Ever so heavy.

by honeydippedfeathers

Summary:

Fox has been falling for so long, that he didnt know what to do when he finally stopped.
Or in other words
I write Fox sprailing down a hill of despair.

---
REWRITTEN 5/28/2025

Chapter 1

Wake up. Work. Eat. Drink. Sleep.

- - - - -

The four things Fox knew how to follow. A cycle. A schedule.
Something he wrote up himself out of the millions of things thrown onto him. The one thing he's kept to himself since he was shipped here. Since he became part of the Corrie.

When he was a cadet. He had dreams. Ones of large worlds, trees, how beautiful the sun would look on a sunrise with no rain blocking his view - no metal. And yet as he looks out the window the planet of metal met his eyes.
He had dreams. And they laid buried within his gut. The same as his brothers that stayed here past leave.

The Coruscant Guard. The 'Corrie'. The weak. The non-fighters.
(He muted the CC group chat long ago, they started treating him as if he wasn't one of them.
And they were right. He wasn't.)
They were called many words. He was called more. The face of them.

CC-1010 (Fox. Fox. Fox. Fox. Fox. Fox. His name is Fox.) The..
Marshall Commander. Protector. Ori'Vod. Demon. Monster. Far from human.
The senators reminded him of that like it was stone. Ha.. Stone.
He should check on Stone.

The cup of caff in his hand had long since turned cold.
He despised cold caff. But he drank it anyway. He's long since learned to stomach things he hates and was forgetting how to stomach food instead.
(It quiets the ache in his head.)

- - - - -
Wake up. Work. Drink. Sleep.
- - - - -

Eat slipped away from the schedule. It wasn't his fault. (That's what he told the medics atleast. They didn't need to know how regret was easier to stomach than their food. The slop they ate.)
But it wasn't like he noticed past the small things.
How it was harder to blink. How exhaustion dragged, dragged, dragged him down. His knees buckled with each move. His hands were shaking now. But when were they not.

He was fine. He was fine. He was fine.
(His memories were getting worse. Past the missions that he kept tight lipped about. Past the broken memories of blood.)
The medics looked at him with worried glances.

The caff intake was increased. It replaced the blood within his veins.
It made him feel more alive.
Something he wasn't anymore.

He'd died on Kamino. And this was his punishment for that.
For taking the innocent life of a Cadet.
The little Fox.

- - - - -
Work. Drink.
- - - - -

Bags had grown deep within his skin, reached to his skull.
Stone was the one checking on him now. Thire and Thorn too. But they had no time, no right to say anything.
Their own schedule had no word of 'sleep' in it either, it was scratched off just like his.
Passing out replaced the sleeping.

Touch was forbidden within sight of Senators. After all, what droid seeks comfort through gentle embraces.
All he got was a gentle shoulder nudge, a hand on his back, all of each felt colder than the armor wrapped around his body.

The rules were strict. Foot before foot, paint perfect - not chipped, each breath the same.
Unless you want a decommission slip. The pile that was getting bigger each day on his desk, big words written in red.

Each reason similar to the next.
An accent (they all had the same one.) is reason enough for reconditioning. (Send them back to where they got the accent. Smart.)
Bad paint job (a sloppy hand work due to lack of sleep. Of food. The gar got the first shipments.) is even more reason for reconditioning. They clearly aren't fit to protect the Senators if their paint is chipped!
Sassiness.. snarkiness is reason enough for decommissioning in Senator eyes. (Wolffe would be dead if he was here. Wolffe would be dead. Is he dead? He hasn't heard from him recently.)
It goes on and on.

They're not the perfect droids if you can hear their heart beating, after all.

Gray hair was growing a long his temples, messing up the perfect black of his curls. He'd be decommissioned if anyone saw. Or praised. Decommissioning a Marshall Commander is a lot of paper work.
Curls made his head easier to grab.
Senators knew it. And so did he.

It made it easier to pull. To yank. To feel a sense of pain.

Black dots peppered around his vision. His body shivered with each heartbeat.
The ringing in his ears was deafened by the click of armor.
He paid no mind to the demands as he downed another cup of caff.

- - - - -
Work.
- - - - -

His hands moved yet the datapad stayed still on his lap. His vision was swarming, head pounding. The empty blanks in his memory stared him in the eyes. The most steady thing in a sea of unsteady.
His communicator went off.

The Chancellor. Palpatine.. Palpatine. Chancellor Palpatine. Ha. What a great chancellor.
He hopes he dies, and not just himself in that.

He stared in the mirror as he pushed himself up. The datapad cracked as it fell to the floor and he stared in the mirror that sat across the way. The man that stared back was nothing like the Cadet in his dreams. (If he could even remember the last time he slept.)

Sunken in cheeks met his eyes before the cold dead brown eyes did. Black hair that grayed along his head slipped past his shoulders. He should get a haircut.
As if he'd have the time.

Fox (because his name was Fox. His name is Fox. Not was. Is. His name is Fox. Not CC-1010. His name is Fox. Right?) turned away from the dead man in the mirror and pulled on his helmet.
There's no point in looking at a dead man.

And the man that looked at him in the mirror was far past dead.

- - - - -
Shoot.
- - - - -

Fives was dead. He doesn't remember shooting him. Not one bit. He remembers the sound of armor hitting the floor. (Was it his or Fives'? He only remembers how his head lolled back. Good soldiers follow orders.)

There were people screaming. He remembers being shoved, either in defense or anger he can't tell. His helmet had been ripped off and a slap had rang in the air.
He didn't know it was him who had been slapped.
Rex was heaving in front of him. Cheeks red with rage.

He almost matched the look of the Guard despite screaming at one of them.
The guard had shoved him away, dragged Fox away even if he didn't kick or scream.

- - - - -
Heal.
- - - - -

He doesn't remember much following. He remembers Thorn's arms, a hand in his hair as patches laid across his skin.

"Will he live?"
"The damage is out of my control, Thorn."

When he sat up on the bed, Thorn had stared at him with Fox's communicator in his hand.
Every batchmate blocked. Wolffe sat at the top.

Fox threw up his own saliva for the day to come. There was only so much Bacta could do for mental wounds. (He ignores how most of it was wrapped around his chest. Covering the lightning wounds, when did he get hit by that?
There's no storms here.)

- - - - -
Breathe.
- - - - -

Thorn laid dead on the floor in front of him. No medal. The Senator he died for was married to that Golden Boy. To the Chancellor's golden boy.
To that bloody Skywalker.
And rage bubbled deep within his chest as he punched fist after fist into the wall.

It only dragged the pain into more parts of his body.

He stopped breathing with each panic attack that came. He stopped talking.
Stopped remembering what his own voice sounded like despite people who sounded just like him surrounded him.

The days went on and they left his rotting brain behind. (But it did CPR on his corpse.)

- - - - -
Move.
- - - - -

It was harder to move. He knows it's not right, how hard it is to push a body of a chair.
His body felt like it was filled with cement.

A meeting played in front of his eyes and he watched his own body from his eyes.
Hands trembling at his side.

The senators were talking. They were talking and talking and talking. (Did they ever stop talking? They should stop talking.)
His gut was empty. His eyes burnt. His head pounded with nausea or pain or whatever new thing he had.

One of them was staring at him so he straightened her back.
She was from Naboo. The Golden Boy's wife. (He wondered if she knew he kneeled in front of the man she was arguing with.)
The reason Thorn was dead.

A scream had rang out. It wasn't him, but her (he'd heard her scream the same way when Thorn died). He knew that because his lips felt like they were sewed tightly shut - they might as well had been. Barely spoken past 'yes sir'.
His armor had cracked as he fell harshly against the floor.
But he wasn't dead because God never knew when the end should be.

Only half of him wished he'd open his eyes again but it wasn't for an act of selfishness.
It was because of his Vod'ike. Because of his job. Because of what he was programmed to do.

He was more droid than human.

- - - - -
Sleep.
- - - - -

And yet his eyes slipped shut like a human's would.

Chapter 2: Ever so light.

Summary:

When you wake up somewhere new what can you do but be scared of the moon?

- - - - -
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
- - - - -

There was a blinding sun in front of him. It burned worse than his lips did.
His body ached with each breath. Lungs strained with each movement, each eye dart across the room as his survival instincts struggled and failed.

No dead man had a urge to live and so he laid like a corpse. Chains wrapped around each limb as as he forced his eyes open.

The ceiling that met his eyes was no Guard medbay.
The Bacta wrapped around his ribs was none of the Guard's.
They'd run out months and months and months ago. So little to give but so much to need.

Someone was in the room.
They were watching him. (Fuckin' creep. Keep your eyes to yourself.)
He forced his mouth open and made a noise. Something more akin to an animal than a human.

And then his eyes had fallen closed again.
Pain welcoming death.

- - - - -
Wakeup. You need to get up.
- - - - -

He woke up again with pain radiating down his chest. The person who was there before was there again.
Their eyes weren't on him this time.
Because there was talking in the room, a voice he didn't recognize and fear choked his heart so hard that he nearly gave himself away.

"The lightning marks are.. they're not natural-"
"No shit."
"Cody." (Cody. Cody. Why was that name familiar. Cody. Cody?)
"..As I was saying - The wounds are more like....."
"Like?" (It was the British voice. He didn't recognize that voice.)
"Sith."

He fell asleep laughing at the doctor's description. (Why did bitterness rise within his chest.)

- - - - -
What's your name again?
- - - - -

He didn't wake fully aware when he rose up this time. Able to sense a hand holding his hand.
And how he was able to feel touch.
It freaked him out so hard that he passed out again.

Because what the fuck was that?
And why did someone scream a name that started with a F?

- - - - -
Where are you. Find where you are.
- - - - -

When Fox (because that's his name. Fox. Not 1010. TenTen. Haha.. what funny numbers. So perfect. Like what he was.) woke up again, he wasn't alone. (Is this surprising?)
Two Clones stood in the room.
They were arguing.

God. What little care for the sickly. He had pushed himself up in the bed and his bones had protested louder than ever.

The one in gray stopped first before the yellow (orange?) did. They both stared at him, all three eyes looking right at him and he felt like throwing up.
Well. Atleast Wolffe was alive.
But Fox doesn't think he'll be for much longer with how his chest seized and squeezed and how vomit poured at the back of his throat. (He doesn't even know what he ate to throw up.)

They were talking to him but he didn't look at him, hands fumbling to shove them aside as he hunched himself forward. Too alike how he used to when he was CC-1010 the little Fox who lied and snuck and smirked.
Too alike the little Fox that had grinned at his assignment because he didn't have a death wish unlike his batchmates.

The same two that stood in front of him.
The same two who were always so much bigger than him. Selfish anger, want, and fear ran through him so much that he did throw up.

And he passed out in Cody's arms.

- - - - -
You're safe. Why? Why? Why?
- - - - -

The next time he woke up, he was alone. Well.
Alone's the wrong term. A doctor (A Jedi healer) stood in front of him and she smiled at him so kindly that he felt so small and scared once more but this time he forced his eyes open longer as he pushed himself up.

A Marshall Commander should greet the Jedi correctly, even if he didn't bow fully he did tip his head.

She was talking to him. Telling him that everything would soon change. That his guard were safe.
That the Chancellor was found dead.

And Fox wasn't so sure he had woken up.

- - - - -
You've woken up everyday now. Stop. Stop. Stop. (Why?)
- - - - -

He was put into physical therapy.
And the next time he saw Wolffe and Cody he didn't throw up.
Because atleast now he remembered who Cody was. Who Wolffe was. Who he was.

Wolffe walked side by side with him, hand in hand as they moved throughout the Jedi Temple and Fox swallowed down vomit with each step and movement.
They walked side by side and Fox had wished it was any other way.

"Why are you here." his voice was as weak as a strand.
"Because you saved the Galaxy. Because if it were the other way around, you'd be here too."
Wolffe was wrong.
He was so wrong and Fox felt like dying once more.

He could hardly remember each thing they talked about, couldn't place when he started crying let alone wrong even as he pressed himself closer to Wolffe.
Thankful for the fact they were dressed in their blacks as he clung to the wolf like a fox hung from his teeth.

"I'm sorry." he had muttered. "I'm sorry." he had begged.
And no words of comfort were returned by a hand around his sides as he was more pulled than lead to the end.

The all cold Marshall Commander flooded like a child that begged for forgiveness.

And when he woke up next, the wolf hadn't left.
And Fox found himself feeling like a cadet for the fifth time.

- - - - -
Live. Not survive.
- - - - -

When Fox had finally recovered a bit more, he sat in front of Cody and he glanced over each scar he had missed. Glanced over each limb, each eye, and the scar that haunted his sleep when he felt the worse.

Cody wasn't talking. But he was staring. Staring at how his little brother had gray hair before he had.
And Fox fixed his posture to be more even.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

And suddenly Fox found himself hunched once more.

"Would you have believed me?"
"I could've."
"Would've is different than could've. I would've never convinced you. You know that. I know it more."
A pause. A frown. Cody looked hurt.
"What happened to you Fox'ika?"
And Fox had no words but a shrug.
"What did they do?"
And Fox had too many words to speak. (So he shrugged again. Because it was easier to say what they didn't, than what they did.)
"How much time do you have?"

But Cody didn't laugh.
His hand reached out for Fox's face and it took every bone in his body to not flinch. (He still did. Why did he? Cody never hurt him. And yet his body screamed as if he had.)
Cody cradled his face and it took every bone in his body to not cry before he pressed his hand into the touch ever so hesitantly.

"What happens after I fully heal?"
"A lot. The war isn't over, but the Chancellor is. You should focus on yourself for now though Fox'ika."
And it took a lot in him to not try.

"I'm tired, Kote. I'm so tired."

The arms that wrapped around him didn't feel like a vice like they had when they were Wolffe's, but they still scared him like they were one.
Even as he curled himself up into his brother's chest.

Notes:

oh how i missed starwars writing ..

Notes:

chapter two coming one day. totally.
^
it did