Work Text:
Fox is drifting, his mind floating far above his kneeling body. It's not like his mind is much use to him, not right now at least. Right now his mind will only come with pain and memories. Right now all Fox needs to do is stay silent and still, which his mind will hardly help him with.
So, he drifts, and it's fine.
It's fine until the Chancellor looks up, lips curling with disgust but voice still perfectly bland.
"You're dripping blood on the carpet."
Fox glances down and notices that the Chancellor is right, there's blood running from his hairline and down his nose, dripping onto the plush carpet in a steady pattern. He can feel sticky warmth along his legs and knees as well and he suspects that if he were to stand there would be a bloody imprint in his wake. A small, treasonous, part of Fox's brain thinks that if the Chancellor doesn't want him to get blood on the fancy carpet he shouldn't torture Fox correct Fox's mistakes on it and then leave Fox to kneel at his side for hours.
"It's worth more credits than you." The Chancellor continues, his voice is still flat but Fox gets the distinct impression of anger undercutting the words. The Chancellor is right of course. Most things in this office- Force, most things in this building except his own brothers- are worth more than him.
He's still not sure what the Chancellor expects him to do about it.
"Get up."
An order. Relief rushes through Fox's veins. Orders are easy, all he has to do is follow them, he doesn't have to bargain or think or plead.
He staggers to his feet, ignoring the way his head spins unpleasantly and the way his muscles scream their protest at moving after so long held rigidly in one position. Distantly Fox notes his earlier musings were right, there's two bloody prints where his knees just were. He hears a disapproving tsk from the Chancellor and that's all the warning he gets before his mind dissolves into white, staticky pain.
The world comes back into focus slowly, then all at once. Fox is still standing. He was ordered to, so of course he is, but his arms are wrapped around his stomach and his shoulders curl forward, and his throat is raw, each ragged breath he takes causes pain to lance down it. He's been screaming. A lot, judging from the amount of pain. He winces and corrects his hunched posture into a regulation perfect stance of attention.
"You CC units are so durable." The Chancellor muses, pushing gracefully to his feet so he can circle Fox. Somehow, despite his age and his ornate robes, he makes the circling movement a dangerous prowl, and Fox is his helpless prey. His shoes make a sickening squelch as they step through the Fox shaped puddle of blood on the floor, but he doesn't flinch. Instead he reaches out to cradle Fox's face in his hand. His thumb sweeps almost reverently across the scar on Fox's cheekbone and the memories of pain and fear and the smell of burning flesh rise in Fox's mind in response. "And yet, you break so beautifully."
This time Fox is painfully aware of every second of the agony that rips through him, each blood curdling scream that he lets out. Tears leak from his eyes, mixing with the blood still dripping steadily down his face and running over the Chancellor's hand.
A soft whine escapes Fox as the pain finally lets up, and he unthinkingly nuzzles his cheek into the gentle touch on his face. For a moment he swears he feels vindictive glee zip down his spine but it's gone as soon as he feels it. In its place is a distinct feeling of safety and warmth. Then he's being tugged into a loose hug, careful hands doing their best to avoid his injuries.
"Thorn?" He slurs out. He’s not sure how he ended up in Thorn’s arms but it feels nice to be held after all the pain he’s experienced today. With a keen he tips himself further into the comforting embrace. A hand cards through his curls until they find the wound hidden in his blood soaked hair.
Fox doesn't know what he expects Thorn to do, probably force him to go see Ash as head wounds aren't something any of them take lightly, but he's certainly not expecting him to dig sharp fingernails in, tearing at the tender flesh and causing a fresh wave of pain to overcome him. His knees go weak and he collapses into the arms holding him. A confused sound escapes from Fox’s lips even as he continues to allow Thorn to hold him up.
"Hm, you've made quite a mess of my office." The Chancellor says.
The Chancellor? Why is he here?
Oh.
Fox failed to properly contain Commander Tano and now he's being corrected by the Chancellor. And somehow Fox managed to mistake the Chancellor's worry over his performance with Thorn's worry for a vode in pain.
Embarrassment burns through him and he feels his cheeks go pink with the intensity of the feeling. Thankfully the Chancellor doesn't comment on his mistake. "You should clean that up. Then go and get yourself cleaned up as well. I expect you back here at the same time tomorrow, and every day until this lesson sinks in." Fox is silently glad the Chancellor is so patient when he could have just as easily decommissioned Fox and moved on to Thorn, an objectively better soldier and better man than Fox is.
Fox feels a rough cloth and a bottle being put into his numb hands and then he's shoved back to his knees in front of the blood.
Clean it up.
All he has to do is clean it up and then he can go back to the barracks and actually find Thorn. With disjointed movements he begins to scrub at the stain until the rag in his hand is just as soaked as the carpet is, the pale purple now Coruscant Guard red. He wants to laugh at the irony but he manages to control himself.
“You’re just making a bigger mess. You’re so incompetent that you can’t even do a job a droid has no trouble with.” The Chancellor says, appearing at Fox’s back. Fox dips his head down as more embarrassment rushes through him.
It is a simple task that the Chancellor has given him and here he is, defeated. How his men trust him to lead them when he’s so pathetic he can’t even clean up his own mess he’s not sure.
“Get out of my office and just send in a cleaning droid you useless clone.”
Fox follows his instructions mechanically, allowing his mind to drift once again until he ends up in the Command barracks.
“Fox, you’re bleeding.” Thorn says, wrapping Fox against his chest, making noises that are somehow both soothing and concerned, Fox answers with a vaguely affirmative noise of his own as he allows Thorn to hold him. Then Thorn runs a gentle hand through his curls and his mind goes blank with his panic.
“Thorn not again, please. I can’t take any more, it hurts.” He begs, fighting against Thorn’s grip. Thorn lets out a wounded noise and lets him go and Fox gasps in relief as he’s freed, scrambling to the far corner.
They stay like that, the only noise in the small room is Fox’s quiet choked off sobs. Not for the first time, Thorn daydreams about violently eviscerating the Chancellor, using the gory thoughts to calm his racing mind as Fox recovers from whatever memory has its hooks in his brain.
Without his permission Thorn’s gaze drifts back over to Fox. His commander is a miserable sight right now, his normally soft curls matted against his head with tacky blood, the same blood painting his armor almost completely red, and pupils blown wide with a concussion. Those eyes dart around the room, watching threats that are only in his head.
“Fox. Ori’vod.” Thorn says, keeping his voice soft even as those wild eyes snap to his own. “You’re okay.”
You’re not safe, you never are but you’re as safe as you can get right here with me.
“You’re in the barracks, it’s me Thorn. Thire and Stone are on shift in the Senate Dome, Cryz is assisting Yoda on a recovery mission, and Asp is on shift in the prison. It’s 18:30 on Taungsday.” With each word Fox settles back into himself until he seems to be fully alert. On shaky legs Fox lurches towards Thorn, who easily catches him and leads both of them towards the medbay.
“That’s it ori’vod, let’s get you to Ash. They’ll fix you up in no time then we can get some sleep.”