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“He's been like this for hours sir. And if you get too close to him, you might just start being pulled into whatever he’s doing.”
The trooper, a shiny given their curtness around their commander, stands at a safe distance away from the Jedi who has commandeered the top of Fox’s desk. The Jedi–Quinaln Vos–sits with his legs crossed, hovering a good five feet above the wood. At times he bobs up and down, like a barrel in water. Other times he sits eerily still, like he's a holofilm that's been paused in the middle.
The objects closest to him replicate the movements. They're either pulled into an orbit that no one but Quinlan can sense, or hang suspended in the air until he resumes his bobbing. Which is unfortunate for Fox, given his data pad has been absorbed into whatever this is.
He doesn't know how to begin to get what he needs from around the Jedi. Doesn't know if it'll hurt him if he tries to touch him.
Fox has never really touched the Force before. Not willingly, at least. The one time he did, it terrified him. So he doubts he’s the best clone to form a complete opinion on it. He's gotten mixed impressions of it from his brother's. It scared Rex, after Skywalker and Tano threw him off of a wall (Tano never stopped apologizing, Skywalker never did). It comforted Cody, having been used to move him from danger ( “it’s like a literal hand snatching you out of the way”).
It both protected and hurt Wolffe. But his brother is too traumatized by the latter to give Fox a detailed explanation of what that means.
And besides, Fox doesn't quite believe the Force likes him or his brothers very much. He doesn't blame it. Their creation is unnatural. Still, it hurts to be shunned by the one thing supposedly threading the fabric of the universe together. If it discards them in life, he wonders what it will do for them in death.
He gulps. Philosophical thoughts later, maybe over lunch with the Chancellor. Data pad–now. Because while his trust in the Force is abysmal, he’s starting to trust Quinlan Vos. Within reason, of course, and given their brief history. And as much as one could trust a fallen-not-fallen Jedi that's been given command of the Guard while the Order decides what to do with him.
“Ever seen a Jedi do this before?”
The shiny beside him draws himself to attention, armour buckling against itself as he does.
“No sir. Not outside of Kamino, sir” he says, practiced. Just like Fox used to.
“Breathe, shiny. You’ve recently transferred from Kamino, right?”
“Yes sir!” He says, with no hint of ease in his voice.
“Well relax a bit. And take off your helmet. What's your name, trooper?”
Hesitantly, armoured fingers make their way to his helmet. He unclips it in a swift motion. A cascade of curls fall, now free from the plaster and cushion in his helmet. His cheeks darken. It’s way past standard regulation.
“My name is Hot Shot sir, but my brothers on Kamino just called me HS.” He says, a bit more relaxed now that his mask is off.
Maker, he’s young.
“Nice to meet you, HS. And nice hair,” Fox muses. HS’s mouth opens, no doubt another placating apology on his tongue. Fox raises a hand, “It’s nice, HS. I’m not going to make you cut it. In the meantime, tell me what you know about the Jedi and whatever…” He gestures towards Quinlan, who is still suspended in the air, “this is.”
They find some normalcy in the moments that the Jedi floats.
It’s necessary for Fox to not lose his mind nowadays. A Senator might be calling him out of name, but at least the sun is rising. He may lose brothers on the battlefield every single day, but at least there’s still oxygen in the air. Quinaln Vos is floating above his desk, has gathered his data pad in his orbit, but at least HS’s hair is curly, and he is speaking. He is alive, talking excitedly about General Ti, and the way she uses the Force.
They conclude that it should be safe for Fox to stick his hand into the orbit and get his data pad without being sucked in, with the exception of a gentle magnetic pull. Still, HS stands a safe distance away from the anomaly that is Quinlan Vos, while Fox eases his hand into the space.
Like expected, it’s strangely magnetic and warm.
Closer, he can hear and see Quinlan breathing. Fox counts his breaths in sequences of four. When he holds for four seconds, he goes eerily still, when he exhales the items float away, when he inhales, they come to him. His hands sit in his lab, eyes closed.
He looks at peace, calm. Not a menace of society like he usually is. He’s the spitting image of what the clones were taught the Jedi should be. Deceptively normal. Mysteriously magical.
There are few occasions in which Fox is reminded that Quinaln is more than a thorn in his side. Rather, a Jedi Master who has spent his entire life training in an Order that has existed long before Fox was ever dreamed of. That Quinaln has trained a padawan to be a successful General, and has probably instructed many more younglings on their way to becoming fruitful members of their Order.
He is reminded of how small of a space he must take in Quinlan’s life. Fox shakes his head. He already told himself, depressing, philosophical thoughts later.
Because there, floating beside Quinlan’s head is Fox’s data pad. The clone commander reaches forward, grabbing the metal object that’s been warmed by the Force. There’s a small tug that prevents him from moving, but only momentarily. He’s freed when Quinlan exhales.
“Need anything over here, HS?” Fox calls under his shoulder.
“No Sir! I mean no,” the trooper stumbles over his words. Fox nods, then says, “Go get some chow. I’m going to try to fix whatever this is, and I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire if I end up getting thrown to the wall. Besides, I need my desk.”
“Commander, wouldn’t that be dangerous?” Putting your hands in a Force field was one thing, trying to move a Jedi was another.
“I’ll comm you if I need anything, promise HS. Go get food.”
The clone hesitates, but eventually relents, leaving Fox and a floating Quinlan alone. He really does need his desk, but he also wants to savor a silent Quinlan for as long as he can. It’s often that Quinlan actively “Jedis”, especially not around Fox. Partly because the more subtle part of being a Jedi isn’t Quinlan’s forte, and partly because he’s aware of Fox’s own aversion to the Order and the Force as a whole. And Fox wasn’t supposed to be back from patrol for a couple of hours anyway. He hates to think that Quinaln is hiding this part of himself due to Fox’s own personal issues with the Force(mainly spurred by Quinlan Vos himself).
Though this is a side of the Force Fox can get used to. The serenity floating around Quinlan. The steady pulsating orbit around him. Not harmful. Just soothing.
And before he knows it, he’s found himself before his Jedi again. Hesitantly, gloved knuckles tenderly brush Quinlan’s face.
Within a second, his wrist is captured by Quinlan’s hand. Quinlan, who’s eyes have shot open. They dance momentarily between a washed out yellow and back to a honey brown. Fox jolts, then freezes. The warmth there drops to a prickly ice feeling within seconds. Fox gasps, and feels it in his bones. But it’s gone as soon as it came, replaced with the warmth and the magnetic pull that Fox felt earlier.
Still, it is some level of disorienting, so much so that he stands dumbstruck as Quinlan wordlessly slips a thumb beneath his gloved hand. The Jedi rubs circles in Fox’s wrist, making his descent upon Fox’s desk as he does so. He doesn’t stop hovering, but now floats a normal, respectable distance above the wood. Quinlan releases his wrist. Instinctively Fox recoils. He’s not hurt, just somewhat startled. It’s not everyday a floating man seizes his wrist like that. And Fox knows little to nothing about Jedi meditation, and hopes he didn’t mess anything up.
He makes to apologize, but Quinlan beats him to it.
“Sorry about that, I need something to ground me to the present when I wake up or else it takes some time,” now he touches the top of the desk, legs still crossed, “I didn’t know you would be back this early.”
“There was a schedule mishap,” he says, looking for another place to sit. Quinlan looks comfortable on top of his desk, and while usually he’d be annoyed, he finds himself wanting the Jedi to relax more. It’s not his usual MO, especially not when it comes to Quinlan Vos.
Jedi shit is usually left out of the office, especially after their first meeting where Quinlan called them all by their numbers. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. He’d used the Force to move Fox when he’d gotten in his face. And that was the worst of it.
But…times have changed. Quinlan is less of an ass to Fox and the Guard in general. The assignment stopped being a prison to keep an eye on Quinlan long ago, and more of a found family for them all. Quinlan uses the Force to help the men in their investigations, to keep them safe.
“You can keep doing what you were doing, if you want. I was a bit startled, never seen a man float before,” Fox finds a new place on a chair leaning against the wall. It’s typically reserved for the shinnies too afraid to take the chair closer to his desk. Today he’s afraid, but for a different reason.
He’s actually starting to enjoy Quin’s company, Force and all.
“Hey, Fox. Come here.”
Fox is a bit upset with himself at how fast he complies with the order. He’s up before his backside has even touches the seat, making his way back over to Quin’s desk.
“When you touched me just a few moments ago…I could hear your thoughts. And I just wanted you to know that …you aren’t just a small part in my life. I know I've lived longer than you, but you’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been in a very, very long time.”
Fox swallows, unsure of whether to be angry that Quinlan’s reading his mind or comforted in the fact that he’s attempting to reassure him despite the violation of privacy.
“And I know I haven't done a great job at showing how much you mean to me. I was an ass when I first got here, and you didn’t even report me to the Council.” Fox nods, remembering the way his hands shook as Quinlan left him to slide down the wall. As his men stood around and tried to decide what needed to be done.
“Doubt they would have done anything.” The clone says, dryly.
“Still, I wasn’t the kindest. And I'm sorry. I think I ruined your already sour perception of the Force, and had I known you were coming back to HQ earlier, I would have found somewhere else to meditate.”
“It’s alright.” Then, it really wasn’t. But now Fox has moved on, and Quinlan hasn’t hurt him since.
“What are you doing anyway?” Fox changes the subject after clearing his throat, “I know the Jedi meditate, but what’s the point.”
He doesn’t miss the smile that flashes on Quinlan’s face. As if to say, finally you’ve taken interest in what I am.
“To touch the Force, Fox. That’s what it’s all about, afterall.”
Well that answers nothing. He goes for another approach, “What does that mean? Do all Jedi meditate.” He asks, reminded as he threads his fingers with Quinlan’s, that he’s a Jedi and a Jedi above all else. A life in the Temple and the training that came with it, a life without Fox.
“Hey, I already told you. None of that.”
In a fluid motion, he maneuvers Fox into his lap, wrapping his hands around his waist and burying his head into his neck. He inhales deeply, like Fox is oxygen.
“What are you doing?” Fox yelps, bracing himself he’s hauled over his desk.
“I’m showing you what it means. And yes, all Jedi meditate, and you need to relax. ”
Fox gasps as he feels himself lifted, suspended into the air. He should complain. He should fight. Their entire relationship was built on the basis of Quinlan flinging him onto the wall over an argument. Now he’s lifting him into the air against his will, but it’s different.
And a calm comes over Fox that he hadn’t felt earlier.
Quinlan is a comforting presence against his back. And he’s not complaining that he’s sitting on the man’s lap.
“Close your eyes,” Quinlan instructs, burying his face deeper into the crook of Fox’s neck. It tickles, “And breathe with me.”
It’s like liquid warmth erupts through his being, starting from his stomach and flowering into his limbs. He gasps as Quinlan tightens his grip around his waist, the feeling of euphoria all throughout his body.
“How’s it feel?” Quinlan whispers.
“It feels…amazing.”
“Good, you deserve to know what the light side of the Force feels like.” Quinlan says, “and I am reall-”
“Quinlan, it’s okay,” Fox stops him, not wanting either of them to be bothered by negative memories from the past. Not when they were making new ones, “Tell me more about what’s going on.”
He can feel Quinlan smile behind him.
“This feeling Fox, it’s me. My Force signature, it’s always gonna be here for you when you need it, alright.” Quinlan says, certain, “you’ll always have a piece of me. And i’ll–”
“Always have a piece of me.” Fox surmises, having felt a strange part of himself dissolve into whatever Quinlan is doing. He can’t explain it, and later on he’s sure he’ll be angry at it, but for now it makes him feel less lonely and afraid.
Like a small piece of Quinlan has found residence in his brain, carving out a cozy corner and waiting to protect when needed.
If this is the Force, he thinks he can learn to live with it.