#codyfox

Cody cracks open an eye, closes it, and then tries again with both. The colours of the ceiling spin and then mostly settle. The edges bleed into each other, all too vivid and too captivating. It’s why he’d closed his eyes in the first place.

The couple are still talking.

“Of course. And you can stop at any time.” 

Cody turns to look at Fox, or rather, lets his head fall to the side in Fox’s direction. Fox isn’t looking back at him, he’s fixing the wall between them and the voices with a judgemental sneer.

“Fox,” Cody whispers. Fox ignores him. He doesn’t ignore Cody elbowing him in the side. Fox twists, ready to snap, but stops the second he locks eyes on Cody. Cody normally prides himself on his facial control, but whatever Bly had passed onto them has made his face lax and almost numb, moving without his say-so. Whatever Fox sees in it, it isn’t a fight. 

“Fox,” Cody says again, voice low. “Babe. Do you want to have sex. We don’t have to. I wouldn't want to pressure you.”

Fox blinks at him like he’s grown a second head, and then catches up with the joke. Cody would laugh at him, except his own thoughts are slow too, tripping over each other as he tries to get them in line. And he’d much rather laugh at the stupid pair on the other side of the wall.

Fox swings himself into Cody’s lap, landing too heavy too near parts of Cody he doesn’t want the full weight of a man dropped on. “Oh, Cody,” Fox says, matching Cody’s mocking tone. “Please be gentle with me.” 

Cody snorts, slapping his hand over his mouth. 

In the next room, with enough sincerity that Cody could choke on it, one of the clones is still going. “Sweetheart, you’re gorgeous."

“You’re beautiful, Fox,” Cody says and Fox grins at him with a mouth that’s too wide and stretches wider the longer Cody stares. He blinks and it returns to normal.

Fox makes an attempt at getting his own pants pushed out of the way, then Cody’s, then gives up and just grinds down onto Cody. It works just as well.

“Cody, my love, would it be all right if I shove my cock down your throat and choke you on it? I won’t unless you sign a consent form saying it’s okay.” 

Cody presses his hand harder to his mouth and then, finally remembers he doesn’t care. He laughs, jerking his hips up towards Fox. 

“Let me write us a fucking ops report before we get started. I’ll draw a diagram.” 

Fox looks at him with dark eyes, pupils blown so wide the brown around them is barely more than a memory. He’s smiling the way he always does, like an asshole about to revel in someone else’s suffering. But there’s a softer edge to it, something making holding real malice harder than usual. And they’re revealing in mocking the same person together.

Cody's barely hard, neither is Fox. No one is going to be choking on anything, but it doesn’t matter for much when Fox rubs them together through layers of clothing.

“Let me know if it hurts. I’ll stop,” a voice carries through. It gets a snort from both Cody and Fox, what follows get full body shaking

“It’s okay. I trust you,” the other says.

“Do you trust me?” Fox asks, managing to sound almost as sincere. 

“With my whole heart,” Cody says. 

Fox wretches, and thankfully doesn’t actually throw up. He blinks at Cody like he wasn’t sure which way it was going to go either.

“Cody, love, do you—”

Bang.

The wall jerks, dust drifting down from somewhere up near the ceiling. 

“We can fucking hear you!” a voice yells.

It’s the worst thing they could have done. Fox laughs so hard he falls right out of Cody’s lap. Cody follows right after him. Just as Cody feels like he’s got himself under control, he catches sight of Fox and they’re gone again. If their neighbours ever continue, Cody never finds out.

---

Rainwater pools within the cave entrance and trickles into the slightly drier interior, turning the dirt into mud and filling the air within with its metallic smell. It ate through the bright greens and reds of their shell, and Fox’s nose and throat sting from breathing in the fumes without his bucket. He’ll lose points for that—one of the mission objectives was keeping their shell on for the entirety of the operation. Broken bucket in his lap, Fox follows the crack in the visor with his thumb, the sharp edges threatening to cut through his gloves and find skin.

‘24 stands across from him, just within the cave. His shell is splashed brown and red, and his bucket is still on. Fox can’t see his face, but he doesn’t have to: he’ll be scowling at the wilderness beyond their improvised shelter, like he can make it stop raining, like he can will the world to change if he wants it hard enough.

Fox looks away from him and down at his own lap. He can’t remember where he left his left greave: the fuzzy panic he’s been trying and failing to ignore for the past few hours spikes. He doesn’t know if there was anything in the mission dossier about losing equipment. 

“I think it’s slowing down,” ‘24 says suddenly. Fox ignores him. He focuses on breathing in and out, the air burning like acid. “Should start thinking about how we’re going to make it to our pick up.”

Fox has a broken tibia. He’s not making it anywhere, much less to the shuttle back to Kamino. He glares at ‘24’s still-turned back, fear and dread fighting it out with the familiar frustration.

‘24 exhales, annoyed. He turns around and steps properly inside the cave. 

Fox found it completely by chance. It’s a couple hundred metres from Fox’s lookout. He was planning to spend the night there after eliminating ‘24. 

He should have paid more attention to the terrain—he should have realised how wet and unstable the edge of the cliff was getting, he should have known that acid rain would eat through dirt and rock as easily as it scours paint off plasteel plates.

‘24 closes the distance between them and kneels on the mud next to Fox. He used his own single-use anaesthetic on the mess that is now Fox’s left leg. He doesn’t touch him now, but Fox can feel the weight of his gaze on him despite the bucket. 

“Ten-Ten—?”

Fox turns his face away, pressing his lips together. A part of him just wants to—cry. He is tired and cold and everything hurts, not just his leg, and he’s scared. He’s always known there was a non-zero chance of not making it out of training, but he’s beginning to realise that he never thought that applied to him. 

They might return and pick him up after everyone’s made it back to the shuttle. He doesn’t doubt Seventeen is very capable of leaving him to die there, if only to make a point, but the longnecks hate waste. Fox’s eight, he’s almost trained, and he’s one of the best in the officer track. 

‘24 is still watching him. Fox clenches his jaw and forces himself to look ‘24 in the eye.

If this world’s atmosphere or his broken leg or the wildlife don’t kill him, shame will.

“What are you still doing here,” he spits. ‘24 shifts. “You won.”

‘24’s hands turn into fists.

“I’m not leaving you here,” he replies, too loud. His voice cracks in the middle, slightly ridiculous in the quiet within the cave. Fox has the sudden urge to laugh, something awful bubbling up from his chest.

“I would,” he says. He means it.

The main mission objective was being first. Fox can read between the lines: that means making sure no one makes it back before you do.

‘24 tilts his head. Fox wishes he could see his face.