Liar Liar

by NaHoney

Summary:

When you meet a so-called clone named Whisky at 79's, you're a bit flustered with the impression he left on you. Little did you know that you were now caught in a web of Commander Fox’s lie.

Notes:

Kudos is much appreciated ♥️

This will be a small story of female reader and Commander Fox. There will be eventual NSFW scenes and moments of angst and hurt/whump.

Chapter 1: Part One - 79's

       

 

     “You gonna join us tonight?”

You glance up from your work, eyebrows raised. “And that would be…?”

“79’s, of course!” Thire grins, slinging his arm around one of his brothers. “We need a break.”

“He’s right. I can’t remember the last time I had a night just to relax,” Hound chimes in, leaning casually against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm. 

They look at you expectantly as you mull it over. You rarely went out—especially not with the boys—but the idea of unwinding at 79’s didn’t sound half bad. Besides, your friend Pia was working tonight, and catching up with her had been long overdue.

“Sure,” you say, nodding as you distribute the last of the data files onto the desks for tomorrow’s shift. “I’ll be there.”

The troopers exchange approving smiles. “Should we ask Fox?” Hound wonders aloud, glancing at his brothers before shifting his gaze to you.

“Why bother?” Stone snorts from the doorway. “He always says no.”

You roll your eyes but can’t deny the truth in Stone’s words. You’d overheard Fox turn down countless invitations. 

Anyway, he didn’t seem the type to let loose, especially with how rowdy the boys could get after a few rounds of Corellian ale. 

“I don’t see the harm in asking him again,” you reply, shrugging. “But yeah, he’ll probably say no.”

They leave you with the task. You finish tidying up, making sure everything is prepped for tomorrow. The clock ticks closer to 1900 hours, but Fox still hasn’t returned from the Senate. Deciding you’ve waited long enough, you gather your things and head for the door.

Just as you hit the button to open it, the door hisses apart, and you nearly collide with the broad red armor of Commander Fox.

“Oh!” You step back quickly, almost tripping over your own feet. “There you are.”

Fox enters, his usual confident stride noticeably subdued. He moves to his desk, his back to you, shoulders tense beneath his armor.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you continue, hovering uncertainly near the doorway.

 A weary and almost impatient sigh filters through his modulator. “And why’s that?”

Something’s off. You’re used to his abrupt tone, but tonight there’s a heaviness to it that makes you hesitate with your answer 

“Everything okay, Commander?” Your tone softens, concerned as you ignore his question.

“Fine,” he replies curtly, glancing over his shoulder. When he sees the worry etched on your face, he sighs again, this time sounding more human than soldier. “It’s just been a long day.”

You offer a small, sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I can imagine. You usually don’t finish this late at the Senate.”

He turns fully to face you, leaning back against his desk. His arms cross over his chest. “I’ve finished later,” he says dryly. “Is everything sorted for the morning?” He then asks, changing topic swiftly.

“Yes, Commander. Everyone has their files, and I put through an order for more supplies.”

“Such as?” He presses.

You hold your tongue and maintain a neutral expression. Back to his grumpy self, it seems.

“Extra medpacs, ammo, and rations. They should arrive by 0900 hours,” you list off, trying to sound efficient and competent, even though his scrutiny makes your blood simmer.

Fox nods absently, his visor fixed on you. Then he starts rattling off a checklist of additional tasks. Everything from inventory updates, personnel reports, security drills. You bite back the urge to roll your eyes, wondering why he insists on making everything harder than it needs to be.

“Like I said, Commander,” you interrupt gently but firmly when he finishes, “I’ve taken care of everything. For you.”

The ‘for you’ slips out sharper than intended, and you can’t help the flicker of satisfaction when you see his posture stiffen slightly. Turning away, you head for the door, masking your irritation with a forced calm. Just before you step out, you hesitate, glancing back.

“I stayed because the boys wanted to see if you’d join us at 79’s tonight. I’ll tell them you’re busy.” 

Because ‘busy’ always sounds better than ‘tired’.

 

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

 

 

“There she is!” Stone cheers the moment he spots you, raising his glass in a mock toast.

You grin as you weave through the packed club, the bass of music thudding in your chest, lights flickering in shades of blue and violet. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Typical 79’s.

As you reach the group, a chorus of nods and smiles greet you. Thire, Hound, and a few other Corrie Guards stand clustered together, already a few drinks in.

“Lookin’ good.” Hound nods appreciatively, earning a playful jab from you but accepting the compliment regardless. It’s not often you dress up, after all and the shirt you bought last month was too cute not to wear.

“Surprised to see you all behaving,” you tease, eyeing Thire’s drink before shifting to the man himself. “Especially you. No table dancing tonight?”

Thire groans, rubbing his head like the memory physically pains him. “I thought we all agreed not to bring that up.”

“Too hard to forget.” You smirk. “Especially the part where you fell flat on your face.”

Hound chokes on his drink, while Stone grins over the rim of his own. “I swear, the look on his face right before he went down—priceless.”

Thire mutters something about betrayal under his breath but smirks anyway.

“So, I take it the Commander isn’t coming?” Hound then asks, shifting the conversation as he leans closer.

You bite back a smart remark, still holding a minor grudge from your last interaction with Fox. Instead, you just shake your head. “Nope. He was really busy. Lots of files to go through.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Stone mutters, downing another sip.

You nod along, but despite your irritation, you can’t shake the image of Fox’s slumped posture, the exhaustion practically radiating off him. Still, you push the thought aside and excuse yourself, heading toward the bar.

Sliding onto a stool, you drum your fingers against the bartop, scanning the crowd until a familiar voice breaks through the noise.

“There’s my girl!” Pia grins, practically launching herself over the bar to pull you into a quick hug. “It’s been forever!”

“Oh, I know,” you sigh, grateful for the warmth of her presence. “Work’s been eating up my life. I haven’t had time for anything.”

“Tell me about it,” Pia groans, throwing a rag over her shoulder. “I’ve covered four extra shifts this week. Four! I basically live here.”

“That’s rough.”

“I wouldn’t mind if the pay was half-decent,” she grumbles, before quickly turning to serve an impatient trooper waving a handful of credits. She hands him his drink with a pointed look before spinning back to you. “Anyway, let’s get you a drink.”

As she sets a fruity, colorful concoction in front of you, you instinctively reach for your credits, but Pia swats your hand away with the tiny umbrella meant for your drink.

“Absolutely not.” She tuts, popping the umbrella in your glass for extra flourish.

You arch a brow. “You sure?”

“Of course.” She’s already dashing off to serve someone else before you can protest, so you just shake your head with a laugh.

“Don’t expect a tip, then,” you joke.

“Wouldn’t expect one from you anyway!” Pia calls over her shoulder, grinning.

You take a sip, humming in satisfaction. Perfect, as always. As the straw hangs lazily from your lips, you scan the bar, looking for any more familiar faces—though, ironically, in a room full of clones, everyone looks familiar.

Then you spot him.

Across the bar, a clone sits alone, elbow propped up as he rests his head in his hand. He looks… tired. Maybe bored. Maybe just hoping no one will bother him. But there’s something about him that catches your attention.

Salt-and-pepper curls frame his face, the dim light emphasising the lines along his forehead. He wears his blacks, leaving his battalion unclear. But you can’t shake the feeling that you should know who he is.

Before you can think too hard about it, Pia appears in your line of sight, snapping you back to reality.

“So, how is it?” she asks, wiggling her brows.

You blink. “How’s what?”

“The drink, duh .”

“Oh.” You flush slightly, realising you’d been too busy staring at the mystery trooper. “Yeah, it’s great. Thanks.”

Pia beams at the praise before suddenly flipping off a customer who’s been aggressively clicking his fingers for service. “ I said I’ll be with you in a minute!” she snaps, before turning back to you. “So, who’s your company tonight?”

“The Corrie Guards, of course.”

Pia gives you a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Well, do me a favor and make sure Thire stays off the tables this time.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Already warned him.”

As Pia busies herself with another round of orders, your gaze naturally drifts back to the clone across the bar. For a split second, you swear he meets your eyes, but Pia keeps unintentionally blocking your view.

“Hey! When am I gonna get my drink?” the same customer whines, earning a spectacular eye-roll from Pia.

“When I’m done talking to my friend .” She smiles sweetly, almost menacingly.

“You’re not even serving her anymore! You’re just chatting!”

Pia glares at him. He promptly shrinks back in his seat.

You take another sip of your drink before nodding toward the lone clone. “Say, do you know who that is?”

Pia grins knowingly. “Obviously. That’s—”

“Listen, lady, I just wanna get a drink and—”

“Kriff, fine ! Fine! ” Pia throws her hands up, stomping over to the persistent patron.

You sigh as she gets pulled away, your curiosity about the mystery trooper left frustratingly unanswered.

You try not to keep stealing glances at him, but there’s just something about him. It’s distracting. 

Maybe it’s the salt-and-pepper streaking through his curls, maybe it’s the way his shoulders hunch, like he’s carrying the weight of an entire day on them. He’s got that whole brooding, don’t-talk-to-me aura, which—ironically—only makes you more curious.

And, apparently, more reckless.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab a napkin from the dispenser and fish a pen out of your purse. You hesitate, pen hovering over the flimsy paper. What do you even write? Something casual? Flirty? Mysterious?

You roll your eyes at yourself—definitely overthinking it. Finally, you scribble down:

You look lonely. I can fix that.

As soon as you read it back, you cringe. Too forward? Too suggestive? Maybe you should—

Nope. No time for second-guessing. You fold the napkin before you can change your mind. Pia is still swamped, barely keeping up with the sea of 212th troopers ordering drinks, but thankfully, a server droid hums by.

Perfect.

“Hey,” you beckon it over, glancing toward the clone across the bar. “Can you take this to him?”

The droid gives a curt beep. “That is not my function.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan. “It’ll take two seconds.”

“Then do it yourself.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’ll tell Pia you need rewiring.”

The droid snatches the napkin without another word, wheeling off toward the clone.

Your stomach knots as you watch it place the note in front of him, then—completely unhelpfully—point directly at you. Great. You quickly avert your eyes, suddenly regretting everything.

But you still sneak a glance from the corner of your eye.

The clone straightens slightly, unfolds the napkin. Reads it. Pauses. Then, without a flicker of reaction, folds it back up and finishes his drink.

And then… he stands.

Your stomach drops. Oh. That’s it, then. He doesn’t even look your way as he walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

You exhale, a mix of relief and secondhand embarrassment washing over you. You swirl the ice in your glass and mutter to yourself, “Well. Won’t be doing that again.”

A voice speaks up behind you.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

You turn on your stool, and—oh.

The clone from across the bar is now standing right in front of you. Tall. Broad. Close.

Heat creeps up your neck. Your mouth suddenly dry.

“…Yeah,” you manage, a little breathless. “Kind of surprised, actually.”

“How come?” He gestures to the empty stool beside you, waiting for your nod before he sits.

“You looked like a man who didn’t want to be bothered.” You take a sip of your drink, hoping it steadies you.

“And yet, you were bold enough to send a note,” he muses, lips curving just slightly. “Very sweet.”

You giggle, shrugging as you set your glass down with a soft clink. “You don’t know if you don’t try.”

His amusement lingers. “Looks like it paid off.” He chuckles, then tilts his head. “Can I get you another drink?”

“I’d like that, thank you.”

He signals for another round, ordering one for himself, too.

“So,” you begin, tilting your head, “I haven’t seen you around before. What battalion are you with?”

The clone pauses just a fraction too long before answering, “Coruscant Guard.”

Your brows lift. “Oh? Me too! I feel like I would’ve noticed you… what’s your name?”

Another brief hesitation. Then: “Whisky.”

You arch a brow. “Whisky?”

“That’s right.” He nods, taking a deeper sip of his drink. There’s a flicker of nerves in his expression, but you don’t press. “Big whisky fan.”

You chuckle. “Fair enough. Cool name.”

“And yours?”

You offer your name along with your hand, flashing a bright, playful grin.

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he places his hand in yours. His palm is warm, his grip firm but careful.

“Lovely name,” he murmurs.

His voice is smooth, just a little too low, and it sends a surprising shiver up your spine. There’s something about the way he holds your hand—like he’s not sure if he should, but doesn’t want to let go, either. The earlier nervousness is gone, replaced by a small, amused smirk.

And you?

You’re intrigued.

Still, you release his hand before yours can get clammy. “So, the Corrie Guard?” You lean back slightly, studying him. “I still feel like I should’ve seen you around.”

He clears his throat, taking another long sip. “I’m not exactly frontline.”

That explains it. “What department?”

“Mechanic.”

That really explains it. You nod, feeling a little sheepish. “Ah, that’s probably why. I love working with my boys in red, though. They’re good to me.”

“Good,” he says, then hesitates. “So, uh… what’s the Commander like?”

You blink. “Fox?”

He nods.

You smirk, turning away slightly as you consider your answer. A hundred words come to mind—moody, buzzkill, abrasive, miserable, exhausted…

“Grumpy,” you settle on, swirling your drink. “Big grump.”

He chuckles. “Can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, but he is.” You huff, thinking back to earlier that night. “But… he works hard, so sometimes the grumpiness is excused.”

“Sure,” Whisky nods, idly swiping at the condensation on his glass. He hesitates again. “He… does he treat you okay?”

You arch a brow, amused. “Why? You planning to put in a word for me?”

The teasing is lighthearted, but Whisky seems oddly stiff about it. You wave it off before he can dwell. “He’s okay,” you say simply. “He just gets under my skin sometimes. I don’t think he means to.” You sigh, taking another sip before turning back to him. “You know him?”

He shakes his head, then drinks. “Nah. Just heard he can be a little hard on people.”

You hum. “You got that right.”

You don’t notice the way Whisky shifts in his seat, rubbing a hand through his hair, his eyes dropping into his glass. He’s quiet, thoughtful—until you break the silence again.

“Actually,” you say, warmth from the alcohol making you bolder, “I know a secret about him.”

He raises a brow. “You do?”

You giggle and scoot closer, lowering your voice. “I’ll tell you but you have to keep it between us.” You hold up your hand, pinky extended. “And all my promises have to be pinky sweared.”

Whisky stares at you for a second, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. Then, with a small smirk, he hooks his pinky around yours. “Alright. Spill.”

“So, about a year ago, I was in the office, sorting files or whatever. I came across one of his, and being the amazing worker I am, I marched right up to him at his desk and dropped it in front of him.” You start grinning, the memory as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

“And you know what he said?”

Whisky watches you closely, his gaze flickering to your lips as you lean in, your voice dropping secretively. 

Closer, closer, closer…

“No,” he murmurs.

“Nothing.”

His brows draw together. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you repeat, eyes alight with mischief. “Because he was snoring under his bucket.”

There’s a moment of silence followed by laughter. You tip your head back, giggling as you wipe a tear from your eye, and Whisky laughs along with you, shaking his head. It’s not even that funny, but the irony of it is too good.

“He always tells us to work harder, no time for rest,” you say, rolling your eyes. “And there he was, sleeping on the job. And it wasn’t even the first time! He sleeps upright, so it looks like he’s just watching us. But nope. Out cold.”

“So he’s a slacker?” Whisky smirks.

You shake your head. “No, not a slacker. He works hard. Really hard.”

“But you didn’t wake him?” He eyes you curiously.

“Nah. He barely gets any rest as it is, so I let him sleep.” You glance at Whisky, smirking. “Besides… it’s kinda cute.”

Whisky watches you closely, his lips twitching at your laughter, but his eyes seem to linger on you a moment longer than necessary. He swirls his drink idly, then asks, “You think he’d be mad if he knew you caught him slacking?”

You shrug, still grinning. “Maybe. But what’s he gonna do? Fire me? I know he’s my boss but those lot won’t function without me.” You laugh. “Besides, I doubt he gets much rest, so I let him sleep. Figured he needed it.”

There’s something in Whisky’s expression that shifts—just slightly. His fingers drum against his glass, his posture relaxing, but you catch a flicker of something you can’t quite place. It’s gone as soon as it appears, replaced by that same amused smirk.

“Didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” he muses.

You roll your eyes but smile.“It’s not sentimental. Just… practical.”

“You like him,” he says. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You hum, tilting your head. “I admire him,” you correct, swirling your drink. “Fox works harder than anyone I know. He doesn’t just give orders—he takes the weight of everything on his shoulders. Every mission, every casualty, every prisoner, every mistake. And I don’t think anyone really sees that.”

Whisky watches you carefully, listening.

You sigh, resting your elbow on the bar. “I just wish he was… a little nicer, sometimes. He’s got a good squad. I mean, the guys look up to him. I think if he let himself relax, let himself be one of them instead of always keeping himself separate, they’d follow him even harder. But he never does.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I dunno. It’s not my business, really. Just somethin’ I think about.”

Whisky is quiet for a second, “Maybe he doesn’t know how,” he says finally.

You pause. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Maybe.”

A small smirk tugs at his lips, but it’s softer this time. “You’re a bit of a softie, huh?”

You scoff, playfully nudging him with your elbow “Shut up.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s not a bad thing.” He takes a sip of his nearly empty drink, eyes flicking over you. “You care about your squad.”

“Of course I do,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “I spend all my time with them. They’re like family.”

Whisky hums, contemplative. He watches you for a moment longer before he shifts in his seat, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing against yours.

“So,” he says, voice dipping lower, more conspiratorial, “if Fox is the grumpiest, who’s your favourite?”

You huff a laugh. “Oh, come on, I can’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I pick one, I’ll have to deal with the rest of them whining about it for the next month.” You shake your head. “I’m not walking into that trap.”

Whisky grins. “Smart.”

You take a sip of your drink, then tilt your head at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re in the Guard, too. You’ve gotta have a favourite.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second—so quick you almost miss it. Then, he smirks. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Liar.”

He chuckles, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he taps the side of his glass. “Alright, fine. Who gives you the most trouble?”

You groan dramatically. “ Thorn . Hands down.”

Whisky raises a brow. “That bad?”

“He’s so smug,” you complain, exasperated. “He knows he can get away with murder because he’s one of Fox’s best. And he loves rubbing it in my face.”

Whisky chuckles. “Sounds like a menace.”

“Oh, he is ,” you confirm. “But I can’t even be mad about it, because he’s also stupidly good at his job. So I just have to suffer .”

He leans in close. “Poor thing.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t patronise me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” His voice is smooth, teasing, and— Maker , his eyes are intense when they settle on you like that.

Your breath catches slightly, but you mask it with another sip of your drink. The air between you has shifted—still playful, but heavier now, charged with something unspoken.

You clear your throat. “So, Whisky,” you say, changing the subject. “Tell me something about you .”

His smirk lingers, but there’s a flicker of something else behind it. “What do you wanna know?”

You tap your fingers against the bar, pretending to think. “Mmm… what’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done while on duty?”

Whisky chuckles, shaking his head. “Now that’s a dangerous question.”

“Oh, come on,” you nudge him. “I won’t tell.”

He eyes you for a moment, considering. Then, he leans in slightly, voice lowering just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“Alright,” he murmurs, “but if I tell you… you owe me another secret in return.”

You grin. “Deal.”

And just like that, the night stretches on and the hours slip away without either of you noticing.

 

⋅───⊱༺ 🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

 

It starts with secrets, little things at first. Just small confessions that wouldn’t ruin you if they got out. 

You tell him about the time you ‘accidentally’ shredded a report you were supposed to file, and how you spent half the day trying to piece it back together before finally giving up and blaming it on a faulty data pad. Or how you once snuck into the supply room after hours because Thorn had been too busy to eat, and you stole rations for both of you under the pretense of ‘inventory control.’

Whisky listens with quiet amusement, the occasional smile flickering across his lips as he watches you talk. He’s not a big sharer. His own stories are vague and kind of always deflecting back to you. But when you mention your upbringing, your life before the Republic and the war, he leans in slightly, genuinely intrigued.

“You ever think about what comes after?” you ask at one point.

His brow furrows slightly. “After?”

You nod. “Yeah. Like… what happens when the war ends? What do you want to do?”

For the first time, Whisky hesitates—not the way he had before, when he seemed like he was choosing his words carefully, but like he’s genuinely never considered it. 

“You don’t have to answer,” you say quickly, suddenly feeling bad for asking as he stares into his drink.

“No, it’s not that.” His voice is quiet. “I just… don’t know.”

The admission sits heavy between you, and before you can say anything else, he shifts the conversation.

“What about you?”

You exhale, leaning back against the bar. “Dunno.” You smile a little, but it’s laced with something soft and wistful. “I’d love to travel. See what’s out there, you know? Maybe settle somewhere quiet. Own a little shop or something.”

He studies you. “You’d leave Coruscant?”

You huff a small laugh. “Wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

The music has quieted now, the heavy bass that once thrummed beneath your feet nothing more than a distant pulse. The strobe lights have stopped their restless dance, leaving the room bathed in the softer glow of overhead fixtures. It’s only then that you realise most of the patrons have left.

You turn back to Whisky, surprised to find him watching you. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something quiet and intense.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head.

“You’re really beautiful.”

The words catch you off guard. You blink, lips parting slightly before you shake your head, laughing softly. “You don’t know me.”

“Do I have to?”

You frown slightly, not in offense but in confusion. “How can you find a person beautiful if you don’t know them?”

Whisky exhales a small laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your gaze again. “I… you look beautiful,” he says, voice steady but soft. “And the way you talk about your family, about your squad… it’s nice.”

You watch him before smirking a touch. “You’re not too bad yourself, handsome.” Your voice is teasing, but there’s warmth beneath it, something genuine that makes his grip on his glass tighten.

He smirks however, trying to play off your compliment. “That means you think all my brothers are handsome.”

You hum in mock consideration, swirling the last of your drink. “Maybe so…” You take a slow sip, then let your eyes meet his again. “But maybe I find you the most attractive.”

There’s a shift between you, a flicker of something deeper in the way he looks at you—like he’s memorising the moment, the words, the way you say them. His lips part slightly, a breath drawn in like he’s about to say something, but then—

“Kriff.” You sit up straighter, suddenly glancing at the time. “I’ve gotta get going! If I don’t sleep tonight, I’ll be late, and the last thing I need is to miss one of Fox’s drills.”

He reacts almost instantly, standing when you do, setting his drink down. “S-sure, no problem. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“I’m taking a cab, but thank you.”

Still, he follows you out, insists on making sure you get into one safely. Outside, the night air is crisp, cool enough to make you shiver. You wrap your arms around yourself, exhaling. “Knew I should’ve brought a jacket.”

Whisky chuckles, stepping a little closer. “I could warm you up.”

The words hang between you, charged, almost daring. You tilt your head at him, amused. “Bold offer.”

He grins. “It’s there if you want it.”

A cab hovers down in front of you, and he opens the door, but you hesitate. Looking up at him, you smile softly. “It was really nice meeting you, Whisky. I hope to see you again sometime.”

There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, but he nods. “I’m sure we will. Sooner than you think.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but there’s a thrill in the mystery of it. He holds out his hand, and you roll your eyes playfully, swatting it away. “I’m not shaking your hand goodbye.”

Before he can ask what you mean, you step closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You linger for just a second, enough to feel the way he tenses, the way he barely exhales.

When you pull back, you smirk. “Goodnight, handsome.”

He inhales sharply, watching as you step into the cab. His voice is quiet, soft.

“Goodnight… beautiful.”

He stays there as your cab lifts off, watching until it’s out of sight. Then, with a deep breath, he turns—only to hear someone calling his name.

His real name.

“Fox? Fox! We didn’t know you came out tonight! Where have you been?”

Thire stumbles toward him, voice slurred, movements a little too loose. Fox rubs the back of his neck, shrugging. “I’ve been busy.”

Thire squints at him, blinking blearily. “Busy, huh?” He lets out a slow, knowing grin. “Didn’t take you for the social type, Commander .”

Fox huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not.”

His brother wobbles slightly, throwing an arm around Fox’s shoulders. “Right. So where were you?”

Fox debates answering honestly for all of two seconds before shaking his head. “None of your business.”

Thire gasps dramatically, pointing at him. “ Oh. So it’s like that ? You sneak off, disappear for hours, come back looking all—” he waves his hand at him vaguely, “— not miserable… You met someone, didn’t you?”

Fox sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go back to the barracks, Thire.”

But his brother is relentless. “ You did! ” He stumbles back a step, laughing. “Oh, I gotta know. Who is it?”

Fox shakes his head, a rare smirk tugging at his lips. “Go. Now.”

Thire groans, rubbing his face. “Fine, fine. But I swear , if I see you all giddy at work tomorrow, I will find out.”

Fox rolls his eyes. “Go sleep it off.”

As he stumbles away, still muttering about Fox meeting someone , the Commander exhales slowly. He turns back toward the sky where your cab had disappeared, rubbing his jaw where your lips had touched his skin.

He should feel guilty. He should feel stupid for going along with it, for making up a name, for listening to you talk about him without you even knowing.

But he doesn’t. Not yet, anyway. 

Instead, he just wonders what he’ll do when he sees you again.

Chapter 2: Part Two - Reflection

Summary:

When Whisky does not leave your mind, you find yourself getting distracted at work. Fox, however, needs to speak with you. He just does not know how to.

Notes:

Just a small chapter this time, Kudos and comments forever appreciated :) <3

     

 

     The next day, your mind keeps drifting back to last night.

The way Whisky had looked at you, the smoothness of his voice, and that smirk that had sent warmth curling through your chest all night long. More than once, you catch yourself smiling, only to quickly wipe away your expression when one of the boys walks past. 

You weren’t embarrassed, not exactly, but the last thing you needed was to be on the receiving end of their relentless teasing. For now, this little secret remained hush hush.

Still, the day flies by in a blur. You’re as efficient as ever, never slacking on your work, but there’s a part of you that remains distracted. It isn’t until you finally sit down for a moment to relax your legs from running around all morning that Thire saunters up to you, his voice light and sing-song as he calls your name.

“What are you up to?” you ask, eyeing the sheepish look on his face.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you could grab some caf for me and the boys. We need a boost.”

You glance toward the caf machine shoved into the corner of the long desk, strategically placed out of view in case anyone higher up decided to crack down on ‘unnecessary’ luxuries. “Do your legs not work? What’s wrong with the machine?”

“It’s fine, just… we need something better.” His expression shifts, something thoughtful lingering in his eyes. “And Fox seems…”

You tilt your head. “Seems what?”

“Quiet.”

You blink. “He’s always quiet.”

“No, I know that.” Thire frowns, arms crossing over his chest. “But he’s really quiet. Have you spoken to him today?”

You think for a moment, then shake your head. “I dropped off some reports this morning, but he didn’t look up. Figured he was just busy.”

Thire hums, unconvinced. “I think he needs a pick-me-up.”

You sigh, already resigned to your fate. “Alright, fine. One caf run, coming up.”

Thire grins, quickly handing you a list—and credits to cover it. The list is longer than you expected, but for them, you’d do just about anything.

When you return, the scent of freshly brewed caf curling in the air, you barely get a moment to set the tray down before the boys descend on it. Some thank you with genuine appreciation, others just grab their cups with a quick nod, but soon enough, only one remains.

Fox’s.

You glance around the room, searching for the commander. “Where’d Fox go?”

Hound, already halfway through his caf, doesn’t even look up as he answers. “Got called to escort the Supreme Chancellor.”

You frown. “Great. Now his caf is going to get cold.”

Hound snorts, finally meeting your gaze. “He’d drink it if it was spilled on the floor.”

You huff, staring down at Fox’s caf like it personally offended you. After all that effort, it would be a shame for it to go to waste. And you certainly didn’t want him to drink it cold as some type of punishment after he had just been dealing with the Chancellor. 

Looking around, you weigh up your options.

The barracks weren’t exactly equipped with fancy caf warmers, but your eyes landed on the small stash of insulated containers the boys sometimes used for long shifts or out of office missions. 

That could work.

Grabbing an empty flask from the shelf, you pour Fox’s caf into it, screwing the lid on tight to keep it warm. Satisfied, you set it aside, drumming your fingers against the desk.

Hound was watching you with a smirk. “Didn’t realise you were so invested in the commander’s caf habits.”

You roll your eyes. “I just don’t like waste. If I went all that way to get it, I want him to actually drink it.”

Hound hums, clearly unconvinced.  “Right. Just being a good coworker.”

You huff but don’t argue. It wasn’t like Fox was your favourite person in the Guard. He was strict, grumpy, and half the time barely acknowledged you and when you did you always left in a bad mood. But still, you knew how hard he worked. If a warm cup of caf made his day a little easier, then what was the harm?

The rest of the day passed in a blur, though your thoughts kept drifting—more often than they should—to Whisky. You found yourself glancing toward the hangar every time you passed by when on another errand, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of him among the mechanics. But the never-ending pile of work kept you firmly in place.

Even when you thought you had a moment to escape, Thorn appeared with a fresh file—an incident report on a new prisoner in the military base that needed to be reviewed before being passed to Fox. So much for sneaking away.

Still, you wondered if Whisky had thought about you too. You hoped so.

"Afternoon."

The unexpected voice pulls you from your thoughts. You look up to see Commander Fox standing in the doorway—stance stiff as ever, though there’s something oddly hesitant about the way he lingers.

You stand out of respect and offer a small smile. "Hello. I'm just reviewing a report from Thorn for you. I won’t be long." Already, you’re moving to finish up, assuming he just wants you out of the way. But to your surprise, he doesn’t seem in a rush.

"I can take over if you’d like."

Your hand stills on the device, caught off guard. You slowly lower yourself back into your seat. "Oh, that’s okay. Hound mentioned you had a busy day."

Fox tilts his head slightly, and for a split second, you worry he’s taken your comment the wrong way.

"I just meant," you quickly add, "I know you work harder than anyone, and you don’t get a lot of breaks. I figured you’d be exhausted, that’s all."

He exhales, a long breath through the modulator. "Busy is an understatement," he mutters, stepping further into the room.

His gaze sweeps over your desk, pausing on something off to the side.

"That for me?"

It takes you a second to realise what he means, but then you spot the flask of caf. Your face warms at the realisation that he noticed since you were going to place it on his personal desk after you had finished this report. "Oh. Yeah," you say, suddenly sheepish. "I, uh, figured you’d need it."

He reaches for the drink as you hold it out to him, his gloved fingers brush against yours—just briefly—but it still makes your breath hitch for a second. He was acting differently and you were uncertain as to why.

"You didn’t have to do that," he murmurs.

You shrug, glancing away. "I know."

A beat of silence. Normally, he would have left by now. Instead, he lingers.

Then, something unexpected.

"Thank you." His voice is quieter this time, softer in a way you don’t often hear from him.

Your eyes flick back up to his visor, searching for something though you’re not sure what. "It's okay. You should thank Thire, really. He’s the one who sent me on the caf run."

Fox makes a small, amused sound. "He couldn’t have just used the machine?"

You scoff. "That’s exactly what I said! But apparently it isn’t good enough so I was the lucky one chosen to fetch it."

Fox hums, nursing the cup in his hand. "That tracks. They act like that thing spits out engine coolant."

You laugh. "To be fair, have you ever actually tasted it?"

He pauses, as if considering. "I prefer not to risk my life unnecessarily."

"Right, because dodging blaster fire daily is the safer alternative."

His chuckle is warm, even through the modulator. "Point taken."

But then, his tone shifts.

"I also wanted to apologise."

That catches you off guard. You blink, tilting your head. "For what, Commander?"

He shifts slightly, looking away for a brief moment before speaking. "I... I’ve realised that my attitude toward you has been harsher than it should be. And you don’t deserve that."

Your lips part, surprised. Where was this coming from?

"Commander, has someone said something? Because I—"

"No one said anything." He cuts in quickly, shaking his head. "Just… some self-reflection. I appreciate what you do for this squad."

A part of you wants to get up and hug him, but you stay rooted to your seat, your mouth suddenly dry as you process his words. Maybe Whisky had said something after last night’s conversation. But Fox didn’t strike you as the kind of man who would let just anyone put him in his place—at least, not unless it came from someone he truly trusted.

Still, you smile, warm and genuine. "Thank you, Commander. That... means a lot."

Fox only nods before turning and walking out without another word, leaving you sitting there, wondering where this sudden shift in him had come from.

Chapter 3: Part Three - Sniffed Out

Summary:

When the opportunity arises for you to see Whisky again, you take it with both hands. But as suspicion grows amongst the Corrie Guard, Hound wants to sniff out the truth.

Notes:

Here is part three, a little bit better than last chapter. Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Also please note i am not an expert when it comes to the dynamics among the corrie guards so any tips would be amazing.

 

 

      “I need you to take this to the hangar and give it to the officer in charge when you get the chance.”

You barely heard the rest of Thorn’s sentence before your brain jumped at the opportunity laid out before you like a gift from the Maker themselves.

“I’ll do it!” you blurted out, practically leaping to your feet.

Every trooper in the room turned to stare at you. Stone and Thorn exchanged a glance, while Hound raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. From his desk, Fox, who had been focused on his holoreports, was now staring directly at you, visor unmoving.

“…Aren’t you busy here?” Thorn asked after a beat, skepticism lacing his tone.

“She can do it,” Stone cut in, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

“No, you won’t,” Fox said flatly.

Stone, still lounging like he owned the place, rolled his eyes and mouthed the words back in an exaggerated imitation. You bit your cheek to keep from laughing.

Thorn hesitated before ultimately shrugging and handing you the file. “Alright, knock yourself out. Just don’t disappear on us.”

You grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Commander.”

As you leave, rather eagerly and with a bounce in your step, it isn’t long after until Fox stands up and is ready to leave too.

“And where exactly are you going?” Thorn asked, arms crossing as Fox passed him.

“I’m heading to the Senate,” Fox replied smoothly.

Thorn tilted his helmet at him, unimpressed. “You haven’t received a transmission to go.”

Fox hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before replying, “I was asked to attend yesterday by the Chancellor himself, if you must know.”

Thorn still didn’t look convinced. “Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Be my guest.” With a dramatic flourish, he gestured toward the door. “Please. Don’t let me stop you.”

Fox grumbled something under his breath before striding out, the door hissing shut behind him.

The second he was gone, Thorn turned back to the group. “Okay, what the kriff was that?”

“Not a clue,” Stone said, propping his boots up on the nearest control panel. “Though, I did hear something interesting.”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Stone’s smirk deepened. “Apparently, Fox apologised to her last night.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Fox? Apologised? ” Thire repeated, skeptical.

“That’s what I heard,” Stone said with a shrug. “One of the boys saw them talking— laughing , even.” He pointed at Thorn. “And when’s the last time you saw Fox laugh?”

Thorn hummed in thought, but before he could answer, Hound, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up.

“I think they’re seeing each other.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

Stone burst out laughing. “Oh yeah? Does she know that? ”

Thire snorted, shaking his head. “Come on, Hound, you really think Fox of all people is sneaking around with someone?”

Hound crossed his arms. “I’m just saying—she was acting giddy all morning, went out of her way to keep his caf warm, and now she’s jumping at the chance to head to the hangar the second an opportunity presents itself.”

“She’d do that for any of us,” Thorn pointed out. “She’s always been that way.”

“Alright, maybe,” Hound admitted. “But isn’t it weird how she leaves, and then he just happens to leave right after?”

“Maybe he actually was called to the Senate,” Thire offered.

Hound shook his head. “Fox never leaves without a direct transmission. And he sure as hell doesn’t look that flustered unless something’s up.”

Stone, still grinning, gave a lazy shrug. “Or maybe he’s just finally losing it. Wouldn’t be surprising.”

“Wouldn’t be surprising if you lost it,” Hound shot back, pointing at him. “Still waiting on Fox to apologise for blaming Grizzer when you were the one who stole from the ration box.”

Stone gasped, feigning offense. “I would never —”

Thorn sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, enough. Can we please get back to work?”

Hound stood, stretching out his arms before securing his helmet. “Not me. I’m taking Grizzer for a walk.”

Thorn barely had time to argue before Hound was already heading for the door, leaving only Stone and Thire behind.

Thorn looked between them, unimpressed. “Can I expect either of you to actually do something useful?”

Stone just grinned. “Define useful .”

 

⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

 

You dropped off the document for Thorn and lingered around, your eyes scanning the corridors and stations absentmindedly. You’d expected to run into Whisky by now—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But after a few minutes, you started to wonder if perhaps he was stationed somewhere else today.

Just as you turned toward to leave, a voice called out your name.

You whipped around, and there he was. Whisky.

He jogged toward you, a mechanic helmet perched on top of his head, adorned in a set of mechanic gear. His breathing was heavy, as if he had just sprinted across the entire base. You couldn’t help but smile as your heart fluttered in your chest.

He was a little out of breath as he came to a stop in front of you, still catching his breath.

"Hi," you say almost breathlessly, suddenly reminded of just how handsome he looks up close. You take a quick breath to steady yourself. "You okay? You look like you just ran a marathon."

Whisky chuckles, catching his breath. "Yeah, something like that. Just had to get away from some...work. Nothing major." He waves it off with a casual shrug. 

"So, you alright?" He asks, his eyes flickering over you before quickly darting around, as though he’s checking for someone.

You notice his unease and a wave of guilt washes over you. "Sorry, I... I can leave if you're busy," you offer, feeling like you might have interrupted something or perhaps read the other night's conversation wrong.

Whisky’s eyes widen for a moment as he realises how his actions might've appeared. "What? No! Sorry, I just don’t want my boss to catch me slacking off." He looks around quickly, spotting an empty room nearby. "Come with me."

A jitter of excitement stirs in you as he takes your hand, the warmth of his fingers sending a shiver up your spine. He pulls you into the room, and the door hisses shut behind you both. Whisky relaxes visibly once inside, letting out a breath as he flashes you a wide grin. "There, that's better."

"I was running an errand for Commander Thorn," you begin, trying to sound casual. "Dropped off a file and figured I'd see if I could run into you—guess I got lucky." You leave out the part where you were hoping to see him, though your smile betrays you.

Whisky grins, his eyes softening as they settle on you. "Well, I’m glad you did," he says, his voice low. "Because, honestly... I was hoping to see you again."

You blink in surprise, your heart skipping a beat. "You were?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, stepping a little closer. "You left quite the impression on me."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. The moment feels charged, and you notice him reaching out, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face. The touch is soft, intimate. His fingers linger a little longer than necessary but you really didn’t mind.

"So, what's been going on with you?" he asks after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost as if he’s asking something more personal.

You pause, wondering how much to share, but decide to be honest. "Funny thing... Fox, uh, Commander Fox, actually apologised to me today." You chew on your bottom lip, the memory of the interaction still fresh. "He was acting so strange, though... you didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?"

Whisky smirks, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "What makes you think I did?"

“Just because I told you he was quite a hard arse on me and then the next day he was all apologetic.” You explain. “But I don’t know, just a coincidence, no?”

 He looks away for a moment as if considering it. "Well, maybe he's just starting to realise how important you are."

You hum in contemplation, considering his words but not fully convinced. "I don’t know about that, but... it was nice of him, I guess."

Whisky steps a little closer, his voice turning more playful. "Well, maybe he's just waking up to the fact that he’s lucky to have someone like you around." He pauses, a teasing lilt to his voice. "But enough about Fox. We were talking about you and what we should do.”

Your heart flutters again at his words, and you can’t help but chuckle. "Oh, really? And what exactly were you planning to do with me?"

A mischievous gleam appears in his eyes. "How about a walk? I know this really nice spot, and I think you'd like it."

You raise an eyebrow, teasing him right back. "A nice spot? Is that so?"

"Yeah," Whisky says with a sly grin, "It’s quiet, beautiful... just the right place for a little... conversation."

The flirtation in the air is undeniable and you could feel yourself getting hotter by the second. "Well, that sounds interesting. When are you free?"

"Two days from now.”

“That’s convenient because I am too! Unless a certain Commander needs me to hold down the fort.” You roll your eyes but excitement builds in you. Was this a date? 

Before you can respond, your comm link buzzes in your pocket. You sigh, pulling it out. "Looks like I’m needed back at my station."

"Guess I’ll let you go then." He steps back, giving you space as you turn to leave. "I’ll be looking forward to that walk."

You flash him one last smile as you make your way to the door. "Me too." The door hisses open, and you glance back one last time, catching him watching you with that same warm smile.

Fox lets out a sigh of relief as the door hisses shut behind you, the tension easing from his shoulders. But the relief is short-lived as a smile tugs at his lips, the memory of your laughter and the way your eyes lit up lingering in his mind. He’d just managed to secure more time alone with you, and the anticipation was already thrumming in his chest. Yet, a pang of guilt crept in, twisting his stomach.

You didn’t know it was him, the man who’d snapped at you more times than he could count. The man with a reputation for being cold and distant. Yet, the irony wasn’t lost on him. 

Fox ran a hand down his face, groaning softly. “Kriff, what am I doing?” he muttered. 

He should tell you the truth, come clean before this went any further. But the thought of you looking at him differently, of that brightness in your eyes dimming… He hesitated, leaning heavily against the desk behind him. “I’ll sort it out,” he promised himself. “I just need a little more time.”

As he turned to leave, the door slid open with a sharp hiss. For a brief moment, hope sparked in his chest thinking you had come back. But the hope shattered instantly when his eyes landed on Hound, who stood in the doorway, arms folded and a smug grin plastered on his face.

“Well, well… Nice new gear, Commander. Got a new job you didn’t tell us about?” Sarcasm dripped from every word, and Fox felt his blood run cold.

He opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out. He must have looked like a cadet caught sneaking out after curfew because Hound’s grin only widened.

“I mean, I always thought you could use a break from all that work, but I didn’t think you’d go full-time mechanic,” Hound continued, his voice teasing but laced with curiosity. Then, his expression softened, and he clapped a hand on Fox’s shoulder. “Look, if you and her are seeing each other, your secret’s safe with me. Honestly, good for you, Fox.”

Fox’s shoulders sagged, but the relief didn’t come this time. He looked away, staring hard at the floor, his jaw clenched.

Hound’s smile faltered. “What’s up? I thought you’d be happier about this. I mean, she’s brilliant.”

Fox’s mouth felt dry, the words sticking to the back of his throat before he finally forced them out. “She doesn’t know it’s me.”

Hound blinked. “What?”

“She doesn’t know it’s me,” Fox repeated, his voice low, almost ashamed. He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of his own words settling heavily in his chest. “She thinks I’m just a mechanic.”

Hound’s mouth fell open, and he looked at Fox as if he’d just grown a second head. “How? She has eyes, doesn’t she?”

Fox let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. It all started at 79’s.”

He closed his eyes, the memory flooding back. 

He remembered sitting alone at the bar, nursing a drink after you had told him the boys wanted him to come out and let loose for one. And despite attending, he still found himself wanting to be alone and just trying to forget the chaos of that week. But then he’d heard your voice, laughing and teasing your friend, the barmaid Pia. It was the first time he’d heard you laugh, really laugh, and it made his chest feel tight. He’d watched you from the corner of his eye, the way your face lit up, how animated you were as you spoke.

Then, you’d looked at him, just a passing glance, but it was enough to knock the wind out of him. He looked away quickly, feeling weird for staring. But he couldn’t help himself, stealing glances whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

“ I thought she knew who I was,” Fox admitted, his voice rough. “But she didn’t. She didn’t recognise me. And… I just went along with it. I didn’t think it would go this far.”

Hound’s face softened, his arms unfolding as he leaned back against the doorframe. “Fox… what the hell did you get yourself into?”

Fox ran a hand down his face again, the weight of his lie pressing down on him. “I don’t know. I can’t get out of it. I just keep digging myself deeper. She’s… she’s got this way of looking at me, like I’m someone worth knowing.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air thick with Fox’s confession. He looked up at Hound, his expression conflicted. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”

Hound let out a slow breath. “Yeah, you did.”

Chapter 4: Part Four - Meadow

Summary:

When you reveal a painful memory to 'Whisky' after opening up to him, Fox's deceit weighs heavily on his mind.

Notes:

Chapter warnings (scroll on if you don't want to know): Safe for work, flirty texts/messages, discussions about past relationships, cheating, reader has been cheated (GN pronouns used), Fox is very guilty, lying, reader wearing minimal makeup.

Hound’s words played on a loop in Fox’s mind, an unrelenting echo that refused to let him rest: “You have to tell her the truth.”

And he knew it. He really did.

What he didn’t quite understand was why it so difficult to do so.

He was a straight-talking, no-nonsense kind of Commander and had always had a deep authority that oozed from his behaviour. Yet, here he was, almost paralysed at the thought of coming clean to you. Every time he tried to imagine the words, they got tangled up in his throat, choking on the fear of what your reaction might be. Kriff, he wouldn’t even blame you if you were to sock him one.

So, instead, he sat behind his desk, arms folded and brow furrowed behind his helmet as he watched you from the corner of his eye. You were focused, lost in whatever reports Thorn had burdened you with today. But he could see the slight smile on your lips, that little curve that made his heart stumble, and it tore at him because he knew exactly why you were smiling.

You were thinking about him—or rather, you were thinking about Whisky . A man who didn’t even exist.

And that was the part that drove him crazy. He was sitting right here, a few feet away, and you were smiling because of him but didn’t even realise it.

He needed to tell you the truth. Tomorrow, when you both go on that walk. He’d lay it all out, come clean, and then… well, he’d have to deal with whatever fallout came next.

From across the room, he caught sight of Hound leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a smug grin plastered on his face. The silent message was clear: Hurry up. Rip it off like a medpatch.

Yeah, he was going to have to tell you. If not, Hound said he would.

Later that night, when everyone had retreated to earn some rest, Fox sat alone at his desk, the office bathed in the dim glow of his holoscreen. He drummed his fingers against the cold metal surface, his mind churning with anxiety.

He realised then that he’d never actually told you where to meet tomorrow. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t use his own comm link to send you a message—it’d raise too many questions.

With a sigh, he started setting up a new comm code under the name ‘Whisky.’ It was a stupid plan, really. This entire scheme was a disaster waiting to happen. But the alternative was far worse.

As the new comm link activated, Fox hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keypad. What should he say? Should he be casual? Confident? Playful? Kriff, he wasn’t used to this.

He typed out the first message: Sorry for the late message… it’s Whisky. Just wanted to make sure you knew where to meet tomorrow.

He stared at it for a moment before quickly hitting send, his heart already hammering in his chest. It was out there now. No turning back.

Setting the device down on his desk, he ran a hand through his hair, nerves prickling under his skin and then his comm link beeped, and Fox nearly jumped out of his chair. He fumbled to pick it up, his fingers suddenly clumsy.

Hey handsome, sounds good! What should I wear?

Fox’s eyes widened, his heart pounding so hard he was sure it was echoing off the durasteel walls. Handsome. You called him handsome . Again.

He felt a dopey grin stretch across his face before he could stop it, smiling like a love-sick cadet.

He paused for a moment when he heard some shuffling outside the office, his head shot up, eyes narrowing, but it was only two shinies standing outside, whispering to each other.

One nudged the other, both peeking through one of the windows as if Fox could not obviously see him. “What do you think he’s smiling at?” one asked.

“Not a clue,” the other muttered back. “Didn’t think the Commander could even smile.”

Fox’s eyes narrowed. He could hear them, the idiots. But his annoyance was short-lived.

He quickly typed out a response: Hope I didn’t wake you, beautiful. And anything will be fine, I’m sure you’d look good in anything.

He hit send before he could overthink it, then sat back, releasing a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. When you didn’t reply immediately, he busied himself with tidying up his desk, shuffling reports that didn’t need organising because you had already done it for him. But the moment his comm beeped again, he abandoned it without a second thought.

Anything? I don’t think you’d like me showing up in my birthday suit.

Fox choked on his own breath, his cheeks burning. His fingers hovered, his mind racing with a million responses before he finally settled on one: I wouldn’t say no to that.

He hit send and immediately regretted it, his eyes widening. Had he gone too far? Was that too forward? Kriff, what was wrong with him? He was a Commander of the Coruscant Guard, for kark’s sake! He wasn’t supposed to be flustered this. 

The shinies were still outside, now watching with unabashed curiosity.

“Is he… blushing?” one asked, his voice low with disbelief.

“Nah,” the other scoffed. “He must’ve eaten something bad. Can’t be what I’m thinking.”

Fox shot a glare, his mouth twisting in irritation. He’d deal with them later. Right now, his comm buzzed again, and all his attention went right back to the screen.

Let’s see how this date tomorrow goes first, hm?

He felt his chest tighten, excitement flooding him as he read the message. Date. You called it a date.

Fox leaned back in his chair, grinning like a fool as his mind wandered to tomorrow despite the twisted anxiety.

Maybe, just maybe, this might work out after all.

⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

 

You woke up feeling excited, a fluttery sensation in your stomach that you hadn’t felt in a long time. It had been ages since you’d ventured back into the dating pool, but there was something about Whisky that just seemed worth it.

Lying in bed, you found yourself re-reading the messages from last night, your smile widening at his flirtatious replies. It felt silly, but your heart raced at his words, especially when he called you beautiful.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you jumped into the refresher, the warm water doing little to calm your nerves. You spent far too long fussing with your hair, trying out different styles before settling on one that looked effortlessly put together. Then came the makeup—just enough to accentuate your features without overdoing it.

But the real battle was deciding what to wear. The forecast predicted mild weather, so a coat was unnecessary, but it wasn’t quite warm enough for a dress or skirt. Eventually, you settled on a nice pair of trousers and a fitted top that compliments your figure just enough. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves.

You could do this. It was just a date. A date with a guy who seemed charming, kind, and who—if his messages were anything to go by—knew exactly how to make you feel good.

The coordinates he sent led you to the lower levels of Coruscant. You hesitated at first, glancing around at the dim, bustling streets. It wasn’t exactly the most desirable location, but Whisky said he knew a nice spot, and… well, you wanted to trust him.

Standing at the rendezvous point, you double-checked the coordinates, just to be sure you were in the right place. As you looked up from the screen, you felt a light tap on your shoulder.

You turned and immediately felt a warmth spread through you. Whisky stood there, dressed in civvies, a hood pulled over his head that cast a faint shadow over his eyes, but his smile was unmistakable.

“Hey,” you greeted, your hands tucking behind your back shyly. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” he chuckled, his voice soft and warm. “For some reason, I woke up thinking you might not show.”

You pulled a face, shaking your head. “Definitely not! I’ve been looking forward to this.”

His smile widened, relief washing over his features. “In that case,” he extended his hand toward you, “shall we?”

Your heart did a little flip as you slipped your hand into his, his grip firm yet gentle. A warmth crept up your cheeks when he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand, his lips lingering for just a moment before he looked up at you, his eyes twinkling with playful mischief.

You walked beside him, his hand still holding yours. “So,” you began, giving him a sideways glance, “where are you taking me?”

He grinned, his hood shifting as he looked over at you. “That’s a surprise.”

You arched a brow, a teasing lilt in your voice. “A surprise, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Of course not. You can trust me.”

“Can I?” you continued playfully, “you are being pretty secretive.”

There’s a glimmer of unease in your teasing but he shakes it off quickly as he looks at you, his gaze softening. “Trust me,” he repeated, his voice lower. “I promise it’s worth it.”

There was something in his tone, a sincerity that makes your chest tighten. You squeezed his hand gently, a smile playing on your lips. “Alright, I’ll trust you… for now.”

His grin returned, brighter than before. “Good. Because I think you’re going to love it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “Well, if it’s half as charming as you, then I’m sure I will.”

Whisky’s cheeks warm. He looked away quickly, his fingers tightening around yours. “You’re a dangerous flirt, you know that?”

As you continued walking, at one point Whisky glanced at you and asked, “Did you eat or drink anything today?”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic but shook your head. “I was too excited. Barely managed to get my caf down before rushing out the door.”

His brows furrowed with concern. “You know, you won’t have any energy if you don’t eat.”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him, a little giddy that he was tentative about these types of things. “Besides, I was too busy deciding what to wear.” You gave a playful twirl, letting him get a good look. “Worth the trouble?”

His gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing your figure before he cleared his throat, “Definitely worth it.”

After navigating a few more backstreets and climbing a series of concealed staircases, you suddenly noticed that the light was getting brighter. You hadn’t realised just how many levels you’d ascended.

When you finally stepped out, you were greeted by the most breathtaking sight. It was an open expanse, a hidden meadow perched high above the bustling cityscape. Soft, green grass dances in the gentle breeze, and delicate flowers of every colour dotted the landscape. Your jaw dropped. “I… I didn’t even know a place like this existed.”

Whisky released your hand, watching your awe-struck expression with a satisfied smirk. “Told you that you could trust me.”

You turned to him, your eyes wide with wonder. “How did you even find this place?”

“Stumbled on it during an assignment,” he explained. “Got curious, went exploring, and… well, here it was.” He hesitated, his eyes flicking away. “Technically, nobody’s supposed to be here. It’s an abandoned part of the old levels. But I figured it was too beautiful to keep to myself.”

A playful smirk danced on his lips. “Besides, I’m pretty sure we won’t get caught.”

You shook your head in disbelief, a laugh bubbling from your chest. “Breaking the rules, are we?”

He grinned, a mischievous spark in his eyes. “Only a little. Worth it, though, right?”

You looked back at the meadow, the serene beauty taking your breath away. “Yeah,” you whispered, “definitely worth it.”

His expression softened as he watched you take it all in. “I knew you’d like it.”

You turned back to him, your heart thudding in your chest. “I don’t just like it, I love it. It’s like a dream.” You say in awe. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Whisky’s smile was soft, almost shy. “You’re welcome.”

You continued walking side by side through the hidden meadow, your steps slow and leisurely as you took in the beauty around you. A gentle breeze carried the faint scent of blooming flowers. Everything about this place felt like a dream, untouched and tranquil. 

You both chatted casually, light conversations flowing easily between you. He had a knack for making you laugh, his playful remarks and teasing making you feel a type of way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

As you continued walking, you spotted a lovely patch of grass beneath a tree. The ground was soft and inviting, offering the perfect place to rest and take in the stunning view. “How about there?” you suggested, pointing to the spot.

Whisky followed your gaze and nodded, “Yeah, looks good.”

You both made your way over, settling down on the grass. You stretched out your legs, leaning back on your hands as you looked out at the expanse of green, the city’s skyline just visible in the distance. It was quiet here, peaceful, like the world had paused just for the two of you.

For a while, neither of you spoke, simply taking in the view. But as you glanced over at Whisky, you noticed a distant look in his eyes, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. There was a flicker of conflict in his gaze.

“Hey, you say softly as you nudge his shoulder, “where did you go?”

His head turned slowly, his eyes locking with yours. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to speak—really speak, to spill the truth right there and then. But the words tangled on his tongue, heavy and painful. He saw you, radiant under the sun, the light catching in your eyes as you looked at him with nothing but trust. Trust he didn’t deserve.

His chest tightened, guilt clawing at him, but his voice came out steady. “I’m just happy you came today.”

Your eyes crinkled with amusement, a bright laugh escaping your lips. “And here I thought you were going to stand me up,” you teased, stretching out and letting the sun warm your face. “This place really is beautiful. You, uh, ever brought anyone else here?”

He shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. “No, this can be our secret.”

You lay back fully, fingers threading through the grass as you hummed in approval. “Sounds good to me, Whisky.”

His heart clenched at the name. Whisky. Not Fox.

He swallowed hard, his fingers strumming anxiously against his thighs as the urge to tell you the truth built within him. But the words refused to come. Especially when you were looking at him like that, with a smile so genuine that it almost made him sick. 

“So,” his voice was rough, the weight of his guilt making it hard to speak. “Any prior dating history?”

You sat up slightly, giving him a playful look. “Ooh, getting personal now?”

His shoulders stiffened. For a second, he thought about backtracking, dismissing it as a joke. But then you smiled, plucking a wildflower from the ground and playing with its petals. “Nah, it’s alright. I don’t mind.”

You leaned back again, fingers toying with the flower as your eyes grew distant. “I’ve had maybe two or three partners before. Nothing serious, mostly ended as friends.” You hesitated, your smile faltering. “Except for one.”

His gaze softened as he watched your expression change. “What happened?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Promising a forever with each other for them to see someone behind my back for months.” The flower crushed under your palm, “kinda sucked.” You mutter, sucking in a deep breath as you avoid Whisky’s gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and genuine. Without thinking, his hand reached out, resting gently on your knee. “That’s not something anyone deserves.”

You laughed, but the sound was bitter. “Yeah, well, I just wish they’d found that person when we weren’t together. Would’ve saved me a lot of heartbreak. But as long as they’re happy I guess.” 

As tears cornered the corner of your eyes, you looked away as his thumb unconsciously rubbed soothing circles against your knee. He wanted to hold you, to comfort you... but how could he? 

You quickly wiped away a stray tear, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all emotional. It’s not fair to you.”

He shook his head, “No... don’t apologise. I asked.”

You looked at him then, your eyes searching his own from beneath his hood as if you were looking for something, anything. “I guess it just made it hard for me to trust people again.”

And just like that, the world stopped.

The words hit him like a blaster bolt, sharp and merciless. He felt his heart plummet, the weight of his lies crashing down on him like a crashing ship. 

You trusted him. 

You were opening up to him, showing him the most vulnerable parts of yourself, and he was lying straight to your face.

Whilst this felt like a dream to you, it was a nightmare for him.

His hand froze on your knee, his fingers curling into the fabric of your trousers. But oblivious to the turmoil inside him, you seem to shift your emotions effortlessly. “What about you? A handsome clone like you must’ve had some admirers, right?”

He blinked, your playful tone almost pulling him out of his thoughts. He forced a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Me? I usually keep to myself.”

Your brow arched, curiosity lighting up your features. “Is that a hint?”

The warmth of your gaze makes it hard to breathe. Or was it the lies laying on his chest? “Maybe… if I wasn’t enjoying the company so much.”

“Oh yeah? Even if I was just crying over an ex?”

“Even that,” he murmured, his voice soft.

His gaze lingered on you, memorising the way the sunlight danced across your features, the way your smile lit up your face. You were perfect.

Radiant.

And so painfully trusting.

While he was a liar.

Notes:

Next chapter gonna get some hearts going *wink wink*

Chapter 5: Part Five - I'll Take My Whisky Neat

Summary:

When 'Whisky' reveals he needs to tell you something, your mind and heart gets tangled in knots. Meanwhile the Corrie Guard have other pressing matters on their hands.

The conversation flowed easily between you. With him, you just felt completely at ease, like the rest of the galaxy didn’t exist and it was just you two.

Whisky’s posture had relaxed, his shoulders no longer tense, and his gaze was warm as he watched you tell a story. “I’m serious,” you said, grinning as you leaned back on your hands, “I thought we were done for. Thire was ready to throw us under the bus, too.”

He chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Thire? Really?”

“Oh yeah,” you laughed, remembering the way Thire had panicked. “We were hiding behind some crates after we, uh… accidentally set off a alarm. Stone was trying not to laugh, and Thire was swearing a bunch and threatened to tell Fox everything if he caught us.” You shook your head, a fond smile on your face at one of many chaotic days. “We heard his boots coming down the hall, and I’ve never seen Thire go so clammy in my life.”

Whisky’s eyes widened, a look of surprise flickering across his face before he burst out. “I can’t believe you were causing trouble with the Coruscant Guard,” he teased, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain his laughter. “No wonder Fox is always so grumpy.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder playfully. “It wasn’t even that bad! Just a little prank gone wrong.” You sighed dramatically, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “It’s not my fault Fox has no sense of humour.”

He shook his head, though amused. “Probably because you’re all trouble, you know that?”

You grinned, your eyes twinkling. “I like to keep things interesting.”

His expression softened, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll bet you do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the two of you simply enjoying each other’s presence. It felt… right. Easy. Like you could spend hours here just talking and laughing with him.

But then his fingers started drumming against his thigh again, a sign you were starting to recognise as nerves. His gaze grew distant, his shoulders tensing slightly. “You know…” he started, his voice lower now, “I think I get why Fox is so protective of you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why’s that?”

He hesitated, his jaw clenching as his eyes flicked to the ground. “You’re important. To a lot of people. I don’t think he realised it.”

Your chest tightened, his words stirring something deep inside you. It was as if Fox was saying it staright to you.

“I don’t know about that.” You looked away, suddenly feeling shy. “I just try to be there for them. Like they are for me.”

“Do you think that, uh, Fox, thinks you’re there for him? Like you are with Stone and Thire I mean.”

Your brows knit together as you sit up and look at him. “You sure like to ask alot of questions about Fox, y’know? Any reason.”

“N-No.” He stutters quickly. “Just simply asking.”

“Alright, alright,” you raise your hands up in defence, hoping he didn’t take it to heart but you can’t help but notice the topic of Fox quite a lot. “Well, to answer your question: I don’t know. I’ve tried joking here and there with him a few times but there’s no knocking down that wall he built.”

“Wall?”

You nod. “Sure. He’s one of the most elite Commanders in the GAR. He doesn’t have time for fun and games.” You then roll your eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh.”

Whisky, or should we say Fox, feels his stomach twist. You weren’t bad-mouthing him, but there’s a clear divide between him, yourself and his brothers. Kark, maybe he did have to lighten up after all this.

“Anyway, enough about him.” You hum, your fingers gliding through the glades of grass. “Any more crazy stories from your side of the Guard?”

“Ah, nothing that exciting. Mostly just…fixing things.”

You scrunched your nose. “Boring.”

He laughed this time, but the slight tension in his posture lingered. “Yeah, guess I’m just not as much of a troublemaker as you.”

You gasped in mock offence, placing a hand over your heart. “How dare you? I’ll have you know I’m a model citizen.”

He arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “Right… remind me again who set off an alarm and hid behind crates?”

You stuck your tongue out at him, unable to hide your grin. “Fine. Maybe just a little trouble.”

You loved the way his face lit up when he laughed. He was far too handsome for his own good.

His laughter soon faded, his gaze growing thoughtful as he looked at you. “Hey, do you remember at 79’s, when you asked me what I wanted to do after the war?”

You blinked, the memory surfacing. “Yeah, I remember. You said you didn’t know… that you hadn’t thought about it much.”

“I think I’ve figured it out now.”

Curiosity sparked in you, and you leaned in, giving him your full attention. “And what’s that?”

He hesitated, but then his expression softened, his eyes growing distant. “I want to settle down… find somewhere quiet. Have a home and a wife. Maybe even some kids, if I’m lucky.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his confession hitting you harder than you expected. It was such a simple dream, but coming from him, it felt so personal and real. “That sounds nice, Whisky. Really nice.”

His gaze lifted, eyes locking with yours, and for a moment, you swore his walls were completely down. You could see everything he was feeling—the hope, the fear, the longing.

A teasing smile plays on your lips. “So, do you have a wife in mind yet?”

His eyes widened, his face flushing with warmth. “W-What? No… I mean…” He stumbled over his words, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I didn’t… I wasn’t saying… No.”

You laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet meadow. “Relax, I was only jokin’.” You tilt your head back, the sun warm on your face. “But…” you say slowly, sneaking a peak at him mischievously, "if there was a candidate, what would she be like?”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking back to you before he looked away, scratching at the back of his neck. “Well, she’d probably be strong. Brave and loyal. Funny, too.”

You tilted your head, watching him as he spoke. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot.”

A shy smile tugged at his lips. “Only quite recently.”

You felt bold then, the teasing glint in his eyes sparking something in you. 

There was a moment of hesitance but the two of you were alone, the situation felt right. 

Shifting onto your knees, you moved toward him, his eyes widening as you straddled his lap, settling down with a casual confidence you didn’t quite feel. His hands instinctively went to your waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt as his breath hitched.

You leaned in, your face so close you could feel his warmth, “What else?”

His eyes were wide, his grip on your waist tightening. He was speechless, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form words as his whole body grew warm.

You grinned, loving the way you had him completely flustered. “C’mon, Whisky… what else does the perfect girl have?”

Fox swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between you. “She’s beautiful. Kind. She makes me feel… normal.” His gaze flickered downward, lingering on your lips for just a second too long. “And I’d do anything to protect her.”

Your breath hitched, his words settling deep in your chest, making your heart pound against your ribs. You felt the heat of his body beneath your hands, the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as they trailed from his chest to his shoulders.

“It’s strange,” you murmured, tilting your head as your fingers toyed with the edge of his hood. He didn’t stop you as you slowly pushed it back, revealing the sharp lines of his face, the soft streaks of silver in his hair. Your fingertips brushed lightly over his skin, tracing the faint scars along his jaw before threading into his hair. Your touch was reverent, as if trying to commit every inch of him to memory.

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered, eyes locking onto his, searching for something unspoken. “Really… really know you.”

Fox’s mind was a battlefield, a war waging between duty and desire, between truth and deception. But all of that faded into the back of his mind as he looked at you and the unguarded moment between the two of you. You were so close, warm and trusting, pressed against him in a way that made him forget, just for a second, that this was all built on a lie.

He exhaled shakily, his forehead brushing against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Maybe you do,” he murmured.

You didn’t quite understand what he meant, but you didn’t care. You were too caught up in the way his fingers skimmed along your waist, the way his hands pressed against the small of your back, drawing you in as if he was afraid to let go. The moment was intoxicating, pulling you in deeper, drowning you in everything that was him .

You leaned in, your lips just a whisper away—

And then he stiffened.

It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was enough. 

Then, he pulled back. Just a fraction. 

“I can’t.”

The words were a cold splash of reality against your skin. Your eyes fluttered open, searching his face, your stomach twisting into a painful knot.

“S-Sorry,” you stammered, retreating slightly. “Did I overstep or—?”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head quickly, his expression laced with something close to regret. His hands, still warm against your body, squeezed just slightly before pulling away. “It’s not that. I just—”

He hesitated.

Your chest tightened. Nothing good ever came from I just .

“I have to tell you something.” Or that, in your case.

“Okay,” you said cautiously, pulling back fully now, your hands dropping from his shoulders to your lap, fingers twitching nervously. “What is it?”

He swallowed hard, exhaling through his nose, like he was bracing himself. “This has been… everything.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Where was this going? Was he about to tell you that this was a mistake? That he didn’t feel the same way? Your stomach churned, your eyes already stinging with unshed tears.

“Please don’t tell me you already have a partner,” you whisper, kind of trying to laugh it off but it came out weaker than you intended. “Don’t do that to me, Whisky.”

He froze for a second, his entire body going rigid before he quickly shook his head. “No. No, nothing like that. I promise.” His hands found your face again, cradling it gently, as if you were something fragile about to shatter. “I would never do that to you.”

A relieved sigh escaped your lips, a nervous chuckle following as you wiped away a stray tear. “Okay, that makes me feel a lot better. But… what is it, then?”

His lips parted, another breath drawn in deep.

“I’m not—”

A sharp, shrill siren cut through the air like a viroblade.

You both froze.

Fox’s comm buzzed immediately, and he tore his gaze from you to glance at the message flashing across the screen. His jaw tightened, his eyes widening.

“I have to go,” he said suddenly, urgency in his tone.

Your mind reeled, still spinning from everything that had just happened. “Wait—what? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know yet,” Then, to your surprise, he moved fast—gripping your waist and easing you down onto the grass as he hovered over you, preparing to go.

Your head spun. “Whisky—”

“I’ll tell you,” he said quickly, eyes flickering with something heavy, something tormented. His hands gripped your face again gently, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “I will tell you. Everything. I promise.”

You nodded, still dazed, still trying to process everything.

He hesitated, cursing under his breath before leaning down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your cheek. “Do you know your way back out of here?”

You barely nodded, still caught in the whirlwind of everything that was transpiring.

He stands to his full height, his body already shifting into something sharp, something ready for action. You barely had time to sit up before he answered a quick transmission and took off running, disappearing before you could see or hear what was being said.

You exhaled shakily, flopping back against the soft grass, staring up at the sky.

What had he been about to tell you?

And what the hell had just happened that made him run off so fast?

A bitter taste settled on your tongue.

There were too many questions.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted the answers.

Notes:

Uh-oh, what's going to happen next?

Thank you to everyone who seems to be enjoying this little story so far!
I apologise that it may seem a little dragged out but TRUST the process. The reveal will be happening sooner than you may think.

Chapter 6: Part Six - Escape

Summary:

Tensions are high and secrets are being shared among the Guard. Meanwhile Fox's lies dig him in deeper trouble with one of him brothers.

Notes:

Dare i say this chapter is a bit of a filler. Also, not proofread so if there's any spelling just close your eyes x

you may want to stick around for the next chapter *sips huge amount of caf*

 

 

   You spent far too long staring at your comm when you got back to your apartment, typing and deleting message after message, unable to settle on what to say to Whisky as your date had been cut short..

You could just ask him outright about what he wanted to say but something held you back. Every time your fingers hovered over the keys, doubt crept in, and you erased the words before they could be sent.

So instead, you paced your apartment, overthinking.

What had he been about to say? 

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.  

Maybe he didn’t want to date you. You would be upset, yes, but you hadn’t known him very long. Although, a part of you felt like you had known him for longer. Your stomach twists at the thought. Huh, maybe you would be more upset than you thought.

You set your comm down with a sigh, deciding to leave it for now. If he wanted to talk, he’d reach out. In the meantime, you distracted yourself the best way you knew how—watching terrible holomovies with your face buried in a bag of something sweet and delicious.

But even that wasn’t enough to settle your restless thoughts.

When the night cycle finally rolled in, you tucked yourself into bed, tossing and turning as your mind refused to quiet. Just as you were about to give up on sleep entirely and get up for a walk, the familiar chime of your comm made your breath hitch.

Whisky.

Your fingers fumbled slightly as you grabbed the device, opening the message.

Hello, please know I am very sorry that I had to cut our date short. I hope you got back to your apartment okay. We can arrange another date sometime soon.

A relieved smile tugged at your lips as you quickly typed back.

No worries, I hope everything is okay? It sounded urgent.

His response came almost immediately.

I am sure you will hear about it tomorrow. I have to go now. I hope you sleep well.

Your brows furrowed. “ Tomorrow?” You whisper to yourself.

A ripple of unease passed through you. Had something happened at work? Was it serious? Ugh, another thing to add to the list of worries.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers flew across the screen.

Before you go, what was it you wanted to tell me? Can you tell me now?

You waited.

And waited.

No reply came.

A frustrated sigh left your lips as you flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts spinning uselessly. Eventually, exhaustion won out, pulling you into sleep.

And when you dreamed, it wasn’t of uncertainty or unanswered questions.

It was of the meadow.

 

⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

 

The moment you stepped into work, you knew something was wrong. The air was thick with hushed whispers and tension was rolling through the hall with  every clone and officers exchanging anxious glances. 

Curiosity gnawed at you with every step until you finally reached your station, where you spot Thire and Stone stood by the unloved caf machine, their usual smiley expressions replaced with something far more serious.

“Hey,” you greeted, setting your things down before walking over. “What’s going on?”

“You didn’t hear?” Stone asked, his brow creasing.

“Hear what?”

“The prisoner that came in the other day, Rik Waldar?” Thire said. “Thorn gave you the file to pass to Fox, remember?”

Your mind rifled through memories of endless reports and case files. You were so used to sorting out reports of prisoners coming and going, it was really hard to keep track of. So naturally, it was foggy at first, but then it clicked. It was the paperwork you handed over after coming back from the caf run. “I think so... why?”

Stone exhaled sharply. “He escaped.”

Your stomach dropped. “ Escaped? How? Is anyone hurt?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Thire reassured you quickly. “But Fox is—”

“Losing his mind,” Stone finished with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

You followed their gaze toward Fox’s empty desk, unease creeping down your spine. If there was ever a reason for him to be more irritable than usual, this was it.

Stone shook his head. “The worst part? We have no idea where the guy went. He vanished without a trace.”

“That’s… not possible,” you said, frowning. “Surely you can track him down?”

Thire and Stone exchanged a look, one that didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

“Apparently, he was a nightmare to find in the first place,” Thire admitted. “But we’re doing everything we can.”

Your fingers tapped anxiously against your arm as your thoughts spun. Was this what Whisky had meant? He had said you’d hear about it today. Infiltrating a ship would be a perfect way to slip away unnoticed… If you had any free time today, maybe you will go see Whisky and see if anything happened there.

You tried your best to go about your day, focusing on the usual rigmarole of tasks, but everything felt off. The tension among the clones was suffocating, stretching the hours unbearably thin. Normally, you’d be laughing at Thire and Stone bickering over something ridiculous to pass the time—but for once, they were actually working.

Like, really working.

You sat at your desk, fingers skimming over a datapad, scrolling through intergalactic news and any updates on the escaped prisoner. Re-reading his report didn’t make you feel any better—fraud, murder, theft, kidnapping. Stars, he was practically a one-man crime syndicate. What a great day to be a citizen of Coruscant.

“Find anything useful?”

You looked up to see Hound approaching, setting his helmet down on the desk beside you.

“Nah, not really,” you sighed. “Might go check out the hangar later.”

Hound stiffened, just barely, before clearing his throat. “Uh… why’s that?”

You paused. Kriff. That was a good question. It wasn’t your job to hunt down escaped criminals, and you definitely weren’t trained for it. But truthfully? You weren’t thinking about the prisoner at all.

You just wanted to see Whisky.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you hesitated. Should you tell him? What’s the worst that could happen?

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

Hound raised a brow. “Sure.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “Well… I’m kinda seeing someone.”

His expression shifted into a smirk, amused by how utterly smitten you sounded. “That’s great! Who’s the lucky guy?”

You glanced around, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “His name’s Whisky.”

There was a flicker of something in Hound’s expression—something that didn’t sit right. His lips pulled into a smile, but it looked tight. Forced.

“Whisky, huh?” His voice was casual, but there was tension in his shoulders.

You straightened slightly, setting the datapad down. “Do you know him?”

For a second, he didn’t answer. Then he shrugged. “Only heard of him in passing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“What? No.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow. “My head’s just preoccupied with everything going on, that’s all.”

Sure. You didn’t quite believe him, but you didn’t feel like pressing it either. Between the prisoner, whatever secret Whisky was keeping, and now this , you were getting a headache.

“Alright,” you said, deciding to let it go. “Hey, I finally watched that holomovie you recommended.”

That seemed to do the trick. Hound perked up immediately, his tension melting away as he leaned on the desk, a smug grin overtaking his features. “Told you it was a masterpiece. Which part was your favourite?”

“Oh, definitely the part where the droid turned out to be the senator’s actual father.”

Hound barked out a laugh. “Right? That twist got me so bad the first time I watched it.”

You smirked, shaking your head as the conversation took a lighter turn. It was nice to momentarily push everything else aside, even if the questions still lurked in the back of your mind.

For the next while, you busied yourself with work, ordering supplies and tidying up, half-listening as Hound debated movie rankings with one of the other troopers. The hours stretched on, but eventually, you finally got a break.

Time to visit the hangar.

 

⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

 

You walk along the strip of the hangar where you last saw Whisky, scanning the area as casually as possible. There were several sections he could be in, but this was your best bet. Yet, as you search, there’s no sign of him.

Maybe he was wearing one of those mechanic helmets, blending in with the dozens of clones bustling about. You lean against the wall, eyes flicking over the sea of troopers and workers as you pull out your datapad. He still hadn’t replied to your last message, but you figured he was busy. Still, you hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen before—

“Hey, miss, everything alright?”

You glance up to see an officer approaching. He looked to be around your age, neatly dressed—almost too neat for someone stationed here. Probably new.

“Yeah, sorry, just looking for someone,” you say, keeping your voice light.

The officer doesn’t take the hint. “Anyone in particular? Maybe I could help you find her?”

You smile politely. “Him, actually. His name’s Whisky. Know him?”

Something in the officer’s expression shifts, barely perceptible, but enough for you to notice. His eyes flick around the hangar before settling back on you.

“Oh… is he a clone?”

You blink. The way he asked that felt off—like the word “clone” left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Yes,” you answer flatly, crossing your arms.

He exhales sharply through his nose, almost like a scoff, before shaking his head. “Sorry, can’t say I know a Whisky. But I could look up his CC number for you, if you’ve got it.”

Your lips press together. Of course, you didn’t know that.

Huh. He really was a hard man to track down.

The officer shrugs, clearly unbothered. “There’s a lot of clones working in this hangar. Hard to tell them apart.” His eyes linger on you, lips quirking into a grin. “But hey, if you don’t find him… you could always come looking for me instead.”

You let out a surprised laugh, unable to help yourself. At least he had confidence. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, though your tone makes it clear you’re politely declining.

The officer chuckles and nods. “Well, I should get back to work. Good luck finding your guy.”

Before he turns to leave, something nags at you. A sudden thought.

“Wait,” you say quickly, making him pause. “Has anything bad happened in the hangar recently? Like… a security breach? An escaped prisoner?”

The officer furrows his brows. “No, nothing like that. No sign of any prisoner at all. From what I heard, he never even came through this section.”

Your stomach twists. Then why had Whisky run off so suddenly?

You mumble a quick thanks as the officer finally walks away, but your mind is already elsewhere, racing through possibilities.

And then—

A prickle runs down your spine. A feeling, deep and instinctual, like you’re being watched.

You glance up and not far away, standing rigid amidst the bustle of troopers, is a familiar figure clad in deep red armour. Commander Fox.

His visor is locked onto you, unreadable, unwavering.

And for reasons you can’t quite explain—your breath catches.

Before you could dwell on Fox’s prolonged stare, you quickly looked away, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—else. Maybe he was just irritated that you weren’t in the office. You didn’t exactly have a solid reason to be down here, and if anyone would call you out on it, it’d be him.

Still, something about the way he had been watching you sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.

From the corner of your eye, you caught his attention shifting elsewhere—to Hound, who stood a few yards away, Grizzer trailing faithfully at his feet.

Hound didn’t look happy.

His brows were drawn, his jaw tight, and the way he stood—shoulders squared, fists curled at his sides—told you that whatever conversation he and Fox were about to have, it wasn’t a pleasant one.

 You were too far away to hear a word of it, but the tension between Fox and Hound was unmistakable. The way Hound’s posture had stiffened, the sharpness in his gestures—it was clear whatever they were discussing wasn’t pleasant.

For a brief moment, you considered walking over. Maybe you could ease whatever was happening, smooth out whatever had both men looking so wound up. But then you thought better of it. You didn’t need to get caught up in unnecessary drama, not when you had your own tangled thoughts to deal with.

Pushing the scene aside, you turned, pulling out your datapad and tapping out a quick message to Whisky.

Hey, I’m at the hangar. Are you around?

You waited, both patiently and impatiently, fingers drumming along the edge of your device. You checked the time, realizing you’d need to head back soon—especially if Fox had already noticed you were absent.

A minute passed. No reply.

With a soft sigh, you tucked the datapad away and turned to leave.

Only to stop short.

"What are you doing here?"

You spun on your heel, a flicker of hope sparking before fizzling out when you saw not Whisky, but Fox standing before you.

"Commander," you greeted, a touch sheepish. "I was just heading back."

"That doesn’t answer my question." His voice carried that familiar sharp edge, making it clear he wasn’t in the mood for excuses.

You hesitated. You couldn’t exactly tell Fox what you were really doing here. One, your private life was none of his business. Two, the last thing you wanted was for him to go off about the escaped prisoner and accuse you of being careless.

So you lied.

"I was looking for you, actually."

His helmet tilted slightly, the only indication of mild curiosity. "What for?"

Think. Say anything.

"Do you want me to go on a caf run?"

Fox straightened, arms folding over his chest, his stance only adding to the scrutiny of the moment. "You came all the way to the hangar just to ask me that?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. "Yes," you answered smoothly.

A sigh blew past his modulator, and he slowly shook his head. "That won’t be necessary."

You nodded, shifting on your feet. "Okay then. Just thought everyone could use a pick-me-up. Especially you. "

Fox was silent for a beat before he echoed your words, tone unreadable. " Especially me?"

You hesitated. Was he genuinely asking, or was that irritation laced beneath his words? You could never quite tell.

"Well, it’s just that Stone said—"

"Stone says a lot," Fox cut you off flatly. "I’d like you to head back to your station."

His tone was sharp, but then—almost imperceptibly—it softened. "It’s… not safe, is all."

The unexpected shift made you smile slightly, nodding. "Yes, Commander. I understand."

"Good."

"Good," you repeat.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there, looking at eachother, as if something unspoken hung between you.

You cleared your throat, finally breaking the pause. "I should head back."

Fox gave a curt nod. "I’ll walk with you."

Okay... now that was unexpcted. Then again, if a prisoner was on the loose it does make you feel a touch safer. 

The walk back was quiet and awkward however.

Fox's comm constantly flashed with unread transmissions, the small red light blinking again and again. You weren’t sure if he was ignoring them or just too caught up in whatever storm was brewing in his head.

You hesitated before speaking. "Do you… have a lead on the prisoner? Rik Waldar?"

His pace didn’t falter, nor did his posture shift. "You shouldn’t worry about that."

You frowned slightly but let it drop.

The hallways were unusually quiet, and for a moment, it felt like you and Fox were the only two people in the entire sector.

Then a subtle, almost imperceptible sound came from above.

A faint thump.

Your eyes flicked up toward the vents, brows creased in wonder. What was that?

Fox didn’t react. He hadn’t noticed it.

It could’ve been nothing—just the walls settling, just an old pipe shifting. You must have looked troubled because Fox suddenly spoke. "What’s wrong?"

The question surprised you. He wasn’t the type to ask things like that.

"Nothing," you said quickly, brushing it off.

He didn’t push. Just walked beside you in silence, unreadable as ever behind his helmet.

The moment you stepped back into the station, Fox said nothing—didn’t so much as glance your way—as he turned and strode off in another direction.

You watched him for a second before shaking your head and heading toward your desk. As you walked past, you caught Thire and Stone exchanging glances, clearly noticing that you’d come back with the Commander.

But, thankfully, they didn’t comment on it.

Sighing, you settled into your seat, ready to finally focus on work. Your fingers had just brushed over a datapad when your comm chimed.

You barely glanced at the screen at first, expecting some mundane notification—until you saw the name.

Whisky.

Your heart leapt, and you quickly unlocked the device, scanning the message.

Sorry for the delay. Got transferred to a different base this morning, only for a few days. Hope you don’t miss me too much.

Your heart sank just a little. A few days? That meant you wouldn’t get to see him for a while. But at least he replied. The subtle teasing in his message was also enoguh to make your heart flip. You quickly glanced around, ensuring no one was peering over your shoulder before you typed back a response.

A few days, huh? That’s a long time to go without my favorite mechanic. Guess I’ll have to find another handsome clone to keep me company…

You barely had a second to breathe before another message came through.

Rude. And here I was thinking about bringing you back a souvenir. Maybe I won’t now.

Biting your lip to contain your smile, you fired back.

A souvenir? Now you have to tell me what it is.

Nope. You’ll have to suffer.

That did it. A small giggle escaped you before you could stop it.

Immediately, Thire and Stone’s heads snapped in your direction. They were on you like a pair of kath hounds, striding over to your desk with knowing smirks.

“What’s so funny?” Thire asked, arms crossed, clearly amused.

“You’ve been awfully secretive today,” Stone added, wiggling his brows.

You quickly locked your datapad, feeling your face heat up. “Nothing, just—nothing important.”

Thire and Stone exchanged a glance, their grins widening before Stone let out an exaggerated hmm. “Maybe Hound was right.”

Your brows knitted together instantly. “Right about what?”

Before Stone could answer, Thire smacked him on the back of the head. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For running your mouth,” Thire grumbled.

“No, no, no, absolutely not,” you said firmly, sitting up straighter. “You have to tell me now.”

Stone rubbed the back of his head but gave you a teasing look. “Hound seems to think you and Fox have… a thing. ”

You blinked. Hard. “What?” You stared between them, utterly baffled, before scoffing. “ Me and Fox ? Never in a million years. Where the hell did he get that idea?”

Thire looked like he wanted to stay out of it entirely, but Stone, ever the instigator, only shrugged. “No idea. He just said something seemed different between you two. Like you’re secretly together.”

You gave them both a flat, incredulous look. “Well, he’s dead wrong.”

“Yeah?” Stone smirked. “Then why were you walking back from the hangar with the Commander?”

Your mouth opened, then shut. There was no chance in all that was the Maker you were telling these two about Whisky. “I—That— That was nothing. He just… told me to go back to my station, that’s all.”

Thire sighed, rubbing his temples. “I swear, the gossip in this place is worse than a bunch of cadets.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe Hound actually thought that.”

Stone just grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, I’m just saying—Fox doesn’t usually go anywhere with anyone.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Stars, kill me now. ”

You couldn’t get your head round it. Why would Hound think yourself and the Commander had a thing? Why are the two of them arguing in the hangar? Surely that was not about you? Was it? 

Then you thought about how you met Fox’s stare, how he had been watching you and the Officer. Was he…? No, no. Surely not. The last thing you can imagine is the intolerable Commander being jealous. 

Today was proving too much. 

Something was going on but you just couldn’t for the life of you figure out what.

Notes:

Thank you for all the support lately, it means alot. I know Fox isn't everyone's favourite for reasons that shall go unsaid lmao. But it does mean alot. Thank you, always x

Chapter 7: Part Seven - The Truth

Summary:

With questions and gossip spiralling out of control, Fox takes action and takes you on a date to break the news. However, it doesn't go exactly to plan.

Notes:

The moment you've all been waiting for.

Warnings (skip if you don't want spoilers):
safe for work, flirty texts, flirting, reader wearing a red dress, heavy angst, crying, heartbreak, trust issues, comfort, accidental confessions.

 

    "Hound, can I have a word?"

It was the next day, and during your lunch break, you spotted Hound lingering by the counter, balancing a tray of food while waiting for the next available seat. The moment you saw him, the urge to speak to him flared up, overriding your initial plan to just grab something to eat and return to your desk.

Excusing yourself, you wove through the crowd of officers and troopers, brushing past shoulders until you reached him just before he could sit down.

The Sergeant blinked in surprise at your sudden appearance—though even more at the clear irritation in your tone. That alone was enough to catch his attention. You weren’t usually one to sound so bothered.

Adjusting his grip on his tray, he arched a brow. “Everything alright?”

You ignored the question and tilted your head, gesturing for him to follow. Hound hesitated briefly but ultimately sighed and followed you out of earshot of the bustling mess hall.

Once you were in a quiet enough spot, you turned to face him, arms crossed. “Want to tell me why Thire and Stone think me and Commander Fox are a ‘thing’?”

His mouth opened, then promptly closed. He awkwardly glanced to the side, shifting on his feet like a guilty cadet caught sneaking extra rations. “Yeah… about that… that’s, uh, my error.”

“Yeah, it is, ” you echoed sharply. “Why would you say something like that? What even made you think that in the first place?”

He let out an uncomfortable chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was just an observation.”

“An observation ?” You huffed, throwing your hands in the air. “Hound, me and Fox barely speak. ”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, shifting his tray from one hand to the other, “I just… I don’t know, I thought I noticed something.”

You gave him a flat stare. “Like what?”

He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “Like the way he looks at you.”

Your brows shot up. “The way he looks at me?”

“Forget I said anything,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”

You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Well, does Fox know about this ridiculous gossip?”

Hound frowned. “Of course not.”

“Good. And I don’t want him to know.”

The last thing you needed was for Commander Fox to hear about this. The man already carried the weight of Coruscant’s security on his shoulders—he did not need to be burdened with some absurd rumor about the two of you.

But then, a thought struck you.

You lowered your hand, eyes narrowing slightly as a memory resurfaced—Fox and Hound, standing in the hangar yesterday. It had looked… tense. Almost heated.

Frowning, you tilted your head. “That reminds me, what was that about yesterday?”

Hound stiffened, lips pressing into a firm line. “What was what about?”

“The conversation you had with Fox in the hangar.” You studied him carefully. “Looked serious. ”

There was conflict in his gaze. Hesitation. But after a moment, he sighed and shook his head. “Nothing worth worrying about. A patrol went wrong. That’s all.”

You watched him closely, trying to gauge whether or not that was the whole truth.

But eventually, you nodded. “Alright,” you said, relieved that at least it wasn’t about you.

Hound exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Sorry about the gossip. I really didn’t mean for it to spread.”

You rolled your eyes, but the irritation had mostly faded. “Just… maybe keep your ‘ observations’ to yourself next time.” You mutter, using air quotations.

He held up his hands. “Duly noted.”

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

Fox was a kriffing mess.

The situation with you was spiralling out of control—a beautiful disaster he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

He had tangled himself in a lie so foolish, so reckless , it made his stomach churn. But the way you spoke to him, the way you laughed, the way you flirted with Whisky … Stars, he had never wanted anything more.

And then, there was that officer .

Fox had seen the way the man looked at you in the hangar. It was painfully obvious—squared shoulders, a little too eager, the way his eyes lingered when you smiled. Kriff, it almost hurt.  

It shouldn’t have affected him. It had no right to affect him. But it did. A hot coil of something ugly, possessive, wrapped around his ribs at the sight. Another man looking at you the way he did.

And then there was Hound.

Fox clenched his jaw as his mind replayed the words from the hangar.

"You haven’t told her? I swear, Fox, if you don’t in the next few days, I will. She deserves better.”

He hated how involved Hound was in this. Hated that he was right .

He needed to tell you the truth. But how selfish would it be if he stretched this out just a little longer?

Even now, hidden in a dimly lit storage closet—far away from the constant questions about Rik Waldar , away from his brothers, away from you —he found himself rereading your messages from last night. Stars, he was smitten.

And from your replies, so were you.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling sharply through his nose. “No. Stop it, Fox,” he muttered under his breath.

Yet, later that night, when the barracks had gone quiet and all his brothers were sleeping, he still found himself sneaking back to his office. Just to sit there, datapad in hand, waiting for your next message.

And tonight was no exception.

So, any pretty girls at the new base?

A smirk tugged at his lips at your message. Were you the jealous type?

None as pretty as you.

It didn’t take long for you to respond.

Ugh. You are smooth. Ever been told that before?

Once or twice. Why? Is it working?

He leaned back in his chair, waiting, knowing you’d take a moment to compose yourself. Sure enough, a minute later you reply.

Maybe. But I already like you, so you don’t have to try that hard.

Fox’s heart stopped. For a brief second, he forgot how to breathe. His hand tightened around the datapad, reading the words over and over again.

You already liked him.

Shit.

His fingers hovered over the keys, mind racing with what to say and how to respond without giving away too much. But before he could, another message came through.

Hound said something weird to me today, by the way.

His stomach twisted.

Weird how?

Apparently, he thinks I have a thing for Commander Fox.

Fox stiffened, eyes locked onto the screen, pulse thrumming in his ears.

Do you?

Your reply came fast. Too fast.

Pfft. Not a chance. He’s uptight and irritable all the time. It’s exhausting just being near him. He even walked me back to the station the other day and I felt so awkward.

Fox felt that one like a punch to the gut.

Damn. You really didn’t like him. Not as Fox, anyway.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his tone casual.

What if he’s just misunderstood?

Then he should try being less of an arse. Not my problem.

Fox exhaled slowly through his nose, tapping his fingers against the desk before taking a big gulp of caf. Stars, maybe he should have let you go on a caf run. That machine really is terrible. Anyway, he wasn’t sure why he asked what came next—maybe because, despite everything, he wanted to hear your answer: Is it just the attitude? Or are looks a factor too?

A pause. Then—

Dunno. Never seen his face, so I couldn’t say.

Fox stared at your message for a long moment. The truth sat heavy in his chest, but he still found himself typing.

Do looks matter?

Not really. But it’s nice to put a face to a name.

He runs a hand over his face, groaning softly into it. Right, he had to get this over and done with. 

Meanwhile back at your place, you lay sprawled out on your stomach, datapad clutched between your hands, grinning so hard it almost hurt.

Do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow?

The words had sent your heart into a fluttering mess, your feet instinctively kicking the air behind you as your mind instantly leapt to one question: What the hell am I going to wear?

Your fingers flew over the keyboard as you typed out a response, still biting back a smile.

Not going to ditch me this time?

His reply was immediate.

I promise.

You exhaled softly, rolling onto your back as your eyes flickered toward your wardrobe. You weren’t sure what kind of date Whisky had in mind, but that didn’t stop you from mentally sorting through every outfit you owned, already imagining what he’d like.

What kind of date did you have in mind?

One where I wine and dine you.

Your grin grew as you typed back.

I hope there’s dessert.

There will be.

Stars . If he kept this up, you were going to be insufferable tomorrow.

But as your excitement buzzed, a nagging thought tugged at the back of your mind. The hangar.

That moment when he had rushed off like something urgent was happening; only for you to later find out that there hadn’t been an issue at all. No escaped prisoner, no commotion. And then there was the thing he had been meaning to tell you.

You chewed your lip before hesitantly typing,

Will you tell me what you wanted to? Back in the meadow?

There was a slight pause before he replied.

Yes, I will. Please don’t worry. It will be okay.

You really hoped so.

Your stomach twisted slightly at the possibilities. He’d assured you there was no other woman, so that ruled out one terrifying thought. But what if it was something worse? Was he ill? Was there something serious he wasn’t telling you?

You grimaced, quickly pushing the thought aside before you could spiral.

Instead, you let your fingers brush over the keys, heart lightening as you typed,

You know, you really make me happy.

His response came quickly.

Good. Because you make me happy too.

That warm, giddy feeling spread through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, you let your fingers hover before typing something a little more… bold.

If the date goes well… maybe I’ll reward you.

There was a pause for a small moment. You feared maybe you were too bold but then:

Yeah? And what kind of reward are we talking about?

You grinned wickedly, rolling onto your side, fingers teasing the screen as you debated just how far you wanted to push him.

Oh, you know. Something worth being good for.

This time, the pause was longer.

Then, finally—

You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.

And you laughed, fully, out loud, feeling your cheeks heat at the thought of Whisky, wherever he was, probably losing his mind right now.

But what you didn’t know was that Fox was losing his mind.

Fox leaned back in his chair, his head tipping against the wall as he let out a slow, controlled breath through his nose. His datapad rested against his stomach, his free hand dragging down his face in frustration.

Or maybe desperation.

Because, stars, you were killing him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. And it was his fault.

The way you flirted with him—unknowingly flirting with Fox —had him spiraling into dangerous waters. He felt warm, restless, an ache settling low in his stomach as his body reacted far too eagerly to the teasing words on the screen.

And that last message?

"Something worth being good for." He repeats in a whisper. His jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply, the heat of it crawling down his spine. He needed to stop this. He needed to stop before he said something incredibly stupid. 

I have to go.

Your response was instant.

So soon?

Yeah. Before I say something I shouldn’t.

Fox ran a hand through his hair, trying to will away the heat still simmering under his skin. Yep, he was certainly turned on right now.

Meet me tomorrow at 1900, west sector entrance. Dress nice.

Oh? Dress nice? Are you taking me somewhere fancy, Whisky?

Fox smirked, fingers gliding smoothly over the screen.

You’ll see. Sweet dreams, sweetheart.

He was just about to shut off the datapad when a new message came through.

Wait!

His thumb hovered over the screen. He exhaled slowly, waiting, heart thudding just a little faster than it should.

I miss seeing you.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning.

Seeing me? Sweetheart, how do you think I feel? I can’t even see your beautiful face.

Smooth. He had to give himself credit—he was good at this. The easy flirting, the charm, the teasing. It was second nature by now.

But the moment your next message appeared, the confidence wavered.

Do you want to see me?

His breath hitched. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as warmth spread in his chest…and a little lower.

That was flirty. And enticing.

His hand flexed against his thigh before quickly tapping out a response, keeping it light.

See you, how?

The three dots appeared for what felt like forever and a day until:

Don’t be thinking naughty thoughts, Whisky. Only my face.

Fox let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Kriff. That was a relief. Not that he would have gone through with it if it had been something more, but still… He wasn’t sure how much self-control he had left after tonight’s teasing.

Then, a new message. A file attachment. Fox swallowed thickly as his thumb hovered for half a second before tapping it open.

And stars above—

His breath stalled in his throat.

It was just a picture of your face, nothing more, nothing scandalous—just you in bed, your head resting on your pillow, strands of hair messy around your face, lips parted ever so slightly, eyes soft and warm.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

He blinked, his chest tightening with something he didn’t want to name. Instead, his fingers moved on instinct.

You’re perfect.

And with that, he shut off the datapad, tossing it onto his desk before dragging his hands down his face with a long, suffering groan.

Tomorrow was going to kill him.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

 

1900 hours. Dressed to impress. West Sector. Gift in back pocket.

Fox paced, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his white button-up crisp against his toned frame. The sleeves were neatly rolled up, a careful balance of refined and relaxed, but the way he kept shifting his weight gave away his nerves.

He had been replaying this moment for hours. What to say. How to act. How not to mess this up. All because he had accepted a note from you at 79’s.

"What was I thinking?" He muttered under his breath.

“Hey, handsome.”

Fox turned so fast he nearly stumbled, eyes widening.

And kriff, he was glad he did.

There you stood, bathed in the golden glow of Coruscant’s streetlights, dressed in deep red—the colours of the Guard. The dress hugged your figure in a way that made his throat go dry, and your heels only added to the effortless confidence you carried.

For a moment, he could only stare.

“Wow,” he breathed, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

The smile you gave him in return? Yeah, he was in trouble.

“Oh, stop it,” you teased, stepping closer, hands tucked behind your back. “You look very dashing, Whisky .”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing his hands together as if that would stop the heat creeping up his neck. “Thanks,” he murmured. Clearing his throat, he extended an arm. “Shall we?”

You took it without hesitation, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow, the warmth of your touch searing through the fabric of his sleeve. Your perfume drifted close—light, sweet, and enough to scramble his thoughts.

As he flagged down a cab, you glanced at him curiously when he rattled off an address.

“Somewhere special?”

Fox smirked. “Somewhere deserving of you.”

Your stomach flipped in excitement.

The ride was short, but that didn’t stop him from slipping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. It was easy, effortless—like this had always been a habit between you. Soft conversation flowed between the two of you, words dipped in laughter and teasing as the city lights blurred outside the window.

When you arrived, your breath caught.

Fox helped you out of the cab, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as he guided you forward. The restaurant was breathtaking. Twinkling fairy lights draped across wooden beams, casting a golden glow over the space. Trellises overflowed with soft blossoms, their fragrance mingling with the cool evening air. A fountain gurgled softly in the center of the courtyard, its quiet song blending with the hum of conversation.

He had gone all out.

Fox pulled out your chair, waiting for you to settle before taking his own.

“Well, Whisky ,” you giggled, resting your arms on the table, “you’re full of surprises.”

He smirked, pouring you both a glass of wine from a bottle swiftly delivered by a server. “You think so?”

“I know so.” You raised your glass, tapping it lightly against his before taking a sip. “How many girls have you brought here?”

His brow lifted slightly. “Would you believe me if I said none?”

You narrowed your eyes, playful. “I don’t know. You are a smooth talker.”

Fox chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced down at the menu. You watched him for a moment, admiring the way the dim lighting softened his features, how the corners of his mouth twitched when he was focused.

Then, something shifted.

His shoulders tensed, fingers tightening around the menu, his usual air of confidence faltering ever so slightly.

Your smile faded, just a touch. “Hey,” you said softly, reaching across the table to place your hand over his. “You okay?”

Fox blinked, snapping back to the moment. He looked at your hand—warm, steady, grounding—before clearing his throat and reaching for his drink.

“Y-yeah,” he said, voice not quite as smooth as before. He took a long sip, setting the glass down carefully. “Sorry. Just… nervous.”

You squeezed his hand gently before pulling back, offering him a reassuring smile. “It’s just me, Whisky. Nobody else.”

His jaw tightened for a moment, like he was biting back words.

You were. He wasn’t.

Then, he exhaled slowly and sat up straighter. “I know,” he murmured. “And I’m lucky you are.”

The tension melted just as quickly as it had come, and soon enough, conversation flowed again. The wine disappeared steadily, the appetisers arrived, and between bites, you found yourself giggling at his dry humour, your foot grazing his leg beneath the table.

“Careful,” Fox murmured, smirking against the rim of his glass.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Careful of what?”

His smirk deepened. “You know exactly what.”

“Mm. Do I?” You dragged the tip of your shoe just a little higher up his calf, watching the way his fingers twitched against his glass.

Fox exhaled sharply, setting his drink down with deliberate care.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned, voice lower now.

You bit back a smile, taking a slow sip of wine. “Then I hope you’re fireproof.”

His fingers drummed against the table, gaze locked onto yours—dark, unreadable, utterly consumed. Then, with a quick glance around, as if double-checking your privacy, he reached into his back pocket.

“Before I forget…” he started, voice softer now, something almost uncertain laced within it. “I should give you your gift.”

You sat up a little straighter, warmth rushing to your cheeks as he placed a small, square box in front of you.

Your fingers brushed over the lid, heartbeat picking up. “A gift?”

Fox rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flickering to yours before he nodded. “It’s nothing huge, but…” He opened the box, revealing a delicate bracelet inside—a single red gem dangling from the thin band.

“Oh, Whisky,” you breathed, a grin appearing as you carefully lifted it from the box. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the weight of it cool against your skin. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

The tension in his shoulders eased at the sincerity in your voice. “Beautiful,” he murmured, fingers ghosting over your wrist as he latched it on for you, “like you.”

It was easy to get lost in this, lost in him.

For a little while, nothing else mattered.

For a little while, everything was perfect.

And then, in an instant, it wasn’t.

Your eyes drift over Fox’s shoulder, catching sight of a familiar figure. “Oh, hey! It’s Pia. You okay if I go say hi?”

Fox glanced back too, spotting Pia by the reception desk. She hadn't seen either of you yet, focused on whatever she was waiting for. “Sure,” he said lightly. “Just don’t go running off on me.”

You humoured him with a smile, brushing a hand over his shoulder as you passed.

“Pia?”

She turned at the sound of your voice, her face lighting up instantly. “Hey, you!” She pulled you into a quick hug, then leaned back, eyeing you with approval. “Damn, girl, you look sexy.”

You laughed, giving her a mock twirl. “Doing my best. I’m on a date.”

“Oh, same! Though mine’s late.” She rolled her eyes but grinned anyway. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You nodded back toward your table. Pia’s gaze followed, her brows lifting slightly.

“Well, well,” she mused, chuckling. “Didn’t think the Commander had it in him.”

Your smile remains but sudden confusion surfaces.

“Hm?”

Pia glanced at you, still grinning. “I mean, I saw you two all cosy at 79’s. Figured you had a thing for him.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Sure, but Whisky isn’t a Commander .”

Something shifted in Pia’s expression.

She looked back at Fox still sitting there, unaware, completely at ease. Then back at you.

“…Whisky?”

A cold unease settled over you. “Yeah.”

Pia’s lips parted, her arms crossing over her chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Whisky ,” she said carefully. “And that? That isn’t one.”

Your stomach turned. “What are you saying?”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “That’s Fox. ”

The world around you dulled into nothing. Your mouth opened, but no words came. “Say that again.”

Pia’s confidence wavered, her grin long gone. “Love… I told you who he was that night.” Her brows knit together. “I thought you knew .”

No.

No, she hadn’t told you. She had been about to, but then a patron had called for her, and the moment had slipped away. You had never questioned it. Had never thought to.

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

Your head shook, a sickening drop in your stomach. “He… he told me his name was Whisky.”

Pia shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and the man you thought you knew. “Wait—m-maybe it is,” she fumbled, grasping for something, anything to take back what she had just said. “I mean, he’s a clone, right? They all look the same, maybe—”

Her desperate excuse fell apart the second the next voice cut through the restaurant.

“ Fox! What are you doing here?”

Your blood ran cold.

Pia spun first, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

The voice belonged to Thire. He was walking straight toward your table, waving like it was nothing.

Fox stood quickly, his entire body stiff, hand raising in a useless attempt to silence his brother.

It was too late.

You felt him look at you.

Your eyes locked onto his, and in that moment, your heart shattered.

Everything you had built, every moment, every word— a lie.

A sharp breath lodged in your throat. You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The weight in your chest threatened to crush you, and all you could do was turn on your heel and walk.

No— run.

Pia called your name, but you barely heard her. The restaurant blurred past, the cool air of the street hitting your face as you pushed through the doors. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out the noise of passing speeders and distant chatter.

Somewhere behind you, voices rose in argument—Pia’s unmistakable fury, sharp and cutting.

And then—

“ Wait! ”

Your breath hitched, legs faltering as you came to an abrupt stop.

Footsteps. Heels against pavement. Pia.

She caught up, panting slightly, hands gripping your wrists the second she reached you.

“I don’t understand,” you choked, a sob clawing its way to the surface. Your hands covered your mouth, shaking. “Why would he do this?”

Pia’s own frustration simmered beneath her concern, her jaw tight. “I don’t know, love.” She squeezed your hands. “I don’t have a clue what was going through his mind.”

The tears came too fast, hot and relentless. You tried to wipe them away, but it was useless. The pain of it, the humiliation —it burned like fire beneath your skin.

Pia didn’t hesitate. She pulled you close, her arms wrapping around you as you broke. “D-did he want to hurt me?” Your voice was barely there, raw and shaking. “I don’t— I don’t get it. ”

She exhaled a slow, miserable sigh, resting her chin atop your head. “I… I couldn’t tell you.”

But you could tell her.

And oh, did you have answers. “He never liked me,” you whispered, hiccuping between sobs. “Fox—he was always rude to me. It’s like he wanted to play with me.”

A look flickered across Pia’s face. One you couldn’t read.

“Would he do that?” she asked, voice hesitant. “Really?”

You pulled back slightly, pressing a trembling hand over your chest, trying to steady your breath. “W-why lie about who he was? He always talked about Fox—Fox this, Fox that.” Your stomach twisted. “Was he just—just trying to figure out what I didn’t like about him? Was this some kind of—of sick joke?”

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Your mind raced in circles, spinning, grasping for answers you didn’t have. “Am I a bad person?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Pia didn’t hesitate. “No.” She shook her head, voice firm. “You’re a kind-hearted person, and some idiot wanted to test that.”

It should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

Because none of it changed the truth.

“Oh—oh, stars. ” A fresh wave of dread crashed over you. “Thire! He’s going to tell everyone . ” Your breath came faster, panic swelling. “I can’t—I can’t —”

“Shh.” Pia took a deep breath, rubbing your arms in soothing circles. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t say a thing.” She reached into her bag, fishing out her key fob and pressing it into your trembling hands. “Go back to my place. I’ll be right behind you. You remember where I live?”

Your fingers curled around the fob, mind swimming. You nodded shakily. “O-okay. I think so. What are you doing?”

Pia scoffs. Tying her hair up, she adjusted her bag on her shoulder.

“Giving Fox another piece of my mind before he comes looking for you.”

Notes:

oh no :((( reader is heartbroken. How will it resolve itself?

it's the drama mick, i love it (gavin and stacey refrence if you know, you know.)

Kudos and commets, as always, are much appreiciated <3

Chapter 8: Part Eight - Aftermath

Summary:

Devastated, you seek comfort in your best friend as you try to make sense of everything from tonight.

Notes:

I did consider writing a bit more for this chapter but I thought just some nice bestie comfort is what we all need sometimes. And I wanted to get an update out.

 

  The walk to Pia’s apartment was nothing short of humiliating.

Tears stained your cheeks, mascara smudged beneath your puffy eyes. The heels you had worn with such eagerness were now your sworn enemies, their straps digging into your blistered feet until you finally snapped. With a strangled noise of frustration, you yanked them off and hurled them into the nearest alley, not caring who saw.

“Oh, just fuck off! ” 

A few passing strangers turned to stare, some amused, some concerned, others just pitying. You didn’t care.

Barefoot and emotionally wrecked, you made your way toward Pia’s apartment in the lower sector, each step a mix of aching feet and the weight of betrayal pressing down on your chest. The only silver lining was that Pia didn’t live far—though you were sure walking barefoot through Coruscant’s streets had already knocked a few years off your lifespan.

When you finally reached her door, you fumbled with the keyfob, your hands shaking as you swiped it against the panel. The lock clicked open, and relief flooded you as you stumbled inside.

The moment you crossed the threshold, your body gave out. You didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Instead, you collapsed onto Pia’s curved sofa, faceplanting into the dark navy cushions with a long, muffled groan of despair.

For a while, you just lay there, motionless. If someone were to walk in now they would think you were dead. Considering a part inside you died it wouldn't be so far from reality.

The fabric beneath you soaked up the remnants of your ruined makeup and tears, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Why me?” you croaked into the cushion, your voice muffled and pitiful.

What were the chances? How did this even happen? The man you had been falling for— Whisky —wasn’t real. He was Fox, your boss. Considerably the more prominent Commanders in the squad.  The same man who had been nothing but cold and unapproachable toward you at work, the same man who barely gave you the time of day. 

Ugh, it was like something out of a karking holofanfic you used to read. But now it’s your reality.

Eventually, you rolled onto your side, wiping at your blotchy face before grimacing at the black smudges you left on Pia’s cushion. You quickly flipped it over, pretending you hadn’t just defiled her furniture with the evidence of your emotional breakdown.

Sitting up, you exhaled shakily, hands running over your face as you tried to make sense of it all.

You hated yourself for not realising it sooner.

Fox had always been so different with you—so distant —yet Whisky had been warm, charming, even funny in his own way. But the signs were there. No one else knew this so-called ‘Whisky.’ You had never even questioned it, never pressed for more details, never even thought to ask what Fox looked like beneath his helmet to realize it had been him all along.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. Not amused. Not ironic. Just… hollow.

Somewhere out there, Fox was probably scrambling for an excuse. You wondered if he had even tried to defend himself to Pia—or if he had just stood there like a coward, letting her chew him out.

The thought made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

And Thire.

Your breath hitched as the realisation hit you again that Thire had been there. You hadn’t stuck around long enough to see his reaction, but the possibility that he and other troopers knew about this, that they had been possibly in on it, makes your skin crawl.

You cast a glance at the chrono on the wall. You hadn’t noticed how much time had passed since everything had fallen apart. The night cycle had already settled in. Shivering, you wrapped your arms around yourself, looking down at the dress you had once been so excited to wear.

“Typical,” you muttered.

You needed to change. You needed out of this dress. This damn colour.

Without hesitation, you raided Pia’s closet (you knew she wouldn’t mind), grabbing the first oversized sweater you could find. It was bright orange and garish but you couldn’t cope to see anything Red. You matched it with some a pair of comfy lounge pants after peeling your dress off. You folded it neatly though a part of you wanted to burn it along with the memory of this entire night. 

But it was expensive so maybe another time. 

Settling back onto the couch, you switched on the holoscreen, mindlessly scrolling through options before picking something random. The movie played, colours flickering across the walls, but you barely registered what was happening. Your mind was of course elsewhere, circling the same thoughts, the same questions.

Was Fox looking for you right now? Had Pia ripped him apart? Did he even feel bad about what he had done?

The faint beeping of the apartment door jolted you from your thoughts.

You straightened, quickly pausing the movie as the door hissed open.

Pia stepped inside, her movements sharp, her expression thunderous. If you had been a mess of emotions earlier, she was barely containing the steam blowing out her ears.

You swallowed, watching as she stormed toward the kitchen, already grabbing two cups and fixing a drink. Hopefully something strong.

You hesitated before finding your voice. “What did he say?”

Noticinghow her shoulders tensed from behind, you almost shudder as you see her small hesitation. But then she turned to you, jaw tight, eyes filled with unfiltered anger. “He didn’t say a single thing.”

Your stomach dropped. “W-what?”

She scoffed, setting down your drink with a sharp clink . “Yeah. I let him have it, and the bastard just stood there like a statue.” She took a long sip of her own drink before shaking her head in disbelief. “Didn’t even try to explain himself.”

Your grip tightened around the cup once you picked it up, anger bubbling up beneath the hurt. “Not even an apology?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just looked guilty as sin that he got caught.”

At least he had some sense of shame other than being a deceitful little-

“Thire had no clue either.” Pia leaned plopped down on the couch beside you, eyeing you carefully.

That made you sit up straighter. “He didn’t?”

“No.” Pia exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. “He was just as dumbfounded as I was. Told me to ‘calm down,’ so I told him where to stick it too.”

Despite everything, a short laugh escaped you at the mental image. “And did he promise to… you know… not say anything.”

She nodded. “Yeah. He promised.”

That was something , at least. No one else at work knew. That you were aware of, anyway.

A heavy silence settled between you. Pia quietly turned the movie back on, giving you time to collect yourself. The soft glow of the holoscreen resumes its flickers against the walls but neither of you really paid attention to it. You just sat there, processing, breathing, letting the worst of the emotions settle. 

When the credits rolled, you finally spoke again. “Pia?”

She turned her head toward you.

“Does Fox… go to 79’s often?”

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Not as much as the other boys.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed back the lump forming, eyes starting that familiar sting “And did he…?”

Pia didn’t need you to finish. She knew exactly what you were asking even if you would not, could not, directly say it. She heard the pain in your voice, the embarrassment in plain sight in a gaze you could not share.

“No, love,” she said softly. “He was always reserved. Didn’t speak to anyone else.”

You exhaled, a strange mix of emotions flooding you. Relief. Confusion. Hurt. Supposedly, it’s always nice to hear that the guy who completely screwed with your emotions wasn’t a total gashead.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered as you slink further back into the couch, playing with the cuffs of this awful sweater.

“He’s so stupid,” Pia corrected with an eye roll. She scooted closer, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “He let a good girl go.”

You smiled, but it was weak. “I can’t believe I was falling for a lie .” Your voice wavered, “Like, was he ever going to tell me?”

Pia sighed and shrugs “I don’t know. But isn’t it better that you found out now rather than later?”

It was now your turn to shrug. “I wish he’d just told me from the get-go. Saved me the humiliation.” You sniffle, nose and eyes still a little bunged up with emotions.

“True, true.” Pia hummed in agreement. She then ponders for a moment before saying, “I take it his persona of ‘Whisky’ was different to how he is really.” 

“Super different.” You exasperate. “When I first spoke to him at 79’s he was mysterious and a bit quiet which is kinda like Fox I guess but the more I got to know him, the messages, the meadow he took me too… It was like a different person.” 

Pia nods in understanding. “But it wasn’t.” 

“Sadly not.”

You stared down at the sweater you were fidgeting with, voice barely above a whisper. “The worst part is… I trusted him. I told him everything about me. And he told me nothing .”

Pia pulled you into a hug just as the next sob strikes you in the heart. 

“And I really liked him.”

 

 

   It took a while for you to calm down again after that. Every time you thought you were finally done crying, another wave would creep up on you, spilling over in fresh tears. Pia being Pia, did everything she could to help.

She played with your hair, gently combing her fingers through the strands in a way that was oddly soothing. She grabbed you snacks, refilled your drink without you even asking, and—perhaps her best idea yet—put on a compilation of clankers getting destroyed in the most ridiculous ways.

A battle droid getting thrown around by a Wookiee. Another one getting its head stuck in a ship door before being dragged off into hyperspace. One standing idly as an AT-TE foot came crashing down on it with a squeaky, pathetic "Uh-oh."

Eventually, it worked. The tension in your chest eased, and the last of your tears dried on your cheeks. The exhaustion settled in, pulling at your limbs, making your eyelids heavy.

By the time you were halfway through the two-hour compilation, you turned to Pia, only just now registering the lovely dress she was wearing.

“Wait…” You sat up slightly, frowning. “Weren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?”

Pia blinked, then looked down at herself, as if only now remembering her outfit. A grin tugged at her lips before she glanced back at you. “Yeah, but I had more important matters to attend to.” She reached over and patted your head playfully.

You squirmed, laughing as you swatted her hand away. “You sap.”

But then another realisation hit. Your brows shot up as your tired brain finally connected the dots. “Wait—what the stars? Was your date with Thire?!”

Pia had the audacity to cackle at your wide-eyed expression, nodding as she popped another sweet into her mouth.

Your jaw dropped. “ Pia! ”

“What?” she said through a smirk.

“What are you doing here with me then?”

She shrugged, leaning back against the couch as she grabbed another handful of sweets. “He was late anyway.”

You gaped at her, gobsmacked. Grabbing a piece from your own bowl, you tossed it at her. “ I thought you didn’t like him! ”

“ Never said that,” Pia mused, expertly catching the sweet you threw at her and popping it into her mouth. “I just don’t like him dancing on tables and making me fill out accident forms.”

You snorted. “Did he do it again?”

“Oh, yeah.” Pia grinned at the memory. “He was wasted . But… he was being cute. Asked me on a date. I said yes. And now here I am with you.”

You frowned, your guilt creeping in again. “Kriff, Pia, I’m sorry you missed your date because of me.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s alright.” She glanced at you, her expression softening. “And like I said, I had more pressing matters.”

Your heart swelled a little at that.

Pia had always been a good friend. But tonight? Tonight, she was the best friend.

“Wait, is that my sweater?”

“Well it’s definitely not mine. It’s ugly.”

“Hm. Suits you then.”

Notes:

If you didn't realise, Pia is the embodiment of me bc this is 100% what I would have done for my bestie hehe

and Fox???? No apology??? RUUUUUUUDE

Chapter 9: Part Nine - Boiling Point

Summary:

As things start to get creepy at work, you brace yourself for a world of heartache when you finally come face to face with Fox.

Notes:

Erm okay first of all I am sooooooooo sorry for the wait. It was my birthday last week and I just preoccupied and I wanted to make sure this chapter was as good as I could get it. It isn't proofread so I am just hoping it's okay and eligible lmao.

Enjoy!

Oh and CHOO CHOO ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN

 

The next morning, nausea settled deep in your stomach, an unpleasant mix of last night’s drinks, too many sweets, and the lingering weight of everything that had happened. You’d left Pia’s pretty late, more than a little tipsy, and now it felt like your body was punishing you for it.

You lay in bed, staring at the chrono on the wall, watching the minutes tick by. You could call in sick. You could just stay here, curl up under the blankets, and ignore the galaxy for a day. But then what? Tomorrow would come, and you’d still have to face this mess.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself up and shuffled into the refresher. The shower was quick, brisk, and did little to clear the fog in your head. Steam clung to the mirror, and when you wiped it away, your own tired reflection stared back at you; eyes still puffy from crying, lips pressed into a tight line.

“You can do this,” you whispered to yourself.

And that’s when you made up your mind to stay in bed.

Well, that’s what you kept saying that you should have done as you walked down the long and seemingly endless hallways of the facility.

You walked with your head down, keeping your pace quick and not stopping to acknowledge anyone. If they were looking at you, you didn’t want to know.

Then, before you even realised, your feet stopped in front of the office door.

Voices carried from inside. You knew them all, of course. But you didn’t move.

What if he was in there?

What if Thire had told people? What if they were all waiting for you, ready to mock your stupidity? The thought alone made your stomach churn harder. You suddenly felt overheated, suffocated by the walls around you.

A deep, rhythmic thumping pounds in your ears. At first you thought it was just your heart, hammering too fast, but then it grew louder. It didn’t match the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat. No, this was something else. It was coming from somewhere around you. 

You blinked, a chill creeping down your spine but the noise stopped just as suddenly as it had started. 

You find yourself looking up, eyes scanning the ceiling that carried the ventilaition system everywhere. You felt cold, uncomfortable. Like you were being watched. Perhaps it was your paranoia, perhaps it was-

“Hey, you alright?” You nearly jumped out of your skin. Whipping around, you saw Thire standing there, watching you closely.

“Uh—yeah, I was just…” Your voice faltered. The words wouldn’t come. It felt impossible to even look at him.

Thire studied you for a moment before resting a firm hand on your shoulder. “C’mere for a second.”

You didn’t protest, letting him steer you away from the flow of clones and officers passing through the corridor. He led you toward a supply closet, opening the door and motioning for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

For a moment, you both just stood there. The dim lighting made the small space feel even tighter.

Thire pulled off his bucket, tucking it under his arm before meeting your gaze. His brows furrowed slightly. “How are you feeling about… y’know?”

You exhaled sharply, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Like absolute bantha crap.”

Thire sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I bet. But I promise that I haven’t said a word to anyone.”

You nodded, letting out a slow breath. “Thanks.”

“Didn’t know a damn thing about it either,” he admitted. “None of us did.”

That made you look up. “Really?”

He shook his head. “I swear. If I had any idea what Fox was doing, I would’ve called him out on it. We all would have.” His jaw tightened slightly. “That’s… not how we do things.”

Something in your chest eased, just a little. You wanted to believe him, needed to. Because if the others had known, if they’d just let it happen, that would have made it so much worse.

“I appreciate that,” you say quietly.

Thire nodded again, then frowned slightly. “You don’t have to be here today, you know. If you need time, I can cover for you.” 

Your first instinct was to brush it off, to say you were fine. But the truth was, you weren’t. And right now, the thought of sitting at your station, pretending like everything was normal, felt unbearable.

“…I might take you up on that,” you admitted.

Thire nodded in understanding but hesitated for a moment before adding, “If you don’t want to stay home however, it might comfort you to know that Fox probably won’t be around the office today. I’m pretty sure he’s running a perimeter sweep in the lower levels with Thorn.”

You mulled over the options. If you stayed at work, you could at least put on a brave face—and knowing Fox wouldn’t be around eased some of the tightness in your chest. On the other hand, if you went home, you’d probably just curl up in bed, cry, and eat something deep-fried and regrettable.

“Okay,” you said, mustering some conviction. “I’ll stay for a bit. Just see how it goes.”

Thire’s face lit up with a smile, and he clapped you on the arm before leading the way out of the supply closet. You stuck close behind him as the door to the office slid open. Your eyes instinctively flicked to the back of the room, where Fox’s desk sat, empty, just as Thire had said. You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

Stone, spinning lazily in his chair, perked up at the sight of you both. “There you are! I thought I was gonna be all on my lonesome today.” He propped his feet up on the console with exaggerated relief.

“If you were, would you actually do any work?” you teased, walking past him and swiping his boots off the console with a quick flick of your hand.

He smirked, completely unashamed. “Probably not.”

Thire rolled his eyes, moving to his station as he muttered, “At least he’s honest.”

You sat down at your usual spot, shifting in your chair, trying to settle into the rhythm of things. But before you could fully drown yourself in work, Stone let out a dramatic groan.

“Kriff’s sake, Thire, did you seriously input the wrong data again ?”

Thire’s head snapped up. “What?”

“This!” Stone gestured aggressively at his screen. “This entire patrol schedule is wrong! The rotations are out of sync. Look, the timestamps are off.”

Thire scoffed, already pulling up his own display. “That’s not possible. I double-checked before submitting it.”

“Yeah? Then explain why we have got troopers patrolling two different levels at the same time when they’re supposed to be covering opposite ends of the facility?” Stone spun his chair toward Thire, arms crossed.

Thire frowned, squinting at his own screen. “That… doesn’t make any sense. I logged everything exactly as it was assigned.”

“Well, someone kriffed it up, and it wasn’t me.”

“It sure as the Maker wasn’t me!” Thire shot back, indignant.

“Oh? So it just magically changed itself, did it?”

“I’m saying maybe you messed with it and didn’t realise—”

“I never mess up reports,” Stone cut in dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like he was some kind of martyr. “Thorn tells me so.”

“That’s the biggest exaggeration I have heard.” Thire deadpanned.

You tried to suppress a laugh as they continued their pointless, but it was no use. 

And it was exactly what you needed.

For the first time that day, the weight in your chest lifted. “Okay, okay,” you interrupted, grinning as you shook your head at them both. “Which one of you actually wants to check the system logs instead of arguing like a bunch of shinies?”

Stone and Thire both turned to look at you, then at each other.

“…You do it,” they said at the same time.

You groaned, but there was a small smile on your lips as you pulled up the data. Maybe today wouldn’t be so unbearable after all.

⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

The system was a disaster. 

Patrols were scattered haphazardly, leaving critical areas completely unguarded, and nothing seemed to match up with the official assignments. Even Thire who could be forgetful truth be told, was never this careless. He definitely wouldn’t have made an error like this. None of the would have.

You had spent about an hour sorting through the mess, rerouting troopers, and sending Thire and Stone off on a mission to explain the changes to officers stationed across the facility.

The work was frustrating but effective in keeping your mind occupied. It kept your hands busy, your thoughts focused. For a while, you weren’t dwelling on him .

You were in the middle of cross-referencing the schedules when the office door hissed open. You barely registered it, too absorbed in your task until something warm and wet dragged across your cheek.

“ What the—?! ”

Before you could react, a heavy weight crashed into your lap, nearly knocking you out of your chair. A deep, rumbling growl—more like a pleased huff—filled your ears, followed by another enthusiastic swipe of a tongue across your face.

“Grizzer!” you cooed, with a laugh reaching up to give the beast a cuddle. He wriggled happily, tail thumping against the floor as he nuzzled into you.

“You spoil him,” Hound drawled, stepping up beside you with an amused chuckle. He reached down, wrapping a hand around Grizzer’s thick collar and gently pulling him off before the slobber completely drenched your uniform.

You smirked, wiping your cheek with your sleeve. “I am the only one who sneaks him treats.”

Hound rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and now every time we pass the supply closet, he thinks he’s getting a snack.” He gave Grizzer a pat before motioning for him to lie down.

As Hound straightened up, his gaze flickered toward your screen. “Have you noticed something’s been weird with the system?” he asked, arms crossing over his chest. “I noticed that some of the patrol patterns aren’t matching up with assigned sectors, and there are gaps where there shouldn’t be.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Yeah, we’ve been dealing with that mess all morning.” You tapped at your screen, pulling up a few of the more obvious errors. “Thire swears he submitted everything correctly, and honestly, I believe him. This isn’t just a mistake—it’s like someone has actually tampered with it.”

Hound’s brow furrowed, gaze darkening slightly. “You think it was intentional?”

You hesitated. You hadn’t wanted to go that far, but… “I don’t know. Maybe. It just doesn’t make sense.”

He was quiet for a moment, studying the data. Then, shifting his weight, he cleared his throat.

“So… uh.” His tone changed, noticeably more awkward. “How’s it going with that ‘Whisky’ guy?”

Your heart clenched.

For a split second, you didn’t move, staring blankly at the flickering lights of your console as reality came crashing back down. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your voice even.

“Oh that? Yeah, uh, it’s not going to work out,” you said finally, still avoiding his gaze.

Hound frowned, head tilting slightly. “Why?”

You didn’t want to say. You didn’t want to talk about it so you tried to play it off although there was a bitter truth behind your answer; “He… wasn’t who I thought he was,” you said simply, hoping that would be enough. “I’d rather just leave it at that.”

But Hound’s response wasn’t what you expected. He exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping for just a second—like he was bracing for something. And when he looked back up at you, there was something guilty in his expression.

A terrible, creeping feeling clawed its way into your chest.

Slowly, you turned to face him fully, pulse starting to race. Your mind drifts to him and Fox in the hangar. Angry, intense. When you questioned Hound about it he said it was about a patrol but now you think it’s something else entirely. And then, you remember the rumour about yourself and the Commander and how Hound was the one who first thought it…

Oh no.

Your mouth runs dry. “Hound,” you say, daringly quiet, “do you know something?”

Hound hesitated. Just for a second. But that was enough. The look on his face said everything.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He knew.

Hound had known .

You shot up from your chair so fast it scraped against the floor. Your hands curled into fists at your sides as a choked sound of frustration escaped you, your voice shaking with restrained anger. “You knew?”

Hound held his hands up in defense, already backpedaling. “I—listen—”

“You knew that ‘Whisky’ was Fox, and you didn’t tell me?”

“ I tried! ” he blurted. “I tried pressuring him into telling you the truth, but you know what he’s like—he wouldn’t listen to me!”

Your teeth clenched, fury twisting in your stomach. “So what, you just let me walk into it blind? Let me sit there, talking about him, falling for him while you just—”

“I didn’t want you to hear it from me!” Hound cut in, frustrated. “It wasn’t my place. But, I told him if he didn’t tell you soon that I would tell you.”

You turned away sharply, dragging a hand through your hair as you tried to breathe through the burning heat behind your eyes. Your chest felt tight, your thoughts a cyclone of anger, hurt, and betrayal.

Hound sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I know you’re upset. I get it. I should’ve done something else, but I thought if I pushed him hard enough, he’d tell you.” 

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. Your voice, when you finally spoke, was raw. “I can’t believe you.”

Hound didn’t argue. He didn’t try to make excuses or smooth it over. He just stood there, jaw clenched, shoulders squared like he was standing at attention, ready to take whatever you threw his way.

“So… he did tell you then? In the end?” 

You dragged your sleeve across your cheek to swipe away a stray tear, breathing out bitterly. “No. Thire and Pia did. Total accident.”

Hound’s brows shot up. “Thire knows?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. “Not at first. He caught us out together, dropped Fox’s name by mistake, and then Pia put the final nail in the coffin.”

You stared at the console, unable to meet Hound’s eyes. “It all just unraveled from there. A stupid accident.”

Hound’s heavy steps closed the distance as he gently placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I really thought Fox would step up and tell you.”

You let out a sharp, humourless laugh, your voice tight. “Yeah, well, you’d think the Commander of the Guard would have the guts to say the truth.”

Before the weight of the conversation could sink any deeper, the office door hissed open and in stomped Thire and Stone mid-argument.

You and Hound instantly stepped apart, both snapping back into something resembling professionalism. You smothered your emotions under a mask, hoping neither of them noticed how tense you were. If Thire had clocked anything, he didn’t show it.

Stone sighed dramatically, flopping into a chair like he’d been through battle. “I need a drink. Or a caf. Or five.” You watch in disbelief as he turned his big, pleading eyes toward you like you were his only hope. 

You raised an unimpressed brow, arms still crossed tightly over your chest. “Are you seriously giving me that look?”

Stone gave you his most pitiful expression. “I’ve been on my feet for hours.”

Your jaw dropped. “Me ? I’ve just been sat here for hours untangling the entire system while you’ve been off playing hide-and-seek with Thire!” You jabbed a finger toward your cluttered screen. “I saved your shebs.”

Stone clutched his chest like you had wounded him. “ Ouch. ” He turned to Thire as if seeking backup, but Thire just smirked and shook his head.

You pointed to the dusty old caf machine in the corner. “There. It’s unloved, but it still works.”

Stone scrunched his nose like you’d offered him poison. “That machine tastes like regret.”

“Exactly,” you deadpanned. “Go make your own ‘regret’.”

He pouted harder, and you finally sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine. Fine! I’ll go,” you muttered, grabbing your datapad and standing. “I could use a walk anyway.”

“You’re the best,” Stone grinned.

“Uh-huh,” you replied dryly, heading for the door. 

As you stepped out into the hallway, the quiet clatter of the office door sealing behind you, you let yourself breathe for the first time in what felt like hours. The office drama was one thing, but the storm in your chest about Fox and now Hound… that wasn’t going to be so easy to walk off.

Still, the fresh air of the hallway and the promise of a decent cup of caf were better than sitting in that office for another second. 

The corridors were quiet as you made your way toward the caf vendor tucked away in one of the facility’s less-trafficked wings. Your boots echoed faintly against the floor, the faint hum of overhead lights your only friend.

As you’re about to turn into a junction, something caught your eye.

A vent, about two meters up the wall, slammed shut.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your breath catching as you whipped your head toward it. The corridor was still, not a sound, but you were sure you saw it move.

Slowly, you stepped a little closer, peering up at it, but nothing stirred. No air, no voices, just the faint rattle of an old air unit kicking in somewhere deeper in the ducts.

You rubbed your eyes, feeling the lingering heaviness from last night. “Great,” you muttered under your breath, “still drunk.”

Shaking your head, you pushed the paranoia down and kept moving. You’d probably just imagined it. Stress, fatigue, and the emotional wreckage were jsut playing tricks on you. 

At the caf vendor, your attention went back to your little mission, punching in each order like you were disarming a bomb. One strong and black for Thire, caf with a triple shot and a splash of cream for Stone, plain and standard for Hound, and your usual sweeter blend.

As you made your way back, four very hot cafs carefully balanced on a tray, you passed the same hallway where the vent had - or as you imagined - slammed shut earlier. Instinctively, you slowed down, eyes flickering up to the wall.

The vent sat still. Silent.

You hesitated, listening carefully. Not even the hum of a servomotor. No scurrying sounds. Nothing.

“Just your imagination,” you told yourself, forcing your feet to keep moving.

Still, even as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the chill.

You pushed through the heavy silence of the hallway, cafs balanced carefully as you made your way back toward the office. But as the door hissed open, you froze in the threshold.

Your stomach sank like a anchor.

Fox stood there, voice sharp and echoing off the walls as he barked at Thire and Stone. His helmet tilted toward them, rage practically dripping from him. “I step away for one day, and the whole system goes to hell! How hard is it to follow protocol?”

But the words didn’t fully land in your mind. Your eyes were locked on him, dread curling in your stomach as the room seemed to close in around you. The first time seeing him since everything fell apart, and the sight of him stole the air right from your lungs. And not in a good way.

Thire caught your eye first, his expression crumbling into a look of guilt and apology. Clearly, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Clearly, Thire had been wrong about Fox being absent today.

You barely registered Stone throwing up his hands defensively or Hound standing stiff in the corner.

Fox didn’t notice you at first—until the end of his tirade, when his helmet turned and he spotted you standing there, frozen. He jolted slightly, visor locking on you in stunned silence.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as your hand trembled, the tray rattling slightly. Before you could get a grip, the whole thing slipped sideways. The cups tumbled and hot caf splashing onto one of the consoles and, worse, onto your hand.

A sharp, broken whimper escaped you as the boiling liquid burned your skin.

Hound moved fast, rushing toward you. His voice was somewhere distant, muffled like you were underwater.

But you couldn’t process it.

You were already backing out the door, breath caught in your throat, and then you were gone—running down the hallway.

The nearest refresher was barely around the corner. You stumbled inside and slammed the door behind you, collapsing against the sink. Sobs raked through your chest as you fumbled to get the tap on, hurriedly shoving your hand under the freezing stream of water.

The burn throbbed beneath the chill, but it was nothing compared to the ache inside you. 

You stared at your burned hand, your skin already red and irritated under the running water. But then your gaze dropped to your wrist—the bracelet. The one Fox had given you only yesterday, still fastened snugly like a cruel reminder.

Your chest tightened, rage boiling beneath your ribs. Without thinking, you yanked it off and you slammed it to the floor. Frustration choked you as you gasped, tears spilling faster now.

Then it came—the thumping.

Heavy and low at first, but it crept around you, up in the walls above and behind, like something alive was moving in the ducts. The sound made your breath hitch, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Stop it, stop it…” you whispered through gritted teeth, pressing your palms to your temples, convinced you were spiraling. “It’s just in your head. It’s just your head.”

But the thumping kept going, getting louder, vibrating through the durasteel panels. Then—suddenly—it cut out, vanishing like it had never been there at all.

Your blood felt like ice as you stared at the ceiling, waiting for it to return.

A sharp knock at the refresher door broke the silence, making you flinch. The noise from the walls stayed gone, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing.

You swallowed hard, blinking down at your trembling hands. Your mouth was bone-dry, your mind spinning. It had to be Hound, you had see him coming for you back in the office.

Before you could muster the words to answer, the door hissed open behind you.

“I don’t want to see anyone, Hound,” you mumbled, voice broken.

“How about myself?”

Your eyes snapped up to the mirror above the basin—and there he was. Fox. Standing just inside the door.

Your stomach twisted violently, blood roaring in your ears. “Get out,” your voice was low but shaking.

“We need to talk,” Fox said, calm but firm, stepping further inside.

You spun to face him fully, eyes burning. “Now’s not the best time, so just leave me alone!” Your words echoed in the small room, your breath coming in hard and fast.

Fox didn’t move. Instead, he stepped closer, standing right beside you as though the tension between you didn’t weigh down the air. His gloved hand reached out and quietly adjusted the tap, turning it from cold to lukewarm.

“It’s better this way for burns,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “You should head to the medbay.”

You clenched your jaw, staring daggers into the mirror. “Thanks for the advice,” you snapped, your voice sharper now. “Now go.”

Still, he didn’t budge. His reflection loomed beside yours, visor blank but heavy with everything he wasn’t saying. “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly but with that quiet, stubborn authority you’d heard so many times before—except now, it made your skin crawl.

You step back, just out of arm's reach. “Why? So you can lie to me some more?”

Fox’s shoulders squared as though your words physically hit him. “I never wanted to lie to you,” he replied, voice edged with guilt. “You think this has been easy for me?”

You laughed bitterly. “Oh, poor you.” You shook your head in disbelief. “You had a thousand chances to tell me the truth.”

“I know.” He sighs behind his helmet, “I should have told you sooner.”

“You think? ” you barked. “You let me make a fool of myself. I trusted you! I opened up to you and told you everything about me. I was honest and kind, thinking you were—” you bit down on the lump in your throat, voice trembling, “—thinking you were someone else.”

Fox stood frozen, stunned into silence, mouth parted like he had words to offer but couldn’t find any. 

You stared at the sink, focusing on the dripping tap as you tried to even out your breathing. Slowly, you straightened your shoulders, forcing yourself to face him again, eyes burning with determination.

“Take it off.”

His posture stiffened, head snapping up. “What?”

“Your helmet.” You nodded toward it, voice sharp but calm. “Take it off.”

Fox hesitated. You could see it in the slight twitch of his fingers. He wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone who wasn’t a General or the Senate, but the way you were looking at him—hurt, angry, betrayed… it cut through his pride.

He finally moved, his gloved hands lifting the helmet, hands barely steady as he removed it and tucked it under his arm. He didn’t look at you, eyes cast to the floor as if the weight of your pain was too much to face.

And as you stared at him, you realised you didn’t know why you asked. Maybe you were still desperately clinging to the hope that Thire and Pia had somehow been wrong, that this would reveal someone else, someone who just resembled Fox.

But there he was. A face you spent swooning over, eyes you had wiped away tears of laughter with, lips you almost…And now it looked so much heavier, pulled down by guilt.

“You can’t even look at me.”

Fox’s head lifted immediately, eyes meeting yours, his grip tightening on the helmet at his side. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.” Your voice cracked.

He flinched at that, eyes softening as if he were searching for words. “I know,” he breathed. “I know, I… I don’t know why I let it get this far. I kept telling myself I’d tell you the truth, but I just… got caught up.”

“I told you my own truths,” you said, voice rising. “I trusted you. I let you in. And you decided I didn’t deserve the same.”

“That’s not what I wanted—”

“You didn’t say a lot.” You cut him off sharply. Your throat was tight with tears threatening to fall. “Was it all just some test? To find out how I really felt about you so you had to come up with some stupid, fake alias to what? To fire me? Because if you never liked me all you had to do was just fire me from the get go.”

“I do like you,” he exasperates, “if i didn’t like you I wouldn’t have taken you to that meadow, I wouldn’t have-”

“Lied?” 

He stills and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t want to lie.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “But you did.” you repeat. “Was… was anything you said to me true? About your future, about how you…” your voice faltered, suddenly quieter, “...how you felt about me…”

Your eyes burned as you trailed off, remembering the first night he’d told you that you were beautiful. 

But Fox said nothing. Just stared at you with that same, helpless expression.

His silence stretched just a moment too long.

“Just go,” you breathed, voice thick. “Please.”

“No, wait-”

“I’m done talking, Commander.”

He blinks, and takes a small step closer. “Please call me Fox.”

“Why?” You cry, “I wasn’t able to before, what’s changed?”

Stars, he hated seeing you cry in front of him. More to the point that he was the reason for your tears. “Everything… and I don’t want to leave you like this. You’re hurt.”

“It’s just a burn.” You mutter, turning your gaze away. 

“I wasn’t referring to that.”

You sigh, angrily wiping away the tears you had let slip. “Sorry for crying.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.” He states.

“You do.” You swiftly retort. “And I’m waiting.”

He shifts in his spot, the brutalness of your words almost scary if not impressive. “I am sorry.”

You scoff. “You're apologising because I asked you to. Not because you wanted to.”

“Wha-?”

“You can leave now.” Your voice was firm, unwavering, even as your fingers trembled slightly against your injured hand. You turned away from him, nursing the burn as though it was the only wound that mattered. “Also, I’m going to put in for a transfer.”

Fox stepped forward again, close enough that his breath stirred against the nape of your neck. “Don’t do that.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, switching off the water. “Do you even realise the position you’ve put me in, Commander?” His title dripped from your tongue like poison as you lifted your gaze to the mirror, meeting his reflection instead of facing him directly. “I can’t even stand to be in the same room as you. I can’t work for you.”

Fox already looked like a man who had been gutted and left to bleed out, but at your words, he flinched, swallowing thickly. “You won’t even know I’m there. I’m too busy dealing with Rik Walder—he’s still loose, and if I hadn’t been so distracted, maybe he never would have—”

Your slow, deliberate turn toward him cut his words dead in his throat.

His mouth snapped shut, the realisation hitting him. Now he had finally said too much rather than too little.

Fox cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably, guilt rolling off of him in waves. “Not that… that was your fault, of course.”

“ Out. ” Your voice was cold, final.

He exhaled, defeated, lifting his helmet and sliding it back into place. You watched as his shame disappeared behind the familiar T-shaped visor, the last traces of vulnerability sealed away. He turned for the door, but something on the floor caught his eye.

Fox bent down, retrieving the small, discarded object, and when he rose, he turned to you once more. “I gave you this.”

You barely spared a glance at the bracelet dangling from his fingers, but the sight of it still sent a sharp pang through your chest. For the briefest moment, guilt gnawed at the edges of your anger. But then you remembered.

Who he said he was.
Who he said he wasn’t.

Your lips pressed into a thin line before you met his gaze through his visor. “I’m sure you’ve given plenty of these to other women you’ve tricked.”

Fox inhaled sharply. He took a step closer, voice low, almost pleading as he said your name. “There was never anyone else.” His fingers curled around the bracelet, gripping it like a lifeline. “It was always you.”

Your breath hitched, throat tightening. But, you shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “Somehow… that doesn’t sound as nice as you think it does.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy, suffocating.

Fox glanced down at the bracelet in his palm, then back at you. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. “Please… keep it.”

You hesitated. Just for a moment. But then, you shook your head. “I can’t.”

His shoulders sagged, the last bit of fight leaving him. He nodded once, accepting the loss. "Get your hand checked, please."

Then without another word, Fox turned and left, his footsteps heavy as the refresher door hissed shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, your breath hitched violently, a choked sob tearing its way free. Your good hand clamped over your mouth, shoulders trembling as tears burned their way down your cheeks.

Meanwhile, Fox strode back toward the office, back straight, shoulders squared, as though he could will himself to be unaffected. The bracelet, now a cruel reminder of everything lost, was silently tucked into one of the pouches on his belt.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, hidden behind the cold, unfeeling mask of his helmet. 

"I was still me."

Chapter 10: Part Ten - Seeing Double

Summary:

When work is getting too much, you go to 79's to try blow off some steam. But, you find yourself living bitter memories and jealousy emerges.

Notes:

didn't really like this ngl but i had to get something out. enjoy and pls ignore spelling errors lol x

 

warnings: safe for work, flirting, angst, jealousy, work stress, fox is trying his best xo

The following week was exhausting.

Somehow—Force knows how—Thire and Hound had convinced you to stay.

It had taken hours of back-and-forth, of them wearing you down with reassurances and well-meaning arguments, but in the end, you let them win. Stone, however, remained blissfully unaware of the whole ordeal. Not for lack of trying, though. You’d bet a million credits that he had been pestering Thire and Hound at least a dozen times, demanding to know what was going on.

But, just as Fox had promised, he was too preoccupied with Coruscant’s safety to linger in the office. Not only was Rik Walder still at large, but riots and fires had been breaking out in the lower sectors of Coruscant so his work pile had doubled.

 His absence was a double-edged lightsaber. You saw very little of him, only ever catching traces of his presence in the form of an empty caf cup pile steadily accumulating on his desk. Yet somehow, even without seeing him, the weight of everything still lingered.

At least Pia had been keeping you distracted. She messaged every night, checking in, filling the empty space with something lighter. It helped. And with Fox nowhere in sight, the ache in your chest had started to dull.

Unfortunately, the ache in your head was another story.

The systems were a disaster. What you had  initially assumed was a one-time mishap with reports and patrol logs had spiraled into an ongoing nightmare. 

Errors crept in like clockwork, reports misfiled, schedules jumbled. No one could even work out how it was happening. Technicians were brought in, sifting through the logs for signs of hacking and slicing but nothing. Nada. 

Everything was now even triple-checked before uploads, and yet, somehow, the mistakes kept slipping through. And Thorn -bless his soul-  was barely holding it together.

He loomed over everyone’s desks like a vulture, giving reminders, breathing down necks. You liked Thorn as a Commander well enough, but if you heard “make sure it’s secure again” one more time, you might throw yourself out the window.

But at least now it was your lunch break. And you could get some peace and quiet. Almost.

“Plans for tonight?” You looked up from your tray in the cafeteria, spoon hovering mid-air, to see Hound and Stone standing in front of you.

“Sleep,” you muttered, eyeing the unrecognisable grey slop on your spoon. “Why?”

“We’re going to 79’s.” Stone rolled his eyes. “I need a break from all these kriffing error checks.”

Your stomach twisted. 79’s.   “I don’t know…” You trailed off, letting the spoonful of slop fall back onto your tray with an unceremonious splat.

Hound shot you a knowing look, knowing full well why you didn’t want to go. But Stone, still in the dark, pressed on. “Come on,” he coaxed, grinning. “It’ll be fun. Thire’s going too, though let’s be honest, he’s only going to see your friend.” He waggled his brows.

Your ears perked up. “Pia’s working tonight?” Now that had your interest. 

It had been over a week since you last saw her, and the last time you had, you were ugly crying into her arms while devouring an obscene amount of sweet treats. You needed a new memory that was less embarrassing.

You also wanted to know if the two of them ended up on a date, too.

Hound gave you a small nudge of encouragement. “What do ya say? You need a break. Just a few drinks, some bad music, and—” he smirked, “—watching Thire completely lose his cool over Pia.”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed. “I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t have to drink,” he added quickly. “Or stay long. But you do need to get out of this place before Thorn gives himself an aneurysm.”

Stone grinned. “You’re coming. I can see it in your face.”

You rolled your eyes, but the thought of a change of scenery and even of normalcy, even for a night was becoming harder to resist. You didn’t want to keep avoiding places just because he had been there. You weren’t about to let Fox ruin 79’s for you.

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll go.”

Stone clapped his hands together. “Good. Now you’re making smart choices.”

Hound shot you another look, quieter this time almost as if he was checking in, making sure you were really okay with this. You gave him a small nod. You’d be fine. One night wouldn’t hurt.

Right? 

“Oh, and since you’re here—" You barely had time to react before Stone pulled a handful of data pucks from his belt, holding them out like an afterthought. "Can you drop these off with Officer Sinja? The new one?"

Before you could protest, he unceremoniously dumped them onto your tray—right on top of the unappetising slop—then bolted, Hound trailing behind him with a barely concealed grin.

Unbelievable .

Then again, running an errand was still preferable to forcing down whatever questionable meal the kitchen had concocted today. With a resigned sigh, you picked up the data pucks, abandoning your tray altogether.

At least it gave you something to do. Something that didn’t involve system errors, Thorn breathing down your neck, or—

No. You weren’t going to think about him .

Tucking the pucks securely into your belt pouch, you made your way through the corridors, weaving past troopers and officers alike. The station was as busy as ever, filled with the usual hum of voices, boots against durasteel, and the occasional curse from a frustrated officer and new prisoners being escorted to the cells in the lower levels.

It was all fine. Normal.

Until you passed that same vent.

It was shut . But you could have sworn that just for a second, you had seen it shift. Like it had just barely snapped back into place after being moved.

You swallowed, glancing around. The corridor was empty now. Too empty.

You're imagining things. You had to be. Between the stress, the lack of sleep, and the mess of emotions still tangled inside you, it was no surprise your mind was playing tricks. If anything was in the vents after all, it would have been set off in the security alerts. 

With a tense inhale, you forced yourself to keep walking, quickening your pace. Maybe getting out tonight really was a good idea.

It isn’t long until you realised you had another problem on your hands that wasn’t  the data pucks. The problem was that you had no idea who Officer Sinja actually was.

With a frown, you realised you’d left your datapad in the office, and the idea of trekking all the way back for it just to turn around again made you groan internally. But if your memory served you correctly, Sinja might’ve been that young officer you’d spoken to in the hangar once—back when you were looking for Whisky.

That was as good a place as any to start.

You reached the lift, hitting the button and waiting as the numbers flickered down. The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, selecting your floor. The red lights above blinked with each passing level, and you exhaled.

Then you noticed one light turn green. Someone else was about to join you.

You shuffled toward the side, hoping— praying —it wasn’t a horde of astromechs again. The last time that happened, you’d been wedged into the corner while seven droids piled in, then spent four hours trapped when the lift broke down.

With a small wince at the memory, you kept your gaze down as the doors opened, waiting for whoever was about to step in.

As the door opened, your gaze inadvertently travelled along the floor when you spoke a pair of white boots. And then as your gaze moved up, a deep red stripe along the knee plates.

Instantly, your head snapped up and your eyes lock onto the visor that was probably the last one you wanted to.

Your body stiffened, fingers curling at your sides. He froze, too, hovering at the threshold like he’d just walked into a battlefield unarmed. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then he shifted back a step. “I’ll get the next one.”

His voice was gruff, controlled. But he wasn’t looking at you. His helmet was tilted just slightly toward the floor, like if he didn’t see you, this wouldn’t be happening.

You weren’t sure why you did it. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and suddenly, your hand shot out, stopping the door from sealing. “N-no, it’s okay,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “There’s enough room.”

Fox hesitated. You swore you felt the weight of his stare even though you couldn’t see his eyes. He glanced between your hand and your face, as if trying to decode something—why you’d stopped him, why you would let him in.

Stiffly, he nodded and stepped inside.

The air in the lift grew heavy the second the doors slid shut.

He reached forward to press his floor button, and you clasped your hands behind your back, hoping he couldn’t see the way your fingers trembled.

The silence that settled between you was thick, stretched taut like a wire about to snap.

The lift hummed. A steady, low vibration beneath your feet.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “How’s your hand?”

The question startled you. You blinked, glancing at your palm—the one you’d burned on scalding caf last week.

“Fine,” you managed, though it came out too high-pitched, too breathy. You cleared your throat. “Uh, the medic put some kind of gel—or spray—on it. I don’t know. But yeah, it’s fine.”

Fox shifted on his feet, rocking slightly on his heels. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s good.”

You nodded, unsure what else to say.

The tension wasn’t budging. It was thick, suffocating, like the walls were about to close in like a trash compactor.

You sucked in a slow breath, then blurted out, “How’s, uh… life?”

Really? That was the best you could come up with?

Fox exhaled, the sound somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “Same old, same old.”

Except it wasn’t. You heard it in his voice—the weight of something unspoken.

Maybe small talk wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe if you could just talk to him, things would feel less… tangled. You risked a glance at him, but it only made your stomach tighten and heart sink.

“Any luck on that prisoner?”

This time, he did sigh, lifting a gloved hand to his helmet as if pinching the bridge of his nose beneath it. “No. Nothing yet.”

“Oh.” You shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you… worried?” He didn’t turn his head, but you caught the slight tilt of his helmet as he regarded you from the corner of his visor.

“Sure,” you admitted. “From his record, I don’t remember anything particularly pleasant. I just… hope you catch him.”

“Yeah,” Fox murmured. “Me too.”

Are we not there yet?

The silence stretched again.

“Haircut?”

This time you looked at him, raising a brow. “S-Sorry?”

“Your hair… looks different.”

Your hand moves to your hair as if it wasn’t you who had washed, brushed it and styled it this morning. “Uh, no.” You say almost sheepishly. “I’m just wearing it up today.”

“Oh, yeah. Obviously.” Fox swallows, looking away from you.

You inhaled slowly—then regretted it immediately.

He still smelled the same. That warm, familiar scent that clung to your memory, pulling you back to that night in the cab. To the way he’d drawn you close, arm slung over your shoulders, voice murmuring into your ear…

You swallowed hard.

“Any plans this evening?”

His voice snapped you back to the present, and you jolted. “Oh—uh. Yeah. Hound asked me to go to 79’s with him.”

Silence. A few seconds too long.

“He did?”

There was something odd in his tone. Strained.

You suddely realised how that might have sounded. “And Stone,” you clarified quickly. “They both invited me. Y-You could come too.”

Fox didn’t speak at first. Then, briskly, he nodded. “You deserve a break.” He settled.

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I guess. Though instead of actually taking a break, I’m running errands for Stone.”

Fox tilted his head—a familiar motion, one you now hated to admit looked adorable on him. “Why?”

You explained the data pucks, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you felt the eye-roll behind his visor. “Could he not do it himself?”

“Obviously not,” you muttered, sighing.

The lift still wasn’t there yet.

“Do you even know who Officer Sinja is?”

“Kind of.” You hesitated. “I think I met him in the hangar once.”

Fox let out a breath and nodded. “You did. That’s him.”

You resisted the urge to shift again. You remembered that conversation now. Sinja had been smooth-talking, arrogant in a way that could be charming or insufferable depending on the day. And you remembered something else, too:

Fox had been watching.

The lift finally dinged.

The doors hissed open, revealing your destination and Fox stepped aside giving you room to pass.

But for a moment, you didn’t move.

And you weren’t sure why.

The air felt different now. The weight of his presence behind you pressed against your skin, a silent question hovering in the air between you both.

Then, just as the door started to close, Fox stopped it with his foot.

His voice was quiet when he asked, “Is this where you want to be?”

The question wasn’t just about the floor. It wasn’t just about the lift.

It was about him .

Was this where you wanted to be? Standing on the edge of something unresolved, pretending it didn’t hurt?

Your breath hitched. Then, softly, you nodded.

“Yes.”

And you stepped out.

You walked ahead, not looking back but you felt his stare on you and you will yourself not to look back. 

Although, you find yourself really wanting to.

 

 

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

 

Getting ready for 79’s took longer than it should have.

You stood in front of your closet, arms crossed, debating over what to wear like it actually mattered. It didn’t, really. It was just a night out; a distraction. But something in your gut told you to put in the effort.

Your fingers skimmed over the fabric hanging before you, pausing when they brushed against something familiar. Soft material, deep red.

The dress. 

You pulled it from the rack, letting it drape over your hands, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. It was the one you’d worn that night. The night with him . The one that never really got to happen.

A sigh escaped you as you ran a hand through your hair. You should have let Pia keep it when you left it at hers. Stars, maybe you should’ve burned it. But… you hadn’t.

And you weren’t sure what that said about you.

“Whatever,” you muttered, shoving it back and reaching for something else.

A top you hadn’t worn in a while. A skirt that felt a little daring (in your eyes, at least). Heels that deserved a night out, even if they’d make you regret it in the morning.

It wasn’t for anyone in particular. Just for you . That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

79’s was alive with its usual chaotic energy by the time you arrived.

Music thumped through the walls, a steady bassline that vibrated under your feet. The scent of cheap alcohol and something fried lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and polished plastoid. Conversations overlapped, voices rising and falling, troopers crowded around tables, shouting over drinks, some even dancing, playing hologames. or just simply blowing off steam after another long shift.

You moved through the bodies, sidestepping a trooper who nearly sloshed his drink on you, and made your way to the bar. Settling onto a stool, you scanned for a familiar face. It didn’t take long as Pia was in the thick of it, handling a rush of orders.

When your eyes met, she practically lit up, waving so energetically you thought she might knock over the bottle she was reaching for. Instead, she managed to steady it at the last second, shooting you a quick ‘one sec’ before turning back to pour a round of shots.

“A beauty, isn’t she?” You turned to see Thire settling into the stool beside you, his eyes fixed on Pia with such open admiration it was almost laughable.

You grinned. “Always has been.”

Thire exhaled, like he was trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly. “We went out last night.”

“Oh?” You leaned in, thoroughly enjoying his smug expression. “And?”

He smirked, slow and self-satisfied. “It went great .”

Before you could pry for details, Pia finally made her way over, all confidence as she purred, “Hey, hot stuff.”

Thire barely suppressed a grin, straightening. “Hey, you—”

“I was talking to her,” Pia cut in smoothly, glancing your way with a mischievous smirk.

You snorted into your drink, and Thire’s face immediately fell, mouth snapping shut.

Pia, delighted with herself, laughed before leaning over the bar and pressing a kiss to Thire’s cheek. Just like that, his mood rebounded, his smirk returning in full force.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, clearly savouring the moment.

You rolled your eyes. “You two are cute. I hate it.”

Pia winked as she reached for a glass. “You love it.

She slid a drink across the bar toward you with a flourish. “On the house.”

You frowned. “Pia—”

“Nope.” She folded her arms. “As long as I’m working here, you don’t owe me a single credit.”

You sighed, eyeing the drink, then her. “Fine. But I’m buying you food later.”

She considered this, then gave a slow nod. “I’ll allow it.”

Shaking your head, you turned your attention back to Thire. “Stone and Hound here yet?”

Thire rolled his eyes. “They’re outside. One of the new shinies from the 212th had one too many shots and thought he could go round-for-round with a Corrie.”

You snorted. “Let me guess, thought he could hold his liquor?”

Thire smirked. “Poor bastard didn’t even make it past the third shot.”

The three of you fell into easy conversation, drinks flowing. Pia and Thire were perfect for each other, bounced off each other and you had to try and suppress a jealous feeling in your stomach.

Eventually, Thire finished off his drink and stood with a stretch. “Gonna go check in on the lads.”

Before he could step away, Pia grabbed his hand, tugging him back just enough to steal a quick kiss. “Don’t start any fights.”

Thire grins down at her. “No promises.” She swatted his arm, laughing as he disappeared into the crowd.

Alone now, Pia wiped down the bar as the onslaught of clones dwindled before leaning forward against the counter. There was a look on her face, hesitant but knowing, and you could already guess where this was going.

“You can ask if you want,” you muttered, swirling the ice in your glass.

Pia sighed. “How’s the thing with you and Fox?”

You exhaled slowly, staring into your drink. “There is no ‘ thing’ to begin with. I just… feel weird whenever I’m near him.”

Pia arched a brow. “Weird how?”

You hesitated, then told her about the lift; the tension, the awkward small talk, the way Fox had hesitated before stepping inside and how you let him in in the first place. How, for a brief moment, you’d both just stood there when the doors opened, neither of you moving.

Pia, for once, was quiet. You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t hate me because I know how much this upset you… but do you think it’s worth possibly exploring something with him? As Fox?”

You stared at Pia, almost disgusted at the thought. “He lied to me, Pia”

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I know, I know. And I’m not saying what he did was right, because it wasn’t. But—”

“Oh, there’s a but now?” You huffed, crossing your arms.

Pia gave you a look, the kind that said don’t be difficult , but she pressed on anyway. “We know he didn’t do it to mess with you. He didn’t do it to get you fired. Or humiliate you. Or as some kind of stupid prank.” She shook her head, watching you closely. “He did it all on his own. No one put him up to it.”

You scoffed, looking away and back down at your drink. “Right. And that makes it better ?”

“I just think…” Pia hesitated, then continued carefully, “Maybe he really liked you.”

The words twisted something in your chest, but you forced a bitter laugh. “Doubt it.”

Your mind went back to that night in the refresher—the way you had cornered him, raw and desperate for the truth, asking if any of it had meant something, if anything he said was true. But he had just stood there. Silent. No answer. No confirmation. Not even a single damn word to give you peace of mind.

Pia studied you, but she must have seen the storm in your expression because she softened. “You should talk to him.”

You tensed. “No.”

“Just hear him out.”

“No.”

She groaned, throwing her hands up. “Oh, for kriff’s sake, will you just —”

“What ? ” You snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the bar. “Let you and Thire push me into talking to him? Try and set us up again like you’re some kind of miracle workers? Just because your love life is suddenly peachy doesn’t mean I should forgive someone who deceived me and embarrassed me!”

Pia’s expression flickered with hurt and frustration. Then, with a shake of her head, she muttered, “I need to serve someone on the other side of the bar,” and walked away.

The moment she was gone, guilt sank its teeth into you.

You knew she only meant well. She always did. But she didn’t know what it felt like to build a connection with someone, to feel that pull toward them, only to find out it had all been a lie .

Nobody did.

You huffed, rubbing your temples and slouching forward on the bar. Everything inside you felt messy and tangled.

You felt sorry for yourself, sure, but you felt even worse for Pia. Her usual spark, that infectious joy that lit up every corner of a room, was gone. She moved mechanically behind the bar now, polite but muted, handing drinks over with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Your gaze drifted across the room, zeroing in on the empty stool near the far end of the bar. That stool. The one Fox had sat at the first night you met ‘Whisky’. You stared at it like it might conjure him if you focused hard enough—but it didn’t. It just sat there. Vacant. And the longer you stared at it, the more your gut twisted with confusion.

Would you ignore him if he were there now? Would you walk up and demand answers? Or would you crumble under the weight of everything you still felt, despite how badly you wanted to be over it? Over him?

Frustrated, you let your head fall into your hands with a groan.

“Can I refill your drink?”

The voice came from behind, a little too smooth to be accidental. You blinked, lifting your head and glancing over your shoulder.

A clone stood there—handsome, of course. They always were. But this one was clearly a shiny. Stark white armour, no markings, no scuffs. Practically fresh out the vat. He gave you a charming smile, the kind that probably worked on half the people in here already tonight.

You lifted your glass, giving it a tiny shake before setting it back down. “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

He moved to your side, still keeping a respectful distance, like he’d been trained well in the art of not being pushy. “No worries. Just saw you sitting here. Looked like you needed a bit of a pick-me-up.”

You snorted softly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well,” he said with a playful shrug, “you’ve got that look.”

You arched a brow. “What look?”

He grinned. “The ‘I need someone to come over and distract me from whatever is eating me alive’ look.”

You let out a laugh “You might be onto something.”

He leaned a little closer, his tone lighter. “So… how about a dance? Just one. You look like you could use a little movement therapy.”

You hesitated, glancing down at your half-finished drink, then back toward the empty stool across the bar. The music was loud, the bass thrumming through your chest, and the lingering buzz from your drink made everything just a little warmer, a little fuzzier around the edges.

Screw it. What’s one dance?

“Okay,” you said, pointing a mock-stern finger at him. “But no funny business.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, miming the gesture with a grin.

You let him lead you to the center of the dance floor, bodies pulsing and swaying around you in time with the beat. The music was thunderous, the lights casting bright flashes across the room, and for once, you let yourself lean into it.

The liquid courage you had been served by Pia made your moves smooth, fluid even. As for the Clone, he danced like he knew exactly where the line was and kept it friendly, playful, respectful.

It was exactly what you needed. A distraction. A little freedom.

The clone spun you smoothly with a boyish grin, and as the beat picked up again, he leaned closer and asked with a playful lift of his brow, “Another?”

You hesitated for a breath, eyeing his outstretched hand. He looked so eager, so harmless in his own cheeky little way—and truthfully, the night had already gone off the rails emotionally. What was a little more harmless chaos?

“Screw it,” you muttered and took his hand.

He beamed and pulled you right back into the rhythm, both of you swaying to the beat. This time, though, he dared a little more—his hand found your waist, featherlight at first, just testing. Waiting for the pushback.

You didn’t give it.

His confidence kicked in. The grip on your hip firmed just a little, and his other hand stayed loosely linked with yours as he guided you through the crowd. His voice was warm and easygoing as he leaned in. “You dance pretty well for someone who looked like she was about to cry into her drink.”

You shot him a glare. “Wow. You always this smooth?”

“Only when it’s working.” His grin widened.

“You trying to pick me up, shiny?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

You snorted, tilting your head with faux-seriousness. “A little. But I’m still undecided.”

“Good. I like a challenge.” He winked.

The conversation was easy and natural. His flirting was cheeky enough to be fun without being suffocating. You were actually enjoying yourself—laughing even—as you both leaned in close to hear each other over the pounding bass, your bodies swaying in tandem.

And then you saw him.

Over the clone’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of red armor moving past the crowd. Fox. 

Just off to the side of the bar, leaning against it with his usual practiced stillness, arm braced as he reached for a drink offered by one of the droids. Pia was nowhere near him—and of course she wasn’t. You knew she wouldn’t serve him.

But your body froze.

The clone you were with was still talking but his words came through like static.

Because then she appeared.

A woman. Striking. Stunning.

She stepped up beside Fox with all the familiarity of someone who knew him well. You watch as her hand lands lightly on his forearm, leaning in to speak.

Your stomach twisted.

That sick, lurching ache started in your chest and crawled down your spine. It was a feeling you knew all too well—the same hollow punch you’d felt when you caught your ex sneaking around behind your back. 

Except this wasn’t your ex. And he wasn’t yours.

“I’m Whisky, by the way.”

The voice snapped you back like a slap. You blinked, suddenly aware of the clone’s hand still on your waist, his face inches from yours, smiling.

“What?” 

He tilted his head, confused by your expression. “My name,” he said, still smiling. “Whisky, ma’am.”

Your world spun.

You simply stare at the clone. Your voice had vanished, like your brain refused to make sense of what he’d just said.

“Is that a joke?” you manage, the words flat and shaky.

He shifts, confused. “Ma’am?”

Completely unaware of the war now erupting inside your head, he blinks at your sudden switch in emotion as you pull away from his touch.

“Did I say something wrong—?”

“I have to go,” you rasp, voice barely holding together. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t wait for his response. Couldn’t. You turned and pushed through the crowd, shoulder brushing shoulders, limbs catching on others mid-dance. The music was suddenly thunderous, pounding through your chest like your heartbeat was syncing with the bass. Lights flashed, voices shouted, laughter echoed—but it all blurred into a wash of noise that had now swallowed you whole.

You felt like the walls were closing in. Your breath came short. Too many bodies. Too many faces. Too much everything.

You finally broke through the crush at the exit and staggered into the cold night. A gust of chilled air slammed into your lungs, and you gasped like someone who had been drowning.

Your hands trembled as you leaned against the nearest post near the cab bay, chest heaving like you’d just run a marathon. But it wasn’t exertion and it wasn’t the alcohol.

It was the cruel, gut-punch realisation of how fate had twisted the knife.

What were the odds?

Falling for a man who lied and called himself Whisky —only to later dance with the real one . A clone who was bright, kind, flirtatious… and had done absolutely nothing wrong except exist.

You let out a bitter laugh that barely made it past your lips. What’s joke.

But then your mind cruelly drifted to him again. Fox.

The flash of red armour, the drink in hand. The woman beside him. Her fingers brushing his forearm. 

Pia’s voice echoed in your head, maddening and far too well-timed. "Maybe he really liked you."

You let out a breathless, humourless huff. “Yeah. Joke’s on me.”

“You alright?”

You flinched, spinning so fast on your heel you nearly toppled over. Luckily you were caught by a hand on your shoulder that belonged to Hound.

He steadied you with ease, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in your sickly expression, watery eyes, and unsteady stance.

“Too much to drink, eh?”

You tried to speak. Tried to wave it off, make a joke, anything . But nothing came.

Then he saw it, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Wait, hey,” he said, voice dropping in concern. “Are you alright?”

You broke.

The emotion hit you like a crashing wave as you stumbled forward and sobbed into your hands, chest heaving under the weight of it all. “I feel so stupid , Hound,” you choked, the tears falling now, unrelenting, hot against your cheeks. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I feel so… so…”

But the words failed you. Because how could you even begin to explain it? The betrayal, the confusion, the jealousy, the aching longing for something that might never have been real in the first place?

Hound didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to offer clumsy comfort or tell you that everything would be okay. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you

One strong arm crossed your back, the other settling gently at your shoulder as he pulled you into his chest without hesitation. You collapsed into him, clinging to the warmth and stability he offered like it might keep you from falling apart entirely. His hand moved slowly in comforting circles across your back

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that, locked in a silent embrace under the hazy streetlight glow outside 79’s. But eventually, the storm inside you dulled just enough for you to pull away, still sniffling as you swiped your cheeks with trembling fingers.

You exhaled, shaky and uneven, and looked up into the night sky in a vain attempt to keep any more tears from spilling. “Sorry, Hound.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said simply, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t like seeing you like this. None of us do.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it past your lips. “I don’t think Fox would care.”

But Hound just shook his head slowly, lips pursing in quiet disagreement. “He definitely would.”

You let out a bitter, disbelieving scoff—but nausea coiled in your stomach at the memory of Fox at the bar. The look on his face. The way the woman touched his arm. That stupid, stupid beautiful woman.

“I’d like to believe that,” you said hollowly, “but if he told me? I wouldn’t believe him.”

Hound didn’t push. He only nodded solemnly and raised a hand to signal a cab. “Get some rest, this thing you’re going through will pass.”

When one pulled up, you stepped toward it, but not before snapping a little too sharply: “I’m not going through anything.”

The silence that followed stung.

You closed your eyes, hating how your voice had cracked, how petty it sounded—even to you. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Hound said gently.

The cab hissed open, and just as you stepped forward, he pulled out a handful of credits and handed them to the driver before you could protest. You gave him a small, wordless nod and climbed in. 

As the cab pulled away, taking you from a rather terrible evening.

As Hound turned, ready to rejoin Thire and Stone, he stills as he came face to face with Fox.

The commander was standing rigid, eyes locked on the departing cab, his jaw tense and unreadable. A heavy silence settled between them before Fox stepped forward, his tone sharp and bitter.

“That looked cosy.”

Ah. There it was.

Jealousy.

Hound’s face remained calm, but his mouth tightened ever so slightly. “Probably looked the same way you and that civvie looked. You know, the woman at the bar. Same one you were with in the same spot you first talked to her.”

Fox’s face twisted in frustration, already shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. She was just thanking me. I pulled her out of that apartment fire in Sector Eight the other night.”

Hound raised a brow. “I believe you. She didn’t.”

Fox’s fists clenched tighter as he gave the ground a frustrated kick, scuffing his boot against the duracrete with a low growl that sounded far more dramatic than he intended. “How the kriff am I making things worse when I’m not even with her?”

Hound leaned lazily against the railing beside him, arms folded, watching traffic streak past on the levels below. “I thought you said you talked to her today?”

Fox groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I tried. I think I said something about her hair.”

There was a pause. “…Her hair ?” Hound’s lips twitched, and Fox didn’t have to look to know he was holding back laughter.

“I panicked, alright?” Fox muttered. “It looked nice and I forgot how to be a person. My brain turned into soup.”

Hound finally let out a low chuckle, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

Fox glared at him but didn’t deny it. 

“I just—” he exhaled hard. “Is there even a point anymore? She was dancing with some shiny tonight, probably moved on. And then there was you ,” he added with a bitter edge, side-eyeing Hound. “She had her arms all over you.”

Hound didn’t even flinch. He just slapped Fox on the back of the head.

“ Ow. ”

“She was crying,” Hound said flatly. “She is not into me, she was just upset. And like I told you, she saw you with that civvie at the bar and her whole face changed. She looked like someone punched her in the gut.”

Fox instantly panicked when he heard you was crying, worried that you had been hurt Fox blinked. “Wait… you think she was jealous ?”

“Yeah,” Hound said, nodding. “I do. And you know what that means.”

“That she wants to feed me to a rancor?” Fox guessed.

“That she still cares , idiot.”

Fox went quiet, staring down at the passing speeders below. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thoughts tripping over each other. She cares. She was jealous. She danced with someone else but still cried about me. Okay. That’s good. Terrible. Confusing. But good. Kinda.

“…She’s still pissed at me, though.”

“Oh, that’s a given,” Hound said, clapping him on the back again. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Means she still gives a care. And before you ask, no, I am not speaking to her on your behalf.”

Fox sighed, leaning on the railing beside him. “So what do I do?”

Hound raised a brow. “Figure out what you want to say. Then actually say it before you combust.”

Fox nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in determination. “Okay,” he muttered, “but just to be clear… I’m never mentioning her hair again.”

Chapter 11: Part Eleven - No Going Back

Summary:

A strange run-in with Stone seems to settle some nerves and an accidental confession leaves Fox aching for more.

Notes:

sorry for the waitttt, bit of another angsty one but trust in me that there will be a happy ending xox

“I wish you’d cheer up.”

You blink, jerked from your thoughts. “Huh?”

Stone huffed. “See? You’re not even paying attention.”

You were half a step behind him as you both made your way down the corridor, arms full of reports you were delivering for some dull errand. Stone had been chatting nonstop. Something about Thorn, cafeteria food conspiracies, and maybe something involving an ill-fated training drill—but the words had just buzzed around your ears like background noise. You hadn’t heard a single thing. Your brain had been… elsewhere.

“Sorry,” you muttered, nudging his arm with your elbow. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

Stone gave you a long look, one brow slowly arching. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head—and then, of course, the sheepish smile followed.

“What?” you asked, suspicious.

“That ‘lot’ on your mind wouldn’t happen to be a 6 foot tall something, wears red, commands a battalion and acts allergic to feelings, would it?”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes narrowing. “No.”

He smirked like he’d won a lifetime supply of rations. “Sure. And I didn’t overhear you and Thire talking the other day.”

You groaned and covered your face with one hand. “About what, exactly?”

Stone made a vague gesture. “Y’know. You and Commander Doom ‘n Gloom’ .”

“Something did happen,” you admitted through gritted teeth, although you wish more of the guys would stop catching wind about it. “But I’m not going into it, so wipe that stupid grin off your face and let’s just drop it.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, raising both hands in surrender, but his grin didn’t budge. “Just saying. I think you two would actually make a good pair.”

“Stone.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Stone.”

“You’ve got that whole ‘irresistible tension’ thing going on. Very holodrama.”

You threw your head back and groaned as you resumed walking. “Kriff’s sake…”

But even as you tried to laugh it off, your chest still ached from your recent run-in with Fox.

The memory of it stung. Badly. It was the day after 79’s, a few days ago now, and he’d cornered you in a hallway, posture stiff, voice tense even through the filter of his helmet.

“The woman at the bar,” he’d said abruptly. “She was just a civvie. Thanking me. That’s all.”

You’d tried to keep your voice neutral, indifferent. “It’s none of my business, anyway.” 

“But Hound said you—” he hesitated. “He said you were crying.”

You cursed Hound’s name internally.

You looked at Fox, bitterness pressing against your ribs. “Maybe I was. Maybe I had a right to be.”

His posture had wavered for a split second, and then he’d leaned in, voice low. “Can we talk? Just… privately. Please.”

Stars, how you wanted to say yes. But it was the part of you that still ached that answered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Commander.”

“Fox,” he corrected quietly.

You swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go through this again.”

“I didn’t handle things right,” he said. “But if I could just—”

“You had plenty of time to explain,” you cut in, barely above a whisper.

He looked like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t. He just deflated a little, shoulders sagging.

“…Is this your final decision?”

You hadn’t answered. Couldn’t. You’d just looked away, whispered something about getting back to work, and left him standing there.

And now, days later, the conversation was still looping in your head like a broken holotape.

You and Stone finally reached the destination for your delivery. It was a quiet, empty records office and you had to refrain from grimacing because it smelt bad. Like, really bad.

“Huh,” you then murmured, scanning the room. “Wasn’t someone supposed to meet us here to sign off?”

Stone shrugged, already leaning against the nearest desk and lazily inspecting his blaster. “Maybe they forgot. Or maybe I’m too intimidating.”

You raised a brow. “You got chewed out yesterday for not cleaning your weapon properly.”

He huffed. “I’m working on it. ” He waves his blaster in his hand at you.

You rolled your eyes and dropped the reports onto the desk, glancing uneasily at the vents above. The hair on the back of your neck prickled. “I don’t like just leaving these out here. It feels… off.”

Stone waved it off. “Relax. I do this kind of thing all the time. Besides, what’s gonna happen? A paperwork bandit crawls out of the air ducts and steals the mission reports?”

As if summoned, a loud clang echoed above your heads.

Both of you froze.

“…Okay. If that’s the bandit, I take it back,” Stone said, already on his feet, blaster drawn.

“You heard that too?” you asked, stepping back.

“Affirmative. Get behind me.”

You did as he said, heart racing as Stone climbed onto a nearby crate to reach the vent. He glanced at you, holding up a hand for you to stay where you were, then opened the latch and flicked on his torch.

There was a long, tense moment as he leaned in.

“Stone?” you whispered. No answer.

Then—

PEW!

You flinched at the sharp sound of a stun blast. “Wh-What was it?!”

Stone didn’t respond at first. He shifted forward, grunting as he dragged something towards him. Then he jumped down and turned toward you, holding it by the legs like a wriggly, ugly prize.

You blinked. “Is that a… hawk-bat?”

He nodded. “Looks like a baby one. Underfed, too.”

You stepped closer, frowning. That’s what I’ve been hearing? That thing’s been crawling around the walls?

He held it out, watching it sway in its stunned state. “You wanna keep it? Call it something cute, like Gremlin?”

You chuckled. “I think Fox would be a better name.”

Stone returns the laugh, smirking. “Definitely looks like him too, he's been a mess lately.” And for some reason, that didn’t make you laugh like perhaps he thought it would. 

“Is he?”

Stone nods. “Sure. Not sleeping, drinking an unhealthy amount of caf - worse than usual. That prisoner's disappearance has really done a number on him.” Stone says almost casually, lifting the creatures leathery like wings to take a look and then he looks at you. “And I suppose if you have broken his heart then add that to the list, too.”

“I haven’t broken his heart,” you roll your eyes but still frown at everything else, “we should take this somewhere, set it free once we know it’s healthy.”

Stone nods in agreement, saying that he knew where to take it.

So the two of you leave the office, hawk-bat in hand. But still, your eyes drifted back to the vents above. Something still didn’t sit right. And not just about hawk-bats. 

 

⋅⋅ ───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

You and Stone were halfway back to your main station, still carrying the stunned hawk-bat when something made you slow down. Your eyes drifted across the corridor where you see tucked just out of plain sight, Fox and Thorn. Thorn’s arms were moving a lot, sharp gestures like he was making a point, while Fox stood still, head tipped forward slightly like the weight of it all was finally pressing down on him.

Stone noticed too. “That’s a serious-looking powwow.”

You didn’t answer. You were too focused on how different Fox looked. Slumped shoulders. Arms folded tight across his chest. Even from a distance, he looked worn down. Tired in a way caf couldn’t fix. Stone had been right, he did look a mess and so you forced yourself to look away.

Once back at your station, you handed off the hawk-bat to one of the medtechs with instructions to keep it warm and fed. At least that solved the weird banging noises you had been hearing. 

As you settled into your desk, Thire suddenly called your name.

You looked over to see him nodding toward the corridor where Fox and Thorn had been standing. “What do you reckon that’s about?” he asked.

“I… don’t know,” you murmured, gaze flickering back toward them. “Something serious.”

You sat back down, fingers moving to the console but your thoughts weren’t on the reports. They were on Commander Fox. A strange guilt started bubbling low in your chest, but you shoved it aside and focused on your screen.

Until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You stiffened and turned. Thorn stood behind you, visor locked on. “Come with me.”

You blinked, confused. “Uh, okay…?”

You followed him quietly, heart beginning to thrum faster the closer you got to the corner where Fox still stood. Thorn didn’t say a word, just guided you to stand directly in front of the pair of them. The air was thick with something heavy and Fox still wasn’t looking at you.

You looked between them both, brows furrowing after a moment too long of silence. “Am I in trouble?”

Thorn’s voice was level but pointed. “Are you going to tell her, or am I?”

Fox exhaled hard, clearly agitated. “You can do it.”

That tiny flare of nerves that had been simmering erupted into something worse. Panic.

Thorn didn’t waste time. “We’ve been tracking the system disruptions for a while now. The failures. The delays. It turns out that all of them… came from your station.”

You blinked, completely taken aback. “Wait, what? My station?”

“Your terminal’s been used as the access point for multiple data breaches,” Thorn said. “The logs line up. And the signature pattern matches your ID.”

“That’s not possible,” you said quickly, voice rising. “I—I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“We’re not accusing you. Not directly,” Thorn said evenly. “But this is serious. And it’s coming from your end.”

You looked at Fox. Desperate. “Commander, you know me. You know I wouldn’t do this.”

But he didn’t even speak.He didn’t even lift his head.

The silence from him was louder than any accusation Thorn could’ve thrown. Your breath hitched in your throat, something like betrayal creeping up your spine.

“…Fox?” you asked, quieter now. Pleading. “Please.”

His helmet shifted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but whatever it was, it died in his throat.

That was worse than shouting. Worse than suspicion. He didn’t believe you. Or maybe worse was that he did —but he didn’t trust himself enough to say it out loud.

You sucked in a breath, steeling yourself. “Am I fired?”

Your voice came out calmer than expected, and weirdly—there were no tears. Not yet. Maybe you’d cried them all out for the man who couldn’t even look at you now.

Thorn shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Fox and then back to you. “No. Fox convinced me not to terminate your position.”

Of course he did.
The silent executioner.

“But,” Thorn continued, “I have to escalate this. The breach came from your system, and until the investigation clears, you’ll be reassigned to another station.”

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “So let me get this straight—you think I’m too dangerous to be here, but I’m safe enough to just be dumped in another corner of the building? Sure. That tracks.”

Thorn hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. “I… didn’t say it like that.”

You turned to Fox then, who had finally raised his head. Not quite looking at you, but closer. “If you’re so worried about trust, Thorn,” you said coldly, “maybe take a good look at the man standing next to you.”

Fox’s shoulders squared instantly like your words hit him physically. He stood up straighter, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of your gaze. Not now.

You turned on your heel and stormed off, boots echoing with fury down the corridor until you slammed back into the station. Heads turned. Conversations dropped.

Stone raised an eyebrow as you marched to your desk, grabbing a crate. “Uh—what’s going on?”

“Moving,” you snapped.

“M-Moving where?” Thire blinked, hurrying over.

“A different station.” Your voice cracked a little from the sheer force of holding everything in. “Apparently I’m a security risk.”

Grizzer whimpered at your feet, sensing the tension, but you stepped over him as you shoved datapads and personal items into the crate. Hound blocked your path for a second before you brushed past him too.

“They think I can’t be trusted,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “Apparently every damn system breach came from my terminal.”

Stone shook his head, eyes wide. “That’s impossible. We would’ve noticed—”

“Yeah, well,” you scoffed bitterly, “apparently I’m real good at flying under the radar.”

“You need to talk to Fox,” Hound said, frowning. “He’ll fix this.”

You gave a sharp, mirthless laugh. “Oh, I did. Or tried to. But it turns out he’s good at being speechless when it matters.”

Hound opened his mouth again, but you cut him off, voice rising with each word. “He had plenty of chances. When he lied. When he said it didn’t mean anything. When he watched me get blamed for something I didn’t even do!”

Thire approached you gently, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Just calm down for a second, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

“Calm down?” You turned on him, eyes wide and blazing. “They’ve accused me of screwing up everything . You want me to calm down? Would you be calm if your name was dragged through the mud without even a shred of defense from the person who—”

You stopped yourself, swallowing hard as the floodgate cracked.

You dropped the next item into the crate harder than you meant to, rattling the others.

“And Fox?” You spat his name like venom. “I have never in my life met someone so disloyal. He lies for weeks, strings me along like I mean nothing. Then stands there mute when I need him most? Screw him.”

No one moved. Even Grizzer stayed perfectly still, ears back. The three clones stood in stunned silence, watching you as if you had grown an extra head.

You turned, ready to storm out only to freeze in place as he - the very topic of conversation - stood in the doorway, silent and unmoving. He must’ve heard every word. Good.

For a second, no one breathed. You stared at him, seething. “Oh, if it isn’t the bubble-brain himself,” you sneered, lifting the crate in your arms. “Come to lend a hand, or just here to make sure I don’t steal anything on the way out?”

Fox stared you down, visor locked onto you and only you. The boys behind you shifted awkwardly, the air thick with unspoken words. You huffed, throwing your hands up.

“Yes? No?” you bit out, answering the question for him.

Fox hesitated then sighed, stepping aside wordlessly to let you pass.

The silence that followed was almost heavier than the tension before it. Thorn shook his head, watching Fox retreat toward his desk.

“What the are you doing, Fox?” he demanded.

“What choice do I have?” Fox grunted, his armour clinking as he moved stiffly.

“Go after her!” Thire snapped, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is your last chance.”

Fox’s fists slammed down onto the desk, the crack echoing through the room and cutting them all off.

“You heard what she said!” he barked. His voice cracked through the modulator—frayed, exhausted, broken. He dropped his head into his hands for a moment before dragging them down his helmet with a long, heavy sigh. “It’s done. It’s been done.”

Then he lifted his gaze to Hound, sharp and bitter. “And you—you weren't doing me any favours filling my head with ideas that she still cared. She doesn't.”

“She’s angry ,” Hound said firmly, stepping forward. “Because you didn’t stand by her. Not because she doesn’t care.”

Fox’s jaw locked hard enough you could almost hear the grind of his teeth. His helmet tilted, staring at the door you had stormed through.

“I’m tired, Hound,” he muttered.

“So is she,” Stone said, quieter this time. “Tired of fighting battles you make her fight alone. Just apologise. Be the man she knows you are.”

Fox's hands balled into fists again. “How can I fix it when she thinks I’m the most disloyal bastard she’s ever met?”

The others went silent. No one had an answer for that. 

Fox let out another sharp breath, shoving back from the console. His body was tense, his movements mechanical—but after a second of pacing like a caged animal, he cursed under his breath and made for the door at a near-run.

He searched every corridor, panic blooming tighter in his chest with each wrong turn. Fifth hallway down, he caught sight of you. Crate in your arms. Walking fast.

He called your name.

You slowed, just for a second, your head tilting back over your shoulder. But when you saw it was him, you immediately turned back around, quickening your pace.

Fox jogged after you, closing the distance fast. He skidded in front of you, blocking your path. You scowled. “Move.”

“Just give me a second.” His voice was rawer now. “Let’s talk. Properly.”

You hesitated. Sighed. Then took a step back, shifting the crate’s weight in your arms, your exhaustion written in every line of your body. “Fine. Talk.”

Fox stood there a beat too long, fidgeting like he was physically holding himself together. You noticed his hands shake slightly at his sides. The great Commander Fox, reduced to nerves in your presence.

"I..." His voice faltered before he swallowed hard and forced it out. "I tried. I know you’re not responsible for the leaks. Any of it. And I’m sorry I didn’t speak up sooner. I spent days convincing Thorn not to have you fired.”

You stared at him, dead-eyed. “Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

Fox bit his tongue, chest rising and falling heavily. “No. I just—I don’t want you thinking I don’t believe you.”

“You could’ve said something,” you muttered, shaking your head, shifting the crate again. “You’ve never been the type to shut up when it mattered. I’ve worked for you for years. I know you.”

"If that's all..." you added, voice rough, "I'll be on my way."

You went to move past him—but he caught your sleeve.

“I’m not done.”

Reluctantly, you turned back to him.

Fox’s shoulders stiffened. He scanned the hallway quickly, making sure no one was around before he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter now. “About what I did to you. About… Whisky. About everything.” His hands fisted and flexed at his sides. “I don’t know why I made him up. Maybe I just wanted—needed—you to look at me the way you did that night.”

You swallowed hard.

“When you came to me at 79’s,” he continued, voice fraying at the edges, “I thought you knew it was me. And I just got caught up in a lie, second guessing myself of how you would have acted if you knew the truth. I wanted you to believe it was me. Because it was."

The silence between you was unbearable.

You shifted the crate higher in your arms, biting back a wave of emotion. “Let’s just forget it happened, Commander.”

“Fox,” he corrected immediately. “I told you. Call me Fox.”

You clenched your jaw, staring up at him through lashes thick with unshed tears.

“Let’s forget it happened, Fox ,” you corrected hollowly. “I’ve gotten over Whisky… and maybe moving stations is a good thing.” Your voice wavered, cracking right down the center. “Because now I can finally get over you too.”

Fox's eyes widened behind his helmet, it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Get over me?” Fox repeated, stunned. He took an automatic step forward, towering over you. “What do you mean—?”

You dropped your gaze, heart pounding so hard you thought he could hear it.

“N-nothing. I need to go.” You tried to step past him again but this time he stopped you with a hand at your waist.

You froze. The heat of his touch burned right through the layers of cloth, igniting something you had tried so hard to bury.  A shudder tore through you.

“Please…” he murmured, voice almost wrecked. “Tell me. Did you… did you ever feel something for me? As me?”

You looked down at his hand—then back up at him. “I guess I did,” you whispered, the confession leaving your lips like a wound torn open. The anger, the jealousy, the heartache, it was because of Fox. “But it’s all changed now.”

Fox sucked in a sharp breath, taking another step closer, his entire frame blotted out the corridor, your world reduced to his red armour and the familiar scent you had now realised to have missed so much.

“It doesn’t have to,” he rasped. “You can trust me. You can—"

You closed your eyes tightly, inhaling the scent that broke you all over again. It was the same one that had clung to you in the meadow, in the cab, on the nights you let yourself dream he was yours.

“That’s the thing, Fox,” you breathed, voice almost breaking. “I can’t. I look at you and I just think back to when I opened myself up to you. When I told you that trust was everything to me. But when I look at you… all I see is a liar. And I can’t do that to myself again.”

Fox doesn’t let you go, not yet. His touch lingers a moment more on your waist as if savouring the feel of you so close before he takes a step away, his hand slipping back to his side. “I respect your decision. I hope… I hope that you will be happier.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, moving past him for the last time, “me too.”

Notes:

yikes.

so what do you think will happen now? do you think that's the end of the vent issues? do you think reader sabotaged the systems? let me know <3 kudos and comments always appreciated. see you again son.

Chapter 12: Part Twelve - The Night Visitors

Summary:

A restless dream attacks your thoughts in the night and Fox is at breaking point.

Notes:

Things are about to get serious soon.

 

"Hey, sleepy, are we?"

You jolted upright with a strangled breath, heart hammering against your ribs. Your hands dug into the ground beneath you, feeling the cool texture of thick grass thread between your fingers. The air was warm, tinged with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and sunlight spilled down in golden streams.

You looked around, dazed, struggling to get your bearings until your gaze landed on the figure sitting right beside you.

He was close enough to touch, close enough that the heat of him warmed your skin. His armour was gone, replaced by simple civvie clothes. His hair caught the sun, streaks of silver woven through dark strands, and the familiar scar over the bridge of his nose crinkled slightly as he smiled at you. 

Your mouth opened, but the words tangled painfully in your throat. 

He leaned in, his hand lifting to cup your cheek with a tenderness that made your stomach twist. His thumb brushed a soft line across your skin. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low, concerned but calm, as if none of this was strange to him. 

You swallowed hard, throat tight. "W-What am I doing here?" you rasped, almost afraid to ask.

He blinked at you, confusion flickering in his eyes, before looking around and laughing under his breath like the answer was obvious. "We’re on a date, remember?"

You looked around again, grounding yourself in the colours, the smells, the way the breeze played with your hair. A flicker of memory surfaced—the meadow. The place he had once brought you. The place that had felt like a different world, untouched and safe. Slowly, you nodded. "Yeah... yeah, I remember."

"Good," he murmured, his hand dropping away but staying close enough that the absence left your skin aching. You couldn't stop staring at him, your gaze dragging over every familiar detail; the set of his jaw, the laugh lines around his eyes, the tiny dimple at the edge of his smile. 

"What’s your name?" you blurted out before you could think better of it.

He tilted his head, half amused, half concerned. "It’s Fox," he answered.

Your arms folded over your chest as you tried to piece yourself back together. "I knew that," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "I... I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

"Nothing is wrong," he assured you gently. His arm slid around your waist and pulled you closer without hesitation. "You’re perfect." 

Your face heated at the compliment, and a smile you couldn't stop tugged at your lips. "Shut up, Fox," you said, almost shyly.

He laughed under his breath, a sound that wrapped itself around you like a blanket. "I only tell the truth," he said with a wink.

You hesitated. "Do you?" The question cut sharper than you intended.

Fox's smile faltered. His hand, still resting at your side, tightened slightly. "Of course," he said carefully. "I've never lied to you... have I?"

You looked away, the meadow flickering strangely at the edges of your vision, colours bleeding together like a painting left out in the rain. "What about Whisky?" you asked in a voice too small.

His fingers curled tighter into your shirt. He stared at you, bewildered, genuinely lost. "Who’s that?" he asked, truly not understanding.

"You," you choked out, feeling the dream shift under you. "You lied to me. Told me you were someone else."

Fox's brow creased. He gave a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair from your face as the breeze picked up around you. "Are you sure you didn’t dream that?" he teased gently, his touch so soothing that you wanted to melt into it and forget everything else.

You almost believed him. Almost. The warmth of him, the way he looked at you like you were something precious, dulled the sharp edge of your memories. "M-Maybe," you whispered, heart aching, body trembling. "Kriff... it felt so real. It felt like I lost—"

You clamped your mouth shut, chest heaving.

"Lost?" he urged, his forehead dropping gently against yours.

You squeezed your eyes shut. "You," you confessed in a whisper, like it physically hurt to say it out loud. "It felt like I lost you."

A slow, tender smile curled his mouth. His arms gathered you closer, cradling you against him as if to prove he was real. "I'm here," he said, "Always here."

You let out a breathless laugh, threading your arms around his shoulders. He pulled you into his lap, and for a moment you simply breathed him in, pressed tight against his chest. He hummed a quiet tune, something sweet and meaningless, just to fill the silence.

"I had the strangest dream, Fox," you whispered.

He shifted slightly, still tracing soft circles into your back. "Yeah? What about?"

You chuckled weakly. "It felt so real. Like... like everything was wrong."

He pulled back enough to look at you, copper eyes burning into yours. "This is real," he said firmly, like he could will you into believing it.

Your throat ached with unshed tears. He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "You're my favourite dream."

Your forehead rested against his again, your bodies swaying gently in the breeze. Desperation clawed at you, raw and open, and you couldn't stop yourself.

"Kiss me, Fox," you whispered, pleading.

His hands lifted to cup your face, but even as they touched you, the sensation was fading, growing more distant. His gaze searched yours, serious, searching. "Is this what you really want?" 

You nodded fervently, feeling the weight of time pressing against you. "Yes. Please. Kiss me."

He leaned in, but before your lips could meet, a shrieking wind tore across the meadow. The sunlight snuffed out violently, and a churning black cloud swallowed the sky. Fox was ripped away from you as he stood, blaster in hand, trying to shield you from something you couldn't yet see.

You stumbled backward, gasping, the soft grass replaced by coarse, black sand that burned your palms. The world around you withered and died, colours draining into ash.

"What...?" you breathed, horror freezing you in place.

"You will not have her!" Fox screams, horrifically.

You turned your head in time to see a figure emerging from the swirling blackness, cloaked in smoke, its form shifting and grotesque. It floated above the sand, killing everything in its wake.

Fox fired without hesitation, a sharp cry of defiance.

The blaster bolt hit the figure—and immediately rebounded, slamming into Fox’s chest with a brutal force.

Your scream was ripped from your throat, but no sound came out. Your body lurched forward, hands clawing desperately at the sand as you tried to crawl toward him, but no matter how hard you struggled, he only grew farther and farther away, like a memory slipping beyond reach.

Tears streamed down your face as the dark figure loomed closer, blotting out what little light remained. Exhausted, broken, you collapsed onto your back, panting, vision swimming.

The figure hovered over you, its face a mass of swirling black smoke and hollow, accusing eyes. Its voice, dripping with malice, filled the air.

"It’s all your fault."

The words echoed around you, inside you, shaking you apart at the seams.

You tried to scream, to fight, to call for Fox, but the figure’s darkness engulfed you in one sweep. Every sense was smothered, the world blurring into nothing.

You gasped as you jolted upright in bed, heart thrashing against your ribs like a rancor in a cage. Your body trembled, sweat clinging to your skin as you blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of where you were. It wasn’t the meadow. It was just your home.

Your fingers clutched the blanket tangled around your legs, trying to anchor yourself to something solid, something real. But all you could feel was the lingering phantom touch of him — Fox’s hand on your face, the weight of his arms around your body, the soft murmur of his voice whispering promises that had never really been made. 

And that figure? That horrible, cruel figure that had taken him and then you…

You swallowed down the tight knot in your throat and stumbled out of bed, legs shaky. A holomovie flickered in the background, your bedside lamp still on. You must have fallen asleep without realising after a long, terrible day at your new station. 

The room spun for a moment as you pushed yourself toward your desk, bare feet slapping against the cold floor. For some reason, you felt like you had to just see it for yourself.

Your hands shook as you fumbled for your datapad, almost dropping it as you brought it to life. The soft glow of the screen bathed your face as you opened your comms log, fingers moving with desperate urgency. You scrolled until you found the last messages exchanged between you and him, your breath hitching at the sight of his ID tag — the one you had refused to delete, even after everything. It was still under Whisky’s name. But it was still him .

The last message lingered on the screen, your breath hitching. “You’re perfect.” You read the message aloud. The same words in the message and the same in the dream.

Your vision blurred, throat burning as you stared at the words. The dream had felt so vivid, so alive. It was like some cruel trick of your exhausted, love-starved mind. You collapse into 

Your thumb hovered over the message thread, heart screaming at you to send something. Anything. But reality bit down hard. You couldn’t just reach out to him now. It had been almost three days since you were transferred. You hadn't heard a single word from Fox since. And you will yourself to believe that was for the best. 

And yet you were here, staring at old messages, wanting to contact him just to make sure he was still alive after dreaming he had gone.

You squeezed the datapad until your knuckles turned white before finally setting it down with a heavy thud. A broken breath escaped you, and you dragged your hands through your hair, biting down the urge to sob.

The room around you felt impossibly small, like the walls were inching closer, suffocating you in silence. You wrapped your arms around yourself and slumped against the desk, forehead pressing to the cool surface as you let the tears fall.

"Stop crying, stop crying," you muttered to yourself, forcing a deep breath. You blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears back where they came from.

A sharp buzz at the door jolted you. You blinked toward it, then at the time flashing across your datapad — 0013 hours. Way too late for a casual visitor. 

You move on unsteady legs, brushing your hands down your wrinkled clothes, wincing when you realised you must had fallen asleep in your uniform. You ran your fingers through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to fix yourself, cursing under your breath, then moved to open the door.

Pia stood on the other side, arms folded across her chest, wearing a scowl. “Ignoring my messages now?” she snapped before pushing past you into your home without waiting for an invitation.

You winced inwardly. You hadn't spoken to her since the night at 79’s. Embarrassment flooded you at the memory, not just of how the evening had spiraled, but of the argument you’d dragged Pia into.

Your shame must have shown plainly on your face because her annoyance shifted almost immediately into something else — concern. Her sharp gaze roamed over your disheveled uniform and the exhausted slump of your shoulders.

“You sick or something?” she asked, stepping closer and reaching a hand toward your forehead. You flinched instinctively, brushing her off with a small shake of your head.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“No offense, but you look like bantha shit,” she said bluntly, heading towards your kitchen. She poured two drinks without asking, glancing over her shoulder to make sure you hadn’t crumbled into dust in the meantime.

You dragged yourself over to the couch, sinking into it like a boulder dropped into a river. You accepted the drink she handed you with a small, grateful nod, the cup trembling faintly in your fingers.

“And you’ve been crying,” she observed, sitting across from you with her knees drawn up to her chest. “What’s going on?”

 

You hesitated, the drink halfway to your lips. You took a slow sip, needing the slight burn of hot caf to steady yourself before answering. “Bad dream,” you muttered eventually, voice scratchy.

Pia raised an eyebrow. “I have bad dreams too. Doesn’t usually end with me looking like death warmed over. Want to talk about it?” Her tone was curious, not cruel or mocking. She waited patiently, but you shook your head, heart clenching painfully at the thought of trying to explain what you had seen — what you had lost all over again.

“No. Best not,” you whispered.

Pia hummed quietly, like she understood without needing all the details. For a moment, you both sat there in silence, the hum of the station beyond your walls the only sound.

Finally, she shifted, glancing at you from under her lashes. “Thire told me what happened. About you getting reassigned.”

You tightened your grip on the cup, jaw clenching. “Yeah?”

“He thinks it’s a load of bullshit. They all do,” she said simply, with that same unflinching honesty she always carried.

You should have felt comforted by that, but instead, it only hollowed you out more. You missed them. You missed all of it and the familiarity. The new post felt sterile, cold. Officer Sinja ran the department like a dictator, and the clones under his command weren’t the men you’d come to know. 

“Their loss,” you muttered, lifting your drink in a mock toast before swallowing another mouthful. It didn’t taste like anything.

Pia stayed quiet for a while, letting the silence settle in. You watched her from the corner of your eye, the weight of guilt gnawing at your insides. Finally, you blurted, “Pia, I’m sorry. About that night at 79’s. I shouldn’t have—"

She held up a hand, cutting you off firmly. “Don’t. You were hurting. We all say stupid things when we’re hurting. I’m not mad.” She smiled faintly, “I get it.”

“But I—"

“Nope.” She grinned suddenly, reaching for the remote and tossing it at you. “Shut up and put something awful on.”

You laughed despite yourself, catching the remote awkwardly. You thumbed through the movie selections, deliberately picking something cheesy and ridiculous that you knew Pia would love. Her grin widened in approval as she tucked herself into the corner of the couch like she planned to live there and not leave any time soon.

“And if you ever ignore my messages again,” she added, completely deadpan, “I’ll shoot you.”

You snorted, finally letting yourself relax, if only for a moment. Maybe tonight wouldn't be so unbearable after all.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

 

 

 

The station wasn’t the same without you. It hadn’t been for days now, and each of them felt like a weeks to the boys in red.

The usual rhythm was gone. The buzz of conversation, the occasional bark of laughter, even the hum of shared silence was now replaced with something fragile. The air in the control room had a kind of stillness to it now, like everyone was waiting for something to snap.

Which would more than likely be Fox. He was worse than ever. Distant and constantly irritable, his sharp edges had only grown sharper. He didn’t speak unless absolutely necessary, didn’t make eye contact, didn’t sit still for more than five minutes. He was always moving, always patrolling, always finding reasons to leave. And when he was around, nobody dared speak too freely — not unless they wanted to get chewed out.

So when Stone stepped into the room and notices Fox wasn’t there, he audibly sighed in relief.

“Where’s nasty knickers?” he asked, already making his way to the console and unceremoniously dropping himself into your vacant seat, boots kicked up on the panel.

“Patrolling,” Hound replied without looking up, his focus on Grizzer, who was pawing at a drawer like there were treats inside. “Will be back any moment though.”

Stone groaned, throwing his head back. “Of course he will.”

Thire, who was midway pouring himself a cup of caf from that terrible machine, glanced up at him with a raised brow. “You know you’re asking for it if he sees you like that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stone muttered, not moving an inch. “By now, she would’ve danced in with a tray of caf and kicked my boots off for me anyway.”

That earned a pause. Thire blinked, lips pressing into a line. Hound stopped fussing with Grizzer and straightened up slowly. 

“I miss her,” Stone added after a beat, eyes flicking toward the entrance like maybe — just maybe — you might stroll in like old times, teasing, caffeinated, always muttering about how no one ever updated their reports properly.

No one laughed. Not this time. Instead, a long silence stretched between them, filled with unsaid things.

Thire sat back in his chair, exhaling softly. “Yeah,” he said. “We all do.”

“Can’t help but notice,” Hound starts, voice quieter now, “systems are still running sluggish. We’ve rebooted, recalibrated, even did the damn software updates. Still not the same. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” Thire sighs, kicking Stone off your terminal as it felt weird that anyone other than you should be sat there. “It’s not fair.”

Stone pulls a face at Thire for making him move but resumes the same position at his own alleged panel with his feet propped up. “This place feels different.”

“Feels wrong,” Hound murmured.

Thire gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

As for Fox, he hadn't said a word about it. Hadn’t acknowledged your absence. Not once. But it was written in everything he didn’t say, in the way he paced the corridors like a caged animal, or the way he looked at your station when he thought no one was watching.

They sat in the quiet for a long moment, just listening to the subtle hum of machinery and the distant murmur of boots in the hall.

Later on, Fox stepped through the threshold and felt it immediately — the tension, the quick silence that followed.

Conversations died mid-sentence. Stone’s boots dropped from the console with an audible thunk. Thire busied himself, and Hound looked suddenly very interested in fixing Grizzer’s collar, even though the poor massiff wasn’t wearing one.

It was always like this now. And Fox knew — with bitter clarity — that it was no one’s fault but his own.

He said nothing and just made his way to his desk in the corner, where the overhead light flickered a little too brightly. His seat scraped against the floor as he pulled it out, and his boot knocked something under the desk. A soft rattle followed, then another — three empty caf cups, maybe four, clattering slightly as he nudged them aside to make room for his legs.

He grimaced. He’d told himself he’d clean that up days ago. But between the spiraling mess of system failures, the escalating tensions in the Senate, Rik Walder still missing without a trace, and the ever-worsening state of the war — he hadn’t.

And to top it all of, there was you. Occupying his thoughts every single second of the day. Hoping to just see a glimmer of your hair, the sound of your laughter as he patrolled when he didn’t need to.

Fox slumped into the chair, exhausted. He turned his attention to the monitor, fingers tapping idly at the keyboard, trying and failing to focus. The room was too still. No low music from your terminal. No quiet humming from your seat. 

He reached for a report, reading it twice and still not registering a single word.

A soft ping interrupted the quiet. Not from his station, but somewhere to his left.

Fox’s head didn’t move, but his ears perked and his eyes looked to the side, following Hound behind his visor.

Across the room, a datapad vibrated gently against a shelf, and Hound. “Yours,” he said, tossing it lightly to Thire, who caught it with ease

Thire glanced at the screen and smirked.

“Pia?” Hound teased.

Thire tried to look unfazed, but the slight blush creeping into his ears gave him away. “Yeah,” he muttered, trying not to smile. “She’s… checking in.”

Fox didn’t care. He didn’t want to care. But his ears twitched at the next words — because your name followed.

“Wait—” Hound’s voice dropped low, serious now. “What did she say about her?”

Thire frowned at the screen, thumbs moving. “Something about… she looks sick. And crying. Pia’s worried.”

Fox’s jaw clenched.

He kept his head down, eyes locked on his terminal screen, forcing himself to scroll, forcing himself to not react. But his stomach twisted sharply, the words sick and crying echoing in his skull like a klaxon.

You weren’t someone who ever got sick. He knew that. And crying? Other than what he had done, he had never seen you cry. He’d seen you under pressure. Seen you annoyed, sharp-tongued and stubborn, frustrated and brilliant. But crying? That was rare.

He could feel the heat rising sharply in his chest, making the plates of his armour feel suffocatingly tight. He tried so hard to remain his usual composed, detached, unbothered self… but the slight tremble in his hands, betraying the caffeine jitters he usually blamed, said otherwise.

Across the room, Hound leaned in closer to Thire, whispering something too low to make out. Fox didn't catch it, not over the pounding in his ears anyway. His eyes were locked on the system logs before him, but the words blurred into nothing.

Without really thinking, he pushed up from his chair, the movement sudden and stiff. Another patrol, he told himself. Something to burn the restless energy away. His boots echoed sharply across the floor as he crossed the room. However he found himself faltering, slowing when he caught a familiar name drifting from Thire’s lips.

“Yeah, apparently Officer Sinja’s a real piece of work,” Thire muttered, glancing down at his datapad as he read.

Fox stopped dead in his tracks, just a few feet away.

The muscles in his jaw flexed tight beneath the edge of his helmet. Officer Sinja. The same Officer they’d transferred you under. The same one that had flirted with you that day in the hangar. He had already heard rumors about him, even before today. He told himself to keep walking, to mind his own business — to not get involved. You would handle it. You always did.

But he couldn't. Not this time.

“What’s he done?” Fox asked, his voice sharp enough to snap both Thire and Hound to attention.

They turned to him quickly, Thire blinking in surprise, datapad half-hidden in his hand. It was clear neither of them had expected him to be listening — and maybe they weren’t even sure if they should talk about you around him at all.

“Who?” Thire played dumb. 

“Officer Sinja.” Fox stepped closer, helmet tilted slightly. “Has he upset…” he paused, shifting uncomfortably. Clearing his throat. “Her.”

Another glance passed between Hound and Thire, silent and uneasy. Thire then sighed, lowering the datapad a little. “She… mentioned the workload was heavy. Unreasonable, maybe. Pia said she wasn’t herself. And that Officer Sinja’s... not exactly easy to work under. Rough.”

Fox’s fists tightened by his sides. “Rough?” He echoed, teeth seethed like a vibroblade was stuck between them.

Thire lifted his palms in defense. “This is just what Pia said, Commander. Second-hand.”

Fox didn’t answer. He just nodded stiffly, his whole posture winding tighter as he turned sharply toward the exit.

“Where are you going?” Hound called after him, brow furrowing.

Fox didn’t look back. His voice was flat, clipped. “I expect a full report on my desk when I return. Resource orders, uniform inspections — the works.”

Without waiting for a response, he shoved through the door, leaving a cold silence in his wake.

Stone watched him go, a dry scoff breaking the stillness. “Great,” he muttered, swinging his boots back up onto the console. “Moody bastard’s back.”

Notes:

What's fanfiction without a dream sequence lmao.

thanks to everyone who leaves comments and supports each chapter, it does mean alot. I've loved this series.

Chapter 13: Part Thirteen - Hope

Summary:

After witnessing a strange event involving an Officer and a certain Commander, you finally take the leap to speak to Fox.

Notes:

warnings: canon typical violence, fox is quite aggressive (rightly so), light angst, slight reconciliation if you blink, tired fox, explicit language, subordinate bullying and some fluff.

*hides face from you all*
Ok ok ok I am verrrrrry sorry for the wait. I’ve just been so busy and overworked atm I haven’t even had time to breathe.
I did contemplate making this a lot longer but I decided that 5.3k words was enough for a chapter reader and I will continue the rest in the next chapter where everything unfolds.

BUT I thought why not have some soft moments before fox and reader before the storm? That’s all imma say ☕️ 👀
I hope you enjoy. 🤞🏼

The corridors echoed under Fox’s boots, each step sharper than the last. He is mumbling things under his breath, nothing polite and nothing to be repeated as heat pools in his chest like coals left smoldering. He knew the route to Officer Sinja’s floor and where your new station resigned. As much as he longed to see you again, he really didn’t want to after this.

Halfway a dim stretch of hallway, something stopped him. A metallic rattle.

It was faint, but not subtle. 

Fox froze, his instinct kicking in. His hand dropped to one of his blasters as turned his head slowly, eyes sweeping the ceiling as his fingers curled around the grip.

Silence now fell.

Then another scrape but only for it to be followed by nothing. 

He stayed there for a moment longer, tension pulled taut in his shoulders… until, from the far end of an intersecting corridor, he caught movement. A silhouette. Officer Sinja.

Fox’s jaw locked so tight he almost heard it shatter.

He exhaled once through his nose and moved after him, his pace steady, measured. He holstered the blaster without a word.

“Officer Sinja,” Fox called out, voice hard and commanding just enough to evoke enough authority.

Sinja turned slowly, mid-step, his expression already laced with clear boredom. “Commander Fox, is it?” he said with a thin-lipped near-yawn, hands still in the pockets of his uniform. “Should I be saluting?”

Fox stopped a pace away, ignoring the comment. “I’d like a word. About a member of your department.”

Sinja blinked at him. “Am I supposed to know who?”

Fox’s jaw clenched even harder than before behind the helmet, but he commanded himself to stay calm, to not lose his cool for the first time in front of a superior.

He holds a steady breath, reigning himself in. “She was transferred to your unit three days ago. You’ll know who I mean.”

Something passed over Sinja’s face. A flicker of recognition and something else. Almost like smugness.

“Oh… her .” He gave a small hum of amusement. “Pretty thing. Sharp eyes. Yes, I remember.”

Fox didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, but his fingers curled tighter at his sides.

“I’ve been informed she’s being overworked,” he said flatly. “That the workload isn’t being distributed evenly across your staff.”

“I haven’t heard a complaint,” Sinja replied, entirely too casual. “Not a word. Maybe she enjoys the attention.”

Fox’s voice darkened. “She wouldn’t come to you. Not if you’ve created an environment where she can’t .”

Sinja laughed dryly. “And what’s this? A rescue mission? Shouldn’t you be more worried about, say… your missing prisoner? Rik Walder, wasn’t it?” His eyes narrowed, voice thick with condescension. “Or is micromanaging mediocre workers your new strategy for solving galactic problems?”

Fox stepped closer, his tension thinning to the point it’s about to snap. “I’m giving you a chance,” he said, voice low, deadly calm. “A chance to fix your mistake before I escalate this through official channels.”

Sinja’s smile thinned to something almost mocking. “You clones. Always so emotional.”

And then he turned — turned his back on him.

That was it.

Fox’s patience snapped like a frayed wire. He grabbed Sinja by the collar and slammed him hard into the wall. The metal rang out as Sinja grunted, his smug expression cracking into one of stunned disbelief.

“You arrogant bastard,” Fox growled, closing in, his voice like thunder. “If I find out you’ve treated her unfairly again, I won’t waste time on reports. You’ll regret —”

“Fox?”

Your voice. His name . Not Commander, just ‘Fox’.

He froze and time ground to a halt.

Fox turned his head slightly, seeing you just a few paces away at the end of the corridor — wide-eyed in horror and frozen mid-step. 

He let go of Sinja instantly and the officer stumbled forward with a grunt, straightening his jacket and already reaching for some arrogant retort.

But Fox didn’t stay.

He looked at you, then at Sinja. He hoped his warning was going to stick because he couldn’t witness you looking like that at him again.

Then without a word, he stormed off.

With your heart pounding in your ears, you watched Fox’s retreating form disappear down the corridor. The harsh clack of his boots echoed long after he was gone.

What was that about? You think to yourself, not even being able to comprehend a single thought of what could even possess Fox to do such a thing. Your attention quickly focuses back on the Officer.

“Sir?” you asked, your voice tight and wary as you approach. “Are you alright?”

Sinja didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned his head to glare at you, nostrils flaring and jaw tight. His fingers dragged roughly down his jacket, smoothing the wrinkles that had formed when he was shoved. There was no doubt in your mind that the look behind his eyes was one of fury. 

“I suggest,” he starts, pointing a finger harshly at you, “that you put your boyfriend in his place,” he snapped.

Your breath caught. Heat bloomed beneath your skin. You wanted to say anything but words tangled themselves in your throat before you could get them out. So instead you shrank back slightly, shoulders curling in. “I—I had nothing to do with that, sir,” you reply meekly. 

Sinja scoffed. “Of course not. But let me be clear. Your Commander is lucky I don’t report this incident to Central Command. Assaulting a senior officer? Insubordination? You know what that kind of thing leads to.”

You didn’t even think of replying at this point. Actually,you probably couldn’t if you tried. You just swallowed hard, your mouth dry like sand. 

Sinja’s glare lingered before he slicked his hand through his hair, straightening his posture like he was resetting his entire composure. “I don’t want to see you loitering again,” he said coldly. “Get back to your station. You’re already behind on your reports.”

You gave a quick, tight nod. “Yes, sir.”

With a dismissive flick of his hand at you, the officer stalked away. 

And just like that, you were alone in the corridor. 

You were more than certain that you had heard your name mentioned before you spotted them. At first you thought it was your mind pulling tricks on you but when you saw them, the anger in the Commander’s body and the slight fear in Officer Sinja’s face… it had to have been about you. 

But why? 

Then, you realise something about your best friend. She likes to gossip. Or perhaps raise concern in the wrong places… It would not surprise you in the slightest that she would have mentioned something to Thire after your heart-to-heart with her the other night. Clearly, it got around.

Maybe you will pluck up the nerve to go speak to Fox again.

 

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

 

The hours dragged. 

Slipping slowly from afternoon into night, each tick of the chrono on the dull coloured wall stretched thinner and thinner. Your eyes are heavy and the low hum of the lights above was now a dull roar in your ears. At your desk you sat slouch, blinking past the burn in your eyes.

You were still here. Of course. Long past your shift all thanks to Sinja’s latest bout of smug authority.

He hadn’t even tried to hide the sneer in his voice when he ordered you to stay late. Something about needing to pull your weight even though it was clear you were the hardest worker there. 

You can’t get his smug expression out of your mind as you angrily tap at the monitor in front of you, maybe thinking it was face as you did. But then he said something quite odd. Almost… threatening? 

His words were mainly going in one ear and out the other but then he mentioned something else about the importance of getting your affairs in order and that “some of us might not see the morning” . But it was the way he said it that hit a nerve. It was flippant, like a casual thing to say in passing. 

Some reason, it stuck with you. 

But, you wanted to get home now. So you finish all your reports for the day - or night - and stretch out your back as you stand from your chair. 

Voices drifted over from across the room however. There were two late-shift officers lingering by the comms desk. 

“Isn’t someone meant to deliver this to Commander Fox?” One of them groaned, holding up a datapad.

“I already dealt with him this week,” the other grumbled. “No thanks. He’s got ice for blood. You go.”

“Like hell I will.”

You glanced over, then before you could stop yourself, your hand shot up like a kid in a classroom. “I’ll take it.”

They turned to look at you like you’d grown a second head.

“You sure?” the first one asked, lifting a brow. “It’s a little out of the way. And he’s…”

You shrugged, not letting the officer finish her sentence about the Commander. “Don’t worry. I know how to deal with him.”

And truthfully? You wanted to go. 

Not just to get out of this suffocating room but because, ridiculous as it was, you hadn’t stopped thinking about Fox since this afternoon. And the day before. And the day before that. In fact, ever since that horrid dream he was on your mind constantly. 

How can you get over someone if you find yourself dreaming of them? And why do you find yourself not entirely wanting to get over him anymore?

You shrugged the intruding thoughts off as  you slung your  around your shoulders before the Officers could change their minds, and the datapad was tucked securely under your arm. The corridors were quiet now, mostly deserted save for the odd pair of boots in the distance or the faint beep of a droid whizzing past.

 The walk stretched longer than you remembered, but you didn’t mind. You were rehearsing things to say in your head anyway

A soft rattle pulled your thoughts away—something shifting in one of the overhead vents again. You paused beneath it, frowning. That same noise again that seemed to follow you. You narrowed your eyes at the metal grate, gave it a half-hearted glare.

“Stupid bats,” you mutter. 

Finally, you reached the outer corridor of your old station and you slowed down as you approached. Suddenly you felt a wave of nostalgia hit. It hadn’t even been that long, but it felt like a different lifetime. A better one. One with less paperwork and better laughs.

You took a breath and tapped the access panel. The door slid open with a hiss, and you stepped inside.

It was quiet inside, the boys most likely having turned in for the evening. Just the sound of the subtle whir of machines and the low tick of the system monitors could be heard. You barely had time to scan the room before your eyes locked onto the only figure inside, seated at his desk beneath the faint glow of overhead light.

Fox sat motionless, helmet on, broad shoulders squared like he hadn’t moved in hours. He wasn’t typing. Wasn’t even pretending to work. Just staring ahead.

The datapad felt heavy in your hands all of a sudden. “I’ve bought a report for you.” You speak after a beat but there was no reply. You stared at him, brows furrowing more every second.

“Okay…” you say slowly as you stepped in further, which is when you notice the total disarray of the place. 

Empty caf cups, half-eaten rations and discarded crumbs of toast, datachips discarded like confetti. You look around in horror. Every corner felt haunted by the absence of order that you once put in. Clear workspace, clear mind you always reminded them. Stars, you couldn't help but wonder how they managed to function without someone cleaning up after them.

But it wasn’t the mess that was needling you. It was him.

Fox hadn’t said a word. Not a flicker of acknowledgment. He just sat there at his desk, frozen in that same position, helmet on like a wall between you.

"Really?" you muttered, throwing your hands up. "Silent treatment?”

No answer.

Suddenly a wave of anxiousness washed over you. Why wasn’t he talking to you? Why wasn’t he moving? At all?

“Fox, talk to me." You’re down by your original desk, look across the room at him, voice raised a little higher but the silence echos on.

Finally, you march up to him, calling his name once again. You’re at the edge of his desk when you halt, your lips parted as you were about to call out once more when you caught the softest, most unexpected sound.

A breath. Then another. A tiny, nearly imperceptible snore crackling through the voice mod of his helmet.

He was asleep. And you had never been so relieved that was.

Curse that dream for making you think the worse. You internally thank the Maker that it was just Fox asleep in his chair.

You take a step back and just watch him, quietly. Your mind drifts back to 79’s, that secret you shared with ‘Whisky’ that you had caught him asleep in his chair and how you always left him to rest. You can’t help but smile, knowing the fact he knew you had always known. 

You considered waking him up. You really did. You even got close. But the way he was slumped in that chair, the tension still clinging to his shoulders even in sleep, it just made you stop.

Pia had mentioned that Thire had said he’d been grumpier than usual. Maybe this was why. Sleep seemed like the last thing he’d been making time for.

A conversation could wait for tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or just whenever the time seemed right. 

You turned to go but immediately kicked an empty caf cup across the floor. It clinked pitifully off the wall. You winced.

“…Gross,” you mumbled.

One cup went in the bin. Then another. Then five. At some point, you lost track and ended up on a full-blown cleaning spree. Jacket thrown off to the side, you were wiping down terminals, gathering crumbs, sweeping up… something suspicious under Thorn’s desk. You even found one of Grizzer’s old chew toys that looked like it had been mauled in a war zone. That went straight in the bin too and made a mental note to get him a new one.

As for Fox, well he slept through the whole operation like a champ.

Eventually, you made your way back to his desk, now armed with wipes and a vague sense of betrayal for not keeping clean.

“You are absolutely hopeless without me,” you muttered, glancing down at the clutter. Finished reports were shuffled neatly to one side. Incomplete ones to the other.

There were more caf cups under his desk, but you weren’t about to risk crawling down there. Not when he could wake up and—

You paused.

Your brain, unhelpfully, conjured the image of him waking to find you between his legs under the desk.

You stared down at the floor, face hot. “Get a grip,” you hissed at yourself.

You continued tidying, opting for the relative safety of his drawers. 

You opened the bottom drawer and paused.

Tucked at the back neatly, was the bracelet.

And your note from 79’s.

The one you weren’t even sure he would have kept. But he did.

You gave him a quick glance—still snoring softly—and looked back at the drawer.

“…You old romantic,” you whispered, smiling despite yourself.

The bracelet slid gently into your hand. You turned it over slowly, tracing it with your fingertips. It really was beautiful. 

Still standing there, bracelet in hand, you’re lost in some awkwardly sentimental thought spiral, when Fox snapped awake like someone had triggered a silent alarm.

One second: peace and soft snores.

Next second: blaster drawn.

“—WOAH!”

You yelped, stumbling back hard as the weapon trained on you with terrifying accuracy. Your feet slid out from under you and you landed flat on your shebs, the bracelet bouncing out of your hand and clattering across the floor.

“What the—!” Your hands shot up instinctively. “It’s me! Just me! Put that thing down!”

For a long, heart-stopping moment, the room stood still. Then Fox’s shoulders jerked like he’d just returned from deep orbit, and the blaster dropped to his side with a clatter.

“ Shit, ” he muttered. “Shit, I—I didn’t know it was you.”

“Yeah, no kriffing kidding,” you groaned, rubbing the base of your spine as he scrambled up from his chair and rushed over.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, crouching beside you, one hand hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should help you up or check if he’d actually shot you. “I didn’t even think. I just reacted.”

“You nearly reacted a hole through my chest,” you muttered, still half in shock. “I think I almost wet myself.”

“Did you?”

“What? No!”

His head dipped in a quiet apology and he finally extended his hand. You glanced at it, hesitating for just a second before slipping your fingers into his. It felt natural—too natural. Warm, firm, familiar. 

You pretended not to notice the way your pulse kicked up the moment his fingers closed around yours. And just as quickly as it had started, he let go the second you were steady on your feet again.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, already scanning you.

You gave a tight shake of your head, brushing yourself off. “Just my dignity,” you said with a sigh, rubbing at the back of your hip. “Think it’s bruised.”

He followed your gaze as it swept around the room. Both of you spotted the bracelet at the same time—there on the floor, glinting in the soft glow of the overhead lights. Fox moved toward it and crouched down, lifting it gently into his palm.

“Were you… looking at it?” he asked.

You folded your arms across your chest, your stance shifting slightly as you leaned your weight to one leg, trying to act casual. “Yeah, I guess. Found it in your drawer.”

He straightened, still holding the bracelet. “And what were you doing in my drawer?”

His voice wasn’t accusatory, just a little puzzled. Like he genuinely couldn’t figure out why you were here at all.

“There was a report that needed delivering,” you said, shrugging as if it wasn’t that big a deal.

Fox’s posture stiffened slightly, his arms folding across his chest with a subtle huff of disbelief. “And did Officer Sinja send you at…” He glanced at the chrono, then back at you. “At twenty-two hundred?”

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “No, actually. I volunteered.”

He blinked behind the visor. “You did?”

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with a smirk as you circled him slowly, eyeing the room like an officer inspecting quarters. “And I’m glad I did.”

Fox turned as you passed, and for the first time, really noticed the state of the office. Or rather, the lack of state—it was spotless.

“You cleaned,” he said, clearly floored by the transformation.

“Someone had to,” you replied breezily, your voice lilting with a note of mock offense. “Not exactly seeing you breaking out the mop lately.”

He made a quiet noise that was noncommittal. Maybe even a little sheepish. He places the bracelet on top of his desk before his arms clasped behind his back; the way he always did when he was trying to look composed but didn't know what to do with himself.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, watching the way he stood. He still adorned his helmet, spine not quite as straight as usual, the fatigue in his shoulders obvious now that you were looking for it.

“But I do see you picking up Republic officers and pinning them to walls,” you added, pivoting toward him again. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

His body tensed. “Do I have to tell you anything?”

That tone—sharp, suddenly defensive—hit you like a slap. You flinched slightly, the smile falling from your lips.

You shook your head and looked away, suddenly all nerves again. “No… sorry. It’s not my business.”

Fox stared at you, jaw tight behind the helmet, watching the way your expression folded in on itself. You looked like you wanted to vanish into the wall.

He sighed then and stepped forward. “Actually,” he said more gently this time, “it is your business.”

You looked up at him, blinking.

“It was about you.”

You’d suspected as much but hearing him say it out loud still made something twist in your chest.

“You don’t have to explain it, Commander,” you said, softer now. Not because you weren’t curious, but because you could see how tense he was and how reluctant. It wasn’t worth pushing if it meant watching him shut down.

He took another step forward. “You called me Fox in the corridor.”

Your lips parted, surprised he remembered. “Yeah,” you said quietly.

“I still want you to call me that.”

Your breath caught a little but you nodded. “Sure.”

He was close now, closer than you'd really prepared yourself for. “And about Officer Sinja,” he starts, his voice dipping again, “he was just being difficult. Said some things that riled me up. I just… reacted badly.”

It didn’t sound like the whole truth. Not by a long shot. But you could see it in the way he stood—still a little on edge, like the tension in his body hadn’t completely faded. 

“Well,” you exhaled, stepping around him to lean against the edge of his desk. “You’re lucky. He said he wasn’t going to file a complaint.”

Fox turned slightly, watching you as you rested your hands on the desk, legs crossed at the ankles.

“But he did complain to me about it,” you added with a laugh.

Fox tilted his head. “What did he say?”

You find yourself smiling a little. “He said I needed to put my ‘boyfriend’ back in his place.”

That got him. His posture changed immediately. He shifted, folding his arms again and dropping his gaze.

“I assume you corrected him,” he muttered.

Your mind ran through a hundred replies: snarky ones, clever ones, honest ones.

But in the end, you just said, “No. I didn’t.” 

Fox’s head lifted slightly. He didn’t move, didn’t respond. Just… stood there. Still as anything.

You inhaled a sharp breath, feeling it scrape a little against your ribs. “Serious question,” you ask to break the tension, “Why were you ready to shoot me?”

“I didn’t know it was you,” he explains, regret in his voice. “I’ve been on edge. More than usual.”

You arched a brow. “You don’t say.”

He let out a breath, that slow kind of exhale that sounded like it had been waiting inside him all day. “I’m sorry. The prisoners have been acting up lately. Saying weird things. Yelling, shouting. It’s been… off.”

This was news to you and something about the way he said it made you pause. “Like what?” 

Fox’s gaze dropped, just for a second, before it flicked back to yours. “I was down in the cells. Late patrol. And a few of them started chanting Rik Walder’s name.”

“They wouldn’t explain why,” he went on, his voice sounding almost angry now. “Just kept repeating it. Like they were trying to provoke something. Or like they admired him.”

The unease that crept through you was sharp and immediate, you can only shudder what impact this prisoner had had on all of them. You tried to suppress how you felt it with a huff, lifting your chin a little. “They’re just trying to get under your skin. Rile the guards. That’s what they do.”

Fox didn’t answer you. Not directly. He looked past you, towards nothing in particular, and you could see in the way his shoulders held their tension that he wasn’t convinced.

Before you could say more, a sudden, heavy thump echoed through the overhead vents.

Fox’s blaster was back in his hand in a second flat, the sharp shift in his stance so precise it startled you. His eyes went straight to the ceiling, body tense, prepared and on high alert.

You turned to look at him, and what you saw made your heart ache in a quiet, unexpected way. This wasn’t just Fox being diligent. This was something else and almost brittle. 

“I’ve been hearing that, too,” he murmured, voice low, eyes still trained on the vent like it might open up and swallow you both.

You stepped forward, slow and steady, until you were close enough to feel the static tension coming off him in waves.

“Fox,” you said gently, your voice a balm, and when he looked at you again you reached out and curled your hand slowly around the barrel of his blaster.

He looked surprised, not resisting as you lowered it with a soft but firm touch, guiding it away from the ceiling and down toward the desk.

“It’s just hawk-bats,” you told him, your smile weak but meant to reassure. “Myself and Stone found one the other day. There’s probably a couple still hiding in the vents.”

Despite your reassurance, he didn’t even seem to register what you had even said.

Instead, his gaze lingered on you. Lingering on your face, your hand that had brushed against his. Even the closeness of your body to his had him almost melting in the spot. 

You let out a soft laugh under your breath and placed the blaster back on the desk. “I thought I was going crazy, too,” you admitted.

Fox still said nothing. You thought he might, but he didn’t. And maybe that silence, that heavy pause between breaths, was what made you do what you did next without thinking.

Your hands lifted before you could stop them, rising slowly until they rested on either side of his helmet. You felt the faintest hitch in his breath as your fingers curled around the rim, and then you lifted it off.

You held back an audible gasp. He looked wrecked.

Not just tired, not just unshaven and unkempt. But he looked hollowed out, like the days had scraped him clean from the inside and left only the shell behind. The bruised shadows under his eyes, the dull set of his mouth, the faint lines of tension around his brow. 

Fuck, you could almost cry.

“Fox…” you breathed, heart twisting. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

He rubbed a hand across his face and gave a vague gesture toward the chair. “Just now.”

You frowned. “That doesn’t count. That was barely ten minutes, and it ended with you almost taking my head off.”

He didn’t even try to argue. Just let his hand fall back to his side and gave a slight shrug.

“You should be resting,” you tell him softly.

“I can’t,” he muttered. “Not while Rik Walder is still out there. Not with the Senate breathing down my neck, expecting something. Expecting… everything.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t all on him, that he didn’t have to carry the whole galaxy on his back—but then he added, voice just barely audible:

“And I’ve been worried about you.”

That stopped you in your tracks. You stared at him, the words hitting deep. He looked at you as if he was afraid you might step back but you didn’t. You didn’t move at all.

He’d said it so simply, without flourish or excuse, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue and had been threatening to slip as soon as he saw you. 

“I’ve been thinking about you,” you whisper, the words catching somewhere in your throat as you admitted them aloud for the first time. “A lot, recently.”

There was a shift behind his eyes, something vulnerable that cracked through the last of his armour. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

You frowned softly, your head tilting as your brows drew together. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” you told him, honestly and without hesitation, even though your chest gave a strange pang at the irony of it—because he had lied to you. He had looked you in the eye as someone else. “Not ever.”

His expression faltered then, looking fragile and full of guilt. You saw it settle over his features like a slow, tired tide. He looked at you like he wanted to say something more, but he really couldn’t seem to find the strength. 

And instead of pressing him anymore about it—because neither of you needed more pressure—you stepped closer, quietly, the way someone might approach a wounded animal. 

Your fingers lifted almost of their own accord, and you let them drift, featherlight, across the side of his face. He didn’t flinch.

His eyes closed under your touch like it was something sacred. A small sound passed through his lips. A breath, maybe a shudder. He leaned into your hand like he hadn’t realised how badly he’d needed to be touched by you.

You didn’t understand what this meant, not entirely.

You weren’t even sure what it was supposed to be, or what came next. But right now, in this quiet moment, it didn’t matter. 

What mattered was that you were here. And he was here. And for the first time in a long while, you were both… okay. No crying. No arguing.

But you also knew this wasn’t a leap you were ready to make.

The air was still too full of things left unsaid, and your heart still hadn’t made sense of the way it beat harder whenever you thought and looked at him. Especially like this.

So, gently, you let your hand fall away.

You stepped back, putting space between you, your throat tightening slightly as you tried to fill it with something light. “I should head home,” you said, a little too quickly, your voice wobbling just slightly on the first word.

Fox nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes, and he didn’t try to stop you.

As you moved away from him, you glanced over your shoulder, trying to summon a smile that didn’t look too sad and pitiful. “You should get some sleep, too. Preferably without a blaster in your hand.”

He actually huffed a quiet laugh at that, and it was soft and genuine.

“Oh,” you added, smirking a little as you reached for the door, “maybe lay off the caf for a few hours, Fox. You’re starting to twitch.”

“I don’t twitch,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it and the corner of his mouth lifted. 

Before you could leave, you paused when he suddenly called your name.

You meet his gaze curiously but then look down as he held something out:

The bracelet.

He held it in both hands now, offering it to you—not as a command, not as a guilted gesture, but with something quieter behind it. “It’s still yours, if you want it.”

Your breath catches as you stared at it, then up at him.

Maybe this was him trying to bridge the gap. Maybe this was him trying to say all the things he hadn’t yet figured out how to voice.

Your eyes softened, your heart thudding hard once in your chest.

And you shook your head.

“Not yet,” 

Not no.

Not never.

Just… not yet.

He didn’t ask why. He just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his tired eyes and then he nodded once, slow and solemn before looking away.

“Fox,” you whisper as you move back at him. There’s a flicker of surprise as you came back. 

You glanced down at the bracelet one last time, and though your hand didn’t take it, your fingers brushed lightly against his as you folded his fingers over it. “Not yet .”

He seems to inhale a deep breath and smiles. Tired. Cute. But a smile. “Not yet.”

Notes:

Next chapter is going to be intense so trigger warnings will be in place.

Chapter 14: Part Fourteen - Rik Walder

Summary:

Forgetting your jacket leads to a big mistake.

Notes:

warnings: scenes of violence, kicking, biting, blood, kidnapping, explicit language.

The doors hissed open and the sound of torrential rain echoed the corridor like a thousand drums. You cursed under your breath, instinctively folding your arms across your chest as the chill hit your skin. You instinctively reached for your jacket only to find it gone.

“What-?” you mumble to yourself, glancing around in case it has dropped by your feet. Sudden realisation hit you that you didn't pick it up after your cleaning frenzy.   

You didn’t really mind the rain most nights, sometimes it was even nice. However tonight it poured with a kind of heaviness that matched the weight now sitting on your shoulders. Fox was a complicated man yet you can’t help but wonder if things are even more complicated.  Still, you stepped just beyond the threshold and just decided to grab a cab. But as one comes towards you, you didn’t move.

The thought of walking away and leaving Fox again after everything that just happened didn’t sit right. Not after what you’d seen in his face, not after the soft way he’d held your gaze or the way he’d handed you that bracelet with quiet hope. ‘Not yet’ you had said, the words louder in your head than the storm outside. 

So you stood there, staring out into the rain. You let the storm soak your thoughts, let your heart thud unevenly as you replayed everything: the way he’d looked so worn down, so guarded and exposed all at once, and how much it hurt to see him like that. You loved him. That much was painfully clear now. And he loved you—he didn’t need to say it. You saw it in the way he didn’t push, in the way his voice softened just for you.

And yet the guilt twisted in your gut like a knife. Maybe it was your fault, at least a little. Maybe you should’ve let him explain himself back then. Maybe you had  overreacted to his lie. Perhaps you just weren’t ready to hear the truth back then. But now…

Now you were ready to walk back.

Your legs moved without really thinking, carrying you back through the corridors, past a few straggling night shift officers who didn’t pay you much attention. You were back at the station in minutes.

You hesitated, hand hovering just above the panel to open it, your other hand fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, trying to calm your nerves.

Then you heard it. A voice, quiet and urgent.

You froze. Maybe it was Stone, or Hound. You almost smiled at the thought that maybe they came back to check on him. 

Without thinking much of it, you opened the door. “Hey, sorry I forgot my—”

The air in the room shifted violently, as if all the warmth had been sucked out and replaced with ice. Your heart stuttered, your lungs seized, and every thought left your mind as your eyes locked on the back of a stranger.

He was standing at your old console. A man—tall, lanky, filthy. Greying black hair slick with grease and maker-knows-what. He smelled like rot and copper and something older, something fouler. Your stomach turned.

Then he moved. Fast. His head snapped toward you, his eyes sunken into his skull like pits of tar, wild and unblinking. His mouth curved into a smile that didn’t reach anything near humanity.

“You should not be here,” he speaks, his voice slithered across the room like oil.

Your mouth fell open, and a sharp gasp escaped as you instinctively stumbled backward, your heel catching on the floor. “Stay where you fucking are,” you snapped, but your voice trembled, hands shaking so badly it was hard to lift them.

He laughed. Low, slow, creeping toward you like a cat after its prey.

“No,” he growled, stepping forward again, “no I will not.”

Your body moved before your brain could catch up, a scream ripping through your throat as you lunged for the emergency panel, fingers outstretched. You could feel his breath at your back. Could hear his footsteps pounding behind you like war drums.

So close. So fucking close—

But then pain exploded in your skull.

A blinding flash of white, then nothing but the dull, echoing thud of your body slamming into the ground, your face colliding with the floor hard enough to make stars dance in your vision. Your nose cracked on impact. You tasted blood, sharp and metallic and thick on your tongue.

Still, you moved.

Crawling.

Dragging yourself toward the panel. You were inches away, your fingers clawing at the metal when a pair of boots stepped in front of you. You looked up, your eyes swimming with tears and blood and the promise of unconsciousness. “Move,” you croaked, your voice barely human as you grabbed at him, desperately trying to shove him aside.

“All this trouble,” he muttered, towering over you, his voice sly and mocking, “will soon be gone.”

You spat blood. “They’ll find me,” you hissed, glaring through the fog. “They’ll know you did this, Rik Walder.”

But the words didn’t phase him. Instead, he looked behind you. “She is coming with us.”

Us.

Your body seized up as rough hands suddenly grabbed your legs, pulling you back across the floor with such force it tore a scream from your lungs. Your nails scratched against the cold floor, searching for something—anything—to hold onto. You writhed, kicked, fought with every ounce of strength left in you.

You weren’t sure if he could hear you. You weren’t sure if he was even there. But you screamed anyway. “FOX!”

You kicked, thrashed, crying out as you tried to twist away. You kicked again, your boot slamming into the other asaliants knee. 

He grunts and then you watched with blurry vision as Rik bends down to grab your arms and instantly, you bit him. Hard. 

“Fucking BITCH —”

A boot connected with your side, sharp and unrelenting. You let go of his hand, gasping into the floor, still reaching, still clawing.

Another blow to your ribs. Another hand in your hair.

You didn’t stop.

You couldn’t stop.

“FOX!” Your voice was shredded, blood splattering as you forced it out. “FOX, PLEASE—!”

A hand clamped over your mouth, silencing the scream that wanted to tear your throat raw. You sobbed against it, your fingers scrabbling uselessly at the cold tile as you were dragged backward, away from the switch, away from the light, away from him .

“All this trouble,” Rik growled as he loomed over you, eyes wide, voice thick with contempt. “All this noise .”

You tried to spit at him but choked on your own breath, your body heaving as another hand hooked under your arms and began dragging you back, toward the maintenance access panel above the console.

“She’s not going to fit,” the second man muttered, his voice rough and angry. “She’s bleeding too much already—”

“She will fit,” Rik snarled. “We’ve come too far. I’m not leaving her here. Break her legs if you have to just get her up there!”

You couldn’t move anymore. Couldn’t fight.

Your limbs trembled. Your eyes fluttered. The pain was too much.

But as the metal panel screeched open and the darkness of the vent yawned before you, one final word slipped from your lips, soft and broken as your vision blurred and the last flickers of light faded:

“Fox…”

Then everything went black.

Notes:

i am very, very sorry for the long wait for such a short chapter :( i was having serious blanks and wanted to make sure this part was done as best as i could as these kinds of themes are not what im used to writing. ALSO, an issue was raised with me if this series will have sexual assault themes, I can assure you there will NOT be anything like that.

Chapter 15: Part Fifteen - Under Your Skin

Summary:

You awake up in an unfamiliar place and soon learn the plans of Rik Walder. Fox learns you didn’t turn up for your shift and feels in his gut that something is wrong.

Notes:

warnings: kidnapping and aggressive behaviour.

 

Pain hits first. Not a sting. Not a throb. But a roar of hot, splitting pressure that pulses behind your eyes and radiates through the base of your skull like your brain is trying to tear itself free. You try to move but your body doesn’t respond. 

You attempt to tug your wrists, ankles too,but bound with restraints. Panic claws up your throat before you can stop it.

You’re on your back. The surface beneath you is narrow—metal—slick with condensation or something worse. The air is oppressive, hot and sour, with a cloying stench of mildew. Every breath is a fight against gagging. You breathe through your nose but it doesn’t help. 

It's dark, the kind that wraps around your head and squeezes. You can’t even see your hands. You can’t even hear anything but your own heart hammering.

Then memories slice back through the dark like a blade; Rik Walder.

A faint, flickering light stutters to life ahead. Then, a whisper.

Not loud. Not sudden.

Soft.

And far too calm.

“If you scream, I will not hesitate to kill you, dear.”

Your breath freezes in your throat. You jerk your head toward the voice—and there he is. Eyes. Round and gleaming in the dark like a predator.

You can’t move. Can’t blink. You wanted nothing more than to scream despite the threat.

“…What do you want with me?”  It comes out broken and weak.

The sound of movement answers you. Not footsteps. Scraping.

Rik drags himself into the light like something unearthed. Crawling. Twitching. Jerky limbs folded wrong, his motions more insect than human. You see him fully now and your stomach turns. His prison uniform hangs off his skeletal frame. His skin is slick, grayish, drawn taut over bone. Hair in greasy ropes. Filth clings to him in layers. The smell, stars, the smell. Sweaty and decaying. 

He grins. A wide, rotted thing that exposes yellow teeth and too much gum. He sees your reaction, and he loves it.

“You’re awake,” he purrs, saying your name like it’s a spell.  “How do you feel?”

You can’t answer. Your mouth won’t let you.

You watch in anxiousness as he reaches into a pouch with a shaking hand and pulls out a rag—stiff, matted, dark with old stains.

You flinch hard as he leans in. Your cuffs catch fast. No room to move. He’s already there, shadowing your face.

“Shhh,” he whispers, pressing the cloth to your temple. “Just a little blood. You really did take a knock, didn’t you?”

His touch is mockingly gentle. You shudder as he tuts like a parent fussing over a child.

“Why…” You fight down the bile in your throat. “Why did you take me?”

He sits back on his haunches, legs spread awkwardly, breathing through his mouth. 

“Because you unfortunately stumbled into one of my plans… and thinking of the bigger picture… I need your help,” he says with a strange, unearned sincerity. “To get out.”

You blink at him, disbelief momentarily stronger than fear. “You’ve been out. In the vents. For weeks. There’s been a manhunt. You could’ve slipped away a hundred times.”

His jaw tenses. His face flickers. He looks insulted. “It’s not been that simple.”

He moves closer. One arm crooked. One leg dragging. Like something broken that never healed right.

“You think I’ve just been hiding?” he spits, physically. “No. I’ve been working. Watching. Listening.”

The hairs rise on your arms. You twist to look around—tight walls, grating, rusted bolts. The shape of the space, the condensation, the pitch-black…The vents.

“The blackout last week…” he breathes. “The loops in the security feed. The corrupted cell block data.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “You.”

His grin splits wider. Manic. Childish. Proud.

“Chaos,” he says softly, eyes shining with reverence.

“A little chaos lets the cracks open. And in the cracks…” He leans in so close you feel the heat of his breath. It smells like rot. “We slip through.”

Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

“What do you want?”

“The code.”

“What code?”

“The Cell Block override. The pre-war encryption lock. The one you have clearance for.”

Your heart is racing again, shock and fear pulsing through your blood. “You’re going to release them.”

“Not all,” he says, almost soothing. “Just enough to make them listen. Just enough to burn this place to the ground.”

You shake your head, voice shaking. “I don’t know it.”

He watches you for a long, long moment. His stare is long, cold and unblinking.
“If you don’t cooperate,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something deadly,  “I will hurt you. And I will enjoy it.”

“I’m telling the truth,” you gasp, pushing yourself upright despite the cuffs digging into your wrists. “I just file reports, I don’t—I don’t even have clearance—”

“And collect the caf,” he cuts in, flat and mocking.

Your blood runs cold. He’s been watching you. For weeks. Maybe longer.

You shrink back without meaning to. The weight of his eyes is suffocating now. You feel exposed, like something flayed open.

He studies your face and something ugly curls his mouth upward. “What about Commander Fox?”

Your body goes rigid.

The name hits like a slap. Your heart leaps straight into your throat. “Leave him out of this,” you snap before you can stop yourself. The fear slips out into your tone and you try to cover it. “…Please.”

Rik chuckles under his breath, shaking his head slowly like he’s genuinely amused.

“After everything he’s done to you? all the lies?”
 he asks softly, darkly.“Still so loyal. You poor, pathetic little thing.”

What else has he seen? What did he hear?

“He’s a good man,” you say quickly, fiercely, trying to ground yourself in the truth.  “And even if he did have the code, he wouldn’t give it to you.”

For a moment, Rik says nothing. He simply smiles, like he knows something you don’t. The quiet is unbearable.

Then he speaks. “Then he will die.”

“No!” The word tears from your throat before you can stop it.

His hand slams down over your mouth. “I said don’t scream!” he snarls, inches from your face, his grip bruising and hard, the stink of his breath turning your stomach.

You thrash, tears springing hot and fast from your eyes. He doesn't let go.

“You’ll get him to give me the code,”he growls through clenched teeth, “or I’ll put a hole through his helmet so clean they’ll bury him in it. And then…”

His eyes glitter with malice. “What good will you be?”

His fingers dig deeper into your cheeks, pressing bone beneath skin. Tears slide down over his hand—salt, terror and humiliation pooling in your throat.

You try to scream again, but it’s swallowed by the dark.

  ⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

Fox hadn't slept much.

He’d tried. Tossed and turned in his bunk for hours, one arm draped over his eyes, the other clenched under his pillow. But sleep never really came. Not properly. His thoughts had been too loud—yet for once, they weren’t full of self-loathing or buried rage.

Your voice kept echoing in his head instead.

Not yet.

A breath of air had left him when you said it, and somehow it hadn’t returned. Even now, hours later, he still felt like he was floating just slightly outside himself. Still felt that fragile glimmer of something he hadn’t touched in a while.

Hope.

He hadn’t felt this... light in a long time. And though he’d barely slept, he wasn’t tired.

He stepped into the station and the silence was thick. You were usually the first one here but after being transferred, it was always someone else. But not this time. He entered and didn’t feel on edge, nervous, awkward. No emotions that had been pressing on his ribs. The awful caf machine blinked at him from the corner of the room.

He passed it.

Didn’t need it.

Something inside him felt lifted. Not necessarily fixed or healed. But maybe mended, ever so slightly, at the edges.

Footsteps came in minutes later—he didn’t even need to look up to know it was Thire and Stone. Their footsteps were always distinct. Thire heavy and purposeful. Stone a little lazier in stride.

“Commander,” Thire greeted, brow raised as he stopped short at the sight of Fox standing at his terminal without his helmet on and without a caf in hand.

“Morning,” Fox replied, tone even. He didn’t bark it. Didn’t grunt it, either. 

Stone narrowed his eyes as he strolled to his usual spot. “Alright, who are you and what’ve you done with Fox?”

“Funny,” Fox muttered, but his mouth twitched.

“You smiled,” Thire said, spinning a chair around and dropping into it. “Did he just smile?”

“That wasn’t a smile.”

“Oh, it was. Not full teeth, but it counts.”

Stone made a show of searching the desk. “What’d we miss? New boots? Extra rations?”

Fox just shook his head, returning his attention to a datapad. Thire leaned forward, arms folded as if analysing him. “You're not snappy. You’re not snapping at us for noticing you’re not snappy. That’s... suspicious, sir.”

“I’m allowed to have a good morning.”

“Sure. It’s just rare enough to be investigated.”

Stone laughed, moving toward the supply cubby. He reached for his gloves but paused mid-reach, hand hovering. “Huh.”

“What?” Fox asked without looking.

Stone pulled something from a nearby chair and held it up between two fingers.

A jacket.

Your jacket.

Dark navy, worn at the cuffs. The one you always wore. You’d left it hanging over the back of the chair last night after your cleaning frenzy. 

Fox’s heart stuttered. Stone turned, holding it like a trophy. “Was a certain missy here last night, Commander?”

Thire practically lit up. “Ohhhh—”

“Don’t start,” Fox muttered, trying to snatch the jacket without looking too eager.

“You don’t start,” Thire grinned, “with your mysterious smiles and actual full sentences this morning. I knew something was up.”

“I talk to you.”

“You’ve been grunting at us. This morning you said ‘morning’ like we weren’t both about to get court-martialed.”

“So she was here?” Stone asked, still dodging Fox as he tries to snatch it off him when he thinks Stone isn’t paying attention. “Are you guys talking again?”

Fox sighed, pressing his fingers to his brow. “She dropped off a report.”

“Uh huh. Just a report?” Thire teased, all too pleased with himself.

Fox suddenly snatched the jacket from Stone’s grip with success and folded it with more care than he meant to.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “Maker,” Stone whistled low. “You’re so soft for her.”

Fox didn’t reply. Not in words. But he didn’t deny it, either.

He held the jacket a moment longer before setting it gently on the edge of your old spot.. Something about seeing it there, physical proof that you’d been in this room and in this space with him, settled something on his chest.

But now, he had to sit back and deflect every question thrown his way of what happened last night.

  ⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

 

Fox hadn’t planned to bring the jacket. He’d picked it up from the edge of his desk before heading out for his break—out of instinct, really—and found himself halfway to your station before he realised what he was doing.

Too soon? Maybe.

It had only been one night since you’d stood in his office and left him pining over you once again. It wasn’t that he expected something of you. He didn’t. But he’d woken up thinking of you, and the memory of last night's weather had stuck with him. 

So naturally, you shouldn’t have to walk home without it. That was all.

The corridors were quieter near your department, an older section of the administrative wing that had been patched and repaired too many times over the years. He adjusted the folded jacket under his arm and made his way down the hall, boots echoing lightly against the floor.

Fox stepped through the main doors and entered the corridor that led to the smaller analyst cubicles. He expected to see you immediately—maybe hunched over a terminal, or halfway through a datapad… but you were nowhere to be seen. 

He frowned. He even stopped a troop walking by and asked where your spot usually was but as Fox walked towards it, you weren’t there either.

In fact, as he glanced around, he realised your workspace looked untouched. No caf cup. No half-open drawers or personal notes laid out like you often had. Just neat, sterile emptiness.

Not in the far cubicle.

Not by the terminals.

Not by the supply shelf.

His shoulders stiffened, and for a reason he can’t describe, heat began to curl at the base of his spine. He wasn’t alarmed, not yet. But… Where were you?

Two troopers off-duty stand near the back stairwell where an overhead vent hummed slightly louder. They straightened immediately when they saw him approach, 

“Commander,” one barked, nearly saluting.

Fox raised a hand. “At ease.” They dropped their arms but didn’t relax.

He stepped closer, eyes cool but calm when he asked if they had seen you.

The one on the right looked to his partner as if searching for confirmation. The other, scratched the back of his neck as he thought. “Think so, sir,” he said slowly. “Yesterday? Maybe?”

Fox’s jaw tensed. “I meant today.”

They exchanged a look.

One of them frowns as they slowly realise something, “Actually… no, sir. Now that you mention it. I don’t think we’ve seen her all morning.”

“She didn’t even check in for shift rotation,” the second added. “Would’ve passed her in the hallway, at least.”

Fox was silent. Stay calm. Maybe, maybe she is ill. 

“She’s the one that always looks miserable, right?” one asks more to his partner than to Fox. “Little thing. Tired eyes.” 

Fox’s spine went rigid. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The heat in his eyes said enough.

Both troopers suddenly looked like they regretted saying anything.

“Sir,” the one on the right said quickly, “we didn’t mean—just, we haven’t seen her. Not since yesterday.”

“She didn’t clock on for her shift?” Fox’s voice was low now, every syllable pressed tight.

“No, sir. Checked the logs this morning.” He looked to the wall console. “I can pull it up again—”

Fox didn’t wait as his boots struck hard against the floor as he strode toward the nearest terminal, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. The two troopers followed quickly behind, still mumbling between themselves, trying to piece together what was going on.

“—maybe she had clearance moved—”

“—or maybe she switched shifts with someone—”

“I didn’t see any message about that though—”

Their voices tangled, overlapping with each other and dissolving into static in Fox’s ears as he brought up the personnel logs. The screen loaded fast and he entered your name, eyes scanning. 

There was no sign-in recorded for this morning. Just like they said. But the line right after showed that you didn’t clock-out. No exit timestamp. Nothing.

It was standard procedure that every staff member was required to tag out, even if they were escorted or dismissed. The system tracked every ID. Even accidents were recorded.

The clones were still behind him, still talking, still trying to rationalise what Fox already knew wasn’t normal.

And then he saw the name of Officer Sinja and the final entry under your activity log.

His name was listed as the recipient of your last assigned report, timestamped just after shift hours. 

then he thought that maybe Sinja fired you.

It would be plausible since their altercation in the corridor yesterday; after Fox had cornered him in the and nearly decked him for running her into the ground. Perhaps this was Sinja’s twisted retaliation. 

His head turned slowly as a familiar voice drifted into the corridor. Talk of the devil.

He was walking past the open entranceway, reading something off a datapad, completely unaware when Fox’s boots moved before he’d even thought about it.

“Sinja!”

The officer stopped mid-stride, sighing audibly before even turning around. He glanced over his shoulder, expression soured. “Not you again.”

“Where is she?”

Sinja blinked once. “Who?”

Fox only glared.

Sinja clicked his tongue, annoyed. “You’ll need to be more specific, Commander. I don’t keep tabs on every civilian flimsi-pusher who gets under your skin.”

“You were the last person to receive a report from her,” Fox said evenly, trying — barely — to keep his voice level. “She hasn’t been seen since yesterday. She never clocked out.”

Sinja’s expression didn’t change. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “Maybe she quit.”

“Maybe she finally realised this place isn’t worth the overtime,” Sinja continued, voice laced with false concern. “Could’ve slept in. Or maybe she got lucky last night. Some drunk gave her a better reason to stay in bed. Who’s to say?”

It hit like a slap.

Fox didn’t speak. Not immediately. But his hand curled slowly into a fist at his side, knuckles tightening beneath the vambrace of his glove. His blood was rising in a thick, low boil that felt heavier with every word that dripped from Sinja’s mouth.

Fox saw the flicker of satisfaction in the bastard’s eyes. Sinja enjoyed this. The power of implication. The cheap shot. The thought of Fox imagining her wrapped around someone else, too hungover or too lovesick to care she’d missed work.

He wanted to hit him. Stars, he wanted to hit him so badly his hand itched.

But he didn’t. Not this time.

Instead, he straightened, voice like cold iron. “If I find out you’ve had anything to do with her disappearance, or her reassignment, or even her silence, I’ll ensure you’re transferred so far out you’ll forget what Coruscant smells like.”

Sinja lifted a brow. “Charming.”

Fox didn’t wait for a response. He turned sharply and walked away, the fire still burning beneath his breastplate. It took everything in him not to look back.

The jacket was still under his arm. And suddenly, he couldn’t bear the sight of it.

 

 

 

Chapter 16: Part Sixteen - No Honour Among Rats

Summary:

Fox searches for you at your place when he has a run in with an intruder. Meanwhile Officer Sinja's betrayal comes to light.

Notes:

i am soooooo sorry for the lack of updates. Writers block is destroying me! I hope this dramatic chapter makes up for it.

Warnings ahead apply.

Buzzz. Buzzz.

Silence.

Fox pressed the buzzer again, though he already knew it wouldn’t make a difference. He stepped back from the door and scanned the corridor of your apartment block, hoping that maybe you’d round the corner. But no one came. The hallway was empty. Still and dimly lit. The kind of late-night quiet that made the hum of the lights seem too loud.

He sighed, jaw tightening behind his helmet. He hadn’t told Thire, or Stone, or anyone—not yet. If he was wrong, if you were simply sick or had taken leave, then he would’ve sounded the alarm for nothing. But something in his chest gnawed harder with every passing hour. You hadn’t reported in. You hadn’t even come back for your jacket.

He glanced toward the security node beside your door before reaching into his belt pouch.

The small black device wasn’t standard issue—it wasn’t something most officers had access to, nor were they encouraged to use it. But Fox had clearance for situations far worse than this. That was what he kept telling himself: this could be worse. And if it was…

With a soft click and a green light, he opened your door.

Immediately, the scent of you hit him. Faint but familiar. Fabric softener and old caf grounds. A scent he remembered without realising he’d memorised it. The place was quiet, too quiet, but not abandoned. 

Fox stepped inside, careful with each bootfall. The lights remained off as he scanned the room slowly.

Your apartment was a contradiction of order and chaos. The kind that spoke of someone who tried to keep up, but didn’t always have the energy. Dishes were stacked in the drying rack—clean, but not from today. A pair of boots were kicked near the door. Clothes in a small pile by the bed. Your bed was unmade as if you’d gotten up in a rush.

He checked the fresher. Empty.

He checked the tiny kitchenette. Nothing out of place.

He opened the closet, breath catching for a second like he was preparing himself to find you—hurt, hiding, anything.

Empty.

The tension in his chest coiled tighter. Fox turned toward your nightstand and caught the faint glow of your datapad. 

He shouldn’t. He knew better than to snoop through your things but his hands moved before his mind could stop them. He picked it up, thumbing it awake. He scanned the most recent logs. No comms. No outgoing messages. No travel routes logged, no messages to Pia, or anyone.

Just one thing. The last item opened was an old message thread that belonged to you both. 

Fox stared at it for a long time. Then, with a sigh, he sat heavily on the edge of your bed.

The messages were old now. Late-night exchanges about your day. Dumb jokes and awful flirting. He remembered reading these messages over and over when they first happened and when… when it all ended. 

You’d believed in Whisky. And he’d used that to get close to you. Stupid. Arrogant. Selfish.

And now? There was no trace of where you’d gone.

Fox suddenly froze at a sound.

Footsteps, fast and light as if someone was running, maybe two floors down. 

He stood up from the bed in an instant, years of instinct coiling through his body like a spring. His blasters were in his hands before his brain caught up.

He moved silently toward the door, pressing himself to the wall just beside it. The sound came again. A light footfall. Someone creeping. 

Fox’s grip tightened. His shoulders squared.

The second the shadow crossed the threshold, he moved—

“DON’T MOVE—!”

“AAHHHHHHHH!”

“—STAY THERE!”

“I HAVE A SHOE!”

Fox blinked. And so did Pia.

She was standing by the door chest heaving, face flushed, hair half-done like she’d rolled out of bed and sprinted here in her slippers. One slipper. The other hand was raised like a weapon. A single, worn, floral-patterned flat as if she were brandishing a grenade.

The silence between them was deafening.

“…Pia,” Fox said slowly, lowering both blasters with a click of his wrists. “Why are you holding… footwear.”

“Wh—” she stammered, staring at the pistols, then back at him. “Why are you lurking in her apartment like some kind of creep? Have you not learnt anything!”

He stared. “I’m not—lurking.”

“You were about to shoot me!”

“You ran in unannounced. Like a lunatic. With a shoe.”

“Well, someone left the door open, and I thought she was being murdered!”

“…So you brought one shoe?”

“It’s a sturdy shoe.” Pia huffed, then let the shoe fall to her side like a dropped blaster. “She hasn’t been answering my messages again so I thought I’d check on her. But then I saw the door open and I panicked, okay? I was prepared to die heroically with style.”

Fox sighed, holstering both blasters with a quick motion. “She’s not here.”

Pia’s expression softened immediately. She stepped further inside, the ridiculous tension gone in a heartbeat. “What do you mean?”

Fox sighed, finally finding it hard to look at her.

Pia stepped towards him, her energetic eyes now  wide with worry. “Fox… where’s my best friend?”

 

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

 

 

Your eyes creak open slowly, lashes heavy with dust, and the ache in your body returns. It's everywhere from your shoulders to your hips and your neck. You wince from lying stiff and curled in a metal system for who knows how long. Your mouth is parched, the skin of your lips cracked and flaking from thirst. The vent is still cold and still dark.

You try to swallow, but there’s no moisture left in you. You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Maybe you slept for twenty minutes, eight hours, maybe even a whole day? The absence of time is disorienting but the one thing your certain of is that your body is beyond exhaustion.

You shift your weight, trying to sit up despite the flare of pain in your spine and the tremble in your arms. The metal groans faintly beneath you. As your eyes adjust, you realise something: you’re alone.

Rik is gone. For now atleast.

You blink slowly, once, twice, then again just to be sure. The vent around you is empty. No scuffling movements in the dark, no flicker of that damned hololamp. Just the faint hum of distant ventilation.

You almost collapse from the sheer relief. It's fleeting, but it's real. A moment to think. To breathe. To collect the crumbling pieces of your sanity. You consider shouting, screaming for help but your voice hesitates. The memory of being taken still lives fresh in your mind. You're terrified of what might answer if you make a sound.

Instead, you force yourself to look around. Maybe there’s a way out. Maybe—

A shape.

Your breath catches sharply in your throat as you spot something— someone —in the periphery of your vision. You turn your head slowly, every instinct screaming to be still, but you can’t stop yourself. You squint through the dimness:

There’s a figure slumped against the vent wall. Their body is still, arms folded loosely across their lap, chin tucked down. The lines of their frame are unmistakably human, and the outline of their uniform—well-maintained, familiar grey—is just clear enough to stir something in your chest.

A spark of desperate hope flares to life as you edge closer. “Hello?” Your voice comes out in a hoarse, trembling rasp. “Can you hear me?”

You move again after no response, dragging your aching limbs forward inch by inch. The closer you get, the clearer the uniform becomes. The colour. The seams. The insignia.

Recognition hits you like a slap to the face. It’s Sinja.

You exhale shakily, hands scrambling to shake his shoulder. “Sinja,” you whisper, urgency bubbling into your voice. “Sinja, wake up—we have to go. We need to get out of here.”

You jostle him harder, panic rising. “Come on , don’t just sit there, please—”

His eyes open. But instead of confusion or concern, he meets your gaze with something else entirely.

A smile.

Not one of relief or reassurance. There’s no warmth in it, just a smug satisfaction. 

You go still like the breath you’d been about to take gets trapped in your lungs.

Something clicks in the back of your mind. And then you remember the second man. The extra pair of hands. The voice in the dark that wasn’t Rik’s.

It was him.

“You…” The word stumbles out of your mouth, barely above a whisper. “You were there.”

Sinja tilts his head slightly, and the glint in his eyes confirms everything.

“Why would I help you escape?” he asks softly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It’s like the air is sucked out of the vent.

You recoil, disgusted, your back hitting the opposite wall as the realisation sinks in. The betrayal stings worse than any blow. He was an arse, but you didnt believe him to be like this. That he wasn’t this kind of monster.

Before you can do anything else, you hear a faint shuffle behind you. Followed by a quiet, almost amused chuckle.

A flicker of orange light sparks to life as Rik’s hololamp ignites again, bathing the cramped tunnel in a dull, sickly glow. You twist around to find him crawling toward you both, his face split in a lazy grin.

“Well,” he drawls, “look who finally woke up.”

The rage surges through you so fast, you’re on your feet before you can stop yourself.

You spin back toward Sinja and launch yourself at him with everything you have left.

“ You traitorous bastard! ” you scream, fists slamming against his chest, shoulders, face—anything you can reach. “You helped him! You let him do this to me!”

He shrinks back, caught off guard, lifting his arms to protect himself from your onslaught. “Stop— Get her off me!!”

“You pathetic coward, you couldn’t even betray me to my face!”

You can’t stop and you didn’t want to. All the terror, all the helplessness and humiliation pours out of you in a storm of fury and broken sobs.

But Rik steps in.

He grabs you by the back of your shirt and yanks you away so violently your feet leave the ground. Your head cracks against the metal as he slams you into the vent wall, a ringing pain blooming in your skull.

“Enough,” he growls, voice hard as steel. “You want to keep making noise? Be my guest. Maybe I’ll just cut your tongue out next.”

You gasp, dazed and dizzy, body slumping to the floor. Meanwhile behind you, Sinja coughs and mutters curses, still catching his breath as he straightens up. “She’s unhinged.”

“You’re surprised?” Rik shoots him a glance before his tone shifts, growing colder. “Is everything ready?”

Sinja clears his throat, casting a wary look to you incase you make another lunge. “Yeah. Everything’s on track. Three days from now. We’ve got a civilian freighter set to dock under an old merchant ID. Registered clean, no red flags. Transport logs have already been falsified.”

“And the decoy?”

“A false security breach in the east wing. Whole squad will get rerouted. There won’t be anyone left to guard processing.” 

“Prisoner logs?”

“Wiped. Flight crew paid off. There’s a private landing window before dawn. No one will notice until it’s too late.”

You stare at them in horror, barely able to process what you're hearing.

They’re planning a full-scale prison break.

And then Rik turns to you again, his expression unreadable. “Only one thing left to handle,” he says calmly. “We need your boyfriend to transmit the final security code through you.”

Your stomach flips. Not this again.

“Fox…” you breathe, eyes wide. “He’d never—he’d never help you.”

Rik smirks, leaning his face close to yours, breath just as rancid as the last time. “He won’t have to know.”

You try to speak, try to call their bullshit, but Sinja cuts in, brushing dust off his uniform.

“I’ve held up my end,” he mutters. “Now where’s my payment?”

Rik’s smile vanishes. He is still facing you, a subtle eyeroll to Sinja’s comment. “Payment?” he echoes.

You see Sinja frown. “You said once everything was set, I’d be compensated. I want it now .”

Rik laughs in almost disbelief. “You idiot. You think I’m carrying credits in my boots? You’ll get paid when we’re out.”

Sinja stiffens, tone getting lower. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“You think you’re in a position to make demands?”

Sinja opens his mouth—but he never finishes the sentence.

In one smooth, practiced motion, Rik draws a blaster and fires.

The shot echoes like thunder in the vent.

Sinja jerks once, his face twisting in shock before he crumples sideways with a thud. A clean shot, straight to the skull.

You scream before you can stop yourself, crawling backwards until your back hits the far wall. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, eyes locked on the cooling body just feet from you. 

“Y-you killed him,” you whisper, voice cracking with disbelief as you look into Sinja’s wide and lifeless eyes then back to Walder.

He holsters the blaster, one you werent’e even aware he was carrying, and shrugs. “He was getting whiny.”

His words didn’t even register at first, your mind too numb and your body too shaken. But as the silence settled, you swallowed hard, your throat dry and aching. “S-Someone must have heard that,” you whispered, barely able to push the thought out. “That shot—someone had to hear it.”

Rik barely glanced your way as he crouched near the hololamp, adjusting it casually as if he hadn’t just murdered a man in cold blood. “I doubt it,” he said, voice calm. “It’s late. Nobody comes down this way.” 

With a fluid serpentine motion, he began crawling backward, taking the lamp with him as he slithered deeper into the shadows, leaving you with the slowly cooling corpse of Officer Sinja.

You exhaled, a sound caught between a sob and a gasp, the thick air of the vent making it hard to breathe. Your eyes drifted back to Sinja’s body—limp, crumpled, mouth still slightly open in some half-finished protest. He looked pitiful now. Powerless. Dead. You hated him. But Maker, you never wanted this.

“What are you going to do with him?” you asked, though your voice was barely audible. You didn’t really want an answer. You already knew.

“Nothing,” Rik said, tossing the hololamp so it landed just beside Sinja’s body with a dull clang. The light flickered once, then steadied, casting a long, grotesque shadow of the corpse along the narrow curve of the vent. “Let him rot. Let him be a reminder.”

You stared at the silhouette, bile rising in your throat. “A reminder?”

Rik’s gaze met yours from the gloom, his tone flat and devoid of remorse. “That this could be you. Three days from now. You’ve got time to think. Time to decide whether you want to end up like him.”

The sweat on your skin turned cold. You were trembling, not from fear anymore, but from fury. “You’re a coward,” you spat, voice shaking. “He helped you. He did everything you asked, and you killed him anyway.”

Rik chuckled, soft and almost pitying, before beginning to crawl away again. “Let’s hope I’m in a better mood then,” he said over his shoulder, his voice trailing off with the light as the hololamp's glow faded.

Chapter 17: Part Seventeen (1/2) - Born To Die

Summary:

Fox calls a private meeting with his most trusted men to begin a discreet search for you and while Fox struggles with the weight of each passing day, you’re forced into a desperate bargain with Rik only to be ordered to lure Fox into a trap.

               

            Fox had wanted no interruptions and no wandering troopers overhearing words that were not meant for them. So he found a private room, funnily enough it was the one he had dragged you into once whilst dressed as a Mechanic and was still going under a different name. But it was the perfect spot to hold a secret meeting.

When Fox finally stepped forward after the silent and curious gazes from Hound, Stone, Thire and Thorn, there was no preamble. “She’s missing.” 

The words left him flatly but they all knew who he was referring to. “She hasn’t been seen since she left my office the other night.” He let his gaze travel over each man, measuring the flickers of shock, the tightening of jaws and the deep sighs. 

Thorn was the first to break the silence. “Then we need a wider search. Sector-wide. The longer we wait—”

“I know,” Fox interrupted, the tone not sharp but immovable. “But the more noise we make, the more chance we draw attention. Civilians start talking, panic spreads, and whoever…” He didn’t want to think this was the case but he knew you wouldn’t have just ran away and so with a defeated sigh finished off with: “kriff, whoever took her will know we’re closing in.”

Thorn’s eyes burned with restrained frustration, but he said nothing more.

Stone, quieter than usual, spoke from the back of the group. “Sir… what if Rik Walder has something to do with this?”

There was no hesitation in Fox’s answer. “Then he’s a dead man.” 

For a moment, he said nothing else. His hands moved to a desk where your jacket lay, the faintest trace of your scent still clinging to it. He picked it up slowly, fingers brushing over the fabric, holding onto it far longer than necessary. His jaw tightened, the muscles twitching before he finally looked at Hound.

“Take this to Grizzer. See if he can get a trail.”

Hound stepped forward, accepting the jacket without question. “Say no more.” Within moments, he was gone.

Fox stood alone for a beat longer, staring at the empty space where Hound had been, and then turned back to the others. “Find her. Whatever it takes.”

 

⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅

 

The days that passed blurred in the darkness, your concept of time unravelling into a haze of the disgusting stench of decay. Sinja’s body was still there, crumpled in a grotesque heap, his skin pulling taut and grey over bone. The smell crept into every breath you took. Sometimes you caught it in the back of your throat before you even realised you’d inhaled making you gag. 

Rik appeared again when you woke, crouched like a predator that had all the time in the world. “Have you made up your mind?” he asked, his voice almost casual, though his eyes told you that you shouldnt ignore his question. Your lips were cracked, your throat raw from thirst. 

A part of you that wanted to spit in his face was still there, but it was drowned beneath the crushing weight of wanting to get out of there alive.

“Yes,” you forced out, the word scraping against your dry throat. “I’ll… help.”

Rik’s mouth curled into a slow, knowing grin. He reached behind him and pulled out a battered canteen. The moment you saw it, your eyes locked on it with a hunger that was almost painful. He held it just out of reach for a heartbeat too long, letting your desperation hang in the air.

When he finally handed it over, your bound hands snatched it from his grasp. The first swig was a shock, the water cool and metallic against your tongue. Then you began to drink greedily, each swallow easing the ache inside you, but it never felt like enough. You kept drinking until there was nothing left. 

When you lowered the canteen, Rik was still watching you. “Good,” he murmured, as if your surrender had been inevitable.

You didn’t answer. The water sat heavy in your stomach as well as the wave of guilt that was forming.

His shadow fell over you once more as he now held out a small, battered datapad. Despite its age and usage, it was wiped of any trace of past messages or contacts. “You’re going to send a message,” he tells you with no chance of refusal,. “To your Commander.”

Your heart kicked hard in your chest. You didn’t answer, staring at the device instead. You hated this. You hated everything what he was telling you to do. 

“You remember his transmission code, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. The way his tone shifted from casual to pressing made your stomach knot. You kept your lips pressed together, unsure if speaking would help you or make things worse.

Rik’s patience evaporated in an instant. His hand shot out, rough fingers tangling painfully in your hair as he wrenched your head back. Before you could even gasp, he slammed you backwards into the wall. The sharp crack of impact rang in your ears, white sparks bursting behind your eyes.

“If you want your precious little boyfriend to live, I expect you to cooperate!” 

A startled yelp tore from your throat, your hands twitching uselessly against the bindings at your wrists. Tears blurred your vision, heat welling in the corners of your eyes from the sheer sting of it.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, leaning in close enough for you to smell the stale tang of his breath.

You nodded quickly, unable to do more than that, your scalp throbbing under his grip.

Satisfied, he released you abruptly, the sudden absence of his hold making you sway. The datapad was shoved into your bound hands, its weight far heavier than its size should allow.

“No funny business,” Rik warned, “you try to send anything other than what I tell you—” His head turned, and he gave a dark, almost amused gesture toward the corner where Sinja’s slumped, rotting corpse lay, “—and I’ll shoot you, and you can rot alongside him.”

You swallowed hard, the datapad’s glow lit your fingers as you tried to think, your mind spinning in circles so fast it was impossible to catch a coherent thought. You could send something coded. You could slip a hidden warning into the text. You could—

‘No funny business’ you remind yourself, you can’t put Fox at any more risk than you are. You just hoped, prayed to something you may or may not even believe him that he knows you’re missing.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked finally, forcing your voice to sound as neutral as you could. “Where’s the meeting place?”

Rik straightened, his smirk slow to spread. “One of the hangars. You’ll know which one.” The implication was clear—it had to be the same place Sinja had been tangled up with.

You gave the barest nod, your fingers trembling as you tapped in Fox’s transmission code. Years of working for him had burned the numbers into your muscle memory so you didn’t need to even think to key them in.

You typed quickly, keeping it sharp and to the point: who it was, where to meet, the time and one final, curt instruction for him to come alone.

Before hitting send, you held the datapad up to Rik, keeping your eyes carefully blank.

He scanned the message, his expression curling into an almost mocking smile. “Not very sweet with your lover, are you?” His tone was needling, baiting, but you didn’t bite.

You said nothing and only held his gaze without blinking.

“Go ahead,” he orders finally, with a small flick of his fingers.

The device was warm with the sweat from your trembling and aching hands as your thumb pressed the send command. A tear slips down your cheek as Rik disappears into the dark, hoping you didn’t just kill the man you came to love.

Notes:

Part one of two!

Again as always, sorry for the wait.

But our honey's are getting reunited! Let's just hope it ends well....

see you very, very soon.

Chapter 18: Part Seventeen (2/2) - Born To Die

Summary:

You, Rik and Fox come face to face.

Notes:

please read with caution, triggering scenes.

Your knees nearly buckled the instant your boots touched the floor. After days of cramped confinement, your body screamed at the sudden stretch of standing upright. The air felt colder out here and you pulled it into your lungs with a shuddering gas.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Rik’s voice came low and flat at your ear. His blaster pressed against the space between your shoulder blades, firm enough that you flinched. “No running. No screaming. You so much as twitch wrong, and I’ll splatter you across the wall.”

Your jaw locked. The thought of bolting flickered through your mind anyway like some wild, desperate part of you that hadn’t yet been smothered by fatigue. But the weakness in your legs made it almost laughable; you could barely take a steady step forward, let alone make a break for freedom.

He shoved at your back with the barrel, nudging you into motion. The sound of your footsteps echoed too loud in the narrow corridor. 

You risked a glance to either side, scanning for a passerby, a guard on patrol, anyone who might bear witness but Rik only chuckled under his breath, reading your thoughts.

“No one’s coming this way.” His smirk bled into his tone, smug and venomous. “These passages? Restricted access thanks to the use of your control panel. Now it is empty at night. It’s just you and me, sweetheart.”

Your stomach twisted. The hangars were close, and the routes there, at this hour, would be deserted. 

Each step grew heavier as pain throbbed through your ankles and up your calves. You’d spent so long folded up in that vent that even the act of walking felt foreign. You stumbled once, catching yourself clumsily on the wall with bound hands.

“Pathetic,” Rik muttered, though he didn’t stop you, didn’t even bother to mask the amusement in his words. “Try not to collapse before we get there. I need you breathing.”

You gritted your teeth and pushed forward, forcing one foot ahead of the other. Because you had no choice. Because Fox might already be on his way to the trap you’d just laid, and if you faltered now…

The blaster prodded between your shoulders again, impatient.

“Move.”

So you did. 

Your footsteps echoed thinly across the grated walkway of the hangar as Rik prodded you forward. “Right there.” Rik ordered, his hand landing heavy on your shoulder to halt you. He pushed you toward the edge of one of the platforms, just shy of the railing where the viewport overlooked the city below. 

You stood rigid, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to tumble from this spot.

“That’s better,” Rik murmured, stepping in close. Too close. His presence reeked of unwashed skin and stale air, and when his hand rose to your hair, your chest tightened in pure disgust. His fingers were rough and filthy as they dragged through the tangles of your hair with mock tenderness. He smoothed it down against your head as if you were a doll to be groomed.

“Pretty little thing,” he cooed, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Can’t have you looking so ragged for your reunion, can we?”

You stiffened as his thumb pressed hard against your cheek, forcing your face upward. With deliberate cruelty, he pinched both cheeks between his calloused fingers and tugged until your lips stretched into a grotesque imitation of a smile.

“There we go,” he chuckled, releasing you only to clap your jaw with a light slap. “Now you look happy to see him.”

He pulled you free from your restraints with a flick of his wrist and the skin around your wrists burned raw where it had rubbed for days. Freedom should have brought relief, but the release felt hollow.

Rik leaned in, the barrel of his blaster now brushing casually along your side, a reminder of your place. His grin stretched wide, “Remember the plan, missy?” he drawled, eyes cruel and expectant. “You ask your boyfriend for the code. And if he plays along…” He tilted his head, the smirk widening. “…maybe I’ll let him live.”

Your throat tightened, your stomach a pit of dread.

“And if he doesn’t,” Rik added, his voice dropping into a promise of violence, “then he dies right here, in front of you. Simple as that.” He gestured vaguely toward the space around you.

The words clung like ice in your chest, every breath a battle as you forced yourself to nod. Because what else could you do?

Rik leaned his weight into your shoulder, the muzzle of his blaster digging against your ribs as though to remind you with every breath who held the power here. His grin was still there, feral and amused, as he dipped his head toward your ear.

“Don’t forget,” he murmured, “I’ll be watching every move. Every breath.”

His gaze flicked toward the chrono bolted to the durasteel wall across the hangar, and instinctively, your eyes followed:

02:59.

“Almost time,” he cooed. “Let’s hope your Commander cares enough to play nice.”

You swallowed, throat burning. The chrono clicked again.

03:00.

The sound of boots was almost imperceptible at first. 

But you felt him before you heard him.

Your body went rigid. Every nerve screamed at you to run, to throw yourself into his arms and beg him to take you away from this nightmare. But the cold press of Rik’s blaster lingered in your memory, keeping you still.

You heard him stop a few paces behind you, his breathing steady, controlled, yet heavy with the weight of exhaustion.

He speaks, your name breaking from his lips like a prayer.

Your eyes blurred instantly, tears slipping hot down your cheeks. You turned slowly, your body trembling as if the very act of facing him might undo you.

And then you saw him.

Fox stood alone in the cavernous hangar, red and white armour catching the pale glow of overhead lights and his helmet tucked beneath an arm. His shoulders, broad as they were, seemed tight with barely contained emotion. 

When his gaze landed on you – hurt, ragged, and trembling at the edge of the platform – you watched his body jolt, like someone had driven a blade straight through him. His entire frame reacted, his jaw tightening, his breath stalling, and in his eyes… devastation.

He said your name again, more desperate this time, taking a single step forward.

You flinched, both hands raising, shaking violently. “D–Don’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you shook your head. The tears streamed faster now, your body trembling so hard you thought you might collapse. “Please… don’t come any closer.”

Fox froze mid-step. He drew in a slow breath, his voice dropping low and steady. “Alright. I won’t.”

You could see his hands, empty, palms slightly raised as though to reassure you. Then, slowly, carefully, he bent and set his helmet down against the cold floor. He straightened, his hands still visible at his sides, no sudden movements and his gaze never left you.

“I got your message,” he said softly, each word layered with aching relief and something else. “Maker, cyar’ika… I was so worried about you.”

A sob clawed up your throat, but you forced it back, your lips trembling as you tried to muster something for him. Anything to tell him you were still here, still fighting. The smallest, weakest and broken smile curved your mouth. 

“I’m… I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice little more than breath. The lie scraped against your tongue, but you clung to it anyway. “But… I need something from you.”

Your lips parted, your heart hammering so hard you thought it might burst through your ribs. “I… I need the code.. for the cell block override.” 

The silence that followed was deafening.

Fox didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His brow furrowed deeply as he tilted his head, studying you, as though trying to read every nuance of your face. 

“…Why,” he asked at last, his voice sharp but quiet, “would I do that?”

Your throat tightened. You bit back a whimper, tears spilling faster down your cheeks as you forced yourself to meet his eyes. Begging silently, desperately, for him to just trust you. For him to not make this harder than it already was.

“Please,” you whispered.

Fox’s expression shifted then. The confusion drained, slowly replaced by something darker — realisation. His jaw tightens, and his gaze burns past you.

“Where is he?” Fox’s voice was a low growl now, coiled with restrained fury.

The answer came in the form of laughter, echoing from the shadows like a predator announcing itself. Rik stepped out from his hiding place with deliberate slowness, clapping mockingly as the sound bounced off the walls.

“Knew you’d see right through it,” Rik drawled, amusement dripping from every word. “Sharp as they say, Commander.”

You flinched as he closed the distance, sliding behind you. His hand trailed up the length of your arm, fingers lingering too long that you jerked involuntarily at the touch. His other arm snapped tight around your waist, yanking you flush against him as he pressed the barrel of his blaster into your side.

Fox reacted instantly, his hand darting to his holster, drawing his own weapons with deadly precision. In the span of a breath, both blasters were drawn and leveled with unwavering aim straight at Rik’s head.

Your body shook violently in Rik’s grip, tears streaming freely now as you choked out a plea, voice breaking. “Fox, please! Just… just give him the code!”

Your wide, wet eyes locked on his face, begging him with everything you had left in you. “I can’t— I can’t let you die for this.”

Fox’s finger tightened on the trigger. His stance unshake you saw the war raging beneath his composure in his eyes.

As a Commander, he would never hand over any code. But he would never risk you either.

“Let her go, Walder.”

There was a lethal edge to his command and he didn’t lower his blaster an inch. 

“I captured you once,” he continued, his tone a coiled snarl, “and I can do it again.”

Rik’s laugh was sharp and cruel, the sound vibrating against your back where his chest pressed into you. He pressed his lips close to your ear, enjoying every second of this sick little game.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, Commander,” he crooned, smirking over your shoulder. “But see—last time you had the upper hand. This time?” His blaster shifted upward, dragging from your ribs to press firmly against your temple.

Your body jerked with a violent shudder, knees nearly giving out beneath you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you cant help but let out a choked whimper.

“Not so simple now, is it?” Rik hissed, tightening his grip on your waist.

The muscles in Fox’s jaw ticked sharply, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. But Rik’s grin only widened, sensing the crack he wanted. “You know what I think, Commander? You’re selfish.”

Fox’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“Your little lover here—” he jostled you roughly, “is more than willing to save your life. To grant me and those you have locked away the freedom I deserve. What they deserve. All you have to do is give me one code. One little set of numbers.” His voice dropped to a venomous hiss. “But you won’t. Because you’d rather risk her life than let me walk out of here.”

Fox’s desperate gaze never left you. 

Rik chuckled darkly, “Tell you what. I’ll even make it easy for you.”

The barrel ground harder into your temple.

“One.”

You sobbed, the sound strangled in your throat.

“Two.”

Your knees buckled, but Rik’s arm kept you locked upright, your body nothing but a shield between them.

“Three.”

“Fox—” your voice cracked, raw and pleading, but he didn’t answer, didn’t shift, didn’t so much as flinch.

“Four—”

“Wait.”

Finally, he shifted. The barrels of his blasters lowered an inch. Then another. Slowly, he then raised both hands, his blasters steady as he tilted them up toward the ceiling.

“I’ll give you the code.”

Rik’s mouth curled into a venomous grin, eyes glinting with amusement. “There we go,” he purred, his breath rancid against your ear. “Good little clone. Always so obedient when it really counts.” He tilted his head toward Fox.

“Go on then, Commander. Give me my ticket out. But make no mistake—if you try to play clever, if even one digit is wrong, I’ll kill her first…” He jostled you again, making you cry out softly before dragging his gaze back to Fox. “And then I’ll kill you.”

Fox’s jaw flexed, his eyes locked on yours, unreadable and burning.

But Rik wasn’t done. He wanted blood. And not just in the flesh, but in the spirit.

“You know what’s funny?” His voice turned low and mocking. “She still looks at you like you’re her salvation. As if you’d never let her down. But tell me, Commander… do you deserve that trust?”

You stiffened in his hold.

“All the lies you fed her,” Rik went on, savouring it and eyes flicking between the two of you. “Whisky, wasn’t it? A lover who never existed. Just you, hiding behind another name, another life. Deceiving her while she opened her heart to you.” He tilted his head, eyes shining with triumph. “And now she has to put her faith in a liar .” 

“Tell me, sweetheart—” he leaned down, lips brushing too close to your ear—“are you certain he won’t betray you again?”

“Enough.” Fox’s voice sliced through the air like a vibroblade. “You want the code? I’ll give it to you.”

Rik’s grin spread wide. “I knew you’d see sense.”

Fox’s jaw tightened, but his voice was steady and controlled as he begins to list the six numbers:
“9…”
“7…”
“2…”
“8…”
“3…”

Your breath caught, terror clawing up your throat.

Rik’s grin turned smug, flicking his eyes to you with a mocking gleam. “See, sweetheart? He does love you after all—”

That was all Fox needed.

The instant Rik’s gaze shifted, Fox’s trigger finger moved. One sharp, merciless squeeze.

The shot cracked through the hangar.

Rik jerked violently, a strangled sound ripping from his throat as his blaster clattered from his hand. His grip faltered and spasmed but not enough. His weight wrenched backward, dragging you with him.

The floor vanished beneath your feet. You screamed as the abyss yawned below—

But Fox was already there.

He lunged forward, arms locking around you with brutal desperation. The momentum nearly ripped him over the edge with you, his boots skidding hard but he anchored himself, braced against the viewport’s frame. With a raw, guttural effort, he hauled you in until you collapsed against him, shaking too hard to stand.

Behind you, Rik staggered once, his face twisted into one last mocking laugh before it choked out of him. He tumbled from the platform, disappearing below.

You couldn’t look. Couldn’t breathe. The only thing holding you together was Fox’s crushing grip, his chest heaving against your back.

“Got you,” he rasped into your hair, voice breaking. His blaster was still in his hand, smoke curling from the barrel. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Fox spun you in his arms so fast you barely registered it and his blaster hit the floor with a clatter. Both his hands came up to cradle your face, gloved thumbs trembling as they swept over your cheeks, searching for blood, bruises, anything.

“Mesh’la, look at me. Did he hurt you?” His voice was sharp, frantic. “Tell me he didn’t touch you. Tell me now.”

You blinked at him, dazed, the words skimming over you like water over glass. His lips were moving and his eyes wild, furious, wet at the edges—but you couldn’t hear him. Everything was muffled.

All you could see was the blood rushing hot through his face, the desperate quake of his hands, the raw terror in a man who had stared down death a thousand times but never like this.

He jerked his wrist to his mouth, barking into his comm. His voice didn’t reach you, but his panic did.

And then, your own voice scraped out, “You came for me.”

Fox’s head snapped down, his forehead nearly touching yours. “What was that?” 

“You…” Your throat constricted. “You came for me.”

The words cracked you open. A sob ripped through you, uncontrollable and unstoppable. You collapsed against him, arms clutching him so tightly your nails dug into plastoid. Tears soaked him as you buried your face in his chest.

For the briefest second Fox froze. Then his whole body softened. His arms closed around you like a shield, one hand tangling in your hair, pressing your head tight to him as if he could block out the memory of Rik’s grip with his own.

“I thought…” You hiccupped against him, words breaking between sobs. “I thought he was going to kill you.”

Fox bent his head, his breath ragged at your temple, and if you’d been able to hear, you would have caught the tremor in his voice.

“I thought I’d already lost you.”

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Commander Fox One Shots : The Clone Wars