Bunny 🐇

Kix is watching you closely. He’s always doing that due to the annoying, frustrating, completely unattainable crush he’s developed after weeks of working with you side by side. Honestly, it was impossible not to fall for you, and he doesn’t understand how the entire damn battalion isn’t completely smitten.

The way you move with graceful, yet deadly precision on the battlefield, wielding your lightsaber like it’s an extension of your very soul.

The way you kneel by the side of injured troopers, sharing your own lifeforce to keep them breathing.

The way you offer kind words and comfort even when you’re drained of power and exhausted.

Kix never stood a damn chance.

It didn’t help that, as the healer assigned to the 501st, you’re always in the medbay, always next to him in and out of the battle. And it definitely didn’t help that, when Jesse noticed his crush on you, he started asking you to join them for meals, for hang-outs in the breakroom or outings at the 79s.

But it’s pointless, useless to even imagine you might harbour the same painfully hidden feelings.

So he watches you, and laughs at your jokes, and does his very best to make you smile.

This time, however, his gaze is full of concern.

Because from the second you sat down across from him at their table in the mess hall, you seemed… off.

Your face is slightly drained of its usual colour, and your eyes seem unfocused, as if exhaustion is tightly wrapped around your body in a cold, suffocating embrace. The food on your plate keeps being pushed around, yet it barely makes its way into your mouth. And you’re just a little hunched over, not holding yourself with the typical Jedi finesse he always admires.

When your eyes meet his, Kix shoots you a quizzical look, tilting his head in a silent question. You reply by slightly shaking your head and waving a hand to dismiss his concern, then move your attention back to the story Fives is retelling about his first embarrassingly unsuccessful attempt at hooking up with a girl.

But Kix can’t pay attention to his vod. His medic intuition is screaming that something is wrong. And when he sees you wince in pain, sweet, worried Kix instantly disappears – and lead medic CT-6116 fully takes over.

“Nope, that’s it. You’re coming to the medbay!” he suddenly speaks, bringing all light-hearted conversation around the table to a standstill.

“Kix, I’m fine,” you object with a small roll of your eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Unfortunately, your point is completely ruined as you grimace and involuntarily wrap your arms around your lower abdomen.

“Something is clearly wrong. Medbay. Now!” Kix orders.

“It’s fine, really,” you keep insisting.

Kix is already standing, levelling you with a sharp, but concerned look. “Don’t make me pull rank.”

The entire table watches the confrontation silently, their eyes moving from you to the medic.

“Maker,” you hiss, frustrated. “It’s just my period, okay? Just a bad cramp. It’ll pass.”

“Oh.”

Kix sits back down on the bench, a blush creeping up the back of his neck.

That is not really something he covered during his combat medic training on Kamino. It simply hadn’t been considered efficient or necessary to teach them about female physiology when every trooper produced was biologically male. For the first time since the war began, Kix feels out of his depth.

Di’kut. He should’ve researched this the moment you joined the team.

“Can’t you – I don’t know – make it go away with your Jetti magic?” Fives asks, leaning to see you better past Hardcase.

“That requires being able to concentrate,” you explain. “And it’s always… difficult for me to do during the first two days.” You pause, rubbing your temples. “Hormonal shifts mess with my focus. Especially with Force healing.”

You almost laugh at the awkward silence that settles over the table. For all their bravery and confidence, at the end of the day, they’re still just boys – with very little experience of the world beyond training sims and battlefields.

“I’ll take a painkiller if you have one, though,” you say, directing the request to Kix.

“Uh right, yes,” he mumbles as he stands. “I’ll get right on that.”

He hurries out the mess, muttering some curses. He just had to choose today of all days to come to lunch only in his blacks, wishing to take advantage of the time spent in hyperspace, where they’re safe from any attacks. But what kind of medic doesn't carry some painkillers on him at all times?

He's in and out of the medbay in under thirty seconds, then quickly makes his way back to the mess. When he walks in, however, he instantly clocks that you're no longer sat at their table.

“Echo is helping her get back to her cabin. She said she needed to lay down,” Jesse explains as soon as he approaches.

Kix spins on his heels and pretty much sprints out the large room and down the corridors, catching up to you and Echo as you're waiting for the turbolift.

“I got it from here,” he announces, walking to your side.

Echo nods to him, then gently claps your shoulder before heading back toward the mess.

“Did you run?” you ask, amused, as you notice his rapid breathing.

Kix shrugs in response, then helps you get in the lift. The cramps have intensified. It's not something completely uncommon that might cause you to worry, but it's bad enough that you lean into his side and allow him to help get you back in your quarters.

You plop down on your cot, while Kix hurries to find a cup to fill with water.

“Left side cabinet,” you instruct, watching slightly amused as he completes his task.

Kix hands you the painkillers and the cup, and you thank him with a weak smile.

Once you take the meds, you push the cover away and lay down on your side, knees drawn to your chest and eyes screwed shut as another cramp claws its way through your body.

Ever the medic, Kix kneels by the bed, and checks your temperature with the back of his palm.

Your eyes open, puzzled to feel his hand on your forehead. “I’m not sick, Kix.”

“Just making sure,” he says.

Without thinking, he cups your face and tilts your head so he can better see your pupils. They seem a little wider than usual, but maybe it’s just the lighting in your room.

“Your hand’s warm,” you remark, leaning a little into his touch.

Kix nearly chokes on air.

“Clones, uh… run hot,” he says as his thumb gently strokes your cheek.

He should absolutely not be touching you, a Jedi, like this. And yet… you’re not pulling away. You’re human, after all, you need the comfort. And he sure as hell is happy to provide it.

You close your eyes and wince as another bad cramp hits you. Kix swears his heart clenches at the small sound you make. It could take half an hour for the medicine to kick in… maybe he should run back to the medbay and get you a bacta shot.

“Kix?” you speak before he can decide what to do. “Could you hold me?”

 “W-What?”

He didn’t hear you right… did he? There’s no way you just asked–

“Heat is good for cramps,” you explain softly. “But we shipped out so quickly, I forgot to pack my heating pad.” You hesitate, starting to feel a little nervous at the shocked look on his face. “You’re warm, you know?” you add, quieter.

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up. Then he moves – quickly, before logic can talk him out of it. Carefully, he climbs into bed behind you, resting his head on a folded arm as he presses close. Impossibly close.

You sigh, content, once you feel the steady heat of him through your clothes. He’s not entirely sure what to do with his other hand, but thankfully you take the lead; you reach for his arm and guide it yourself, draping it over your lower abdomen.

And then you’re just… cuddling. On a bed. In your room. Alone.

Kix is starting to believe that maybe he’s dreaming.

He’s never been this close to you before. Never been able to feel your ribcage expand against his chest as you breathe or smell the floral scent that clings to your hair. It’s intoxicating, and a weird guilty feeling twists in his stomach as he realises he’s somewhat glad you’re in enough pain to need him like this.

It’s horrible, and he hates himself for ever thinking it. But… Maker, he’s been dreaming of holding you like this for so long…

“Thank you,” you murmur as you readjust, trying to get more comfortable. In the process, the hem of your top rides up – and Kix’s fingers brush the soft skin of your abdomen.

And the mortifying effect is immediate.

His eyes go wide as heat floods his body, his lower blacks suddenly far too tight. This isn’t happening to him. Not right now. Kix’s entire body goes as stiff as his growing member and he pulls back slightly from you. The last thing he wants is for you to feel his hardened length on your ass and think he’s some sort of creep.

Kix is not a religious man – but right now he sure is praying to the Maker for you not to realise what’s happening. Stars help him, he’s never felt more embarrassed in his life and his heart is pounding in his chest, all of a sudden hyperaware of how close his fingers are to your core.  

Why? Why now when he could finally enjoy being so close to you? Why did his body have to betray him like this?

Unfortunately, you do notice the warmth of his body retreating from the area where you need it most, and how rigidly he suddenly is behind you. It confuses you, and you can only assume he’s uncomfortable because of the position you’ve put him in. The very not professional position.

You need to somehow lighten the air.

“It’s not always this bad,” you mutter. “But sometimes my uterus gets bored and tries to kill me.”

Your joke doesn’t seem to land, as Kix refuses to relax behind you.

“Right, sorry,” you continue with a small chuckle. “The uterus is an organ–”

“I know what the uterus is,” Kix interrupts you with a scoff.

“So you should also know that periods are completely natural,” you state.

Kix groans. “I know that…”

“You sure?” you challenge. “Because you seem uncomfortable and I know some men find periods gross–”

“That’s not why I’m uncomfortable!” he protests, immediately regretting the choice of words.

“So you admit you’re uncomfortable,” you accuse, your tone both amused and slightly irritated.

“N-No, that’s… that’s the wrong word,” Kix huffs, starting to get frustrated. “I misspoke.”

“Then what is it, Kix?” you press. “Why are you so tense?”

“I’m not–”

“You are! And I don’t get–”

“I have an erection, okay?!” Kix blurts out.

“Oh.” You blink, a little caught off guard. “That's uhh… also very natural.”

“Maker take me now,” he mutters.

A heavy, loaded silence falls around you, and Kix feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Yet he can’t help but notice that you haven’t pushed his arm away or called him a creep like he expected.

Then, suddenly, you move closer to him, pressing your backside right into his pelvis. Kix grunts, strained and involuntary.

“Damn,” you remark, voice a little husky. “You’re big.”

His eyes go wide. This definitely has to be a dream. A cruel trick his mind is playing on him. Because there’s no way you could be this okay with what’s happening.

“Kix? Did it, uhm, just happen or… is there a reason behind it?” you ask.

When you don’t receive a response, you turn to face him, but the medic is doing everything to avoid your gaze. His face is flushed, redder than you’ve ever seen it before, and a pitiful look fills his eyes.

You take a deep breath, hoping you’re not reading this wrong. “What I’m asking is… do you maybe… like me back?”

His eyes snap to yours. “Back?” he repeats, voice tinged with fragile hope.

The nerves are getting to you, so all you can manage in reply is two small nods.

A smile slowly blooms on his face. Hesitantly, his fingers brush some hair behind your ear, before cradling your cheek.

“If I wake up in the barracks and this was all a dream, I’m gonna be so pissed off,” Kix murmurs.

A small, melodic laugh falls from your lips, pulling at his heartstrings. Your hand reaches for him, resting in the middle of his solid chest. A little proof that you’re really there.

“Your heart’s racing,” you observe.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “It does that whenever I'm near you.”

You grasp his hand, moving it from your face over your own racing heart. “Mine too.”

Kix huffs a small, incredulous breath. Then, he slowly trails his hand from your chest to the back of your neck, and leans in closer.

“Mesh'la,” he rasps. “Can I kiss you?”

You don't answer with words, instead you tilt your head and close the small distance between you.

The kiss is short and sweet, a tentative brush of your lips against his. The softness on his movements makes you melt. And it sends a rush of electricity through both of your bodies. He’s always been respectful and patient, and you can taste it on him even now.

Kix pulls away first, almost like he needs to make sure you haven’t disappeared. You greet him with a wide smile, and go to kiss him again – only to be stopped by a sharp cramp twisting in your gut.

Your head falls against his collarbone, and a strained whimper sounds in the back of your throat. Kix wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly into the warmth of his body.

“Still hurts?” he asks, carefully sliding a hand up and down your back.

“A little,” you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, taking in his scent. It’s a mix of GAR-issued soap, antiseptic and a little sweat – and somehow, the best thing you’ve ever smelled. “This is really helping.”

“Alright, cyar’ika.” He presses a loving kiss on the top of your head. “Then we’ll stay like this until the painkillers kick in.”

“Wouldn’t mind staying like this after that either,” you murmur against his skin.

Kix chuckles, a low rumble you can feel from his chest.

“Then we’ll stay like this for as long as we can.”

Chapter 1

You’re sent with your squad to Jakku to obtain information from a Seperatist traitor. A run in with a Sith leaves you with loss.

Chapter 2

Healing from your injuries, you have to come to terms with what happened. The council decides to temporarily deploy you with Master Plo.

Chapter 3

Your first meeting with Master Plo’s Wolfpack doesn’t go too well.

Chapter 4

Your first mission with the Wolfpack.

Chapter 5

A new tension rises between you and the Commander.

Chapter 6 ★ (spicy but no smut)

An injury pushes Wolffe over the edge.

Chapter 7 ★

Your first night with the Commander.

Chapter 8 ★

Irrelevant side story, feelings get hurt.

Chapter 9 ★

News travels that you’ll be getting a new squad soon. What does this mean for yours and Wolffe’s future?

Chapter 10

A strange message comes from your former Master.

Chapter 11 ★

You speak with Master Plo about your former Master. The reasoning behind her disappearance makes you question your own decisions.

Chapter 12

An argument between you and Wolffe ensues after you tell him your plan.

Chapter 13 ★

You and Wolffe the night before you leave.

Chapter 14

You depart for the mission.

Chapter 15

People from your past find you again.

Chapter 16

PTSD or a vision? Maybe both.

Chapter 17 ★

One last time together before a new update on your orders.

"Is that all, General?" Fox hissed, the tone unintentionally softened by the vocoder in his helmet.

"Yes, Commander. You are dismissed."

Professional as ever, Fox thought, huffing as he turned to leave.

You had been stationed with the Coruscant Guard for a couple weeks now due to some injury that left you unable to be at the frontlines temporarily. At least that was the information Fox had received when you arrived at the base and hadn't left since.

You were effective, he had to give you that. You wrote reports faster than anyone he's ever seen, you went after criminals without much fanfare, and you rejected more requests from senators than even he dared.

And you had been realiable too, always appearing on time and coming prepared to every meeting Fox arranged, no matter how last minute.

Fox hated it.

Hated how you wandered the halls with that emotionless face of yours, hands clasped behind your back, and always muttering about "The will of the Force" whenever another mission failed and brothers didn't return.

In his eyes, you were just another stupid natborn he had to deal with who thought themselves better than all of his brothers just because you had been handed a rank without even working for it.

And worst of all, you kept questioning his methods and had the power to override them as a general. Yes, his ways weren't practical or efficient but they were necessary to keep everyone safe.

Yes, there was a strict rationing of food but who knew when they'd get their next shipment?

Yes, he didn't allow painting armour individually but how else could he keep senators from identifying them?

Yes, they had to go everywhere in pairs but that was so no one could be cornered alone somewhere by a natborn.

Every single rule Fox had imposed had its reason, no matter how much it made anyone outside the Guard eye them with sceptisism. And you were like a parasite invading their safe space.

Just another natborn.

Fox tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, you were supposed to be a nice jedi but anytime one of his troops even tried to be friendly, you brushed them of. Any of their greetings were met with a polite but silent bow from the jedi and you always ate alone, no matter how many times you were invited.

Maybe you just hated them too, like everyone else.

Still, you hadn't yet been outright hostile to them and that was more than Fox could say about most natborns and as much as he disliked your attitude and how much he tended catastrophise, you weren't all that bad.

And Fox realised that when one evening, you didn't turn up for a meeting. And then you didn't show up for the next either. Or for another two things on your schedule.

He caught himself worrying, a tight feeling in his chest as another attempt to contact you failed. Even locating you through your comm was impossible when it was found abandoned in your quarters.

————————

Rain pattered down onto your skin and a shiver ran through you as you tried to rub your arms and bring some warmth back into your body.

You had found some maintenance alcove that had been forgotten between Coruscant's endless infrastructure. One where the hum of the ventilations system drowned out every other sound, including your ragged breathing.

"It's the will of the Force," you whispered to yourself, the words hollow and useless as they left your lips. They had been the foundation of your walls so long, a wall that you could erect between yourself and the chaos of the galaxy.

You should get up and find your way back to the base before you got sick. You knew you should. But your limbs felt too heavy and your mind spun.

Your battalion was on Felucia again and you hadn't heard from them in six rotations. The last report had been brief and fragmented; showing casualties, the movement of the enemy,…

All standard things and you knew your commander was comepetent but—

But you should have been there. You were their general.

Instead you were here on Coruscant, playing politics while your men died in that green hell. Guilt had been building in your chest day by day and today your composure just crumbled.

The nail in the coffin had been when you saw a shiny limp past your office with a bandaged leg, stabbed by a civilian during a routine patrole. A shiny, who should still have the positive energy and drive to better his surroundings. And his eyes hadn't even been angry, he had been so exhausted.

The same exhaustion you saw everywhere in the base that you hadn't seen on the frontlines. You saw it in the way the guard moved, efficiently and quietly but with a heaviness that spoke of too many shifts and too few hours of sleep. You saw it in the ration bars that tasted of nothing and contained less calories than they should. You saw it in the silence of their mess hall where brothers should be laughing and not sitting in muted company, checking behind each others backs regularly.

You had seen war, you had see the worst of it on the frontlines with clones dying and being torn apart by explosions as the screams of the injured filled the air. But this was different. A different kind of war that involved the slow, grinding erosion of the soul.

And the Corries were fighting with no support. No one saw their misery. No one cared.

And what have you done for them?

Nothing. You had criticized Fox's methods without understanding them. You had kept your distance because it was easier than acknowledging them because that meant seeing that they were dying slowly on a planet that should have been the safest in the galaxy.

You had hidden behind the Force like a coward instead.

Your chest tightened again, the familiar pressure of anxiety building behind your ribs. You pressed your palms flat against the cold floor, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember the breathing exercises you had learned as a youngling.

In... hold... out...

It wasn't working.

In... hold... out...

"It's the will of the Force," you tried again, and this time it came out as a sob.

————————

Grizzer found you first. Hound had been trying to track you under Fox's orders and the massiff's keen senses had led her through the underlevels with an unerring instinct that Hound had learned to trust implicitly. She was a good girl, the best girl, and when she started whining and pulling at her leash with unusual urgency, Hound had followed without question.

Now he understood why.

"Grizzer, hey girl," your voice was soft, almost gentle. Nothing like the cold and distant tone that Hound had come to know. He froze as he watched you scratch the head of the excited massiff as she nuzzled against your chest.

"General…?" His voice was uncertain as he looked at you sitting on the floor, robes damp, hair plastered to your forehead, and eyes that looked like… "You have been crying."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, a smile forming on your face that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I'm fine, Sergeant. Just needed some air."

"In the underlevels?" Hound's scepticism was evident even through his helmet's modulator. "In the middle of a rainstorm? General, with respect, that's nonsense."

Before you could reply, another set of boots splashed through the puddles behind Hound. Thorn materialized out of the grey drizzle, his red-striped armour gleaming wetly in the dim light. He took one look at the scene; Hound hovering uncertainly, Grizzer wagging her tail as she pressed against your side, and you looking like a drowned tooka that had been dragged through a sewer, and sighed.

"Fox is going to lose his mind," Thorn muttered, already reaching for his comm. Then he stopped, his hand hovering over the device as he looked at you more closely.

You were trying to stand now, using the wall for support, and your movements were stiff. Not injured-stiff, but cold-stiff. Your lips had a faint blue tinge that had nothing to do with your species and everything to do with how long you'd been sitting in the damp.

"You're coming with us," Thorn said, and it wasn't a request.

You bowed your head but followed, the massiff staying close to you at all times during the silent walk back to the base. When you arrived, your teeth were chattering and your carefully constructed mask was hanging on by a thread.

They ushered you into your office, sitting you down onto your chair before disappearing for a moment. Hound came back first with a thermal blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders.

Thorn returned moments later with a steaming mug. "Here's some caf to warm up. Or well, whatever command is trying to pass of as caf."

You wrapped your hands around the mug, the warmth immediately seeping into your frozen fingers. "Thank you… Commander. This really isn't necessary."

"You disappeared without telling anyone and now you look like an icicle. I think you don't know what necessary is, General," Hound retorted, crossing his arms and Grizzer belled as if agreeing with her owner.

You wanted to retort and say something like "It was the will of the Force" again but the words wouldn't come and your throat closed up. Lowering your eyes, you took a sip of the watery liquid.

A sigh reached your ear and heat crept up your neck. These men shouldn't even be the ones caring for you and you were still unable to thank them properly. A few seconds later, the clones and the massiff left the room, leaving you in the defeaning silence of your own thoughts once again.

Was there any way you could save this?

Probably not.

Minutes later, the door to your office slid open again and you didn't have to see the expression behind the helmet to know that Fox wasn't pleased. The set of his shoulders and the tilt of his helmet said enough.

You gulped when the door closed behind him, sealing you both in the oppressive quiet of your office.

"General." Fox didn't move from the door. Just stood there, helmet angled toward you, the blank black visor reflecting your own huddled form back at you. Judging you. Evaluating you.

Good, some vicious part of your mind whispered. You deserve it.

"Commander." Your voice was better now due to the hot drink but it still lacked the usual confidence you emanated.

"You abandoned your post," Fox said, and his voice was flat. The same tone he used in mission debriefs and made junior officers stammer. "For four hours. No comm. No tracker. No note."

"I know."

"Do you have any idea how many security breaches I had to investigate before Hound found you? How many hours of manpower I wasted searching for a general who decided to go for a walk?"

His helmet tilted, and you could feel the glare behind it.

"I'm sorry," you said and your voice cracked on the second word. "I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean to?" Fox pushed off from the door, taking a few steps towards you. His boots were wet too, leaving faint impressions on the floor. "You are a General. You don't get to disappear. You have duties and repsonsibilities and people who rely on you."

"I know," you whispered again, shame coiling in your stomach and wrapping around your spine.

"Do you?" Fox stopped in front of your desk, arms crossing over his chestplate. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've decided that the rules don't apply to you. And you left the rest of us to clean up your mess."

The accusation stung and left your eyes burning, throat tightening again. "That's not—"

"Not what? True?" Fox leaned forwards, bracing his hands on your desk, all the suppressed fury and exhaustion radiating off him in waves. "You've been here for weeks, General. Weeks. And in all that time, you haven't said a single genuine word to any of my men. You haven't looked at them. You just float through these halls like a ghost, muttering about the kriffing Force, and then you vanish—"

"I know."

The mug hit the desk with a sharp clatter, caf sloshing over the rim and pooling on some datapads but you didn't care. Something inside you was cracking and splitting open. Something that you've been ignoring for months.

"I know I'm useless here. I know I'm not— I can't—" your voice broke and you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to hold back the flood. "You think I don't see it? See them?"

"See who?"

"Your men." The words tore out of you, raw and ragged. "I see them, Fox. I see all of them. I see the way your troopers check over their shoulders in the mess hall because they've learned that nowhere is safe. I see the ration bars that taste like ash and the armour that's held together with desperation and the exhaustion in their eyes when they think no one's watching."

Fox went very still.

"I see it," you continued, and now the tears were coming, hot and shameful, "I see it and I can't help. I can't do anything other than sit in this office and write reports while everyone around me keeps dying."

"You're not on the frontlines."

"My battalion is. I haven't heard from them in six days, Fox! Six entire rotations. But I've seen the reports. The casualties keep climbing and I can't do anything. I should be out there— I'm just sitting here sipping caf while my men keep—"

Your voice gave out entirely, swallowed by a sob that seemed to come from somewhere deep in your chest. You hunched forward, the thermal blanket sliding off one shoulder, and pressed a hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds.

You were supposed to be better than this. Stronger. Jedi didn't fall apart over a few missing reports and some tired soldiers. Jedi accepted the will of the Force and moved forward with serenity and purpose.

But you weren't serene. You weren't accepting. You were terrified.

"I can't do this anymore," you admitted, " I can't— I…"

Silence stretched heavily between the two of you.

—————————

For a second, Fox just blinked behind his helmet, entirely stumped by this display of emotion on your face. Then, he straigthened up slowly, carefully, releasing the latches on the sides of his helmet and pulling it off.

Your eyes widened and he knew exactly what he looked like; bloodshot and dark-ringed eyes, scars that pulled his lips into a constant sneer and an expression that wasn't anger, not really.

Fox was confused. "Since when do you care?" The words came out biting, harsher than he intended when he saw you flinch but he didn't care to repeat them in a softer tone.

"Since always."

"Always?" Fox's brows furrowed. "That's hard to believe when you've been walking around, dismissing everyone and everything and not even looking at us as if we don't exist. I thought you hated us."

"I've cared," Your voice turned pleading, "I don't hate you. I never did, Fox. I just— I couldn't bring myself to show it. To act on it without it— without it destroying me inside."

The confession hung between you two and Fox had to avert his eyes, flexing his fingers that had started trembling slighty. He couldn't look at you now. Not when he had realised how similar you were to him.

His other commanders often joked about Fox scaring the shinies with his harsh tone and no-nonsense regulations. But they also knew that Fox was one bad day away from a breakdown exactly like yours.

He cared too much but couldn't show it to protect his own heart.

Fox sighed, letting the exhaustion settle deep in his bones. Then he stepped around the desk and pulled you into a hug, your face pressed against his chestplate as you still sat on your chair. A sound of surprise escaped your lips before you tentatively reached up and wrapped your arms around his middle.