#sits on datapads if thorn has been working too long

[ermakeys]

Corrie Guard 1: Look, I got Cran a toy!

Corrie Guard 2: Uh, vod, I don't think she likes it?

Corrie Guard 1: No, I'm sure she'll-.

*two corries are seen running from a hissing tooka cat*

[cloneshipping7567]

Romantic Confessions Part 18

Part 18/30

18. "We have just met and yet it feels like I have known you for a lifetime."

Pairing: Thorn x Fox

Rating/WC: T/2082

Warnings: None <3

Notes: I'm so sorry this took so long to get out! I really really struggled with this prompt, but I hope I did it justice!

~~~

Fox rubs at the spot on his forehead just above his brow, trying to soothe the oncoming headache. He’s been awake too long, a couple rotations at least, and his caf is starting to have less of a useful effect on him. He sips at his now cold drink anyway, choking it down without wincing. 

His new commander should be here sometime soon, fresh out of ARC training, and he’ll take a good chunk of Fox’s responsibilities off his plate. He and his commanders are already stretched way too thin. 

“Sir?” greets him from the doorway to his office, and Fox looks up from his datapad to see Stone. “Did you stay here all night?”

Fox grumbles and looks back down to his report, sipping his caf again. “I’m almost done with these reports.”

“We’re going to have to sit through another lecture from Patchup about the use of stims, sir,” Stone says with a tired tone, crossing his arms over his chest. “Again.”

Fox makes an affronted noise. “I haven’t used any stims, thank you very much.” He downs the rest of his cold caf, curling his lip in disgust and putting his mug back down. “I’ve been banned for life, Patchup thinks my heart will give out.”

“You just chugged half a cup of caf right in front of me,” Stone says, unimpressed. 

“That isn’t a stim, though, is it?” Fox asks, looking up from his report to shoot Stone a grimace. It’s as close to a smile as Fox has gotten in a very long time, it feels like. Maybe since they left Kamino. 

“It’s adjacent,” Stone argues, but doesn’t bother pushing it. “You need sleep. When was the last time you took a break?”

“What day is it?” he only half jokes, looking back to his report and swiping to the next page. He does not need to be reading this; a shiny could understand this banthashit and forge his signature, surely. “I took a nap at my desk a while ago, I’m fine.”

“I can’t wait for your new XO to get here, he’ll force you to actually delegate.” Stone steps into the room, uninvited, and sits at one of the chairs in front of Fox’s desk. “You can share some of the work, you know.”

“Then we’ll all be here late,” Fox mumbles, skipping to the bottom and sighing in relief when he realizes he only has a few paragraphs left. He finds where he left off and keeps reading. “Everyone is already overworked as it is.”

“You’re completely ridiculous,” Stone says, and Fox glares at him. “Sir,” he adds, as if that will make the statement less court-marshall worthy. “If you gave me even a couple extra tasks, you’d be able to take a night off. Do you even remember what the barracks look like? The boys miss your pretty face.”

Fox rolls his eyes, looking back down at his report and skimming the last few paragraphs to make sure it’s still very unimportant. He submits it and clicks on the next one-the last one, thankfully. “I do give you extra tasks, just not enough that we would both be here half the night. And I don’t sleep in the barracks anyway.”

“Ah, yes, my mistake Mr. Marshall-Commander, you’re above us grunts. Forgot.”

Fox makes a disgusted noise, looking up at Stone and throwing his datapad down. “Stone.”

Stone has the decency to actually look regretful, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, too far. You could visit, every now and then, you know. Be good for morale.”

Fox works his jaw, going back to his last report. If Stone weren’t here, he might be done already, and he might be napping in his chair by now. Maybe, probably. “No it wouldn’t. They go all quiet when I’m around and it’s awkward.”

Stone shifts, wanting to deny it badly. “They just respect you, is all.”

“They’re scared I’ll bite,” Fox argues, baring his teeth in a mock of a smile just to demonstrate. “I piss people off, that’s my whole personality.”

“No,” Stone argues immediately, shooting Fox a real smile. He leans back in his chair and puts his boots on the desk- the heathen -and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve never managed to piss me off, and I’m very easy to piss off.”

“I don’t try to piss people off, I just always seem to.” Fox says, and then makes a face. “Well, the men anyway. My life’s purpose is to annoy Cody and Wolffe as much as humanly possible.”

Stone snorts at that, cocking his head to the side. “They’re funny when you piss them off, though. They’re so patient with literally everyone else, but you simply breathe and they start to get pissy.”

Fox hums, scrolling on the report and mostly skimming. “Batchmates are just different, I guess. Easier to annoy, I know all their buttons.”

“I’ve heard natborns say that’s what having siblings is like,” Stone adds, brows furrowed in thought. “My batchmates were the same way, I guess.”

Fox tenses his shoulders, all amusement leaving his body at once. This is potentially his very least favorite topic, either tied with or just behind discussing his own emotions and feelings with anyone. “Anyway, they’re uncomfortable when I’m around. Cody and Wolffe say their troopers are the same way, unless it’s their personal squad. Like you,” Fox says, nodding at Stone’s boots. “You’re obviously comfortable around me.”

Stone rolls his eyes but puts his feet back on the floor, leaning his elbows on the desk instead. “Very. The Big Bad Fox isn’t really all that intimidating, if you get to know him.”

“Don’t you have your own work to do?” Fox bites, rolling his shoulders. His tone is harsher than it had been, even if Stone knows him well enough to know it’s still mostly playful. “Because I have a few suggestions on what you could do instead of-”

“Commander Fox?” comes from his doorway, and Fox’s head snaps to the newcomer. He’s in full kit, including his kama but missing his pauldron. Understandable; a lot of clones find it more annoying and distracting than anything, himself included. “Am I interrupting?”

Stone stumbles to his feet and stands at attention, arms stiff at his sides. Fox has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the caught expression on his face. This newcomer technically doesn’t outrank Stone; he may be Fox’s new XO, but they would both be commanders. Fox is the only clone in Red who would outrank either of them. 

“No,” Fox answers, standing up himself slowly and placing his datapad down. “Commander Stone was just leaving. Right, Commander?”

“Yes, sir,” Stone says, turning to face Fox with a click of his heels. His hand comes up to salute Fox, but the face he gives Fox is nothing short of unprofessional. He slides his helmet on and turns, nodding to the newcomer before leaving the office. 

The new commander lets him pass, and then enters the office and shuts the door behind him. He stands at a parade rest, arms crossed behind his back at the wrists. “Commander Fox, I’ve been sent to report to you. I’ll be serving with the Guard under your command for the rest of the war.”

Fox nods, wishing he had his own helmet on right now. It’s always served as a shield for him, one which is far more necessary when dealing with the senate than on the battlefield. It would be rude, though, and might be seen as dismissive. “I was told I would be getting a new commander soon. What’s your name? Do you have one yet?”

The new commander pulls his helmet off, and Fox has to fight to not gasp. He’s gorgeous. He’s grown his hair out long, and the curls reach just below his chin. He’s either died them or he’s like Captain Rex with a mutation, but they’re blond and they look soft. His eyes are bright and full of life, curious maybe. The way he sets his jaw is different from the rest of them, and he holds himself more confidently than the average clone. 

He’s simply gorgeous, and it’s incredibly distracting. 

“Thorn,” he answers, a small smile growing on his lips. He tucks his helmet under his arm, and cocks his head to the side. “They didn’t tell you?”

Fox swallows thickly and tries to collect himself before he does something embarrassing. Like drool. He clears his throat, looking down at his reports before making eye contact again. “Might have, it’s um. I’ve looked at a lot of reports in the last few rotations.” He doesn’t mention that he hasn’t slept in that time, nor has he been taking note of anything less important than an assignment that requires decisions from him. 

“Hm,” Thorn says, his smile growing and amusement coloring his tone. “Heavy workload, then?”

“I wouldn’t- it- yeah. Sure.” Fox looks away, internally cursing himself for his decision not to sleep. He couldn’t make this more awkward if he tried. “Lots of paperwork. It won’t be so bad with another commander to help.”

“Oh good, I love paperwork,” Thorn snarks, making Fox look back up at him. “I sure am glad I went through all that ARC training to do desk work.”

Fox rolls his eyes, forgetting his decorum for a moment. Usually it takes someone like Cody or Stone to make him forget himself like this, to make him feel comfortable enough to be human. Must be the sleep deprivation. “Welcome to the Guard, where the action is limited and the paperwork is infinite.”

“You should have been a salesman,” Thorn says, cocking his hip out and resting his helmet on it. “All that charm is going to waste here.”

“You’ll get it soon,” Fox says, trying not to bristle. He doesn’t know this clone, especially not well enough to be this sarcastic yet. “You’ll love the monotony and predictability of the job, it definitely doesn’t suck the life out of you.”

“Aw, come on, it can’t be that bad. I’ve heard some horror stories being spread around the GAR. Handsy senators, riotous prisoners, the whole nine yards.” Thorn smiles, really smiles, and Fox cannot breathe for a second. “I’m sure I’ll love it here.”

Fox feels a smile start to grow on his own face; a combination of seeing Thorn’s beautiful smile and the amusement from this conversation. He feels his shoulders relax, his whole body relax for the first time in a very long time. Thorn’s eyes widen fractionally, and his smile grows to show off his teeth. “I hope you will,” he adds after a pause just a bit too long. He’s pretty sure it’s obvious how infatuated he is. 

Thorn’s eyes flit between Fox’s, and his smile melts into something more fond. “I know I will, if you’re here with me.” 

Fox’s eyes widen and he swallows thickly. Shit. He’s never been flirted with, he doesn’t really know how to do this. But he really wants Thorn to keep doing it. “It’s good to- I’m glad you’re, uh,” Fox winces, wishing his brain was actually working right now instead of whatever it’s doing in this sleep-deprived haze. “I’m glad you’re here with me-too.”

Thorn laughs, eyes bright, and Fox actually gasps quietly at the sound. “We have just met, and yet it feels like I have known you a lifetime,” Thorn says, his smile dazzling. 

Fox swallows, feeling like his heart might beat out of his chest. “I- I feel the exact same way.” And he doesn’t have the words to describe why that means so much, why this is so absurd for Fox. 

Thorn smiles again, moving his helmet from under one arm to the other. “I’ve never been to Coruscant before, are there any good places to eat? It’s almost lunch time.”

Fox huffs a laugh, looking down at his datapad and thinking. He quickly sends the last report to Stone and turns it off, before looking up again. “I do, actually. Can I take you to one?”

“What a wonderful idea,” Thorn agrees, slipping his helmet back on before opening the door. “I can show you my quarters too, so I can change into civvies.”

Fox swallows thickly, putting his own helmet on. He definitely wants to see the inside of Thorn’s quarters. Maybe after lunch, though. “Lead the way, then,” he says, and ignores the glare Stone sends him from his own desk.

[fett-djarin]

Stress Relief

Here it is! This is entirely self indulgent and filthy! Im a wh*re for the croissant guards

Also I headcanon Fox looking like how amikoroyoaiart draws him. her art is so good!

Commander Fox x f!reader

Crossposted on ao3

Rating: 18+

Length: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: Oral (m receiving), that good sloppy toppy, office sex, cursing, light grinding, making out

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

Bringing the Guard their morning caf had become a tradition, of sorts. You knew the caf in the mess wasn’t good--in fact, it was barely even palatable. When you first started as a new secretary, it had been your timid way of offering friendship to the imposing troopers who worked so hard to keep the planet safe. They warmed to you quickly. Thire was the first to remove his helmet in front of you, plonking it down on your desk and taking a long pull of caf barely a second after you handed it to him. At your stunned look, he had just raised a brow and said, “Long patrol last night,” with a shrug.

As the others had become more comfortable with you, you had seen most of them without their buckets at some point--except for Fox. He always took his caf with a polite “Thank you, ma’am,” and retreated to his office. You knew it was against regulation for them to remove their helmets while they were on duty. But even when you dropped off the caf in his office, he was at his desk with his helmet on.

“He keeps it on so you can’t tell if he’s actually asleep,” Thorn told you one day. “I suspect he even does it while we’re standing guard sometimes.” You laughed aloud at that. The serious Commander Fox, asleep standing up. He was right though, you never would be able to tell.

The first time Fox removed his helmet in front of you, you hadn’t expected the gray dusting his temples, but honestly you weren’t surprised. The poor man was stressed beyond belief and worked half to death. You were more surprised that he finally did it in the first place. Fox sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls, before taking the caf and giving you a tired smile. He thanked you by name that time. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

From then on, he had been without it more when you went into his office. You even caught him sleeping once--head resting on his folded arms, bucket set next to him--and had done your best to deliver the caf without waking him. Maker knew he needed the sleep more than he needed hot caf--if Thorn hadn’t told you he snuck naps with the helmet on, you would think he ran off caf and stubborn will alone.

One morning, after you had passed out caf to the others--and a little cup of whipped cream for Grizzer--Fox hadn’t made an appearance, so you made your way to his office to drop it off. You knocked lightly on the door. “Come in,” his gruff voice called, and the door slid aside. You smiled at him, noting the way his shoulders visibly relaxed at seeing it was just you. You set the cup down on his desk. You had just turned when a touch on your wrist stopped you.

Fox was looking up at you, helmet cocked to the side. “You know you don’t have to bring us caf every time you work, right? The boys better not be nagging you for it.”

“I know,” you said. “I enjoy doing it. And it’s the least I could do.”

“The least you could do?”

“You all work so hard. You deserve more, even if it’s just better caf.”

He squeezed your wrist gently. “You don’t owe us anything. It is our duty to the Republic--”

“I know, Fox,” you tried to hide your grin, and failed. “But you’re also my friends.”

That seemed to surprise him, hand falling from your wrist as he sat back in his chair and regarded you curiously. You made your way back to the door, pausing in the entryway and looking back over your shoulder.

“Have a good morning, Commander.”

“...You as well, ma’am.”

The door slid shut behind you. Fox slipped his helmet off, setting it on his desk and staring hard at the door you had disappeared through. His eyes flicked to the paper cup of steaming caf, brows furrowed.

It was the first time you had called him by his name.

Friends?

----

After that day, Fox seemed to be trying to talk to you more. Instead of taking his caf and running off, he would stay, either to chat or just hang around for a minute with you and the other Guards. Stone nudged Thire, who nudged Thorn, and they all looked over to where Fox leaned his hip casually against your desk and you were laughing at something he said.

“Did someone replace Fox while we weren’t looking?” Thire questioned under his breath.

“I’ve never seen him so...cheery,” Stone said.

You smiled up at Fox, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. They watched as your fingers grazed the back of his hand where it rested on your desk. “Think something’s goin’ on between those two?” Thorn asked, gesturing vaguely over towards you and Fox with his cup.

“Absolutely.” Thire didn’t hesitate to answer.

The three quickly snapped to attention as Fox excused himself, heading their direction. You gave them a small wave. Thorn was about to wave back before Thire thumped him in the arm.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?” Fox grumbled as he passed them, heading to his office. “Get to it.” You hid your laugh behind your hand seeing the three Commanders scramble to disperse.

Evening rolled around, and you cocked your head side to side, stretching your neck and shoulders. You had been going over forms all day, datapad after datapad, organizing reports and requests for the Chancellor and the Senate. Your shift was almost over, and you were getting ready to go home for the night.

Various members of the Guard had come and gone, leaving and returning from patrols. Senators and representatives had filtered through; less and less as the evening progressed. You were just getting ready to leave when Fox stalked through, back from his rounds, tense and practically vibrating with irritation. He didn't even spare you a glance as he disappeared into his office. If the doors weren't automatic, he likely would have slammed it shut.

You knew he had a thankless job--a job he had no say in having, either. Usually it was something to do with the Chancellor that got him so worked up. Half the time you thought Fox would strangle the man himself if he could. Maybe you should take Fox out to one of the cafes nearby, just for a second to breathe and not carry the weight of the Guard on his shoulders. Was that against regulation? It might be better to invite him back to your apartment. Or did that imply too much?

You pushed yourself up from your chair, mind made up. He could always say no. You wouldn’t be offended.

You paused outside the door to his office, listening carefully. You couldn’t hear anything from the other side. So, you knocked.

“What.” Fox’s biting tone surprised you, but you didn’t take it personally.

“Commander? I...It’s me,” you said hesitantly, and then wanted to smack yourself. Confidence. “Is everything alright?”

No response. You took the silence as a sign that he wasn’t interested in talking. That was fine. You didn’t want to impose if he needed time to himself. The door slid open just as you had stepped back, intending to leave. Fox sighed, jerking his head to direct you inside.

The door shut behind you, and Fox sat heavily in his chair at the desk. Another deep sigh, and his shoulders slumped. He pulled his helmet off, setting it aside, and you caught a glimpse of the dark circles under his eyes before he put his head in his hands.

“Commander Fox?” You took a tentative step forward, so you were close enough to reach out and touch his shoulder.

He looked up at you. There was still tension lining his shoulders, hands flexing into fists and then relaxing. Stress. He opened his mouth to say something, frowned, and then closed it again. He cleared his throat. “Did you need something?” You could tell he was making an effort to soften his voice, likely as to not snap at you again.

“I just wanted to check in, sir,” you said, coming around the desk to stand next to him, leaning your weight against it. “It looked like something was bothering you.”

He waved his hand in the air vaguely, brows pinched. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ you’re not one of my men.” He looked like he was debating saying more, so you waited patiently, quietly, hoping he recognized that you were here to listen if he so needed.

“As you likely know, there’s a gala coming up. Senators, politicians, ambassadors, Jedi….” Fox huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s going to be a security nightmare. And the Chancellor,” he spat, venom in his voice, “has been on my case about patrols and the Guard. Always demanding more. We’re spread too thin, and not getting the support we need--” he cut himself off. He was getting himself worked up again.

You placed your hand over his where it was clenched into a fist on the desk. It relaxed under your touch. Fox heaved another sigh mixed with a groan. “I’m behind on paperwork too,” he glared at the stack of datapads sitting to the side. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to find the time to do everything.”

“Hmm,” you reached over and picked up one of the datapads, skimming through it, hopping up so you were now sitting on the desk. It was just a patrol report that needed Fox’s signature before being filed. “What’s your CC number?”

“CC-1010,” he answered instantly, then regarded you with suspicion. “Why?”

You signed the bottom of the form: CC-1010, “Fox,” and submitted it.

“What are you doing?” his voice seemed to have kicked up an octave.

“Helping you with your work. I deal with paperwork and holoforms all the time,” you said, picking up another datapad and scanning through the information. “Most of the time it’s to make sure there’s a document trail. Most of these probably don’t need an in-depth review, they’re not important. They just go in the archives and are never looked at again.”

“I--you--that’s illegal,” he sputtered. But he seemed more surprised than serious.

You raised a brow at him, signing his designation and name once again before submitting the next form. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“No,” he didn’t hesitate. Interesting. Then he had a thought. “Your handwriting doesn’t even look like mine.”

“Doesn’t it?” you showed him where you had signed. It was almost identical to his scrawling script. His eyes flicked between the form and your face, incredulity on his features.

“How…?”

You shrugged. “It’s something I’ve always been good at. Saved me a lot of trouble as a kid when I needed my parents to sign for something at school. Especially when it was a disciplinary note.” Fox barked a disbelieving laugh at that and you couldn’t help your sly smile. “Even if I didn’t mimic your signature, no one would notice. Or care. You could mark the lines with an X and it would go through; it’s only the acknowledgement they care about. You can even draw a loth-cat face and have that be in the archive forever as a signature.”

“Don’t you dare,” he threatened with a chuckle. “Some of these aren’t just patrol reports though. I actually have to read through the more important ones.”

You handed him a holopad as you picked up your third. “How’s this: we work on these together; if I find one that has important information or requires more than a signature, I’ll give it to you.”

He regarded you for a long moment, debating your offer. Some of the weight had lifted from his shoulders; he looked less tense, less overwhelmed, even less exhausted. Then he slowly nodded. “All right,” he said. “But you have to let me buy you coffee for once.”

“You don’t have to do that--”

“We’re friends. Right?”

That stopped you short. You did consider him and the other guards friends, but to hear him say that he also considered you one...it was nice. It made a pleasant warmth flutter in your stomach, and you couldn’t help your shy smile at his words. “Right,” you agreed. The soft upturn of his lips made your breath hitch. He looked so young when he smiled.

The two of you worked in companionable silence, steadily making your way through the stack of datapads. You had been correct--most of them were unimportant; standard reports and forms that required a signature purely for protocol. Every once in a while you handed one over to Fox for him to read through. Slowly, your free hands had crept together, and Fox hoped to the Maker that you didn’t notice how warm his cheeks had gotten. 

Your thumb rubbed soothing circles over the back of his hand, and he didn’t notice he was staring at the way your fingers moved rather than reading through the form you handed him until you cleared your throat. “Fox?” you asked quietly. His gaze landed on your lips. He wanted you to keep saying his name, he wanted to hear it again and again--

You brushed a stray curl back from his forehead. A tug on your arm had you stumbling forward off-balance, and you would have fallen if strong arms had not wrapped around you and pulled you into an armored chest. Heat rushed to your face at the new position you found yourself in: sat in Fox’s lap, his hand still entwined with yours.

Then he kissed you.

It was gentle, soft. His lips pressed to yours chastely, far more gently than you expected him to be, and you felt the datapad fall from your hand. The sharp clatter of it hitting the ground made Fox pull back, but then you grasped the back of his neck, twining your fingers in his curls, and pulled him back to your mouth. He tossed his own back on the desk with a groan as your lips met again.

You licked the seam of his lips, and he opened for you. Fox was content to let you lead. His hand gripped your hip, and he sighed into your kisses, melting from your affection. You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like that--tasting, breathing each other in, sharing languid kisses full of pent-up desire.

His wild curls were soft in your fingers, and he all but purred when you lightly scratched your nails along his scalp. The hard plastoid of his thigh plates was uncomfortable underneath you, and you shifted your hips slightly in an effort to find a more comfortable spot. The breath hissed out through Fox's teeth, and your face flushed with warmth realizing you had brushed against his codpiece. His fingers tightened on your hip and thigh, pulling you towards him, encouraging your hips to roll against him again.

It was an awkward angle, with you sitting with your legs thrown over his lap, but from the hitch in Fox’s breathing it was doing something for him. You hummed into his mouth before pushing yourself up, holding onto his broad shoulders for support as you swung one leg over so you were now straddling him, chest to chest.

“Better?” he rumbled, nipping your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. You squeaked as his palms cupped and squeezed your ass, tugging you closer. Both of you basked in each other's eager little breaths and soft noises, hungry and wanting for more.

"Mhmm." The new position allowed you to feel the firmness of Fox's codpiece against your center when you pressed your hips into his. Fox really appreciated the new position, with your tits against his chest and free access to grope your ass. He almost whined into your mouth at the steady slow grind you started against him.

You wanted to hear that noise again. An idea struck you. You wanted to taste him. One more deep kiss, then you shimmied back off his lap. Fox made a noise of protest and tried to pull you back to him, but you just grinned and shooed his hands away. The floor was cold on your knees as you settled between his spread legs.

“What are you--oh,” he cut off with a harsh breath as your deft fingers unclasped his codpiece and tossed it away. Immediately, your palm cupped the warm bulge at the front of his blacks. He shifted in his seat, and you noticed his cheeks and ears had flushed a shade darker. How cute.

“Commander,” you purred, slowly stroking him through the fabric.

“Y-yes, cyare?” His hands flexed at the arms of his chair. He was struggling to not reach out and pull you back on his lap. Normally so composed, Fox now looked wrecked with his lips slightly parted, kiss-swollen, and hair mussed.

“Will you let me suck your cock?”

Fox spluttered and fumbled at your bluntness. You bit your bottom lip, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, still slowly stroking him over his blacks. You could see him fighting with himself. Maker, he wanted it. He wanted to see your pretty lips wrapped around his length. But he also didn’t want you to feel like you had to--he also desperately wanted to pleasure you.

“Please?” you leaned forward and mouthed at his clothed erection, letting your spit soak the fabric. Your eyes locked with his, looking up at him with your best faux-innocent look, like you had no idea what you were doing to him. But Maker, you were hungry. You wanted him.

“Fuck,” the word sounded as if it had been punched out of him. His pupils were blown wide, black swallowing the rich brown of his irises. “Fuck, yes--”

You wasted no time in tugging the band of his blacks down. A shiver worked its way through him; seeing you on your knees in front of him was a dream--a dirty little fantasy he would never admit to. Many nights alone in his quarters or in the showers he had roughly fisted his cock to the thought of you in situations that were most definitely unprofessional, biting the back of his hand to keep his noises at bay. And now here you were, the sweet secretary, making his dreams become reality.

The sliver of warm skin revealed to you made you instantly want more, and you couldn’t stop from pressing a light kiss to his hip. Then you eased his leaking cock from his blacks. Fox hissed in a breath through his teeth as your hand loosely wrapped around him, pumping his length slowly. The precum that dribbled from the tip slicked your grip. He was thick and firm in your hand, like velvet-wrapped durasteel.

The first stroke of your tongue against his cock made him curse. You licked slowly, working your way from tip to base and back, tracing the pulsing vein that ran along the underside. Taking the head of his cock in your mouth, you tasted the salty tang of the precum that leaked from him. When you hummed around him, his hand shot to your hair, fingers winding through the strands. He didn’t push you down or pull you away; instead, he merely just...held on.

Fox’s breathing kicked up watching you worship his cock with your tongue and hands. You enjoyed watching him try to hold himself together, slowly making him fall apart piece by piece. Your head bobbed up and down his length, each time taking more of him. Your hand continued to pump and work the rest you hadn’t fit in your mouth. He breathed out a string of words in a language you didn’t understand, but from the tone it sounded like he was praising you.

All his little noises were making the heat coil in your core. Wetness pooled between your legs, and you clenched your thighs together for the slightest bit of relief. You closed your eyes to concentrate, focusing on the weight of his cock on your tongue, the heat of his body. You slowly took more of him in your mouth until you felt his tip bump the back of your throat. Breathe through your nose. Fighting off your gag reflex, you swallowed around him.

“Shit! Shit, mesh’la--” Fox cried out above you, feeling your throat constrict around his length. He tugged gently on your hair, and you pulled off him with a gasp. “Fuck, if you keep doing that I’m gonna cum in your mouth.” It was meant to be a warning, but he sounded too breathless for it to carry any weight.

“But Commander,” you looked up at him, enveloping the tip of his cock in the heat of your mouth and gently sucking. His thighs twitched under your hands, cock throbbing, and you pulled off with an obscene pop. “That’s the best part.”

You were messy, letting saliva drip from your mouth and down his cock. You sucked, licked, and kissed every inch of his length until it was sopping. When you ducked down to take his balls in your mouth, his breath hitched, hand tightening in your hair, and a low moan came from him.

“Gedet’ye, mesh’la, gedet’ye--” Fox choked out.

“Hm?” You pulled back, hand wrapped around his cock and continued to pump him tightly. You twisted your wrist when your hand brushed over his head. He was panting lightly, and looked deliciously wrecked.

“Gedet’ye,” he said again, “please.”

You smiled at him, and he felt his heart jump. You looked filthy, lipstick--Coruscant guard red?--smeared, lips and chin wet with spit. “I want you to cum in my mouth, Fox.” Then you brought your mouth back to his cock and sucked, laving your tongue over the sensitive head as one hand stroked the base. The other came up to cradle his balls, and he was done for.

Fox cursed up a storm in both Basic and Mando’a, nearly doubling over as his orgasm was wrenched out of him by your clever mouth. You kept your gaze connected with his, eyes hazy and half-lidded. Warm spurts of his release filled your mouth and you eagerly swallowed it down, milking his cock until he had nothing left. Subtly, you rubbed your thighs together, so turned on it nearly hurt. Seeing Fox fall apart for you stoked the fire of arousal in your core.

He had an arm thrown over his eyes as he slumped in his chair, chest heaving for breath. “Stars above, you’re going to kill me,” he said. You giggled, hands running soothing motions over his thigh plates, even though he couldn’t feel it through the plastoid. He looked boneless and sated, which was exactly your intention--well, part of your intention.

Then he was guiding you back up, cupping your cheek and kissing you hard. It was desperate, deep, filled with so much emotion that you couldn’t decipher it, you only knew that you felt the same. You moaned into his mouth. He broke the kiss, and you noticed the glint in his eye and his sly grin before he kissed you again, standing and guiding you back to sit on his desk.

“Now it’s my turn.”

[kkrazy256]

“ i thought i lost you. ” with my fav bros Fox and Thorn? <3 (all the sentences are soooo good)

Hey Amiko <3 Hope you don't mind that I used this prompt for CommanderFoxWeek @loving-fox-hours

Title: Redemption Inside the Grave

Prompt(s): Day 2: Hope | Forgiveness, "I thought I lost you"

Warnings: None

Characters: Commander Fox and Commander Thorn

Additional Tags: Post- Scipio, Commander Fox Needs a Hug

Word Count: 1821

[On Ao3]

The amount of datawork that sits on Fox’s desk after a mission is usually a good indicator of how it went. 

Good missions start with stacks of blueprints, detailed strategies, and the files of his best troops. These missions end with minimal thanks (it’s expected, it’s what they’re made for. What need is there to show gratitude?), and most troopers on the file with their status update still green and labeled functioning. There isn't much datawork for these types of missions. 

Bad missions start hurried by time and Senators, with minimal preparation, and not enough vode (never enough vode). They end with everyone important mad. Mad at him (of course, who else? He deserves it. He deserves it all. He fucked up. He’s always fucking up). It ends with spitting insults about incompetence and hurling threats of decommissioning. But none of it hurts. At least it never hurts more than the blocks of red (deceased) on the files he has to read through and sign off on. These missions end with more vode coming back in bodybags than on their feet, and Fox can’t help but think, I did that to them.  

The worst missions? It’s the ones where he wakes up underwater, a weight heavier than an anvil over his chest, stealing every breath and pushing him deeper and deeper into the dark. Missions where he does things he doesn’t fully comprehend beyond I followed my orders, I am a good soldier. Only to look back and think, is he?  

It’s holding up his blaster with still hands and perfect calm. It’s taking deadly aim even when he sees the resignation in Rex’s eyes and feels nothing. Nothing until the body hits the floor and he can’t take his own helmet off to pay respects because what right does he have? Because his hands are finally starting to shake, the weight of his actions hitting all at once and dragging him to the bottom of the ocean floor. 

But this, 

Fox looks down at the stack of datapads on his desk. The room is dark, the desk lamp unplugged and on the ground. There are no windows. The air is stuffy and stagnant; he wonders if they are cleaning the vents again. 

The top datapad lights up when he lifts it. The halo of blue illuminates his immediate area. The helmet sitting at the corner looks purple, the visor staring back at him like a void. Every time he blinks, it burns from somewhere behind his eyes. Fox doesn’t remember the last time he truly slept. (Before the ARC trooper, before Scipio —) 

It’s a mission summary report, written hastily enough for there to be a few typos. It’s short, barely a few paragraphs long, and his eyes glide over the words without retaining anything. His focus is on the attached list of updated statuses.

It’s all red. Red Red Red Red.

He thinks these types of missions are even worse than the ones where he doesn’t have control. 

 Red Red Red.

These missions should not end like this. They go prepared, they go with their best. 

Red Red Red.

So why do they end like this?

Red Red Red —

Green. 

The stack of datapads shift slightly, and the desk trembles as a shadow settles on the edge.

“If it breaks, I’m stealing your desk.” He pinches the bridge of his nose hard, and the throbbing ebbs away into something dull. 

“Does that mean you’ll do my datawork too?” Thorn’s voice is light and teasing, but something’s off. He leans forward to pick up the helmet and the blue lights up his face. His eyes are tired, but the crinkling around the edges always betray his mirth. There’s no crinkling there right now; Thorn just looks exhausted. His hands turn the helmet around, fingers tracing over the painted wings on the temples. 

“I’ll do it for Scipio.” Fox blurts out, and the fingers pause. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I do,” Fox doesn’t know why he does, but there’s something pressing in the back of his brain, telling him that he shouldn’t let Thorn do it, “you should get some rest. Remedy would kick your sheb if he finds out you came here instead of to medbay.” 

“Well, you don’t have to snitch.” Thorn sniffs and Fox shakes his head with a scoff. He picks up the stylus to start going over the report in detail.

A gloved hand lands on the corner of the datapad, and Fox looks up. Thorn’s eyes reflect the blue glow, flickering to read the upside-down words. 

“Hawk found me.” Thorn whispers.

Fox remembers the pilot during one of the 501st’s shore leaves. Thorn’s batchmate is slightly more serious than Thorn himself, but they share the same air of wild freedom, unable to be tied down. He remembers them taking off their helmets with matching grins, showing him their twin emblazoned wings. 

“How’d he look?”

“Horrified. Scared.” Thorn’s laugh is humorless, “I thought he was going to kill me himself if I wasn’t a—.....it wasn’t pretty, Fox.” he swallows hard, “there wasn’t much we could do.” 

“...You went with less than two platoons. None of us were expecting the level of activity you got.” 

The hand pulls back, leather creaking under the pressure of a clenched fist, “I lost them all, ori’vod.” 

“But you’re here.” Fox places his own hand over Thorn’s. Everything feels cold, “I...it’s not your fault.” 

“I think if any fingers are to be pointed, it would be towards the commanding officer during the mission, Fox. Which would be me.” 

“You weren’t supposed to be the one leading Scipio.” Fox snarls and the aftermath of his outburst echoes through the room. He takes a shuddering breath.

“I was.”

“Fox…”

The air gets stuck in his lungs, and he kneads his palms into his eyes hard enough to see sparks behind the lids. 

Scipio was supposed to be his mission. But he was—still is, a complete and utter wreck. After the incident with the ARC trooper, he hadn’t had a chance to stop. It became a blur of meetings. With the Chancellor, with Skywalker, with Rex, with his Guard. All with little variation. Everyone just wanted to know, what happened?  

And Fox didn’t have a good answer for any of them.  

He’s so tired.

And Thorn had found him in his office then, just as he did now. He had found Fox sitting at his desk with the stylus in a death grip, staring at plans and contingencies. Found him running on fumes that not even caf could fix at that point. Found Fox in his arms immediately to steady him when he stood and started careening to the side. 

I fucked up, Thorn. I fucked up so bad. 

I’ll go to Scipio. We’ll talk more when I get back, alright? Please get some rest, ori’vod. Please.

And Fox had agreed. Because he was tired.

Tired of seeing the ARC trooper’s bone-white armor out of the corner of his eye every time he started to slip. Tired of the Chancellor’s oily praise for a job well done in killing a vod for the Republic. Tired of Skywalker’s needling curiosity. Tired of Rex not blaming him. Tired of everyone telling him, it’s—

“Fox, it’s not your fault.” Thorn’s words from before the mission mesh with the words that Thorn’s repeating right now. 

“Well, who’s is it then?” Fox snaps, slamming his palms back down on the desk. His vision blurs with random patterns from the prolonged darkness, and Thorn’s image swims in front of him. He had gotten about an hour of unconsciousness before his comm beeped with urgent matters from the Chancellor. He’s been on his feet ever since. 

He should’ve just stole some stims and gone to Scipio. 

“Why aren’t you all angry?” He continues, the plastic of the datapad strains under his grip, “not you, not Stone, not Thire. Not—” He stutters, “not Rex. None of you are, and I don’t understand .” 

“Why do you want us to be, Fox?” 

He falters, heart stuck in his throat. It beats erratically and his stomach turns. 

If they’re mad, there’s something to work with. He can apologize (even if it means absolutely nothing). Amends can be made (how. You fucking bastard, how?) He can fix it. He has to fix it. 

How?

“You want us to be angry because you’re angry with yourself.” Thorn sets his helmet down, leaning forward to study Fox with dark eyes that see through his very core. 

His lips curl upwards.

“Oh, ori’vod. You want us to forgive you.” 

There are tears in Thorn’s eyes. (Or are they his own?) 

Thorn’s forehead presses against his, and Fox presses back with a sobbing exhale. 

“You already have it. We’re not the ones you’re looking for forgiveness from.” 

 A strand of long hair slips from Thorn’s ponytail and brushes against his cheek. It hits Fox with a sudden urge for how things used to be. Back when the war had only just started, and they were all shiny and thought things would get better. Back when he had enough time and energy to sit in the command lounge and braid Thorn’s hair clumsily. 

Hound’s better at this than I am, you know.

Mmm, yeah but I want my ori’vod to braid my hair.

Spoiled little kih’vod. 

“I thought I lost you.” He manages between hitched keening breaths ( when had he started to break down? Just now? Months ago? Two years ago?) 

“I’m never gone, ori’vod.” Thorn hums, reaching up to squeeze the back of his neck. It’s so cold, “Just marching—” 

Far away. 

The door to his office opens, and Fox jumps back. 

“...You alright, Fox?” Stone stands at the entrance, a datapad in his hand. 

Fox blinks, glancing down at the one in his own hands.

The list of troopers stares back, every name in red.

The Separatist Blockade was successfully broken through. Senator Padmé Amidala was safely extracted from Scipio under the command of Jedi General Anakin Skywalker and the 501st Legion. 

No other Republic survivors were extracted. Recovery efforts have been approved and engaged. 

 — CT-4991 (Hawk) 

“Fox?” 

“...What is it?” 

“The recovery mission on Scipio just returned. We’re heading to the crematorium right now.” Stone shifts on his feet, “you coming?” 

“...Yeah.” Fox reaches for the helmet on his desk, red and black without any wings. His eyes feel crusty and swollen. At this point, he has no idea if they’re even open and seeing the right things anymore. 

He’s so tired.

Fox slips the helmet on and stands. The world spins, and he bites his tongue hard enough to taste blood. He walks towards Stone. 

“You sure you’re alright? I could have Thire take the next shift. He’s—” Stone’s breath hitches, “he’s up for promotion now anyway.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Fox says as he passes his Second, stepping out into the hallway.

He’ll be fine.

/

<3

[ao3]  if you wish to drop a kudo/comment :) 

[lilhawkeye3]

dead man walking

Character: Commander Fox.

Summary: Everything crumbles once Fives dies.

Trigger warnings: depression, suicide. It’s not happy.

A/N: please don’t read this if you’re having a bad day.

AO3 Link

~~~

~~

~

His heart may keep beating the first time he pulls the trigger, but his life ends then.

~~~~~

He can only remember flashes of what happened that day, little snippets of the moment his world finally crumbled. The shout of his brothers, the shaky words of a dying vod, the recoil of his blaster.

He can’t remember, but no one lets him forget.

~~~~~

It starts out small, at first. Murmurs and whispers from visiting battalions and the shiniest clones in the Guard.

Murderer.

Brother-killer.

It’s followed by cold looks, by orders followed to the bare minimum, by shoves and tripped-up feet as he walks in the halls.

He manages to take it all without flinching, until the day one brother sneers back at him and calls him CC-1010.

“You’ve no right to a name, to call yourself a vod, 1010.”

The words fall from the lips of a drunk 501st trooper the Guard had picked up for disorderly conduct. Fox leaves his cell without a word to inform Rex that he has a wayward trooper.

~~~~~

Rex finds him in his office. He signs a form to collect his man, and leaves Fox with a brutal right hook and cracked jaw.

Stone finds Fox hours later sitting with his head in his hands and his back against his desk, mumbling about how he deserved every bit of it.

~~~~~

It’s no surprise the Chancellor finds out.

His words, while sympathetic on the surface, leave oily trails in Fox’s mind. They find his cracks and fill them with poison, saying how sorry he is to hear of Fox’s recent difficulties, but neither side can be blamed. The troopers, who are such basic, animalistic creatures that they would attack one of their own, or Fox, for completing his sworn duty to defend the Republic.

Fox can only stand there and listen to it all—

~~~~~

He leaves the office with a hazy mind, not truly recalling the events of the meeting, but feeling more beaten down than before.

~~~~~

She is the only good thing in his life.

Riyo holds him protectively in her arms as he shakes under the weight of it all, despite her being much smaller.

She accepts him despite not knowing what’s wrong. He can’t spill all his burdens onto her. They’re his to bear, to continue to roll up this incline even if they slip from his fingers before he reaches the top. This is his punishment, not hers.

He’s failed her, even if she refuses to hear him say such a thing.

He shouldn’t be near her. Shouldn’t let her touch him. She’s so pure, so precious— he can’t let his sins taint her light.

She says she loves him, but he knows that’s not true. A thing like him isn’t something anyone can love.

He allows himself to kiss her forehead one last time before he leaves while she sleeps.

~~~~~

There is a call to 79’s to break up a fight on his patrol. When he and his squad arrive, it is to find the matter at hand was him. One of his Corries stood up for him, and it was all downhill from there.

Fox remains outside while his squad handles it. If he goes in, he knows he’ll only make things worse.

All he ever does is make things worse.

He looks up as an armored figure approaches him. He doesn’t have time to register anything about them, other than it’s unmistakably a fellow clone trooper, when their blaster is drawn and a searing pain shoots through his shoulder. He falls to his knees as the shot is followed by two more: one to his right hand and one to his left thigh.

He’s left on the cold ground.

~~~~~

He comes to in the medbay. He wishes he hadn’t.

What a waste of resources. It could have been used on someone else.

“You’re awake.”

He turns his head to find Wolffe sitting beside him. His face is unreadable, but his brown eye burns with fury.

Fox doesn’t say anything. He simply returns to staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Vod—”

“Don’t call me that.” His voice is raspy, unused. When is the last time he spoke to anyone outside of his shifts? “I’m not a brother. Not anymore.”

Wolffe is silent. Maybe he’ll leave him alone now.

“Who did this to you, Fox?”

His smile is like broken glass. “Didn’t you hear? I did, of course.”

“We both know you didn’t shoot yourself.”

“Not yet.”

Wolffe’s growl draws Fox’s gaze again. “That’s not karking funny, Fox.”

“You know what is funny?” Fox laughs brokenly. “That you’re here. Rex broke my jaw. Bly blocked all transmissions from me. Cody was in a conference call and didn’t once acknowledge me. Just said, ‘Commander of the Guard.’” His eyes are tired as he meets Wolffe’s. “Bet you’re here so you can tell them they still have a disappointment in the batch.”

Wolffe sighs as he runs a hand down his face. “Fox... I lost a battalion of men. All of them, except for two. I heard them cry out to me as they were slaughtered one by one in what should have been their saviors. I listened to them scream as they were murdered, as they listened and watched their brothers die around them.” Here he leans forward, his hand reaching up to clench Fox’s uninjured shoulder firmly. “I can hear your screams too, Fox’ika. I will not sit and do nothing as I listen to a brother dying. Not again.”

Fox flinched and tore his eyes away from his batchmate, finding a fixed point over his shoulder to stare at instead. “You’re too late.”

~~~~~

The Chancellor calls for him once he’s released.

Fox idly wonders how broken he truly is when he finds himself back in his office, not able to coherently remember if he ever made it to the meeting.

~~~~~

Only his fellow commanders in the Guard interact with him now outside of what is required for duties.

A part of him wonders why Stone keeps asking when he last ate. It doesn’t matter anyways.

He’s not sure why Thire counts the hours he’s been awake. At least in the waking world, he can bury himself in work. When asleep, he’s left to the mercies of his ghosts, the ones that whisper that his time is far overdue, that he’s only causing more problems being alive.

He knows they’re right. It’s only a matter of time, he supposes.

~~~~~

So he writes.

He’s never been one for writing, thanks to all the reports he’s had to draft, edit, review and sign off on. But... he’s a clone. He’ll have nothing left to his name anyways besides these words. It’s selfish, yes, but it’s all he has left.

So he writes.

He writes to Rex about all the memories he has of them whispering quietly at night on Kamino, dreaming about their lives when they finally got to see the stars. He wonders where it all went wrong— probably somewhere at the start. He tells him that he’s one of the best commanders out there, even if he never formally received the rank yet.

He writes to Bly, saying that while he isn’t worthy of love... Bly is. He shouldn’t let it slip through his fingers.

He writes to Cody, outlining the lack of memories he has about the Chancellor. How he thinks he’s investigated something, but can never remember what. Files mysteriously erasing. Men sent on missions that didn’t exist. His blaster— it should’ve been set to stun. He gives him one last mystery to solve, knowing Cody won’t accept any weak, mundane attempt of an apology.

He writes to Ponds, even though he’s long gone. It’ll go to his general, because Fox knows his brother still lives on in him. He asks if he’ll be forgiven, if there’s an after where they’re all waiting for him. He asks if they’d welcome him, even if he’s broken and can’t remember what he’s done anymore. He says he’s glad Ponds had a General who cared, because he was glad that his brothers were taken care of even if the universe punished him with the Chancellor’s oily words in return.

He writes to Stone and Thorn and Thire, and says he’s sorry he couldn’t help them. He tried to keep the weight off their backs as long as he could... and he now had to pay the price. He tells them he’s proud of them.

...He writes to Riyo, his starlight, the one who taught him of a different type of love. He says he’s sorry. He hopes she keeps shining bright for everyone around her to see. He tells her how every smile, every laugh, every crinkle of her eyes in happiness gave him something to keep living for, if only for a while. She’s the most precious thing in the world, and he’s sorry to have ever burdened her with his inconsequential self.

He writes to Wolffe.

Well, he stares at the datapad for countless minutes, and then he writes to Wolffe.

He gives Wolffe every bit of spark left within him. He gives him every happy memory, every trying moment, ever second of calm he’s ever had. He tells Wolffe how everything went wrong, how his mind had betrayed him just as he’d betrayed his brothers, how he didn’t know who he was anymore. He tells Wolffe of the reason behind each scar and tattoo on his body, how his hair had become peppered with gray, how he’d done his best to live up to the name Wolffe had given him.

He thanks Wolffe for being his vod. He tells him he’s proud, and to keep fighting.

~~~~~

When he’s finished, he sends his words out across the galaxy. Maybe one of them will read his final thoughts, and keep him alive in theirs, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

He sets the datapad on his desk and reaches for his blaster.

The cold durasteel against his temple is fitting, he feels. It matches the emptiness within him.

~~~~~

after.

[wanderinginksplot]

Warriors in Red Armor

Next | Masterlist

Chapter One

Hound I

"So, are we going to 79's tonight?" Hound asked. He had meant to be subtle about it, but the question burst out of him the moment his well-worn boots crossed the threshold of the small break space allotted to members of the Coruscant Guard.

As break spaces went, the one designated for the Coruscant Guard's clone troopers was an embarrassment. Some determined being had managed to cram a table and a handful of chairs inside, but it was a tight fit. If more than a few fully armored troopers went inside at the same time, none of them would get back out without removing some armor to clear the traffic jam. The lights flickered, the faucet leaked, the floor was always sticky, and the stuffy air held a hint of the chemicals that had been stored there years ago. Since then, the previous break space had been renovated into an office for one of the few nat-born commanding officers and this one had been created for the clone troopers.

Still, the smell of caf was stronger than the smell of chemicals most days and the light from a nearby advertisement screen lit the room so brightly that the flickering lights didn't give any of the troopers a migraine anymore. Hound always was a man who liked to see the glass as half-full. Maybe even a little more than half, if that glass was sitting under the dripping faucet.

Thire snorted at Hound's question, leaning back in his chair until gravity threatened to topple him. "Well, boys? Hound wants to know if we're going to 79's this lovely Friday evening. What do we think?"

Thorn glanced around the room, looking unamused by his brother's antics. "We think I'm the only other one here, di'kut."

"Exactly!" Thire said in triumph, obviously determined to ignore his fellow commander. "It's the weekend! Why wouldn't we go to 79's?"

"Because you've finally realized that it's a glorified zoo?" Thorn snapped, tone venomous. "79's is where civvies go to stare at clone troopers so they can feel like they're being daring. In reality, they're being irritating."

Having spoken his piece, Thorn tossed back the last of his cup of caf, always consumed as dark as his mood. Hound shuddered at the thought. Corrie Guard caf was brewed at the approximate concentration of speeder fuel and could eat through duracrete. Only a trooper who hated himself would drink it black.

Thorn always drank it black.

"So you don't want to go?" Hound asked again, sounding heartbroken.

"No, I'll go," Thorn told him. "Zoo or not, 79's still has the cheapest booze on Coruscant that doesn't use poison as a mixer."

"Well, that's the most excited I've heard Thorn get about anything for a week, at least," Thire smirked. "Commander Fox, you want in on this?"

The Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard, having just stepped into the break room to fill his mug with caf, shook his head. "No, I'm on duty tonight. The Clone Rights group has been cleared to march and the Chancellor wants an extra Guard presence. Stone will be stuck here as well, monitoring any new arrivals."

"Ugh," Hound said, summarizing everyone else's point of view. "Well, we'll be thinking of you both, Commander."

Fox lowered the datapad in his hand to shoot a look in Hound's direction. "Sergeant, don't you have that ARF PR stunt tomorrow at 0800?"

Hound shrugged. "Yeah, but I can do both."

"Make sure you don't miss it," Fox ordered sternly. "The last thing I need is to have to report to the Chancellor that you missed a chance to give the GAR a boost in civil opinion."

Hound saluted and Fox turned his attention to the other break room occupants. "Thorn, if you let your stubble get any longer, it'll be considered a beard and subject to facial hair regulations. Thire, sit on the chair like a normal being, would you?"

Thorn nodded and Thire grinned as he let the chair's legs slam onto the floor. Fox rolled his eyes at their antics, refilled his cup of caf, and left the break area. Hound idly wondered how many of the gray hairs appearing at the Head Commander's temples were due to the commanding officer team. Still, the Chancellor had let Fox choose his own team of COs, so there was no one to blame but himself.

"Meet at 2100?" Thire asked. "That's prime time for 79's and there'll be plenty of talent. I'll go ahead and apologize, vode. When you look this good, you automatically get your pick of the females."

Thire brushed a hand back across his hair - meticulously trimmed to maintain the subtle horizontal lines shaved into the otherwise regulation cut - and grinned at the other two. Hound and Thire rolled their eyes, but agreed anyway.

---

Kai I

"Hey, do you guys want to go to 79's tonight?" Kai asked, perched on the desk she was supposed to be sitting behind. She was always restless and neither of the other women blamed her for the odd choice of seat - even though it made inter-desk communication a bit of a pain.

Arkularia - who, for the sake of Kai's sanity, allowed the others to call her 'Ark' - was the first to respond. "79's? The clone bar?"

"Do you want to drink, dance, or find a one-night stand?" Ransom asked from behind her expansive tech setup. "Because there are better places for any of those. Closer, too."

"No, I want to go to 79's," Kai said, kicking up her chin. "And as for what I want… I want all of them. All three options, please and thank you."

"Did you just try to order a night out? Like from a menu?" Ransom asked. From the tone of her voice, Kai had managed to earn a rare smile from her boss. Of course, that was only a guess since Ransom didn't emerge from her den so Kai could verify the expression.

"No… but can you imagine how much easier that would be?" Kai asked in her own defense.

"It would take some of the fun out of it, I think," Ark said slowly.

Kai chucked a wad of flimsi at her friend and co-worker's head, cheering to herself as it connected and bounced off of Ark's white-blonde hair. "I know that, Ark! C'mon guys, do you want to come to 79's with me or not?"

"I'm out," Ransom said immediately, shutting down the projector option on her desk. She was still illuminated by the ambient light from the schematics on her datapad. The cybernetic implants in Ransom's arm gleamed in the blue glow as she dragged a hand over her shaved head. "I have to work late if we have any hope of finishing our next job on time."

"Ark?" Kai asked, not too proud to sound like she was begging.

Ark sighed, pale eyes hopeless in the face of Kai's wheedling. "Fine, I'll go along."

"Yes!"

"Ransom, are you sure you can't come, too?" Ark asked, her voice a bit desperate.

"I really do have to stay and work on this," Ransom apologized, gesturing at her assortment of datapads. "My condolences."

"We're going to a club, not facing a firing squad!" Kai admonished. "Besides, I just want to find someone fun."

"Like that last guy?" Ark asked, squinting a bit as she applied her prodigious memory to her own question. "What was his name?"

"Not sure," Kai admitted. "But he was so much fun! Great tattoos."

"So you are looking for a hookup! I knew it," Ransom crowed.

Ark frowned. "Why a clone trooper? They're never on-planet for long before they have to leave."

"Exactly," Kai said with a wink. "Love 'em and leave 'em."

"Didn't the last one stick around for a while? I thought I remembered seeing him more than a few times…" Ark pondered.

"Hardcase! His name was Hardcase," Ransom remembered. "He came by every day of his leave."

"Strange name," Ark commented.

"Strange guy," Ransom said with a shrug.

"But he was hot," Kai countered, folding a piece of flimsi to look like a tooka. At least it did in her imagination. "And so much fun. I need another someone like him."

"What happened to him?" Ark asked curiously.

Kai would have blushed if she had any shame - too bad for Coruscant that she didn't. Instead, she pouted. "He moved on with a Zeltron who works at GAR headquarters. That's the best place to meet troopers, but they don't give access to civilians unless they have official business."

"Hardcase didn't seem like the type to ghost you out of nowhere," Ransom mused.

"I… may have freaked out about him asking me to be his girlfriend," Kai admitted. "I don't want anything serious, you know? Besides, I'm the one who introduced him to the new girl. She's a sweetheart. He adores her and she's the same about him. Can't be too upset with that."

Ark and Ransom exchanged loaded glances, but Kai had no interest in a therapy session. "Right! So, Ransom, you're still out?"

"I have no interest in coming along and I have work to do here."

"Well, that was almost nice," Kai congratulated. "Ark, it's you and me. When should we go?"

Ark shrugged. "Why don't we just stop there on the way home from work?"

"Are you kidding?" Kai asked, aghast at the idea. "We aren't exactly wearing Senatorial dress, but we're still too professional for a club! No, we need to go home, change, and meet there. How long do you need?"

"I don't know… half an hour?"

"How long do you need to find an outfit that makes sense in a club setting?" Kai rephrased her question.

"Two hours," Ark corrected herself, sounding sheepish.

"That's more like it," Kai said, satisfied. Her look turned wicked as she said, "Now, let's talk about makeup…"

"Are you sure you don't need any help here, Ransom?" Ark asked their boss, her eyes widening with hidden significance.

"No, it's too late!" Kai denied. "Meet me at my apartment and I'll help you. Let's say eight."

Ark glanced back at Ransom, who gave a sympathetic shrug. Ark sighed. "Fine, eight."

---

A/N - Hello, and welcome to yet another Clone Wars-based story! I can't leave these poor guys alone. They deserve so much more than they got! So, you may have noticed that some of the characters are a bit different from the way they are normally portrayed in fan fiction. The first fic I read with the Coruscant Guard had Thire as a happy joking guy and Thorn as a serious doom-and-gloom trooper. I'm coming to realize that is not typical for fanon interpretations, but those characterizations are embedded in my mind. I hope you didn't find this too jarring!

I'm experimenting with a new Game of Thrones-style POV tracking format. Hopefully that will keep things from getting too confusing as we bounce back and forth across eight different POVs! I apologize for the short length of this chapter, but it's just a simple introduction of (most of) the characters.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Pleasant Surprise (Indruck Superhero AU)

A little fic I’ve had bouncing around my head for awhile, set in the universe of “The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight.”  It takes place after that story, and after the events of the small fics “Aww, Rats” and “Back in Time”. You can read it as a standalone, but it does contain some spoilers for main fic.

“You know how you always say communication is important in a relationship?” Indrid drums his fingers on the arm of the couch. 

Dr. Mwangi nods, the chain on her glasses glinting in the soothing lights of her office.

“I...there is something I am not sure how to communicate to Duck. I, it’s something I’ve been dishonest about. I” Indrid takes a deep breath, “I lied about the date of my birthday.”

Dr. Mwangi doesn’t so much as cock an eyebrow, much like she managed not to gasp in horror when he told her what his training regime involved when he was learning to be a villain. Indrid’s going theory is that this self-control is his therapist's super power. 

“Do you want to spend part of our session today figuring out how you’d like to talk with him about this?”

Indrid fidgets with his glasses, “Yes, please.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck comes home to one of his favorite scenes; Indrid sitting with his easel in front of the rat run. His boyfriend decided he needed to cultivate his artistic streak, so that one part of his life would not involve superheroing or villainy in any capacity. From the look of it, he’s still on the theme of inserting the rats into still-lifes of different styles. 

Duck loves watching him paint, in a way at once connected to and completely different from the attraction he feels observing the other man train in the hideout or dig himself into engineering a new invention. There’s the same cleverness in his hands, the same concentration lining his face. But there’s an innocence that’s absent other places, a kind of happiness that only exists in activities untouched by his past.

“Hello, chivalrous one.” Indrid murmurs as Duck comes to drape his arms over his sweater clad shoulders.

“Hey sugar. I like the new paintin’--is that Dr. Harris Bonkers?”

“Indeed.” Indrid turns his head, his grin as bright as the streetlights flickering to life outside, “The fuzzy medical practitioner in the style of Seurat. I foresee Aubrey liking it as a Christmas gift, and I wanted to do it while the inspiration was still fresh.”

“Bet she’ll get a kick outta it.” Duck kisses the top of his head, then starts removing his work clothes, “you had dinner? Thought I might reheat some pizza.”

“I ordered us dinner, it should arrive within ten to fifteen minutes, depending on whether this is the broken stoplight timeline.” Indrid sets his brushes aside, stands so he can follow Duck down the hall to the bedroom.

“Thanks for doin’ that.”

“There is, ah, something I wish to discuss before it arrives.”

Duck turns and his heart twinges. Back when Indrid was his nemesis, Duck learned to read his emotions, a skill that eluded everyone else. He can tell when Indrid is nervous and, most often, when Indrid is nervous and doing everything he can to hide it.

“What’s on your mind?” He takes a soft step towards the other man, who goes very still as he summons his next words. 

“Do you remember what I told you about my birthday?”

“That it was in the spring and you’d let me know when we were gettin close to it. Wait, fuck, you never did, not this year or last year. Then again, last year was when the White Star boys kept tryin to fuck everythin up, think a lot of stuff got missed. Do you, uh, wanna do a birthday observed or somethin? Could even get a little goofy and do a half-birthday.”

Indrid shakes his head vehemently, “No. That is not it. I, I ah, I lied. My birthday is not in spring. And before you ask ‘when is it,’ the answer is I have no idea. We never celebrated birthdays. I only know my age because my father unleashed my brother and myself upon the world some time after I, or rather we, turned eighteen.” Indrid tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweater, “that is all I wish to say.”

It would be easy to giggle at his serious tone. 

Duck pulls Indrid into a hug, “Thanks for tellin me. Do you want help tryin to work out when it really is?”

“I...I do not know. I was simply tired of such a small lie weighing me down.”

“Okay. You wanna cuddle until dinner?”

“Of cour--oh damn it all.” Indrid steps back, pulling off his sweater, “Baron Thorne is going to try and hold an entire dormitory of students hostage in forty-five minutes.”

“More than a two hero job?”

Indrid tips his head back, then replies, “it’ll go best with for. I shall alert Barclay and Aubrey.”

“Roger. I’ll get the car.”

---------------------------------------------------------

Duck’s researching potential plants for Dani to modify into non-lethal weapons when the secure elevator dings open and Agent Stern hurries out, looking a kind of excited he hasn’t seen since Barclay’s parents landed their ship to meet their son’s new boyfriend. 

“Gettin the feelin you got good news for me.”

“I do.” Joe pulls out his datapad, “I went through the files we confiscated from Abbadon to find the one on Indrid. It did indeed have his birth date, and you are not going to believe what it is.”

Duck looks at the little boxes of letters and numbers beneath the photo of a much younger Indrid with a much crueler smile. 

“No fuckin way.”

“I know right?” Joe grins, “ I think he’ll get a kick out of that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“My birthday is on Halloween?”

“Yeah!” Duck looks so happy that for a moment the emotion carries Indrid as well. 

“That is rather fitting. It’s always been my favorite holiday.” He can see it now; little orange lights, a black tablecloth, some cake.

“And it’s three weeks away, so we still got time to plan somethin to mark the day. I was thinkin we could have it Friday, since Halloween is a Saturday and I know at least Barclay and Dani got things they do every Halloween. How’s that sound?”

He isn’t sure. Something circles up from the deep, animal part of his mind, but he can’t name it and so does his best to ignore it. 

“It sounds wonderful.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Indrid cannot escape. Everywhere he turns there are birthdays; on the T.V, in the restaurants he and Duck go to, on cards and balloons when he’s getting groceries 

It’s your big day!

“You don’t turn thirteen everyday”

To my son, on his eighteenth birthday

“To my brother, my favorite partner in crime”

“This week on ‘My Neighbor’s a Werewolf,’ Jamie throws Max a surprise party, and gets a big surprise of his own.” 

When that one flickers across the screen, Indrid clicks the T.V off with a little hiss. He’s tense, feels like the embodiment of the moment a knife-tip meets skin; resistance and resignation in the instant before it all comes pouring out. 

“You got a cake preference?” Duck rests his hand on the couch near Indrid’s shoulder, tone light as he continues, “know you like really sweet stuff, I could get mom’s hummingbird cake recipe from Jane-”

“Whatever you think best.” Indrid flexes and coils his fingers.

“‘Drid, it’s your party, you get to mark the occasion however you want.

“And what if I do not wish to mark it at all?”

“Uh…” Duck clears his throat, “uh, that’s fine too.”

Indrid turns his head to see the expression he knew would be there. 

“That upsets you.”

“N-uh, fuck, I uh, it don’t uh-”

“Duck, please do me the courtesy of not drawing out the lie.”

Ducks shoulders sag, “Guess I’m a little disappointed. I, uh, I was havin fun plannin it with you. Thought I could make up for all the times you didn’t have one.”

“Well, you can’t.” Indrid snaps, stands more dramatically than he means to. He just wants this to be over, wants to stop seeing the memories he thought he’d properly laid to rest, “you cannot make up for what I saw, what was done to me, what I did.”

“I-”

Indrid holds up his hand, “I know you see it as your job to remove all traces of my tragic past that you can.”

“Hold the fuck on.” Duck shakes his head, “Is that what you think I’m doin? ‘Drid, it’s just a party. If you don’t want it you don’t want it, but don’t fuckin pretend this is some indicator of us as a pair.”

“Oh but it is.” Indrid feels his lips curl into an old smile, “you get to play the nice, normal hero making everything better, while all I am is someone to pity, broken long before you ever met me!”

Duck goes still, and in his visions he sees the rats finishing skittering to the far side of Ratopia. It’s at this moment he realizes he’s been yelling. 

“I…I am going to bed. Goodnight.” He hurries down the hall, only bothering to change his pants before crawling under the covers. In most futures, Duck follows him and demands they finish their argument, leading to a far larger fight. But the hero doesn’t come. This gives Indrid time to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal, to try and work out why the thought of his loved ones gathering to celebrate his birth makes him want to disappear into the night. 

He’s not quite asleep when Duck comes in. He’s not quite ready to apologize. As he’s contemplating his options, his boyfriend slips under the sheet and lays in such a way that his right hand is inches from Indrid’s own. 

Without opening his eyes, Indrid slides his fingers across Duck’s palm. Duck shifts to interlink their fingers, and closes his hand. 

Indrid wakes up five hours later in two discrete stages. The first is coming out of the nightmare, of his body registering the need to move, to hide, before his brain is fully back to the present. The second is waking up enough to wonder why he always hides in the closet after these dreams; he didn’t have a closet growing up. 

He creeps into the living room, hoping he hasn’t woken Duck. He has woken Chicken, who decides it’s close enough to her breakfast time to yowl at him until he feeds her. While she crunches her cat food, he opens one of the doors to Ratopia. The mischief is mostly asleep, but at  the sound Void rouses from his spot atop Mallard and scurries over to Indrid’s hands. 

“You forgive so easily.” Indrid murmurs, cupping him in one hand and closing the cage with the other, “or perhaps you just forget with much greater skill than I.”

He knows when Duck is behind him. Without turning, he sets Void on his shoulder and says, “I think I know why I have been so unpleasant tonight. I...I have only ever marked two changes in age; being old enough to face the trials of my order and being sent out to cut down those who dared oppose us. My ‘birthday’ is a harbinger of suffering and death. And I, I know that is not the real truth, but it is the one my body believes, the one my mind has been bracing for without me fully understanding that’s what it is doing. I did not mean to take that fear out on you.”

“‘Drid” Duck’s voice is scratchy with sleep, but when Indrid turns his eyes are alert, “I’m so fuckin sorry. It, uh, it didn’t occur to me that your birthday would be wrapped up so tightly with the shit you went through as a kid. I never meant to push you into somethin you didn’t want.”

“But I do want it!” Indrid shoves his hands into his hair, “I want to have dinner with our friends, to get gifts, to enjoy a thing that millions of people partake in every day. And I am so, so very angry that I cannot, that instead I am dealing with all of this.” He gestures vaguely to himself, then looks at Duck, his body registering safe as the hero joins him by the rat run. When Duck opens his arms, Indrid nestles into them without hesitation. 

“Whatever you decide on, that’s what we’ll do.” 

Indrid hums, snickers when Void clambers onto Duck to tickle his cheek with his whiskers. After the shadows of the past recede in the warmth of Duck’s embrace, Indrid whispers, “I would like to have the party. I would like to help you plan it. But I...I would like a few of the details to still be surprises for me. It might be nice for my birthday to bring me a pleasant one for once.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oooh, this looks so cool!” Aubrey sets a gift on the table as she admires the mothman string lights, banners, and balloons, “dang, Duck, didn’t know you had a decorator streak.”

“Don’t get a chance to flex it much. And it’s kinda easy when the theme is so specific.”

“I’m trying to compliment you, doofus.” Aubrey playfully whacks his arm, then squeals, “honey, look, rats in hats!”

“Awww” Dani joins her to regard the mischief in their tiny party hats (only Mallard is still wearing his, the others in various states of tossing them about), “Indrid, did you make these?”

“Indeed, though Barclay made these.” He slides the enclosure open and sets five rat-sized cupcakes on the floor, “which is wonderful, because I did not want them to feel left out. They’re getting them earlier than the rest of us because Barclay is looking for ways to keep me out of the kitchen.”

“It’s your birthday, that means letting someone else cook!” Barclay calls from the kitchen.

“But I modified the blender and the mixer to be self-operating!”

“Wait, what?” Is all they hear before Barclay is drowned out by whirring. 

“Should we help him?” Dani says through their laughter.

“He’s a professional, he’ll be fine.” Joseph steps from the kitchen, his casual wear of jeans and a Loch Ness Monster dress shirt still somewhat jarring to the former villain who only ever saw him in suits, “Aubrey, Dani, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Yes please. Okay doctor, time to play.” Aubrey opens the special hatch in Ratopia and deposits the rabbit, who settles in to be groomed by his smaller friends. 

Dinner is fancy macaroni and cheese and fruit salad, Indrid’s favorites. As Ned regales the table with his latest misadventures in fixing up his new van (“I was unaware an owl could nest in a seat cushion”) Indrid glances at the entryway. 

“Everythin okay?” Duck whispers.

“Yes. I, ah, I simply did not expect so many gifts. I know it’s customary to receive them but I thought you got one or two. Not that everyone brought them.”

“You wanna open them?”

Indrid nods, grinning, “very much so.”

He takes care not to peek at the futures when unwrapping them, wanting to preserve the excitement as long as possible. Aubrey gives him a six pound bag of Lucky Charm marshmallows, Dani sneaks out to the car and returns with a potted plant (“I modified it so that the blossoms will be extra attractive to moths”). Ned gifts him a signed, limited run poster from Red Dust on His Soul, Joseph and Barclay a stack of new romance novels (“I think you’ll like Agent X, it’s a mystery series but he romances quite a few characters in them”). Mama sent a package from West Virginia that contains a small, wooden duck she carved herself and made especially smooth so it would be soothing to rub). And Lydia Little, AKA Sylvia Cold, presents him with a mug declaring him “Favorite Brother.” 

Duck’s present is the last one he opens. Waiting for him in the rectangular box is a white shirt with “World’s Greatest Rat Dad” on the front. The back is covered in squiggle-scratches of five different colors, which Duck explains are signatures from the mischief made in rat-safe fabric paint. 

“It’s perfect.”  Indrid sighs, kisses his boyfriend and then beams at his friends, “it is time for cake.”

They dim the lights, sing to him as Barclay emerges from the kitchen with a massive, mothman shaped cake with lots of candles. To his delight and surprise, the inside is layers of pink and yellow, flavored with strawberry and vanilla. He eats far more than is perhaps wise, but it is his birthday and it is his understanding that such things are allowed.

His guests linger for a few hours more, Aubrey and Dani the last to leave with a reminder to put the plant on the balcony. Indrid waves goodbye, closes the door and arms the security to full. He turns back into the house, sees the cards and gifts his friends put so much thought into locating for him, the stray dishes and half-empty glasses that signify they were here. For him. Because they wanted to be, because they care about him.

“‘Drid? You want any more cake before I put it aw--oh fuck, sugar, what’s wrong.”

“Nothing” he sniffles, grins, “these are tears of happiness. I, ah, I hurried us into cake because I felt them upon me when I opened the gifts. It will take some time yet for me to be willing to show such feelings around our friends.” He wipes his eyes, “thank you, my love, for arranging this.”

“Any time, darlin.”

He smiles, “Have I mentioned lately that you are my hero?”

“Pretty sure you called me that this mornin. But I sure as hell don’t mind hearin it again.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

“What is this?” His brother scowls up from the paper plate Indrid passed to him through the complex delivery system keeping his cell from the world around it.

“Cake. Today is our birthday. Did you know that?”

“Who cares for such frivolous things, little brother?”

“Those of us who do not spend our lives steeped in the misery of others, twin brother. If you do not want it, give it back and I shall share it with one of the guards.”

Apollo looks at the cake. Then he kneels on the floor, tearing into it with his hands. He doesn’t eat it what he destroys, and after a moment Indrid grasps why.

“Did you really think I hid some device to help you escape in there?”

“Yes.” His brother is now trying to light stab the cake with his gaze. 

Indrid rubs his forehead, “Perhaps some day you will learn to see things for how they are, not how you believe them to be.” He starts for the door, looks over his shoulder and says softly, “happy birthday, Apollo.”

A slam as his brother strikes the see-through front of his cell, “Get back here this instant you worthless, traitorous, coward!”

The door slides open and Indrid steps into the hall. Joseph is waiting for him, drops his eyes from the security feed to the man in front of him, “what a waste of Barclay’s cooking.”

“Agreed.”

A gentle pat on his shoulder, “You tried, that counts for a lot. Now go enjoy your night.”

“And my knight?”

“Him too.” Joseph waves goodbye, then adds, “and happy birthday!”

Indrid gets home before the city trick or treating hours begin; he’s feeling rather good, all things considered, and Halloween is so beloved by villains that the odds of his evening being interrupted by work are almost none. 

Duck is on the porch lighting their Jack ‘O Lanterns, grinning brighter than all the candles and lights on the block combined when Indrid walks up the steps to join him. He sees in the futures that he’s made him a special, Halloween themed birthday dinner. 

He pulls Duck into a hug, kissing the top of his head with happy sighs, thanking whatever twist of fate pushed him into the arms of the man who was, in many ways, his first-ever pleasant surprise.

[redrobinhoods]

retrograde | chapter 3

AO3 Link | 1,500 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4

A/N: I’ve decided that I’m going to try something sad and wonky with the chapter length for this fic

Chapter Summary: Fox finds his day to day work life a struggle as he loses track of mundane things 

Eight-one-five-eight.

Eight-one-five-eight.

Eight-one-five-eight.

Fox sighed and leaned back in his chair, tossing the piece of flimsiplast aside. It wasn’t sticking. After two days of not being able to remember the password, he’d finally asked Thire to write it down for him and not to tell Thorn. Thorn would be worried, and with all the worry he and Stone already had for Fox, they didn’t need any more. His brain would sort itself out in the end and they’d be laughing about this over drinks one day. Besides, he had a briefing to deliver. It was one of the few parts of his job that he was permitted to carry out at the moment besides sitting in his office in his uniform.

“Nobody will fault you if you tap out of this one.”

Fox looked up to find Stone leaning against the doorframe.

“Most of the Guard, at least the officers, have a good idea of what happen to you, but they’re still going to want to see it for themselves. If that’s too much pressure, I can take care of this one.”

“So, you’re saying this is the one meeting where I can expect no eye contact?”

“Unless you have a way to disguise your leg that you can come up with in the next ten seconds, yes.”

“I’ll take it.” Fox rose from his chair and reached for his helmet and datapad.

“Have you named it yet?”

Fox froze mid-step before Stone. “What?”

“Have you named your leg yet? One of my sergeants wants to know.”

“Why would I name it?” He continued through the doorway and let Stone fall into step beside him as they made their way out into the halls of the Senate. The Coruscant Guard offices were too small to comfortably fit the majority of its officers.

“I dunno. I suppose that some beings do.”

“Intriguing.” He’d have to ask Wolffe if he had named his eye.

The briefing room fell silent as their two commanders walked in and Fox felt all the eyes behind the visors in the room turn towards him. Not everyone here had spent time in the offices since Fox’s return.

“Your commanding officer has entered the room.” Thorn prompted, rising to his feet and raising his hand to his visor. The room followed suit after him, and Fox was thankful that the helmet hid the tender look on his face as he and Stone raised their hands into salute in return.

“At ease, men.” Fox said as he made his way over to the podium, Stone following at his heels until he reached an empty chair beside Thorn.

Fox set his datapad down on the podium before him and opened up the notes he had made that morning when he had debriefed each of his captains, taking a moment to collect himself and give the men some time to settle into his presence.

When he began to speak, the room fell silent. Each squeak of plastoid rubbing against plastoid stopped and it felt as if each one of his officers had stopped breathing as they took his words in. This was worse, far worse than he had imagined. The only break in the tension of the room was Stone and Thorn and the steady gazes of his captains who had been at his side. He found himself looking to them for something bordering reassurance as he covered the things each man had told him- their successes, their failures, and their plans for the upcoming month- until he reached the notes for section he had discussed with Stone and Thorn. Then, he fell silent. He remembered meeting with them, remembered the red mugs of caf that had been passed around, but he couldn’t remember how the words on the page before him fit into any cohesive pattern or plan.

Long seconds passed as he fumbled for something, anything to say to save himself.

“The notes!”

Fox’s gaze flickered from the datapad before him to Thorn.

“We forgot to give you the updated notes for our section. That’s last month’s notes.” Thorn rose, Stone rising beside him.

“That’s on us, we forgot to sync your datapad this morning. We’ll finish the brief.” Stone lay a hand on Fox’s shoulder, the pressure from his fingers telling Fox he had no choice but to obey his commanders.

Fox obeyed, slinking down to the seat that Thorn had just occupied as Stone launched into his portion of the brief.

They had lied.

Fox’s datapad had never stopped synching with theirs. Even during his recovery, he could access the notes on the monthly brief, and he remembered last month’s notes well enough to know that this was a new set of notes that had lain before him. And he remembered attending the meeting. Yet every word that came from their mouths sounded new to him, as if they had not just discussed it this very morning, after he had finished debriefing each of the captains.

Turning his head slightly to the side, he found Thire’s helmet to be staring straight at him. He had a feeling that word of his forgetting of his password would soon spread to Thorn.

His worries would not ease for a while.

---

“Commander Thorn!” Riyo embraced the man as he stepped into the doorway, trapping him before he could reach up to remove his helmet.

“Senator Chuchi.” He embraced her in return, resting the side of his helmet to the top of her head. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Thank you for accepting.” She pulled back, leaving her hands resting on his shoulders. “And tell Stone that he is more than welcome here.”

“I’ll try. I can vouch for his excuse tonight though, he’s out with his boys at the moment.”

“I’ll send you back with leftovers.” She stepped back to allow Thorn to remove his helmet and set it on one of the hooks that she had installed for that reason.

“So, Fox.” Thorn’s eyes flickered across the room to where Fox stood, overseeing the pot on the stove. “What was that earlier?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What was what?” Riyo turned from Fox back to Thorn, who only continued to glare in Fox’s direction.

“I remember our meeting. We drank caf out of the red mugs. Stone and I drank it black, you mixed in sweetener. We talked for almost exactly sixty-four minutes.”

“What did we talk about?” Thorn prompted.

“I don’t remember. And I still can’t remember.” Fox picked up the spoon by the pot and began to slowly stir it. “I thought it may have been nerves earlier, but now, I’m not so sure.”

“You don’t forget things, Fox.”

“Did Thire tell you about my password?”

Thorn’s brows raised in poorly concealed surprise. “No, he didn’t.”

“I can’t remember it. I’ve been back three days now, and I can’t remember a four-digit number I use multiple times a day. I finally had Thire write it down for me this morning.”

“Fox.” Riyo whined. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought it was temporary. Are these cooked?”

She stepped over to his side to look in the pot. “Yes. Even if it was temporary, why wouldn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Fox took the pot to the sink, where he allowed the water to drain from it. “Either of you. You have enough worry for me on your plates.”

“Apparently for good kriffing reason, Fox.” Thorn groaned. “You need to go in.”

“I’ll be fine.” Fox protested.

“You need another brain scan.”

“When did you become a neurologist?”

“Fox-.”

“I’m fine!”

Riyo flinched at his raised voice. He hadn’t moved with the shout, staying frozen in place with his hands gripping the handles of the pot, but her feet still moved her back to stand behind Thorn.

“No.” Thorn’s voice was calm, nearly emotionless. “You’re not.” It was only when his arm lowered that Riyo realized it had been up in the first place, between her and Fox.

Fox set the pot back down in silence, keeping his head lowered and turned away from them.

Riyo stepped out from behind Thorn and crossed the small kitchen to Fox’s side, gently taking his face in her hands, forcing his head to turn to face her. “Fox.” She ran her thumbs across his cheeks as she stared into his dark eyes, searching for the man she knew. “Don’t let me lose you.”

Fox closed his eyes and leaned forward into her touch. “I am so sorry. I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me.”

“I scared you. And that’s the same thing.”

“You did scare me.” She confessed. “But you’re scared too. And the only way out is to admit defeat and let us take care of you.”

Fox opened his eyes to meet her gaze for a few moments before looking over to Thorn. “Okay. I’ll go to medical tomorrow.”

“And tonight, we’re going to set this all behind us and enjoy each other’s company.” Riyo smiled up at him, then back over her shoulder at Thorn. “No more talk of forgetting tonight.”

---

Taglist~

@haley7242

[evabellasworld]

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 26

AO3 Link | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26

——————————————————————————————

Summary:  When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

————————————————————————————

“So, how are we getting inside?” Tori asked, sitting next to Fox in speeder. “Like, what’s the plan?”

Fox turned to her in a blank eye, his brows furrowed. “Do you ever pay attention, Tor? Like, are you always daydreaming whenever you’re being brief about something important?”

“You never even told us,” she crossed her arms as she tapped Dipper’s sleeves, catching the ARC Trooper’s attention. “Dip, please tell me what Commander Fox said about this stealth mission?”

Dipper lifted his shoulders, holding a datapad in his hands. “He only told us that Riyo and I were the ones who will sneak into the Chancellor’s penthouse and grab the files from there. You two were supposed to watch the speeder in case things go wrong.”

Pouting her lips, she focused her gaze towards the view of the city, which was much livelier than last night. There were people pacing up and down the streets, going about with their daily life, while the lights from skyscrapers and houses were lit. Tori couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

There were schoolchildren clad in uniforms rushing towards their classrooms while office workers had their blazers and blouses on, carrying their datapads and briefcases. This was like how it was 6 months ago, before the war came to the capital of the Republic, which the Empire tried to crumble with their iron fists.

As long as they were people fighting for the Republic, then it still exists to Tori, Fox, Riyo, and Dipper. Riyo saw the smiles on the citizen’s faces, which made her lips curled downwards. She enjoys seeing others happy, but somehow, she doesn’t share their sentiments.

Are they really content with their life? The former senator pondered, glancing at the little Rodian boy, who was enjoying his ice-cream underneath the sunny day, which reminded her of home.

Riyo misses the paddy fields on Pantora. Her father used to harvest a massive field of rice, and brought a sack of harvest for the entire family. It wasn’t much, but she enjoyed the rice that was grown just kilometres away from her village home. If her father was lucky, he would also bring some eels, which tasted juicy.

“So once Dipper and I got the files, does that mean we’re leaving Coruscant?” she asked Fox.

“Yes, dear, we’re bringing Senator Amidala with us after this,” Fox affirmed. “We can’t stay here for too long. It’s not safe for all of us here.”

“So, what do we do with the files? Padmé did suggested us to show them to the Imperial Senate.”

“I know she did, but the general’s order was to get the senator out of the planet and head back to base. It’s too risky to head into the Senate building. We don’t even know what’s waiting for us down there.”

“Foxy has a point,” Tori agreed. “This planet is under heavy surveillance. If we are caught, then it could compromise not only the location of our base but also the number of our army as well. We’ve lost so many soldiers in battle, and we can’t afford to lose anymore.”

Riyo frowned from their answers, making Fox sighed. “Look, I understand you want to help your friend, and I’m all for it, but we also need to think about us as well. I know it seems selfish, but we can’t always have it all.”

“I understand, dear,” she gave a weak smile. “Let’s hope our plans go smoothly. We don’t want anyone interfering with it.”

Dipper chirped. “Don’t worry about it. By the time the Imps realized it, we would already be long gone by now. I have a good feeling that we will successfully escape from Coruscant with ease.”

“Fingers crossed on that. I really don’t want to be interrogated by the Imperial secret police. From what I heard, no one made it out alive.”

“Speak of the devil, and he will come to you,” Tori scolded Riyo. “We don’t want any sort of trouble during this mission.”

It better not, Fox hoped, as he drove in mid-air, searching for Palpatine’s penthouse through his scope. He had been there many times before, and memorised every single room in his building, including the bathroom. He was in charge of security along with Thorn, which was important for him to know the building schematic. He never said his last goodbyes to Thorn, or spent their last moment together before the latter was gone.

On the other hand, he wasn’t particularly sad that Palpatine died, but if those files mean turning the tide of the war, then he has no other choice. I hope his misdeeds were recorded, so that everyone knows what a terrible man he was.

As Fox noticed the penthouse’s balcony from afar, he slowed down the speeder, driving away from the highway. “We’ll be arriving in 5 minutes,” he informed them. “Get into position.”

“Yes, Commander,” Dipper saluted, as he gave a wink at Riyo, who was clutching her hands together. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this kind of mission before. You’ll befine, Riyo. We believe in you.”

“May the Force be with all of us,” she prayed, as they arrived in front of the lobby, which was on the ground floor. With silence surrounding them, the former senator noticed plenty of overgrown weed between the bricks on the grounds.

No one was inside the apartments, except for the complete void inside. There were people here when the Chancellor was still alive. Did the Empire forced them out as well?

Fox and Tori glanced at them, giving them a nod. “Good luck, and be careful,” Tori said. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

“We will, commander,” Dipper acknowledged, as he gestured to Riyo to follow him inside the abandoned apartment.

As they stepped inside the lobby, both of them noticed the red carpet was torn, covered in fungus. The paint on the walls was peeled off, and the fluorescent lights were hanging on the ceiling, waiting to crash on the floor.

“It looks scary in here,” Riyo commented, glancing at the vacant receptionist counter. “What do you think happened here?”

Dipper observed many blast marks in the room's corner, clicking his tongue. “Whatever it is, I doubt the tenants here left voluntarily,” he replied as he turned towards the lift and pressed the button, much to her bewilderment.

“Are you sure this lift is working?”

Before he could answer, the lift door opened, with the background music playing and the golden lights working. “Well, looks like your question is answered, Ri. After you.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she smiled and walked inside, pressing the button that leads all the way upstairs. “I’m surprised there’s still something working here. I wonder who switched on the power?”

Dipper felt uneasy as they arrived at the penthouse, which was well kept, despite no one living there for months. He felt the cooling air coming from the air-conditioning and the scent of nutmeg lingering, prompting him to draw out his blaster.

“Riyo, I don’t think we’re alone,” he warned her. “Stay closer to me.”

“Alright then,” Riyo bobbed her head, holding a blaster as well. “The files could be in his studies, but we have to be careful not to trigger the sensors.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he took out his Onderonian army knife, as he tiptoed towards the study room, where everything on the bookshelves were arranged in order.

Riyo remembered how the place was. She attended a party in the Chancellor’s penthouse, where many of her colleagues were there, along with close associates. There was champagne and wine, and she only had a sip of the sweet alcohol. She also had some cream puffs at the party, and offered them to Fox, who was in charge of security. He enjoyed the pastry, and Riyo would love to make them for him, when there’s a place to bake, of course.

“The sensors are on the top shelf. Maybe that’s where the files are.”

“Good eye, senator,” Dipper praised. “I’ll disable it for you.”

“Alright,” she took a deep breath, as she wore her rubber gloves, which won’t leave any trace of fingerprints. Riyo never done a stealth mission before, and she will not fail their team.

Stretching his arms, the ARC Trooper flipped the switch behind the small, black sensors, deactivating it. Using his screwdriver on the pocket knife, he slowly removed them from his shelf, tossing them aside. Riyo searched through every file from the bookshelves, starting from the letter ‘A’.

Audits for Coruscant, Audits for Alderaan, Banking Clan accounts, well, that’s a lot of files that start with the letter ‘B’. Bursary Market, Core World populations…

Dipper tapped his foot as Riyo was still searching through the files. He never thought it wouldn’t take long, but he was mistaken. He always thought anything involving paperwork was easy, but it was otherwise. Counting files from ‘A’ to ‘Z’ was quite a challenge for the both of them, and time is not on their sides. Now I understand why Commander Fox hated paperwork so much.

“The Death of the Young twins, Grand Army of the Republic Protocols,” Riyo muttered underneath her breath, wiping her sweat on her forehead. “Project Cyborg, Project Starfleet, wait, I think I found it.”

“You did?” his face lit up. “Can I see?”

“Yeah sure, the file was named The Assassination of Chancellor Palpatine,” she showed him. “It was pretty easy to find it, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, sure,” he groaned, his clammy hands still gripped on his pistol. “I still think this was too easy. I have a funny feeling something bad is going to happen to us soon.”

“We should head to the lift,” Riyo reminded, hiding the files underneath her blazer. “We can’t keep Fox and Tori waiting.”

[talk-of-tyria]

Otyka’s Journal: The words I had lost

Some time ago now, I asked for help recovering some dialogue I had lost out in Bjora Marches. The number of people who answered the call was incredible, and thanks to those combined efforts I managed to get back all of the dialogue I had lost. 

This journal entry is written as a big thank you to those contributors: @whatsatyria, @magisterlys, @mad-queen-thorn, @codemonkey-itazuramono​, @pr-gw2​, @kiniism, @huomenhaamu, @virtue-of-justice, @foffwars2, @morgrenth. ♡ Thanks as well to everyone who spread the word.

“Burn me, don’t tell me you’re still moping.”

I grunted and scuffed my foot against the edge of the campfire. Ausculto had noticed the layer of snow that had settled comfortably on my hat, out here in the open air of Still Waters Speaking. It told the story of how long I had been sitting there.

Ausculto stamped out his feet next to me, dislodging the burrs of snow between his toes. “I’d snuff out that fire if it would get you to move and do your job."

I had sat here like a shaman who had thrown bones into the fire and was trying to divine in the cracks the words I had lost.

“Stupid,” I muttered.

“Stupid?” Ausculto echoed back in a growl.

“Stupid that I lost those records.”

It was Ausculto’s turn to grunt. “Yeah, well…” His tail swished. “Maybe Penna has a point.”

I huddled down deeper in one of the blankets of griffin-down the kodan had been offering to the many travelers and soldiers that had come through the pass in recent days. “I don’t like datapads. It’s too impersonal. Doesn’t feel right.”

“Something something risk mitigation, something something pinpoint accuracy,” said Ausculto. “You know what she’d say.”

I did. “That thing would break within a week with the kind of traveling I do. And the skaalds get along fine without asuran technology.”

And here, where the presence of Raven was so tangible, who was I to abandon my quill? The raven’s feather was tucked in an inner pocket of my coat. It felt small and loose without the journal that was usually tucked inside with it.

“Stubborn and traditional. I can respect that,” said Ausculto. “Even when it makes you a pain to work with.”

He tossed a bundle at my side. “It’s your lucky day,” he said.

The past few days had been anything but lucky. Whispers in every freezing gust, distracting me from other conversations. Glassy-eyed kodan with bloodied weapons. Saying strange things, things I had written down, things that had gotten scattered with the journal I had lost. I had doubled back five times, ten times, to the woods, to the cliffside, to the junction by the lake. Every trace that I had witnessed anything at all had vanished.

“Others have reported sightings,” Ausculto said as I picked up the bundle. “Word’s gotten around camp. Word’s also gotten around camp about a certain archivist’s plight.”

I pulled loose the knot of twine and peeled back the paper wrapping. It was a stack of leaflets. Some were actually made of leaves, dried and hardened, with their veins running through the words that had been scratched onto them with ink. Others were made of leather or parchment. None of the pages were mine, but the words were just as I had left them.

“I was told several people dropped those off at the keep throughout the day,” said Ausculto.

I dragged my thumb along the edges of the sheaves, still stunned. “Did they leave their names?”

“Maybe. Didn’t ask.”

“I think this is everything.” I got to my feet, the papers firmly in my hands. “Everything from before. Ausculto, I need to copy these down.”

“Then I can be done playing courier. Good. Don’t lose those,” Ausculto said, dryly. He brushed the snow off the top of his cowl and walked away. “Meet outside the north gate in an hour.”

I looked down at the records of the words I had lost, the papers crinkled and smooth, some with wide looping scripts and others with tiny scratches that together made up the handwriting of a dozen adventurers who had confirmed what I had seen and heard.

I bowed my head. “Thank you, Raven, for sending these kind souls to me.”

-from the journal of Priory Archivist Talfir Otyka

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - 12 (Vibration)

Commander Shepard keeps WHAT in his toolbox? Well, whatever... it works I guess? Hope he’s not using it for personal use afterwards...

(ME1, in which Al is adjusting.)

---

“Hope you brought your tools with you, Shepard.”

“When do I never, Garrus?”

The turian moved to the side to allow Alistair access... to his own ship. Most commanding officers probably would've had a thorn in their side about that, but not him. Garrus had been there first anyway, so it was only natural he was taking up space.

Space being the undercarriage of the Mako, of course.

“Sorry to have to call you down like this, nobody else could reach it.” Garrus was eyeing his small frame in that way people always did when they sized him up. “I think you'll fit.”

Alistair felt his cheeks heat up briefly as he set his toolbox down. Unlike most of the things he owned, it was red and some of the paint was chipping off.  The N7 magnet on the lid was new, though – he had gotten that a few months after he'd gone into space.

“Yeah, I think I'll be able to reach it. You just hand me what I need.”

Even for him, it was a tight squeeze. Had he been a little more muscular, he probably would've gotten stuck. Hooray for being lean muscle, or so he kept to himself as he started to feel around for what was causing the problem.

“Could you hand me that screwdriver with the red handle?”

Garrus had it in his waiting right hand within seconds. “The box doesn't look Alliance issue, by the way.”

“It was my mom's.” Alistair turned back to monkey with the problem, grunting as he tried to unscrew the bolt holding the casing together. “Don't see a need to replace it, it's almost 40 years old now.”

If he closed his eyes, sometimes he could still see her holding it. But memories from before the age of 5 were hard to hold onto, especially with all the hits to the head he risked. Just having it with him was enough of a memory boost.

With one more click, the casing slid off. “There we go, that should let me have a little more access. Can't really see anything wrong, though.”

Garrus was reading off a datapad now. “We're in the right area, the scan picked up some weakness about where your left hand is. It's not showing up?”

The Spectre turned the flashlight on his omni-tool to full blast and rotate it so he could see where his hand was going. It all looked pretty solid to him, though a little on the dirty side. Their last mission had seen them through a pretty dusty planet. Once this was all done, he was going to need to give it a good wipe down. Hell if any of those tiny rocks got stuck in something when they were dropping down planet side.

Just another thing to add to his to-do list. He probably could've gotten someone else to do it, given it was his ship and he was kind of CO, but Alistair liked doing this sort of thing himself. It helped ground him as the universe went to hell left, right, and center.

“Nope, just seeing rocks.” He frowned, grabbing for his flashlight once again. “Hey, can you hand me that small, round-ended tool in there? I think I need to check with a vibration instead, something might have gotten knocked loose.”

He removed his omni-tool hand from the fix and held it out in expectation. Behind him, he could hear Garrus rummaging around in the box, muttering to himself in tones too low for the translator to pick up. Luckily, Alistair spoke a little turian – he definitely heard 'where the fuck is it' and 'why is this such a spirits damned mess' before 'this better be it, I'm not going back in there' as his helper pulled something out of the box.

Then again, translation was always key on seeing the mandibles flap. He had probably been a lot nicer about it.

“This it?” Garrus switched back to common as he place something small, smooth, and round into Alistair's hand. Instinct took him to the base, where the button was. As soon as he pushed it, it started to vibrate in his hand.

Much to the amusement of everyone in the cargo hold.

Alistair felt his face heat up as he pulled his hand away to hide the contents inside the housing. He didn't even need to look at it to know what it was – that pattern of vibration was... rather familiar to him to say the least. He clicked it off, wanting nothing more than to disappear altogether. After all, it wasn't every day a ship's commanding officer accidentally left his vibrator in with his tool kit.

Man, there were going to be jokes about that... only a tech would do that.

“Everything ok in there, Shepard?” From Garrus' tone, it was clear the turian hadn't realized what he was picking up. “Did I grab the wrong thing?”

Yes.

Still, Alistair sighed to let some of his embarrassment go. In the end, it was his fault. “You could say that. Look for something a little bigger with black duck tape on the handle. It has a head you can move around.”

Garrus found him the right tool without much issue. The Spectre shifted, placing his... other tool... to the side. He flicked the proper equipment on, but then frowned. Even with the head being able to move, there was no way he was going to be able to get it where he wanted without making the rocks bounce around like a child's playpen. Scowling, he turned it off.

“Damn it, it's too big.”

His eyes went to the side, where his vibrator was sitting. It... was pretty small, now that he was looking at it. Everything in him was screaming this was dumb, but he didn't feel like fighting with the proper equipment much longer. So he let that one drop as he picked up his improvised tool. Within seconds, it was vibrating against the pipe as he felt along it.

“So I picked up the right tool after all?” Garrus sounded hopeful. It was kind of cute, but Alistair was too focused on feeling. Halfway along the length, he felt the vibration ping against something. There was a loose pipe section that needed welding back into place.

Well, maybe not at first... but he realized this one was definitely going to be staying in the tool box. Mother, forgive him... but it did the job way better than his actual one, and it was smaller too. Better yet, the damn thing recharged.

Maybe he could test the pulse pattern out next time, that should  be useful in finding different problems...

“Oh, yeah. The big one was too bulky for this job.” Alistair put both at his feet. “I found, by the way. Guess we knocked something loose when we were planet-side.”

“We?” There was a tone to Garrus' voice that made his face heat up. “Last I checked, Shepard, you were the one driving.”

And he did so very well for never having a license, thank you very much.

“Alright, fine, I knocked it loose so I'm fixing it. Just hand me the thing and we can finish this up...”

It was an easy fix after that. Guided by the light of his omni-tool, everything was put back where it belonged and reinforced so it wouldn't happen again. Then the case went back on, and on top it the Mako's armor. It was free to crush some Geth another day.

Alistair wiped off his hands on a rag as he started to put his tools back in the box. The last one to go in was his newest – out of habit he wiped that down too before putting it back and closing the lid. Then he stood up, knees aching from the position he had been in for so long.

At least it was fixed.

“Thanks, Shepard.” Garrus was also wiping off his talons as they left some snickering techs – who knew better than to say anything when he was around, thank you very much – behind to return to the CIC on the Normandy. “I doubt I would've been able to fit in there without you.”

He smiled briefly, reaching out to push the button the elevator so he could put his toolbox away. “Small hands, they're good for something.”

“A lot of small things are. I don't think I've ever seen a tool like the one you used. Where'd you get it from anyway, it didn't look Alliance issued.”

Oh... just a shop on the Normandy that was a little too close to the consort's place for his liking.

Alistair felt the blood rush to his face as he wished the door would open. “It's not. I modified it from something else because I needed something smaller.”

“Mind showing me how to do it some time then?”

Yeah, step 1 – order a small, rechargeable vibrator. Step 2 – forget you left it in your tool box in front of half your crew. Step 3 – realize it's actually pretty good for small jobs and tight areas. Step 4 was the most difficult part of the modification – get over the embarrassment of it all.

He was still working on that one, but it was coming along nicely.

“Yeah, next time we're on the Citadel. I need to pick up another one anyway.”

The doors finally slid open, and Alistair stepped in and sighed in relief as they shut behind him. His omni-tool had started to blare a familiar message pattern. From the sounds of things, his XO was trying to contact him.

Please don't be about -

“Do you seriously keep a vibrator in your toolbox?”

Fuck.

Alistair groaned as he slapped a hand to his forehead. “Well NOW I do, the damn thing is a miracle worker in tight corners.”

“That's what he said.”

Bo was laughing on the other end – she was enjoying this. All Alistair could do was glare at his omni-tool in the hopes hers would malfunction and end the call. Given it was mostly made up of his aftermarket fixes, maybe it should've had a little more respect for him.

But he had fixed it too well for it to just malfunction, so it kept going.

“Please tell me Vakarian knew what he was doing.”

Alistair sighed and ran a hand over the short hairs on the back of his neck. “I'm going to say doubtful, unless turians get off on embarrassing people.”

“Knowing them, they probably do. But hey, you got a new tool out of it.”

Yeah, but he lost his favorite vibrator. Talk about a shitty transfer.

“I liked that one.” He kept his tone short as the door opened up. It was just a short walk to stow his toolbox, then it was back to work. “I'll talk to you later, it looks like Pressly wants me for something.”

Sighing, he ended the call and made a beeline for his office to get rid of the evidence. Then it was back to work as the Normandy's Commanding Officer. Maybe if he was lucky, the whole 'Commander Shepard keeps a vibrator in his tool box' thing wouldn't spread further than the ship.

Oh, who was he kidding. It was probably bouncing around the extranet now. Great. So much for respect for being humanity's first Spectre.

…

Well, at least he got a new tool out of it. He HAD been pretty unhappy with that last one... silver lining, maybe?

[queen-scribbles]

Stress Management

This is 100% @storyknitter‘s fault. I don’t think she minds

Jaaide tapped her fingers against the blank screen of her datapad, waiting for it to flicker back to life. Today has been rotten enough, for the love of the stars, please don’t add to it. The datapad finished restarting and she impatiently tapped through menus to reach the file she needed and pulled it up.

It was completely, totally,  one hundred percent blank.

“Damn it!!” Jaaide hissed, fingers tightening on the casing in frustration. That was three hours of her day down the drain. “What’s the point of having a save function if it doesn’t kriffing work?!” she growled, and winged the datapad toward the far wall. It ricocheted off the durasteel and clattered against the floor, momentum still carrying it toward the door.

Theron stopped it with one foot as he stepped into the room. “Bad day, huh? You’ve never thrown one of those before.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jaaide groaned, slouching in her chair and rubbing at the beginnings of a headache.

“Enlighten me,” Theron siad sympathetically, bumping the door controls with this elbow so it would close behind him.

“Where to begin?” She pushed out of her chair and paced toward the balcony.  “With the new regs I have to review and approve because Hylo caught one of her people skimming? Or maybe the Imperial delegate who refused to join our ‘traitor-helmed’ alliance? Or the extra issues one of Aygo’s mechanics found while tuning up my ship?” She raked one hand through her hair and growled. “How about the report I just spent three hours working on and lost because the datapad decided to reboot?! Why does the damn thing give the option of saving your work if it’s not actually going to do it?!”

Theron let her vent, then gently but firmly rested his hands on her shoulders to stop her pacing before pulling her into a hug. “That is a very bad day.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Jaaide mumbled against his chest, leaning into the hug.

“Had free time between meetings, was gonna see if you wanna get a bite to eat.” He rubbed her back. “Now I’m thinking maybe there’s something else you need more.”

“Really, like what?” she tipped her chin up to look at him.

Theron grinned. “Come on. Just trust me.”

“That’s what a girl likes to hear,” Jaaide teased. But she did trust him, so she followed when he tugged her out toward the hallway.

-o- -o- -o-

“I do have to admit, this is not what I was expecting,” she admitted a few minutes later when they reached their destination. Jaaide surveyed the sparring mat, the weapon racks hanging from the walls, and then looked up at Theron. “Why...?”

He shrugged, grinning back. “You need to get out some of this pent-up frustration that has you practically vibrating, and I need to stay in practice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In practice with what?”

Theron shrugged again, pulling off his gloves and jacket. He was still grinning. Oh, it was dangerous, that grin. “Your choice. Commander.”

Two can play at that game, Jaaide thought to herself, trying not to linger too long on his arms before shifting her gaze to the weapon racks. As she scanned over her options, she shrugged off her outer shirt. It would be more comfortable in just the grey tank top underneath. One by one, she discarded the weapon options, finally turning back to Theron with a smirk almost the match of his. “How good are you at hand to hand, Agent Shan?”

“Pretty damn,” he said, crossing his arms. “Why do I feel like you’re about to test that claim?”

Jaaide rolled her shoulders and smiled sweetly. “Because you’re a smart man.”

“Flattery will get you almost everywhere,” Theron drawled, stepping onto he sparring mat.

“Almost?” Jaaide repeated coyly as she joined him. She rocked up on the balls of her feet to test the give. Not enough to trip up boots, but enough to make falling hurt less. Perfect.

“Yes, almost.” He handed her a pair of padded fingerless gloves and pulled his own on. “I’m gonna make you work for the rest of it.”

“Tough talk, Shan.” She smirked and slipped on the gloves. “I hope you’re ready to back it up.”

He matched her smirk, reaching over to playfully flick hair out of her eyes. “Absolutely, Arien.”

“Well, in that case...” Jaaide grabbed his wrist before he could pull his hand back, tugging him forward as she spun so her opposite elbow connected with his side, just below his ribs(not nearly as hard as she could’ve).

Theron grunted and twisted his captured wrist up behind her back, forcing her to let go if she didn’t want to dislocate something. The second she let go, Jaaide pivoted on one heel to face him again, fully expecting she’d need to block a punch. Her instincts were good, but Theron had been anticipating the block, so even as she knocked aside the first punch the second caught her high on the shoulder. She rolled with it to lessen the impact, but could tell it was nowhere near his best shot. She sidestepped, planted one foot behind him, and when he started pulling back from the punch, put her forearm against his chest and shoved.

Theron caught on just a second too late to avoid going down, but he did snap a hand up to grab her arm and pull her with him. They landed in a tangle, Jaaide’s elbow digging into his ribs, and missed knocking heads by a whisper.

“Score one for Imperial Intelligence,” Theron laughed, letting his head fall back on the mat. “I should’ve seen that coming.”

Jaaide smirked, but was nice enough not to concur with the latter part. “Score one right back for the SIS,” she shrugged, lightly tapping the tip of his nose with one finger. “And I have to concede your earlier point; this is going to be a great help.”

“Yeah?” he grinned.

She nodded, mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You’re clearly out of practice.”

“You-” Theron pushed up on his elbows, half unseating her, but Jaaide cut off his protest with a finger against his lips as her other hand rose to answer the comm warbling in her ear.

“What is it, Lana?” she asked, rolling the rest of the way off Theron and sitting next to him as she listened to the news Lana was passing along. “...Thank you for telling me.” She closed the connection and flopped back on the mat. “And here I thought today couldn’t get any worse...”

“What now?” Theron asked as he sat up.

“Councilman Feyl,” Jaaide said, fighting the urge to spit the name of one of the biggest diplomatic thorns in her side. “He’s playing hard to get again; want favors as proof of how it will benefit him--not his people, though that’s how he couched it, him--to tie his planet to the Alliance.” She sighed, let her gaze drifted across the ceiling. “I’m not normally a violent person, Theron, but there are times I want to punch that man in the face.”

“Will you settle for trying to punch me in the face? In the interest of avoiding a diplomatic incident?” he teased, pushing to his feet. “Sounds like both of us need to keep going.” He held out a hand to help her up.

“Try?” she ribbed, arching one eyebrow. She accepted the hand Theron offered, but rather than letting him pull her to her feet, Jaaide pulled him back down. Theron was a bit more prepared this time, and tucked one shoulder, so he would both miss landing on top of Jaaide and roll to a position where he could regain his feet. Jaaide took those few seconds to get to her feet on her own. “I feel I should point out that if I were to try to punch you in the face, I would very likely succeed.”

Theron smirked. “You sure you could reach?”

Jaaide let her hands drop to her sides and sent him a dirty look. “Those are fighting words, Shan.”

He jut grinned and backed up a step or two to ensure she’d chase him. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re down here.”

She’d never been one to back down from a challenge, so chase him she did. She managed to land a couple hits on his arms, and a fairly solid one in his gut, but didn’t press her advantage when he hunched over after the latter. “I’m not falling for that, Theron.”

He laughed at the amusement in her voice as he straightened. “Worth a shot.” He blocked her next punch, and went for an arm lock with the one after that. Jaaide read the cues in his body language and managed to twist away and free before he could trap her. “Oh, so they did teach you something useful in Imperial Intelligence.”

Jaaide huffed a breathless laugh at the ribbing. “Several useful things,” she retorted, deflecting another punch with one hand as her other fist made contact just above his hip.

Theron swore under his breath and pivoted away, using his already-raised arm to block her follow up strike. This time when he tried for an arm lock he was fast enough to succeed.

Normally, with someone closer to her own height, Jaaide would have rocked up on the balls of her feet and spun inward to elbow them in the ribs, much like her opening move, or flip them. But Theron was so damn tall, rather than getting him to let go, that move would just give him a greater advantage and have her more off balance. Nor was this Imperial Intelligence, where risking a dislocated shoulder or elbow was an acceptable move. A flash of inspiration struck her, something Kothe had taught her during the Shadow Arsenal assignment, and and she flicked her trapped hand up to dig her thumb into the outside edge of Theron’s elbow. She couldn’t get a good enough angle to fully exploit the pressure point, but she could make him loosen his grip so she could get her arm free.

“Forgot you worked with Kothe,” Theron said wryly, shaking the twinge of numbness out of his arm.

“That’s right, I know your tricks,” she teased, as she bent her elbow a few times to make sure there was no lingering damage or pain.

“Not all of them,” Theron shot back. He threw a lazy punch toward her shoulder again, and this time when she started to roll away from it, followed with another from the other side.

Jaaide saw just in time to dodge, setting her feet and bending backwards at the knees until she was almost parallel with the floor. She smirked to herself, bent even lower to brace one hand against the mat, and hooked one foot behind Theron’s ankle, sweeping forward so he lost his balance and went down again. She’d straightened by the time he hit the mat, and rested her hands on her hips as she grinned at him. “Score another for Imperial Intelligence.”

Theron laughed wryly as he rolled onto his back. “Guess I don’t know all your tricks either, huh?”

“Surprises keep things interesting,” Jaaide said, offering him a hand up. “Very true.” He didn’t try anything as she helped him to his feet. “Though you’d think I would remember how flexible you are.”

She smirked and raked sweaty hair back from her face. “You’d think. You’d also think someone in your line of work would have better balance.”

“You’d think.” He flexed his fingers. “Feeling better? Or do we need to go again?”

“Can I say yes to both?” Jaaide pressed one fist into the palm of the other hand and rolled her shoulders. “It is helping, but Feyl’s shenanigans are going to take a bit more to work past.” She smiled. “We can change it up if you’re tired of ending up on the floor.”

Theron chuckled sarcastically. “You’re very funny. When you say change it up, what did you have in mind?”

Jaaide crossed to a weapon rack and selected a vibroknife, flipping the small practice blade around her hand to test the balance. “If part of this is helping you stay in practice, what say we switch to disarming an attacker with a weapon?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, “but aren’t knife fights all about reach?”

“It is an advantage,” she acknowledged, getting a firm grip on the knife’s hilt. “But I wouldn’t completely discount flexibility if I were you.”

“Oh, of course. That would be stupid.” He smirked. “Which I”m not, according to you.” He raised both hands and gestured bring it on.

Even being a Republic-issue practice model, the knife felt perfectly at home in Jaaide’s hand. She may have specialized in medical training, but there had been ample focus on close quarters combat as well, and she was very good at it. She wondered briefly if Theron remembered that(or knew it in the first place) as she started circling toward him. His stance made it clear he knew what he was doing, and he did have a point about reach. She’d have to be smart about this. And quick.

Settling the knife securely in a forward grip, she made her first move. A feint right followed quickly by a strike left that Theron deflected back toward her before it got anywhere near close enough.

“I’m staying strictly defensive on this, by the way,” he said, backing up a step.

“Fine by me.” That would mean her going to him, and fewer exploitable openings, but gave her greater control. IT was a fair trade off. She made a couple more feints to test, and then went in for real. She got closer this time before Theron blocked it, and even as he pushed her arm out and up, she slid it around the underside of his arm and went in again. The blade just barely brushed his shirt as he backpedaled.

“Oh, you’re good,” he chuckled, circling a few steps to his right.

“Thanks, so are you,” Jaaide replied as she flipped the knife to a reverse grip. That sacrificed a couple inches of reach, but made it far easier to cause damage; another trade off she could live with. Clearly that couple inches wasn’t helping much anyway.

“Gettin’ serious, huh?” Theron teased, shifting his weight between his feet.

“One of us should,” she shot back, grinning as she ran through options in her head. She whipped the knife hand up toward the opposite shoulder in an arc more intended to make Theron back up than actually make contact. IT still caught a glancing blow against his wrist, but so lightly he barely even flinched. He did back up, however, and to the side as well, which gave her more room. She stepped forward rapidly, swinging the knife down along its previous arc.

Rather than deflect or dodge this one, Theron stepped forward as well and grabbed her wrist. He twisted her arm out and then up behind her as his continued his forward path until an off-balance Jaaide was pinned to the wall, trapping their hands and the knife between the small of her back and the unyielding durasteel.

“Told you,” he said, breathing hard as he braced his free hand by her shoulder. “Knife fights are all about reach.”

Jaaide tried wiggling her trapped wrist, but his grip was firm, so she relaxed back against the wall and met his gaze with a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Is this how you impress all the girls?” she whispered, still breathing hard herself.

“Only the ones I really like,” Theron murmured back, that dangerous grin spreading across his face again.

They only held each other’s gaze for another heartbeat or two before they were both moving toward the inevitable kiss, Jaaide pushed up on her toes and THeron bent down, her free hand curving against his jaw as his slid up into her hair. And then their grips slacked and the knife fell to the floor, freeing up their other hand as well. By the time they broke for air, Jaaide’s arms were around Theron’s neck, and his hands were well  dug into her hair, the heels just barely resting against the edge of her jaw, both heedless of the sweat.

“You do have very good reach,” Jaaide mumbled in the scant space between them.

“And I”m definitely a fan of your flexibility,” Theron said in return, stealing another quick kiss. “So, am I safe in assuming this helped with your stress levels?”

She laughed, loosening her grip fractionally. “Yes, that would be a safe guess. I can think of something else that might help. But it’s probably best done in my quarters with the door locked.”

“And what would that be?” He punctuated the words by leaning his forehead against hers.

Jaaide grinned and dropped her voice to a sultry tone. “A nice, long hot shower.”

Theron growled and let his hands drop to rest on her shoulders. “You tease.”

“We can take it together, you realize,” she pointed out mischievously, hands tracing down to curl against his chest. “I have a very large shower.”

“Better,” he said emphatically, and kissed her again. They reluctantly parted, straightening the practice room quickly and gathering their things.

As they made their way back to her quarters, Jaaide slipped her hand in Theron’s and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you. For that. It really did help a lot.”

“You’re very welcome.” Theron kissed the top of her head and freed his hand from hers to instead drape his arm around her shoulders. “I’m glad it helped.”

Jaaide didn’t stop smiling the rest of the way back to her quarters. Or in the shower. Or for a good bit after, as the two of them sat on her couch and THeron helped her reconstruct her lost report.

Maybe today wasn’t entirely rotten after all.

[megsblackfirewrites]

The Thorns of My Rose Chapter 1: Proposal

AO3 link: The Thorns of My Rose - Chapter 1: Proposal

“Fanmail,” Sombra teased as she dropped the stack of envelopes onto Gabriel’s table. “Everyone just loves their bad boy, don’t they?”

Gabriel snorted at Sombra before he picked up the letters. The mail was always fun to read and he loved hearing from his fans. It was reassuring that they loved his work no matter what strange combination he tried out. Sure he was having fun, but it didn’t mean anything if the people he was trying to entertain didn’t like it.

One letter caught his eye and he picked the datapad up. It was a bulky piece of equipment, designed to be able to withstand the hardest drops, making it perfect for delivery by mail. Whoever wrote this had a pretty penny to spare as the damn things weren’t cheap. He turned the datapad on and started reading.

‘Dear Reaper,                                                                                                                            

My name is Hana Song and I absolutely love your music. It’s amazing to have playing in the background when I’m streaming and I know I’ve directed a lot of my viewers to your albums. You’re a huge inspiration to me and my friends and I have a small request to make.’

Below the first paragraph was a picture of a diverse group of kids all flashing peace-signs at the camera. There was a little arrow pointing to the East Asian girl in the center with pink marks on her cheeks and read “me” underneath. Gabriel smirked as he scrolled down a little further. He almost dropped the datapad in shock at the man lifting an eyebrow at the cameraman and, by extension, Gabriel.

Snow white hair covered the man’s head, but it was starting to recede around his crown. Brilliant blue eyes stared at him from behind wire-rim glasses and his dark eyebrows made them pop even more. His lips were thin, the top one cut into and pulled pack over his eye tooth by an old scar. A much larger and redder scar cut through most of his face, running from just above his left eyebrow and down across his nose.

The man was gorgeous and Gabriel was having a hard time looking away from the man. He generally tried to stay away from white boys after the heartbreak he’d experienced in his youth, but this one was captivating, more so than the dumb blonds that seemed to dominate the mainstream media. He wanted to know more about him and Hana Song was certainly about to deliver.

‘This is Jack Morrison, my music instructor. I know he looks like a fuddy-duddy, but he’s probably one of the sweetest men I know. He believes in us, even when the other teachers make us feel small and insignificant. He has an open-door policy and anyone that takes his classes know that he’d drop everything if they needed a shoulder to cry on.

He’s absolutely amazing and he loves you music too! He doesn’t like to go into details, but shortly after he got blown up while serving in the army, he was in a really dark place. Your music helped him to get his feet back on the ground and get his life in order again. Which finally brings me to my request; could I have a copy of the sheet music for ‘Thorns of My Rose’ tailored to the piano?

Jack promised us that if we could get him a copy of it, he’d play it at the next recital. It would blow everyone’s mind and we know he’d be amazing at it. So, if you could send a copy back to me that would be fantastic.

Thanks in advance regardless of what you choose.

Hana Song’

Jack Morrison; it couldn’t be, could it? It had been years since he’d seen him, but not long enough for Jack to be snow-haired. There were likely thousands of blue-eyed white boys with the name Jack Morrison in the country who had served their country and been blown up. Still, may as well exploit what delight he could from the whole ordeal.

Gabriel smiled and handed the datapad off to Sombra to read. She whistled and flipped the picture of Jack Morrison up off the datapad, grinning as she saved it. She waggled her eyebrows at Gabriel before scrolling down further.

“I can get her that music if you want,” Sombra said as she handed the datapad back. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“Please do,” Gabriel smiled. “I am interested in this request.”

“Go figure,” Sombra smirked as she brought up the picture of Jack again. “Mmm, now that’s a good looking man.”

Gabriel waved her off and started writing out his reply to Hana.

‘Dear Hana Song,

Thank you for the letter. I greatly enjoy hearing from my fans and I’m happy to hear that you and your friends enjoy my music. I am more than willing to entertain your request. I just have two conditions…’

“Mr. Morrison has to sing the lyrics while he plays and I want a video sent to me,” Hana laughed as she read Reaper’s response to the class. “Best regards, Reaper.”

Hana shot Jack a huge grin and she watched him roll his eyes. He had been smiling since Hana started reading the short response. He was just as excited to play one of his favourite songs as everyone else was and to have the sheet music come from Reaper himself was amazing. Even the request to sing didn’t seem to faze him and Jack rarely sang to anyone but his class.

“Is there a threat to hunt you down if you don’t send the video?” Jack teased as he got to his feet.

“Nope,” Hana grinned before she downloaded the sheet music to her tablet and printed them off the printer in the corner of the room. “This is so cool! Reaper is the greatest man ever!”

Jack let out an odd noise of agreement as he picked the sheet music up. He tapped on his thigh as he headed for his precious piano, humming along to the music playing in his head. Hana and Jesse grinned at each other before they hurried to grab their guitars in case Jack needed to hear something other than his piano.

“And my blood was never as red as when I touched the thorns of my rose,” Jack sang as he sat down at the bench.

“You’re singing it like a love song,” Jamieson wrinkled his nose.

“I always thought it was one,” Jack smiled. “A very sad love song, one about the loss of something precious.”

“So some girl’s virginity,” Fareeha rolled her eyes and rested her saxophone against her thigh.

“Oh, nothing so mundane,” Jack teased. “No, I always saw it as a lament over the loss of someone’s love. Perhaps a harsh fight that happened because of his ‘rose’.”

Hana frowned and tilted her head as Jack scratched at his chin. She could have sworn she heard him say “but I did always prefer carnations”. That didn’t make any sense, but maybe it meant something to him?

“Alright, let’s see how this baby sounds on piano,” Jack chuckled.

Gabriel barely had time to properly wake up as his Twitter feed went crazy. He checked to see what the chaos was about and followed the link Hana Song had left for him. Apparently, she had decided to livestream the entirety of her school’s concert with the one hour mark carefully flagged for “Jack Morrison and ‘The Thorns of My Rose’”.

He had five minutes to set his television up to watch the performance and get himself something to drink. He sat down just as a blue-clad figure strode out onto the stage just behind a piano. Gabriel swallowed, staring at the snowy haired man. Fuck, he was a dead ringer for his golden boy, but he had to focus. No point in focusing on something that wasn’t going to happen.

Jack Morrison sat down on the bench and flicked the tail of his coat behind him. The man had gone full formal, looking like something off of a Broadway musical rather than a music teacher. Gabriel smiled as Jack Morrison started playing ‘Moonlight Sonata”, silencing the cheers and whistles instantly.

Jack Morrison had clearly played this piece a lot. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation in his movements and the music never faltered. Gabriel tapped the chords on his knee, humming along to the beautiful music. The song came to an end and the audience cheered and clapped.

The screen went black for a moment before returning with a much closer image of Jack Morrison. A girl with spiky brown hair was grinning as she helped set up a microphone. Jack adjusted it a few times before thanking her and shooing her off the stage. The girl flashed thumbs up at the camera before hurrying off.

Jack Morrison set his shoulders back before he started playing ‘The Thorns of My Rose’. The first twenty seconds were just the deep notes of the piano before Jack Morrison lifted his mouth to the microphone.

Gabriel almost dropped his glass in shock as his golden boy’s deep voice echoed through his living room. He stared at the screen, his heart in his throat as Jack, his Jack, sang the heart-broken song almost like he had been in the studio when Gabriel originally recorded it. He let out a stuttered breath before he pushed his face into his hands.

He reminded himself to breathe, sucking air in through a very tight throat. Jack’s voice had never sounded more beautiful. He was hitting each note perfectly, his fingers playing the melody as if it had always been meant for the piano.

When he finished, Gabriel was in tears. He wiped angrily at his face, listening to the crowd go wild as Jack flexed his fingers. He heard Hana shouting for Jack to give his adoring fans a smile. Gabriel looked up as Jack turned to face the camera. His face had changed, but that beauty was still there.

Jack smiled, a mischievous little smirk that Gabriel knew all too well and stuck his tongue out. There, sitting in the middle of his tongue, was a steel barbell with a raven on top. Tears poured down Gabriel’s face as his gift to Jack before he left on his first deployment overseas vanished back between his pale lips.

It took him almost a half-hour to recover. He toyed with his phone as he turned off the television, staring at the number on the screen. He took a deep breath and hit the “dial” button, pressing the phone against his ear.

“Good evening, Bloomington’s Finest Flowers,” a man answered.

“I have a special deliver I’d like you to make tomorrow,” Gabriel said. “You do still do deliveries, right?”

“Of course,” the man laughed. “Wouldn’t still be in business if I didn’t. Now, what can I get for you?”

Gabriel smirked. “How’s your Spanish?”

Jack came to a dead stop as he stepped into his classroom. Sitting on his desk was a bouquet of brilliant red and blue carnations in a stunningly gorgeous vase. His students were looking at him expectantly, practically bursting with excitement. He chuckled and closed the door behind him.

“Okay, which one of you brats did this?” he teased as he set his books down on the desk.

“They were here when we arrived!” Hana shouted. “Honest!”

“I find that hard to believe,” Jack chuckled as he lifted the head of a blue carnation and took a deep breath. “Mmm, but I do love carnations.”

He spotted the tag and plucked it from the green stems, turning it over to read. His breath caught in his throat and he stared at the neat writing.

“To: Mi sol perdido

From: Tu luna perdida”

Jack felt tears burning his eyes and he smiled. He set the tag down on his desk and picked up one of the red carnations. He snipped back the stem with his scissors, ignoring the confused looks he was getting from his students, and slipped the flower behind his ear. He touched the petals fondly, pretending for a moment that he was far away from Indiana and in the arms of his lover. He took a deep breath and returned to the present, immediately starting his class as if nothing had happened.

There was a message waiting on his phone when he got home. The number was private and he was tempted to delete it, but curiosity won out. He was happy that he did decide to play it.

“Hey, Jack,” Gabriel’s voice filled his living room. “Um, I realize this might be strange to you. It has been, what, almost fifteen years? Anyways, I, um, I wanted to talk to you again. Could you give me a call back? If you want to. I mean, I get if you don’t; we didn’t exactly part on the best terms. Um, I hope you liked the flowers too. I thought you deserved them after that performance last night. I hope to talk to you soon.”

Gabriel read off his phone number before hanging up. Jack played the recording a few times to make sure he had the right number. He listened to Gabriel’s voice drift around his house before he dialed the number. It rang three times before Gabriel answered.

“Hello?” he asked, sounding groggy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” Jack asked.

“Jack!” Gabriel gasped. “Well, I was asleep, but I don’t mind.”

They were silent for a long time before Jack sighed. “I owe you an apology, Gabriel,” Jack murmured. “You didn’t deserve what I did to you.”

“You were in pain, Jack,” Gabriel reassured him. “I got that. I never blamed you.”

“Gabriel, please, just let me explain,” Jack smiled.

“Go ahead.”

“I hated myself,” Jack murmured. “I got blown up and I was pieced back together and I felt…so ugly.”

“Jack,” Gabriel murmured.

“Let me finish,” Jack shook his head. “You were so loyal and I hated it. You were holding my hand the whole time, humming your songs as if nothing was wrong. I couldn’t stand to think that I was holding you back. You were starting to make a breakthrough with your music and I was holding you back. So I…I wanted you to live. I wanted you to have your life. I lashed out, I drove you away.”

“But my music helped you through the darkest part of your life, according to your student,” Gabriel murmured.

“It did,” Jack laughed sadly. “Hearing how well you were doing with your life and how much everyone loved your music made me feel better. I knew that my miserably existence hadn’t dragged you down.”

“I want you back, Jack,” Gabriel said.

“I want that too,” Jack admitted. “Wanted it for years. I thought that you might have hated me for what I did.”

“Never,” Gabriel reassured him. “Never, mi sol.”

“Less of a sun now,” Jack chuckled as he ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s take this slow, though. We’re different people.”

“I’m willing to go at whatever pace you want,” Gabriel reassured him. “I just want to hear your voice and your laugh again. Fuck, Jack, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, mi luna,” Jack murmured as he sat down on the couch. “So, what’s life like in the big city?”

Gabriel chuckled and Jack smiled. “Hectic, but worth it. I’ll show you sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Jack smiled.

[redrobinhoods]

illicit affairs | Chapter 2, Crossfire

AO3 Link | 4,800 words (approx) | Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Fox nurses his injuries as he continues to protect Riyo from harm.

He wasn’t dead. The lights above him were bright, even through closed eyes, and he turned his head to the side to escape their glare. When he finally opened them, it was to a blue-skinned woman with golden eyes. “Senator Chuchi.” He mumbled.

“Commander Fox. You’re awake.”

“How long…?”

“Two days. They kept you under while they were assessing the damage. They were deciding if they should retire you or not. I thought that clones didn’t retire.”

“Retire may be the wrong word then. Perhaps decommissioned or ‘put to sleep’ would be a better way to put it.” He watched her eyes widen in horror. “It’s okay, Senator. It doesn’t hurt, not really. One shot and you just fall asleep.”

“Are they going to kill you then, Commander?”

“No, they would’ve done it already.” He moved to sit up, and Senator Chuchi reached over to help. His back burned, but the pain was localized. The blasts didn’t get far into his body. Maybe the assassin thought that the bolts would penetrate through his armor and reach the senator. They would’ve been wrong. Unlike the rest of the GAR, the Coruscant Guard’s armor was made so that they could act as a human shield. As hard as it was for shot to penetrate, it was impossible for it to get back out.

Senator Chuchi didn’t draw back after Fox was upright, keeping her hand on Fox’s shoulder. “That’s no way to thank my hero.”

“I was just doing my job, Senator.”

“Riyo, Commander. Please call me Riyo.” He wasn’t supposed to. The Guard was supposed to stay away from knowing senators on a first-name basis or run the risk of being accused of corruption. And yet, it felt right.

“Then call me Fox. Or CC-1010, if you want to be really personal. But that’s only when I’m in trouble.”

Riyo laughed and let her hand fall from Fox’s shoulder to his forearm. “Are you in trouble often, Fox?”

“What do you think, Riyo?” He savored the way her name rolled off his lips.

She winked in response. “Would you be in trouble if I brought some lunch by your office when you’re healed?”

“No, ma’am. As long as you don’t bring your assassins with you. Have they found out who wants you dead?”

“Not yet, but they will soon. Commander Thire brought the bounty hunter in yesterday. I believe they’re being questioned as we speak.”

“She’s given us nothing yet.” Commander Stone walked into the room with a paper cup of caf in one hand and his helmet in the other and took the seat next to Riyo’s. “But we’ve had plenty on our hands in the meantime. The Senate Guards in charge of the Natural Formations room said that they were dismissed over the official comm channel. Apparently, they didn’t consider the fact that there were still beings in the museum, let alone in the room, and just left without securing the area.”

A beep sounded, and the three beings turned to the machines next to Fox. One monitor was flashing an ‘Elevated Heartrate’ warning.

“That’s what I thought too, Commander. I figured you’d like to chew them out yourself.”

“As a matter of fact, I would. Have the Captain of the Guard in my office tomorrow at 0800.”

Stone nodded. “Sir.”

“You’re going back so soon?” Riyo lightly squeezed his arm.

“Never a day off, Senator.” Fox gave her a weak smile.

“Then I’ll stop by around noon tomorrow.” She turned to Commander Stone. “Can I bring you men anything? I have quite a refreshments budget that I’ve barely dipped into.”

“I couldn’t ask anything of you, Senator Chuchi. But our men did enjoy the sweets that you brought us last time.” Stone was underexaggerating how much they had been appreciated. In a world of ration bars, it was good to see his brothers attempting to split something four to six ways so that everyone could try it.

“Traditional Pantoran delicacies. I’ll bring more if that’s to your liking.”

“That would be very kind of you, Senator.” Fox attempted another small pained smile.

“It would be my pleasure, Commander. I don’t know how I could ever begin to repay you.”

Just looking into those golden eyes was enough. “I don’t suppose you could stay out of trouble.”

“That’s actually why I’m here.” Stone cut back into the conversation. “The senator still needs a security detail so that she can return to her residence. We’ve kept her in a safehouse for the past two nights, but I’m afraid she’s going cage-crazy.”

The pale green on Riyo’s cheeks darkened in what Fox assumed was a Pantoran blush.

“How large a detail?” It was back to business then.

“I was thinking one man inside, two outside the door, one on the roof, and one man on stand-by in a speeder. Do you still have the sensors that Commander Thorn installed, Senator Chuchi?”

“Haven’t touched them, Commander Stone.”

“You’re amazing.” He turned back to Fox. “Thire suggested that you be the one to stay inside the residence. He thought that the arrangement would be more comfortable for both yourself and the senator. You can take some time away from the office, and the senator has a capable bodyguard at all times. Would that be acceptable to you, Senator Chuchi?”

“It would be, thank you.” She said without giving the idea much thought. They’d obviously gone over this as a possibility before. Fox thanked his training for the control he’d taken over his heartrate. No need for them to know how close he was to strangling Thire. He hoped that Riyo hadn’t noticed the sudden tension in his arm.

“Excellent. We’ll put Jek and Impulse on the detail since you know them. Have you met Rys? He and Jek go way back. I’ll put him on there too. I’ll get some more volunteers to swap out when I go back to the office. If you leave your residence, Senator, you must always have at least two men accompanying you. We’ll keep you in the safehouse tonight while we secure your apartment, but after that you are free to go about your duties if accompanied. Otherwise, I think you know the drill by now. And you will have Commander Fox at your beck and call.”

“Thank you, Commander Stone. I’m certain that if the Coruscant Guard is as competent at finding criminals as you are securing buildings this should be over in no time.” She didn’t sound excited at the prospect of returning to normal, and Fox wondered, perhaps hoped, if he had something to do with it.

“If only, Senator. Variables. Come, we should be leaving.” Stone stood, following shortly by Riyo, who looked hesitant to leave.

“Stone, are they planning on running any hypertests this time?” Fox gestured to the datapad that the last medical droid had left on the small table underneath the monitor rack. Stone set down his cup of caf and picked the tablet up, tapping through it familiarly. Riyo moved closer to look over his arm at the screen.

“Don’t see any, sir. From the look of things, you’re close enough to your last physical to be mostly cleared. They’re going to test for any numbing sensations, that’ll probably be conducted through touch, and apparently your ‘vertebral cavity’ was untouched so you should be all good. No lasting impairment, topical senoti cream treatment, clone upkeep records suggest immediate dismissal of ‘CC-1010’.”

Fox nodded, lowering himself back into the pillows of the medical bed. “Thank you, Stone.”

“Commander Stone, could I have a moment alone with Commander Fox?”

“Of course, Senator.” Stone reached over and clapped Fox on the shoulder, giving him a small squeeze of comfort, then stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Riyo turned back to Fox, sitting down once more on the stool and taking his hand. She pulled it into her lap and ran her fingers over the rough callouses that lined his palms. He didn’t dare speak. After a few moments she brought his hand to her lips and planted a kiss across his knuckles before returning the hand to his side.

“Thank you for saving my life.” She said.

“Riyo-.” She placed a finger across his lips as she rose.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Fox.” Then with a swish of her skirt she was gone.

---

“Those golden ones were very nice, Senator.” Riyo stood with Jek and Rys practically pressed against her in the crowded market as they peered down at the selection of sweets before them. Jek and Rys had been assigned as her daytime guard, with two other men whose names she had yet to learn relieving them at night.

"How many men are in the Guard?” She asked, looking to the available tins on display.

“Too many, ma’am. But about fifty usually come through the Senate offices in a day. Ten on staff, probably around forty for meetings or breaks.” Rys answered.

“Thank you. We’re ready to order now!” Riyo flagged down the elderly Pantoran woman who ran the stand and was very familiar with the senator. They ended up with three tins, each of which officially carried thirty sweets, though Riyo was sure that there was more in actuality. One contained solely the golden sweets that Jek had spoken of.

“Thank you, Senator Chuchi.” Jek said as they walked back to the waiting speeder. “It’s not often we get to eat anything besides ration bars and caf.”

“You’re welcome, Jek. But it is really the least I could do after you saved my life.”

“Commander Fox really did all the hard work, ma’am.”

"But the assassin wouldn’t have stopped if it weren’t for the rest of you stepping in.” She glanced around to make sure that no one was listening to their conversation. “How is the commander? He had the meeting with the Captain of the Guard this morning did he not?”

“He did, ma’am.” Rys looked around before continuing. “Ripped the captain a new one. I was in Commander Stone’s office with Jek and we could hear him.”

Jek nodded his agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry before. He must have a soft spot for you, Senator.”

“Does he?” Riyo tightened her grip on the tin she was carrying.

"Oh yeah.” Rys nodded. “Don’t worry, you have our blessing if you two want to, well.”

Riyo felt the lines on her cheeks darkening, though the tension in her shoulders began to ease. “Want to what, Rys?”

“To be blunt, ma’am, to pursue some recreational activity. I don’t know, get him to loosen up and live a little. We used to be able to get him down to Seventy-Nine’s with us, but the job is getting to him. Commander Stone has been threatening to drug him to get him to sleep anywhere outside of his office. He’s been in a bad shape ever since the mishandling of the Jedi Temple bombing.” Their arrival at the speeder ended the conversation. Reaching the speeder first, Rys jumped up to help the senator in. By now she was becoming accustomed to the Coruscant Guard’s speeders, but appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“Where to?” The driver asked. She couldn’t remember who was on shift right now, and she didn’t recognize the back of the driver’s armor. she’d have to check her datapad later.

“The Senate, please.”

---

Riyo watched as every bare eye in the room widened upon her entrance, flitting back and forth between her and the tins she and her company carried. There was at least one exclamation whose meaning she didn’t catch.

“I heard that there wasn’t enough last time.” Her smile widened when her statement was greeted by more than a few nods.

“I think you need to throw yourself in front of more guns, Commander.” A guardsman said, his gaze fixed behind Riyo. She turned to see Fox and Thire entering the room behind her, both fully armored.

“It’s Thire’s turn. But I don’t think that the Chancellor will buy you lot anything.”

“The Chancellor has the Red Guard for dramatics.” Thire dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “We’re just there to actually protect him.” The comment brought a wave of chuckles as the men returned to their duties, though their eyes still flickered in Riyo’s direction.

“Come, Senator Chuchi.” Fox waved her into his office as he dismissed Jek and Rys in the same motion. She passed Rys the tin she was carrying for him to place with the others and followed Fox inside, shutting the door behind her.

“No salutes?” She asked.

“If they stood to attention every time Stone, Thire, or I walked into the room we’d get nothing done around here.” He connected the datapad he had been carrying to the computer terminal that sat on the edge of his desk then turned to face her.

“How are you doing, Fox?”

He took a moment to respond. Riyo could only imagine the expression he was wearing underneath the helmet. “I’m… fine. Thank you, Riyo.”

“No.” She shook her head wryly. “How’s your back?”

There was another pause. “It’s fine.”

She shook her head again. “There’s no way, I saw how drugged up you were in the hospital. It must be bothering you.”

“Perhaps a little.” He gave up. “I am still more than capable of carrying out my duties.”

She stepped towards him and placed a hand on his bicep, drumming her fingers against the plastoid that greeted her. She could imagine the tired man from the hospital under the red armor. Despite Fox being taller and a trained soldier she wanted desperately to protect him. “All the same, your body needs to rest so it can heal.”

“With respect, Riyo, it’s not my body. It’s the Republic’s.”

“Is it? I thought that the great Commander Fox was to protect me, not the Republic.” She let her hand fall from his shoulder, sliding down his arm as she raised her head to look at him.

His helmet turned ever to slightly to his left in a minuscule nod, which she was beginning to recognize as his gesture denoting humor. “Point taken. We should depart for your apartment soon. I want to go over security with you.”

“If you can get Jek and Rys back out the door that would be fine by me.” Her comment drew a shallow laugh from Fox before he unplugged the datapad and escorted her back into the mild delicacy-caused chaos of the main office space.

---

“What would you boys like for dinner?”

Fox looked up from the datapad to where Riyo was reclined in the oversized chair. “We don’t eat on shift.”

“Then what do you want for dinner? They have shifts, you don’t.”

“I’ll eat a ration bar.” He’d put a few in the small pack he’d brought from the barracks. She shook her head. Fox wasn’t used to being refuted and here she’d challenged him more in the past two days than he had ever been in his life. Sure, Stone and Thire would defy him from time to time, but that was between brothers of equal military rank. This was a civilian, a senator but still a civilian. He rather liked it.

“That’s not dinner, Fox. I’ll make a stir fry.” She set the datapad she had been writing on onto the arm of the chair and walked across the room to the small kitchen. Once she’d begun to heat a pan she turned back to Fox. “Do you know what stir fry is?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then come help me chop the vegetables if you have a moment. I’ll show you. I learned this recipe from one of my representatives.”

Fox rose from the couch, biting back a groan of pain as the movement rippled down his back. He’d never realized how many actions travel through the spine before now. But he couldn’t let Riyo know how much pain he was still in. She’d have a hard time forgiving herself for being the cause of it.

She pushed a knife and what he assumed was a ‘vegetable’ into his hands and showed him how she wanted him to cut it. It was much easier than he assumed, and almost fun when Riyo was whisking around him in the tiny kitchen. He’d never cooked before, nor watched any being cook, and he was a little suspicious when she dumped everything into the single pan.

“There’s no way it’s that easy.” He said when she declared dinner to be ready.

“It’s that easy.” She grinned, presenting him with a bowl. He took it from her hesitantly. “Don’t look so nervous. It’s good food.” She chided, leading him over to the bar separating the living spaces from the kitchen. He felt her eyes on him as he hesitantly took a bite.

“That’s weird.” He said finally.

“What do you mean, weird?” He was worried that he’d offended her, but her eyes were still playful as she watched him take another bite.

“I’ve never tasted anything like this. Any of it.”

“How about the meat?”

“Not in this form. I guess ours is more ground up and we don’t put anything on it.” Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure it was meat anymore by the time it arrived in the mess hall.

"The sauce is the best part!” Her gaze was still playful, but also sad. He still wasn’t sure if he liked the food, there was almost too much flavor, but he didn’t dislike it either, so he tried to match the pace at which Riyo was eating. Eating for pleasure was a foreign concept, but something about this brought her joy so he would play along. He was good at improvising.

They didn’t speak much after dinner. Riyo went back to her notes and Fox went back to the files Thire had sent him. The bounty hunter had started talking and the Guard had already brought up a variety of beings who could be responsible for the attack. There had been threats made the week before the gala, that had been the reason for Chairman Papanoida’s security request, but any motives were still unknown.

Fox had been pouring over Riyo’s file and what she had recently supported or not supported when a chronometer chimed 2200. He closed the file with a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. He’d need to put more of the senoti cream on his wounds. Despite his initial reservations about the Endorian tree sap, it appeared to be working. While the bacta treatment he received had healed most of the wounds, the senoti cream was supposed to help prevent excessive scarring, which may have restricted his movement. Or so he was told. He set the datapad aside and stood up from the couch. “Is there a place I could lay my armor out of the way?”

Riyo glanced up from her datapad. “Anywhere you like. The top of my dresser is clean if you would like to store it off of the ground.”

He nodded and grabbed his helmet off of the side table where it had passed the evening. In her bathroom he stripped off the upper half of his armor and pulled his blacks down to his hips. He had left his pack by the bathroom door earlier, and he pulled out the jar that he’d been given upon being discharged from the medical facility.

“Let me help you with that.” He turned to see Riyo standing in the doorway.

“Riyo, I can’t-.” She reached out and took the container from Fox.

“Yes, you can.” She ran her hand over his bare shoulder and turned him so that he was facing the mirror. Fox watched her reflection as she dipped her fingers in the jar then reached towards his waist. He let out a groan as her fingers rubbed against his skin. “Your back is so tight.” She muttered, massaging the cream into the damaged tissue. “Have you ever considered a massage?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

"Come here." Riyo stepped back, then walked into her bedroom. He grabbed his armor from the counter and followed her. "Lie down on the bed.” Hesitantly, he lay his armor on the dresser and crossed the room to her bed, where she pushed him into the soft blankets. “Close your eyes, that’s an order.” He did as he was told as she brought the senoti cream onto the wound between his shoulders. This one was less painful, had been less severe, but he allowed himself to sigh as she worked the cream into his skin. Then her hands moved back down to his hips, her fingers trailing across his skin, and pressed down into his lower back. He let out another groan as she kneaded her hands against his skin. Maybe his muscles were tight. “Who knew that the great Commander Fox, leader of the Coruscant Guard and my own personal savior, would be such a sap for back rubs.” She whispered down to him. He tried to think of a clever response, but she’d moved her hands up to his midback and he let out the first sound that he would’ve labelled a moan. It felt like his ribs were shifting under her touch, maybe they were.

“Don’t tell the boys.” He hummed into the blanket.

“Never.” He could feel her hair draping down against his back now. It felt so nice to be enveloped in her. He pushed away the mental image of her holding him in her arms. It wasn’t right. They would be ruined. The image came back anyways once she reached his shoulders. “Sit up, I need a better angle.”

He pushed himself off of the blankets and realized that his face must be flushed from the shock of cold air. If it was, Riyo paid it no mind, moving Fox to sit on the edge of her bed as she sat down cross-legged behind him. Now she started from the top of his neck, moving down in slow circular motions. Once she’d reached the base of his neck Riyo uncrossed her legs and wrapped them around him, scooting her body closer to his. He didn’t say a thing, and neither did she as she worked her way across and back down to his shoulder blades. Her hands came to rest with her right hand on his shoulder, and her left hand on his side. Then he was being pulled backwards, coming to rest with his head against her chest. He took her right hand in his, holding it to his chest, and hesitantly stretched his left arm back so that his hand lay beside her head, enveloped in soft purple curls. He felt her head turn from the movement of her hair, then felt a kiss being planted on the inside of his wrist.

“Senator Chuchi, I believe that I would like to see you again.”

“And what makes you say that, Commander Fox?” Her voice hummed against the back of his head. He turned his head to the side, laying his ear against her sternum and listening to her heartbeat.

“I don’t think I know the words to express that desire, Senator.” Her hand moved from his side to his head and she ran her fingers through his curly hair.

“Then try your best.”

“I think that I would like to die here, in your arms. A shot to the chest or gut and fading away in your embrace.”

“And what other death would that be preferable to?” Her voice came out with a slight quiver, but her touch didn’t falter as she continued to run her fingers through Fox’s hair.

“Bleeding out on the concrete platform of some landing strip because of a speeder-bomb. Aspirating blood for some senator voting against being’s rights. Gutted by some bounty hunters trying to cash in on a senatorial bounty.” He suddenly fell silent, biting back the deaths of his brothers.

“Then I guess you’ll have to become my personal bodyguard, so I can always be there.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry, Fox. I can only imagine the things you’ve seen.”

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink further into her embrace even as guilt gnawed at him. “I don’t deserve this. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.”

He couldn’t have stopped himself from speaking if he tried.

“I killed one of my brothers.” He felt her chest stutter against his head, but then her breathing deepened once more and he continued. “I don’t remember firing the shot. I was in the Chancellor’s office, then I was watching him fall to the ground. It’s like someone else took over. It should’ve been set to stun; it’s always set to stun.” His voice broke and he stopped. Riyo’s hand continued to stroke his hair as he felt a tear slide down his cheek.

“You’re a good solider, Fox. You were following orders.”

“Following orders, when you know they’re wrong?”

“They never raised you to question authority.” Her hand stopped to rest in his hair. “Maybe I’m overstepping my bounds as a senator right now.”

“Riyo, you’re not forcing me to do anything. I’m supposed to obey my authority figures, but I still know how I want to react.”

“And right now?”

“I want to follow your orders, Senator. I want this.” The last bit came out breathier and more desperate than he had intended. Riyo didn’t respond, but she drew her arms away and moved to sit up. Fox obliged, sliding himself off the bed to stand before her.

“Could you stay in my bed with me tonight, Commander?” Her eyes were wide and cautious, and so gold.

“I’d love to.” If she’d asked a day earlier when he was hooked up to the monitors the machine would’ve read ‘Irregular Heartbeat’.

She rose off the bed to stand before him. “Let me change into bedclothes then.” Then she pattered back towards the bathroom. She turned back to him when she got to the doorframe. “Make yourself comfortable, however you would sleep in the barracks.” She looked him up and down. “Or, stay how you are.” Then she was out of his sight.

Normally, in the barracks Fox would sleep in his blacks with his armor half assembled on his body so that he could rush when called for. He didn’t think that the senator would like to sleep next to a pile of plastoid. He pulled his blacks back over his torso and began to disassemble his armor from the hips down, laying it in a neat pile with the rest of the armor on the dresser. He placed his comm on top. Riyo hadn’t returned, so he took a seat on the edge of her bed to wait, not wanting to overstep his bounds. He ran his hands over the soft blanket beneath him, still wrestling with the implications of what he and the senator were doing, and was almost startled when Riyo reentered the room, wearing a purple satin jumpsuit that fell loosely over her frame. She had pulled her hair down, and it hung around her face in a soft puff. Everything in her room was soft. She walked over to him and lowered herself onto his lap, straddling his legs and pulling his arms around her hips before wrapping her arms around his neck. “I would love for you to hold me, Fox. If it fancies you.” She brought one hand back from his neck and gently ran her thumb across his lips, and he felt her other fingers brush against the scars that crossed his throat.

“It does.” He muttered against her thumb. He reached up from her waist and pulled her down into the pillows beside him. She squirmed for a moment to pull the blankets up over them before burrowing her head into his chest. He wrapped one arm around her, as he had when he’d taken the blasts meant for her, and pulled her closer to himself, turning slightly onto his back so that she was pillowed in his chest.

“Commander Fox, I believe that I would like to see you again.” She mumbled.

“And what makes you say that, Senator Chuchi?”

“I don’t think I know the words to express that desire, Fox.”

He was so screwed if one of his men walked in. He decided that it was worth it though. He could feel his execution already, but if he was going to die for the Republic it was going to be on his terms. Of all the things he could be die for, loving a senator felt like the best option.