#foxthorn

Beside Fox, Thorn didn't seem affected by the noise, or at least not enough to bother their concentration as they fussed with their comm. A small map projected from the unit, and Thorn flicked through the image as they walked, zooming in on various aspects. After a few paces, they slapped Fox gently on the arm, then pointed at a door.

"This one. It's empty."

"They're all empty along here."

"Yes, so we should absolutely chat in the corridor for a little longer— There we go," Thorn finished, as Fox gave in and opened the door. Thorn blew out a breath. "What a dump."

It was, rather. The various, formerly meeting, rooms along that particular corridor had been abandoned due to construction work, and such was the web of the Senate and its myriad contractors that the work had been left half-done after a change in management. Dustsheets covered what remained of the furniture, like shrouds for office fashion half a decade out of date.

"Remind me to come back and requisition those chairs," Fox said. He tilted his head. "And that rug."

Thorn duly made a note on their comm, then pointed at the far corner of the room.

"Just there."

"You're sure?"

"Which of us got full marks in orienteering and which of us fell in the—"

"Yes, yes, you're sure," Fox interrupted. Their comms were linked to the array in headquarters and Stone did not need the ammunition of that particular story.

Thorn, knowing victory when they had it, simply hummed. The kriffer.

Setting his sack down at the location Thorn had indicated, Fox knelt and started to withdraw the various goods needed to cut a hole in the floor. He'd consulted with Thire's contacts—discreetly—and learnt the swiftest, stealthiest ways to get into places one wasn't invited. And, more importantly, how to leave again, still stealthy, still swift.

Fox and Thorn were meant to be in the Senate Rotunda, and had the orders to prove it, but they were expected to be there in a more sort of… unobtrusive manner… than Fox's current intent would have it.

As Fox got to work, Thorn came over and crouched beside him. Thorn's hands were clasped loosely between their bent knees as they balanced easily on their toes. They both wore full armour, but Fox found it easy to picture Thorn's pensive expression, the long sweep of their pale eyelashes, and the way they chewed the inside of their lower lip as they thought. Thorn thought so much that there were scars there, some of which Fox had mapped with his tongue.

A jolt from the drill brought Fox's thoughts back to his task. He redoubled his concentration, huffing slightly at himself. Widget, back in CGHQ, was observing the seismic sensors, but he wouldn't be able to cover for Fox being a pillock with the drill.

"Are you? Sure?" Thorn suddenly asked.

For a moment, Fox thought Thorn had read his mind about the tongue thing—which, by now, yes, of course; Fox had never been surer of anything than he was of Thorn—but then he realised Thorn meant Operation Last Minute Present.

Fox snorted. "Bit late to ask now, isn't it? It's the last day of Fete Week tomorrow. That's the gift exchange day."

"It'll come around next cycle."

The only noise in the room was the quiet drilling and their breathing. Neither of them needed to say that they might not see next cycle. In the time between the last Fete Week and the current one, they'd lost more of the Coruscant Guard than Fox wanted to think about, for all he couldn't stop thinking about the losses. Some days they were all he thought about.

He shook his head. "There won't be another chance like this. The Rotunda is nearly empty. We have only our eyes on the security. If we miss this"—Fox paused as he withdrew the drill then carefully, so carefully, removed the small portion of ceiling to peer down at the red-painted room below—"then we might as well sign our own decomms."

"Don't say that," Thorn shot back, voice sharp.

Fox shrugged. He set his tools and debris aside, then removed the last item in the bag. About the size of a droid popper, it fit perfectly into the hole he'd created in the ceiling. He made sure to position it correctly, then checked the activation link with his comm, before rocking to his feet.

He and Thorn stared down at the innocuous-looking item. It shone malevolently, if only in Fox's minds eye. He knew the ugliness it contained. He knew the ugliness it would end.

"You're sure," Thorn said. It wasn't a question.

"I have to be," Fox replied. It wasn't an answer.

They left the tools behind. However the following day went, they wouldn't need the equipment again.

YOU WON'T BEE-LIEVE WHAT HAPPENED TO CHANCELLOR PALPATINE The Chancellor's assassination has been attributed to Umbara, as the weapon has been revealed to be a hoard of "millicreeps", the Scutiger-100 assassin droids favoured by the Umbaran militia, recently used to devastating effect against our own Republican forces. So far responsibility has been vehemently denied—

Thorn reached through the holo headlines, disrupting the text, to place a mug on Fox's desk. The scent of caf curled from the mug. When Fox looked up at them, Thorn was already looking down.

"Happy Fete Week. I brought you a present," Thorn said, smiling wide enough to show the silvery scars on their lips.

Fox grinned. He clicked off his comm.

The "naked" and the "plain" version because I spent way too much time on them:

And Fox's tattoo design because I went on a side quest halfway through drawing the actual picture:

Description : It's a mythosaur-skull above the symbol of the Coruscant Guard. The Guard Crest is a little less pristine than it usually should be. Smoke is connecting the two symbols with the implication of a skull between them (No idea if it's actually visible).

The lore to the picture:

…Okay, he was. He trusted Thorn. There were few like him. He had the charisma of a man that had seen the galaxy despite hardly leaving Coruscant and the strength of a hundred shinies in just one fist alone. …Maybe Fox was exaggerating. Still, the point remained that he didn’t hate Thorn.

He just wished he would stop looking at him like that.

“Why are you still here?” He asked, feeling Thorn’s gaze raking over him.

Suddenly there was breath on the back of his neck, and Fox barely fought the shiver that raced up his spine. “Thorn—”

“You didn’t dismiss me, Commander.” Thorn’s voice was lower, deeper than it had been just a moment ago, wasn’t it?

It didn’t matter because Fox caught his gaze in the glass’s reflection, and he absolutely could not hide the way he’d bit his lip to keep himself from making a fool of himself. All he needed to do was give him permission to leave, right? Then he would be out of his hair for the time being and he could make himself another cup of caffe, or, if he was lucky, he could sneak in a five minute nap. That should suffice, shouldn’t it?

Fox stood a little straighter, then, “you’re dismissed.”

Thorn didn’t move.

“Did you hear me?” Fox questioned, glancing over his shoulder. He couldn’t actually see Thorn, but he could still feel him at his back, and the hairs on his neck stood as Thorn chuckled.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Fox grit his teeth. This man was unbelievable. Just who exactly did he think he was?

As Fox turned to face him and lean into his space as Thorn had done to him earlier, two things were made immediately obvious. For one, Thorn had been closer than he’d anticipated, and second, their lips were slotted together. It was a little awkward since Fox had had his mouth open to yell at him, but Thorn easily rolled with it, slid his tongue along his, had him whimpering before he could stop himself.

But that was where Fox stopped himself.

He jolted backward, putting himself against the window. In hindsight, it was only more of an invitation for Thorn to crowd him, and he did, stealing another kiss from him before he was able to come to his senses entirely.

“Thorn, s-stop,” Fox breathed, or maybe he didn’t. He was dizzy with heat, confusion written all over his face. Didn’t he just want this man gone? And now…

Thorn nodded, however, giving Fox the space he’d asked for without question. If Fox had his wits about him, he’d have seen the equally confused expression on Thorn’s face, and the flash of worry that lingered in his honey eyes.

“Fox—”

“You’re dismissed,” Fox repeated what he hadn’t been able to the first time and watched as Thorn hastily gathered himself, tossed his bucket back over his head, and left him alone.