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It's never really morning on Coruscant, not even on the levels that still see natural light; the environment is too manufactured, too carefully monitored and managed for pollutants. Day breaks at standard times, perfectly programmed to mimic the seasons of Coruscant's distant, pre-urban past. Still, the sunrise is pretty, glinting pink off shining towers and the chromium speeders zipping in the skylanes.
There's even a nice breeze, perfectly brisk and refreshing, stirring up the hem of Quinlan's cloak. This early in the morning he's just another commuter, the other pedestrians too absorbed with yawns and caf to make note of a Jedi. They say the city never sleeps, but right now it sure seems to be dozing.
Not the Guard headquarters though. Troopers scurry to and fro, all but the shiniest perfectly upright even at this hour and a few offering little salutes in his direction. He's a pretty common site nowadays.
“Mornin'” he says to the two troopers stationed at the tiny little reception desk. Bhan and Cass, he's pretty sure. One rests their elbow on the desk and leans their head on it all jaunty. Cass then.
“Hello General Vos,” she says. The trooper next to her just nods. If it's Bhan he's probably trying not to fall asleep. “Are you looking for the Commander?”
“I can't just come by for a visit?” He teases. She tilts her helmet sideways – not buying it, General – and Quinlan grins. “Yeah, I'm here for Fox. Is he in his office?”
“Yeah, unless he's been dragged off to medbay. Head on up.”
He can feel his eyebrows jump up at “medbay,” but with Fox that's sadly unsurprising. He raps his knuckles on the desk and nods to them before trekking up to the Commanders offices. Fox's door swooshes open and Quinlan takes a step inside before drawing up short.
Commander Fox is sitting at his little desk, helmet off and left arm free of armour, jaw resting on his propped up fist as he stares down at his datapad. He's seen the Commander without his helmet before and his face would be unsurprising even if he hadn't, but his expression is jarringly unreserved. He looks... casual. For a moment it feels like Quinlan is seeing double, the uncompromising Fox he's used to seeing superimposed over the loose and sleepy man in front of him.
His gaze flicks over to the doorway, and in the space of a heartbeat he straightens, hands flat on the desk, mouth smoothing into neutrality. It's the fastest armour-up Quinlan's ever seen.
“General Vos,” he says. “Good morning."
“It's Quinlan, c'mon,” he says, like he always does.
“Vos.” Maybe that's as good as it gets.
“I brought you something.” He bounces a little on his heels as he brandishes the tote bag slung over his shoulder. Fox's eyebrows draw together.
“Something useful or a –”
“It's a present!” He sets the bag down in front of Fox with a flourish. The Commander just stares at it before sighing like a sad old tooka and pulling it open. Quinlan watches his hands as he does so, the right one scarred and the left wrapped in strips of bacta all the way to his fingertips.
“It's a plant,” Fox says, completely deadpan.
“It's hen and chicks! They're from Alderaan.”
“I don't need more plants, Vos.”
“Do you want them though?” Fox's glare makes him chuckle. Fox gets up with the little blue-green succulent cupped in his hands and Quinlan perches on the desk next to his datapad. He watches Fox cross his tiny office. There's a window in here, a narrow little thing high up on the wall designed for light rather than a view. Fox has dragged a tall filing cabinet under it and placed Quinlan's gifts on top. The hen and chicks joins his yellow-streaked Rodian pothos and his three spindly spider plants. There's a little lopsided carving of a vulptex too, nestled between the plants like a sentinel. There's no reason to keep it there, as if it's on display, but every time he sees it it makes Quinlan feel a little soft.
Fox arranges and rearranges the plants to make room. He doesn't move like he's injured, but then again he's good at that. Quinlan's had to catch him when an injured leg gave out twice now, and he won't be fooled again. The bandaged hand and missing armour on his left side suggest an arm injury, but he moves as surely as ever. He likes Fox's surety. He's pretty certain it's a front, because he's gossiped with the other commanders and the Guard medics and he knows how stressed Fox is, but Quinlan can't deny that he finds that self-assuredness attractive.
He finds a lot of things about Fox attractive, which is as exhilarating as it is annoying. He's grumpy and recalcitrant but opens up like a flower when the shinies get lost around the Guard offices. He's snappish and curt but on a mission they worked last month his voice was soft and low as he held Quinlan's broken leg steady until it could be splinted. He's closed off, and it makes Quinlan desperately curious.
And it doesn't hurt that he's damn easy on the eyes. The clones are identical but not really, when you pay attention, and Quinlan certainly pays attention to Fox.
“What happened to your arm?” He asks. Fox pauses before giving a lopsided shrug.
“Shock glove.” He turns back to Quinlan and gently taps the back of his wrist. “Lucky hit, got me right between the armour.”
“Ouch.” Quinlan holds out a hand. One of Fox's eyebrows crawls up, but he steps closer, sets his hand in Quinlan's. He can feel bacta strips up to his elbow under the blacks with his fingers and a nexus of dulled pain in Fox's wrist joint with the Force. He's lousy at healing but he tries to untangle some of the injury anyway. The furrow in Fox's brow decreases the barest amount. He wants to smooth it away entirely with his thumb.
“Ta-daaa,” he says, holding up Fox's hand theatrically. Fox snorts but doesn't pull his hand away. His mouth quirks up in his weird half smile.
“That's a pretty useful trick.”
“A trick? The difficult and ancient art of Force healing? Really Commander.”
“My mistake,” Fox says drily. “A useful ancient art.”
“Employed with skill to save you pain.”
Fox's voice goes utterly mirthless, but his smile stays in place. “My hero.”
Quinlan grins at him cheerfully before raising Fox's hand up and smacking a kiss there. It's dramatic and irreverent, escalating the joke like he always does. But then without any thought or control he brings Fox's hand back and brushes another kiss on the backs of his bandaged knuckles.
It would be easy to be attracted to Fox if he was just closed off and hot, if Quinlan wanted to solve a mystery or flirt or scratch an itch. It's things like his furrowed eyebrows that make him worry it's something else, a deeper ocean than he knows how to swim in.
Fox has a scar on his chin that stretches up and bisects his lower lip. Quinlan's always wondering if it would feel rough against his mouth.
The bacta strips are smooth. Fox's fingers are still pressed to his lips.
He drops them as if they could cut him. “Ha, yeah, knight in shining armour.” Fox's hand hovers in the air between them. His expression is entirely blank, but his dark eyes are wide.
Quinlan slides off the desk and brushes at imaginary wrinkles in his robe. “So uh, I'm going to head out. Jedi stuff. You're busy too I bet. Just wanted to drop off the plant.” He doesn't run, just gets to the door quicker than he usually would, and –
“Hey.” He turns back. Fox is unmoving, but his eyes rove over Quinlan's features. He opens his mouth, pauses. His hand raises ever so slightly.
“Thanks,” Fox says, breaking off his stare. Quinlan feels relieved and bereft all at once. “For the plant. Thank you.”
“Yeah, no problem.” He nods, probably more vigorously than he should. “Yeah, I thought of you, so.”
Fox opens his mouth again and Quinlan can't tell if he wants to fall through the floor or stay here in this office for the rest of his life. He opts for tactical retreat while he still can.
“Okay, nice to see you Commander, enjoy your day!”
“Alright, uh. Goodbye Quinlan.”
“Bye.” He's out the door and down two flights of stairs before he has to stop and clap both hands over his cheeks. He can feel his racing heartbeat under his palms.
It's easy to be around Fox. Sure, he's standoffish and difficult, but under all that Quinlan likes him. He wouldn't be bringing him presents and thinking about kissing away his stress lines if he didn't like him. Quinlan's almost sure that Fox likes him too. It's hard to tell, but he's seen Fox around people he can't stand, and he shows Quinlan at least ten percent more emotion. Fox won't hold something embarrassing against him. He'll understand, they can stay professional, it doesn't have to be a thing even if Quinlan maybe wants it to be.
He's made it all the way out into the peach morning sunlight before he registers that Fox used his first name.