Chapter Text
Thorn had begged Fox not to leave - they could hide him in the depths of Coruscant, maybe, or call up a GAR battalion and see if they’d be willing to take him into their ranks, in a reversal of what the Corries had done for some of the GAR troopers.
But Fox had refused. He was too high-profile, he said, it was too risky. If they were found out it wouldn’t be only Fox going back to Kamino, it’d be the whole of Guard command.
It was just memory issues, Fox said with forced hope. He’d come back better than new.
So Thorn had marched Fox off to the transport himself.
He and Stone had bracketed their commander between them and shipped him off to reconditioning, tears soaking through their helmets.
It had taken days to dry.
–
The Fox they got back from Kamino was - not Fox.
Sure, he looked like their ori’vod, although the Kaminoans had shaved him bald and now his hair was growing back in a soft fuzz. He still had the same scars, the same dark circles under his eyes and the same stiff, upright posture, but everything else was wrong.
This Fox’s eyes lacked his sly sharp humor. This Fox’s mouth never stretched into shit-eating grins or pressed kisses to the top of Grizzer’s head. This Fox’s hands never shook, never reached out to cuff Thorn over the head for a bad joke or pull Thire in for a half-headlock, half-hug. This Fox flinched away from any attempt to touch him, leaving heartbroken Guards in his wake as he resumed his duties like a droid.
GAR troopers had long called Fox a droid, but only now did he actually resemble one. And like a droid, he only answered to his number.
Thorn loved him anyway. There was no other choice.
The first few nights after Fox returned were quiet, save for Stone’s usual snoring; Fox slept like the dead in the bunk underneath Thorn’s, refusing any contact and making no noise.
On the fourth night he made a sound, the first thing Fox had said that didn’t directly relate to their work, and at first it sounded like a whimper, a soft nightmare noise.
Thorn blinked awake but didn’t move.
Fox thrashed a bit on the cheap bunks, shaking Thorn above him, and then Fox said, “Partaylir.” Return.
The last thing Thorn had said to him before boarding the transport, and Fox muttered it into the dark of the room on the edge of a sob.
Thorn swung down to Fox’s bunk, catching the gleam of Thire’s eyes, awake in the darkness, and approached his commander.
“Fox?” he said, and the lump on the bed twitched backwards. “CC-1010?”
Fox’s arms were thrown up over his face; his head shook back and forth in a “no”.
“Fox?” Thorn tried again, and crept closer.
A hand shot out from the bed and grabbed Thorn’s in a crushing grip. Fox still looked away from him, shoving his face into his other elbow, but hope kindled in Thorn’s chest. Fox was touching him, voluntarily, he’d remembered Thorn’s last word-
There was nothing for it. Thorn clambered into the bed and gathered Fox up in his arms. His ori’vod was limp and unresisting as Thorn tugged him close to his chest, but then - a tiny movement forward, and Fox was shoving his face into Thorn’s neck.
“I’m here, Fox, you’re ok, I’ve got you,” Thorn chanted, even though Fox twitched a little bit at the sound of his name.
Another shape rose up in the darkness. Thire bent over them with a question in his eyes, and Thorn nodded. The bunks were narrow and cheap, but they’d make this work.
Thire solved the problem his usual way, by gently flopping on top of both Fox and Thorn and burrowing in.
A huff escaped Fox, something close to a laugh. Thorn and Thire both froze, staring at each other over Fox’s fuzzy head.
“Still in there, ori’vod?” Thire whispered. There was no response from Fox, but there didn’t have to be. Fox was in there, he was, and Thorn would drag him back out. Even if he had to go on his knees to the Jedi to do it.
“Partaylir, Fox, you did it,” he breathed, and even though Fox shook his head “no” against Thorn’s neck, that was still an answer. That was still Fox, stubborn to the last.