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Fox pulls away from his nest, hand on his comms already. "Yes, Chancellor, of course," he promises. "We'll be right there."

Thorn pats his shoulder and changes shape, curling up around the egg in Fox's place. His scales are a rich, deep green, and a series of curved golden spines run down his back.

All of them have a section of lighter scales on their chests, a brood patch used for incubating eggs, and Thorn wiggles until he's warming the egg properly, gold claws curled around his charge to keep it secure. Fox gives him a once-over to make sure, which Thorn barely tolerates.

Honestly, this whole egg business is just another in a long list of logistical problems. Fox ignores the heavy feeling in his chest, some ridiculous instinct of don't-abandon-the-nest, but still stands there at the door, unable to leave.

With a gentle rumble, Thorn noses at Fox and practically knocks him over in an attempt to reassure him.

Fox reaches up and scratches the side of Thorn's snout. "Thanks." He bites down on a keep him safe because it's just an egg, it's not... that... important...

Thorn grunts and noses harder at Fox, ushering him out of the room.

"Alright, alright." Fox scoots out the door of the break-room-turned-nest, heart beating faster the further away he gets. This is ridiculous. He only got the egg to satisfy his instincts and get the hell back to work, but now he can't even leave the damn nest. What’s the point?

Well, at least the egg is close to hatching. It will all be over soon, and everything will go back to normal.

That must be it—he wants to be there when the baby hatches. Ridiculous. No one was there when he hatched, and he’s fine.

"Commander?!" Thorn yelps, panicked.

"What is it!?" Fox dashes back to the room, finding his lieutenant trying to push the egg back into its nest. "What did you do?" he growls. The instinct to change shape, to start tearing the room apart to find the intruder, roils under his skin like fire.

"Nothing, I swear, it just started to rock back and forth, and it rolled out of the nest," Thorn says defensively. "I think it's hatching."

Fox stares. Hatching? Now?

The egg rocks again, and Fox’s heart lurches. There’s a little guy in there, hatching. He changes shape and cuddles around the egg again, nosing at it lovingly. Fuck the Chancellor, his baby is hatching!

A faint scratching comes from inside the egg, and Fox lets out a low, rumbling purr, using his ruby red wings to shelter the egg.

Thorn sits next to him, and over the next hour, what feels like half the Guard crowds into the room.

A crack goes down the center of the egg, and they all lean in. The baby pushes at his shell until, with a sharp crunch, a little snout pokes free.

Fox stares. That tiny burnt-orange snout belongs to his baby, his peanut. He leans in ever so carefully and snuffles at the snout, and he catches the warm scent of the dragonet inside. It reminds him of smoke, or nearly-burnt toast, but somehow sweet.

Tapping and chipping at the shell, the dragonet determinedly carves himself an exit, then tries to shove his snout through. He cracks the already weakened egg and splits it right down the middle. With a surprised peep, he tumbles forward, lands on his bum, and blinks up at Fox with shimmering copper eyes.

The first thing Fox notices is the dragonet’s stub of a tail, then the state of his wing. The dragonet pads towards him on wobbly legs, chirping to himself.

He doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but he hesitates in greeting the child, fretting over the little one's right wing. All of the membrane between the wing sections is gone, and while the wing can extend out to its full length, he'll never be able to fly with it. What kind of material could be used to replace it? How would it grow to fit the dragonet as he got older? No, no, there's nothing that can do that.

The baby lets out a distressed peep, then another, trying to catch Fox's attention by flagging his tail stump. Fox’s stomach twists at the worry in the little one’s voice, and he moves without thinking, ducking his head and cleaning the baby off. Did he mess up already?

The dragonet trills with happiness as Fox cleans him, then rolls onto his side, showing off his pale little tummy. So small... Fox leans in and nuzzles the hatchling. Thorn gently sniffs at him too, and the baby noses back at both of them, the stub of his tail wiggling.

Guilt washes over Fox for making the little one wait even a moment to be welcomed. He tucks the kiddo underneath a wing, where he can be warm and safe. The hatchling offers him the tiniest of kisses, and Fox starts to purr. His baby is absolutely perfect.

Fox sighs and settles down, tail curled around his baby. Several of the lieutenants come by to say hello, and the hatchling wiggles with delight at all the attention. All they need is Quinlan.

Once, Fox would have dismissed that statement as ridiculous—the Jedi don't do that sort of thing. But his Jedi is different (or maybe the Jedi aren't how people think they are). Fox nuzzles at their baby, and the little one lets out a happy chirr and grabs Fox's nose with his tiny paws. Perfect baby. He pulls the dragonet in close and keeps snuffling at him.

For the first time in his life, Fox takes the rest of the day off.

"Well, I couldn’t have just shoved him back in the egg, he wanted to come out."

"I know, I’m just upset that I missed his hatchday. Sorry, Foxy."

"Not your fault. I blame that green chihuahua you call a Grandmaster for sending you to fuck-off nowhere. Hey, cutie, come over here," Fox coos, scooping a chubby little toddler into his arms. "Thire, meet your papa."

Thire gazes up at Fox—Quinlan knows they’re clones, but he’s amazed at how much Thire looks like a tiny baby Fox, down to the little bump in the bridges of their noses.

"Hey, sweetheart! I can’t wait to meet you. Just five more days," he promises.

The toddler grabs onto Fox’s shirt and snuggles against him, earning a smooch on the forehead. His right hand is missing the last couple fingers, and he can’t quite hang on properly, but Fox would never let him fall. He’s going to be the best dad.

"Come on, turn around—" Fox faces the toddler towards the camera, and with a little wiggle, Thire turns into a dragonet and starts peeping, not sure what's going on.

"Fox, he’s adorable," Quinlan murmurs. "Be there soon, I promise."

Fox kisses the dragonet’s head. "Alright, it’s dinnertime for Thire. Step on it, will ya?"

"Yeah, Foxy. See you."

Quinlan gets there four days later, a full two weeks after Thire hatches. Thorn meets him at the Temple and brings him back the Corrie Guard Official Nesting Zone, which is just the break room but filled with blankets.

As soon as he enters the room, Fox lets out a trill and changes shape, retaking his human form to better grab Quinlan by the arm. "Cyare! Come meet him." He drags Quinlan towards the nest and all but makes him sit down.

Thire is snuggled under a blanket, although he sits up as they approach, ears flicking curiously. His plump, kittenlike body is burnt orange, and his little legs are streaked in black with pure white paws, like he’s stepped in paint. He mewls in surprise when he sees Quinlan and nuzzles against Fox's leg, trying to hide his face.

"Hey, it's okay. Hi. I'm your other dad." Quinlan holds out his hand for the dragonet to sniff, and Thire burrows deeper under his buir's legs, tail stub tucked. "Foxy?"

"He's just a little shy. What's wrong, ad'ika?" Fox tries to pick him up, but Thire wiggles free and scampers away, burrowing under his blanket again. "Okay. Okay, plan two. I'm bringing out the big gun."

"Which is...?"

Fox goes into the kitchen and comes back with a warmed bottle of milk, suitable for baby dragons. "Now you'll have trouble keeping him away."

Almost on cue, the dragonet snuffles audibly from under the blanket, and the tip of his snout emerges to sniff.

"Yeah, he likes to eat. Don't you, kiddo?" Fox snuggles up next to Quinlan, wrapping an arm around his waist. "C'mon, it's snacktime."

"If he doesn't want meet me yet, that's fine. I have reports and—"

"Shhh, wait." Fox pokes him in the knee. "You're supposed to be patient, Jedi Master Vos." 

Thire's head pops out from under the blanket, ears angled to the side. He regards Quinlan with a solemn gaze, although his tail is curling back and forth with confusion.

Quinlan holds out a gloved hand to the baby and lets the little one snuffle at his palm. The ears prick forward, and the tail stills. "Hey, sweetheart," Quinlan murmurs. "I’m your papa. Remember me? I met… er… your egg."

Thire looks up at Quinlan with sparkling copper eyes. He can definitely smell his snack, and he nuzzles at Quinlan’s offered palm. After a moment of deliberation, he lets out a happy trill and clambers into Quinlan’s lap.

"Yeah, you recognize me now that I'm holding food. I’m really excited to meet you. Sorry I’m kind of late." Quinlan lets Thire snuggle against him, and the little dragonet starts purring, milk forgotten. "Hi." He smiles, scratching the baby’s back and getting an enthusiastic squeak in response. "You’re the cutest guy, aren’t you?"

Thire peeps, ears flicking up, then starts to nibble on Quinlan’s glove.

"Ah, maybe not that, buddy." Quinlan tugs the glove free, and Thire whines. "Hey, kiddo, it’s… oh man, please don’t cry," he pleads as the dragonet’s eyes get misty. "It’s okay, you can have it."

Subterfuge completed, Thire goes back to nibbling, tugging the glove all the way off and trapping it under his paws.

"I was gonna say don’t spoil him," Fox says, although Quinlan is way too far gone for that.

Thire busies himself batting at the glove. It 'gets away' from him, and he stalks up to it, back end wiggling as he prepares to pounce. Between one blink and the next, Thire leaps into the air, wings spread, and grabs the glove with a ferocious growl.

"Good job, buddy! Ah, look at that wing," Quinlan murmurs as the dragonet flaps his wings again, gnawing on the glove. "I guess it doesn’t hurt at all, though, huh." He reaches out and brushes the edge of his right wing.

Chittering, Thire chews on his new toy and flags his tail stub.

"Nah, you’re doing just fine." Quinlan kisses the baby’s head, getting a slightly muffled peep in response. "Fox, he’s perfect."

Fox nods, watching over the little guy as he nibbles the glove.

With a little wiggle, Thire turns into a chubby toddler, all big smiles and shiny rust-colored eyes. He giggles and holds up his hands to Quinlan.

"Aw, who can say no to that face?" Quinlan scoops the toddler up and kisses his cheek. "You're so cute!"

Thire reaches out and clumsily pats at Quinlan's face. "Pa?"

"Yep, that's me."

"Bu-bu," Thire adds, trying to grab Fox's hand.

Fox melts at the nickname and lets the little one hold onto his fingers. "Hey, sweetheart."

With a soft purr, Thire changes shape again and paws at Quinlan. Although this is less playful and more demanding.

"What is it, Thire? Oh, right." Quinlan offers him the bottle of milk, and the hatchling starts to drink with enthusiasm.

"Good appetite," Fox murmurs, one hand on Thire's back to keep him steady.

The hatchling grabs at the bottle with his forepaws, and it’s empty in no time. After he gets the very last drop, Thire makes a satisfied huff and curls up on Quinlan’s lap. His ears slowly relax as he drifts off to sleep.

Quinlan looks down at their kit and rests a hand on top of his head, thumb running over one of his floppy ears. "He's perfect."

"Yeah, he is."

"I'm trapped here until he wakes up, aren't I?"

"Absolutely."

Before Thire is even three months old, Fox receives a polite but firm memo: the Chancellor wants to see him. At least he’s given the hatchling a respectful distance up to this point.

Fox is ready to cram the kid back into his egg and sit on him until the war is over, but the Chancellor asked—demanded, really.

Thire hasn’t even left the Guard’s offices before. Fox’s biggest concern is that the dragonet is too afraid, or maybe that he gets himself into trouble by sniffing the wrong object.

As soon as they’re supposed to leave, Thire begins clawing at the doors that lead to the Senate building, peeping to be let out, and Fox obliges. “Careful, kit.”

Thire scampers to freedom and immediately stops, staring in wonder at everything he sees; the different art adorning the hallways, the few senators milling around this early in the morning. They see Senator Amidala dressed in one of her more regal outfits, and Thire can’t help but go up and bat at the glowing amber globes sewn to the hem.

At least the Senator doesn’t mind. Fox carries him after that, though, just in case. Thire sniffs at the air the whole time, craning his neck to see everything.

"Alright, here we are. This is where my boss works, buddy." Fox puts the dragonet down on the floor, hovering over him as he explores.

The dragonet snuffles at a chair, then tries to climb on top of it. His back legs scrabble at the air, and he whines, wings flapping uselessly as he looks up at Fox, stuck in place.

“Hey, it’s okay, kit.” Fox gives him a boost, and Thire trills as he puts his paws on the desk. He shoves his face into a cup of pens, snorting and sending them flying, then grabs a piece of flimsi in his jaws.

“Not that, Thire, that’s not for biting.” Fox gently takes the flimsi out of his mouth, and Thire promptly bites down on a keyboard instead. “Alright, c'mon. My office is right here.” He shepherds Thire to the safety his office, which just says CORUSCANT GUARD COMMANDER on it. Yet another glorified cubicle. At least it keeps everyone from watching Thire make a mess.

The little boy pads around the cramped room, snuffling at every item like it's the best thing he's ever seen. Chirping, Thire puts his forepaws up on the window overlooking the city to watch the speeders zoom by. His tail practically vibrates back and forth.

"Yeah, it’s not a bad city from up here, bud." Fox sits down next to him and rubs his back. "I’m trying to keep the place safe, but it’s not easy."

Thire lets out a soft coo, looking over at Fox. He’s got no idea what the city is really like, and honestly, it’s better that way.

"Alright, let’s go meet my boss. Want to come up?"

Thire nods and changes shape again, letting Fox scoop him up into his arms. Years of military training have given Fox some impressive muscles, and he’s finally putting them to good use.

"Sir," the guards outside the Chancellor’s office greet him. "Aw, it’s Thire!" Waffle ruffles Thire's hair, and Thire giggles, ducking his head shyly.

"Chancellor, Fox and Thire are here to see you."

"Ah, yes. Send them in."

Thire looks at Fox and makes the same chitter he does as a dragonet.

"Let's go, bud." Fox nods at the guards and enters the room.

Frankly, he isn’t sure what to expect, but Thire takes one look at the Chancellor and buries his face in Fox’s shoulder.

"I’m sorry, Chancellor, I think he’s just tired." Fox bounces the boy in his arms. There was nothing in the parenting books about this. "Can you say hi, buddy?"

"Hello, little Thire. You’ve been quite a distraction to the Coruscant Guards, haven’t you?"

Thire snuffles into Fox’s shoulder, peeking over at the Chancellor. "Hi," he says in a soft little voice.

"Oh my, look at that hand. What a shame." The Chancellor reaches out and lifts Thire's right hand by the wrist.

Eyes absolutely enormous, Thire doesn't move, his left hand clinging tight to Fox's armor.

Fox gives him a squeeze, rubbing his back. His baby isn’t a goddamn shame, he’s—he’s— "Well, sir—"

"I heard that one of his wings is deformed as well, to the point where he can’t even fly. And he doesn’t even have a tail. That's very sad, isn't it?" the Chancellor asks, looking at Fox. "Must be a significant weight on your shoulders."

Thire doesn't make a sound, but Fox can feel him breathing faster, his little body shaking.

“Not really, sir.” This is how clones get decommissioned, they’re not good enough, his baby isn’t good enough.

“Well, he’s sufficient in the mental regard, at least. Perhaps keeping him would be worth the investment after all.” The Chancellor says this like it’s a glowing endorsement. “Are you worth all this effort, little one?” he asks.

Thire stares back at him, too afraid to pull away.

Fox’s customer service smile freezes in a grimace on his face. "I think he needs to have his afternoon nap, sir," he lies. "You know how kids are."

"Ah, yes, of course. You can take him back to your office now." The Chancellor smiles like a kind old man.

Talk about creepy grandpa vibes.

"Thank you, sir." Fox retreats from the room before the Chancellor can change his mind. He kisses the top of Thire’s head protectively.

"Is everything okay, sir?" one of the guards asks.

Fox grunts. Around here, the answer is never yes, and the guards—Waffle and Socks—both know it. "Fine."

They read between the lines and let him go. Good lads, Waffle and Socks. Fox retreats to his office, across the Senate complex from the wing of the Senate building repurposed for the Guard. "Alright, kit, how about we take a few minutes here and go back home—"

Thire lets out a panicked cry, wiggling to freedom and crawling under Fox’s chair. "No, no, no!"

"Shh, okay, sweetheart, okay." Fox backs off and sits on the floor beside Thire. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

All he knows for certain is that his formative childhood experiences on Kamino are nothing to copy.

They were trained to maintain focus under even the most dire circumstances, a process called desensitization. Kote had cried the first time, which had been… unacceptable. When the other cadets were allowed to leave, the Kaminoans had locked him inside the desensitization room until he behaved properly. At four in the morning, they’d brought him back to the barracks, his eyes blank and emotionless, his face streaked with tears. Fox hadn't even been allowed to comfort him.

Thire sobs, trying to wrap his wings around himself.

"I’m sorry, kit," he murmurs, laying on the ground next to Thire. The dragonet is still too upset to let Fox hug him, though, and he whines and turns away when Fox tries to pet one of his little paws. "You don't have to go out if you don't want. We can stay here." He changes shape and cuddles around the desk and chair, almost too large for the whole room, and lets Thire know that his buir will protect him.

After a few minutes of sniffling, Thire crawls under Fox’s paw. His sides heave, and Fox nuzzles him gently. Some of the Guard mill outside the door, then settle down, making sure nobody comes in.

Thire looks up at him and closes his eyes, pressing his body against Fox. He flips back and forth between shapes and finally settles on being a toddler, hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt.

Fox takes his human form too and wraps Thire in a big hug.

"The wrinkle man," Thire whispers. "He said bad things."

“None of those things were right. He shouldn’t have said them.” Fox kisses Thire’s forehead. “You don’t have to see him ever again.”

Thire clings to his armor like a baby koala. He’s sniffling, eyes red and watering, but he doesn’t cry.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Fox rubs his hand up and down the toddler’s back.

"I wanna go home."

"Alright, let's go home."

Socks and another guard, Birch, follow behind them at a respectful distance.

Thire lets out a whine that has the whole Guard on edge—Fox can practically hear the lashing tails. Jek and Opal join the procession, whispering to Socks and Birch.

"We’re going back home." Fox kisses the top of Thire’s head.

"Um, sir?" Thorn says over comms. "The Chancellor wanted to know when you were escorting him to the Senate chamber? They’re convening in thirty minutes."

"Tell him I… sprained my ankle. Bacta wraps for a week."

Thorn huffs. "Alright, sir, but I’m not taking the heat for that if anyone finds out."

Fox cuddles the toddler to his chest. Nothing he wouldn’t do for his baby.

“Force, Foxy, what the hell happened to you out there?” Quinlan frets over Fox’s ankle, wrapped in bacta bandages.

“It’s nothing. I was just…”

Thire shakes his head, all cuddled up against Fox. “Buir was clumsy,” he reports.

“Wow. Thanks, buddy.” Fox tugs him in close and kisses the top of his head. “Nothing happened, Quin. It's fine.”

“We saw the bad wrinkle man, and I got scared, but Buir took me home, and then he tripped, and now we're here,” Thire explains. When he's done, he changes shape and loafs in Fox's lap, nuzzling Fox's chest with the side of his face.

Quinlan frowns. “Bad wrinkle man?”

“The Chancellor scared him.” Fox rests a hand protectively on Thire's back and gets nibbled in the fingers for his trouble. “Said all kinds of shit about him. You know, when they try to be nice about it...”

Thire chitters, his bad wing pressed against him, tail stub tucked. His little ears go flat against his head.

“Wow, he did? That doesn't seem like the Chancellor. Oh, buddy, what's wrong?” Quinlan holds out a hand to Thire, who nuzzles him, sniffling. “He must've really upset him. Hey, aren't you supposed to be with the Chancellor right now?”

“Well, yeah, but I've just ‘sprained’ my ankle.”

“What? Foxy.”

“He was crying. How could I leave him?” Fox looks down at his little kit, who’s sniffing at Quinlan’s robes curiously.

Quinlan laughs. “Hey, you found it! I got you a snack while I was out. Are you hungry?”

Thire's ears flick up, and he peeps politely for the treat.

“Can you use your hands?” Quinlan takes a still-warm cinnamon bun out of its paper bag, the icing already melting.

The toddler changes shape and holds up his hands. “Bun-bun-bun!” he cheers.

“Here you go, kiddo.” Quinlan gives him a few napkins too, and Fox knows he's picked the right husband.

“Thank you, Papa!” Thire munches on his cinnamon bun, getting icing all over his face. He snuggles up against Fox, content, crumbs falling on the bedsheets as he eats.

“And you, don’t lie to get off from work. I’m supposed to be the reckless one.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Like any of that matters, if it means Thire feels safe. Fox tugs Quinlan until he sits down on the bed. “Did you get me anything?”

Quinlan passes him a strawberry cream cheese croissant wrapped in a napkin and a big hot cup of coffee. “Is that even a question?”

“I love you,” Fox sighs.

“I bet you say that to everyone who brings you treats.” Quinlan kisses Fox’s cheek. “I love you too.”

"What do you think we should have for dinner, buddy?" Quinlan bounces Thire in his arms.

"Hmmmm," he hums to himself, tugging on the hem of his pufferfish t-shirt. "I dunno! What do you think, Buir?"

Quin knows exactly what Foxy wants for dinner. Veggies. "Don’t you dare say kale salad."

"I was going to make fish tacos," Fox says, rolling his eyes. "We had kale salad once."

"A betrayal for which you are still not forgiven." Quinlan kisses Thire’s dark curls.

"Yes!" Thire agrees.

Fox sighs and mutters something about leafy greens being good for you while he puts limes in their basket.

"Lime," Thire says as Fox add one to the basket. "Lime. Lime! That was three limes," he reports as they walk towards the fish counter.

"Good job counting. What would we do without you?" Quinlan kisses Thire again, and he giggles, hanging onto one of Quinlan’s locs, which, ow.

Fox reaches over and tousles Thire’s hair. "We need cabbage for the coleslaw and tortillas. Why don't you two grab them while I pick up the fish?"

"Yeah, let’s pick out shells." Quinlan makes a kissy-face at Fox that goes thoroughly unappreciated. "We got this, right, buddy?"

Thire nods and plays with one of the golden beads woven into Quinlan’s hair. "Papa, can I have shiny things in my hair too?"

That’s a choking hazard! the tiny Fox in Quinlan’s head reminds him. "If you grow your hair out long like mine, you can have as many as you want."

"Mmmmmmm," Thire says, and Quinlan looks down to see the boy’s eyes screwed shut in concentration. "Mmmmmmmph!"

"You okay, buddy?"

"I’m tryna grow my hair!"

A for effort. "It takes a bit more time than that, kit. Maybe a few years."

Thire’s eyes get huge. "That’s forever."

"So you gotta start soon and be patient. Before you know it, you’ll have long, beautiful hair, right?" Thire nods, and Quinlan tugs on a lock of his much shorter hair. "Come on, I’ll let you pick the tortillas."

Thire picks the flour ones, then scrambles around the rice aisle, pointing at the bags and saying, "No!" to each one of them. He never strays far from Quinlan, always coming back to him like he’s home base.

"Come on, kit, let’s get cabbages for the coleslaw." He holds out his hand, and Thire grabs onto him happily. "I’m pretty impressed that you like coleslaw."

"They make Buir happy," Thire explains. "He likes them, so I like them."

"Makes sense."

"I want that cabbage!" he interrupts, jumping up and down and pointing. "It’s pretty!"

"That’s a lettuce, not a cabbage. See?" Quinlan shows him the lettuce, and Thire frowns. "It’s called an iceberg lettuce. Different taste, different kind of plant."

Thire pats the lettuce with one hand. "You are evil," he declares with all the gravitas of a Jedi master.

"Okay, we won't get any of these," Quinlan laughs, and Thire nods in agreement.

At the pile of real cabbages, Thire picks over what feels like every last one of them to find the ‘best cabbages for Daddy’ which is super cute and also just mad boring.

"How's the search going, buddy?" he asks after five minutes.

"Tint-arresting," Thire reports, still poking over the cabbages.

"Interesting?"

"Yes!"

Oh boy. "Can you pick out your two favorites? Other people have to look at the cabbages too."

Thire nods and points to two cabbages which are indistinguishable from all their compatriots. "Those are the prettiest ones," he declares.

"Good job, buddy, they look perfect." Quinlan picks Thire up and sets him back on the ground.

"Now we need to rendezvous with Buir!"

So the kid can say ‘rendezvous’ no problem but stumbles over ‘interesting’? Exactly what he’d expect from a Fox kit.

Thire scampers towards the fish counter, dashing back to drag Quinlan forward by his sleeve when he's not fast enough.

"Whoa, hold on! Indoor feet, remember?" Quinlan reminds him gently.

"But I wanna show Daddy the cabbages," Thire explains, hopping up and down in his excitement over the vegetables, punctuating each word with a bounce.

Quinlan ruffles Thire's hair. "I know, but you don't want to bump into anyone or trip, either. Daddy will still be there even if we're thirty seconds late."

"Okay, Papa." Thire puts on the brakes, although he keeps tugging on Quinlan's sleeve to urge him along.

They find Fox still at the fish counter, scrutinizing each filet individually. Like father, like son, or something like that. "Quin, do you want tilapia? Salmon? We can do cod or haddock or—"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Foxy. Thire had enough time to look at every single green cabbage in the store and pick his two favorites. I think he's much better at deciding than you."

"I picked the bestest cabbages. Papa, show him!"

"Get a load of these!" Quinlan tilts the basket so Fox can admire the cabbages.

"Good work, cadet." Fox goes in for a shoulder pat, but Thire is way too small for that, so he ends up patting the little guy on the head. Honestly, Quinlan is kind of surprised Fox didn't try to shake Thire's hand or something.

"I wanna pick the fish!"

Fox nods. "Alright, give it your best shot."

"Hm..." he says seriously, chewing on his lip. He stands on his tiptoes in order to read all the signs, then declares, "Tuna tacos."

Quinlan scoops Thire up and raises him into the air. "He has spoken!"

Thire squeals with delight, little legs swinging wildly. "Papa!"

Fox snatches Thire out of Quinlan’s hands, then sets him on the floor, keeping one hand on top of Thire’s head. "We would like a pound of yellowfin tuna."

“Yes!” Thire hops up and down, trying to watch the tuna being packaged, but he’s too small, and Quinlan has to give him a little boost.

“Alright, we’re done. Let’s get out of here,” Fox says, ushering them to the registers as soon as they get the tuna. “C’mon, Kit, we’re leaving.”

“But I wanna look at more things...” Thire looks down at the ground and sighs. “Okay.”

“You can pick any candy bar you want on the way out,” Quinlan promises him, and Thire immediately perks up again.

Foxy glares, disappointed that Quinlan can be so easily manipulated.

“I’ll let you pick one out too,” he says to Fox, patting his cheek.

“Insufferable,” Fox mutters.

Thire only changes shape once they reach the Guard’s headquarters, when he starts to scamper around and sniff at everything.

“Okay, kit, don’t forget to wash up,” Quinlan says, pointing to their paw-washing station outside Fox’s personal apartment.

Thire chitters and hops into the plastic tub full of soapy water, trotting in place and making a whole lot of suds. A bubble floats free, and he peeps in surprise as he pokes it with his nose and it pops. Afterwards, he scrambles out and dries his paws off on a clean towel.

Fox sits down on the floor to help the dragonet dry each paw. “Nice and clean,” he declares when he’s done, and Thire giggles.

“Alright, let’s get these groceries put away.” Quinlan opens the door and lets Thire dart inside.

The dragonet chirrs and scampers back and forth, fluttering his wings.

“Someone’s happy to be home,” Fox says affectionately.

Thire doesn’t help at all with the groceries, instead sticking his face into each bag and sniffing the contents, ears pricked. The little stub of his tail wiggles, which is just the kriffing cutest. He hops down and trots around the kitchen, getting underfoot and making a nuisance of himself.

“Okay, kidlet, how about you help us with dinner? Or do you want to just watch a stream and hang out?”

Thire wiggles in Quinlan’s arms, chirping.

Quinlan sets him down, and he scampers away to watch TV. “Classic.”

Fox grunts.

“What?” Quinlan asks.

Typically, Fox just starts getting out pans in silence, rattling his way through the kitchen.

“Foxy, what?”

Cheerful stream music comes on in a different room, and Fox puts down the pan. “Look, Quin, you can't treat him like that.”

"Wh—like what?" Quinlan mentally cycles back through their day. "What?"

"You're babying him," Fox accuses. "He can barely go three meters from you before he comes scampering back, and you just pick him up and coddle him all he wants!"

"What are you trying to say? He's a kid, I'm his dad, it's not that hard to do the math."

"You keep... carrying him!" Fox gestures vaguely at the air.

"He's three? I don't understand why you're so pissed."

"He has to learn how to do things for himself."

"Uh-huh, let the three-year-old do his own grocery shopping, great, that'll teach him self-reliance," Quinlan snaps sarcastically. "We're supposed to provide for him, we're his parents. Look, I know you didn't exactly want him—"

Fox growls. "That's not what I fucking mean!"

"Then you'd better damn well explain yourself, because I have no idea what you're trying to say."

"He can't give people any more reason to doubt him than they've already got." Fox grits his teeth. "If they see he relies on us that much, if they find any weakness, they'll recycle him."

Quinlan shudders at the clones’ epithet for murder. "Not here, they won't. Fox, nothing bad is going to happen to Thire, okay? I promise." He tries to approach his husband, but Fox backs away, proverbial hackles raised.

"That's what they're letting you think. They let us take him because they didn't want him, and they'll let us keep him right until he becomes an inconvenience."

"You mean the Kaminoans? Nobody’s going to take him away. We can use the Jedi foundling card if we have to," he adds, knowing how much Fox loves the law.

"It won't stand up in court," Fox says weakly. "He's not Force-sensitive." He sits down heavily in the middle of the floor, and Quinlan joins him. "It's just—if—if anything happened to him, I don't know what I'd do. Something illegal and violent, probably." His fists clench in the hem of his shirt.

"Hey, I would help you commit those crimes, keep that in mind." Quinlan leans against Fox. "I love him too."

"He's so kriffin’ cute," Fox says thickly, wiping at his eyes. "I didn't know what it would be like, until he hatched. I'm so proud of him already."

"I know you are, Papa Fox." Quinlan kisses his cheek.

"I love him so much," Fox practically sobs, hugging Quinlan so tight he squeaks.

"He’s safe, Foxy. I promise."

"He’s safe," Fox agrees, releasing Quinlan from his death grip, but still keeping him close. The Commander of the Corrie Guard takes a shaky breath and rests his head against Quinlan’s chest, finally relaxing.

As if he’s sensed the right moment to butt into the conversation, Thire pokes his head into the kitchen, ears pressed flat against his head.

"Hey, kiddo! Did you hear us talking?" Quinlan asks.

The dragonet nods slowly.

Fox lets Thire come up to him and nose at his hand. "Sorry we were loud, kit. Papa had to reassure me of something."

Thire climbs into Fox's lap, looking up at him with wide copper eyes. Then he changes shape so he can snuggle against Fox's chest, and of course Fox holds onto him so he doesn't slip.

"I love you so much." Fox kisses the top of Thire's head.

"Why were you mad?" Thire asks quietly.

"You know where we came from, right, kit?"

Thire nods. "Kamino!"

"They weren’t very nice there. Sometimes I forget things are different here, and then Quin—er—Papa talks some sense into me. We’re not mad at each other, though."

"Nope. No one can stay mad at me." Quinlan beams, and Fox smacks him on the arm.

"Okay. Can I cook the food now?" he asks.

Quinlan just knows Fox is watching a mental clip show of Thire in the kitchen, chopping his fingers off and burning himself and breaking dishes. “You can certainly help, bud.”

"Happy half-year-est birthday, Thire!" everyone cheers.

The dragonet, cuddled in Quinlan's lap, peeps and wiggles with excitement as two members of the Guard bring him a birthday cake with four candles on top. Given how much Fox and his brothers can put away in an evening, Quinlan opted for a cake of considerable size—about as big as Thire himself.

"Hey, blow out the candles, kit. Make a wish!"

Thire looks up at him, then turns back to the cake and blows out one candle, then the second, then the third, and finally the fourth.

"Yay, happy birthday, Thire!" everyone cheers, and the dragonet trills with delight.

Fox divvies up the cake, since the toddler probably shouldn’t be trusted with knives. Thire's eyes grow enormous as he sees his slice, and he peeps to Fox with excitement.

"Big slice for the birthday boy!" Fox practically coos, and the other troopers try not to stare too hard at their stoic commander dissolving into baby-talk. "Here you go, buddy."

Thire loafs in Quinlan's lap, paws hidden underneath him, savoring the ice cream with little bites. He’s purring so hard that he’s practically vibrating.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's good, isn’t it?" Fox scratches the top of Thire's head, right behind his ears.

"Whoa, what is this?" Thorn asks, holding up the plate of ice cream cake.

"Dunno, but it's amazing." Jek licks the back of his spoon and sighs down at his empty plate. "I want to eat that again."

Thire giggles, only part of the way through his own slice and already covered in ice cream.

A wad of napkins already in one hand in case of drips, Fox says, “Good choice, Quin. Although next time, maybe something less messy.”

Thire pauses to chirr at his buir grumpily, as if to say, no way! Then he goes back to eating.

“You going to eat any, babe?” Quinlan wiggles a slice of cake in front of Fox.

“If you insist.” He gingerly takes the cake and squints at it like it’s a particularly annoying senator. He takes a bite.

“Er. Foxy, are you okay?”

Fox nods, trying to say something, but judging by how his mouth just opens and closes like a fish, all his reactions are Unsuitable for the Child.

Thire nuzzles Fox’s leg and gets ice cream all over his blacks.

"Can we give him his presents yet?" Stone asks.

Quinlan looks down at Thire. "You done, buddy? We can open presents if you want."

Thire nods, chirping eagerly, ice cream smeared all over his face.

"Okay—hold on—" Quinlan grabs a napkin and cleans him up. The dragonet tries to help out by politely wiping his snout against the napkin. "There, good as new."

Fox smiles as Thire hops to the floor and presses a little paw to Stone's leg, his eyes wide and sparkling. Nobody can resist that face.

They sit around him in a circle on the floor, and Thire is presented with his first gift, a shiny silver bag with fluffy tissue paper inside. He looks up at Stone and chirps, nuzzling his leg.

"Here you go, Thire. Happy birthday."

Thire sniffs at it, not sure what to do, and Fox reaches over and pulls out the tissue paper. The crinkling attracts the dragonet's attention, and Thire smacks at it eagerly, tail stub wiggling back and forth.

"Look inside, kit," Quinlan says, directing him back to the bag.

Thire tilts his head, then shoves his muzzle inside, letting out a muffled peep. After a bit of snuffling around, he emerges with a stuffed sushi toy. It even has orange pompoms on top to mimic tobiko. Thire’s eyes sparkle as he gently squeaks the toy.

The sound shakes Fox out of his chocolate coma. "Ohhh, is that tasty?" he coos to Thire, and the dragonet giggles. Then he catches his commanders staring and shakes his head, trying to bring it in or something.

"Yeah, that's a tasty sushi," Quinlan adds in the same tone of voice, scratching the dragonet's back.

"Big hit, Stone. Can you say thank-you, buddy?" Fox asks.

Thire holds the toy between his forepaws and changes shape. "Thank you, Uncle Stone!! I love him!"

"You’re welcome, buddy. Happy birthday!"

Thire hugs his sushi, rubbing it against his cheek.

"We got you one more present," Thorn says. "It’s from all of us in the Diplomatic Service.” He sets an extremely large bag on the ground in front of Thire, although it doesn't seem heavy.

Thire returns to his dragonet shape, sushi held firmly between his jaws, and he sniffs curiously at the bag.

"What’s that, kit?," Fox asks, now firmly in dad mode.

Wings fluttering, Thire dives into the bag and pulls out a giant strawberry. Upon further inspection, it’s actually a felted cocoon bed for tookas, with a green stem and leaf decorating top. Thire gives it a thorough sniffing, even using his tongue to scent it properly.

"Looks cozy, right?"

One little paw darts out to tap at the pod, and, deciding that it's safe, Thire dives in through the entrance. With a bit of wiggling, his whole body fits inside, and he sticks his head out of the pod with a giggle.

"Can you say thank-you to Uncle Thorn?" Fox prompts.

Thire stretches out to nose at Thorn's hand, then retreats into the cocoon and vanishes from sight, sushi and all. A faint purring can be heard from within.

"Yeah, I think he really likes that." Quinlan pats the top of the pod—he's pretty sure if he tries to put his hand inside, he'll get nipped.

Fox is much braver, wiggling his fingers at the entrance to the pod. "We got you one more thing, sweetheart. Happy birthday, ad'ika."

Thire sticks his head out of the cocoon, head tilted to the side. He has the sushi trapped between his paws.

“Happy birthday!” Quinlan gives Thire a neatly wrapped silver box.

With a curious coo, the dragonet smacks at it with his paw, but he eventually he crawls out of the pod and changes shape in order to use his hands. Fox had made sure that even with his hand, Thire could open the box on his own, and Quinlan could fucking kiss him for that. And he probably will.

Thire peels away the wrapping paper and peeks into the box. As soon as he sees what’s inside, he changes shape so he can sniff the item thoroughly. Then his eyes pin and he slaps at the object eagerly, peeping and chirping.

“Wait, what is that?” Stone asks curiously as Thire goes absolutely bonkers for his present.

As soon as Thire gets one good thwack in, the object flutters into the air, and he squeaks with excitement and pounces on it, making it flutter again.

“I think it’s for tookas, but—” Fox looks down at Thire, who grabs the toy between his paws and rolls onto his back, letting it bounce away from him before chasing it again.

Every time it’s whacked, it flaps into the air on crinkly wings, feathery streamers trailing off the bottom. Eyes big and shining, Thire creeps towards the toy and pounces. It skitters away, and he chases after it with a happy growl.

Thire tires himself out maybe fifteen minutes later, and he flops down on the floor, the toy trapped underneath him as he purrs.

“Tired already, buddy?” Quinlan asks, and Thire picks up his new toys and dives into his felt strawberry pod. “Naptime, I guess.”

The little dragon pokes his head out of the pod and chirps. He changes shape, his toddler form so much smaller that now the pod looks enormous. “Papa!”

“Yeah, kit?”

Thire hugs his stuffed sushi. “I’m in a strawberry.”

“Is it the biggest strawberry ever?”

“Hm… I dunno. I hope so.” Thire yawns and cuddles up on the pile of his new toys in dragonet shape, his tailtip resting on his nose. After a few minutes, he lets out a jaw-cracking yawn that ends in a little wisp of smoke, and the party draws to an end.

“Happy birthday, Thire,” Thorn says, tweaking the dragonet’s ear. “Good night, sirs.”

Everyone says good-night to the sleepy toddler, who coos and purrs at all the attention.

“Okay, kit. Time for bed,” Fox says, scooping the little one into his arms.

Thire stirs and peeps loudly, pawing at his papa.

“Can you get his sushi?”

Quinlan hands the stuffed sushi to Thire, who sleepily grabs it with his jaws and nuzzles Quinlan’s hand. “Of course. Can’t forget your sushi.”

“Sleepy boy,” Fox murmurs, bouncing Thire gently in his arms. “Gotta brush those teeth, though.”

Thire looks plaintively at Fox, but he dutifully goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Good birthday party,” Quinlan comments.

“You think so?”

“Thire had a great time.”

Fox sighs. “Good.”

“You’re in the running for best buir of the year with that sparkly cat toy thing and the cake.”

“You picked the cake.”

Quinlan leans in and kisses Fox on the cheek. “I’m serious, this is all you.”

“I just… didn’t want it to be disappointing. I don’t know what I’m doing. You just—I thought I was nesting with Thire just to satisfy some stupid impulse. And when you came back, suddenly I wanted to keep him, and you just rolled with it. I don’t… how are you not freaking the hell out?”

“Foxy, I’m seeing a different world than you are. This apartment, it’s full of all these amazing memories. And even the sad ones, it’s like—they’re part of the journey. We’re trying our best, and our best is pretty fucking good.”

“I guess that is kind of impressive, given we had nothing to go on. Neither of us ever had normal families.”

Thire bursts out of the bathroom and scampers into Quinlan and Fox’s bedroom, his sushi in his mouth and his tail stub held high.

“Look around, Foxy. We have a family right now. And it feels pretty normal to me.”

“You’re…” Fox takes a deep breath. “You’re right.”

Quinlan tries to stifle his grin and fails. “Whoa. Hold on. What was that? Can you say that again? For the record? Fox, don’t walk away from me—”

Thire squawks at them to come snuggle, already half-buried underneath the blankets.

Fox changes shape and bonks his nose into Quinlan’s side to shut him the hell up, then pushes him into the room.

With a tiny sigh, Fox lays on top of their bed, forepaws on the mattress, back legs on the floor. He tucks Thire safely under his brood patch so the dragonet can stay warm, and Quinlan gets shoved underneath too, which, hey, he's not a baby!

"Foxy—" Quinlan squeaks again, smushed practically flat. "Okay. Okay, Thire, I guess we’re stuck under here, huh?"

The dragonet peeps to him and snuggles against his side, warm and cozy, his new sushi held between his paws.

Fox dips his head and noses at his baby one last time, then snuffles at Quinlan.

“Good night, babe." He smooches Fox on the snout. “Happy birthday, peanut.” He kisses the top of Thire's head.

Thire giggles, safely cuddled between his parents, and Quinlan knows he and Foxy never stood a chance.