Curate, connect, and discover
Commander Fox X Reader - Blog Posts
@vodika-vibes This is fluffily beautiful!!! Thank you for writing my request! ❤️❤️ The actual inspiration was my brother back when we were teens. Used to piss my dad off that he couldn’t communicate right away. Their solution was The Head Pat. 💖
Hi Vod’ika! I enjoy your stories so much! May I make a request? Prompt category Physical Gestures. Perky morning person (F) a little insecure. Chronically sleep-deprived clone BF can’t talk to her until he’s had morning caf and some time. Compromise is a pat on the head (or similar) as he walks by to acknowledge her presence without engaging until he’s awake. Perhaps Hunter, Rex, Fox or Wolffe. Thank you for considering. 😊
Morning Person
Summary: Fox loves his girlfriend. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He even loves how bright and bubbly she is first thing in the morning. It’s not her fault he cannot function without a cup of caf first thing in the morning.
Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader
Word Count: 1031
Warnings: Reader is described as having long hair that "tumbles down her back" and she can wear it in a bun on the top of her head.
A/N: Hihi! You sent this in and I immediately knew what I wanted to write! But then it turned into something soft and fluffy at the end, lol. Thanks for your request~
Click HERE to be added to my taglist
Fox hates mornings.
In his, professional, opinion. Any time before 10 should be illegal, and he shouldn’t be forced to work before noon.
Tragically, the galaxy very rarely cares about what he wants, so here he is. Awake and sort of aware at 7 am.
The bed next to him is still a little warm, but that tracks. His perfect cyare wakes up at 6:30 every morning, even on days when she doesn’t have to work. Distantly, he can hear her moving around the kitchen, and soon enough the familiar scent of breakfast sausage cooking wafts into the bedroom.
Fuck, he loves her.
Groggily, he rolls off the bed, and stumbles into the fresher to shower for the day. It doesn’t help wake him up, but it needs to happen, and if he doesn’t do it now, it won’t get done.
One quick shower later, Fox meanders his way through the apartment he shares with his cyare and into the kitchen. There, standing at the stove with a spatula in her hand, is his cyare.
Her hair is pulled into a knot at the top of her head, and she’s clad in one of his shirts and her frog covered sleep pants. She’s adorable. And she notices him as soon as he steps into the room.
“Morning Fox~” She chirps, “Did you sleep well?”
Fox grunts an affirmative noise and walks over to her. Normally, he would pat her head and kiss her forehead as a way to acknowledge her in the morning, but her hairstyle forbids it this morning.
So, instead, he kisses her temple and rubs his thumb down the back of her neck, before he steps around her to grab the, already prepared, cup of caf.
His poor cyare is a little insecure about her place in his life, even now, and so does everything in her power to be useful to him. This means, in this case, that she makes him breakfast every morning and preps his caf the way that he likes before he wakes up.
He, personally, thinks it’s ridiculous. Why would he want to look at another woman when he has her, after all? But she’s allowed her insecurities. It’s his job to make sure that they don’t overwhelm her.
When they first moved in together, she took his silence in the morning as an indication that he wasn’t happy with her. Though she never mentioned her thoughts to him, she just allowed the belief to work her into an anxious frenzy, until she broke down sobbing one morning asking him if he didn’t love her anymore.
That had been a mess and a half to clean up and untangle.
Together, they worked out that so long as he acknowledges her in the morning, even if it’s something as simple as a touch and a kiss, it keeps her from overthinking everything.
He settles on one of the kitchen chairs, silently nursing his caf, as he watches her make breakfast for them. She’s humming along with the radio, and a small smile lifts his lips.
Her hair is a mess, she’s not wearing any make-up. Her clothes are wrinkled and worn, or very childish in the case of her pants. She would be the first one to say that this is when she looks her worst.
She’s wrong.
Right here, first thing in the morning, when it’s just him and her and no one else, she’s never more beautiful. He really is a lucky asshole.
He watches her plate breakfast, sausage, toast, fresh fruit, and some juice, then she sets a plate in front of him, before sitting in the chair next to him.
That’s about the time she realizes that he’s staring at her.
“What?”
Fox absently pushes his mug to the side, and reaches out for her, his hand settling on her cheek as he coaxes her closer to him so he’s able to press kisses across her face. His free hand reaches up to tug the rubber band out of her hand, allowing her long hair to fall around her shoulders and down her back.
A giggle falls from her as he pushes her hair out of her face, so he can continue kissing her, “Fox! Our breakfast will get cold!”
“It’ll keep,” He mumbles against her jaw, “Love you.”
One of her hands tangles in his curls, while the other curls around his bicep. “Silly man, what’s gotten into you?”
Fox just hums and continues pressing feather-light kisses across her face, until he finally catches her lips with his own in a series of light kisses. Then he decides that she’s not nearly close enough, and he swiftly tugs her from her chair until she’s sitting on his lap.
Still not close enough, but it’ll do for now.
A sigh falls from her, soft and love-sick, and Fox grins against her lips before pulling away and pressing his forehead against hers.
She has a dreamy look on her face and a goofy smile on her lips, “Goodness,” She murmurs, her fingers falling from his curls to rest against his stubble-covered cheek, “Have I just been depriving you, Fox?”
“Went all night without kissing you,” Fox replies, suddenly very, very awake, “Had to make up for lost time.”
“Ah, so you’re not deprived. You’re spoiled.” Her voice is teasing and her eyes are soft. Her fingers trail against his jaw, and she huffs out a sigh, “You forgot to shave.”
“Didn’t forget. Didn’t feel like it. Too much effort.”
She shakes her head, “After breakfast, I’ll get the stuff and do it for you. I know how much you hate the feel of your stubble in your helmet.”
Fox feels his heart lurch in his chest. She really is perfect. And so, he pulls her into another kiss, though this time he doesn’t keep it chaste. If she’s not giggling like a schoolgirl when he finishes, then he’s not kissing her thoroughly enough.
The rest of the galaxy can take a hike. This, right now, is more important. And, just before he gets too lost in her lips, he can’t help but think that, just maybe, mornings aren’t that bad.
@kimiheartblade
@yoitsjay
@liz-stat
@bb8-99
@falconfeather23435
@dukeoftheblackstar
@continous-mistakes
@0revna0
@trixie2023
@mira-loves-star-wars
@adriennelenoir
@rebell-ious
@silly-starfish
@maniacalbooper
@padawancat97
@justiceandwar98
@bekah_curlygirl
@cdblake1565
@cc--2224
@omegaprime18
@wax-birds
@msmeredithrose
@tiredbi-peach
@badbatch-bitch
@sweater-sloot
@etod
@bekahcurlygirl
@lonewolflupe
@bad4amficideas
@clones-cyare
@kiss-anon
I’m SO excited to read more of this. Completely agree Fox is a grumpy cutie who needs reassurance, naps, blankies and the good caf. And I absolutely loved Thorn basically marching him for treatment and how he knew Fox would 💯 skip out the moment he wasn’t looking 😂
Too Sweet
Pairing: Fox x fem!Reader / Fox x Doctor!Reader
Words: 6,140/20,589
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, strangers to lovers, grumpy/sunshine, description of blood/wound care, Fox is a little anxious/paranoid, and he needs a hug, you can pry goofy Thorn out of my cold dead hands, smut in part 3? 4?
Summary: Fox has no time for romance. He doesn't even have time for sleep, let alone dates. But when a horrible day at work leads him to you, he suddenly finds himself in danger of reevaluating his priorities.
A/N: Trying something a little different with more, shorter parts for these longer fics. Also forgot to say thanks for 650 followers! hello!
Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist
“For the last time, I don’t need a medic.”
Fox is trying to be polite about it, but the tone of his voice is bordering on a growl. Every push on his shoulder is a jab to his pride, making him hiss like an angry tooka-cat. He knows he's being ridiculous, but that's never stopped him before.
His patience is already thin, but it had been stretched to the breaking point by a series of unfortunate events over the course of the day. The first, and arguably the most annoying, had occurred at the beginning of his shift.
Fox had woken up late, and his alarm clock had gone off with a loud, obnoxious tone that had caused him to shoot straight up in his bed, slamming a fist onto the off button. He scrambled out of bed and dressed faster than he thought possible, then hurried into the mess hall for the early shift breakfast. He was late enough that the food line was empty, and his choice was between a bowl of sludgy porridge or an unidentifiable ration bar.
The ration bar had tasted like stale durasteel, and the porridge was more of a thick slop, so Fox had opted for the latter. He scarfed it down with a mug of caf after an overdrawn fight with the machine, which tried to refuse him more than one portion of caf. He had left the mess hall with his stomach growling and his mouth bitter with the aftertaste of the caf, and his mood had soured even further when he found the lift under maintenance, forcing him to take the stairs.
When he arrived at the office, there was an enormous stack of datapads on his desk. A new security system had just been installed throughout the city, and the details were apparently too sensitive to be kept on the holonet. The only copies of the schematics were the ones on the physical datapads, and Fox had the wonderful task of checking every single one.
By the time lunch came around, Fox had managed to read through half the stack despite the constant interruptions. Someone would come in and ask about some obscure policy, or a trooper would report that someone had thrown a bottle at him, and the Chancellor would call for updates, and all the while, Fox had to be careful not to crush the datapads with his gauntlets.
The Chancellor was especially persistent today, calling him in person to demand a detailed analysis of the new security measures. Fox was forced to leave the datapads behind in order to give him an impromptu briefing, which ended with the Chancellor dismissing him with a wave of his hand and a curt, "I'm sure you have more important things to attend to."
Fox was seething when he returned to his office, and in a last minute attempt to escape his prison and an effort to calm himself, he decided to walk the patrol route himself instead of sending a trooper.
Of course, this had to be the day that every citizen on Coruscant decided to commit a crime, from a jaywalking elderly woman to a pair of pickpockets that had made off with a trooper's blaster. There was an argument outside a bar, an illegal speeder chase, and a man had decided to start a fire in the middle of the street, and all this had happened in the span of less than two hours.
Thorn had thought it was funny, but Fox hadn't found it nearly as entertaining. And now, he's been injured during the scuffle with the firestarter, and Thorn is making a big fuss about it.
Fox's shoulder throbs with pain as he moves, and he tries to ignore the way the skin is tightening around the wound. It's only a scratch, but it's deep, and Fox can feel blood oozing out of the cut and dripping down his armor. His head is pounding, and his chest aches from having been slammed against the duracrete by the man's boot.
A hand presses down on his shoulder, and Fox flinches away with another hiss. He turns on Thorn with a scowl
"I'm fine," he growls, shrugging Thorn's hand off his shoulder. "Leave it alone."
"Fox," Thorn says. He's trying to sound reasonable, but Fox can hear the exasperation in his voice. "It's a karking gash on your arm. I can't leave it alone."
Fox rolls his eyes. "I'm not letting you drag me back to the medbay for something as minor as this," he says. He turns and starts walking, heading towards the Senate building. "We've got more important things to do."
"I'm not dragging you to the medbay," Thorn says, running to catch up. He grabs Fox's arm and yanks him to a stop. "You're going to GMF. It's on the way to the Senate anyway."
"What? No!" Fox sputters, but Thorn is already pulling him down the street. He digs his heels into the ground, but Thorn is stronger than he is, and the other commander pulls him forward without breaking his stride.
"You're coming with me whether you like it or not," Thorn says, his voice firm. He doesn't loosen his grip, and Fox can only follow along helplessly. "The office will survive without you for a couple of hours."
"Thorn, you're not—"
"Yes, I am."
Fox scowls. Thorn isn't budging, and neither is he, and they've reached a stalemate. He's considering the merits of just sitting down and refusing to move, but before he can even make a decision, they're already at GMF.
"Let's go," Thorn says, pulling him up the steps. "Just stop trying to act tough and get over yourself."
Fox wants to protest, but Thorn has an iron grip on his arm, and he doesn't want to risk a public spectacle, so he allows himself to be pulled inside.
"Fine," he huffs. He can already feel a headache coming on, and his stomach is still grumbling in protest at its meager breakfast. Maybe he'll be able to sneak away before anyone notices, and no one will ever know that the Commander of the Guard was seen at GMF for such a minor injury.
"That's the spirit," Thorn says, grinning. He pulls on Fox's arm again, and this time, Fox lets himself be dragged away.
They've been sitting in the waiting room for a few minutes, and Fox is already starting to regret his decision. It's a busy day at GMF, and a steady stream of injured people are filing into the building, filling the waiting room with a cacophony of moans and groans.
Fox's shoulder is starting to throb again, and the wound is leaking blood into the fabric of his blacks. Thorn is tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his expression thoughtful.
"I wonder how many people are in here because of you," he says, looking around the room. There's a group of young men sitting on the opposite side of the room, nursing a variety of wounds. "They must be getting sick of seeing the Guard around here."
Fox glares at him, and Thorn chuckles.
"You'd think they'd learn their lesson and stop committing crimes," Fox mutters.
"We'd all like that," he laughs. "But we both know that won't happen."
Fox sighs, leaning back against the wall. He shifts slightly, trying to find a comfortable position. He's still annoyed about his arm, and now the smell of bacta is starting to get to him. It had always had a pungent, chemical smell to him, and the scent of the various medical supplies is making him queasy.
He can feel his stomach starting to churn, and he closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. The bright fluorescent lights are only making things worse, and the sound of the door sliding open and closed as various people walked in and out of the medical wing is grating on his nerves.
It doesn't help that Thorn is sitting right next to him, staring him down like he's a suspect in an interrogation. He'd caught on to Fox's plan to slip away almost as soon as they'd stepped into the room, and Fox had been forced to endure his company as they waited for their turn.
"How long is this going to take?"
"They said they were pretty busy today," Thorn says. "I'm not sure, but you're probably going to be waiting for a while."
"Great."
"Don't be such a baby. It'll be over before you know it."
Fox groans and leans back in his chair. He can't help but think of all the work that he should be doing right now. The stack of datapads has probably gotten taller since they left the office, and he'll have even more work to do once he returns.
He hates the feeling of wasting time, especially when there's so much to be done, and at this rate, he'll be lucky if he manages to finish the rest of his work by nightfall. And that was if the Chancellor didn't call him again.
"You should go back," Fox says, looking up at Thorn. "I can handle this."
Thorn raises an eyebrow, giving him an incredulous look.
"And let you weasel your way out of getting that arm checked out?" he scoffs. "I don't think so."
Fox shoots him a glare, but Thorn only grins.
"Nice try, but no," he says. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."
"Thorn—"
"I'm not going anywhere."
Fox sighs and slumps in his seat. He can see that Thorn isn't going to budge, and he doesn't have the energy to argue with him. His shoulder is really starting to hurt now, and the bleeding hasn't slowed down yet. He's getting dizzy, and the queasiness is growing stronger
He closes his eyes, resting his head against the wall. He feels terrible, and the longer he sits here, the worse he feels. The smell of the bacta is making his stomach turn, and the noise and chaos in the room is starting to get to him.
The medical center always brings back memories of the Kaminoans, and he was usually only ever here when one of his brothers was seriously injured. He doesn't have fond feelings towards the place.
"This is a waste of time," Fox mutters. "I could be working, or doing literally anything else right now."
"You know it's not a waste of time," Thorn says. He's looking around the room, keeping a close eye on the other people. "You're injured, and you need to get that taken care of. Stop being such a stubborn di'kut."
Fox is about to say something in response, his eyes land on a medical droid heading their way. He lets out a sigh of relief and gets to his feet. Finally, his suffering is about to end.
"Commander Fox?" the medical droid asks, stopping in front of him with a metallic whir.
"Yes, that's me."
"Please follow me. We're ready for you now."
"Finally," Fox mutters, ignoring Thorn's chuckle.
He follows the droid down a long, white corridor, his footsteps echoing against the tile floor. He keeps his eyes forward, refusing to look back at Thorn. He doesn't want to see the smug look on his brother's face.
After a few minutes, the droid leads them into an examination room and motions for him to sit down on the cot. Fox complies, perching on the edge of the thin mattress and crossing his arms, trying not to fidget, and Thorn takes a seat in the chair in the corner of the room.
The droid is quick and efficient, running the scanner over his shoulder and chest and checking the readouts. It tells him that he'll need some stitches and bacta treatment, and Fox sigh, nodding his agreement.
"Thank you, Commander," the droid says. It stands still for a moment, processing its data, and then turns and exits the room.
"You're not getting out of this one," Thorn says as soon as the doors shut behind the droid.
"I know," Fox grumbles, slumping in his seat. He rests his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "I just want to get this over with."
Thorn shakes his head, a smile playing across his lips. He doesn't say anything, but Fox knows he's just happy to have won. They're both competitive, and any victory, no matter how small, is something to celebrate.
"Stop that," Fox snaps. He doesn't want to deal with Thorn's smugness. He's already irritated, and the last thing he needs is for his brother to rub his victory in his face.
"Stop what?" Thorn asks, feigning innocence.
“That thing that you’re doing with your face.”
“It’s called smiling, Fox, you should try it sometime. I think you could use the practice,” Thorn teases, and Fox rolls his eyes.
Before he can come up with a retort, the door opens, and Fox reflexively straightens, preparing himself for the worst. The medical droids aren't exactly known for their gentle touches and bedside manner.
To his surprise, the person who enters the room isn't a medical droid.
Fox feels his eyes widen as he takes in the decidedly human figure standing in the doorway, a datapad in hand. Wearing a crisp, clean set of medical whites, you stand tall, and his first thought is that you're beautiful.
His second thought is that you look far too cheerful for someone working in a medical facility. Your eyes are bright, and you're smiling, and the expression is so warm and genuine that it makes him wonder how you're managing to maintain it in a place like this.
It's a nice smile.
It isn't until Thorn clears his throat that Fox realizes he's been staring at you for the last few seconds, and he hastily looks away just as you glance up from the datapad.
"Hello," you say, your voice soft. "Commander Fox, is it?"
"Y-yes," he manages to reply, feeling his cheeks flush.
"And I'm Commander Thorn," Thorn chimes in, and he shoots him a smug look when Fox turns to glare at him.
"Well, hello," you say. Your voice is warm and melodic, and your eyes are sparkling. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."
"The pleasure's all mine," Thorn replies, flashing you a grin.
"Yeah," Fox mumbles. "Pleasure."
He's never felt so awkward in his life, and he's suddenly acutely aware of the blood on his armor, the way his hair is sticking up in all directions, and the fact that he hasn't slept in a couple days. You, on the other hand, look fresh and put together, and you're practically glowing.
You introduce yourself, and you give them a brief summary of your qualifications and experience. Fox doesn't pay much attention to what you're saying. He's too busy trying not to stare at you, and it isn't until he hears the word 'bacta' that he snaps back to reality.
"Wait, what?" he asks.
"Bacta," you repeat, tilting your head slightly. "It's a healing substance that stimulates the body's natural ability to regenerate tissue."
"I know what bacta is," he says, his tone coming out harsher than he intended.
You blink at him, clearly startled by his response, and Fox feels his face heating up.
"Right," you say, clearing your throat. You offer him a small, polite smile, and he looks away, embarrassed. "As I was saying, we'll need to administer a small dose of bacta to the area where the injury occurred. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."
"Fine." Fox crosses his arms and tries not to scowl, and you turn away, tapping on your datapad again. Thorn kicks him in the shin, and Fox gives him a look. The other commander gestures with his eyes to you, and Fox frowns, shaking his head.
"Do you have any allergies or medical conditions?" you ask, looking up from the screen.
"No," Fox says, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. The mattress is far too thin, and the metal frame is digging into the back of his knees. "I already told the droid."
"Right," you say. "Just making sure."
Fox glances over at Thorn, who gives him an exasperated look, and Fox sighs. He knows that he's being difficult, but he can't seem to stop himself. His shoulder hurts, his head is throbbing, and his stomach is rumbling, and he just wants to get this over with so he can return to the office and finally finish the rest of his work.
He looks back at you and sees that you're staring at him. You're looking at him with concern, and your lips are pressed into a thin line. You're not smiling anymore, and Fox feels a twinge of guilt.
"You don't have to be nervous," you say. "This is going to be a quick procedure, and it won't hurt at all. We'll use a local anesthetic and numbing spray, and you won't feel a thing."
"I'm not nervous," Fox protests, his face flushing. "I just don't have time for this."
"I understand," you say, and your expression softens. "But this is important, and we need to make sure that you're taken care of."
Fox wants to argue, but there's a hint of steel in your tone, and the look in your eyes is firm. You're clearly not going to let him get out of this, and he sighs, resigning himself to his fate.
"Alright," he says, reluctantly.
"Great," you say, giving him a small, reassuring smile.
He feels a little better when you smile at him, and he tries not to smile back. You turn away, busying yourself with setting up the equipment, and Fox takes the opportunity to look at you again. You're standing with your back to him, and he can see the outline of your figure through your medical whites. You're not very tall, but you're not short either, and he wonders how old you are. You can't be older than twenty-five, he guesses, but it's hard to tell with natborns.
"How did you get that injury, anyway?" you ask, glancing over your shoulder.
"Work-related incident," Fox says. He doesn't want to tell you the truth. He doesn't want you to think he's a clumsy idiot, or that he can't do his job properly.
"Oh," you say, sounding a little surprised. You turn back to the equipment, and he can see the muscles in your back tense. "That sounds... dangerous."
"It's nothing," Fox says, his voice low. "I can handle it."
"Of course," you say softly. You turn around and walk over to the cot, your gaze focused on the equipment. "Okay, armor off, Commander. Let's see it."
Fox stiffens, his heart skipping a beat. "I—what?"
"The injury," you say, your brow furrowing slightly. You reach over and brush your fingers against his arm. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Fox says, a little too quickly.
Thorn lets out a snort, and Fox glares at him. He just raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face, and Fox rolls his eyes.
"Sorry, it's been a long day," he says as he turns back to you. "Just a bit tired, is all."
"That's understandable," you say, your lips curving into a small, sympathetic smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I've been on my feet since 0600."
"I think you win," Fox says, his voice dry.
You let out a small, breathy laugh, and his heart skips a beat again. It's a nice sound, and he feels a strange surge of pride at having caused it.
He was truly terrible at making small talk, and most people found his dry sense of humor off-putting. The fact that you had laughed at his words, even if it had been a polite, professional laugh, was surprising. It was hard not to see it as a small victory in an otherwise terrible day.
You smile at him again, and he feels a sudden urge to smile back. You look like you're about to say something, but then your datapad beeps, and the moment is lost.
"I'll be right back," you say. "Just got to check something."
You step out of the room, and Fox lets out a breath, relieved that you're gone. He hadn't expected you to be so friendly, or to be so concerned about him. Most natborns just saw the troopers as an extension of their equipment, and they only spoke to him if there was a problem. You're different, though, and it's unnerving.
"You're blushing."
"What?" Fox sputters, turning to Thorn. "What are you talking about?"
"Your face is red," Thorn says with a wide grin.
"It's the lights," he says, pointing to the ceiling. "They're too bright."
"I didn't know we could blush," Thorn teases. "That's kinda cute."
"Shut up."
"Oh, come on. You can't tell me you're not at least a little bit interested."
Fox sighs and shakes his head. "Not now, Thorn. We're in a medical center, not a bar."
"Good thing, too." Thorn stands up and starts to help him unlatch his armor, a smirk on his face. "Cause if we were, you wouldn't have a chance. She's way out of your league."
"You're the worst," Fox says, and he swats Thorn's hands away and reaches up to unfasten his shoulder plates himself.
"She's pretty," Thorn continues, ignoring him. He pulls off Fox's pauldrons and sets them on the ground. "And she's not scared of you, either. That's a first."
"Yeah, well, she works in a medical facility," Fox mutters, slipping out of his cuirass. "They must have taught her how to deal with difficult patients."
"Maybe," Thorn says. He removes the rest of Fox's armor, placing it carefully on the ground, and then steps back. "But I don't think that's it. She's nice."
"She's paid to be nice."
"That's not fair, and you know it."
"I don't need you playing matchmaker," Fox grumbles.
"Fine," Thorn says, crossing his arms. "But if you don't ask for her frequency, I will."
Fox's eyes widen. "Don't you dare—"
The doors slide open again, and you step inside, your expression bright. "Sorry about that."
Your gaze is focused on the gloves you're pulling over your hands as you walk in, but as soon as you look up, your smile vanishes, and you freeze. Your eyes are fixed on his arm, and Fox quickly glances down, noticing the large dark patch of blood seeping through his undershirt.
"Oh, Commander!" you exclaim, hurrying towards him.
"It's not that bad," he says. He hadn't realized how bad it was until now, and his heart is pounding in his chest. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Your tone is stern, and he finds himself shrinking back a little under your intense gaze. "Now sit still."
Fox does as he's told, watching as you pull a stool over and set up a tray. Your movements are swift and practiced, and you don't seem at all bothered by the amount of blood. You're frowning, but your eyes are calm, and Fox finds himself relaxing a little.
"Let's get this over with," you mutter.
You're not smiling anymore, and it unsettles him. He'd thought that he had imagined the steel in your voice earlier, but now he can hear it clearly, and it sends a shiver down his spine.
"Yes, sir," he says, trying to lighten the mood.
"It's doctor, actually."
Fox winces.
"My mistake," he mutters, his voice apologetic. "Force of habit."
You look at him, and he thinks he sees the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, but before he can be sure, your face is composed and neutral again.
"Would you prefer I cut the sleeve off, or would you rather take it off yourself?"
"I'll do it."
You nod, and he lifts his arms, peeling the soaked fabric away from his skin. His stomach clenches at the sight of the deep, bloody gash, and the stench of copper is heavy in the air. He can feel the blood beginning to trickle down his arm, and the sight of his pale, slick flesh is almost enough to make him vomit.
"Are you okay?" you ask, placing a hand on his uninjured shoulder.
"Yeah," Fox manages. He's feeling a little woozy, but he tries to push it down. "I'll be fine."
You give him a sympathetic look, and he looks away, his gaze fixed on the wall.
"Okay," you say. You grab a vial and a syringe and inject it into his arm. "This should help numb the pain. Try not to move."
Fox nods, and you lean closer, gently cleaning the wound. The smell of the disinfectant is strong, and he forces himself to focus on your face instead. Your expression is calm, and you're humming softly as you work, and he finds himself relaxing a little more.
"How did this happen, anyway?"
"Like I said, it's work-related."
"So it was a knife, then?"
Fox glances at the gash, and he nods. He can't tell if the cut is deep enough to require stitches or not, and he's a little worried that the knife might have hit an artery.
"You're going to have a nice scar."
"Good. It'll match the others," he mutters, his tone flat.
You pause for a moment, looking at him. Your expression is unreadable, but there's a sadness in your eyes that he doesn't understand. You resume cleaning the wound, and he tries not to think about it.
"Do you always go out in the field?" you ask.
"Sometimes."
"And do you usually get injured like this?"
"It's not uncommon."
"Hmm." You're quiet for a few moments, and then you glance up at him, your eyes filled with concern. "You're very brave."
Fox is stunned. No one has ever said anything like that to him before, and it catches him off guard. He doesn't know how to respond, and he just sits there, staring at you. You don't seem to mind, and you return your attention to his wound.
"This is a lot deeper than I thought," you murmur. "It'll need a few stitches."
"Okay," he says, his voice soft.
"Try to relax," you say, gently touching his arm.
He nods, and you begin to sew up the wound. He tries not to think about the fact that the needle is digging into his flesh, and instead focuses on the feeling of your gloved hands on his skin. They're gentle and warm, and the scent of the disinfectant is beginning to fade, replaced by the faintest trace of flowers.
He can't remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. His brothers are rarely so careful, and most people who touch him are doing so with the intention of causing him harm. It's a pleasant change, and he finds himself enjoying it more than he expected.
"Sorry," you say, glancing up at him. "Almost done."
"Take your time," Fox replies. "I'm in no rush."
That's patently untrue, but the lie slips from his lips easily, and he's rewarded by a smile. He can see Thorn giving him a pointed look, and he knows that his brother will never let him live it down. But right now, he doesn't care.
The smell of flowers grows stronger, and he realizes that it's coming from you. The scent is subtle, but pleasant, and he's surprised by how much he likes it. He wonders what the source is. Is it your hair? Your skin? Or maybe it's something you wear, like perfume. He can't quite tell, and the mystery is starting to bother him.
You finish suturing his wound, and you dab some bacta gel over the stitches, sealing them. The sensation is cool and soothing, and Fox lets out a soft sigh of relief.
"How does that feel?" you ask.
"Better."
"Good," you say, your expression softening. You reach out and squeeze his uninjured shoulder, and Fox's eyes widen slightly at the unexpected gesture. "You should be all set, Commander."
"Thanks," he says, and the word sounds awkward in his ears. He's never thanked anyone for treating his wounds before. Usually, it was a medic droid, or another trooper, and his thanks were never required. But somehow, the words seem necessary now.
"Of course," you say, a hint of surprise in your voice. You remove your gloves, tossing them in the bin, and turn to clean up your equipment. "Do you have any other injuries, Commander? Any other...work-related incidents?"
"No, nothing else."
"Good." You stand up and stretch, and Fox takes the opportunity to admire the shape of your body. He can't help himself, and he quickly looks away, a flush rising on his cheeks.
"Thank you," Thorn chimes in, and Fox nearly jumps out of his skin. He had almost forgotten that the other commander was there, and his brother is looking at him with a knowing smile.
"You're welcome," you say, smiling at Thorn. You turn to Fox and offer him a smile, too, and he tries to smile back. It probably looks more like a grimace, and he quickly drops it.
"Now, remember, if that gets infected, or the stitches come loose before they dissolve, I want you to come right back, okay? No excuses."
"Got it," Fox replies.
"I mean it, Commander," you say, and you give him a stern look. "Don't make me hunt you down."
Fox blinks, his heart skipping a beat. You're serious, and he finds himself nodding, agreeing without thinking.
"Yes, sir," he says, and then mentally curses himself. "Doctor."
You chuckle, and the sound makes his chest tighten. It's the nicest sound he's heard all day, and he can't help but smile. You give him a playful salute, and he returns it, and you laugh again.
"Well, I hope we don't see each other anytime soon," you say, grinning.
"Me, too," Fox mutters, before he stiffens. "I mea—"
"I know what you mean," you say, your eyes sparkling. You hold out a hand, and he hesitates for a moment before taking it. Your skin is warm, and his breath catches in his throat when you gently squeeze his hand. "Take care, Commander."
"You, too," he says, and your smile widens.
You pick up your datapad and step around the cot, moving towards the door. As you pass him, Fox catches another hint of the flowery scent, and his eyes widen. Lavender. It's lavender.
"Have a good day, gentlemen," you say. You flash him one last smile, and then you're gone.
He lets out a long, slow breath, trying to process what just happened. He feels... strange. There's an odd warmth in his chest, and he's still not quite sure what it is. He doesn't think it's anything bad, but it's new, and he doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe it's the blood loss. Or the painkillers. Or maybe it's the bacta. Yeah, it's probably the bacta.
Thorn slaps him on the back, and he lets out a startled noise, nearly falling off the cot.
"I don't know what the hell that was," Thorn says, chuckling. "But it was the most pathetic thing I've ever seen."
"Shut up."
"Seriously," he continues. "She's definitely way out of your league. I might even say she's way out of mine."
"I'm leaving," Fox grumbles. He grabs his armor and starts putting it on, trying not to wince as the plates rub against the bandages. "Get out of my way."
"Sure, sure," Thorn says, stepping aside. He gives Fox a sidelong glance, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Just make sure you give her your frequency."
Fox stops, his helmet half-on. He stares at Thorn, his mouth agape, and then turns away, pulling his bucket on over his head. He's not about to give Thorn the satisfaction of an answer. Not when his brother is clearly enjoying his discomfort so much.
He stalks out of the room, his boots echoing against the tile floor. Thorn follows, laughing, and Fox can feel his cheeks burning. He keeps his head down, his shoulders hunched, and he's determined not to speak another word.
As they walk through the lobby, he notices you standing at the desk, speaking to the receptionist. You're not smiling anymore, but Fox can still see the ghost of it on your lips, and he feels the strange warmth growing inside him.
Thorn elbows him, and Fox lets out a hiss, glaring at him through his visor. He's already starting to regret allowing Thorn to drag him here. This whole experience had been far more traumatic than the injury itself, and he would have been better off ignoring it. But as he looks back at you, his gaze lingering on your form, he finds that he doesn't really regret it. At least not entirely.
The receptionist hands you a datapad, and you nod, thanking her. You turn and look at him, and he quickly ducks his head, pretending to adjust his pauldron.
"Commander!" you call out. "Wait a moment."
Fox stops, and Thorn snorts. He turns and sees you approaching, a small smile on your lips.
"Forget something?" he asks, and he winces internally at how gruff his voice sounds.
"Yes, actually," you say, stopping in front of him.
"Okay," he says slowly. He doesn't really understand why you're talking to him again, but he's not complaining. "What is it?"
"Your frequency."
Fox freezes, his eyes widening. He can't believe what he's hearing, and for a moment, he's convinced that he's misheard. It doesn't seem possible. Not with how the day has gone so far.
He glances over at Thorn, who's practically vibrating with excitement, and he quickly turns back to you, his heart racing.
"Uh..."
"I'll have the receptionist check in on you every few days, just to make sure everything is healing up okay," you continue. You hold out your datapad, and he takes it automatically. "But if there's any complications, or you notice anything unusual, don't hesitate to contact me, okay?"
The breath leaves his lungs, and he's grateful for the bucket over his head. Right. Of course. You're his doctor. This is completely professional. The disappointment that floods his veins is surprising, and he mentally scolds himself. What had he been expecting, anyway?
“That won’t be necessary," he says, handing the datapad back. "But thank you."
You frown. "Commander..."
"It's fine." He turns and gestures for Thorn to follow. "Come on, we've got work to do."
He can hear Thorn muttering behind him, and he knows that his brother is probably annoyed, but he doesn't care. The warmth inside him has vanished, replaced by an uncomfortable numbness. He doesn't know what he was hoping for, and he's glad that the conversation is over. It's better this way.
You call out after him, but he ignores you, and within moments, he's out of the building and back on the street. Thorn is right behind him, and they start the long trek back to the office.
"I can't believe you just did that," Thorn mutters.
"Did what?" Fox asks. He doesn't look at him, keeping his eyes fixed forward. He can feel his face heating up, and he's suddenly feeling very tired.
"You're an idiot," Thorn says, shaking his head.
"Shut up."
They walk in silence for a few minutes, and Fox tries not to think about the conversation. It doesn't matter, and it's better to just forget it.
He's been doing this job long enough to know that it’s dangerous to get attached to people, especially when they were civilians. Things never worked out, and the risk of getting hurt was too great. He'd seen too many of his brothers get their hearts broken by the citizens they were trying to protect, and he wasn't about to let that happen to him. It wasn't worth it. And you weren't special, anyway. You were just another natborn.
He repeats these thoughts to himself over and over, and eventually, he starts to believe them. The warmth inside him disappears, and the numbness returns. He's relieved. He's finally starting to get his head on straight, and the sooner he forgets about you, the better.
And yet, when they reach the Senate building, Fox hesitates. His eyes wander towards the medical center towering over the cityscape, and he feels a twinge in his chest. He tries to ignore it, and he continues walking, heading towards the office. But the ache doesn't go away, and the image of your smile lingers in his mind, taunting him.
He doesn't know why it bothers him so much. He'd only just met you, and it was nothing but a brief conversation. There was no reason to be upset. But somehow, it feels like something was taken from him. And he can't figure out what it was.
Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia
@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak
@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario
@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano
@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear
@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777
@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean
@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus
@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark
@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland
@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino @silly-starfish
@floofyroro @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @meshlajetii @heaven1207
@808tsuika @aanncummings