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Coruscant really was its own special kind of Hell.
So far, Fox had been on his feet for… an amount of hours. Awake for three times that. He had a nap before that. He thinks he was standing for it though. Probably a Senate meeting then.
The last three ten-day had been cycles of sleeping hours less than he should, usually broken up into two or three different naps where he could squeeze them, between a couple days of wakefulness.
It must be something the long-necks engineered in them, being able to stay alert for so long, beyond levels of exhaustion that would have a nat keeled over.
If he thought hard enough, he might remember a test of some sort, figuring out what his limits were before collapse.
Or maybe he’s just remembering a trainer being an ass.
“- and to think, you went and absolutely ruined-”
The Senator in front of him was not helping him keep track of the conversation. It was at least the third complaint they themself had made to Fox, citing it as ‘important’ and needing to be dealt with swiftly by someone of ‘a Higher Authority’ than his trooper. He’d been standing here for less than four minutes.
Not that he could do anything about it, of course. His job, the Guard’s job, was to be whatever Coruscant needed.
Currently, what it apparently needed was for Fox to stand here like a verbal punching bag for yet another Senator who wouldn’t understand any kind of real hardship if it bit them on the nose. Fox’s eyes followed the Senator’s fingers as they came flying by his visor. Another Senator who had clearly never done any kind of hard work in their life either.
Or held a blaster.
Soft hands.
Fox, because he was a professional, did not sigh.
He was proud that even the Shiny, standing just behind him, managed to contain his. The kid deserved a nap after this.
He wouldn’t get one.
They all deserved a nap for dealing with this shit.
They never got the time for one.
Barely had the time to sleep properly.
At least, Fox thought, this Senator wasn’t bulky enough to manhandle either himself or his troopers. The most physical contact they’d made was poking at Fox’s chest, or, in one- make that two, he decided, glaring with narrowed eyes as the Senator’s fingers retreated from his visor- two instances, poking at his helmet.
Better him than a Shiny though. They didn’t always know how to react.
Fox really didn’t want to sign another decom request this week. Sometimes he got away with letting it pass by, depending which Senator or Citizen made the request. They didn’t always go through the right channels, and he could throw out the unofficial ones.
There wasn’t much he could do for the official ones. Not now, when so many had started requesting that they be allowed to attend the shipping off of said trooper.
Not now, when he’d received notice from the Senate Guard- he knew it had come from the Chancellor- informing him to be careful and on the lookout for identity fraud in regards to decommissioning.
Somehow, the man had figured out what they were doing.
How they were swapping numbers, to try to keep men alive as long as they could.
The Senator poked him again, but finally seemed to reach the conclusion of his tirade, walking off with a huff.
At least there were no orders to punish his trooper.
Probably too stupid to remember they could do that.
He waited until the Senator was well out of sight before turning about to make the walk back to the Barracks.
His trooper fell in step beside him.
“You were supposed to be off an hour ago,” Fox said, voice deceptively soft.
“Y-yessir, but-”
“Does 1910 know you’re still patrolling?” Fox interrupted, eyes still straight ahead.
“... Yessir.”
“Hm.”
They stayed quiet until they finally reached Corrie Territory.
“‘69,” Fox greeted Stone, glad the man had taken over manning his Office.
At least no one would be able to punish the Guard for that transgression, if they came looking for Fox.
“‘10.”
Stone pulled his helmet off at the same time as Fox, the two swapping places.
He’d even got through a few datapads for him. Fox knew Stone liked him.
The Shiny stayed standing to attention even as the other Commander finally left.
With a sigh, Fox steepled his fingers, slightly harder to do in gloves than with bare hands but he’d had practice, and regarded him. The kid still had his helmet on.
“Do you know why we don’t put names, or even numbers down on rotations?” Fox asked quietly.
The kid went to answer, but paused at the last second, hesitating.
“If the Senators know who we are,” Fox continued, not taking his eyes away from that visor. “They can request punishment, decommissioning, reconditioning. Anything they want.” He’d had too many pass by his desk already this week and it was barely halfway through Centaxday.
He’d been awake since Zhellday evening, and was well aware once he left his office after this Stone would sic the medic on him.
They had all agreed no more than two and a half days awake maximum.
“No numbers, no way for them to know which trooper they’re trying to punish. It keeps you all safe.” He paused again, tilting his head.
The kid stayed silent.
“So when there’s more than one of you in one space, they start asking for them. Start asking for numbers, and names. Then, if you have a Senator like today, with even a few more brain cells and a bit more pettiness…”
The trooper finally pulled his helmet off. His face was tense, and Fox felt guilty how much that relieved him.
“It’s why we send Commanders, or at the very least, troopers in Command armour out, when they need more than one trooper in a space.” They being the entirety of Coruscant.
It really was us against them down here.
“We won’t get decommissioned for transgressions, but you will.”
The Shiny looked well and truly pale now, finally getting it through his head.
At least this one got it quickly.
It had been months since a Shiny had taken longer than a week to catch on.
There was no safety for them in the Republic. The sooner they accepted that, the sooner Fox could try protect them.
He met their eyes evenly, even as they themselves seemed to twitch with nerves.
“Follow the roster as you’re given it,” he said after a moment.
“Y-” The kid had to swallow. “Yessir.”
He maintained eye contact for a moment longer.
“Dismissed, ‘71,” he finally said, dropping his eyes back to the pad in front of him.
The numbers might never go on the roster, and they might only be safe to use their names with each other, in the privacy of comms, but he would not let any of his men think he didn’t know them.
Even if he could only show it in the smallest of ways.
Subtlety was survival.
It was all he could give them.
He put his head down, and resigned himself to working through for a few more hours.
He’d sent Thorn a message, not to let his trooper out in his armour when they’d gotten the alert about the commotion. He’d taken the shift instead.
He could sleep in a bit.
Fox’d just get some work done in the meantime.
He could sleep in a bit.