Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fox has been running on stims and spite for the past four days. Feedback hasn’t broken into his office and taken him to the medbay by force, which is how he knows the situation is bad.

From his sleep-deprived and slightly hysterical perspective, it’s also a little funny. First, the Zillo Beast escaped, and then the Chancellor reached his...related and untimely demise. Fox would feel happier about it if he wasn’t still dealing with the fallout; half his remaining uninjured troops are needed to assist the Jedi Reconstruction Corps with clearing the rubble and searching for survivors or bodies, while the rest are at the Senate, guarding the emergency session that started as soon as the dust settled. Fox had escaped being there by virtue of having to command and coordinate the Guard around everything else going on. He honestly isn’t sure if his migraine would be worse at the Senate or in his current situation.

Suffice to say, he’s having a bad week; it’s probably one of the worst since he was posted to the Coruscant Guard, which is saying something.

He’s in the middle of reading an incident report from Hound, who’d had to take Grizzer and a squad into the lower levels to track down someone spotted trying to break into the Senate, when the door to his office slides open. Figuring it’s probably Feedback, finally done with his shit, he ignores it and keeps reading. Hound caught the target, but two of his men were shot in the process. Fox grimaces. Their armor got most of the impact, so they’ll recover quickly, but nothing is fast enough for the state of turmoil and unrest Coruscant is in right now.

Fox signs off on the report and sighs. “I’m busy, Feedback. I’ll go to sleep once everything calms down.”

“You look like you need to go to sleep now,” a voice that is not Feedback says.

Fox pointedly doesn’t tense as he sets the datapad down and looks up.

“Ponds,” he greets, carefully keeping any annoyance out of his tone. “Cody. Wolffe. And Bly. Shouldn’t you all be out fighting the war? What are you doing here? I’m busy,” he adds again, not that it’ll do much.

Wolffe snorts, dropping onto the arm of the couch Thire and a few other troopers salvaged from somewhere. He swings his feet up onto the cushions, boots and all. The couch has almost definitely seen far worse, but Fox resists the urge to snap at him for it, anyway.

“War’s on pause after the Chancellor’s death,” Wolffe explains, though that actually just raises more questions. “Have you seriously not heard? The Jedi have started uncovering a bunch of shit about Palpatine; all the Council members got called back, and half of them have been stuck in the Senate explaining it all.”

“Don’t you work in the Senate?” Bly asks. “We assumed you’d know all this by now.”

“I’ve been here,” Fox says, waving a hand at the cramped mess that is his office, “since the Chancellor’s death. I have way more to worry about than whatever’s happening in the Senate right now.”

Though it is odd that he hadn’t heard any of this yet. He picks his datapad back up and shoots a message off to Thire demanding to know what the fuck is happening and why he hasn’t been updated. It’s more professionally worded than that, but Thire will understand the sentiment.

While he waits for a response, He goes back to frowning at his batchmates. It’s odd seeing them here in the Guard headquarters, especially all of them at once. He doesn’t think their entire batch has been together since Kamino, and that was...over a year ago, now. None of them return to Coruscant very often. When they do, Fox is almost always too busy to see them. 

They’ve also never taken the time to visit him here, but he never thought to be grateful for that until now. The Coruscant Guard isn’t an easy posting, no matter what the rest of the GAR may think. Fox doesn’t want his batchmates to realize, because then they’ll worry, and then they’ll try to do something about it. 

They’ll fail. He isn’t sure which is worse, the knowledge that anything they’d try to do to help would be futile, or the hope it would instill anyway.

It’s too late to stop it, though. They’re already here.

“You look terrible, vod,” Cody starts. Fox immediately bristles at his tone; it’s the one he takes when he’s about to dig his claws into something and not let go until he’s gotten his way.

Fox has always hated that tone when it’s aimed at him. “Thanks. I’ve been a little busy this week, believe it or not.”

“When was the last time you slept?” Bly asks. “Actually, don’t answer that. Correction: you need to sleep.”

“And eat. Seriously, Fox’ika?” Ponds is frowning down into the trash receptacle beside Fox’s desk. It’s half-filled with empty stim packages and a handful of ration bar wrappers.

Wolffe cranes his head to see inside, then looks pointedly at the disposable caf cups scattered across Fox’s desk and whistles. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.”

“Feedback hasn’t intervened, I’m fine. Why are you here? I’m working.”

To emphasize his point, Fox turns back to his datapad, where a message from Thire is waiting. It doesn’t say much, just that a lot of big things are happening, and they’re supposed to be kept incredibly confidential.

Obviously, Fox’s batchmates are stretching that rule. He sends an acknowledgement back, makes a note to stop by the Senate soon to get a full rundown, and returns to the list of reports, requests, and messages that need his attention.

He only gets as far as the first word in a notice from one of the squads helping search the rubble before Cody grabs the datapad out of his hand.

“They’ve found two of the troopers that have been missing since the Zillo Beast’s escape,” he reports after skimming the message. “Both dead. I’m sorry, vod.”

Fox snatches the datapad back. “We didn’t expect anyone who hasn’t yet returned to have survived.”

There was a chance, however slim, that some of the missing troopers were on a blackout mission instead of lost to the beast’s rampage, but that window has passed. Anyone still missing is gone.

“You sound pretty resigned to that,” Wolffe notes.

“I’m being logical. It’s been four days; if anyone is still missing, they’re a lost cause. We can’t extend resources to help them unless they find their way back.”

Bly frowns. “Harsh.”

“We’re in a war,” Fox points out dryly.

“You’re stationed on Coruscant,” Cody argues. “You shouldn’t be talking like you’re on the front lines.”

Fox just blinks at him slowly. There’s nothing he can think to say that will stop them from prying more, so he stays silent. They’ll give up eventually.

Ponds recognizes the tactic first. He also is the first to realize that they won’t get any more out of Fox about this, evidenced by his sigh. 

“You need to eat real food and then go to sleep. Come on.”

He rounds the desk and gently pulls Fox to his feet. Fox considers fighting it for a moment but abandons that thought quickly. Against the four of them? He wouldn’t stand a chance, especially if the way his vision briefly whites out is anything to go by; maybe they have a point.

“The work will wait,” Bly adds, bracketing Fox’s other side as Ponds leads him out into the hallway. Cody and Wolffe fall in behind them. “Don’t you have other commanders to help you, anyway?”

“Stone is leading the squads with the Reconstruction Corps. Thire’s at the Senate. Thorn is—”

Fox pauses. Thorn hasn’t been in contact since before the Zillo Beast escaped. By Fox’s own logic, that means he’s dead. But...the small, soft part of him, tucked into his ribcage behind his heart, wants to believe that he’s still alive. Somewhere. Maybe he’s in a bad blackout. 

“Thorn’s gone,” he finishes roughly.

Bly hums sadly. “I’m sorry, vod’ika.”

A hand rests on the back of Fox’s neck; he isn’t sure if it’s Cody or Wolffe, but the pressure is comforting either way.

“It’s fine. We knew it could happen to any of us,” he mutters.

It doesn’t help. 

<><><>

Cody studies Fox out of the corner of his eye as they all settle into a corner of the Guard refectory to eat. The refectory itself is surprisingly empty; Cody knows the Corries are busy right now dealing with the aftermath of the Zillo Beast’s escape and the Chancellor’s death, but the Guard headquarters seem nearly abandoned. He’s only seen the three troopers working the entrance room, the shiny working the refectory, and Feedback, the CMO who called them here.

It’s odd, sure, but maybe the Corries really are using every last hand to help with the search and rescue efforts alongside guarding the Senate. The state of their headquarters isn’t the biggest worry right now.

Fox, on the other hand, is. When Feedback commed him - how he got Cody’s comm code, he doesn’t know, but he’s thankful for it now - and told him that Fox hadn’t slept in almost a week and needed an intervention, Cody thought he was exaggerating. Now, looking at the bags beneath Fox’s eyes and the exhaustion in every line of his body, he wishes Feedback had called him sooner.

“Something’s wrong here,” Wolffe mutters to him, low enough that Fox can’t easily overhear, especially with Ponds and Bly pointedly keeping up conversation with him - though at him is probably more accurate.

Cody frowns. “Obviously. We all saw Fox’s office.”

It had been a mess, datacards and flimsiwork piled on his shelves and desk with seemingly no organization. Besides the main datapad Fox had been using, Cody had seen at least two others, though he’s not sure what they would’ve been used for. The little free space left on the desk had been taken up by empty, disposable caf cups; the number of them, combined with the empty stim packages in Fox’s trash, explained how Fox was still awake after four days, and also made Cody worried for the state of his heart.

Wolffe shakes his head. “Not that. Or, not just that. You heard how Fox was talking; he sounded like one of us. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to leave vode for dead if they didn’t report back before we had to move.”

“Same. But...it’s never something I want to do. Fox sounded like he was used to it.”

“Exactly!” Fox glances over to them at the exclamation; Wolffe winces and lowers his voice again. “This is Coruscant, why in all the hells would he be acting like that? Unless there’s something else going on.”

“I think there is,” Cody agrees. “There’s barely a skeleton crew here, which is odd even if the Corries are working with both the Reconstruction Corps and the Senate Guard. All of them have their buckets on, even the trooper back here.” 

He nods to the shiny puttering around in the kitchen. Feedback hadn’t been wearing his bucket when he’d called Cody, but when they met him here, he’d had it on, even though he presumably came from and would return to the medbay after pointing them in the right direction.

Wolffe nods. “We should definitely do some poking around. Maybe...later, though. Fox’ika looks like he’s about to fall asleep right into his rations.”

Cody follows his look. Sure enough, Fox barely looks like he’s present anymore, head bobbing every so often as he tries to keep himself awake. Ponds keeps nudging him and Bly is very obviously taking bites of what’s left of his food in an attempt to get Fox to finish his own.

Now that they’ve dragged him out of his singular focus on his work, it’s clear the needs of his body are catching up to him. General Kenobi does the same thing, but Cody and the 212th’s medics are usually pretty good at getting him to catch at least an hour or two of sleep every day. He knows that Feedback, as a CMO, wouldn’t be oblivious to the limitations of a human - or clone - body, so the fact that he’d let Fox keep going for this long is...also somewhat telling of the state the Corries are in. 

Cody doesn’t like the picture he’s starting to see.

Wolffe leans across the table to push Fox’s tray closer to him. “Come on, vod, hurry up. The sooner you finish eating, the sooner you can go to sleep.”

Fox frowns down at the tray. “I’m not hungry.”

Cody and Ponds exchange a look. They all saw how few ration bar wrappers there were in Fox’s trash receptacle, and he doubts Fox would emerge from his office and leave his work just to grab food from the refectory.

Bly rubs Fox’s back, not that Fox will be able to feel it much beneath his armor. “Just eat as much as you can, then. I hate to say it, Fox, but you really don’t look great.”

He glances at how sharp Fox’s cheekbones have become. Cody can’t see the rest of his body, fully armored as it is, but he’s willing to bet Fox is skinnier than he was when he left Kamino. Feedback had mentioned he was malnourished on top of being exhausted and overworked, but Cody hadn’t known it was this bad. He hates seeing his batchmate like this.

Fox huffs but reluctantly scoops up some of his food. “Thanks, Bly,” he says dryly.

He only manages a few more bites before setting his fork back down and pushing the tray away, but it’s better than nothing. About half of the food is gone. Cody figures that’s as good as they’re going to get, for right now.

“We should head back to the barracks,” he suggests, collecting their trays and utensils to bring to the tray return.

“I should—” Fox starts, but Bly cheerfully cuts him off.

“Nope. We haven’t seen each other in over a year, vod’ika, come on. Just for a bit.”

He slings an arm around Fox’s and stands, dragging Fox up with him. Wolffe snorts at the petulant look on Fox’s face.

“I forgot how grumpy he gets when he’s tired,” he stage-whispers to Cody, who chuckles.

Fox flips them both off.

Bly leads the way out of the refectory. Everything goes well until they reach the front of the building; Fox stalls in the doorway to the reception area, trapping Wolffe, Ponds, and Cody in the hallway behind him.

Bly turns, frowning. “Fox?”

“I can’t,” Fox says weakly. “I can’t leave without my helmet.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Wolffe asks. “We can go back and get it, but—”

“I can’t,” Fox insists. “Guard rules. Let me through.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what those specific rules are.

Wolffe, Ponds, and Cody step aside, trailing behind him as he marches back to his office. Wolffe starts to call after him, but Cody nudges his side. He shuts up.

“I don’t get it,” Bly says quietly. “He’s the Marshal Commander, surely he can leave his helmet off for one night? We’re just going to the GAR barracks, anyway, and they aren’t that far.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to set a bad example for his troops,” Ponds suggests, though he doesn’t seem convinced.

Wolffe scoffs. “What troops? There’s no one here.”

The argument is cut off by Fox reemerging from his office, helmet secured over his head. Cody’s never been bothered by it before, but now he finds it disconcerting how hard Fox is to read in full armor. He swears he used to be better at understanding what his batchmate was thinking no matter what. Maybe he’s forgotten how to do it in the year since they were all deployed.

Or maybe Fox has gotten better at hiding his tells.

Cody contemplates that and everything else he’s noticed about the Coruscant Guard on the walk to the GAR barracks. They pass a handful of other vode on their way; all of the Jedi Council’s battalions have been recalled to Coruscant, so between them and the few other battalions that were already on leave, like Bly’s, there are far more vode on Coruscant than usual. Even though it’s midday, the barracks are far from abandoned.

Luckily, a group of five commanders, three of whom are marshal commanders, gets a wide berth. They aren’t bothered on their way to the room their batch has claimed.

Cody doesn’t realize how tense Fox is holding himself until they’re in the room and the door is closed, because that’s when he finally slumps, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He probably wouldn’t have completely collapsed, but Bly catches him anyway and leads him over to a bunk. The rest of them wander over to their own beds, shucking various pieces of armor as they go.

Fox must mutter something, because Bly snorts and says, “Yeah, Fox’ika, you’ve been awake for four days straight, of course you’re tired. Come on,” he adds, a bit softer, “help me get your armor off. Then it’s nap time.”

Fox grumbles something, probably a protest, but caves quickly and starts fumbling with the clasps on his armor. Bly carefully stacks each piece on the armor rack near the door, then quickly does the same for his own armor. After dimming the lights at the control panel near the door, he heads back over to Fox.

Cody doesn’t plan on sleeping himself - he has reports he needs to catch up on, and with the 212th having been grounded for a week, he’s better rested than he usually is - but he removes his helmet, chestplate, pauldrons, and cuisses so that he can sit more comfortably in his bunk. Across from him, Ponds has done the same, while below him, Wolffe has taken off all his armor, clearly planning to take a nap like Bly and Fox.

Speaking of which.

“Scoot over,” Bly says, gently shoving at Fox’s shoulder.

“What?”

The confused, startled annoyance in Fox’s voice is comical. Cody exchanges an amused look with Ponds.

“Scoot over,” Bly repeats. “I haven’t seen you since the war started, and you’re a way better cuddler than Wolffe is.”

“Hey!”

“You elbow!” Bly retorts.

“Maybe I elbow too,” Fox mutters, even as he moves to make room.

The beds aren’t very big and definitely weren’t made to fit more than one vod, so he ends up half-squashed beneath Bly. He stays tense for a moment, staring up at the bottom of Ponds’s bunk, before slowly relaxing.

“See?” Bly grumbles. “This is nice.”

Fox hums, but he’s clearly too tired to protest further. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. A few minutes later, both he and Bly are dead to the world. Ponds leans over the edge of his bunk to capture a holo of the two of them. He gets another one of Wolffe, curled up in his own bunk and snoring, before looking over at Cody with a grin. Cody can’t help his own fond smile.

He intends to stay up and check over reports from the Negotiator, docked in the space above Coruscant with a skeleton crew to keep her running just in case, but between the dim lighting and the sounds of his batchmates’ quiet breathing, he finds himself slowly drifting off. After the third time he’s startled back into full consciousness by his datapad dropping out of his hand onto his lap, he gives up. He certainly hasn’t been as stressed and overworked as Fox these last few days, but he has been busy trying to coordinate the 212th’s sudden free time alongside helping General Kenobi if needed.

A nap does sound nice. He sets the datapad’s notification settings to alert him to any urgent reports or messages, then sets it aside. Having half his armor still on won’t be the most comfortable for taking a nap, but he doesn’t want to take it all off and return it to the armor rack, worried that the sound will wake Wolffe, Bly, and Fox. He resigns himself to being slightly uncomfortable; he only plans to sleep for an hour or two, anyway, and this definitely won’t be the most uncomfortable situation he’s slept in.

He shuffles a bit to find a better position. After a few moments, he drifts off, feeling safe and relaxed with his batchmates around him.

<><><>

He startles awake an indeterminate amount of time later to someone’s comm going off, shattering the peaceful stillness of the room. There’s some cursing, a thud, and then the cursing gets louder and more offended. By the time he’s shaken off his disorientation and leaned over the side of his bunk to see what’s going on, Fox is already up and stumbling to the armor rack. Bly is sprawled on the floor in front of his bunk, where he’d apparently fallen - or been dropped - after Fox untangled himself.

Wolffe is taking a holo of him. Bly makes a face.

“Fox?” Ponds asks. He’s the only one of them who doesn’t look slightly disheveled from an abrupt awakening. “What’s up?”

Fox, fumbling with his vambrace, waves him off. The buzzing alert goes silent as the call connects. There’s no holo, but since the call is running straight through Fox’s wristcomm instead of his helmet, the audio is faint but discernible in the small room.

“Sitrep,” Fox snaps, any trace of his relaxation from earlier gone.

“Thorn is back,” the trooper on the other end says.

Wolffe and Bly’s whispered argument goes silent. Cody exchanges a look with Ponds. Fox, clutching his vambrace in front of the armor rack, is so still that he could be a statue.

“One of the squads helping clear rubble found him stumbling through a half-collapsed passage to the lower levels. They brought him back here. He doesn’t remember anything from the past four days to a few hours ago.”

“A blackout?”

“We think so.”

“That’s the worst one so far,” Fox sighs. “Fuck. Feedback—”

The CMO. Cody frowns. What are they talking about, blackouts and missing memories?

“I know. He’s not injured worse than some bruises and small cuts, thankfully, but I’m keeping him in the medbay until his migraine wears off.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen. Anything else I should know about?”

“No emergencies. Be safe.”

“You know me,” Fox mutters. “I always am.”

He hangs up, cutting off Feedback’s laugh. From there, he begins strapping on his armor with the same quick efficiency that earned him full marks on Kamino. 

Ponds clambers down from his bunk. Cody does the same, gesturing for Wolffe and Bly to stand down. They look just as worried and confused as he feels, but it won’t do them any good to crowd Fox, especially when he looks like he’s holding off a panic attack by sheer force of will.

“Fox’ika?” Ponds asks softly. “What’s going on?”

Fox barely glances at him. “I need to go. Guard business.” He pauses, helmet in hand. “It was...good to see you guys.”

He shoves his helmet on and, before any of them can stop him, he’s gone. None of them bother giving chase; he got his name for a reason, after all. He’s always been the slipperiest of their batch. If he doesn’t want them to catch him, they won’t.

<><><>

Fox barely remembers the run from the GAR barracks to the Guard headquarters. All he knows is that one moment, he’s in the room with his batchmates feeling like the world is falling out from under his feet, and the next, he’s skidding into the medbay, pauldron slamming into the doorframe with a clatter as he forces himself to stop.

He gives himself a moment to catch his breath, more winded from the overwhelming relief than the run - Alpha-17 would kick his ass if he was more than just a little out of breath from only a mile run in his armor - and then glances around. The beds and cots in the main area are all filled with troopers who were injured in the Zillo Beast’s escape and subsequent rampage; the far right corner is blocked off with a curtain, and that’s where Fox beelines to, pulling off his helmet as he goes. Some of the troopers who are awake call out greetings, but he barely remembers to acknowledge them.

Feedback must’ve heard him coming - though it’s not like his approach was very subtle - because he meets him at the curtain’s opening, gloves on and sleeves pushed up. Fox stares at the red on his hands.

“I thought you said he wasn’t injured,” he hears himself say.

Feedback sighs. “I said he wasn’t severely injured,” he corrects. “Just some bruises and cuts, which I’ve already bandaged. And the migraine. Come on.” He turns back into the pseudo-room. “Fox is here. I’m going to start the nutrient and hydration drips, and then I’ll leave you to get some rest. You too,” he calls over his shoulder to Fox, who rolls his eyes.

He follows Feedback past the curtain and then stops, heart freezing in his chest at the sight of Thorn exhausted and bruised but alive. Feedback kindly ignores whatever look is on Fox’s face and instead focuses on setting up the IV bags. 

Thorn, however, sees him and immediately smiles, even though the motion pulls at the bruising on his jaw. 

Fox stumbles forward and collapses into the chair beside his bed. He clasps Thorn’s right hand in both of his own and bows his head, pressing their fingers into his forehead to hide how close he is to completely breaking down into sobs. After everything he’s been through, both in the past year and the past week, finding Thorn alive is somehow the thing that threatens to send him over the edge.

“If you do that to me again, I’ll fucking kill you,” he rasps.

Thorn laughs, weak but still the best thing Fox has heard in days. “I’ll do my best, kar’ta. I’m sorry.”

He shifts his hand in Fox’s grip to gently tap his knuckle twice between his eyebrows; once to reassure that he’s still here, once to reassure that Fox is. It’s been their tradition ever since the two of them, originally the only two commanders for the Guard, realized how shit the posting actually was. Fox thought he’d never get to do it again. He squeezes Thorn’s hand twice within his own to return the gesture. Thorn’s skin is warm and calloused and he’s alive. Fox breathes through another wave of heartache, though this time it’s followed by the relief that he didn’t lose Thorn like he’d thought, like he feared.

Distantly, he registers Feedback starting the IV and leaving, but he still doesn’t move until he’s certain he won’t break down into tears at a moment’s notice. Only then does he sit up and set Thorn’s hand back onto the bed, though he keeps their fingers intertwined. 

Thorn’s hair is a mess. The two braids he has on either side are coming undone and the bun he usually keeps everything tied back in is gone, leaving dull gold curls to fall over his shoulders. Fox reaches out to tuck a strand out of his face, then drops his hand back into his lap, face burning. 

Thorn laughs at him again. Fox flips him off.

“You’re so sweet when you’re worried,” Thorn teases. 

“Fuck off.”

“It’s nice! Really. I missed you, too, even if....” The humor disappears from his face. His eyes go distant for a moment, but then he blinks and swallows and finishes, “Even if I didn’t know I was gone. What in the hells happened?”

Fox groans. “You remember the Zillo Beast?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of hard to forget that, even if I only saw it when it was unconscious.” Thorn pauses. “Wait. No.”

“Yes. It escaped the same day your blackout started. Caused a lot of destruction, and then...well. May our Supreme Chancellor’s soul find peace wherever it rests now. I’m guessing it’s the same place where they disposed of the beast’s body.”

Thorn stares. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” Fox waits a beat, then adds flatly, “Apologies to the late Chancellor, that was in bad taste. But yes, I am. It’s been...bad.”

“You do look kind of very exhausted,” Thorn agrees teasingly, before sobering. “How many did we lose?”

Fox sighs. “Almost a third. I was helping Feedback in here for the first day or so until we got everyone stabilized. The rest of the Guard is at the Senate or helping the Reconstruction Corps Jedi with search and rescue efforts.”

Thorn nods. He’s fiddling with Fox’s fingers, though Fox is pretty sure he has no idea he’s doing it. His eyes are distant.

“Yeah, that’s how they found me. I was stuck in one of the passages between levels with no idea how I got there, where I was, or how to get out. I got lucky that one of the Jedi was clearing the area near there and sensed me.”

“Fuck.”

Fox tightens his grip on Thorn’s hand. Thorn sighs.

“I’m still here, kar’ta. I’m fine.”

Fox shakes his head. “You almost weren’t. You were gone for four days. That’s the longest blackout any of us have had so far. If the Jedi hadn’t found you when they did—”

He pauses when the comm on his wrist starts beeping. “Fuck. What?” he snaps, reluctantly letting go of Thorn’s hand to accept the call.

“Your batchmates are here,” Anwee reports.

Great. “Tell them I’m busy. They’ve already fed me and gotten me to sleep, what more do they want?” he adds at a mutter.

“Really?” Thorn asks. “Good for them. Let them in, Anwee.”

He’s injured and exhausted, so Fox doesn’t punch him on the shoulder like he normally would. He settles for flipping him off again. Thorn just laughs.

“I already let them through, sir. Feedback’s orders.” That fucking traitor. “I don’t think they would’ve listened to me, anyway. But I thought I should let you know.”

Fox sighs. It’s not Anwee’s fault, he tells himself. His batchmates would’ve just pushed right past them if they’d tried to stop them. 

He’s still annoyed. But. “Thank you for the warning.”

He hangs up. Thorn snorts.

Not even a second later, Feedback’s distant voice says, “He’s back there. Don’t start any fights in my medbay.”

“Thanks, Feedback. We won’t, I promise,” Cody assures.

“We won’t let Fox’ika start anything, either,” Wolffe adds.

He’s lucky they’re in the medbay, because Fox would kick his ass otherwise for using that nickname in front of his men. Thorn coos.

“I’ve never met your batchmates before.”

“They’re assholes.”

“Sounds like it runs in the batch, then.”

He’s not wrong. Still, Fox turns to glare at him.

“You’re not as clever as you think you are,” he says flatly.

“Fox?”

He turns. All four of his batchmates are crowded together in the curtain’s opening. Ponds, the one who’d spoken, is in front. Cody is beside him, and Wolffe and Bly are behind them.

“Ponds. Why are you here?”

“We were worried, di’kut. You went running off and barely said goodbye. Is this—?”

Right. He’d nearly forgotten about the call and the fact that his batchmates heard all of it in his haste to get to Thorn.

In the second that Fox spends regretting his past self’s lack of discretion, Thorn waves and says, “I’m Thorn, one of the commanders here. It’s nice to meet you all.”

Bly peers between Ponds and Cody. “I’m glad you made it out, vod.” He adds in a conspiratorial whisper, “Fox was worried about you.”

Fox rolls his eyes, but the wound of thinking Thorn was dead is still a bit too raw for him to want to argue. Thorn chuckles.

“I know. I would’ve been worried about him if we’d been in the opposite position, don’t worry.”

“Good.”

“About that,” Cody interjects. “Well, kind of. This...may be a bit personal, but we were in the room when Feedback called Fox and we overheard some things.”

Thorn glances at Fox. Fox glares at Cody.

Cody continues, “What are those blackouts you and Feedback mentioned?”

And there it is. Fox should’ve known that’s what they were here for; his batchmates, especially Cody, have always been meddlers. If they see a problem, especially one pertaining to another batchmate, they have to fix it. It’s both annoying and endearing, in turns.

Right now, it’s just annoying. And slightly terrifying.

No one outside Feedback, the command staff, and the few other troopers who have had one know about them, and Fox would like to keep it that way.

“Watch your volume,” he snaps.

“Sorry. But seriously, Fox, what—?”

Fox ignores the probing expression Cody uses to finish his question in favor of turning to Thorn. He already knows Feedback’s answer; their medic only keeps it in their circle because they’ve had nowhere else to turn to. Thire and Stone are busy, and he isn’t going to waste his or their time comming them both for this, even if it’s important. They’ll understand.

Thorn, though, is here, and has been Fox’s second ever since the start of the war. They can read each other as easily as breathing; Fox doesn’t even have to speak to ask what Thorn thinks they should do.

Thorn inclines his head.

Fox takes a deep breath and tells them everything.