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Chapter Text

There was a Jedi in his quarters.

Fox was not in the mood for a Jedi to be in his quarters. He wasn’t in the mood for a Jedi to be anywhere near him. He wanted to take a shower to wash off all the glitter he’d accumulated over the course of the night, dressed in the most fashionably risqué attire he had in his collection even if it made him feel as if his pecs were about to bust out the thin netting of what barely constituted as a shirt for how little material it had.

It showed skin. It showed everything to be honest.

Also his feet were killing him. Whoever invented heels like this hated people in general. And he was pretty sure the heels were caked in mysterious substances he most certainly did not want to know and would stink up the whole room if he didn’t peel them off and throw them out his office window in the next ten minutes. Or just toss them into the shower- sonic or water, didn’t matter to him.

The Jedi had the audacity to whistle at him, his long legs stretched out along the entirety of his bunk and crossed at the ankle. He looked way too comfortable to be lounging on Fox’s own bunk uninvited. Who the kark let him in here? Or did he sneak his way in here? What was it with Jedi and sneaking into Guard areas?

“I will have Bushtit kick you in the balls again,” Fox snapped, unable to bring himself to fake even a little professionalism as he began prying the handful of jewelry from his ears and face, kicking off the cursed footwear into the open fresher doorway. He could almost cry when he was finally free of the wretched torture contraptions- never was he wearing those thing again.

Jedi Master Quinlan Vos held up his hands in surrender.

“Can’t I appreciate beauty when it’s right in front of me?” he asked, the cheeky grin audible in his voice despite Fox’s back being turned to him.

“No.”

Fox slammed the earring down in the dainty ceramic bowl Banger had made after puppy-eyeing the pottery shop owner with perhaps a little more force than necessary, causing the metal to cling against the glazed interior.

“Rough night?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Fox deposited the last of the jewelry with a clatter into the bowl before turning to face the irritatingly tall Jedi. He knew he was being impeccably rude to a superior, but this was his room and his Guard, and it was currently two hours until dawn and maybe an hour before that before he had to drag his ugly carcass out of bed in prep for whatever micromanaging the Chancellor tried to accomplish to Fox’s perfectly set schedule for his men. He had no time for Jedi and whatever it is they were concocting up in their quaint temple.

They’d been pretty quiet as of late, the Jedi. Fox’s inside eyes and ears within the GAR didn’t report anything amiss, so the fact that the Jedi were on the same level of authority in the war and government as mercenaries- unpaid ones at that- must be being kept quite hush hush.

Still, finding one having snuck in and on his bunk didn’t bode well. Especially not for Vos’ health and wellbeing.

Vos’ face dropped from his teasing grin, a serious glint in his eyes that in itself almost seemed to shapeshift his entire face into someone almost unrecognizable from the same man who’d held up flimsiwork above Bushtit’s head and allowed himself to get nailed in the balls. It made the hairs on the back of Fox’s neck stand on end, but he held firm, jaw set as he watched Vos swing his legs off the edge of the bunk to set on the floor. Even sitting down he looked huge on Fox’s cheap, standard cot, the gaudy lamp Solar had rescued from the trash casting an eerie shadow across his face.

This man was dangerous. Fox was certain of it.

“I need your help.”

Fox eyed the man, weighing his sincerity. Vos didn’t bow down, retaining eye contact with his hands folded in his lap, his shoulders curled forward to give him the appearance of someone who’s requesting out of a place of honest need.

Fox should tell him to fuck off. Vos was a Jedi and whatever it is that he needed help in certainly didn’t require a clone to assist him, especially considering he already had his own Commander (Faie was actually one of the easiest to work with- he was like Fox in a way. Where Faie followed the rules and regulations down to the letter, Fox knew all the proper procedures in order to exploit the plethora of loopholes. They talked sometimes, between the monotonous wall of reports. Fox thought the man was lonely but worked very hard not to admit to it).

So whatever it was that Vos needed help with, it was something he wasn’t involving his own Commander with. Something illegal, perhaps. But on Coruscant- he doubted he would’ve put this much effort in talking to Fox in private if it was something not planetside.

“…I’m listening,” Fox eventually caved, turning his back towards the Jedi once more as he peeled himself out of his thin netting shirt and obnoxiously tight, short skirt Prim had scrounged up from somewhere a few months back. He was shedding glitter everywhere. Disgusting. The mouse droids were certainly going to have a field day running around his room.

“There is a “charity” event happening in one week’s time,” Vos began, the quotations audible in his tone even as he provided the helpful hand gesture to put emphasis on it. “Very high society types, with only the richest, the most famous and most renown folk of a specific target group, and invitations have to be from someone already on the guest list type, but said list is never disclosed. Very hush-hush.”

Fox grunted as he dug through one of his closets while standing there in the nude, listening to Vos talk. He salvaged out a pair of sweats and a slightly too small graphic shirt that depicted Grizzer’s face imposed on the front that Hound had given him as a decanting day present the year prior before trekking towards the doorless fresher.

“And let me guess, you need a way into this party,” Fox’s voice echoed slightly in the small room, setting his clothes down on the sink in order to kick the horrendous shoes into the stall and cranking on the sonic for a minute to blast away whatever nastiness were on them.

The bunk creaked as Vos rose from it, coming to lean against the wall just on the other side of the doorway to talk, giving Fox at least some semblance of privacy. It wasn’t necessary, but Fox appreciated it anyway. It was better than having him talk to his bare ass at least.

“All my sources have suggested a very rare, very valuable, but very dangerous artifact being the highlight of the auction being held during the event.”

“How dangerous?” Fox turned the sonic off, kicking the offending footwear back onto the fresher floor before climbing into the stall himself. He let out a groan of relief as he selected the water option, the cold water cascading across his sore muscles and tired feet. He didn’t care what the others thought- cold showers were the best showers.

“Sith dangerous.” Vos’ tone was grave, and Fox risked tipping his face just out of the downpour to squint his eyes open.

“What dumbfuck decided that selling Sith artifacts was a bright idea?”

“Many Force-related items are considered quite the collectables in many social circles,” Vos sighed. “And not just Sith ones. People will pay good money to be able to claim they possess something that is of both historical value and potentially provide other features both good and bad. We’ve seen lightsabers, kyber crystals, statues- hell, I’ve personally seen someone managed to transport and rebuild an entire sacrificial altar into their basement once, and they wondered why all their servants kept going mad.”

Fox thought back to one of his sources- Parus Haza was quite the eclectic character. He did more than research ancient Force-user temples, but he had said many a time his favorites were Sith Temples. Fox knew that the archaeologist was honest and wouldn’t go off selling cursed objects to random natborns, but it did make him wonder- not for the first time- how the Zabrak managed to survive this long to even reproduce his own little ankle biter.

Maybe Sith preferred rich idiots to haunt.

Making sure to scrub his skin thoroughly to remove the lingering glitter, Fox soon turned off the water, flipping the sonic back on for a quick dry-off before he climbed out of the stall and began to tug on his sleep wear. His hair was still damp as he stepped out of the fresher, Vos turning his head and then looking down to catch his first glimpse of Fox’s shirt.

“Is that a massiff?” he inquired with an amused quirk in the corners of his mouth and an uplifted eyebrow.

“It’s more than just a massiff. It’s Grizzer, the true Princess of Coruscant if Hound is to be believed.”

Vos made a dramatic gasp, bringing a hand to his chest in surprise.

“Oh! Well, my apologies then! I mean not to offend Her Royal Highness.”

Fox couldn’t help but snort, ruffling his hair to shake out a few more droplets from his curls. It was starting to get a touch longer than he’d like, the tips of his ears constantly being tickled and the feeling that something was crawling up the back of his neck at inopportune times simply just got too annoying. It wasn’t like that when it was properly long, but Fox preferred his hair short, even if Pear, Prim, Line, Banger, or literally anyone else were more than happy to sit him down and spend the minutes braiding up his hair into fanciful styles that were very inefficient with a helmet when he used some of Line’s miracle hair grow for some of his more flashier disguises.

“So you need my help to, what, secure you an invitation?” Fox directed the conversation back to the original discussion, folding his arms across his chest as he canted a hip to rest against the doorframe. It was rather irritating that he had to look up to see Vos’ face, the giant of a Kiffar looming over him being at the very least a head taller than him. There were plenty of other people he’d seen and spoken to who were taller than him- Miss Haero, the Nautolan in the Lower Levels, Dex of Dex’s Diner. But something about Vos and his height filled him with unreasonable amount of annoyance.

“Oh, it’s not for me.” Vos was grinning again, a cheeky, lopsided thing that made Fox want to punch him in the mouth. “It’s for you.”

At Fox’s dangerous narrowing glare, Vos unfolded his own arms to hold them up in a pacifying gesture.

“While most of the population may not know who I am and what I do within the Jedi Order, there are a few who would possess enough common sense or have the connections be able to put the pieces together. I’m almost quite noticeable, if you can’t tell. I’m more suited for infiltrating criminal organizations in the Outer Rim, not high-society parties. But I know personally what you are able to do.”

He lowered his hands, tapping his fingers against the hilt of his lightsaber and gave Fox a very knowing look.

It took a moment for Fox to connect the dots, letting out the most frustrated groan as he shoved away from the wall.

“Fucking dammit,” he groused, unceremoniously flopping face first onto his bunk, causing Vos to snicker.

Vos’ lightsaber, which Bushtit stole for Fox to use. Vos, who was a Kiffar, who occasionally possess the ability of psychometry.

There was absolutely no need to pretend to play a Jedi if he so easily let such a simple detail slip from his mind and blow his cover(s) wide open. Nothing was safe. Fox was a thrice damned idiot. How was he still Marshal Commander? How had he been able to leave Kamino? He was a kark fucked disgrace.

“Aw, don’t be so sad.” The bunk creaked as Vos settled down on its edge, a large hand coming to pat at his back. “Master Cerdocyon was a wonderful addition to the Council, and only myself and Mace know who Cerdocyon really is. It was a really good disguise too- Kit is currently writing an entire dramatic life story from crèche to Council involving your rather tumult friendship.”

“I’m not sad,” Fox grumbled into his pillow. “I’m wallowing. Now stop touching me.”

To his credit, Vos did remove his hand from his back, although he didn’t leave the edge of his bunk. Stupid tall Jedi and their stupid weird powers.

“There will be little involvement beyond getting yourself through the door and into the party,” Vos explained shifting to make himself comfortable. “We just need a visual confirmation that the artifact is, in fact, present, and who purchases it. It will be far too risky to try stealing it directly from the event, so we’ll just rig you up with some equipment for visuals and audio and you’ll spend most of the night looking pretty and eating overly expensive micro sandwiches.”

“And wine,” Fox grunted, voice still muffled in the fabric. “Lots of it.”

“The most top-shelf, extravagant wine from exactly one six acre plot on Naboo,” Vos affirmed, and Fox could imagine him nodding along sagely. The mental image made him huff in amusement, deciding he had turtled up enough and rolled onto his side to look at Vos.

“I think I know where to get an invitation from,” he revealed after a moment of churning it around in his head, mapping out a tentative plan. “And the best equipment will be required for someone to remain within distance of the building, preferably at equal or higher height in order to keep the signal strong enough without being disrupted by the other buildings or accidentally tripping security by tapping into their feeds. And if you already know about the Sith artifact, then others will as well. We should be prepared in case someone tries anything funny.”

“How many people are you suggesting?” Vos tipped his head, contemplating Fox’s strategy and taking it seriously. It was nice, having a natborn listen to plain, boring Fox instead of one of his alter egos. “I would prefer keeping it small, but you are right in needing some sort of backup.”

“Only two others,” Fox admitted, settling down against his pillow. Oh, did it feel good to be laying down and off his feet. Already he was feeling drowsy. “The person I’m thinking of to gain an invitation would probably be happy enough to do me a solid and have me pretend to be his date for the night. And one extra to watch your back. A fellow Guard.”

“And I bet you already have someone in mind.”

Fox found himself cracking a sharp grin.

“Oh, I know exactly who to stick with you.”

Chapter Text

Bushtit hated this plan.

Coruscant was a climate-controlled planet, but this high up the night winds were still biting through his jacket that were slightly too short in the sleeve. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he were allowed to wear his armor, but no, his kit had to be stashed away back in HQ in order to be “inconspicuous”.

Bushtit wanted to know how a seven foot monstrosity that called himself a Jedi was considered inconspicuous, but the Coruscant Guard armor wasn’t.

Far down below them was the expanse of shiny, polished glass of the Kylily Halls- a very prestigious building with marble ballrooms, elegant pillars, crystal lights, and a nearly perfect display to the night sky with its polished glass ceiling and walls, all set in the middle of a wide, luxurious greenspace that only rich natborns could think of putting in several thousand floors above the actual planet’s surface.

He could see Fox clearly through his binoculars- with delicate little crystals adorned in his curls and smiling at some natborn who was clearly taken with him. He was dressed in an impeccable sweeping gown that somehow softened and showcasing his strong curves at the same time with his back and arms bared for all to see. Dainty bands along his wrists caught the light with every move as he carefully tucked a curl behind his ear, showing off beautiful silver loops in the shell of his ear.

Standing beside him, in equally regal attire, was the Mirialan Senate Guard Constance Vari. His clothes complimented his olive green skin, and the several braids he wore his hair in were tied back at the nape of his neck, the ends decorated with silver trinkets to match his partner. The sleeveless tunic put the traditional geometric tattoos along his arms on full display, and further highlighted the ones along his cheekbones and curved along his chin as he smiled beautifully to his plus one.

They both looked incredibly handsome standing next to each other. A power couple to anyone who didn’t know any better. No wonder Prim did such a good job making Fox look so pretty. And why he was so pissed off for the past week.

He would be too if he had a boyfriend who was taking his commanding officer to a fancy party instead of him. Even if it was for a mission. And how Prim would’ve verbally mauled someone by now if he had been stuck with all those pompous asses.

Vari was going to be feeling it for a week after this, that’s for sure.

“How’s it looking?”

Bushtit scowled, pressing the binoculars a little closer to his face.

He was positive Fox did this on purpose, waiting until the last moment to rope him into this. He should’ve known he’d say no if he’s known General Vos was going to be the one he was babysitting. Fox did give him a quick rundown on what his purpose was- keep an eye out for trouble while Fox got eyes on something the Jedi didn’t want in the general public due to safety concerns. Easy, he said. Low risk, he said.

And then he dumped him with Quinlan fucking Vos and skipped off to play arm candy with free food, free wine, and temperature regulated rooms while he sat up here freezing his ass off with Enemy Number One.

He may respect his Commander, but by any entity listening to his prayers, he wanted to punch him sometimes.

“Fine,” he gritted after letting the casual question hang in the air for too long on purpose. “Fox and Lieutenant Vari are socializing.”

Vos hummed, and Bushtit forced himself to peel the binoculars from his face to look at the Jedi.

The pair of them were in what was considered “blue-collar” natborn attire, with matching stupid little hard hats to look like maintenance workers trying to fix a problem on top of the communications relay tower that rose over the tops of the other surrounding skyscrapers and certainly above the lower, “natural” zone where the Hall was located. Obnoxious rich people, by default, don’t bother to take in their surroundings beyond what was beyond their noses, however, and certainly wouldn’t look up and over to squint at a tower and do nothing more than scoff at its existence in ruining the view before getting lost in their own egos again in complete warmth and comfort.

Yes, Bushtit was still bitter over the fact he had to leave his kit home and forced into a jacket that didn’t even fit him. At least Fox could’ve let him off with his thermals, dammit-

Looking a Vos had been a mistake. Looking at Vos made him see how thick his leather jacket under the tacky florescent work vest was, the texture rugged and patches at the elbows, but clearly loved and tailored specifically for his long arms. The hard hat sat at an angle on his head with almost purposeful tilt, and had what looked like a high-collared shirt under his coat to ward off the remaining chill. He was also wearing his ever-present gloves, keeping his fingers nice and warm from the buffeting nightly breeze.

It made Bushtit extremely jealous. And extra cold.

Silence fell between them once again, the only thing filling the quiet was the occasional creak of metal and the distant rumble of the endless traffic from the transport lanes several dozen blocks away. It bothered Vos, judging from the way he shifted where he sat, but Bushtit had no qualms in letting him stew as he climbed off the catwalk and hunkered down against a low wall further from the edge. They could say not another word for the rest of the mission and he’d be happy with that.

“So… your name is Bushtit?”

But no. Vos wouldn’t get with the program.

“What do you want?” he snapped, forcing Vos to raise his hands in defense.

“Just trying to be friendly, is all. I know we got off the wrong foot-“

“Which one? The one you stepped on or the one I rammed into your balls?”

“-but we’re allies now.” Vos’ smile was brighter than the damn sun. Bushtit hated it. “Let’s put our differences aside and have a nice, lovely evening.”

Bushtit glowered. If looks could kill, he’d be happily stabbing several hundred holes into Vos’ obnoxiously large frame and feel not an ounce of remorse. It made that smile dim a little, his shoulders rolling forward to make himself a little smaller before Bushtit’s withering gaze.

“I’m sorry for teasing you with that stack of flimsi,” Vos murmured, shuffling sideways as he crept ever closer towards Bushtit’s giant personal bubble. Instinct made him turn partially away from the intruding Jedi, eyes narrowing into slits dangerously.

“A bit backwards don’t you think?” Who tried to apologize after a song and dance of friendship and comradery? He could see right through Vos’ tricks- cajoling him to let down his guard with empty promises and a pretty smile, only to stab him in the back later once his usefulness expired. The Jedi was merely bored, and Bushtit was the only sort of entertainment he could latch onto for the time being.

Bushtit knew better than to trust him.

Vos let out a quiet huff of amusement, giving him a small lopsided grin.

“I suppose so, but better late than never, right?”

Bushtit would rather have the never, thank you very much.

He didn’t bother deigning the Jedi with a response, instead tucking himself further into an unhappy cold ball in attempt to retain some warmth in his limbs. A part of him knew he should play it smart- having a Jedi in his corner trying to get his favor was an opportunity that shouldn’t be left to sour. That part was the Commander Fox voice, the too cunning, too smart whispering to use everything and anything to his advantage. The rest of him though was reminding him he was not, in fact, Commander Fox, and he was damn karking cold. He can hold a grudge if he wanted to.

Vos shifted, clearly not used to being ignored so readily. For someone who was taller than the Republic Standard for doorways, he looked a bit like a kicked massiff pup. He made a twitch as if he wanted to intrude further into Bushtit’s personal bubble but refrained, instead clearing his throat to talk.

“May I use the binoculars?”

Bushtit glared at him, only to get a faceful of that the pitiful, idiotic hopeful smile. What was with this guy and smiling all the time? Do people really find it disarming? Or was he that used to getting his way with some pretty words, a smile, and a wink?

Karking fucking Jedi.

“Give me your coat.”

Vos blinked.

“What?”

“You get the binoculars if I get your damn coat. Give it.”

“You’re a bossy little thing aren’t you?” Vos’ tone was amused, which really didn’t win anything other than a deeper glower from Bushtit. Still he shucked off that leather jacket he’d been eyeballing with envy, barely holding it out to the clone before it was snatched away and binoculars nearly hitting him on the nose.

Would’ve served him right if it had.

Vos looked unfairingly unaffected by having his bared arms exposed to the night chill, the wind tugging at his coiled locks as he hopped down to the catwalk to take watch over the proceedings below. Bushtit ignored him in favor of burying himself under leather, stuffing his arms into the comically large holes and letting himself be swallowed in fabric. He had been right to be envious- it was warm. And way too big. He could fasten it up and pull his legs under it and transform into the perfect ball.

The collar smelled a bit like sweat and whatever it was Vos used in his hair. Bushtit was no Prim, he didn’t know a thing between oils and conditioners and scented soaps, and he wasn’t exactly knowledgeable to ascertain what it was supposed to smell like. It didn’t make him want to sneeze, at least, so that was a plus. And it was warm. That was the most important part.

“Have they gotten to the auction yet?” Bushtit grumbled, nose tucked under the collar until only his eyes and top of his head were peeking out.

“Not yet,” Vos hummed, scrolling the zoom on the side of the binoculars with one long finger. “Quite the assortment of high profile persons, though. I wonder how your Senate Guard managed to get invited to such a function.”

“His uncle or something owns a company building shielding generators for starships.”

“Ah, that’ll do it.” A pause as he continued to look into the party below. “Is Commander Fox single?”

The urge to push him off the edge of the building revived with a vengeance.

“How the fuck would I know?” he griped from his ball of cozy leather instead of answering, disgust dripping from every word. “Go ask him instead.”

“Oh no, it’s not for me,” Vos had the audacity to turn his head and grin at him, teeth shining in the service lights. “Or maybe it is. I certainly wouldn’t say no.”

“The Commander has actual standards, unlike you.”

“Oof!” Vos put a hand to his chest, feigning being wounded. “Are you saying I’m not good enough for your dear Commander Fox?”

“You’re not even good enough for Commander Thire.”

Vos laughed, deep and rich as he shook his head. Bushtit didn’t know what was funny about what he said- Commander Thire was known around the Guard for his promiscuity, which went hand-in-hand with his plethora of blackmail. And even then, Vos wasn’t good enough for him. For any of them. With how he was driving Commander Faie up a wall (sometimes Bushtit was in charge of Fox’s comms when the messages came in), he would probably drive Fox to homicide, and his Commander needed less stress, not more.

They didn’t need loose cannons.

“Your bark certainly matches your bite.” Vos was still chuckling, the corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth. It made him seem younger than he was. “What will it take to make you warm up to me, hm?”

“Death,” Bushtit reported as dry as Tatooine.

Vos opened his mouth to reply, but then his face shifted. Bushtit may not have the Force, but instinct put him on high alert as the mood on the relay tower shifted from bored banter to something pulled taut ready to snap. The Jedi turned back towards the building, his smile dropping into a frown as he brought the binoculars back to his eyes, peering down through the glass walls and roof of the building far below.

“What is it?” Bushtit found himself rising to his feet, his skin itching with anticipation. He took a step towards Vos, the previous personal bubble evaporating into the cool night as he shifted into Mission Mode. He may have never fought alongside a Jedi before, but he’s heard enough rumors to know that they could sense things normal people couldn’t. He may not trust Vos personally, but he trusted him not to joke around with something like this, not while on a mission.

“Something’s happening,” Vos murmured, his body equally tense and ready for action and eyes never leaving the building. But Bushtit wasn’t looking at the building. Instead, he was drawn to a flicker in the edge of his peripherals as shadows between the gaps catwalk’s grates shifted under Vos’ feet unnaturally- just as the lights of Kylily Halls and its surroundings blinked off and plunged everything below them into darkness.

And then a beam of crimson stabbed through the floor with a furious hiss.

Chapter Text

The music was a whisper above their heads as socialites mingled and swirled in an array of colorful fabrics and glittering jewelry. Businessfolk and politicians, actors and philanthropists- most with more money than sense in Fox’s opinion. They flocked around and trilled to one another like those fancy birds he’d seen in one of the shops on the Upper Levels, but he knew they were all just snakes waiting to bite each other’s ankles if it helped them climb higher up the social ladder.

For his part, Fox didn’t have to do much. He was dressed in the finest silk gown he could afford to steal, tailored to fit and flaunt his muscular frame. The crystals in his curls caught the light and his nails painted as pretty as his face. He was a showcase, a pretty thing on his partner’s arm. All he had to do was laugh behind his hand and say vapid little words of compliments and the others ate out of his palm. A closed-mouth smile and a flutter of his eyelashes to cause the glitter to shimmer was all that was required of him.

Constance Vari turned out to be a wonderful partner for this job. The Mirialan dressed the part of the rich heir, matching Fox’s colors to perfection and rubbing elbows with the right crowd with vague non-agreements and subtle deflections to keep their gaudy feathers smoothed. He took to leaning in close as if to whisper sweet nothings in his ear rather than giving Fox the scoops on who was who, which Fox played the part of blushing prettily and hiding his giggles while cataloging the information into the neat mental folders in his brain that would soon go into physical folders once he returned to HQ.

Never once did his hands stray farther than the occasional touch to his lower back if Fox wasn’t holding onto his arm and hand patting.

He was a good sort, for a Blue Guard. Prim picked his man well.

“Dear, when is the auction supposed to start? You promised to get me something.” Fox pitched his voice softer and proper with the Upper Coriscanti accent despite sounding as if he was trying and failing to hide the whiny tone, making a show of leaning in to press his chest up against Vari’s arm and careful not to spill any of his drink from the fancy flute he’d been given well over half an hour ago and had only taken a few polite sips from.

It was fizzy and unnaturally sweet to the point it made his teeth hurt while the tiny bubbles threatened to go up his nose and make him sneeze.

Natborns once again proving they had more money than sense, considering this glass alone could probably fetch for the same price as an untrained clone cadet.

(And they kept trying to cut their funding… bastards, the whole lot of them).

“Patience, sweetheart.” Vari patted his hand lovingly while Senator Hillmount was distracted staring at Fox’s protruding pecs from above the struggling bodice that valiantly kept them contained to continue on trying to weasel Vari into what Fox knew for a fact was a pyramid scheme even if Hillmount didn’t.

Idiot deserved every lost credit.

“When does the auction start?” Vari now turned the question to Hillmount, who blinked stupidly for a moment before remembering where he was.

“Yes, yes of course! It should begin within the next half hour, if what I heard is true.” Hillmount puffed up, pleased with himself. “I also heard there’s quite a few unique items up for bid. I’m certain there’ll be something as beautiful as you to bring home.” He winked at Fox, who smiled and flustered while mentally gagging.

“Oh Mr. Hillmount, don’t tease me,” he giggled and waved his flute around and making a dainty little oops! as he sloshed some over his fingers. He was going to kill Vos the next time he saw him- he was promised at least something consumable at this wretched party. The only good thing he had so far was the bread you were supposed to dip into the ridiculously large fondue fountain. Everything else just tasted like wasted credits, flaunting off their wealth by using anything with an obnoxious price tag.

He wondered if Vari wouldn’t mind taking a detour to the bakery he knew some of his men snuck off to and worked the early morning hours for some extra credits after this before he brought him back to HQ. Some fresh out of the oven carbohydrates after a piss poor party was what he deserved right now. And an actual bottle of decent wine. It was the least Vos could do for him after the strings Fox pulled to be here.

“I think that’s enough for you,” Vari said, amused as he carefully plucked Fox’s drink from his hand before he could spill any more. “How many refills have you had already? Five?”

“Oh, I lost count after seven!” Fox hadn’t even had one, but he giggled away as if tipsy silly and waved his how free hand. “I should go wash my hands before I get all sticky! This is no proper place for that.” He did his own wink at Hillmount, who blustered and turned a blotchy hue.

“I shall accompany you.” Vari without a second thought passed the damp and slightly sticky glass over to Hillmount before offering his arm for Fox to loop his hand through. “We wouldn’t want you to get lost and into another… sticky situation.”

Oh stars. Puns.

Prim must be an absolute masochist.

“That was only once!” Fox tittered as Vari led him through the crowds as any fine gentleman would, although Fox leaned against him with a sultry look that anyone glancing their way would think they were off to do something else less innocent than washing hands.

 The bathrooms were conveniently situated next to set of employees’ doors, leading into a long corridor of closed doors. It was easy for them to slip through without anyone the wiser besides the cameras, which they continued to show off for by leaning close together.

It seemed as if someone else had similar, albeit legitimate ideas already, as the first door within the corridor had giggles and moans emitting from it with the occasional thump as they knocked against the walls or tipped into mop buckets. Otherwise the corridor was quiet with the kitchens on the other side of the building.

How convenient.

“I think I’m going to get an eye infection from this dye,” he muttered, dropping his accent completely for the localized dialect that was distinctive for the clones. He already knew the cameras here didn’t have audio pickup, and the only other living beings down here were too busy with each other to care.

Vari let out a soft snort.

“They don’t quite suit you,” he agreed. “I don’t think pink is your color.”

“A real shame,” he drawled back as they rounded the corner. “I guess I will just have to tell Prim that his boyfriend doesn’t love me after all and I suppose he can keep him.”

“He’s already going to make me suffer for this.”

“I don’t want to know what my subordinates or their fuckbuddies do in their spare time,” Fox grouched with a disgruntled scowl, not caring if it ruined the makeup or not. “Left turn.”

It had been too easy for Linkup to find the layout of the building, the blueprints and any updates since it had been built, even so far to find a complete guest list and itinerary for the entirety of the event- including which order the items would be auctioned off in. Fox found it both very suspicious and very ignorant- half because he was a paranoid bastard and half because he knew natborns on average were kind of stupid.

“I don’t quite think this is what Master Vos had in mind,” Vari mused as Fox slipped a hairpin from his curls, the line of crystals clinking together as he removed the small chain.

“Yeah, well, the auction had already been delayed for well over two hours now,” Fox muttered back as he put the crystals into Vari’s hand before jamming the pin through the narrow opening in the security lock and popping it open. Clearly someone ran out of budget money to buy decent electrolocks. “I don’t like it.”

And as if whatever cosmic entity of entropy was listening, the lights cut out with a sharp snap and dying hum.

Fox hissed a curse, immediately pulling up the bottom of his gown and unholstering the pocket blaster he snuck in through the lackadaisical security at the doors. A crack sounded between them as Vari ignited glowlight he had also stowed away on his person, a blaster also hidden on his person. Fox ignored him in favor of fishing a comm out from between his compressed cleavage.

“Vos what the fuck is happening? Vos!”

Nothing.

Fox was going to kill Vos twice now, because apparently someone else must’ve known about a probably cursed and malevolent Sith artifact floating around a supposed charity auction and wasn’t going to wait around to obtain it.

At least they had a contingency plan in case things went belly up.

“Here,” Vari whispered, tossing the second glowlight to Fox who caught it, the comm back between his pecs. “I’ll watch your back.”

Fox took point, light in one hand and blaster ready in the other. The soft green glow turned the corridors murky as they made their way closer to the storage room that housed the auction items. They met no one along the way, the hallways eerie silent when they should’ve run into some sort of security by now.

And they did, finally, after the light cast over two collapsed personnel on the floor on either side of the doorway leading right into the storage room.

Vari let out a soft relieved breath after he’d dropped to one knee and feeling for a pulse. Alive, then. There was no blood or any outward injuries that Fox could see. A gas or drug, fast acting if they were already out this soon.

Vari stood, turning to flank the closed door, ready to provide Fox backup. Fox couldn’t help but feel marginally impressed- the Blue Guard always seemed to be the more favored of the two Guard, not receiving the same amount of disdain his men did even though Senators will be Senators and would always look down their noses at plebians below them. He didn’t know what their training regimen was like, but at least Vari was handling it well. Not like a clone, but at least better than most Fox dealt with.

It was on a silent count of three that Fox popped the emergency release on the door and shoved it open, the Mirialan ready with his blaster just in case. The green hue of their glowlights casted long shadows across the objects in the room. Many of them were in polished display boxes, easy to deliver and to show off to the masses above their heads. Gaudy jewelry, paintings in gilded frames, statues, delicate vases and glass figurines.

It was deathly quiet in the room. No sound from the ventilation or hums from the lights with the power off. Their soft footfalls were almost deafening in the space as they crept further in, panning their lights to search for anything disturbed.

The back of Fox’s neck prickled.

Something was in here with them.

Vari’s glowlight fell upon an empty case. It wasn’t open or broken, it was just empty despite the fact it sat among others perfectly filled. It wasn’t open or broken, it was just as if someone forgot to put something in it.

Or someone already took it out.

Fox wheeled around in a heartbeat, blaster raised and pointed towards the door they had just come in from, Vari following only a second later.

The twin green lights seemed to be devoured by the inky black form that stood in the doorway. It loomed almost its entire height and width with its broad shoulders, armored and undoubtedly armed. Fox recognized the armor in an instant from a little video Radio had trusted them to share, heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.

There was a damn Wraith here.

It didn’t move. It didn’t seem to even breathe, eerily still and silent. Fox found himself pinned by the helmeted stare. Eternity yawned before them, stretching wide in the void between them and the entity before them. Every instinct screamed as they never had before, the gut-wrenching primordial prey instant to fun. He needed to move. But his legs refused to budge, as if the shadows had sunken him into the mud. He had to move. He-

The lights overhead snapped on with an electrical whine.

The Wraith was gone.

“What the fuck was that?” Vari’s voice trembled, and Fox found himself trembling as well. “Why couldn’t I move?”

“I-“ Fox swallowed thickly, the words choking in his throat. “Not here.”

The comm crackled to life just then, and Fox greedily dove towards the distraction as he tossed his unneeded glowlight back to Vari and shoved the device back into his ear.

“Vos you fuckhead, report!”

There was static, and then Vos’ panicked voice cried out across the channel, sending ice through his veins.

“Bushtit’s down!”