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Part 10 of RM's Box of (AU) Foxes
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2022-12-24
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Truth in the Rumors

Summary:

Shiny Commander Fox had been stationed with the Coruscant Guard for less than three weeks, and truth be told he still doesn't think he quite fits in. As long as he follows his orders, he'll be fine. It'll be fine.

Now, if only the other troopers would stop trying to trick him with stories of a medic who sneaks up on unsuspecting Guard to administer their medical service, that would at least be a start.

Notes:

For enzymethe3rd on tumblr, who requested Hacksaw being something like the Yule Cat, only I couldn't keep it humorous and instead made it too serious whoops my bad, brain went brrr.

(honestly not my best work but oh well! :D )

Work Text:

CC-1010 “Commander Fox” had been stationed with the Coruscant Guard for almost three weeks now, and he was starting to feel less like he’d been dropped in the middle of a warzone without a blaster and a bit more as if he was on his last ammo clip.

He knew going in that things were going to be entirely different than what the rumors bouncing around the sterile halls of Kamino made it out to be, but he’d never expected the Triple Zero posting to be so… absolutely horrid.

Fox had taken over as lead for the street patrols, and first day on the job there had been a gang war, two serial killers, a kidnapping of a high society child, a whole patrol going missing, and fourteen non-Guard troopers had to be dragged into the drunk tank to sober up. It didn’t get any better as the days crawled by, as Fox had to balance trying not to step on anyone toes while also not letting anyone walk all over him- from the nat-born Security Chief of the CSF all the way to his own men. He couldn’t be perceived as weak, but he couldn’t look as if he was riding high off of the first taste of authority fresh out of Kamino’s waves.

The men under his command were also more than happy to test the waters by casually dropping dozens of stories, “helpful” tidbits, and other little things Fox should or shouldn’t do. He was more inclined to believe the warnings given to him by Marshal Commander Thorn upon his arrival, as they were quickly collaborated by his experiences thus far, but then there where things like “the top shelf is for everyone, why don’t you grab something from it” to “we ran out of red paint so we started supplementing it with soaking the red rations into a water mixture and straining it”.

Fox may be shiny, but he wasn’t an idiot. He liked having proof before he enacted on anything, and from the way One-Tone had loudly complained one day about sending Fox back for a refund because “he’s no fun” probably meant he was excelling in not falling for any of their shiny hazing.

He was certain Marshal Commander Thorn wouldn’t send him back. Mostly. He wouldn’t… right?

Okay, so maybe Fox knew that there were several dozen complaints already stacked up against him. Commander Stone thought he was stuffy and stiff, Commander Thire had already told him to his face that he was trying way too hard, Fox had already made enemies with Sergeant Hound by accidentally tripping over Grizzer when the massiff was sleeping in its “favorite spot” which happened to be in the middle of the floor around a corner that no one bothered warning him about, and Thorn himself always kept giving him this look that was mostly unreadable but it wasn’t the soft smiles or teasing eyerolls that he’d give everyone else.

Three weeks on the job, and he was already a big disappointment.

At least ARC Captain Etch didn’t seem to mind him.

Regardless, Fox couldn’t let himself be dragged down by his own failures. So he dug he heels in and made a point to never been proven a fool by having enough evidence to disprove their more elaborate stories.

Like this one, for example.

“You expect me to believe that there’s a medic who goes around stalking unsuspecting medbay jumpers and stabbing them with hypos for their inoculations like some sort of reverse assassin,” Fox deadpanned at Potshot who was seated across from him at one of the handful of tables crammed into the common room, pausing his dissection of his nutrimeal that came in bulk with their supplies (today’s flavor was dry- which was better than bland and vastly superior to slimy).

“You don’t believe me?” Potshot smirked at him, looking far too smug for someone who was trying to hoodwink him. “Hey, Line! The new Commander doesn’t believe me about the Alpha medic.”

“The one that got you the other day because you hate needles?” Line stated casually as he dropped his tray onto the table beside Fox, giving him a nod as he sat down. “Commander.”

“Don’t go telling lies about me, Line,” Potshot groaned, pointing his fork at the Quartermaster, who merely snorted. “Don’t believe a word he says.”

“So I shouldn’t believe that there’s a stealth medic skulking about?”

“Yes- no! Ugh!” Potshot nearly threw his fork into the ceiling as he tossed up his hands. “He’s real! I swear it!”

“You said that about the Mando who lives in the maintenance corridors on Level 455,” Fox drawled, going back to picking at his food. “And that level is under water.”

“Maybe it’s a Nautolan Mando,” Potshot puffed his cheeks out, sulking into his plate. “You probably don’t believe that Linkup exists either.”

“I’ve met Linkup.” Fox picked up his tray, his food mostly untouched as he went to leave. “And I’ve seen the medbay. There’s only two desks in there.”

It was the only logical conclusion that Potshot was trying to pull his leg again. Fox knew there were two medics- one who spent most of his days smoking and being the galactic’s entire accumulation of depression and existential crisis in one person who was named Death Rattle, and the other was a seven year old named Threads who also happened to be the CMO.

As if the Guard couldn’t be any more confusing.

Still, there were two desks. Two medics. Fox had been in and out of the medbay helping to haul injured patrols to the cots that he knew how many medics there were, and beyond Potshot being bullied into helping once, there never was a third medic.

The topic wasn’t dropped- not like the rest when Fox laid out his conclusions and truths. By the time evening patrols were ready to head out, every single one of his men commented about the mysterious third medic and the ghost tales that came with him- even from the troops who never spoke to Fox directly whispered to each other within earshot about “the Commander” didn’t believe in the medic.

The Commander- because not one of them ever called him by name.

Because Fox was unfortunately in the osmosis zone, he managed to pick up several “facts” about the medic:

  • He was very tall and broad-shouldered.
  • His arms were thicker than Marshal Commander Thorn’s thighs.
  • He could melt into the shadows and move without a sound.
  • He either crept up and stabbed people with hypos or threw them over his shoulder and carried them like a sack of flour.

Honestly, Fox learned more about this so-called medic than he did with the people he worked with, but then again, he didn’t exactly go out of his way to initiate conversations. How hard was it for people to do their jobs without all the chatter?

By the end of the week there were even more complaints about his person after he bluntly told a patrol team gossiping on the open comms to put a cork in it. Unsociable and rude were now on his dossier, apparently, but at least they stopped talking about the ghost medic. Most of them stopped talking to him entirely, actually. Didn’t stop them from whispering when his back was turned, though.

Week four dragged on slowly, and all thoughts of shadow medics dissipated from his mind as work piled on. The Senate was out of session, and so Senate patrols were no longer necessary for the next few weeks. Before they left, the Senate had agreed to move the maximum security prisoners off planet and to a new prison off on some moon for safety, and the last of them had just been shipped off and Stone was finalizing the transferal of the prison back to CSF control. And with the Senate out, the Senators had all gone back to their respective planets, leaving the diplomatic escorts, the Senate patrols, and prison patrols without anything to do.

They were planning on going to 79s for some good food and good drinks. Skeleton crew. And guess who was going to be stuck manning the fort?

“It’s not like you’d actually like going anyway,” Thire had told Fox during that particular meeting when Fox dared to ask why, the other Commander rolling his eyes and slapping him on the back. “All those people and noise- you’d hate it.”

“Of course, sir,” Fox managed to get out of his mouth, although it’d felt as if he’d swallowed a fistful of wool. Would it mean anything to say that he actually wanted to go? He’d been running non-stop since he got dumped onto this hell of a planet, had barely gotten any sleep between the patrols and the deadlines, putting everything into proving himself while constantly feeling like he was sliding off the edge and into Kamino’s seas. But he knew that any complaint would be dished back out with how the others had been working much harder for much longer and deserved a break. He was too new and too undesirable to drag to a social gathering.

So Fox did what Fox did best- he shut up, threw himself into his work, and pretended everything was fine as the day came and everyone paraded out of the barracks in an array of civilian clothing and uniforms, talking and elbowing each other in the first taste of true downtime in a long time.

It didn’t take even an hour after Fox declared he’d be in his office and holing himself in there for his skeleton crew to sneak out after their friends.

The glare of the datapad before him was slowly stabbing a needle under his eyelids and into his brain, the chair creaking as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the impossibly hard furniture. As the newest CC, Fox didn’t get a say in what office he’d get, and it seemed several older members of the Guard had called dibs on their own spaces, leaving him with what used to be a cleaning cupboard that still had the upper shelves in place and the floor permeated with the sharp stench of cleaner. Several filing cabinets had been shoved inside and a desk facing the farthest wall, leaving very little space and no space at all for him to rotate the desk so he wouldn’t be facing a wall and have his back to the door- the doorway, since the door was broken and had been removed, only to never be replaced.

Fox couldn’t complain. He was lucky to make it off Kamino, he was lucky to be given an office at all. But with no door and anyone allowed to wander in unannounced, Fox didn’t have a place to hide beside inside his own shell. No one could see him close his eyes and try to will away the exhaustion that was now bone deep. No one could see him read through dozens of mission reports from across the GAR that he ported to the inside of his visor while he laid out on his bunk in his full kit. At least on Kamino he knew all the quiet, hidden spots where no one would come looking for him.

At least on Kamino he had his training squad who knew how to work with him.

All he had here was an empty building with everyone else having fun without him while he was stuck writing up another response to CSF Sergeant Gesip about how a chain of command works and no, if he wanted the information, he had to request his Chief who will then contact him- Fox being a clone was arbitrary to this discussion. He could, theoretically, sneak out like the others, but he doubt he’d get the slap on the wrist the skeleton crew would most likely be getting from the other Commanders. He could also use this time to take a nap, but again, he’d probably get the scolding of a lifetime if he was caught sleeping while on the clock.

Besides, he had his orders.

Good soldiers followed orders, even if they made him feel both hollow and terribly heavy at the same time.

A soft noise broke through the hum of the single light above him and the rusty rattle of the ventilation kicking in. Fox was immediately on alert, pushing down the throb in his skull and the ache in his bones as he carefully dialed up the auditory receptors for his bucket, listening intently for anything amiss.

There was nothing.

Fox didn’t move an inch for another three minutes, waiting and straining his ears even with his auditory cranked up so high it was making the hum from the light sound like screeching before he forced the program to block it out. Yet still there was nothing new, not even a whisper or suspicious creak.

…Was he being paranoid in his exhaustion?

Fox forced himself to relax, turning his attention back to his mountain of work left for him on his desk. There was no one here but his sorry carcass. He may only be running off of two-point-five hours of sleep in the last three days- none of which were consecutive- but he had another twelve hours before the hung-over masses would be back on their feet and he could risk slipping in another power nap. He didn’t have a day off in sight, and his downtime was spent catching up on the endless stream of backlogged reports. If he wanted to have any hope of seeing a bunk for longer than a handful of minutes, he’d have to put his all into his work. Maybe then one of the other Commanders would send help his way.

Maybe…

…Maybe…

…

…Fox was lying down; the thought drifted sluggishly through his brain. He had been shucked from his plastoid shell, his body feeling almost non-existent as the previous aches and pain had suddenly vanished, replaced with soft warmth all around him. Voices curled over him, unintelligible at first, but then slowly drifting in and out of focus in quiet waves.

“…I’m doing what’s best for him,” Marshal Commander Thorn’s voice was strained, hushed yet agitated. “It may seem harsh, but it’s for his own good. He needs to learn this isn’t like the GAR that he’s been training for all his life.”

Silence took over for a moment, and Fox almost thought he’d drifted back off to sleep again when he could hear Thorn sigh, long and tired.

“I know,” he continued, as if answering a question Fox hadn’t heard. “I…I know, I should’ve kept a better eye on him. Despite everything, he’s been keeping up well for a shiny, and not once had he complained- not even when we left him- oh, please don’t give me that look, Hacks, I already know that was a dick move. I even got Etch riding my ass for that when he found out-“

There was another long silence, another long sigh, the soft rustling of fabric and plastoid.

“…Thank you for watching over him,” Thorn’s voice was slightly muffled, as if he was talking against something now. “I-I’ll apologize when he wakes up. We’ll do better by him. We’ve learned how to deal with the likes of Etch and Rattle- we’ll learn how to work with Fox too.”

It was perhaps the first time since he first landed and introduced himself that someone referred to him by his name and not his rank. It made something warm flutter against his ribs as Fox settled into the warmth he was surrounded by.

He must’ve missed the last of the conversation, because now it was quiet again, the cot dipping a little as someone sat beside him. Fox tried to open his eyes, his eyelids fluttering but failing to rise from the dredges of sleep. A soft breath escaped the person keeping him company, and then there was a large hand combing across his scalp, smoothing over the growth of curls that had taken over in his lapse of maintaining the regulation buzz.

Fox couldn’t help the sigh that left his lips, the soothing scrape of fingernails through his hair brushing off every rational thought in his cottony brain. He didn’t know who it was that was with him, but somehow he’d never felt any safer than he did now, curled up in an unfamiliar bunk with a stranger lulling him back to sleep with gentle touches. This person would take care of him- there was no need to worry about anything.

He was warm. He was safe.

Fox sank into the dark warmth, rising back up from its depths hours later with Potshot, Bushtit, and Prim leaning over the medbay cot- Potshot’s face warped into a smug grin.

“Told you he was real,” Potshot stated, even as tiny CMO Threads came popping over as if summoned by Fox’s awakening, shooing the others out in order to check up on Fox’s vitals, leaving Fox well rested but thoroughly confused.

The medbay’s storage room door shut the last remaining inch by itself with a quiet click.

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