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Commander Thorn runs his plastoid clad hand down his face, acutely aware of the unkept stubble along his jaw line. Shaving is probably another item to add to the ever-growing list of things waiting to be done outside the medbay. But he can’t leave Fox like this. Not now.
He wishes he could hold his brother's hand, but that just won't work with all the broken fingers. He just returned from surgery. Again.
Eight trauma surgeries in the last two years. Punctured lungs, punctured liver, broken spine, a cracked skull, snapped collarbone… Thorn can't even remember the rest. He seriously doubts that there is still an unbroken bone left in Fox's body. Every time it takes longer for Fox to recover, there’s only so much even a CC-trooper can take, but he adamantly refuses to have any other guard attend the “meetings” with Chancellor Palpatine.
Thorn buries his face in his hands.
He should be getting ready for patrol, but he can't tear himself away from his broken brother's side. He knows how much extra stress he was placing on Stone and Thire. It is difficult enough running a planet with one commander short. Nobody will ever admit it, but Fox had not done a day's work of actual command in the last five months. If he wasn't on duty "guarding the Chancellor," he was in the medbay, fighting for his life. Or on a super secretive mission, without any backup or recollection afterwards. After which he usually ends up in the med bay too. Thorn can hardly remember enjoying a game of sabbac with Fox or dragging him to 79's for a post-patrol drink.
A faint groan pierces through Thorn’s reverie. His head shoots up to see Fox blearily gazing at him. Even though it’s been a few hours, Fox’s face is still a mosaic of bruises, scrapes and bacta patches.
Thorn’s stomach clenches. He’s gotten way too used to seeing his commanding officer like this.
“Hey vod,” he tries for a smile. “Its alright. You’re alright. You’re safe. Scar patched you up good. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
The corner of Fox’s mouth twitches up. He closes his eyes and his breathing evens out moments later.
Thorn sighs. He hopes that Scar has Fox on the good stuff. The ones that keep the nightmares at bay. Force knows Fox could use a break.
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Fox's com pings incessantly. The fact that Fox doesn't wake at the sound shows just how badly he needs the rest.
Thorn grabs the com and steps out of the curtained-off area around Fox's bed.
"Commander Fox's com," he answers curtly. "This is Thorn speaking."
"Commander Thorn? Now that's a surprise."
All Thorn's insides turn to ice at the kind voice at the other side of the line.
"Yes, Chancellor," he forces his voice calm. "Commander Fox is indisposed at the moment. Is there any way I can be of assistance?"
Please say yes… Please leave Fox out of this…
"I'm afraid not, Commander. Would you be so kind as to ask Commander Fox to report to my chambers in fifteen minutes?"
"Sir, with all due respect, Commander Fox is still in the intensive care ward. He had surgery three days ago. He was removed from the ventilator just this morning." Thorn can hear just how pathetic his voice hitches.
There is silence at the end of the com line.
"Commander Thorn, tell CC-1010 he is to report to my chambers in ten minutes."
The com shuts off.
Thorn slowly lowers the commlink. His ears ring, and his vision is fuzzy around the edges. Ten minutes. The Chancellor's chambers are at least fifteen minutes away from the barracks. Fox won't make it in time. Thorn shudders at the implications.
And if he doesn't go it will be even worse.
Hating himself with every fiber of his being, Thorn reaches out and gently shakes Fox's shoulder.
Fox startles under his touch and immediately tries to curl into a defensive ball, but the bandages around his torso prevents him. A small whimper escapes his lips and his eyes fly open.
"What is it, Thorn?" he slurs. Partly because of the sleep and painkillers, partly from the stitches in his tongue.
"Vod," Thorn can't look him in the eyes. "The Chancellor requests your presence in his chambers," he says softly.
"When?"
Thorn checks his chrono. "Nine minutes. No wait, eight."
Fox lowers his head into the thin medbay pillow. He presses his palms against his eyes tightly, takes a deep breath in, and releases it with a sound somewhere between a shudder and a sob.
He lays like that for the span of a single breath. Then he sits up on the bed and turns to Thorn.
"I'm going to need help with my armor. My hands are still useless," Fox states as calmly as if he were talking about patrol schedules. "Actually, could you get these wires out too while you're at it?"
"Shure thing," Thorn chokes.
Fox tries to be helpful by staying still as Thorn rips the monitoring wires from the patches on his chest. Thorn takes a breath to steady his trembling hands before he gently removes the IV needle from Fox's hand.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Both commanders turn at the sight of the enraged medic.
"The Chancellor requested Fox's presence," Thorn answers softly.
Scar's eyes widen, and he sucks in a breath. Fox manages to swing his legs off the bed. Thorn starts gathering the red and white armor stacked neatly in the corner of the room.
"Absolutely not," Scar finally manages to choke out. Fox huffs a tired laugh while Thorn begins to strap the armor pieces on one at a time.
"I'm serious. I am not clearing you for duty." He crosses his arms in a disturbingly Fox-like manner. "Thorn, drop that armor now."
"I'm afraid this isn't a debate, Scar. The Chancellor is expecting me." Fox goes to push himself up from the bed, momentarily forgetting his broken fingers. Thorn barely catches him before he tumbles to the ground with a barely suppressed yell of pain.
"Sorry 'bout that," Fox mumbles. "How much time is left?"
Thorn checks his chrono and his stomach drops.
"Four minutes."
A hollow laugh rumbles through Fox's chest. "This is going to be fun," he remarks dryly. Thorn feels the shudder run through Fox's body.
Thorn bites back his response and focusses on adjusting Fox's chest plate to accommodate the bandage underneath. He bites his lips when he notices a small red stain on the white that definitely was not there a few minutes ago. But there was nothing he could do about that now, so he gently tightens the armor.
"Fox, please don't go. Not today," Scar says softly. "Please, can't Thorn handle this today? Just until your lungs heal and the infection in your hands clear out. If I up your meds and scour out some emergency bacta it should be four days max."
Scar's eyes trap Thorn in a pleading gaze. "Just four days. I know its…" his breath hitches "A lot to ask for… But we'll take care of you. If Fox could endure for years, can you please take his place for a few days?"
Thorn would take his brother's place in a heartbeat if he had the slightest indication that it would actually work. However, lately, the Chancellor had gotten almost possessive over Fox. However, if he were to shift his focus to Thorn…
"No." Fox shuts down his train of thought. "The Chancellor requested me. If anyone else steps into that office, they're dead."
"Fox, in this state, you will die!"
"Scar, there are things that you don't understand. Things I can't tell you. Yeah, sure, I might die today, but if Thorn goes, he WILL die. Same goes for you or anyone else. And besides…. He won't kill me. I'm… special." For a second, Thorn can see Fox's carefully constructed mask crumble. Helplessness, anger, and terror wash over his features before dissipating just as fast, like a wave retreating into the ocean.
"You’re a clone, for Force sake! We’re literally made to be interchangeable. Thorn’s a CC too. He can take it.”
“This discussion is over,” Fox says evenly. “Now help me get to the Chancellor so the damn meeting”, he sneers at the word, “can begin so we can get it over with.”
The medic folds his arms over his chest. “I’m not having any part of this. I’ll stitch you up after because it’s my job, but I’m not helping you bloody well kill yourself.” He turns on his heel and storms off to his private office.
“Fox,” Thorn begins softly.
“Are you going to help me, or should I just start crawling now?” Fox snarls.
Without another word, Thorn positions himself under Fox’s shoulder, helping him to his feet and supporting at least some of the commander’s weight.
“Thorn!” Scar’s voice cuts across the medcenter. The medic stands silhouetted in his office door frame. Even across the room, Thorn can see the barely contained tears of rage in his amber eyes. “If he dies tonight, it will be on your hands.” The door slams shut with savage finality. The other medics stop their work and stare at him condemningly.
Thorn shudders. Fox tightens his grip around Thorn’s shoulders reassuringly. “He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean that,” he murmurs.
It will be on your hands. It will be on your hands. It will be on your hands.
Thorn just nods and helps his brother out the medcenter and down the long hall to the elevator. It’s slow going. Fox can barely keep on his feet, and his breath has acquired a troubling wheeze to each inhale. Halfway down the hall, Thorn checks his chrono, and his stomach drops.
He tries not to remember the last time Fox arrived late to a meeting with the Chancellor. There had been a fire near Dex’s diner, and Fox was in the middle of the burning building when the summons came. He had decided to go back to save three littles he heard crying over the flames. He rushed back to the Chancellor as soon as all the civvies were safe. Three days later, Thorn and Stone half-led, half-carried him back from solitary confinement.
When they finally reach the elevator, Thorn presses the button to the penthouse office overlooking the entire city-planet of Coruscant. 313 floors from the barracks level to the Chancellor’s office. Stuck in a box for 313 floors with nothing to do but dread.
“Dank Farrik,” Fox snarls around the 200th floor. He starts pacing the cramped length of the elevator. Or rather, stumbling around from one wall to the next, barely keeping from faceplanting against the glass panels while trying not to break a fall with his hands. Thorn looks on in helpless understanding.
Without warning, Fox throws himself into the corner furthest away from the door and wraps his arms around his body. A mangled sob escapes his body.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Thorn places a hand on Fox’s shoulder. “Steady there, vod.”
“I don’t want to go, Thorn,” Fox whispers through clenched teeth. “It hurts.” He drops his head against Thorn’s shoulder.
“O, Fox,” Thorn sighs, gently rubbing soothing circles on Fox’s neck. He can feel his commander relaxing minutely. “Let me go in your place. Please, vod. I can’t…” he cuts himself off.
I can’t bear to see you like this.
“You always give everything you have for us. Please, let me do this for you,” he presses Fox’s forehead against his own. “Please let me do this for you,” he repeats softly.
Fox exhales with a shudder.
“Thank you, vod,” he whispers.
Thorn’s heartrate spikes.
“But no,” Fox continues. He takes a final steadying breath and pushes himself from the wall.
“I need you with the men. The only… only way I can get myself to walk into that demagolka’s den is because I know you’re protecting the vode in a way that I can’t… not anymore. I’m doing my part, but so are you.”
The elevator pings, making both commanders jump.
“Keep them safe, Thorn.” Fox limps past him.
Halfway through the lobby, as the elevator doors are closing on Thorn, Fox turns with a sharp toothed grin. “I didn’t forget that the next round at 79’s is on you.”