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anaisonfireTitle: while the obvious seems to surprise (5128 words)
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/Quinlan Vos
Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, Quinlan Vos
Additional Tags: Kidnapping, when you’re so sleep deprived you snooze through your own rescue to catch those z’s, Fake Relationship as Cover, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, don't be misled this is pretty much drama-free lol
Summary:
Commander Fox gets kidnapped, misses being rescued and then suffers.
-
Fox takes a second to untangle all that.
By ‘everything’, he assumes Quinlan means the part where both of them are clearly interested in each other but never have the time to actually get to doing something about it, on account of always meeting while working. And then having more work.
Instead of addressing any of that, what comes out of his mouth is, “You made our cover story ‘eloped away’?”
Written for a discord server Secret Santa exchange.
Fox wakes up with a pounding headache and a feeling in his gut that something, somewhere has gone very wrong.
He groans and tries to open his eyes, and immediately regrets both decisions. His head is ringing and he… cannot remember what happened.
He tries to move and feels his stomach sink. His hands are cuffed together roughly and - he hears a jingling sound - he’s chained to something.
The realization doesn’t have any time to settle because at the same time, he realizes he can’t feel his armor. It’s gone.
Fox strangles the panic that wants to rise - his armor - and tries to take stock of himself. His head is still pounding but it stays in the background of his awareness so he… ignores it. Somewhat.
He tries again to open his eyes. Carefully.
Only darkness greets his sight. He squints around but there’s nothing to see by. All he can tell of his surroundings is that they’re dry, slightly cold and - he tries to tell what it is that he’s been leaning on - made of metal, probably.
So. He’s likely been kidnapped, is in his blacks - they’ve even taken his boots - and has no memory of how he came to be here.
Great.
The throbbing in his skull means thumping his head against the probably-wall would be a bad idea but he’s still tempted to do it.
Fox spends several moments cursing everything that’s led him to existing in this moment and then tries to think back.
He was… working, probably. He can’t remember anything specific but that’s not unusual, hate as he might to admit it. Heartattack’s been on his case for working too much and his latest weapon is that sleep deprivation and stress cause memory loss, Commander, that’s a liability. Hypocrite. Like Fox doesn’t have to send people to physically remove him from the medbay sometimes.
Still, Fox pushes through the fog in his mind and reaches for the last solid thing he can find and—
Thorn. He was talking to the other Commander, something about reports. The Chancellor wanted a report? No, that’s not it. The Chancellor had wanted… to speak to him. And Fox still had to finish looking through the reports. That’s right, he remembers now - Thorn had started pestering him about working too much, after Fox snapped at him when he came in. (Fox feels only mildly guilty about it. He should know better than to interrupt in the afternoon.) He’d offered to finish up while Fox went to the Chancellor and Fox hadn’t been able to refuse him. After that, he must have gone to see what it was that Palpatine wanted now.
(And maybe that’s a flippant way of looking at a summoning from the Supreme Chancellor but—
Fox is a good soldier. He’s also the one who has the most to do with the Senate, with the Chancellor, out of all his vode, out of the Guard’s Commanders too. He knows, intimately, exactly how many times the topic of the clones’ status has come up and how many times, and by who, it’s been dismissed. It’s always for a good reason - they need to focus on the war that’s happening right now, they can’t afford to create issues in the GAR when they don’t have the upper hand and any problems that crop up will be paid for with the blood of Republic citizens, it will be dealt with once they win. And— Fox knows those things. Agrees that the war needs to be won and the people protected. But, deep in his soul where he tries not to look too often, he also feels that no matter what, the Senate, the Chancellor., won’t lift their respective appendages to help the clones once they no longer have an immediate use.
Fox tries not to dwell on it too often.
He’s going to follow orders, regardless of his feelings on the matter.)
Fox thinks he can remember getting to the man’s office but - a pulse of pain makes him grit his teeth - nothing else. His memory falls apart after that.
He tries to focus better but the pain in his head hasn’t receded - his thoughts feel hazy, and sluggish.
A slow realization dawns on him.
He’s been drugged. Something that works imperceptibly to slow down his reactions, most likely.
Fox breathes through the knowledge that, whoever did this, they’re good. That was evident from them even managing to catch him (he knows his own abilities, okay, he’s not easy prey) but for him to not notice being under the influence? Clones aren’t the same as baseline humans, drugs work differently on them. Their success speaks of high quality product, and worse, preparation.
This is… bad.
He doesn’t need to think long or hard about what anyone could get from him - if this isn’t a Separatist move, he’s a wookie. Maybe they weren’t after him specifically, but every one of the Guard’s Commanders would be an enormous catch.
And… he knows the chances of getting rescued are infinitesimally small. Even putting aside the kidnappers’ likely-good skills of covering their tracks, he’s still a clone. The highest decorated soldier in the GAR or not, he’s still expendable. They’ll be worried about information security, not his life. And any of the other Commanders will tell the Senate that he won’t spill secrets. No matter what.
Fox tries to not let the panic that wants to rise do so and is only moderately successful.
Fox twitches back to awareness at the sound of a door opening.
Somehow, against his wishes, he’d fallen asleep. He has no time to reprimand himself before he hears footsteps approaching.
He jerks his head up.
He has to squint - the light coming through the doorway is way too bright and the glare makes his eyes tear up. There are two figures approaching, details hard to make out. But he can see the unmistakable shape of an electrostaff in one’s hands all too clearly.
Fox tries to struggle up in a better position but before he can do more than make the chain jiggle the staff is suddenly in his face and he freezes.
“Don’t move,” says a harsh voice, obviously modulated.
“This will go easier if you don’t struggle,” adds a second, less harsh but still as modified.
Fox doesn’t reply, just looks at his captors. Both are dressed in a mix of clothes and armor that is obviously made to conceal their real figures and not stand out in crowds. The shape of the helmets he can make out under their hoods make him think they're probably near-humans but he can’t be sure. Smart, he thinks, and it’s not a compliment.
His silence doesn’t seem to faze them. The one with the staff moves to his side, still a threat but out of the way of the other - who comes to a stop in front of Fox.
“I’m checking you over. Make any move and my friend here will shock you,” they say and the electrostaff buzzes as a demonstration. “We clear?”
Fox eyes the staff, uncomfortably close, and answers, tonelessly. “Yes.”
He can’t fight them like he is now. The thought is distasteful but true. These two are unlikely to be working alone and he doesn’t like his chances of taking a whole ship by himself in his current state. As little as he wants to accept it, his best chance is to play along with what they want and hope for an opportunity when they move him. If he’s even awake for that. They might just knock him out again.
Fox endures what turns out to be a basic medical exam. They don’t tell him what they’re looking for or ask him anything but he thinks they’re probably checking the lingering effects of the drug.
They finish and leave in silence, making no demands for information like he’d half-expected.
He’s left in the darkness again and he can’t tell if they’re doing it on purpose, as some sort of psychological power-play, or if they just don’t want to bother.
He considers trying to make himself stay awake again but - there’s no point. His head still hurts vaguely - what did they hit him with, seriously - and he still can’t remember what happened that landed him here. He drifts off.
Fox is abruptly brought back to consciousness by the feel of hands grabbing him.
He tries to shake them off, purely by instinct—
And gets shocked for it.
They drop him to the floor as he gasps.
“I told you he was gonna wake up,” a modulated voice comes from somewhere above him.
“Shut up,” says another one.
A third person grabs him too - he sort of wants to tell them hands off unless they’re getting him dinner, but can’t quite get enough breath to do it. He feels one of them put something to his neck and before he can react, he’s out.
Someone is speaking.
“—hear me? Commander? Fox? Anyone home?”
Fox struggles toward full consciousness, because there’s something wrong, something familiar about that voice but he can’t—
A hiss escapes him as he opens his eyes.
Fox is getting sick of waking up like this.
His head is pounding again - still? - and he no longer seems to be in the same place. Wherever this is, there’s dim light. Just enough to be able to see the unmistakable face of Quinlan Voss staring at him from only a few centimetres away.
He jerks back but callused hands catch him and he freezes in place.
“Easy! Easy.” Vos quickly lets go. And... doesn’t say anything more.
Fox stares back at him. His brain is still not working at normal speeds, he can tell, and he needs a second to process.
“Still out of it, huh.” The joking tone doesn’t quite hide the tension behind it.
Fox manages to get his mouth to form words and spits out, “What—” And then has to stop to cough. He abruptly becomes aware of how dry his throat is.
“Hey, hey. I said take it easy .”
Hands are on his face.
He blinks at Vos, whose eyes are suddenly all he can see. They are very brown.
“Commander,” he says and thankfully pulls back but there's an undertone of amusement that Fox doesn’t appreciate at all. “Welcome back to the waking world. Here - water.”
Fox takes the offered canteen and carefully drinks. He tries to keep it steady and not spill water all over himself but his hands are shaking just enough to make that a challenge. Without a word Vos lends him a hand.
After he’s sipped a good third of the water, he finally feels somewhat more coherent and able to speak. He clears his throat.
“General. Not that this isn’t a welcome surprise—”
“What’s with the sudden titles? Kidnapping made you polite?” He raises an eyebrow, like the insufferable bastard he is.
Fox rolls his eyes. Typical.
“Fine. Vos. What are you doing here.” He looks around, noting the green quality of the barely-light which seems to be coming from Vos’ lightsaber - Fox can’t see it, it’s somewhere behind the man, presumably to not strain Fox’s eyes, but he recognizes the shade; he’s seen it enough times around Coruscant’s shady alleyways - and, “Where is here?”
“Veeon. Little middle-of-nowhere-important, except for the part where it’s apparently a hotbed of Separatist activity.” Vos grins. “Thanks to your little trip, we now know that.”
“Glad to be of service,” he replies dryly. “Any clue who they were? Didn’t exactly have a meet and greet.”
Vos backs off and sits down on his - chair? Yes, and Fox is laying on a bed. Some kind of motel place, then.
“Working on that. So far, they seem to have been some kind of snatcher opportunists with Seppie leanings.” When Fox raises his eyebrows at him, because what, he shrugs a little helplessly. “I don’t know either. The chatter I caught was implying someone tipped them off they could grab a ‘high-ranking clone officer’ the Separatists would pay a lot of money for, but who and how… Your guess is as good as mine.” He sighs. “I did manage to grab part of their files but they’re in some kind of code. It’ll have to wait until we’re back on Coruscant.”
“Great,” Fox mutters. More security leaks. Just what they needed.
Vos snorts and crosses his arms. “Yeah. For the time being we’re stuck here, so you better be comfortable. I don’t think the reception will be happy if I ask for a different room.”
“Given the lack of lighting and that they let you bring in an unconscious man, I doubt it.”
Fox tries to make himself more comfortable - he’s laying on pillows and it’s apparently been long enough for them to become uncomfortable. He freezes when Vos reaches over to help. “Thanks.” His voice sticks in his throat and oh, bad time to become consciously aware that Vos has very well defined muscles and is allergic to shirts. He pretends it’s nothing. “So how soon should I expect the door to be shot down?”
Vos smirks. “Unless their operation was way bigger than it seemed like, not at all. The local government suddenly announced the arrest of several very wanted people. How convenient for us.” Saying that, he looks nothing less than absolutely pleased with himself. Also a bad time to remember he has a good face.
“So what, you’re staying here for the atmosphere?”
Now he just looks amused. “The power is only out temporarily, I promise. And… being too visible feels like a bad idea now.” His voice takes on that specific Jedi quality they get when talking about and through something more. Fox is used to it so he just continues on.
“Not that I’m not relieved to know not even you would set out with the intention to use a lightsaber as a lamp—”
“Hey!”
“—but is this place actually secure enough? I am very obviously a clone and you’re not exactly being stealthy, waving a plasma sword around.”
“It is, it is, I promise. The proprietresses know the value of silence. And credit chips.” He winks. Obnoxiously. Fox rolls his eyes.
He’s still put out by the implication that Vos somehow managed to destroy the snatchers’ hold and arrange to have them arrested, then got him out, went through the city and into this shady motel, all without him waking up once.
Vos replies to that thought like he said it out loud, “You did wake up occasionally. Whether or not you were lucid is another matter.” He seems to realize what he did and winces, immediately throwing Fox an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I’ve been keeping an eye to make sure there aren’t any side effects to whatever they had you dosed with. It’ll take a while to, uh, tune out.”
Fox waves it off. Jedi, what can you do. (And it’s nice that he was worried, says a traitorous voice that gets strangled immediately.)
“Also, not be nitpicky, but I’m fairly certain I’ve told you at least a dozen times you’re free to call me Quinlan. Unless you don’t want to. But after dragging you around half the day you’ve more than earned the right.”
The logic there doesn’t quite work out but Fox is not in the right frame of mind to argue the point successfully.
“Okay, Quinlan. I don’t suppose you happened to see what became of my armor while you were snooping around?”
Fox has very little hope he’ll ever be seeing it again but he has to ask. It’s personal. So he’s very surprised when Quinlan immediately answers, “Oh, yeah. I grabbed it, it’s over there.”
He points to a part of the room that isn’t illuminated by his lightsaber. He levitates it over there - Fox has to squint, the green plasma really is too bright for his eyes right now - and, there. Sitting neatly on another chair, his distinctive red (on purpose) and white armor.
Fox takes a moment to breathe and be glad. He could have gotten a new one and repainted it but— It wouldn’t have been the same. That’s perhaps too much sentimentality for a clone, but he can’t help it.
“None of your weapons, I’m afraid.”
“It’s not a problem. Thanks,” he says roughly. Quinlan just inclines his head and brings back his lightsaber to hover closer.
They sit there like that for a moment, Fox marveling at the fact that he got kidnapped and the worst that came of it is a headache and some bruising.
“You should probably try to get some sleep.” Quinlan tells him after some time has passed, with an uncharacteristic gentleness. Probably sensing Fox’s immediate protest, he adds, “Real sleep. Being drugged doesn’t count. As I’m sure Heartattack has mentioned at least once.”
He really has, too. The bastard. And when did the two of them get friendly?
“Fine, alright. What about you? Going to keep a bedside vigil like a holodrama lead?” He means to say it brashly, like a joke and he does but it probably comes off too playful.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Quinlan’s smile is probably too playful too but he minds that less. “But no. I have a book that’s been crying for my attention for weeks - just got to the good part, too.”
Fox gives him his best judgmental look. “Weren’t you just saying how secure here is? Now you're keeping watch?”
It’s not that Fox objects to the idea of having someone keep an eye out while in an unfamiliar place, especially given the circumstances. It’s just that he knows Quinlan, and he knows he can’t not be exhausted after tracking down and dealing with what sounds like a moderately sized trafficking ring and dealing with Fox being out of it for however long it’s been.
Quinlan… hesitates. “Listen,” he begins carefully and Fox is prepared to hear the most outrageous reasoning of why sleep deprivation is fine, actually (he knows he’s a hypocrite, it’s not relevant), but what comes out instead, spoken slightly sped up like he’s trying to rush through the words, is: “So I may have told the reception specifically to give us a one-bed room. And they may have ended up with the impression that we’re being discrete because we’ve, um, run off together. Romantically. And it’s a good cover, right, but it, uh, occurs to me right now that that might not have been the greatest idea, given. Everything.” He waves a hand vaguely and shuts up with an audible click.
Fox takes a second to untangle all that.
By ‘everything’, he assumes Quinlan means the part where both of them are clearly interested in each other but never have the time to actually get to doing something about it, on account of always meeting while working. And then having more work.
Instead of addressing any of that, what comes out of his mouth is, “You made our cover story ‘eloped away’?”
There’s a brief silence, filled with all the incredulous disbelief he can muster, before he concludes, “I have no idea what to do with that. Or where to even start.”
Quinlan winces but doesn’t reply.
After a moment’s contemplation, Fox decides he isn’t dealing with any of that tonight. He just slides down and flips over the cover of the bed so he’s under it.
He glares at Quinlan who’s still sitting right there (Nice view from here, he thinks, vaguely annoyed by that) and tells him, “I’m going to sleep. So are you. Good night.”
And then closes his eyes and decides to fall asleep.
But no amount of decisiveness can make him miss it when, after a non-small amount of time has passed, the other side of the bed finally dips.
At least eight hours later, which still feels far too short, Fox wakes up.
Unlike previous times in recent memory, he feels surprisingly well, if not quite in top shape. It is highly likely, Fox admits to himself, that this has something to do with the fact that Quinlan Vos is currently clutching him to his chest rather tightly. He decides not to extricate himself yet and to simply... enjoy the moment.
How novel.
It doesn’t last very long but that’s made up for by the way Quinlan’s voice, rough from sleep, sounds when he says “Good morning” while his face is still buried in his shoulder.
“Morning,” replies Fox and starts the process of disentanglement, careful with the newness of it.
They really should talk about all this and clear the air at some point. Tired or not, it was probably rude to brush him off last… night?
Fox gets off the bed and stretches. “What time is it, even?”
“Uh,” says Quinlan, which is not an answer. When Fox turns to look at him, he’s staring sort of wide-eyed.
Fox raises an eyebrow. “Need a moment?”
“Uh, no. No. It’s fine.” He clears his throat. “It should be about noon now. Zhellday.”
Fox nods and pointedly doesn’t turn around when Quinlan himself gets up to stretch and put on his shirt.
He retrieves his lightsaber from where he’d apparently stored it last night next to the bed in easy reach. (Fox makes a note to mention that to Cody. Obi-Wan Kenobi has a reputation and, more, Cody won’t shut up about having to retrieve his weapon again over drinks. It will be even funnier since Kenobi and Quinlan were apparently friends growing up together.)
(Quinlan is the Guard’s Jetii. Not officially but he absolutely is. They’re all honor-bound to challenge it when others say their Jedi is better and the 212th is particularly bad about it.)
“So, I meant to ask before but how did you even get caught? Doesn’t seem like you.” Quinlan asks offhand except for how he’s pointlessly fiddling with his lightsaber to avoid looking up.
And there goes Fox’s good mood.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to know.”
Quinlan’s head jerks up. “You don’t remember?” There’s a tangible thread of worry in his voice.
Fox crosses his arms and now he’s the one avoiding eye contact. “Not a thing.” Oh, Quinlan’s coming over to this side of the bed. He tries to diffuse the unease in the air. “It’s fine, it’s probably just from whatever they hit me with. And I’m used to it. Heartattack says it’s from stress.”
“This is a recurring problem?” The worry has turned into outright horror and, no, this is the opposite of what he intended.
Hands on his face. He’s blinking at brown eyes. This is familiar.
“Fox.”
“Quinlan.”He returns in the exact same tone.
“You…” Whatever he was going to say dies and instead he huffs and steps back, hands sliding from his face to hold his shoulders. “…need a vacation. Desperately.”
Fox snorts, tension disappearing. “I’ll get right on to that. You want to ask the Chancellor nicely or should I do it myself?”
“Well, thankfully,” he says, slipping an arm around his shoulder and suddenly this is a much different scene, “Sheev Palpatine is not here and can’t stop you from enjoying life and decadent things like a consistent sleep schedule.”
Fox turns his head to look at him skeptically. “Are you suggesting I should purposefully spend a significant amount of time here instead of returning to Coruscant with the next available ship today?”
“Well, you don’t really have much choice in the matter, do you?”
When the only thing that statement gets from Fox is silence and raised eyebrows, Quinlan’s winning smile dims a bit.
“…Right, I forgot to mention.”
“Now who’s out of it?” Fox snorts. “Go on, hit me with it.”
“Okay so: here’s the best part of this whole mess.”
“I’m already afraid.”
“Hey!” Quinlan puts on a faux-hurt tone but lets it fade in the face of Fox’s unimpressed look and explains. “The whole planet’s on lock down - one of a kind storm. It will take at least a week to be able to leave.”
“How is this the best part?” Fox asks incredulously. He doesn’t even want to know what shape Coruscant will be in after he’s already been gone for so long, let alone another week.
“It isn’t. The best part is that it just so happens that it’s currently a major holiday. There’s a festival that will last for the next two weeks.” His grin gets wider, somehow. “Welcome to your vacation, Commander. I hope you like cold weather.”
Fox refrains from hitting him with the nearest pillow. Barely.
Quinlan gives him a knife.
Quinlan gives him a knife.
This is fine.
He manages to play it completely cool. There’s just one slight hiccup.
Fox holds up the knife to see it better in the light, which must’ve come back at some point while they were sleeping. There’s something on it…
“Is this blood?” He looks incredulously from gift to giver.
“Hm? Ah.” Quinlan looks closer at it, like he could have possibly missed it before. “So it is.”
“Did you take this from—?”
“Maybe. But hey, at least you know it works?”
Now Fox feels like maybe he should be worried for Quinlan’s brain, not the other way around.
“It’s a knife, how can it not work?”
Quinlan huffs. “Well, if you don’t want it—”
“No, it’s fine.” He ponders for a second but decides to ask. “Whose blood is it?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Did you just give me a knife you got stabbed with.”
“Listen, it’s not like I walk around with an arsenal of weapons, take it or leave it. And I didn’t get stabbed, it’s just a scratch.”
With that extremely confidence-inspiring answer he turns around and sits on the same chair as last night, fiddling with his lightsaber again. Fox can’t tell if something’s actually wrong with it or if he’s just using it as an excuse to appear busy.
Fox sets to cleaning his new knife, and asks offhandedly.
“Instead of playing with that shouldn’t you be figuring out what to do about whatever mission you were on before coming over here?”
He doesn’t get an answer for a long moment and when he glances up, he finds Quinlan looking at him funny.
“What? Got your blood on my face?”
“Fox,” he says slowly, like he’s having a revelation, “this is my mission.”
Fox blinks at him.
“This?” He echoes. But he hasn’t been doing anything but—
Oh.
“Yeah.” Quinlan raises an eyebrow at him. “What, you thought I just happened to be hanging around and decided to take a stroll through those guys’ wannabe dungeon?”
Fox shrugs. “Jedi are always popping up in strange places.”
The Jedi in question who does this almost every time they see each other, rolls his eyes.
“Well, not this time. I came all the way here specifically for you, Commander. Feel special?” He gives him a winning smile.
Fox rolls his eyes at him and ignores how that makes something flutter in his chest. Partly to get away from the feeling (just liking someone is different from fluttery feelings, and they haven’t even had the conversation about the first one yet) but mostly as a genuine inquiry, he questions, “How did you even know where to look?”
“Oh, you know. You hear all sorts of things from all sorts of people, if you’ve been around long enough.”
“What a useful and not at all vague answer, thank you,” says Fox, dry as sand.
“It’s the only one you’re getting. I can’t go around outing my sources to the authorities, they’ll stop talking to me.”
“You’re the authorities, as well.”
“Well, don’t go spreading that around.”
“No, I’m definitely going to tell all my criminal friends as soon as your back is turned.”
Quinlan grins at him. “You are feeling better. Good.”
They go out later that day.
Like Quinlan said, there’s some kind of festival happening. Even though the part of the city they’re staying in wouldn’t be out of place in Coruscant’s underground, there’s still a tangible feeling of celebration in the air.
It’s oddly joyful to walk around and more or less blend in with the crowds.
They stop to the side of the street which is entirely taken up by a display of red-orange… things.
“What is this supposed to be?”
“It’s art.”
Fox gives him a look. “It’s a plant, I’m fairly certain.” It has leaves and vines maybe, he thinks, if he twists his head around and squints.
“Still art,” Quinlan argues, oddly impassioned about it. “Look how it grows, over here.” He points a path along the side of it. “It’s guided so it grows like that. If you do it really well, you won’t ever need to cut it.”
“Really?” Fox asks skeptically. Never?
“Yes. And this tiny guy is practically a baby too — the real impressive stuff is hundreds of years old. Entire generations’ worth of work goes into maintaining and expanding them.”
“You know a lot about this,” Fox remarks neutrally even though he has to fight down a smile at Quinlan’s rising enthusiasm for strange plant life turned artwork.
Who knew - Quinlan Vos, Jedi and secret nerd.
“It’s interesting!” He defends himself but still grins at him over his shoulder. “Let’s go see what's over there.”
Quinlan offers him a gloved hand, almost casually. The way he very carefully doesn’t look at him is a dead giveaway.
Fox hesitates for a moment but…
“Trying to make sure you don’t get lost, Vos?”
He takes his hand and pretends his heart doesn’t start beating faster when Quinlan grips him harder.
“Excuse you, which one of us was just kidnapped? This is for your protection, Commander.”
Fox snorts and steps closer. “Better stay near then. There might be more of them hiding in the bushes.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
Even though it’s a ridiculous thought and Fox is perfectly capable of defending himself, the words still warm him. He lets himself smile, a little.
(Some time later that week, after funtimes are rudely interrupted by Quinlan’s psychometry, a panic attack is averted and much cuddling has happened:
“I can’t believe it was Palpatine all along.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Well, as much as I’d like to apply a lightsaber liberally to his face, that would probably go poorly.”
“…Point. But if it comes to a fight I better get to shoot him at least once.”
“If it comes to a fight? I think you mean when.”
“It’s called ‘optimism’.”
“I’m surprised you even know what that word is.”
“Why don’t you stop making fun of me and instead think of how you’re going to break this to the Jedi Council?”
“…Oh, Master Windu is going to kill me.”
“Don’t worry — I’ll protect you.”)
A/N: Not pictured: Mace Windu, on the other side of the galaxy, gets a headache and a feeling like something disastrous is about to happen. But in a good way. He pauses for a second before continuing to drink his tea. It might be some time before he next has time off to enjoy it. His comm starts ringing.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/Quinlan Vos
Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, Quinlan Vos
Additional Tags: Kidnapping, when you’re so sleep deprived you snooze through your own rescue to catch those z’s, Fake Relationship as Cover, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, don't be misled this is pretty much drama-free lol
Summary:
Commander Fox gets kidnapped, misses being rescued and then suffers.
-
Fox takes a second to untangle all that.
By ‘everything’, he assumes Quinlan means the part where both of them are clearly interested in each other but never have the time to actually get to doing something about it, on account of always meeting while working. And then having more work.
Instead of addressing any of that, what comes out of his mouth is, “You made our cover story ‘eloped away’?”
Written for a discord server Secret Santa exchange.
Fox wakes up with a pounding headache and a feeling in his gut that something, somewhere has gone very wrong.
He groans and tries to open his eyes, and immediately regrets both decisions. His head is ringing and he… cannot remember what happened.
He tries to move and feels his stomach sink. His hands are cuffed together roughly and - he hears a jingling sound - he’s chained to something.
The realization doesn’t have any time to settle because at the same time, he realizes he can’t feel his armor. It’s gone.
Fox strangles the panic that wants to rise - his armor - and tries to take stock of himself. His head is still pounding but it stays in the background of his awareness so he… ignores it. Somewhat.
He tries again to open his eyes. Carefully.
Only darkness greets his sight. He squints around but there’s nothing to see by. All he can tell of his surroundings is that they’re dry, slightly cold and - he tries to tell what it is that he’s been leaning on - made of metal, probably.
So. He’s likely been kidnapped, is in his blacks - they’ve even taken his boots - and has no memory of how he came to be here.
Great.
The throbbing in his skull means thumping his head against the probably-wall would be a bad idea but he’s still tempted to do it.
Fox spends several moments cursing everything that’s led him to existing in this moment and then tries to think back.
He was… working, probably. He can’t remember anything specific but that’s not unusual, hate as he might to admit it. Heartattack’s been on his case for working too much and his latest weapon is that sleep deprivation and stress cause memory loss, Commander, that’s a liability. Hypocrite. Like Fox doesn’t have to send people to physically remove him from the medbay sometimes.
Still, Fox pushes through the fog in his mind and reaches for the last solid thing he can find and—
Thorn. He was talking to the other Commander, something about reports. The Chancellor wanted a report? No, that’s not it. The Chancellor had wanted… to speak to him. And Fox still had to finish looking through the reports. That’s right, he remembers now - Thorn had started pestering him about working too much, after Fox snapped at him when he came in. (Fox feels only mildly guilty about it. He should know better than to interrupt in the afternoon.) He’d offered to finish up while Fox went to the Chancellor and Fox hadn’t been able to refuse him. After that, he must have gone to see what it was that Palpatine wanted now.
(And maybe that’s a flippant way of looking at a summoning from the Supreme Chancellor but—
Fox is a good soldier. He’s also the one who has the most to do with the Senate, with the Chancellor, out of all his vode, out of the Guard’s Commanders too. He knows, intimately, exactly how many times the topic of the clones’ status has come up and how many times, and by who, it’s been dismissed. It’s always for a good reason - they need to focus on the war that’s happening right now, they can’t afford to create issues in the GAR when they don’t have the upper hand and any problems that crop up will be paid for with the blood of Republic citizens, it will be dealt with once they win. And— Fox knows those things. Agrees that the war needs to be won and the people protected. But, deep in his soul where he tries not to look too often, he also feels that no matter what, the Senate, the Chancellor., won’t lift their respective appendages to help the clones once they no longer have an immediate use.
Fox tries not to dwell on it too often.
He’s going to follow orders, regardless of his feelings on the matter.)
Fox thinks he can remember getting to the man’s office but - a pulse of pain makes him grit his teeth - nothing else. His memory falls apart after that.
He tries to focus better but the pain in his head hasn’t receded - his thoughts feel hazy, and sluggish.
A slow realization dawns on him.
He’s been drugged. Something that works imperceptibly to slow down his reactions, most likely.
Fox breathes through the knowledge that, whoever did this, they’re good. That was evident from them even managing to catch him (he knows his own abilities, okay, he’s not easy prey) but for him to not notice being under the influence? Clones aren’t the same as baseline humans, drugs work differently on them. Their success speaks of high quality product, and worse, preparation.
This is… bad.
He doesn’t need to think long or hard about what anyone could get from him - if this isn’t a Separatist move, he’s a wookie. Maybe they weren’t after him specifically, but every one of the Guard’s Commanders would be an enormous catch.
And… he knows the chances of getting rescued are infinitesimally small. Even putting aside the kidnappers’ likely-good skills of covering their tracks, he’s still a clone. The highest decorated soldier in the GAR or not, he’s still expendable. They’ll be worried about information security, not his life. And any of the other Commanders will tell the Senate that he won’t spill secrets. No matter what.
Fox tries to not let the panic that wants to rise do so and is only moderately successful.
Fox twitches back to awareness at the sound of a door opening.
Somehow, against his wishes, he’d fallen asleep. He has no time to reprimand himself before he hears footsteps approaching.
He jerks his head up.
He has to squint - the light coming through the doorway is way too bright and the glare makes his eyes tear up. There are two figures approaching, details hard to make out. But he can see the unmistakable shape of an electrostaff in one’s hands all too clearly.
Fox tries to struggle up in a better position but before he can do more than make the chain jiggle the staff is suddenly in his face and he freezes.
“Don’t move,” says a harsh voice, obviously modulated.
“This will go easier if you don’t struggle,” adds a second, less harsh but still as modified.
Fox doesn’t reply, just looks at his captors. Both are dressed in a mix of clothes and armor that is obviously made to conceal their real figures and not stand out in crowds. The shape of the helmets he can make out under their hoods make him think they're probably near-humans but he can’t be sure. Smart, he thinks, and it’s not a compliment.
His silence doesn’t seem to faze them. The one with the staff moves to his side, still a threat but out of the way of the other - who comes to a stop in front of Fox.
“I’m checking you over. Make any move and my friend here will shock you,” they say and the electrostaff buzzes as a demonstration. “We clear?”
Fox eyes the staff, uncomfortably close, and answers, tonelessly. “Yes.”
He can’t fight them like he is now. The thought is distasteful but true. These two are unlikely to be working alone and he doesn’t like his chances of taking a whole ship by himself in his current state. As little as he wants to accept it, his best chance is to play along with what they want and hope for an opportunity when they move him. If he’s even awake for that. They might just knock him out again.
Fox endures what turns out to be a basic medical exam. They don’t tell him what they’re looking for or ask him anything but he thinks they’re probably checking the lingering effects of the drug.
They finish and leave in silence, making no demands for information like he’d half-expected.
He’s left in the darkness again and he can’t tell if they’re doing it on purpose, as some sort of psychological power-play, or if they just don’t want to bother.
He considers trying to make himself stay awake again but - there’s no point. His head still hurts vaguely - what did they hit him with, seriously - and he still can’t remember what happened that landed him here. He drifts off.
Fox is abruptly brought back to consciousness by the feel of hands grabbing him.
He tries to shake them off, purely by instinct—
And gets shocked for it.
They drop him to the floor as he gasps.
“I told you he was gonna wake up,” a modulated voice comes from somewhere above him.
“Shut up,” says another one.
A third person grabs him too - he sort of wants to tell them hands off unless they’re getting him dinner, but can’t quite get enough breath to do it. He feels one of them put something to his neck and before he can react, he’s out.
Someone is speaking.
“—hear me? Commander? Fox? Anyone home?”
Fox struggles toward full consciousness, because there’s something wrong, something familiar about that voice but he can’t—
A hiss escapes him as he opens his eyes.
Fox is getting sick of waking up like this.
His head is pounding again - still? - and he no longer seems to be in the same place. Wherever this is, there’s dim light. Just enough to be able to see the unmistakable face of Quinlan Voss staring at him from only a few centimetres away.
He jerks back but callused hands catch him and he freezes in place.
“Easy! Easy.” Vos quickly lets go. And... doesn’t say anything more.
Fox stares back at him. His brain is still not working at normal speeds, he can tell, and he needs a second to process.
“Still out of it, huh.” The joking tone doesn’t quite hide the tension behind it.
Fox manages to get his mouth to form words and spits out, “What—” And then has to stop to cough. He abruptly becomes aware of how dry his throat is.
“Hey, hey. I said take it easy .”
Hands are on his face.
He blinks at Vos, whose eyes are suddenly all he can see. They are very brown.
“Commander,” he says and thankfully pulls back but there's an undertone of amusement that Fox doesn’t appreciate at all. “Welcome back to the waking world. Here - water.”
Fox takes the offered canteen and carefully drinks. He tries to keep it steady and not spill water all over himself but his hands are shaking just enough to make that a challenge. Without a word Vos lends him a hand.
After he’s sipped a good third of the water, he finally feels somewhat more coherent and able to speak. He clears his throat.
“General. Not that this isn’t a welcome surprise—”
“What’s with the sudden titles? Kidnapping made you polite?” He raises an eyebrow, like the insufferable bastard he is.
Fox rolls his eyes. Typical.
“Fine. Vos. What are you doing here.” He looks around, noting the green quality of the barely-light which seems to be coming from Vos’ lightsaber - Fox can’t see it, it’s somewhere behind the man, presumably to not strain Fox’s eyes, but he recognizes the shade; he’s seen it enough times around Coruscant’s shady alleyways - and, “Where is here?”
“Veeon. Little middle-of-nowhere-important, except for the part where it’s apparently a hotbed of Separatist activity.” Vos grins. “Thanks to your little trip, we now know that.”
“Glad to be of service,” he replies dryly. “Any clue who they were? Didn’t exactly have a meet and greet.”
Vos backs off and sits down on his - chair? Yes, and Fox is laying on a bed. Some kind of motel place, then.
“Working on that. So far, they seem to have been some kind of snatcher opportunists with Seppie leanings.” When Fox raises his eyebrows at him, because what, he shrugs a little helplessly. “I don’t know either. The chatter I caught was implying someone tipped them off they could grab a ‘high-ranking clone officer’ the Separatists would pay a lot of money for, but who and how… Your guess is as good as mine.” He sighs. “I did manage to grab part of their files but they’re in some kind of code. It’ll have to wait until we’re back on Coruscant.”
“Great,” Fox mutters. More security leaks. Just what they needed.
Vos snorts and crosses his arms. “Yeah. For the time being we’re stuck here, so you better be comfortable. I don’t think the reception will be happy if I ask for a different room.”
“Given the lack of lighting and that they let you bring in an unconscious man, I doubt it.”
Fox tries to make himself more comfortable - he’s laying on pillows and it’s apparently been long enough for them to become uncomfortable. He freezes when Vos reaches over to help. “Thanks.” His voice sticks in his throat and oh, bad time to become consciously aware that Vos has very well defined muscles and is allergic to shirts. He pretends it’s nothing. “So how soon should I expect the door to be shot down?”
Vos smirks. “Unless their operation was way bigger than it seemed like, not at all. The local government suddenly announced the arrest of several very wanted people. How convenient for us.” Saying that, he looks nothing less than absolutely pleased with himself. Also a bad time to remember he has a good face.
“So what, you’re staying here for the atmosphere?”
Now he just looks amused. “The power is only out temporarily, I promise. And… being too visible feels like a bad idea now.” His voice takes on that specific Jedi quality they get when talking about and through something more. Fox is used to it so he just continues on.
“Not that I’m not relieved to know not even you would set out with the intention to use a lightsaber as a lamp—”
“Hey!”
“—but is this place actually secure enough? I am very obviously a clone and you’re not exactly being stealthy, waving a plasma sword around.”
“It is, it is, I promise. The proprietresses know the value of silence. And credit chips.” He winks. Obnoxiously. Fox rolls his eyes.
He’s still put out by the implication that Vos somehow managed to destroy the snatchers’ hold and arrange to have them arrested, then got him out, went through the city and into this shady motel, all without him waking up once.
Vos replies to that thought like he said it out loud, “You did wake up occasionally. Whether or not you were lucid is another matter.” He seems to realize what he did and winces, immediately throwing Fox an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I’ve been keeping an eye to make sure there aren’t any side effects to whatever they had you dosed with. It’ll take a while to, uh, tune out.”
Fox waves it off. Jedi, what can you do. (And it’s nice that he was worried, says a traitorous voice that gets strangled immediately.)
“Also, not be nitpicky, but I’m fairly certain I’ve told you at least a dozen times you’re free to call me Quinlan. Unless you don’t want to. But after dragging you around half the day you’ve more than earned the right.”
The logic there doesn’t quite work out but Fox is not in the right frame of mind to argue the point successfully.
“Okay, Quinlan. I don’t suppose you happened to see what became of my armor while you were snooping around?”
Fox has very little hope he’ll ever be seeing it again but he has to ask. It’s personal. So he’s very surprised when Quinlan immediately answers, “Oh, yeah. I grabbed it, it’s over there.”
He points to a part of the room that isn’t illuminated by his lightsaber. He levitates it over there - Fox has to squint, the green plasma really is too bright for his eyes right now - and, there. Sitting neatly on another chair, his distinctive red (on purpose) and white armor.
Fox takes a moment to breathe and be glad. He could have gotten a new one and repainted it but— It wouldn’t have been the same. That’s perhaps too much sentimentality for a clone, but he can’t help it.
“None of your weapons, I’m afraid.”
“It’s not a problem. Thanks,” he says roughly. Quinlan just inclines his head and brings back his lightsaber to hover closer.
They sit there like that for a moment, Fox marveling at the fact that he got kidnapped and the worst that came of it is a headache and some bruising.
“You should probably try to get some sleep.” Quinlan tells him after some time has passed, with an uncharacteristic gentleness. Probably sensing Fox’s immediate protest, he adds, “Real sleep. Being drugged doesn’t count. As I’m sure Heartattack has mentioned at least once.”
He really has, too. The bastard. And when did the two of them get friendly?
“Fine, alright. What about you? Going to keep a bedside vigil like a holodrama lead?” He means to say it brashly, like a joke and he does but it probably comes off too playful.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Quinlan’s smile is probably too playful too but he minds that less. “But no. I have a book that’s been crying for my attention for weeks - just got to the good part, too.”
Fox gives him his best judgmental look. “Weren’t you just saying how secure here is? Now you're keeping watch?”
It’s not that Fox objects to the idea of having someone keep an eye out while in an unfamiliar place, especially given the circumstances. It’s just that he knows Quinlan, and he knows he can’t not be exhausted after tracking down and dealing with what sounds like a moderately sized trafficking ring and dealing with Fox being out of it for however long it’s been.
Quinlan… hesitates. “Listen,” he begins carefully and Fox is prepared to hear the most outrageous reasoning of why sleep deprivation is fine, actually (he knows he’s a hypocrite, it’s not relevant), but what comes out instead, spoken slightly sped up like he’s trying to rush through the words, is: “So I may have told the reception specifically to give us a one-bed room. And they may have ended up with the impression that we’re being discrete because we’ve, um, run off together. Romantically. And it’s a good cover, right, but it, uh, occurs to me right now that that might not have been the greatest idea, given. Everything.” He waves a hand vaguely and shuts up with an audible click.
Fox takes a second to untangle all that.
By ‘everything’, he assumes Quinlan means the part where both of them are clearly interested in each other but never have the time to actually get to doing something about it, on account of always meeting while working. And then having more work.
Instead of addressing any of that, what comes out of his mouth is, “You made our cover story ‘eloped away’?”
There’s a brief silence, filled with all the incredulous disbelief he can muster, before he concludes, “I have no idea what to do with that. Or where to even start.”
Quinlan winces but doesn’t reply.
After a moment’s contemplation, Fox decides he isn’t dealing with any of that tonight. He just slides down and flips over the cover of the bed so he’s under it.
He glares at Quinlan who’s still sitting right there (Nice view from here, he thinks, vaguely annoyed by that) and tells him, “I’m going to sleep. So are you. Good night.”
And then closes his eyes and decides to fall asleep.
But no amount of decisiveness can make him miss it when, after a non-small amount of time has passed, the other side of the bed finally dips.
At least eight hours later, which still feels far too short, Fox wakes up.
Unlike previous times in recent memory, he feels surprisingly well, if not quite in top shape. It is highly likely, Fox admits to himself, that this has something to do with the fact that Quinlan Vos is currently clutching him to his chest rather tightly. He decides not to extricate himself yet and to simply... enjoy the moment.
How novel.
It doesn’t last very long but that’s made up for by the way Quinlan’s voice, rough from sleep, sounds when he says “Good morning” while his face is still buried in his shoulder.
“Morning,” replies Fox and starts the process of disentanglement, careful with the newness of it.
They really should talk about all this and clear the air at some point. Tired or not, it was probably rude to brush him off last… night?
Fox gets off the bed and stretches. “What time is it, even?”
“Uh,” says Quinlan, which is not an answer. When Fox turns to look at him, he’s staring sort of wide-eyed.
Fox raises an eyebrow. “Need a moment?”
“Uh, no. No. It’s fine.” He clears his throat. “It should be about noon now. Zhellday.”
Fox nods and pointedly doesn’t turn around when Quinlan himself gets up to stretch and put on his shirt.
He retrieves his lightsaber from where he’d apparently stored it last night next to the bed in easy reach. (Fox makes a note to mention that to Cody. Obi-Wan Kenobi has a reputation and, more, Cody won’t shut up about having to retrieve his weapon again over drinks. It will be even funnier since Kenobi and Quinlan were apparently friends growing up together.)
(Quinlan is the Guard’s Jetii. Not officially but he absolutely is. They’re all honor-bound to challenge it when others say their Jedi is better and the 212th is particularly bad about it.)
“So, I meant to ask before but how did you even get caught? Doesn’t seem like you.” Quinlan asks offhand except for how he’s pointlessly fiddling with his lightsaber to avoid looking up.
And there goes Fox’s good mood.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to know.”
Quinlan’s head jerks up. “You don’t remember?” There’s a tangible thread of worry in his voice.
Fox crosses his arms and now he’s the one avoiding eye contact. “Not a thing.” Oh, Quinlan’s coming over to this side of the bed. He tries to diffuse the unease in the air. “It’s fine, it’s probably just from whatever they hit me with. And I’m used to it. Heartattack says it’s from stress.”
“This is a recurring problem?” The worry has turned into outright horror and, no, this is the opposite of what he intended.
Hands on his face. He’s blinking at brown eyes. This is familiar.
“Fox.”
“Quinlan.”He returns in the exact same tone.
“You…” Whatever he was going to say dies and instead he huffs and steps back, hands sliding from his face to hold his shoulders. “…need a vacation. Desperately.”
Fox snorts, tension disappearing. “I’ll get right on to that. You want to ask the Chancellor nicely or should I do it myself?”
“Well, thankfully,” he says, slipping an arm around his shoulder and suddenly this is a much different scene, “Sheev Palpatine is not here and can’t stop you from enjoying life and decadent things like a consistent sleep schedule.”
Fox turns his head to look at him skeptically. “Are you suggesting I should purposefully spend a significant amount of time here instead of returning to Coruscant with the next available ship today?”
“Well, you don’t really have much choice in the matter, do you?”
When the only thing that statement gets from Fox is silence and raised eyebrows, Quinlan’s winning smile dims a bit.
“…Right, I forgot to mention.”
“Now who’s out of it?” Fox snorts. “Go on, hit me with it.”
“Okay so: here’s the best part of this whole mess.”
“I’m already afraid.”
“Hey!” Quinlan puts on a faux-hurt tone but lets it fade in the face of Fox’s unimpressed look and explains. “The whole planet’s on lock down - one of a kind storm. It will take at least a week to be able to leave.”
“How is this the best part?” Fox asks incredulously. He doesn’t even want to know what shape Coruscant will be in after he’s already been gone for so long, let alone another week.
“It isn’t. The best part is that it just so happens that it’s currently a major holiday. There’s a festival that will last for the next two weeks.” His grin gets wider, somehow. “Welcome to your vacation, Commander. I hope you like cold weather.”
Fox refrains from hitting him with the nearest pillow. Barely.
Quinlan gives him a knife.
Quinlan gives him a knife.
This is fine.
He manages to play it completely cool. There’s just one slight hiccup.
Fox holds up the knife to see it better in the light, which must’ve come back at some point while they were sleeping. There’s something on it…
“Is this blood?” He looks incredulously from gift to giver.
“Hm? Ah.” Quinlan looks closer at it, like he could have possibly missed it before. “So it is.”
“Did you take this from—?”
“Maybe. But hey, at least you know it works?”
Now Fox feels like maybe he should be worried for Quinlan’s brain, not the other way around.
“It’s a knife, how can it not work?”
Quinlan huffs. “Well, if you don’t want it—”
“No, it’s fine.” He ponders for a second but decides to ask. “Whose blood is it?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Did you just give me a knife you got stabbed with.”
“Listen, it’s not like I walk around with an arsenal of weapons, take it or leave it. And I didn’t get stabbed, it’s just a scratch.”
With that extremely confidence-inspiring answer he turns around and sits on the same chair as last night, fiddling with his lightsaber again. Fox can’t tell if something’s actually wrong with it or if he’s just using it as an excuse to appear busy.
Fox sets to cleaning his new knife, and asks offhandedly.
“Instead of playing with that shouldn’t you be figuring out what to do about whatever mission you were on before coming over here?”
He doesn’t get an answer for a long moment and when he glances up, he finds Quinlan looking at him funny.
“What? Got your blood on my face?”
“Fox,” he says slowly, like he’s having a revelation, “this is my mission.”
Fox blinks at him.
“This?” He echoes. But he hasn’t been doing anything but—
Oh.
“Yeah.” Quinlan raises an eyebrow at him. “What, you thought I just happened to be hanging around and decided to take a stroll through those guys’ wannabe dungeon?”
Fox shrugs. “Jedi are always popping up in strange places.”
The Jedi in question who does this almost every time they see each other, rolls his eyes.
“Well, not this time. I came all the way here specifically for you, Commander. Feel special?” He gives him a winning smile.
Fox rolls his eyes at him and ignores how that makes something flutter in his chest. Partly to get away from the feeling (just liking someone is different from fluttery feelings, and they haven’t even had the conversation about the first one yet) but mostly as a genuine inquiry, he questions, “How did you even know where to look?”
“Oh, you know. You hear all sorts of things from all sorts of people, if you’ve been around long enough.”
“What a useful and not at all vague answer, thank you,” says Fox, dry as sand.
“It’s the only one you’re getting. I can’t go around outing my sources to the authorities, they’ll stop talking to me.”
“You’re the authorities, as well.”
“Well, don’t go spreading that around.”
“No, I’m definitely going to tell all my criminal friends as soon as your back is turned.”
Quinlan grins at him. “You are feeling better. Good.”
They go out later that day.
Like Quinlan said, there’s some kind of festival happening. Even though the part of the city they’re staying in wouldn’t be out of place in Coruscant’s underground, there’s still a tangible feeling of celebration in the air.
It’s oddly joyful to walk around and more or less blend in with the crowds.
They stop to the side of the street which is entirely taken up by a display of red-orange… things.
“What is this supposed to be?”
“It’s art.”
Fox gives him a look. “It’s a plant, I’m fairly certain.” It has leaves and vines maybe, he thinks, if he twists his head around and squints.
“Still art,” Quinlan argues, oddly impassioned about it. “Look how it grows, over here.” He points a path along the side of it. “It’s guided so it grows like that. If you do it really well, you won’t ever need to cut it.”
“Really?” Fox asks skeptically. Never?
“Yes. And this tiny guy is practically a baby too — the real impressive stuff is hundreds of years old. Entire generations’ worth of work goes into maintaining and expanding them.”
“You know a lot about this,” Fox remarks neutrally even though he has to fight down a smile at Quinlan’s rising enthusiasm for strange plant life turned artwork.
Who knew - Quinlan Vos, Jedi and secret nerd.
“It’s interesting!” He defends himself but still grins at him over his shoulder. “Let’s go see what's over there.”
Quinlan offers him a gloved hand, almost casually. The way he very carefully doesn’t look at him is a dead giveaway.
Fox hesitates for a moment but…
“Trying to make sure you don’t get lost, Vos?”
He takes his hand and pretends his heart doesn’t start beating faster when Quinlan grips him harder.
“Excuse you, which one of us was just kidnapped? This is for your protection, Commander.”
Fox snorts and steps closer. “Better stay near then. There might be more of them hiding in the bushes.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
Even though it’s a ridiculous thought and Fox is perfectly capable of defending himself, the words still warm him. He lets himself smile, a little.
(Some time later that week, after funtimes are rudely interrupted by Quinlan’s psychometry, a panic attack is averted and much cuddling has happened:
“I can’t believe it was Palpatine all along.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Well, as much as I’d like to apply a lightsaber liberally to his face, that would probably go poorly.”
“…Point. But if it comes to a fight I better get to shoot him at least once.”
“If it comes to a fight? I think you mean when.”
“It’s called ‘optimism’.”
“I’m surprised you even know what that word is.”
“Why don’t you stop making fun of me and instead think of how you’re going to break this to the Jedi Council?”
“…Oh, Master Windu is going to kill me.”
“Don’t worry — I’ll protect you.”)
A/N: Not pictured: Mace Windu, on the other side of the galaxy, gets a headache and a feeling like something disastrous is about to happen. But in a good way. He pauses for a second before continuing to drink his tea. It might be some time before he next has time off to enjoy it. His comm starts ringing.
