Work Text:
The clone’s fingers typed away at the datapad, absentmindedly reaching up to rub away the tiredness in his eyes.
Commander Fox let out a disheartening sigh, reaching for his caf. The warmth as the liquid slid down his throat did little to help this time. Instead of waking him up, it relaxed him even more, tempting him to shove the paperwork to the side for now and trudge over to his bed. Can’t sleep yet. The Chancellor needs these reports by the end of the day. With every form the Commander completed, two more came to replace it. Whenever Fox felt he was making a dent in his work, more forms would be delivered to his datapad.
Fox let out a heavy yawn, leaning back in his seat in an attempt to stretch his muscles. He allowed himself one second of calm before sitting up. His fingers went back to typing in the information for the current form he was working on. The words on the screen began to blur together again, like they had for the past few hours. Fox rubbed his eyes, hoping it would be enough to stave off his exhaustion. Just fill in the forms. Make sure the names and dates are correct. Send it off to the Chancellor. Move on to the next form. Don’t stop. Don’t rest, there’s still so much to do yet.
The sound of his office door opening snapped Fox out of his routine. He glanced up from his datapad, eyes widening in surprise as Thire entered Fox’s quarters. “Evening, Commander,” Thire greeted, strolling over to his fellow Commander’s desk. “Rough night so far, am I right?”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Fox replied, not bothering to look up from his work. Before the seemingly endless piles of paperwork, the Guard Commander had spent time breaking up a bar fight while on patrol. He absentmindedly rubbed a spot on the side of his head. One drunk patron had made the stupid decision to smash a bottle upside Fox’s head in a fit of rage. Thankfully, for all its faults, the clone’s Phase II bucket was impervious to blunt trauma via broken glass.
“Well, I got the night off, so the boys and I are gonna head to 79’s tonight,” Thire spoke up. “Wanna tag along? Ten credits says we can actually get you drunk this time.”
Fox ran his hands through his hair, closing his eyes and waiting for the lingering ache in his head to pass. “Look, you might have the night off, but I don’t,” he fumed, turning his gaze to his brother. “I’ve still got so much of this blasted paperwork to finish up. I can’t go out tonight, Thire. I’m sorry.”
Thire must have noticed something Fox hadn’t, since it didn’t take long for the younger Commander’s eyes to light up in concern. “All due respect, sir, but you look like osik,” he spoke, surprise evident in his tone. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
“Yeah,” Fox lied. While he did get in the occasional nap, the times where he slept for more than two or three hours were few and far between. He tried to remember the last time he’d actually lied down, but to no avail. All of that time had been eaten up by his work. There was always streets to patrol, meetings to attend, criminals to take into custody.
“Vod, you’re a damn awful liar, you know that?” Thire spoke up sharply, crossing over to the other side of the desk. “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten in a while either.”
“Actually, I have.”
“Four cups of caf doesn’t count.”
“I’m serious,” Fox replied, his agitation at being disturbed beginning to bubble to the surface. “I ate earlier this morning. Ask Hound. He’d vouch for me.” It was true. In the minutes he had before going on patrol, Fox had managed to wolf down some rations, much to Hound’s surprise.
Thire raised a suspicious eyebrow, before reaching out to pull his fellow Commander to his feet. “C’mon. I’m taking you to the medbay.”
Fox quickly pulled out of his brother’s grasp. “Like hell you are,” he snapped, his eyes glowing with determination. The Marshal Commander couldn’t put into words just how much he hated the medbay. Other troopers kept their scars hidden as reminders of their pasts, or even showed them off as an important part of their identity. For Fox, however, every burn or blaster scorch only reminded him of his failures.
Thire rubbed the bride of his nose with his fingers, a sign that his patience was starting to run thin already. “Commander, you’re sleep-deprived, you’re overdosing on caffeine, and I don’t need a brain to tell that you’re overworking yourself again,” he deadpanned, giving Fox a scolding glare. “So, all due respect, but I don’t give a damn what you think you want.”
“The minute I decide I actually want to lie in a hospital bed, high on sedatives for the next few days while there is work to be done, I’ll gladly give you a call,” Fox huffed out, his stoic look showing that he wouldn’t argue more on the matter.
“It won’t come to that, not this time,” Thire reassured, placing his hand on Fox’s shoulder. “I’ve got an idea for relieving that stress of yours, but I’m gonna need you to keep an open mind.”
For the briefest moment, Fox was tempted to ignore his brother, to simply sit back down and continue with his work. One glance at Thire’s worried eyes, however, was enough for the Marshal Commander to cave. I suppose I could use a small break, at least.
“Fine then,” he muttered, reluctantly beginning to follow Thire to the medbay. “Whatever this idea of yours is, I’m sure it’ll be better than paperwork, anyway.”
I had to jinx it, didn’t I?
Fox raised a skeptical eyebrow as he stood in front of one of the many bacta tank chambers throughout the spacious medbay. “Nope, I was wrong,” Fox deadpanned, beginning to back away. “This is way worse.”
Scalpel—one of the Guard’s medics—grabbed ahold of Fox’s arm, preventing the Marshal Commander from going far. “I get that you’re not the first one to hate taking a dunk in these things, but—”
“It’s not that,” Fox cut the medic off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t exactly hate it, but I’m not injured. We should be saving this bacta for someone who needs it.”
“Well, technically speaking, you do need it,” Thire quipped, crossing his arms over his chest. “Face it, Commander. You need a good night’s sleep, and you’re getting it whether you want it or not.”
“What’s the idea behind this, anyway?” Fox scowled.
“Turns out there’s this thing called float therapy,” Scalpel relied matter-of-factly. “People often use it to meditate, overcome trauma, and alleviate stress. Seeing as how we don’t have any actual float tanks on hand, I figured a bacta tank would work just as well.”
Fox narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. How do I even know if this will work? The idea of being submerged in a tank full of sticky bacta didn’t exactly appeal to him, especially considering he wasn’t even injured. Fox and most of his fellow Guard members had been unconscious or sedated whenever they needed a bacta tank. The few who had remained conscious enough had described the experience as almost suffocating.
Thire squeezed his brother’s hand affectionately, having caught on to Fox’s concern. “You’ll only be in there for the night,” Thire reassured his fellow Commander. “Bacta treatments are usually completely safe, even for healthy people.”
“What about my work?” Fox worriedly asked, pulling out of both his brothers’ grasps. “I can’t just abandon it right now.”
“I can contact the Chancellor,” Thire spoke up, a wave of confidence in his voice. “I’ll tell him you’re not feeling well, get as much of your workload done as I can, and you can catch up on the rest in the morning. It’ll all work out.”
“You won’t be disturbed, either,” Scalpel added in. “I’ll come and check on you throughout the night, but I’ll leave the chamber locked otherwise. Unless you’re physically in danger, I won’t allow anyone else in here.”
Fox nodded his head in understanding. No matter how much he tried to push away his fears, they clung to him the same way a child would cling to his armored leg. As he stared at the tank, however, the curious part of Fox’s mind came out to play. If this is the best alternative to getting drugged for a few days…maybe it might be worth a shot. It’s only for a night, right? Judging from the migraine that had been bothering him all day, and the bruises he endured breaking up that bar fight, he supposed a dip in the tank couldn’t hurt.
“I suppose I could try it,” Fox admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
Scalpel smiled warmly at Fox, turning on his heel to leave the chamber. “I’m gonna grab the respirator gear. Hang tight until then.” He craned his neck back to stare at Thire. “Thire, make sure he stays calm while I’m gone,” he spoke up, the concern present in the underlying order.
“Yes sir,” Thire plainly replied. He turned to face Fox. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of that armor, shall we?”
Fox sighed in response, reluctantly beginning the process of detaching the magnetic armor plates from the blacks underneath. With every piece of plastoid that came loose, Fox’s heartbeat quickened. He tried to remember the last time he felt safe enough to remove his armor, but to no avail. To Fox, his armor was a part of him, a second skin that he took comfort hiding in more and more as the war progressed.
“You okay, vod?”
Thire’s worried voice snapped Fox out of his thoughts. He hastily nodded his head, shoving his armor in a pile as the last piece of plastoid detached. Fox took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he began to fumble with his blacks.
Thire’s concerned look persisted as Fox stripped down to his underwear, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Each scar marring Fox’s body painted a picture of how he had failed, and what the consequences had been for his failure. The scorch in his side from a criminal that had caught him with his back turned. The slashes across his right shoulder and thigh, courtesy of the shrapnel from General Grievous’ terrorist attack which had engulfed Coruscant in darkness.
The jagged burns across his body from the many times he had gotten on the Chancellor’s bad side. The moments where he’d spoken out of turn, questioned his orders instead of following them like a good soldier would…
“Glad to see you haven’t chickened out, Fox,” Scalpel’s voice called from the doorway.
The Commander of the Guard shoved the dark thoughts from his mind, turning to face the medic. A respirator tube and rebreather wrapped around the younger clone’s arm, allowing him to carry the rest of the gear with ease. He held a towel in one hand, and a pair of white shorts in the other. Scalpel tossed the weighted boxers in Fox’s direction. “Go ahead and put those on,” the medic said, hints of a commanding tone present in the sentence.
Fox hesitated as he took the underwear, raising a skeptical eyebrow. The older clone knew what the medic was asking, and Fox didn’t like it one bit. Not sure how I feel about changing into these while everyone’s watching.
“No worries, Commander,” Thire reassured, having caught on to Fox’s embarrassment. “We promise we won’t look.”
If Fox didn’t feel exposed before, the sudden blush of his cheeks was a dead giveaway. “Just turn around already, would you?”
Thire and Scalpel obeyed, spinning around so that their backs were to the older clone. Fox turned as well before he stripped, quickly shifting his legs through the clean boxers and pulling them up. The clone’s cheeks flushed redder than before. The last time Fox had felt this exposed was during his days as a cadet, after a particularly brutal hand-to-hand combat drill. Fox remembered his sergeant’s cold hands on his bare back, examining the young cadet for any injuries bad enough to warrant a trip to the infirmary. But even then, Fox hadn’t exposed himself in such a way as he did just now.
The Guard Commander quickly fiddled with the weights around his waist, making sure they were snug and secure, before glancing over to where his brothers stood. True to their word, neither Thire nor Scalpel had moved or turned around. Fox let out a relieved sigh. Good to know I can trust them with issues like this. “Okay, you two can turn around now,” he quietly announced, averting his gaze to the floor.
Scalpel was the first to turn around, and he wasted no time strolling over to the Guard Commander. The medic quickly glanced over the weights, tightening a loose end or two before motioning for Fox to follow him. Goosebumps rippled across Fox’s skin as he walked along the cold durasteel floors of the medbay. The older clone climbed the stairs to the tank’s hatch just as Scalpel opened up the lid.
The tank’s bluish glow provided much needed light to the dimness of the chamber. A sturdy crane stood nearby, its anchor hovering over the entrance to the tank. A harness hung from the end of the crane, dangling over the healing liquid. Scalpel walked over to the harness. He loosened the straps and motioned for Fox to come closer, an order Fox forced himself to obey. If it’s either this or missing out on work due to a drug-induced high, then I’ll take this any day.
“Stand still, okay?” Scalpel said, the hint of a command present in his tone. “I need to get you hooked up here.”
Fox took a deep breath and did as he was told, trying his best to keep still as the medic moved around. The Commander felt his the padding of the harness dig into his chest as the younger clone tightened any loose ends. Scalpel reached for the respirator, handing the mask to Fox while he strode over to the oxygen tank in the corner. The hissing of oxygen assaulted the Commander’s ears as the breathing tube connected to the oxygen reserve.
“Go ahead and put the mask on,” Scalpel said, turning his attention to the crane controls.
Fox quickly sucked in a breath before fastening the mask over his face. A sharp hiss reverberated through the room as the mask sealed itself over his mouth and nose, clamping into place. Fox’s diaphragm expanded of its own accord as the mask pumped air in and out of his lungs.
No matter how hard he tried, Fox couldn’t keep his anxiety from breaking through to the surface. The older clone could feel his heartbeat quicken. The Commander looked over to Scalpel as the medic placed his hands on the controls. “You’ll be all right, Fox,” Scalpel told Fox, his own calm gaze meeting the Commander’s. “I’ll lower you in gently as I can.” He turned to Thire. “Thire, keep an eye on him. If he starts panicking at all, let me know and I’ll pull him out.”
“Got it, sir,” Thire quickly replied, placing a comforting hand on Fox’s shoulder. “You ready, vod?”
Fox quickly nodded in response. Sooner we get this treatment over with, the better. I’m stir crazy as is, strapped in this harness. The crane lurched forward, gently pulling the Commander to the edge of the tank. Fox took in a deep breath as the crane guided him over the tank’s entrance, leaving his feet dangling off the floor.
A gasp escaped Fox as his feet sank into the bacta. A tingling sensation began to spread through his feet, and the Commander closed his eyes. Huh. This isn’t so bad…actually feels kinda good. He couldn’t remember the last time his feet hadn’t ached from walking in armored boots day in and day out.
Fox tried his best to relax as the crane continued to lower him into the healing fluid. The tingling warmth quickly spread up his legs and waist. Fox hesitantly submerged his arms in the bacta, flinching as his hands made contact with the viscous fluid. It’ll be fine. Don’t panic. The Commander listened to the instincts that had helped him survive the worst Coruscant could throw at him. He continued to breathe deeply through the mask, the tense muscles in his chest and shoulders relaxing as they disappeared into the bacta.
The older clone allowed himself one more glance at his brothers. Scalpel and Thire both returned Fox’s anxious look with warm, comforting smiles. Fox knew what his brothers were trying to communicate to him, even if they didn’t say it out loud:
Everything will be okay.
Fox clung onto the thought as the bacta enveloped his head, completely swallowing him whole.
Thire looked on as his fellow Commander bobbed up and down in the bacta. The amount of bubbles escaping Fox’s breathing mask worried Thire, but he pushed his fears down as he strolled over to the life support terminal Scalpel was studying.
“Breathing and heart rate are up a bit,” Scalpel observed, taking a glance at the readings. “I’m sure it won’t last long though.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if this was the best idea,” Thire spoke up, concern spilling out of his mouth as he took another glance at Fox. “What if he gets restless in there?”
“He won’t,” Scalpel gently reassured, looking up from the terminal to observe the submerged clone. “Bacta has a natural calming effect to it. Everyone winds up taking a nap in there sooner or later. He’ll be sleeping like a baby in no time.”
Thire took a deep breath to soothe his own anxious thoughts. It’s only for a night, he reminded himself. Fox is one of the most patient clones I’ve worked with. He’ll be fine.
“Well, in that case,” the younger Commander said, beginning to back away. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands. Good night, Doc.” With that, Thire began the short trip back to Fox’s office, only pausing to pull out his commlink and inform his fellow Guard members about his change in plans. At least, if I’m doing Fox’s paperwork, he’ll owe me one later. It’ll all work out.
Fox tried to relax as best as he could, breathing in and out in an attempt to stave off the claustrophobia that came with a soak in a bacta tank. Bacta immersion was nothing new to him. His sleep-deprived mind recalled the first time he’d needed a bacta treatment, back when he was a cadet. Fox had suffered a few cracked ribs and a broken arm during a particularly brutal hand-to-hand combat drill. The cadet had planted his feet like a stubborn tooka to the point where his sergeant had been forced to drag him to the infirmary. If he concentrated hard enough, the Commander could still hear his younger self’s panicked cries, still feel the jab of the sedative that had knocked him out cold. His only memory of the treatment was opening his eyes to a blurriness similar to what consumed his vision now, just before the medics had pulled the boy out of the tank.
The strange tingling he’d been experiencing had all but faded, replaced by an all-encompassing warmth that washed over his sore body. Fox let out a relaxed sigh as the bacta went to work, seeking out his aching muscles and alleviating any tension it found. Note to self: I should probably listen to Thire’s ideas more often.
As soothing as the healing fluid was on his muscles, the Commander could tell that the treatment was affecting his mind as well. Little by little, he could sense all of his stress slipping away. All of the abuse he’d endured from Senators and criminals alike, all of the guilt he felt from not being able to keep the men under his command safe. The traumatizing memories from when the Chancellor had taken his frustration out on Fox in the form of white-hot jabs of electricity. All of his negative thoughts and emotions faded away as if they were bad dreams.
The comforting, warm feeling of the bacta invaded his senses in the absence of all his dark thoughts. It felt as if someone had unscrewed the top of the clone’s skull like the lid of a jar, and allowed the bacta to seep into his head. Fox’s eyes briefly rolled back into his head as the warm feelings soaked into his brain. He could almost imagine a set of ghostly fingers rubbing tenderly all around his brain matter, alleviating his headache and giving his mind a much-needed massage.
This feels great…so warm. A burst of air bubbles escaped the mask as the clone let out a yawn. He wished he could thank whoever designed the respirator, as the mask stayed sealed over Fox’s nose and mouth despite the heavy yawn. It was at this moment that the Commander remembered his purpose for being in the tank. Thire had told him to get a good night’s rest, a task that only hours ago would’ve seemed impossible. Fox’s eyelids began to flutter, and as much as he struggled to keep them open, part of him wanted to let the waves of comfort lull him to sleep.
The clone allowed himself to go limp in the harness, the fluid’s momentum taking hold of his weightless body and rocking him from side to side. Fox let his eyes slip shut, his ears tuning in to the world around him. The regulator continued to pump air into his lungs, adjusting its rhythm as his breathing became more relaxed. If he concentrated, he could even hear the thumps of his own heartbeat as it slowed.
Guess this isn’t so bad after all…
The thought drifted from his mind as Fox slipped into a blissful sleep, safe in the bacta’s warm embrace.
The rough sensation of cloth on his skin caused Fox to let out a groan. The clone lazily reached up to bat the cloth away. “Five more minutes…” he mumbled, his arm falling limp by his side. His mind recalled the wonderful feelings from the night before, feelings which made going back to sleep even more tempting. Can’t I sleep in for once…please?
The laugh of a fellow clone brought Fox back to wakefulness once more. The Guard Commander reluctantly opened his eyes. The blurriness in his vision made it difficult to make out the figure, but Fox could tell nonetheless that it was one of his fellow Guard members.
“Guess someone got a hell of a good night’s sleep,” Thire commented, continuing to rub a towel gently along Fox’s damp skin. “Morning, Commander. Feeling better?”
Fox weakly nodded in reply. He distantly realized that he would have the rest of his paperwork to do once he got dressed, but the work didn’t seem as overwhelming as it did before. Guess I got Thire’s bright idea to thank for that.
“Remind me to listen to your ideas more often,” Fox murmured, sighing as the cool towel finished cleaning the bacta from his body. Thire let out a snort in response, helping Fox stand up before guiding him to the nearest closet, where Fox’s armor sat waiting for him. Fox quickly slipped into the plastoid shell, eager to accomplish some tasks now that he felt better.
New day, same old issues, Fox pondered, carrying his helmet underneath his arm as he exited the medbay. Nothing I can’t handle.