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“You okay?”
“I’ve been better,” Fox managed to get out, rubbing his eyes. He turned over, blinking up at Wolffe. “When did you get here?”
He didn’t remember Wolffe coming over. Fox must’ve fallen asleep on the couch again — that was happening with an alarming frequency these days.
Wolffe hesitated for just a moment, but then he turned his back, continuing to sort through the stack of reports that covered Fox’s table.
“Not long ago,” he replied gruffly. “Sleep well?”
“Hm… I guess,” Fox said blearily, and grabbed the edge of the couch to begin leveraging himself up. “Strange dreams. But that’s nothing new. Here, let me help you with that.”
“Help? You don't even know what I’m doing with these, sit your ass down,” Wolffe retorted, throwing an accusing glance over his shoulder.
Fox held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, staying exactly where he was.
“Alright, alright. I get it. What are you doing with all that stuff?” Fox asked, unable to help the curiosity that seeped through his tone.
Most of them were irrelevant at this point, or at least, they would be to Wolffe. Fox had been roped into becoming an investigator after the war, since he basically did all the work for CorSec anyway, and he specialized in cold cases.
Wolffe wasn’t too fond of puzzles — he didn’t find the same enjoyment in putting together the clues that Fox did.
So why would he be in here now, rummaging through Fox’s work?
“Sorting it chronologically, and by area,” Wolffe said, and carefully placed another stack to the side. “You keep complaining that your shit is never organized and I’m sick of hearing it. Here’s the solution.”
Fox frowned, tapping his fingers along the couch with a disgruntled air.
“I’m a very organized person, thank you. And I don’t complain, especially not to you.”
The words were… not unkind, but honest. Their experiences during the war had been vastly different, and in such a way that Fox hesitated to try and relate to his peers outside the Guard, which often translated into refusing to show any kind of vulnerability in front of them.
He was working on it, honestly. He had a designated healer that he visited at least once a week.
Old habits were hard to break, however. And Fox never liked to express discomfort in front of others to begin with.
“Fine, you caught me,” Wolffe said sarcastically, finally turning to face Fox again with a hand propped on his hip. “I’m just here to busy myself with cleaning your perfectly organized space because I obviously don’t have anything else going on in my life.”
Fox grinned. “Happy to provide an outlet, vod.”
Wolffe huffed, a pissy little snarl building on his face, and Fox finally dragged himself off his delectably comfortable couch, walking over and clapping Wolffe on the shoulder.
“I appreciate the thought. C’mon, let’s go out. Get something to eat, maybe?”
Wolffe was quiet, eyes darting to the side as he thought deeply, before he managed to change the motion into a nonchalant shrug, eyes drifting back to meet Fox’s. There was something in his gaze that had Fox’s hackles rising — not something inherently negative, but…It looked quite a lot like pity, which was an emotion that Fox had only rarely seen on Wolffe, and never directed towards him.
“You need to clear out your fridge,” Wolffe said, a sort of forced enthusiasm in his voice. “Help me clear this off the table, then I can make something quick and easy.”
“I’m also perfectly capable of cooking, you know,” Fox pointed out, but didn’t fuss, and obediently followed Wolffe’s words.
Soon, the two of them were eating quietly, enjoying the sunlight streaming in through Fox’s kitchen window, and Fox had completely forgotten about the strange slant to Wolffe’s expression.
1010 woke as it always did — stiff, uncomfortable, and already waiting for punishment. Well, no, it wasn’t punishment; it was discipline, and it was only what 1010 deserved. There was no reason for this unit to dread each day that it continued to wake, and yet, it did.
It laid there breathing for a long, long moment — long enough that anyone watching would know that it was awake, and know that it had yet to begin attending to its duties. A small rebellion, but one that afforded 1010 a precious few minutes of rest before the slog of the day would begin.
“Fox?”
1010 was too well-trained to react to the sound of another clone in its domicile, but it did barely resist a wince.
It sat up, throwing its legs over the side of the… resting station? It didn’t remember the word for this piece of furniture, somehow.
But, it pushed that aside and got to its feet, turning to the other clone unit.
“Have we received new orders?” it queried.
Hopefully not. 1010 was a clone, and thus it knew better than to place too many expectations on a day that it had no control over, but it rather liked the quarters it had been assigned this time. It would be a shame to lose them so early.
The clone stared back at it, expression crumbling, before it sighed.
“This is the second time already,” the other unit said, voice choked with something close to grief. “Guess today isn’t a good day, huh? That’s alright. I’m here with you.”
“You shouldn’t be,” 1010 informed it, brows furrowing. “You should be attending to your duties.”
The unit reached out, and 1010 very carefully did not react to the hand that was placed atop its own, warm and comforting with that same, strange familiarity.
“Right now, looking after you is my greatest duty,” the unit informed him gravely.
“Oh.” 1010 blinked. “I’m fully functional.”
This sort of thing did happen sometimes. Master never liked it when others touched his things, and only the Emperor was allowed to decide when 1010 would break, and not one second sooner. Assigning someone as both an assistant and minder was simply another way to ensure that level of control.
“I know you are,” the unit said wearily. “Just… no new orders right now, okay? Go get some more rest. Your door is the second one on the right.”
1010 nodded crisply, ignoring the way that the clone collapsed in a heap onto the resting station.
It began walking towards its assigned room when a large table caught its eye. The table was stacked high with datapads, and as 1010 approached, it noted that there seemed to be a number of research pads and datapads associated with the Coruscant Security Force. Well, they would want that back eventually, wouldn’t they?
Sneaking a glance over its shoulder, it noted that the other unit was completely distracted, and it began to sneakily poke through a few of the files. In the name of security, of course.
Then, it frowned. What was with this organization system? It was certainly not up to Republic standards, and the standards of its Master even less so.
1010 shook its head, and began to organize everything the proper way, exactly how his Master always preferred. Reverse-alphabetical.
It was only logical, after all.