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Fox was cold.
Not cold cold, he wasn’t in the Icebox, or on a cold mission, or even patrolling in the lower levels, not Sith kriff. Just... cold.
Tired cold.
When he got tired, he got cold, shivery.
Fix could probably explain it, probably with slides, and he’d probably berate him too.
For letting himself get like this.
Tired and cold.
And everything was blurry but he had to get this done. He couldn’t face the punishments if he didn’t get it all done. He'd just be even further behind and he and his vod’ike would pay the price.
And if he didn’t get specifically these done, there would be hell to pay.
He ran his hands down his face then winced at the way his eyebrows tingled afterwards.
He resisted the urge to slam his face into his desk.
Two more security briefs and five patrol reports and then he was done.
He could get his three hours then be refreshed for patrol.
At least the briefs were already signed off by Cirque and Thire and he only really had to skim and approve them rather than read them fully. He trusted his vode.
There was a knock at the door.
“Hey Deadpan, got another one for me? Two in one day how lucky I am.”
Deadpan worked in transcriptions, but he’d gained a reputation and a name for picking up joke books and jokes, usually bad ones. Somehow that had transitioned to Deadpan coming into his office every day before his shift and telling Fox one joke.
Usually, they were terrible.
This morning’s one had been about a fish asking another how to drive the tank, only minorly improved by his inserting the names of Senator Koin’s prized Betta Fish.
“Uhh, no sir. It's my next shift. Have... ori’vod have you been here since I last came in.”
Fox shuffled the paper on his desk until the clock was revealed.
“Yes. Yes I have.”
Kriff.
“Do I need to call Fix?”
“That is a good joke. No, I've got a few more things to work though then I will be sleeping. There's no need to fuss over me vod’ika?”
“We want to fuss over you ori’vod, you work too hard.”
Fox stretched back and his back clicked. Standing for a few minutes might be a healthy idea.
Didn't change that he was freezing.
“How long have you got until shift?"
“About 15. Enough time to drag you to a cuddle pile.”
“I need to get these done first. Have you eaten?”
“Now who’s fussing.”
“It’s my job, vod’ika.”
He pulled a ration bar out of his desk and stood, ignoring the grey that crashed over his vision and handed it to Deadpan, who hugged him with a warm squeeze. Deadpan never ate breakfast, but Fox knew he’d been eating less and less in general at the moment, like a lot of the clones who worked in admin. They were giving their rations to vode who went on patrols and one of Fix’s reports he’d read the day before had been a watchlist of vode who weren’t eating enough.
Deadpan was on that list.
Too eager to put other vode first. Fix would make comparisons; Fox was ignoring this vehemently.
“What's my joke today?”
Deadpan smiled around a mouthful of ration bar, swallowed, and smirked wider.
“What’s red and bad for your teeth? A brick.”
Fox huffed a laugh, shaking his head, chin to chest.
“Ha, made you laugh.”
“It's so bad.
“But you are laughing.”
“Actually painful.”
Deadpan stepped forwards and pressed their foreheads together.
“We do worry about you ori’vod.”
“I know nuhunar’ika. I wish you wouldn’t, but I know you all do.”
“It’s hard not to worry when you quiver as you stand and weigh about as much as a fish.”
“One of Senator Koin’s fish?”
“You’re not that pretty.”
“I’m wounded.”
There, he had Deadpan smiling again.
That was good.
No reason for his vod’ike to start shifts frowning.
Deadpan smoothed his greys and pulled his hat out of his back pocket.
“Time to sit and listen to random oisk for 8 hours straight.”
“Write down any good jokes or gossip.”
“I always do.”
Deadpan saluted and headed down the corridor, and Fox slumped back into his chair. The relief distraction had posed was momentary, and the cold rushed back, deep in his bones.
He just had to get through a few things, just a few more.
That was it.
.
There was another knock at his door, and Fox raised his head up from the last file on his list, read and signed.
“Ori’vod, are you still in here?”
“Deadpan?”
“Oh kriff, ori’vod, come on ruug’la genet sheb.”
The world went black when he stood but Deadpan grabbed his weight, at least enough for him to get his balance back.
“Oh we need to get you to the rec room.”
“Mmmm. Might not be a bad idea.”
He felt Deadpan stiffen, maybe because he’d just admitted to needing some help, but he was tired and cold and everything was blurring together.
He didn’t remember the walk back to the barracks, it was just haze, but there were more vode around him, voices telling him calmly and clearly, they were taking off his greys and getting him into something softer, that they were taking him to settle in the rec room’s side room, the jokily named nap room.
Fox trusted his vode, he let them get him changed, too tired to do it himself, and the very soft fluffy fabrics were lain over him, followed by a heavier blanket, draped over his shoulders.
“Ok, Fox,” was that Thire, “get your head down here ori’vod.”
He let hands guide him down, his head eventually meeting fabric that was cool and smooth and soft, another blanket laid over him, a vod tucked themself into his arms and there was another against his back, one with their heads pillowed on his legs, but he was already drifting off.
There were more voices above him, soft and quiet but steeled with an undercurrent of concern. Noise, not words, washing over him.
It could be important, someone could be hurt, or missing or...
“No, Fox, sleep. Please vod, just rest. Just rest.”
Someone started humming, his blankets were pulled a little tighter and Fox felt like putty as everything faded out.
.
Fox woke up in someone's arms, and stiffened, before the gentle tones of two vode washed over him, until the scent of standard issue cleaning from the blankets his nose was smooshed into washed over him, until he remembered where he was. He relaxed back into what he was lying on, mattresses and pillows secured from the waste depository out of 500 Republica.
Their base was littered with items from the Senator’s waste, curtains they didn’t like worked as dividers in the med bay and the bunk room, carpets with stains that now created nicer surfaces than the hard concrete they were otherwise stuck with, and any bedding or other luxuries thrown out were dragged back to the base, cleaned as well as they could, and put to use. Senators were good at throwing things out when they were perfectly good and this was the far superior way of getting into soft senatorial quality comfort. It could be uncomfortable to wake up in, Fox was not alone in that as much as he wished he was, but the comfort was glorious.
Fox adored soft things, soft clothes, soft blankets, soft everything. He didn’t know why, it was probably to do with the years of nothing but harsh materials and harsh living, but the first soft blanket he’d been given was a treasure to him, and not just because it had a Fox on it.
Besides, he never slept so deeply as when he was bundled up like this. When the war was over, he’d be curled up in bedding like this every night, soft and think and warm and comfortable and luxurious.
He could feel the slight itch on his arm where a monitoring scanning patch had been attached while he slept, Fix having clearly visited and without him realising or waking. He'd really crashed then, last time he’d been that deep the grey streaks at his temples had ended up pink. He hoped they were still grey.
He shifted a little, nuzzled his face deeper into the pillows and pulled the blankets a little tighter.
He probably needed to get up, start doing paperwork again, manage shifts...
The arm around his back tightened and there was a sleepy grumble.
He was still shattered.
Fox let his eyes fall closed again, blanketed by warm and safe.
His vode were around him, his vode could manage things for a bit. He had to sleep.
He had to rest.