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"I think I'm going crazy," Fox says quietly, and Carrion startles.
His boss, his friend, his big brother, was waiting for him in the dark corners of his office. Half hidden in the shadows, Carrion can't see his face.
He swallows, and takes a step forwards.
Fox stays in the corner, leaning against the wall. Sagging, really. It looks like it's the only thing keeping him upright.
Carrion closes the door behind him. He reaches for the light switch, but even in the darkness Carrion can see how Fox tenses, so he lowers his hand again.
"Why do you think that?" he asks softly, placing the stack of datapads he's carrying onto his desk. The noise, even as quiet as Carrion tries to make it, makes Fox flinch.
It's quiet. It's that time of the day where you can't tell if it's late or early. Carrion suspects that while it's early for him, it's late for Fox. Very late… by the looks of him.
"I… I keep forgetting things. I'm… I'm missing time. Lots of time…"
"For how long now?" Carrion asks, moving towards Fox slowly, as if he's a spooked animal and not one of Carrion's closest friends.
"A few months," Fox swallows. "It started with just hours… I thought I was falling asleep at my desk or something but… now it's days at a time and…"
"And what, Fox?"
"Injuries… things I can't explain. Bruises, cuts on my knuckles…" Fox took a deep, rattling breath. "One time… a blaster wound."
"And you didn't come to me? For fucks sake Fox. That's serious."
"It was… it had been treated."
Carrion stares at him, and finally Fox looks up. Dread and a small amount of non-professional revulsion fill Carrion's stomach as his face catches the light.
Fox has been beaten black and blue, and no small amount of red. The cuts are healed over, and the bruises are beginning to fade. The largest cut on his cheek is well on its way to being infected.
These wounds are hours, if not days old.
"Shit."
Carrion reaches out to Fox, his hands moving of their own accord. Fox flinches away.
"I wake up sometimes… and I'm covered in blood. It's not my blood. I'm going crazy."
"Fox–"
"I'm scared, Carrion. I'm defective and I'm scared and – "
He breaks.
In all the time Carrion has known Fox, he has never seen him break.
He crumples to the floor, and Carrion barely had enough time to catch him. He notes with sickening realisation that Fox's right arm, the one Carrion isn't holding him up by, is hanging uselessly by his side.
"Carrie – I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm – I don't know what's happening."
Carrion should start treating the infection in Fox's cheek. Carrion should reset Fox's shoulder, whether it's broken or dislocated. Carrion should check his big brother over for more injuries.
He slides his hands into the greasy curls at the back of Fox's head and holds him as tightly as he dares. When he doesn't flinch away, Carrion pulls him closer.
"We're gonna figure this out Fox," he promises.
"It's gonna be okay."