was no other explanation.

He didn't have an explanation for the lost time, but there must've been a reason for that as well. Maybe he fell asleep. It's not impossible since he didn't get the best sleep. His caf was cold, so obviously time had passed since he last filled it.

The data-pad dinged and Fox leaned forward to see what the notification was for. He sighed and tapped on the icon to open it, and his brows furrowed as he read the new information. A surveillance holo-recording of the incident was now available and had been attached to the report.

Fox huffed. This should clear up everything. He tapped the icon to play the recording and watched intently. It was probably some trigger-happy shiny that he'd have a stern talking to later on… but it wasn't.

Fox's breath hitched and his eyes widened. That wasn't some random corrie. That was him. That was his armor. He had the fleeting thought that someone had stolen his armor and impersonated him, but he quickly realized he was still wearing it. He hadn't taken it off since he put it on that morning.

Panic rose in his gut and he continued to watch the recording. He flinched at the moment he pulled the trigger–a blaster bolt leaving the barrel instead of a stun bolt. He killed him. He killed a brother.

That explained why Rex never commed him back. Rex's emotional plea before the incident, Fox don't! stabbed him in the heart, turning his innocent condolence message into him just rubbing salt into an already egregious wound. The report noted the clone killed was ARC-5555–Fives–one of Rex's best men.

Fox only remembered the name because Rex sent him a holo-photo of his two new ARC troopers when they graduated. Rex was so proud. Then he lost one on Lola Sayu, and today, he lost the other–because of him.

Fox had seen and read enough. It was him, he knew that much, but he still didn't remember being there. He didn't remember aiming his blaster, or flicking the safety off, or giving a warning, or pulling the trigger. It was like he was sleepwalking, even though not a single clone out of millions had ever been noted to do so on record.

He found it even more odd that he was on-scene for the shooting and then left. It wasn't like him to leave a scene without getting statements or starting his report. Now that he thought about it, he didn't even write this report. If he didn't, then who did?

Fox yelled in frustration and kicked the leg of his desk. Why couldn't he remember? How could he have forgotten he shot and killed a brother? How could he have forgotten Rex's voice begging him not to? How could he have forgotten leaving his office or coming back?

Fox felt sick. Not only had he killed a brother, but he also killed one of Rex's–a beloved brother. With Rex's radio silence, he probably lost Rex too. Fox didn't blame him. Not after watching the footage. He would hate himself too, and he did.

Fox pulled a ring of keys from his belt pouch and inserted one into the lock on the bottom desk drawer. It clicked and he pulled it open, revealing a small stash of alcohol resting against the back. The glass bottles clinked together as he searched for a specific one.

Finding it, he pulled it out of the drawer and placed it on his desk. He leaned down to grab a glass, hesitated, then closed the drawer without taking it. He twisted the cap off the bottle, grabbed the neck, and tilted the opening to his lips. It was time to forget even more.

"Fox?" Thorn whispered as he peered into the dark office. "Are you in here?"

Fox groaned in response. His torso rested on top of his desk and the side of his face lay on the cool surface with one hand loosely wrapped around an almost empty glass bottle.

Thorn sighed and shook his head. "What are you doing, Fox?"

"Go away," Fox said, his words slurred and his body twitched.

Thorn ignored Fox's inebriated order and pulled up a chair to sit opposite the desk. "Talk to me."

"Nothin'... to talk about."

"You're drunk while on duty," Thorn said. He grabbed the bottle out of Fox's loose grip and set it out of reach. "Why don't we start with that?"

Fox slowly picked his head up to look at Thorn, and he struggled to keep it steady. "Usen'ye," he spat, then laid his head back down on the desk so the room would stop spinning.

Thorn tapped his fingers against the desk surface next to Fox's head to get his attention and Fox flinched at the magnified sound. "I read the report."

Fox groaned, but this time with more indignation.

Thorn crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "I've got all night."

"You're so… annoying," Fox said as he slowly picked his head back up to look at his stupid boyfriend. "You know… that?"

Thorn smirked. "Part of my charm."

"Kark… ing… banthas… have more charm." Fox's head swayed as he tried to keep it upright. "You're ugly… too."

Thorn rolled his eyes. "You're getting off topic."

"Why… are you… even here?" Fox asked. He reached for the bottle and Thorn leaned over to move it again.

"You killed a vod," Thorn said flatly.

Fox huffed. "What... do you… know about it?"

"Nothing," Thorn said with a shrug. "That's why I'm here. To talk to you about it, because clearly it's affecting you."

Fox reached for the bottle again and Thorn moved it again. "I'm… not effective."

Thorn raised an eyebrow, stifling a chuckle. "Yeah, I can see that. You can't even talk straight."

"Blow it out your… exhaust port," Fox said, then reached for the bottle once more.

"Really?" Thorn asked, clearly annoyed at the silent game they were playing. He lifted the bottle out of Fox's reach. "If I give you the bottle back, will you talk to me?"

Fox smirked through heavy-lidded eyes. "Sure."

Thorn placed the bottle back down onto the desk and pushed it towards Fox. Fox grabbed it, sat back in his chair, and shot the last burning drops down his throat, then slammed the empty bottle down onto the desk.

"Talk," Thorn said. "Why'd you kill a vod?"

Fox chuckled. "I don't know."

Thorn knitted his brow. "This isn't a game, Fox."

"Nah," Fox said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Games… are fun. This... This isn't..."

Thorn tilted his head to the side and studied Fox for a moment. Even when drunk, Fox usually made some sense, but this particular time he was making zero sense. It wasn't that hard of a question, but his avoidance of answering it was making Thorn worry.

There was something Fox wasn't telling him and he needed to know what it was to help him get out of this slump and back to normal. Having a drunk Marshall Commander leading the Coruscant Guard wasn't going to get anyone anywhere fast. 

"Fox," Thorn prodded.

"Don't Fox me," Fox said. "How'd you… like it… if I said your name? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn–"

"Alright, I get it," Thorn said. "Just tell me what happened."

Fox shrugged. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember shooting a vod?"

"Nope."

Thorn pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You have to remember something? You killed him. Don't you remember that? Were you drunk then, too?"

"No, I wasn't drunk," Fox said, his agitation grew at the continued questioning. "I just don't remember!" He pounded his fists onto the desk, causing Thorn to flinch.

"Easy, cyare," Thorn soothed. He reached out a hand to try and calm him down. "It's okay."

"No!" Fox yelled. His body jerked weakly as he batted Thorn's hand away. "Is snot. I shot… a vod. I killed… a vod, and I can't… kriffin' remember!"

Thorn realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with Fox this drunk and worked up, so he decided to cut his losses and try again later. "Get some rest," he said before getting up from his chair. He looked down at Fox's dilapidated state, shook his head, then turned to leave.

"Bring me… more booze," Fox said.

Thorn turned around and scoffed. "You don't need any more of that."

Fox grabbed the empty bottle and threw it towards Thorn, but it hit the wall by the door instead and shattered into a million pieces. "Shabuir."

Thorn sighed. "We'll talk again when you're sober." He turned back towards the door and left Fox alone in his office.

Fox grumbled and laid his heavy head back down against the cool desk. He wasn't truly angry at Thorn, as annoying as he was. No. He was angry at himself. Angry that he couldn't remember what his own two hands did. Angry that he couldn't remember where his own two feet took him. Angry that his brain refused to put all of the pieces together or fill in the blanks. Where had his memory gone? Had it grown legs and walked away from him? Had it left him or did he leave it? Was that even possible?

Fox would stay lying against his desk all night if he could, but the ache in his back was beginning to overpower his drunken haze. Part of getting old, he guessed. He needed to try and make it to his couch where he could stretch out and fall asleep.

At least while asleep, he wouldn't have to think about it. That was the idea behind the alcohol in the first place; drink to forget, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. If anything, it only made it worse. Then his beloved Thorn butted in and ruined it further.

Fox tried to peel himself off his desk, but his body was heavy. He managed to sit up, but then slumped back into his chair, whacking his head against the back of it. He groaned at the pain and rubbed the aching spot.

When he opened his eyes, the room was spinning, and it made him feel sick. Well, sicker than he already felt before he was drunk. He chuckled to himself. The good stuff was really good. He hadn't been this drunk since he was a shiny new commander hot off Kamino.

Trying again, Fox planted his hands squarely on his desk and rocked to push himself out of the chair. He tried once and couldn't get it. He tried twice and still couldn't get it. He tried thrice and finally, he was on his feet, although he used a little too much force and fell forward onto his desk. Maybe it was better if he crawled to the couch instead of walking there. He let the weight of his lower body slide the rest of him off the desk until he was sitting on the ground and leaning against the desk.

He leaned past the desk and turned his head to see where the couch was, but he leaned a little too far and slumped over onto the ground. He groaned. This was a terrible idea. He wished he could get Thorn to come back and carry him to the couch, but that would bruise his ego into an irreparable state. No, he had to make it on his own.

With a little wiggle of his hips, Fox rolled himself onto his stomach and crawled towards the couch. Usually, it was closer, but right now it felt klicks away. Maker, he was tired. Why did he put the couch so far away from his desk? Or better yet, why couldn't it come to him?

Someone should've invented a moving couch by now, but no, the Galactic Republic was too busy making clones to do anything of real use in his lifetime. And yet, Fox continued to crawl towards his couch, cursing it every time he scooted closer. With one final push, he made it, but accidentally bumped his head against the leg. He cursed it again.

Now, it was just a matter of hoisting himself up onto the stupid thing so he could finally go to sleep. Once again, something that used to be so trivial was causing him grief. Why was it so high up? Why was the floor so far down? Why wouldn't the room stop spinning?

He wished he could steady himself long enough to get a grip, but his body was heavy from the alcohol. However, with a little more effort and a lot more cursing, Fox grabbed one of the cushions, pulled himself up, and flopped onto the couch.

Thank the Maker, he finally made it. Fox rolled off of his stomach and settled himself with his back against the back of the couch so he didn't suffocate himself within the couch cushions. Although, at this point, it didn't sound like such a bad idea.

He chuckled to himself about the thought. Thorn would kill him if he left him like that. Only his boyfriend would find a way into the afterlife and kill him all over again for being such an idiot. Although, to Fox, it was a comforting thought; Thorn coming after him like that.

Even if they tried to hide it from everyone, they were still a couple. Some days, when they fought, it didn't feel like it, but when push came to shove, there was no one he'd rather have his back in this war. Perks of growing up together and falling in love, he figured.

Fox released a wide yawn that made his stomach churn, but he was happy that his body wanted to rest. With a few slow breaths, he let himself drift off to sleep, wondering if he would wake up and finally remember or if his memory would still be adrift.

Fox groaned as he stirred from his sleep. He slowly opened one eye and saw that it was still dark out, which meant either he slept until the next evening or he barely slept at all. He didn't feel drunk anymore, so maybe he did sleep for a while; an absolute miracle.

Even more surprising was the fact that no one bothered him while he slept, which also meant Thorn kept everyone away and covered for him–the idiot. He'd need to apologize and thank Thorn the next time he saw him.

Fox carefully shifted to sit himself up, holding the side of his head as it pounded from the hangover. He hadn't had a hangover like this in a very long time. He'd have to look at the label on the bottle and get himself another one of whatever it was.

Blinking a few times to get rid of the glaze over his eyes, he looked around the room but frowned when he saw the broken glass by the door. Oh yeah. I broke it. He wouldn't buy another one of those anytime soon. Such a shame.

With a deep breath, Fox hoisted himself up off the couch and grabbed the arm to steady his shaky legs. He didn't feel woozy, but his body still felt heavy, like there were rocks in his head weighing him down.

He rolled his neck, then his shoulders, and then arched his back to stretch it out. One of his vertebrae made a popping sound and he groaned. Even though he tried to lie down in a good position, couch sleeping was still not as nice as a bunk. He needed some ibuprofen.

Fox hobbled his way to the refresher connected to his office and was–once again–thankful for the amenities he had access to as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It would've been embarrassing to walk down to the guard barrack's communal refresher to compose himself.

Thorn would've gotten a good laugh, though, the jerk. He would have said something stupid just to piss him off. But that was the game they chose to play because Fox had embarrassed Thorn on multiple occasions too.

Fox stepped into the refresher without flipping the light switch on and twisted the faucet knob to run the water cold. He cupped the rushing water in his hands and splashed it onto his face. The cool water felt good on his hot skin and soothed his throbbing headache.

He splashed the water on his face a few more times and then used one last good splash to smooth over his unruly curls. He patted his face dry with the towel and stared at himself in the mirror, except something about his reflection was… off.

Fox rubbed the towel across his face again, thinking he had some water stuck in his eyes that made his vision blurry, but the reflection still looked odd. He then used the towel to wipe down the mirror, leaving small streaks of water where he swiped, but that didn't clear it either.

Refusing to play with it any longer, Fox opened the mirror cabinet and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen. He popped a few and swallowed them dry, wincing as he felt them go down his throat, and then closed the cabinet.

Hi Fox, a voice said.

Fox startled and stumbled back, crashing against the opposite wall with a loud thud. "Kriff, Thorn!" He turned his head towards the refresher door to rip Thorn a new one, but he wasn't there. "Thorn?" he called, but there was no answer.

He peeked his head out of the refresher to see if there was anyone in his office, but it was still dark and empty. It was just him; he was alone. He'd never had a hangover that made him hear things before. At least not that he remembered. Fox's heart raced with adrenaline.

Fox, the voice said.

Fox flinched at the sound of his name and whipped his head around to try and find who was calling his name, but there was still no one there. "Thorn," Fox said with a warning tone. "I swear to the Maker, I will kill you if–"

So, you like to kill, huh? the voice said.

Fox froze and his blood ran cold. He didn't just hear that, did he? The sound of another clone talking to him, yet he was still alone in the refresher. His instincts screamed at him to run and find Thorn, because clearly he was hallucinating, or sick, or dying, or all three at once. He shouldn't have been hearing voices, or at least he didn't think he should've been hearing voices.

Fox closed his eyes took a couple deep breaths to calm himself and hoped that whatever it was would go away.

It's rude to ignore people, you know, the voice said. Especially dead people.

Yup, he was crazy. He was one hundred percent certified crazy. Not only was he hearing voices, but he was hearing voices of the dead . What had he done while he was drunk and asleep? Conjured a demon? Summoned a spirit? Invited a deity to chat over some caf? The other option was that he was still plastered and hallucinating being sober. Honestly, both ideas sounded equally as insane, but did they make any less sense than him hearing voices?

"Whatever you are," Fox said. "I'm sorry for bothering you, but I'm going back to bed now."

Fox pushed himself off the wall and walked towards the refresher door to leave, but it slid shut before he could exit. He stared at the closed door and took another deep breath, then released it slowly.

He slid his hands over his holsters, but the blasters were missing. They must have fallen out while he was sleeping and he never noticed. He mentally kicked himself for being so absentminded as to leave them on the couch, but in his defense, there weren't many who would attack him in his own office.

Fox ran his tongue across his teeth and puffed his chest out before turning around to face whatever was messing with him, but when he did, there was no one else in the refresher besides himself. He bit his lip and nodded his head.

It must've been a dream. He was living in a dream and he couldn't wake up. That had to be the answer. There was no other explanation. Once he woke up, he was going to find Thorn and make him get rid of all of his liquor, because this nuttiness wasn't worth the trip.

I'm still waiting, the voice said impatiently. Are you gonna answer me or not?

Fox gritted his teeth and thought for a moment. If he answered the voice of the dead, was something bad going to happen to him? It wasn't like his life could get any worse. He was already a dog of the Republic, he'd shot and killed a brother, and he was probably the most hated commander in the GAR. There wasn't much else they could do to him.

Fox was startled at the sudden realization. The voice of the dead… a dead clone. Voice of the dead… a clone he killed. Fox's heartbeat pounded ferociously in his ears.

He took a few steps towards the sink and peered into the mirror, the same mirror where his reflection didn't look right. He was so groggy when he first came into the refresher that it didn't dawn on him to wonder what in the reflection was off, just that it didn't look right.

He stared at his reflection, and tilted his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he studied the image, and then his eyes grew wide when he realized that the reflection hadn't followed the tilt of his head. He moved in closer.

Boo, the reflection said with a smirk.

"Kriffin' osik!" Fox screamed and out of reflex, he punched the mirror, cracking it. He heaved in heavy breaths and pulled his fist out of the mirror, his glove protecting his skin from getting cut by the broken shards.

The reflection sighed and sidestepped into the part of the mirror that wasn't as broken. Really?

Fox was on the verge of hyperventilating. Fear and adrenaline took control of every muscle in his body. His reflection was talking to him. It was moving without him. But it wasn't even him. He could see that now.

Fox took a moment to study the image in the mirror. The armor was white, like a shiny's, their head was shaven, and they had a goatee, and an Aurebesh tattoo on their right temple not far from a small linear scar. Fox's jaw dropped. It was him . It was the clone he'd shot and killed.

Figure it out yet? the reflection asked, sounding bored.

"You're…" Fox tried to speak, but he still wasn't sure what he was actually seeing.

The name's Fives, the reflection said while tapping his Aurebesh tattoo. You should remember since you killed me.

Fox was speechless and wide-eyed. He felt sick to his stomach. He knew who Fives was, but he still didn't remember shooting him. He never even met him, and the only images he had of him were in his ARC armor, not whatever he was wearing now.

Fox thought back to the recording that was attached to the report and remembered seeing himself shoot the white-armored clone. He had found it strange at the time, and it made him wonder why, but not enough to hallucinate about him.

"This isn't real," Fox said as he backed away from the mirror. " You're not real! You're dead!"

The reflection snorted. What? No remorse? No, sorry I killed you?

"I don't remember killing you!" Fox yelled, half in shock and half in self-defense. His back touched the hard durasteel wall and he slid down it until he was sitting on the floor.

Don't remember? the reflection asked. You shot me! How could you forget that?

Fox pulled his knees to his chest, clasped his hands over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone!" he yelled again, trying to make the voice go away. "I said I don't remember!"

I'm not leaving, the voice said. Not until you remember what you did to me.

"Go away!" Fox screamed. "Leave me alone!" His breathing became labored and he felt like he was going to pass out. "This is… a nightmare."

Oh, Fox, the reflection chuckled, then pushed itself out of the mirror and folded its arms to lean on the edge of the sink and stare down at Fox. Your nightmare has just begun.

The next two rotations had Fox feeling insane. The voice inside the mirror wasn't just a voice anymore. It was a full-body apparition that followed him around wherever he went. He couldn't even take a piss without that thing watching him.

He still wondered if it was the actual Fives or if it was just a figment of his imagination; maybe the subconscious part of his brain conjured it up because of the guilt he felt for killing the clone. He wanted to tell Thorn about it, but even he had limits on disbelief, and besides that, he was at some senate event so he hadn't seen him since he threw the bottle at him.

Hour after hour, the apparition asked Fox if he remembered killing it yet, and hour after hour, Fox still had the same answer–no. Maker, he wished it would just take a hike and go haunt someone else, even if it was just for a couple of minutes. He needed peace.

There was nothing worse than trying to work or sleep while it watched him from across the room with its cold, dark, dead eyes and smug expression. If this was the real Fives, then he didn't understand why Rex liked him so much. He was an annoying piece of work for sure.

However, the third rotation was strangely quiet. The apparition was nowhere to be seen, or heard, and Fox was taking the much-needed alone time to catch up on the reports he'd been neglecting since it first appeared. It must have been a figment of his imagination brought on by stress or something along those lines. There was always a logical explanation for everything, or so he thought.

Fox looked up from his data-pad when he heard a soft knock on his office door frame.

"I brought you some caf," Thorn said with a smile. "Can I come in?"

Fox nodded. He was glad Thorn was back from the event, even if he didn't say it out loud.

Thorn walked into the office, placed the cup down in front of Fox, and sat leisurely on the corner of his desk.

Fox grabbed the cup of hot, black caf and deeply inhaled its alluring aroma. "Is this a peace offering?"

Thorn snorted. "You should be bringing me a peace offering for all that name-calling."

Fox winced at the vague memory, then took a sip. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Thorn says. "You're still a di'kut, though."

"Your di'kut," Fox smirked.

Is he a friend of yours? the apparition asked as it appeared next to Fox.

Fox startled and accidentally dropped the cup of caf onto his lap. "Kriff!"

Thorn also startled and jumped off the corner of Fox's desk. "Are you alright?"

Fox sighed. "Yeah. Just grab me a towel, will ya?"

Thorn walked off towards the refresher to grab a towel.

He seems like a nice vod, the apparition said as it watched Thorn with interest. Is he your cyare?

Fox chose to ignore the question and the ghost.

You know, the apparition continued. It hopped up onto the desk to sit in front of Fox, legs dangling over the edge. I had a cyare once–actually two. They're both dead, now… Like me. Must be nice to have yours still alive, huh?

Fox glared at the apparition and snarled. "Don't you touch him!"

The apparition chuckled. I'm a ghost, remember? I can't even touch you. The apparition reached out to touch Fox, but its hand went straight through him. See? I'm not going to hurt your cyare.

Fox continued to glare, not fully trusting what the apparition said. Thorn was more than just his boyfriend, but this was his issue to deal with, and he wasn't going to drag Thorn down this insane hole of guilt and self-loathing with him. 

Even so, it would be great if Thorn could see the apparition too. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so crazy about the whole situation. A little validation went a long way in his mind. He just needed Thorn to see it once, then he could feel safe again–feel normal again.

"Fox?" Thorn asked with concern while handing him the towel. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Fox grabbed the towel and patted himself and the chair dry. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Thorn didn't look convinced, but he also didn't argue.

I'm not fine, the apparition said. I'm dead.

Fox wanted to say something in rebuttal, but Thorn's lack of comment about the elephant in the room made him wonder. He turned his head to the apparition and then to Thorn, and then back again. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" Thorn asked, a confused expression on his face.

"Nothing," Fox said and tossed the towel onto the desk before slumping back into his chair. "Never mind."

"Fox," Thorn said hesitantly. "I think you should see a medic. You've been acting strange lately and I'm worried."

Yeah, Fox, the apparition added. You should see a medic for that missing memory issue. Maybe they can tell you why you killed me.

"I don't need a medic!" Fox exclaimed as he slammed his fists onto the desk. Thorn flinched and Fox bit his tongue and sighed. "Sorry. I'm just tired is all."

Thorn still didn't look convinced, and he shook his head. "Alright, I trust your judgment."

I don't, the apparition said. You shot me.

"Thanks," Fox said. His eye twitched. It was hard enough to keep his thoughts straight, but it was even harder when he had two people talking to him at once and only one of them was actually there.

"I'm here if you need me," Thorn said. He placed a firm but gentle hand on Fox's shoulder and squeezed. "Even if you just want to talk."

You can talk to me too, the apparition said.

"I appreciate that," Fox said, trying to give him the best fake smile he could muster.

Thorn threw Fox another look of concern but turned and left his office all the same.

Fox immediately turned his attention to the apparition. "Can you just shut up?!"

No, the apparition said. That's the whole point of haunting. I'm supposed to be annoying.

Fox dropped his head onto his desk and yelled in frustration.

The apparition hopped off the desk and knelt so its face was on Fox's level. Just tell me why you killed me, Fox, it whispered. And I'll go away.

Fox clutched the side of his head with his hands. "I'm trying," he choked out. "But I can't remember."

It had been a week and Fox was on the verge of losing himself. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He couldn't do anything. The reports were piling up and questions were being asked. Thorn continued to pry, and he appreciated the thought, but he wished he'd just drop it.

Every time Thorn came into his office or snuggled into his arms in bed, the apparition stared at him like he was a piece of meat. Fox knew the apparition couldn't hurt Thorn, at least, that was what he'd been made to believe, but what if he was wrong? What if it could hurt Thorn?

He couldn't let it get Thorn. It could torment him all it wanted, it could even kill him if it wanted to, but he would not let anything happen to Thorn. Thorn was too good for this kind of torturous hell. Thorn hadn't killed any clones. He probably hadn't killed anyone.

There was no reason for Thorn to be brought into this. It was Fox the apparition wanted. The clone's blood was on his hands, not Thorn's. Thorn had nothing to do with any of this and Fox would do anything to protect him. He would die for Thorn in a heartbeat.

Hi Fox, the apparition said while leaning against the door frame of the office.

"What do you want?" Fox said with disdain from where he sat behind his desk.

The truth, the apparition said with a smug grin. You've been keeping it from me.

"Like I've said," Fox said. "I still don't remember."

Not good enough, the apparition said as it pushed itself off the door frame and approached Fox's desk.

Fox stood up, his chair violently scraping across the floor. "I won't let you hurt Thorn."

What are you talking about? the apparition asked.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Fox yelled. "I know you're going to hurt him to get back at me."

Are you alright, Fox? the apparition taunted. You seem a little off today.

"Get out of my head!" Fox clutched the sides of his head. "I know what you're doing!"

What's the matter? the apparition taunted further. I've never seen you so unhinged before.

"Leave me alone!"

C'mon, Fox. The apparition walked closer. Just tell me.

Fox drew one of his blasters and pointed it towards the ghostly figure. "Get away from me!"

Whoa, there, the apparition said, putting its hands up and taking a single step back. There's no need for that.

Fox breathed heavily. "I'm warning you!"

You won't shoot me, the apparition smirked. You have no reason to shoot me. Put the blaster down, Fox.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Fox yelled, then fired a single bolt through the same spot as before, on the apparition's chest, through its heart. He watched as the apparition fell to its knees and clutched at its chest. That'll stop it. That'll shut it up. That'll make it leave him alone. That'll keep it from hurting–Thorn?

Fox panted as his senses began to clear. The vision of the apparition slowly dissipated, leaving behind the image of Thorn grasping the bleeding hole in his chest. A look of pain, shock, horror, and confusion painted his face as he looked at Fox.

No. This couldn't be happening. He didn't. He couldn't. Did he just shoot his lover? But it was the ghost! The ghost was right there. It was talking to him. It was taunting him. It was going to hurt Thorn.

"Fox," Thorn gasped. "Why?"

At the sound of Thorn's voice, the gravity of what Fox had done hit him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widened, tears brimming at the surface, and his voice quivered. "Thorn?"

Thorn collapsed forward onto the floor and Fox rushed to his side.

"No, no, no, no," Fox rambled as he rolled Thorn over and applied pressure to the wound. "I need a medic!" he yelled. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't know it was you. There was a ghost and it was in my head and I couldn't remember." Tears fell from Fox's eyes as he tried desperately to explain.

Thorn reached up a hand to touch Fox's cheek and Fox grabbed it with his own.

"I'm… sorry," Thorn said weakly. "I… wish… I… could've… helped… you…" Thorn's hand dropped as his body went limp and he breathed his last breath.

"Where's my medic!" Fox yelled, tears now streaming down his face unabated. "Hang on, cyare." He pulled Thorn's lifeless body close to his chest and rocked him back and forth. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

The apparition appeared once again, crouched down in front of Fox, and looked apathetically at Thorn's lifeless body. It shook its head. And to think all of this could've been avoided if you would've just told me what I wanted to know.

Fox looked at the apparition. He was still in shock.

Oh well, the apparition said with a smirk. A vod for a vod. At least you'll remember killing this one.

Tagging a few people who were interested: @brokenphoenix99

[dee-writes-smut]

LUCIEN VANSERRA MAIN MASTERLIST

WARNING KEY:

A - angst

F - fluff

H/C - hurt and/or comfort

S - smut

D - dark content

Courts Series | Main Masterlist |a, h/c, f, s | in depth warning list is included on the main masterlist |

[pencildragons]

excerpt from the (hopefully) soon-to-be-posted 2nd chapter of my foxquin fic the silver is white, red is the gold (quinlan is the guard's general and also has another padawan); cw ahead for mentions of body horror/corpse desecration, mind control, and memory issues

This is the sixteenth time this has happened, this vanishing without a trace, for hours or days on end. No one knows where he goes; the SecFeed vids show nothing out of the ordinary, the tracker in his armour says that he’s in his office, and not a single vod sees him come or go. In the end, it had been the SecFeed that had tipped them off to something being wrong. One of the original squad members that had been deployed from Kamino with him—a slicer, Imantu—had spent most of his time watching the ‘Feed, and eventually had come to Fox and quietly told him that, every fortnight since their deployment ten weeks beforehand, the vids would loop twice for five minutes. Fox had known better than to suggest it was simply a glitch; ten weeks had been more than enough time to establish that nothing ever happened by coincidence on Coruscant. Imantu had sliced through the encryption that wasn’t supposed to be sliced, and—found things that weren’t meant to be found. He had come knocking on Fox’s office door late one night, had brought Thorn with him, and presented his evidence: Fox was the one looping the ‘Feed. Fox had sat there for a very long time, scrutinised by his slicer and his commander, and told them shakily that he hadn’t done it. He had clearly been rattled enough that Thorn and Imantu had taken him at his word, and that had seemed to be that. Except that that night had been the last time anyone saw Imantu alive. They found his body nineteen days later, rotting in some mid-levels rubbish pile, eyes gouged out messily, every finger broken. Worst had been his tongue, ripped from the root and found a few metres away. The medic on duty said that it had been removed while he was still alive, same as his eyes, which—well. He doesn’t blame them for throwing up on his floor while giving their report. The next day, Thorn had inserted himself into Fox’s beat, had made him crawl down a manhole into a sewerage tunnel, stripped them both of their armour, then dragged him half a kilometre through stinking, knee-deep waste before he would answer Fox’s demands to tell him what the fuck was going on. Finally, when they stopped, Thorn had produced a holoprojector from his blacks and wordlessly handed it to him. The truth of it was undeniable: shot from an oblique angle—Thorn refused to tell him, but he guessed some sort of hidden recorded—was Fox, doing something at the main ‘Feed monitors, dated to twelve minutes after Imantu had last been seen. He had been wearing full trooper armour, but black instead of shiny-white or Corrie-Guard-Red, face hidden, but the tell-tale flexing of fingers and stretching of the neck and the roll of his gait as he limped out of frame were perhaps more telling than even his face. Thorn had clearly prepared for the uncertainty, though, because a montage of vids began after that. Most of them were from helmet-cams, all focused on Fox, flexing his fingers, stretching his neck, limping away. When you’re identical in every way to a billion other beings, reading body language becomes very important, and this could not have been more damning than if Fox had stood in front of his Commanders and announced that it was he, Commander Fox, who killed Imantu in cold blood.

[ladyanidala]

And on today's episode of We're Not Needed Here, we have a much needed check in on Foxiyo! :D

[petrifiedforests]

For the hurt/comfort prompts, and since you mentioned Fox... him and Thorn plus "Sorry, I'm being so difficult for you," perhaps? Or, if you're in the mood for something shippy, Waxer/Boil and "I'm going to be here when you wake up." 🥹🥰

Thank you @cacodaemonia! I went with platonic Fox & Thorn after the war. :) This is a fic written for a prompt from @creativepromptfills who makes amazing prompt lists. There be cursing but nothing else to look out for.

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Thorn is done. He spent the day wrangling senators and aides and political advisors and he is done. 

He smashes the keypad to their apartment with more force than necessary but the door does not slide open any faster than normal. Stupid, slow-ass thing.

It should be different, now that– well now in the after but they need the votes and the always fickle support of the general public. So he’s out there as “Important member of the Guard, the right hand man of the clone that brought peace”. Like fuck that, they’re not even calling him by his rank. He’s not expecting his name, but Commander would have been nice.

Nice, hah! The whole day he was stuck listening to them talking without the safety of his helmet, nodding along and making appropriate facial expressions.

So now, he’s absolutely done with moving his face. No more smiling or frowning or raising eyebrows or anything. 

His shoes go on the little rack, his jacket goes on the hook and his frustration…stays. Grumbling under his breath he follows the soft music into the living room where Fox is sprawled out on the sofa. He looks like he’s being eaten alive by the plush cushions and Thorn’s lips twitch upwards involuntarily.

Fox lifts a lazy hand in greeting, abandoning the movement halfway through as if it’s too much effort.

Thorn can emphasize. He takes the last remaining steps and collapses on him. A high pitched squeak is startled out of Fox and Thorn snorts.

“Shut it, I’m not emoting anymore today,” he grouses into Fox’s chest. It’s vibrating with Fox’s near silent laughter under him. Thorn is not going to join.

“Seriously?” he laments the betrayal from his closest brother.

Amidst the laughter Fox chokes out an incredibly insincere "Sorry, I'm being so difficult for you," before the shaking intensifies and Thorn has to whack him with a cushion. 

It’s the best for his mental health, really, he promises. Fuck the senate, it’s Fox’s fault for slaying the Sith anyways.

[stealthetrees]

‘“You staged a double homicide with Margret Fucking Thatcher and Henry Tudor the 8th?” Thorn asked again.

“Yes, why do you ask?” replied Fox, not understanding why Thorn had such hang ups about murdering senators in broad daylight.’

I love writing fanfiction actually.

If anyone has more ideas for names I could use for senators I’d love to hear them.

[weyrwolfen]

Caveat Emptor: Chapter 2 - Corpus Delicti

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Commanders Fox, Thorn, Thire, and Stone

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, loss of autonomy

Previous chapters can be found here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

“You’re going to let it in to see the Chancellor, but not me?” Senator Corval shouted at the Senate guard, red-faced and spitting. “Don’t you know who I am?”

The natborn guard, a lieutenant from the markings on his blue uniform, replied, “Of course, Sir, but there has been an incident, and the Chancellor’s schedule had to be cleared. Now, if you would just–” The rest of the perfectly polite, placating line of strill osik cut out as the door slid shut behind Fox.

He hadn’t been arrested on sight and dragged off for interrogation yet. So far, so good.

The CSF investigators had set up just inside the Chancellor’s front lobby, away from any awkwardly prying eyes. They took down Fox’s designation number, assessed his baseline biometrics (clone standard, but protocols were protocols), had him remove his gloves and gauntlets for full handprint scans, and then asked him to step onto a sheet of tacky flimsy to record his boot tread (also clone standard, who would have guessed). Then they handed him a pair of disposable covers for his boots, forewent the sterile gloves given his existing armor, and sent him on with terse, borderline rude instructions to not touch anything and to leave the investigation to the trained professionals.

Because of course the CSF would be all over this situation. Right up until it looked like something might go wrong or make them look bad, and then the responsibility and the blame would get dumped in Fox’s lap.

Except Fox needed Guard eyes on this investigation right from the beginning. He needed a way to guide the narrative, to protect himself and his men from the blowback he could see coming from a lightyear away.

He needed to know what he, what CC-1010, had done.

Breathe, in and out, and calm.

Without evidence, he didn’t know anything. Maybe they’d find the Chancellor sleeping off a tainted spice bender in a broom closet somewhere. That was a common enough issue around the Senate that Thorn had worked up a standard protocol for overdose clean up and cover up procedures.

Little gods, could they please find him drooling off a laced spice rip somewhere? At that moment, Fox couldn’t imagine a more ideal outcome. There was going to be a scandal no matter how this shook out, but at least that scenario would be effectively impossible to pin on the Guard.

Senate guards and the CSF were doing a pretty good job of keeping a lid on things so far. It wouldn’t last of course, especially with the way Corval was carrying on where anyone might overhear. Aides would gossip and rumors would spread until someone leaked the whispers to the press. Then someone would have to go make an official statement, and everyone would notice that the Chancellor still wasn’t in appearance.

And that was assuming the rules of Senate procedure wouldn’t force everyone’s hands even earlier. With the Chancellor missing, a timer was counting down. When it ran out, Mas Amedda would need to be sworn in, if only as a temporary guarantee of the continuation of powers. That would require justices and witnesses and a formal statement before the Senate itself.

Karking Sith-hells, today was going to be a nightmare. Maybe the CSF shabuire would welcome the extra manpower for once, instead of fighting over jurisdictional minutiae and acting like the Coruscant Guard all wanted to be here dealing with stuck up natborns instead of on the front lines, defending their brothers.

The covers barely fit over Fox’s boots; they hadn’t been designed with armor in mind. He had to lean awkwardly against the door frame to get them on correctly. Force karking forbid his armored shebs touch one of the museum pieces masquerading as ‘chairs’ in the lobby. He’d be decommed for his temerity on the spot.

Breathe. He just needed to sell the alibi Thire had prepped. Everyone was going to be on edge, given the circumstances. It was only expected that he would be too. He just needed to keep a reasonable handle on his composure, which was not too difficult a mission in the greater scheme of things.

Fox squared his shoulders, signaled one of the gloved CSF investigators to activate the door panel, and stepped into the Chancellor’s inner office.

For a moment, the only movement in the office came from the small camdroids that were scanning the opulent room to generate a three-dimensional model of the space. Fox found himself the subject of intense inspection.

Under the safety of his concealing visor, he returned the favor, scanning the space for potential threats as he made his way towards the front of the room and the expansive desk situated there.

Most of the people in the room were higher ranking CSF agents, performing tasks usually reserved for entry-level investigators and trainees. Every aspect of this case was going to be locked down for anyone without the absolute highest clearance levels. Fox noted their tension, their hostility towards him, but none of it struck him as particularly unexpected or noteworthy. This high-profile a case was going to make them even more territorial than usual.

Of more concern were the handful of Senate guards, who were watching everyone in the room with hair-triggered aggression. They also viewed the Coruscant Guard as unwanted competition and interacted with the clones only when forced. But now, something had happened to the Chancellor on their watch, and Fox would bet every credit he’d ever seen that the blame and finger-pointing was already being directed their way.

The ranking Senate guard on site looked to be Captain Axion, who appeared red-faced and furious at being pried from his cushy office by the unfolding catastrophe. Fox would need to handle this confrontation with extreme care. Axion would be looking for some third party upon whom he could saddle the blame, and as the last person on record having seen the Chancellor, Fox himself would be a very tempting target.

Even so, he was not the subject of Fox’s primary concern. The man standing in front of Captain Axion was.

From a distance, General Mace Windu looked like the very picture of Jedi composure and serenity. In closer proximity, there were lines around the man’s eyes and mouth that were hard to miss, if anyone cared to look beyond the stony expression, meticulously draped robes, and lightsaber.

Fox was usually very good at getting a read on other sentients, but he had only the most passing familiarity with the Jedi. He interacted with the Knights and Masters who liaised with the Senate regularly, but always at arm’s length. Despite his training, despite all expectations ingrained in him by the Kaminoans, he and his men had never been assigned a Jedi general. They belonged, first and foremost, to the Senate.

So Fox knew General Windu, but not well enough to get more than a cursory idea of his mental state. The Jedi’s faintly pinched expression could mean any number of things: annoyance, frustration, physical pain.

Fox just needed to remember his training, though he doubted the Kaminoans had meant for him to apply it to convincingly lie to a superior. Jedi could sense the emotional state of other sentients, and sometimes specific thoughts or intentions with focused effort, but they trained all their lives to block out that constant stream of psychic input. Fox just needed to avoid drawing enough suspicion to earn a deeper look. His primary hope was that his mental state would blend into the tense backdrop of fear and anxiety that everyone present was no-doubt leaking into the room.

Deep breath, stop two paces from the general, and salute. “CC-1010, reporting as requested, Sir.” Fox’s words, like his posture, were exactingly precise.

So much was riding on his ability to perform to perfection. All of his brothers were counting on him.

The General gave Fox a brief, assessing look, then nodded incrementally and said, “At ease, Commander… Fox, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir,” Fox said, not letting any of the surprise he was feeling leak into his voice. He was accustomed to dealing with Senators who insisted he use his designation number and others who preferred knowing his chosen name, but he had not expected the head of the Order to actually recognize him. That would require some adjustments. He settled into a crisp parade rest and waited for his orders.

The general’s mouth twitched, almost hinting at the very beginnings of a small smile, and he said, “Commander Ponds speaks very highly of you.”

This conversation was not going how Fox had been expecting. The last time he had seen Ponds, his brother had been signing four troopers out of the Corries’ drunk tank. Fox wouldn’t have described the interaction as particularly cordial, but he wouldn’t characterize their relationship as bad, per se. Just distant, these days, and not the kind of dynamic that would come up in casual conversation with a Jedi general. “We were batchmates, Sir,” Fox replied, because he had to say something and that piece of information seemed neutral enough.

“Hmm,” the general said, giving Fox a piercing, stomach-lurching look, but then he turned to one of the nearby CSF agents and gestured for the woman to join them.

The investigator, some near-human species with translucently pale skin, magenta hair, and widely-spaced, exceedingly large eyes, rose from where she had been scanning something on the floor and handed the device off to a colleague.

“Inspector Svaryoskya has been compiling a record of the Chancellor’s known whereabouts yesterday,” General Windu said, nodding to the woman when she stepped forward to join the group. “If you could please make your report to her?”

“Of course, Sir,” Fox replied cooly, forcibly crushing down the spike in anxiety he felt at the prospect. He pivoted to face the CSF inspector. “Ma’am?”

Inspector Svaryoskya looked thoroughly put off by having to speak to him at all, but she at least made the effort to school her features into something vaguely professional and said, “If you would come with me?”

Fox followed her to a pair of temporary folding tables which had been set up to hold and organize samples and equipment. No doubt it had been done to avoid contaminating useful evidence from the pre-existing surfaces in the office. It took her a moment to set up what looked like a compact, holorecording device and synch it with a datapad while Fox waited, again assuming a meticulously correct position of parade rest.

The device beeped once and then lit up, scanning the immediate area with a wave of blue light before recognizing the two sentients standing in closest proximity to it and focusing in on their positions. Looking over the investigator’s shoulder, Fox could see a time stamp and a blinking record icon appear at the top of the datapad.

She pressed the icon and straightened, facing Fox head on and said, “Inspector Yana Svaryoskya, interviewing.” Her eyes settled somewhere on the level with Fox’s respirators, and she continued, “Please state your designation and rank for the record.”

“CC-1010, Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard,” Fox replied evenly. She did not request his name, and he did not volunteer it.

“Please explain the nature of your meeting with Chancellor Palpatine yesterday afternoon.”

Fox nodded and launched into the narrative Thire had provided for him, stitching together a few carefully crafted fabrications with as many verifiable facts as possible. “I was one of the commanders on site in the Senate yesterday, overseeing security for a scheduled press conference, when I received a report of surveillance outages affecting the security cameras in sector Thesh 16. Protocol dictates that such anomalies should be treated as intentional acts of sabotage until proven otherwise, so I transferred responsibility for the press event to a subordinate, forwarded a preliminary security alert to the Senate Guard, and went to assess the situation personally.”

So far, so good, but then everything Fox had relayed thus far had been entirely truthful. He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out the datastick Thire had pressed into his hands on the turbolift ride to the ground floor of the Guard’s compound. He held it out to the inspector, who took it gingerly and eyed it with some suspicion.

Fox clasped his hands behind his back again and continued with his report, leaning into the cooly professional tone and cadence he generally used around hostile natborns, “It rapidly became apparent that the outage was not the result of enemy action and was instead caused by an infestation of Scyvian barrow-rats in the conduits. That datastick contains a copy of the Guard’s report, detailing the steps taken to identify and mitigate the interruption, until repairs can be completed.”

And then, it was time to start in with the lies. Fortunately, Fox was a very talented liar. “I received a request for an update on the security alert.” Bless Thire, who was downstairs right now, coaching Odal on what to say if any CSF agent showed up looking for independent verification of Fox’s account, and bless Sear’s team of slicers, for seeding the Guard’s records with fabricated evidence to back up this story. Security alert confirmation requests were generally automated, so they were easy enough to falsify. His men had done the hard work, Fox just needed to trust them and do his part to drive the blade home. “The situation on site was stable, with repairs in progress and extra Guardsmen assigned to patrol the affected areas, so I was able to respond to the Chancellor’s summons immediately.”

“Are you often asked to make such trivial reports in person?” Inspector Svaryoskya asked, looking up from the datapad where she had been taking notes. Her tone hinted at disbelief and thinly veiled accusation.

“No, Ma’am, but the Chancellor does not consider security threats to the Senate to be trivial in nature,” Fox answered smoothly, which made the inspector’s fair skin flush with obvious displeasure. “May I continue?”

The inspector’s mouth thinned ominously, but she simply said, “Please do.”

Lie. Lie believingly, because more lives than his own depended on it. “The Chancellor was relieved that the outages did not represent an intentional security breach, but he was highly displeased about the infestation of vermin in a historic section of the Senate dome.” Fox could almost see it, the way the Chancellor’s mouth would turn down at the corners, the way his eyebrows would drop low over his too-cold eyes. How his voice would sound gently concerned, but also faintly disgusted. Even scornful. Mocking.

How the skin down the back of Fox’s neck would start to prickle with unease. How his heartrate would pick up and his vision would tunnel a little, instinctive reactions to a perceived threat.

Breathe. He was overreacting, as usual. This office always set him on edge on the best of days. He just needed to complete this report.

“He had specific questions about the nature and duration of the repairs. In total, the meeting lasted perhaps twenty minutes.” It had lasted twenty-three, Thire had made sure he was aware of the exact times he entered and exited the suite, but a rounded number sounded more casual, more off the cuff. More believable.

Inspector Svaryoskya tapped her stylus on the datapad, narrowed her eyes at whatever notes she had taken, and then continued her line of questioning.

Where had he gone after the meeting?

Back to Guard headquarters, to put together the report on the incident and to reorganize the day’s patrol assignments, to maintain the extra security in Thesh 16.

Had the Chancellor left the main office space, during the meeting?

No.

Had he recorded any aspect of his meeting with the Chancellor?

No, that would be a violation of Senate and Guard security procedures.

Had he seen anyone unusual or suspicious upon leaving the Chancellor’s office?

No.

Had the Chancellor seemed uncharacteristically nervous or distracted during the meeting?

No.

Can you take off your helmet?

No, that is against Guard protocols when a trooper is participating in an active, ongoing security crisis.

She peppered in questions about things Fox had already described, playing dumb in an attempt to trick him into revealing an inconsistency in his story. The strategy was a common one, and often effective, even to someone who was aware of the parameters of the game.

But Fox was very good at this. He always had been, even as a cadet.

When had his men realized the damage to the electrical conduits was not external sabotage?

What route did Fox take to get to the Chancellor’s office from Thesh 16?

How many Senate guards were stationed at the Chancellor’s door, when Fox arrived?

Fox answered them all, varying his words to make them sound less rehearsed. Not that he’d had time to rehearse anything, not with the Jedi insisting on his presence as soon as physically possible. But Thire’s foreshortened briefing had still been exceedingly thorough, and Fox had an excellent memory.

After a while, Inspector Svaryoskya started to look and sound vaguely impatient to have this interview over. Fox got the distinct impression that whatever she’d been hoping for, he hadn’t given it to her.

He did not sigh or let his shoulders droop with relief. He did not smile, even inside the privacy of his sealed bucket. He simply stood at a perfect parade rest and waited. The words which marked the end of a formal interview came fairly quickly after that.

Could he think of any other observations which might be pertinent to the investigation?

No.

Would he be available, if the CSF required any further statements from him?

Of course.

Finally he was given a comm code, to contact her if anything occurred to him at a later time, and with that, the inspector curtly tried to dismiss him.

It would be a sunny day on karking Kamino before Fox took orders from any CSF agent. He reminded her that he had been called here by General Windu, and so he would remain until he was dismissed by the ranking GAR officer on site.

The inspector had not been well pleased by that, but she also didn’t have the legal authority to kick him out of the suite. She also couldn’t demand that General Windu order him to leave, because the Jedi was currently having a very one-sided fight with Captain Axion. One-sided in that the captain was almost frothing at the mouth over something the Jedi was saying, while the general himself seemed just as sedate as ever. Perhaps a little darkly amused, if the way one corner of his mouth was twitching upwards was any indication.

Fox cooly agreed to take up a post in a very out-of-the-way corner of the room to await further orders.

He was happy to do so. The position gave him a rather good view of the space. He was very accustomed to fading into the background while standing a watch. Maybe these CSF agents believed the gossip that clones were basically droids wrapped in flesh, or maybe they just weren’t aware of his helmet’s capabilities, but it took them all of five minutes to start treating him like a piece of inconvenient furniture.

Fox just dialed up the input on his external mics, split his HUD so the left side was magnified ten times, and settled in to observe.

General Windu wanted to open the Chancellor’s desk and private quarters. Apparently he could feel something concerning coming from both places, even though his senses were being obstructed or confused for some reason. Captain Axion was of the opinion that the contents of the Chancellor’s desk, much less his personal rooms, were to be treated as state secrets. The Jedi informed the captain that he had already dispatched a representative to obtain a security release from acting Chancellor Amedda. Apparently the captain felt that this was an attempt to circumvent the Senate guard’s authority.

The two were clearly locked in a stalemate, waiting for those documents, so Fox shifted his attention elsewhere.

Two CSF agents were running samples through a very familiar field chem-analyzer. Maybe it still had all four of its supports and wasn’t propped up on one end with a broken piece of scrap floor tile, but it was functionally the same model Thorn had smuggled into Guard headquarters. Even the vials and evidence bags were the same, although these had bar-coded labels already affixed to each of them.

Apparently they weren’t finding much of anything interesting. The room was nearly spotless. They’d found a small patch of spilled liquid next to one of the chairs, but it appeared to be some kind of high-proof alcoholic beverage. There were occasional smears of mixed organics and aromatics on the desk and chairs around the room, all consistent with high-end lotions and perfumes. Interestingly, they had found a very small smear of blood on the front lip of the Chancellor’s desk, but it appeared to be weeks old and very degraded by cleaning agents, suggesting that it wasn’t relevant to anything that might have happened within the last planetary rotation. That wasn’t stopping the two investigators from speculating wildly about its source.

Two Senate guards were stationed in front of the side door, which led to the Chancellor’s private rooms. They weren’t talking and seemed just as tense and angry as the rest of their colleagues. Fox could only assume that the on-site security team had already swept the space for life signs, but to exclude it from the current investigation seemed idiotic.

Then again, he certainly didn’t want to be the officer responsible for giving the order to toss the Chancellor’s underwear drawer if he showed back up alive and well and furious about the invasion of his domain.

Another investigator was positioned just to the right of the room’s main door, doing something to the decorative sconce on the wall and muttering profanities to himself in mingled Basic and Pantoran. Fox was aware that there was a concealed exit behind that wall panel providing access to an emergency escape turbolift. It had been part of Fox’s initial security briefing back when he first arrived on Coruscant, but he’d never actually had need to enter the space.

He knew that the access button was concealed under a sliding panel, worked into the side of the decorative wall sconce. That had been part of the security briefing.

The fact that the panel tended to stick unless jiggled just the right way had not been part of that briefing. Apparently the CSF investigator did not know that. Fox had no reason to know that either.

Why did he know that?

The prickling down the nape of Fox’s neck increased, crawling down his back. A headache, the kind that never seemed to fully go away these days, sparked and flared behind his eyes, no doubt triggered by his increase in heartrate and his corresponding spike in his blood pressure. He needed to get a grip on himself.

Fox breathed slowly and deeply through his nose, as he’d been trained, but he nearly choked and coughed instead when that sent an unexpected trickle of hot, copper-tasting liquid down the back of his throat.

Blood.

Great, and now his kriffing nose was bleeding again, and there wasn’t a karking thing he could do about it with his bucket on. Hopefully it’d just stop on its own before he made too much of a mess of the inside of his helmet.

The main entrance from the lobby swished open, and a second Jedi strode into the room with a swagger like he owned the place.

Fox didn’t recognize this general, but his appearance was certainly distinctive enough that Fox shouldn’t have trouble figuring out the Jedi’s identity later. He was perhaps a shade darker complected than the average clone, with locs half-tied up to keep them out of his face, and a gold tattoo across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

The general held up a datapad as he neared General Windu and the still-incensed looking Captain Axion. “I’ve got the security release right here,” he said and then extended the ‘pad to General Windu.

General Windu turned the datapad around and briefly read its contents. “Everything seems to be in order,” he said, handing it to Axion to look over as well. He then walked around the desk as the captain looked at the document.

“I’ll get Verus to bring up the spare access keys,” Axion said, sounding very disgruntled about it.

“No need,” General Windu replied, and sure enough, there was a faint ‘snick’ sound and one of the side-drawers slid open, seemingly of its own accord.

Fox wondered if his brothers on the front lines ever got used to this kind of casual Force osik. He certainly found it uncanny as all kriff.

General Windu reached down to shift something aside with his actual hands this time and then paused, eyebrows rising slightly. “Vos, I need you to look at this,” he said, low enough that Fox’s bucket almost didn’t pick it up.

“Look at it, or touch it?” the other Jedi, Vos, asked, walking around the desk to stand next to his superior. Whatever was in the drawer earned a sharp intake of breath and a softly whispered, “Well kriff me.”

General Vos tugged off one of his gloves and reached for whatever it was that had the two Jedi so concerned.

“Now, see here…” Captain Axion started to object, but was almost immediately interrupted.

“I know the procedures,” General Vos said, hand hovering above the open drawer. “You can exclude my prints later, but this requires bare skin.” And then he reached down and grabbed… something. Fox couldn’t really see well from this angle, but whatever it was, the item was cylindrical and made of polished metals that simply screamed of extreme expense.

Fox was about to zoom in the view of his HUD further to get a better look, but General Vos gasped and, despite having just said that he was familiar with evidence collection procedures, proceeded to drop, almost throw, whatever the thing was back into the drawer.

The interaction had drawn the attention of several of the CSF investigators, a few of whom gasped out protests at the handling of… whatever it was, but neither Jedi seemed to be paying any of them the smallest bit of attention. General Vos’s head whipped up, expression shocked, and caught General Windu’s eyes. Something passed between them in silence, some understanding or communication, because General Windu just nodded and looked back at Captain Axion.

“We need to clear this space,” General Windu said in a tone like beskar.

For once, even Captain Axion seemed to recognize that arguing was probably not the best course of action. “You mean, all of us?” he asked faintly.

“Yes.”

“Into the lobby, or…”

“Out of the suite entirely.”

That did not sound promising. So much for not making an obvious scene in the public hallway outside of the Chancellor’s office. What the kriff was the problem?

For the CSF agents and Senate guards for whom General Windu’s stern gravitas didn’t quite do the trick, General Vos’s charming cajoling and occasionally unsubtle shooing got them moving. Fox hung to the back as General Vos herded the others out, until he could approach General Windu with some expectation of not being overheard.

“Sir, the Guard has specialized bomb disposal units, biological contaminant gear, sniffer massifs. Should I comm for backup?” he asked, trying to cover the most likely circumstances which might require evacuation of the entirety of the Chancellor’s suite.

He also actively tried not to think about how whatever that thing was had gotten into the Chancellor’s desk. And whether he, or rather CC-1010, had had something to do with it.

General Windu gave Fox an odd look, but he answered readily enough. “Thank you, Commander, but this will be a matter for the Council to handle. If you could set up a perimeter to isolate the rooms, that would help us greatly.”

“Of course, Sir,” Fox replied, wishing the reply had been a little less cryptic.

Seeing as how the general did not seem to be interested in leaving his current position, Fox turned to go execute his orders. However, he did spare a quick glance behind him on his way out of the room. General Windu had turned to face the wide windows behind the Chancellor’s desk, looking out over the sprawling cityscape of Coruscant. His hands were clasped firmly behind his back.

Fox palmed several pre-labeled, empty evidence bags from the supply table and slipped them into one of his belt pouches on the way out of the door.

“For kriff’s sake,” Thorn said when Fox pulled off his helmet. “You’ve just been bleeding in there, all day?”

Fox didn’t dignify that with a response. He could see exactly how bad he looked in the ‘fresher mirror without the helpful commentary. The lower half of his face, most everything below his sluggishly dripping nose, was covered in tacky, half-dried blood.

He just glowered at Thorn and held out a hand, silently demanding the cannister of pressurized armor cleaner his brother was holding.

“Fix your karking face,” Thorn said, handing him a small first aid kit instead. “I’ll clean out your bucket.”

Fox glowered at Thorn, but he wasn’t about to turn down an offer like that. He handed over his bucket and snatched the kit. His face felt sticky and itched ferociously. He dumped the kit, his gauntlets, and his gloves into a neighboring sink, and turned on the fancy faucet in front of him.

Thorn flipped Fox’s helmet over and took a look inside. Whatever he saw earned a low whistle, audible even through the vocoder. “You know, I could have grabbed you new filters if you’d told me it was this bad.”

Fox cupped his hands under the stream of water and splashed it on his face. It swirled down the drain, red-streaked and flecked with dried flakes of blood. He wet his hands again and started scrubbing at the worst patches. “Why, when I’m just going to keep bleeding into a fresh set?” Fox snapped, at the end of his rope with just about everything. He’d managed to stanch the flow a few hours back, when he took a quick fifteen count for a ration bar. It hadn’t lasted.

“Have you told Scav?” Thorn asked, shaking up the cannister and then spraying it into the interior of Fox’s helmet over one of the sinks. The internal electronics were sealed against breath condensation and other types of moisture, but there were limits, and this was going to be pushing them. Fox didn’t have the down time for a full work-over of his helmet, maybe Mags could loan him a spare. He hated the idea of wearing a shiny bucket, but it was better than a glitching HUD.

Fox opened up the medical kit and found the sterile astringent wipes inside. “And when, exactly, do you think I would have had time for that?” he growled, using one of the wipes to scrub at a patch of mostly dried blood in the bare beginnings of stubble on his chin.

“Find the time, or he’ll kill both of us and use our bodies for spare parts,” Thorn said, almost conversationally. Fox knew him too well to miss the legitimate concern riding under the dark humor.

And he also wasn’t wrong. There were all sorts of rumors around the Guard about how Scavenger had earned his name. Fox hadn’t ever bothered to confirm any of them.

Fox just grimaced. “I will, as soon as I can head back to base.”

When that might be was anyone’s guess.

It had been hours, and the Chancellor still hadn’t turned up passed out in some corner of the Senate dome.

Nor had any Separatist group claimed credit for either kidnapping the Chancellor or assassinating him, and they certainly would have if they had. It would be a massive morale boost for the CIS.

No ransom letter had arrived in the Senate’s mailroom.

No questionable stench had started wafting out of the air vents.

There had been a few developments though, not that Fox was able to put the pieces together into a coherent picture.

Several additional members of the Jedi Council presented themselves at the Chancellor’s office soon after Fox had left the suite and set up a defensive perimeter. He could not be certain, but he thought the group represented every councilmember currently on planet.

Perhaps half an hour later, three more Jedi arrived with crates on a hovercart, all emblazoned with warnings so aggressive they might as well have been overt threats.

An hour after that, acting Chancellor Mas Amedda had come to the office, with two extremely harried-looking aides, fresh off announcing his unexpected ascension to the office in front of the sitting Senate body. It was a zoo out there, but Stone was handling the security instead of Fox, because somehow that fragmentation grenade of a situation was still only the second most incendiary event currently erupting in the Senate dome.

He'd looked sour upon arriving and even more so when he left, aides straggling along behind him with two boxes overloaded with flimsi files and datapads. Fox assumed they were the confidential contents of Chancellor Palpatine’s desk.

Well, most of them. He was pretty certain the Jedi wouldn’t be turning over the mystery cylinder.

The containment crates left a few hours after that, each with two Jedi as escorts. Thorn had shown up in the middle of their departure, along with the next shift of fresh Guards. It had been as good a time as any to slip away for a quick conversation in the service ‘freshers.

At least his face was now semi-clean, even though a new streak of blood was starting to trickle out of his left nostril. He fished a few gauze pads, a tube of bacta gel, and two pain tabs out of the first aid kit. He could dab a little ointment on two scraps of gauze and stick them up each nostril. The vocoder would probably cover for the worst of the stuffiness that would cause, but at least he wouldn’t be bleeding into his filters anymore.

“Did you bring the other items I requested?” he asked, dry swallowing the pain tabs and then tearing off the first bit of gauze and rolling it into a sort of conical, plug shape.

“Yeah,” Thorn replied, eyeing Fox out of the corner of his eye. “But are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“If you’ve got a better idea, now would be the time to share it.”

There weren’t security cameras in the Senate bathrooms. Thank the little gods for natborn modesty.

Except Thorn apparently couldn’t think of a better plan.

And Fox had run out of ideas hours ago. The Jedi weren’t telling him anything, and it was only minimally comforting that he wasn’t being singled out. They weren’t briefing the CSF or the Senate guards either.

Fox made the exchange in one of the ‘fresher stalls. The sterile gloves and empty bags were hidden safely away inside one of his belt pouches.

When the CSF agents were finally allowed back into the office suite to retrieve their equipment and samples, they unknowingly left with three extra bags with intentionally incorrect labels slipped amongst their other evidence. One contained a swab with the unidentified blood from Fox’s pauldron, one held the two silver hairs they’d found on his blacks, and the last had the sample of the odd, organic residue from the bruises on his face.

[rooksunday]

because @whiskygoldwings

thorn writes notes.

Thorn wrote the first note quickly. He’d received last minute orders for an off world escort mission, and Fox had been disappeared for days on a blackout; Fox’s absence meant he and Thorn couldn’t exchange their usual parting words. Something about that made Thorn uneasy and he grabbed a scrap of flimsi from the stack of GAR invoices on his desk that had yet to be filed.

Sorry I couldn’t take the stupid with me, since apparently you’re still using it. I’ll be back to relieve the burden soon xoxo

He left the note folded on Fox’s sad limp pillow in the barracks. Fox didn’t say anything about the note when Thorn returned a tenday later, with some new bruises and chipped paint to show for his time away, but he drew Thorn into a keldabe that lasted longer than usual.

The next time an off world mission came, Thorn had received more notice, and Fox had been around to exchange farewells the night before, but Thorn had to leave planet while Fox was on-shift. It felt strange to leave Coruscant without one last look at Fox growing small in the distance. Thorn’s own red sun setting.

Another GAR invoice sacrificed for the cause.

Don’t let Thire work triple shifts again, I caught him eating soap last night. I left the last of the good caf hidden in your socks and it worries me you haven’t found it yet. Change your socks. I can’t always be there to remind you.

Thorn returned with a story about a narrow miss with a gundark and a rash of burns on his calf. He found three new pairs of socks in his drawer; one had a packet of bon bons tucked inside.

(On one of their shifts, he thought he’d spotted Fox reading a piece of flimsi and tucking it behind his chest plate. That had probably been Thorn’s imagination.)

When the mission came for Thorn to go to Scipio, Fox was around and off-shift, and he accompanied Thorn and the squad to the bay to salute them away. After their exchange of farewells, Fox lingered, touching Thorn’s pauldron briefly, a curious tilt to his helmet.

Grinning behind the shield of his bucket, Thorn tucked his folded note into the cuff of Fox’s glove, saluted him as jauntily as he could get away with, and boarded the ship without looking back.

[clonemando]

Aaahhhhhh more kiss fics from you!?! Yes pls!!!

Could I very kindly ask for Fox/Thorn and number 24 - a sleepy kiss pls?

(And thank you for shouting me out as well!)

Thank you for the request! Also all I could imagine during writing this is this: fox is eepy meme and was giggling. Enjoy!

Fox felt like he was floating, like back when he was a cadet and they had swim lessons and they were all taught how to lay on their backs to conserve energy while waiting for rescue. Although that floating was scary because there was a darkness under the waves that could swallow them up at any time. Wherever he was floating now was safe and warm.

"I'm glad you think so Foxy. Does this mean you're finally awake now?" A voice rumbled from under him and sounded close to his ear. It was familiar.

"Thorn?" He asked cracking his eyes open and wincing at the light in the room.

"Yeah, it's me. I told them if you woke up alone you'd go crazy and probably wreck the room before clawing your way into a vent to escape. What do you remember?" He asked and Fox snuggled closer, hiding his face from the light in Thorn's chest feeling a kiss get dropped to his forehead.

"Mmmm there was... A fight?" He tried to figure out what happened but his brain felt like an empty crisper that had been scrubbed clean. He knew there should be more mess in there and no matter how many times he opened the door nothing new was showing up.

"Yeah, Palpatine was evil, which we knew, but he was more evil than we realized. He was gonna try to do some sith ritual on you but you poked me in our bond thing and I was able to get some Jedi to come help. It was a crazy fight and I got my mind jacked for a minute but Windu managed to pull another prime and take his head off. It was satisfying to watch." He admitted and Fox grumbled.

"Don't 'member. Head ain't got no food in it. Like a crisper." He said then frowned into Thorn's chest as his partner laughed at him.

"Yeah turns out he left a lot of darkness goop in our brains. The Jedi helpfully scraped it all out but it takes some of the affected memories with them. The rest of us made video journals first but you were in a... a bad state. So they had to do you without any backlog. Give it some time, we'll get new healthier food in that brain crisper for you Foxy." He promised and Fox wanted to be grumpy about it but everything felt so bright and floaty and nice so he just grunted.

"Need mornin' kiss and some caff... 'm eepy." He whined looking up at Thorn finally through squinted eyes and it earned him another kiss, this time right between his eyes. He almost went cross eyed trying to see it.

"The fox is eepy..." Thorn nearly squeaked looking absolutely gleeful and Fox thought he might need to do something about that but he really was still exhausted and moving to elbow Thorn's kidney would mean having to move and he was so comfortable where he was.

"Thoooorrrnnn... Don't be mean. I'm tired. Can't punch you hard enough." He whined. Thorn finally kissed him on the lips like he wanted.

"Fine. You're just so adorable like this. I need to have the Jedi scrub your brain more often. Just go back to sleep Fox. I'll be here when you wake up again." He murmured and Fox hummed eyes already slipping shut again now he got what he wanted.

"Promise?" Fox asked as sleep started to steal him away again.

"Yeah, I promise." Thorn agreed and Fox felt fingers start petting through his curls and was gone.

[lonewolflupe]

aLoF Ficlet | A Fox Encounter

This has to be one of my favourite things I've written so far. And since I'm already crying over chapter 13, I thought I might share this ficlet as well.

Summary: Commander Fox is summoned to a disturbance and finds himself in a pitiful scene Rating: Teen and up Tags: (light) angst, mentions of death, emotional hurt/comfort Words: 1.446k Characters: Lupe (OC), CC-1010 Commander Fox, Commander Thorn, unidentified Coruscant Guard aLoF masterlist | AO3 Chapter 13 < | A Fox Encounter | > ???

19 BBY, Coruscant

(Shortly after chapter 13)

“Incoming report of a disturbance, sir,” the trooper called across the station after accepting the transmission. Fox sighed heavily before standing up and walking over. “Of military origins?” he asked the trooper, but he already knew the answer. The trooper nodded before handing over the communication device.

“Report, trooper,” Fox ordered, being as straight to the point and practical as ever. “Sir, Jedi going rogue,” the Coruscant Guard on site reported, a slight tremor in his voice. Fox shot into focus immediately. “Is it her?” he asked, before the trooper replied: “Affirmative.”

A moment of silence as Fox’s mind was racing. “I'm on my way. Do not engage,” he replied at last, before putting his helmet on and making sure his blasters were in his holsters.

When Fox arrived at the spot, he found himself in a pitiful scene. The intoxicated Jedi Lupe was stumbling on her feet, calling out all kinds of insults at the Coruscant Guards surrounding her, whilst waving around a bottle of booze that contained suspiciously little content. A wave of relief washed over him when he noticed her lightsaber was still neatly attached to her belt, clearly unused.

“Yeah, you afraid? Come on, I'll dupe you one by one!” she shouted, before taking another sip of the booze. She staggered, but regained her balance just in time. Fox advanced and when he reached one of his men, he put a hand on the shaking arm that was aiming the blaster forward. “Stand down, I'll handle this,” Fox ordered.

After he had dismissed all of his men, making them reluctantly continue their patrols, Lupe finally noticed his presence. She looked up at him in silence for a moment, her eyes narrowing, before she downed a dangerous amount of booze in one go. When she was done, the bottle slid from her fingers and shattered when it hit the ground.

“You,” she grunted, her voice raw and raspy, before barging towards him. Fox stood stiff as a statue, not trying to escalate the situation any further, but not letting her intimidate him either. When she had almost reached him, she took the lightsaber's hilt from her belt and pushed it against his chest plate, right on top of his heart.

He remained calm and unmoved. Now that she was close to him, he saw her fuming, her chest heaving from the adrenaline - and the booze. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were red from all the crying; she looked lost and forsaken. He expected to see a fire in her eyes, but they had completely burned out; her amber eyes just a hollow rendition of what they used to be.

For a while, they didn't move. His guards had withdrawn, as he had ordered, and any civilians in the area were smart enough to stay clear from the scene. In a cruel twist of the faiths, rain started pouring down from the sky. He watched how drops ran down her face, but he knew it wasn't just the rain.

She tightened her grip around the hilt to his chest. “You killed him,” she finally spoke, her voice low and on the point of breaking. Very slowly, Fox raised his hands and took off his helmet, so he could look her in the eyes properly. “I was following orders,” he said slowly yet determined.

Lupe scoffed. “Without a question? Even when he was your brother?” she spat at him with renewed energy. Fox leaned slightly forward, feeling the pressure on his chest where she was holding the lightsaber. Almost as if he was daring her to ignite it. To stop the suffering. “He was a threat to my men,” he elaborated. “You could have stunned him!” she cried out, and he was sure there were more tears than raindrops on her face by now.

“He wasn't himself, sir,” he said softly, lowering his gaze, fully aware this wasn't helping her to cope with Fives’ death. For a moment, he could only hear her breathing and the raindrops falling heavily on their armour parts.

“Lupe, I'm sorry,” he finally uttered softly, looking her in the eyes again. Her stretched arm started to shake, and at last, the lightsaber’s hilt fell from her grasp. It bounced when it hit the ground and rolled away from them. Lupe sank through her legs and fell to her knees, the sound of sobbing filling the street.

He stood towering over her for a moment, the broken remains of a once feisty, fierce young Jedi. And he was to blame. He had never felt so devastated before, cursing the position the Chancellor had put him in.

He lowered himself on one knee to level with her. Consoling was far out of his comfort zone, but he put a hand on her shoulder anyway, as gentle as he could. He was taken completely by surprise when she let herself fall against his chest plate, sobbing uncontrollably by now. He sighed, and after a moment of hesitation, he put one arm around her, softly patting her back. “I'm sorry,” he repeated in a whisper.

Only when her sobbing had died down, he withdrew his arm. “You're gonna put me in his cell now?” she whispered with a lack of emotion, since she felt like she didn't have any left. Fox sighed; he was fully aware he was known as being hard and unyielding, but he wasn't cruel.

“I'm not gonna put you in a cell at all,” he said as he got back up on his feet, offering her his hand to do the same. She hesitated for a moment, but took it anyway. Her head was thumping when she raised to her feet.

When she was standing, she looked him in the eyes again. “Not following orders now, are you?” Fox sighed again as he put on his helmet. “I’m the one giving the orders now,” he replied, surprisingly soft for his standard.

After they stood there in silence for a moment, Fox started scratching his neck a bit awkwardly. “I, er- think it's best for you to.. To seek some distraction, to get your mind off things,” he stammered. She shot him a toxic look; how dare he tell her what to do after he had robbed her of her galaxy?

“I've lost brothers too,” he uttered, before averting his gaze and adding softly: “He was my brother as well.” Only now Lupe realised everything that had happened was haunting Fox. He had been ordered to capture a rogue clone, and when Fives - the Maker knows what had possessed him - had reached for a blaster, Fox had done what any good officer would have done: protect his men.

She tried swallowing the lump in her throat as the look in her eyes softened. She wrinkled her eyebrows in an attempt to stop the tears from forming in her eyes again. Fox was just glad he was wearing his helmet at this moment, because he would have hated it if anyone saw him in a vulnerable position.

“Thanks- Thanks for the advice,” she muttered at last, putting her arms around her chest, her hand on the freshly set ‘5’ tattoo on her upper right arm. Fox regained his stiff, hardened posture, and gave her a quick, practical nod. “Just stay out of trouble, sir,” he said to her, before turning around and walking away.

Lupe remained at the spot for a little while longer, rubbing her upper arms as she was trying to comfort herself. At long last, she walked over to her lightsaber to pick it up. She attached it to her belt and disappeared into the darkness of the Coruscanti alleys.

…

“Sir, are you.. Alright?”

Fox was rubbing his eyelids as he was sitting back in his chair, his legs outstretched on top of the desk in front of him. Thorn’s words barely reached him. The sight of Fox being tired and done was a daily recurrence, but tonight, the whites of the Commander’s eyes had been even more red than usual.

Fox grunted and only looked up when Thorn put down a fresh mug of caf in front of him. The vapours that ascended from it felt welcoming, comforting even. He sighed before looking up at Thorn. “Get me Wolffe on a transmission. I need him to take care of someone,” he said in a low voice. Thorn nodded and turned around to follow out the order. He didn't think about it for a moment; after all, Wolffe and the Wolfpack ‘took care’ of problems all the time. He wasn't aware ‘care’ had a different meaning that night.

I feel so sorry for Fox (and you need to know I wrote this long before becoming a Fox simp). Also this needs some sort of Wolffe sequel that I haven't written yet.

[independent-variables]

Extracurricular Officer Training

independent_variables

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & Clone Commander Thorn Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, Clone Commander Thorn (Star Wars), Grizzer the Massiff (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Theft, Bonding, THE START OF A BEAUTIFUL PARTNERSHIP, fox's adventures in crime on coruscant, Breaking and Entering, space dogs, cops doing cop things. like stealing Summary:

He didn’t have to wait long. The even click-thud of Lieutenant Thorn’s stride emerged from the mess, just as the lieutenant himself passed the hall. Fox reached out and snagged his pauldron.

Thorn twitched violently and then whirled around, one hand dropping to his blaster but the other rising in a neat salute. “Commander! Hi! I mean hello! Um. Hello, sir.”

Hm. Thorn was getting used to him.

***

Fox enlists Thorn's help with an errand.

---

This is a recent fic I’m posting for @starwarsalltypesoflove week long celebration! It’s a messy mix of like three different kinds of love that Fox is not happy to be feeling for his troops, lol.