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“Sir? Uh, Commander Wolffe is here to see you?”
Sure, that was - What.
Thire looked up from his datapad at the comm from HQ, blinking in the dim light of Fox’s office. It was at least 2200 - most of the GAR troopers had gone to bed. They didn’t even have to work a second shift, not since the war had ended a week ago.
The Guard still ran a small skeleton night shift, just because if there was one thing Fox had taught them, it was to be prepared for anything.
Thire was not prepared for a confrontation with his imprisoned commander’s shitty ex-batchmates.
“Send him in,” Thire ordered, and leaned back. What was Wolffe playing at, this late at night? The Guard hadn’t received contact from any CC’s in months, not since the trial. Even with the war over, they’d kept their distance.
And the Guard liked it that way.
In any case, Thire was going to need a drink for this. He scrabbled in the desk drawers for his one glass cup, left behind in a Senate hallway after a gala. Technically there were two, but one was - had been - Thorn’s.
Maybe it was morbid, but it was the one of the few things Thire had left of Thorn. They hadn’t even been able to recover a body.
Thire poured a generous amount of the Guard-brewed moonshine and tossed it back, relishing in the sharp burn down his throat, then poured another. The acrid smell of it was obvious, but what was Wolffe going to do about it? Fire him? Court-martial him? Please.
The door slid open, framing Commander Wolffe in the door in his dress greys, like Thire didn’t even merit armor.
“Commander Wolffe,” Thire said, insouciant, making absolutely no move to get up. WIth a gesture of Thire’s glass, Wolffe moved to sit in the single guest chair. His expression was unreadable, but Thire caught the quick movements of his cybernetic eye as it flitted around Fox’s office.
“Commander Thire,” Wolffe said finally. “I was expecting to see Thorn here.”
“Thorn’s dead.”
“Oh, I - I’m sorry-”
“Let’s just cut to the chase, hm?” Thire didn’t want to spend a single second longer sitting across from this idiot who dared speak Thorn’s name, who dared offer condolences. “Why are you here, Wolffe?”
“I heard about your petition.”
Thire froze. “My petition.”
“To clear Fox.”
Thire’s blood ignited like the harsh burn of the alcohol. It was a struggle to stay calm, to keep his glass-faced mask of professionalism, but Thire’d been in the Guard his whole deployment. Keeping his emotions off his face was as ingrained as breathing.
He had never even been reconditioned, which was a point of pride.
“That’s Guard business,” Thire said, and took a sip of moonshine. Thorn would’ve offered Wolffe some, but Thorn had gone and left Thire here, bitter and burning.
“It’s my business too,” Wolffe countered. “He’s my brother too.”
It was as if the liquor came right back up Thire’s throat, thick and sickening in his anger. He didn’t let the rage show, but his hand clenched harder around his glass.
“No, he is not,” Thire said, carefully controlled. “This conversation is over.”
Wolffe leaned forward and met Thire’s eyes with his mismatched ones. “Look. Thire. I know what went down was - bad. Cody should never have court martialed him, even if that shitty sham of a trial was what tipped Palpatine’s hand. But the war’s over now, and I just want to make amends. I want to help.”
The sheer balls on this fucker. Thire clenched his jaw painfully tight, and after a long moment was able to speak almost normally, no hint of his emotions.
“Your concern has been noted. The Guard will be taking care of this issue. Now, if you have no other business-”
“And I have a ship,” Wolffe interrupted, and it was this that finally broke the last of Thire’s ice-thin patience.
The glass exploded in his grip, sending glittering shards absolutely everywhere. Pain bloomed in Thire’s hand, but he barely felt it over the sickening burn of fury in his chest.
He shot up from his chair and leaned both hands on his desk, looming over Wolffe as he snarled, “You asshole. You fucker. You - you - you’re mocking me?”
“No - Plo offered, and I just know that the Guard -”
“Isn’t allowed off world unless on an escort mission? Is still in lockdown until internal investigations are concluded? I’m fully fucking aware,” Thire spat.
Wolffe’s back went up, and he rose to his feet, meeting Thire’s glare with his own. “The investigations are to protect the Guard, to find out what happened under Palpatine’s oversight-”
“Protect the Guard,” Thire sneered, disgust bleeding into his voice. “And how’s that gonna help us now, Wolffe? “Does that help Fox now? Does that help Thorn, now? Does that help Jek or Evan or-”
“Thire, please,” Wolffe said on the edge of pleading. “ Ni ceta. I know it’s not enough, shit. Nothing’ll ever be enough, but please. Let me help my brother. Let me get him out of there so I can make this right.”
It was silent in the office, but for the steady drip of blood from Thire’s fingertips. A familiar sound - Palpatine had made sure of that. Even now Thire could almost hear his voice.
-A pity about your predecessors, Commander, but I’m sure you won’t disappoint me-
“Thire?” a hesitant voice said, and Thire shook himself out of the memory. His chest was heaving - Wolffe definitely noticed, but didn’t mention it.
The Commander was being honest about this, Thire could tell, and his eyes, one white and one brown, flicked back and forth over Thire’s face almost desperately.
Well, fine.
Thire sighed, breathing in the smell of harsh alcohol, the coppery smell of blood. It would be better for Fox to travel back home to the Guard with a familiar face, and with Thire grounded…“And the others?” he asked.
“Cody wants to come, but I said no. Bly wants to come too-”
“No.” Thire said. “No Cody, no Bly. No one who outranks him.”
Wolffe’s face relaxed, just a little bit.
“I’m told the appeal should go through tomorrow, and I’ll forward you the details as soon as I receive them. You go get him,” Thire said, staring unblinking into Wolffe’s eyes. “You go get him and you bring him right back here.”
His bloody finger prodded at Wolffe’s chest, staining the fabric dark, until Wolffe promised.
A promise wasn’t worth much, especially from Fox’s ex-batch, but if Wolffe broke it, well -
It wouldn’t be the first time the Guard had been betrayed by brothers, but Thire would make sure it was the last.