#missing time

“Whumpee!” A hand grabbed Whumpee’s wet shoulder and a face appeared in front of them, the night clinging to it like a veil. “Whumpee! Look at me, hey!”

Whumpee found Friend’s concerned eyes and his stomach dropped. Whumpee was covered in blood, and Friend was touching him. He didn’t want to stain Friend with the blood.

“Whumpee! It was just a nightmare, snap out of it. You’re safe. You’re in the Academy. You’re okay.”

No. No. No.

“Look,” Friend insisted, grabbing the front of their pyjama top. Wait… pyjama top? Why was Friend wearing pyjamas to battle? He would die— they… he should be…

Whumpee’s brain faltered, stumbled and he crashed down from dreaming to wakefulness. His breaths slowed as he looked at Friend’s shirt, focusing on the plainness of it. The perfect, clean white they always slept in. “That’s it. You’re safe.”

Whumpee took a few more deep breaths and nodded, embarrassment flooding him now as he put his head in his hands. His skin was wet with sweat and he grimaced.

“‘m sorry,” he mumbled as he rubbed his eye with his palm. His heart continued to beat a little faster than usual but he was okay, he was back on earth. Not with Whumper. Not committing atrocities to innocent people. Friend chuckled. “Don’t be sorry, mate,” he said kindly, taking his hand off Whumpee’s shoulder and rubbing the sweat down his shirt. “You can’t help it.”

Whumpee sighed as Friend sat back onto his arse, looking at Whumpee with sympathetic eyes.

“Was it Whumper again?”

Whumpee nodded, loosing a breath through his mouth as the memory of the nightmare flooded back. A burning village, people screaming, and Whumpee at Whumper’s side, being praised for slaughtering so efficiently. Whumpee remembers being happy at the praise, and he wanted to be sick all over again.

“Yeah,” he croaked, his voice coming out weaker than he’d like. “It was him. Same one as always.”

“Whumpee… you know they’re just dreams, right?”

Whumpee didn’t answer. He didn’t want to look at Friend right now after all those— he swallowed, hands trembling before he curled his fingers into fists. If they’re just dreams, why did it feel so real? Why was every village he terrorise with Whumper different every time?

“Whumps, I’m serious. You would never do anything like that. You’re just overtired from training, and the briefs of Whumper’s raids get into your head and you dream you’re there. That’s all. It’s not— you’re not a bad person.”

Shivers wracked through Whumpee’s body as he nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I know, Friend. Thanks. Sorry for waking you again.”

He pushed himself to all fours, grabbing the edge of his bed frame before pushing himself to standing on wobbly legs.

“This is the third time this week, Whumps,” Friend said quietly, rubbing the nape of his neck. “They’re getting more frequent. I’m worried about you. I think we should tell—”

“N-no, don’t be daft, Friend.” Whumpee wrapped his arms around himself, grimacing at how wet the sweat clinging to his skin was. How disgusting he felt… but at least it wasn’t the ash and the smoke, or the blood in his dreams. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Friend’s mouth twisted, not convinced, but he didn’t even push the matter further.

“I b-bet- better change,” Whumpee added, teeth chattering. “And dry myself off. I’m okay, really. Go back to bed.”

Friend got to his feet as well, brows pinched with concern. “Okay. You’re sure you’re—”

“Of course,” Whumpee cut in, waving his concern away. “I’m good. Just freezing.”

Friend’s lips thinned. The darkness painting him in shades of pale blue and greys and black, like a disapproving portrait.

“Okay.”

Whumpee padded into their shared ensuite bathroom and closed the door. He pressed his head against the cool wood and took a breath.

It’s not real, Whumpee, he told himself. Friend’s right. It’s just your imagination. The briefs. Your subconscious.

But not everybody felt guilty about the briefs. Not everyone woke with night terrors like they lived the attacks on the villages; like it was the second time they heard about the massacres.

That thought stuck with him as Whumpee peeled his sopping clothes from his body and quickly rinsed his body in the shower.

***

One moment Whumpee was with Friend, sparring to work off some excess energy. It was a good idea, Friend’s idea, to tire his body so his mind quieted while he slept. So he was about to deal the next point against Friend, when his surroundings changed.

It happened within a blink.

The sparring grounds were replaced with the crackling of flames and blood curdling screams of grief stricken relatives. Whumpee jolted, stumbling back a step.

A warm, familiar hand clamped down on his shoulder stopping him. Whumpee froze. He knew that hand; recognised it.

Whumper.

Whumpee turned his head slowly to glance up at the hand’s owner and beside him, beaming down at him, was Whumper. His mouth stretched into a handsome grin that sent chills down Whumpee’s spine.

This is a nightmare.

The thought stole his breath from his lungs and Whumpee ducked away from Whumper’s hand, stumbling back and falling onto his arse.

Whumper tilted his head as he turned to Whumpee. “What’s wrong, Whumps? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Whumpee swallowed a whimper as he scrambled backwards. He had to wake up. Just wake up, Whumpee. Wake up.

He pinched his skin as Whumper approached, but nothing.

Whumper stepped even closer.

Whumpee slapped himself.

Another step and Whumpee grew frantic.

He went to bite down on his hand, that’ll wake him up, but Whumper caught his wrist before Whumpee could clamp his jaws around his thumb.

Whumpee stared frozen into two midnight blue eyes, his entire body trembling. Get off me, he wanted to say, but his voice box wouldn’t co-operate, his body froze like the eyes were an arctic tundra.

“Why are you hurting yourself?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. The midnight gaze roamed over Whumpee’s face, noting the reaction of his body, the stiffness of fear, the deer in headlights expression. When Whumper found Whumpee’s eyes again, recognition settled over his features. “Ah. I see. You’re awake, aren’t you? Well that just won’t do.”

Whumpee longed to swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to scream at Whumper, to demand what the hell “awake” meant, but nothing.

Whumper nodded at someone behind Whumpee and footsteps crunched down a foothill. The smoke clogged Whumpee’s nostrils, filling his lungs. This was the man they were trying to stop, trying to destroy— this was the man who was terrorising innocents and Whumpee vowed he would stop him. He would be the one to stop him.

Now, faced with the villain, he froze.

Wait, footsteps?

That kicked Whumpee into his training. He lifted his leg and planted his boot on Whumper’s chest. Whumper tsked and batted Whumpee’s leg away before he yanked Whumpee closer, crossing his arms over his chest in an X. His resistance dominated so rapidly that he was embarrassed to have tried fight at all.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. It will all be a bad dream,” Whumper cooed.

“Get off of me!” Whumpee demanded, bucking his hips after every word, but he might as well have been struggling against a wall. Whumper wasn’t moving. He held Whumpee so tightly — yet gentle enough to leave no bruises — that Whumpee may as well have not struggled for the lot of good it did him.

“Ah, Telepath,” Whumper said, his voice smooth. “It seems Whumpee’s woken up.”

A voice hummed behind Whumpee. “He shouldn’t have. I made sure to double lock it between dreams and reality.”

Whumper smiled. His eyes flashed to Whumpee’s terror filled gaze, oozing pride, before looking at the person behind Whumpee.

“I told you he was naturally talented,” Whumper replied. “I just need you to make sure this one sticks a little longer.”

“No!” Whumpee cried, struggling hard against Whumper’s hold. “NO! Don’t touch me! GET OFF!”

“Shh, Whumps. I know you’re confused right now, but I only need you to like this for another while. Soon, we will be reunited and I’ll explain everything.”

One of Whumper’s men crouched behind Whumpee’s head, magic glowing on their fingertips. Whumpee’s brain cut short at that.

“No! No, nonono! Whumper! No! Please!” His screams and pleas sounded childish, joining the cacophony of screaming. “Don’t do this, please!”

“I’m sorry.”

Fingers touched Whumpee’s temples and —

He woke screaming.

***

“Look at my face, yeah?”

Fox forces his head up from where he is sitting slumped on the biobed, starring at Tal while the medic shines the little lamp into his eyes.

“It doesn’t look like you have a concussion,” he declares finally.

Tal reaches up and gently pressed around the crown of Fox’ head, feeling for bumps and other injures.

“There seems to be nothing wrong with your head.”

“Are you sure?” Thorn inquires form where he is leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed and a hand resting over one of his DC-17.

“Commander, get back to work. I’ll take care of him,” Tal explains, calm but persistent.

Thorn huffs indignantly but pushes up from the wall and pats Fox on the shoulder, reassuringly. The other flinches a little.

“My coms are open. Call if you need,” Thorn simply states before leaving the medbay.

Tal watches him leave before he focuses back on Fox. The thin purple tattoos that frame his eyes and forehead crinkle softly with worry.

“You sure you don’t remember anything?” Tal asks softly.

Fox shakes his head, stays quiet, says nothing. There is nothing to say, only fog. Faintly, he can hear someone shout in a voice that distinctively does not belong to one of his vod.

It isn’t the first episode like this either. They have been becoming more frequent lately, too.

“Fox, you shot a vod,” Tal states but doesn’t blame, doesn’t back away from Fox. He sits down in the floating chair and looks at the other attentively.

“I was with a squad on patrol,” Fox whispers.

Tal shakes his head softly.

“No, commander. You were alone. Thire checked the timetables and asked around. You weren’t scheduled for patrol today and no one reported to have been out with you.”

Fox trembles but doesn’t move, just stays where he is.

“I set the gun to stun. I set it to stun but I wasn’t allowed to. ‘Don’t set it to stun,’” he mutters. “I had my finger on the switch. ‘Use lethal forces. Don’t set your weapons to stun.’”

Tal gently cradles Fox’ face in his palms to interrupt the mindless mumbling.

Fox grips his wrist and looks up at him through glassy eyes, wide with terror.

“I keep losing time, Tal. One day I am here and then the next I am there. My body moves all by itself, but I don’t remember…”

Tal sighs and gently pulls Fox closer.

“Why didn’t you tell me this is happening? I’m your medic, you can trust me,” he scolds, gently.

“I didn’t want you to think I am going crazy. I’m scared someone will find out and…”

And write him up for decommissioning. It’s what happens to clones who show stress reactions that impair the completion of their duties.

Tal gently strokes his hand down Fox’ back.

“I wouldn’t tell on you. Never.”

Fox says nothing. His body is stiff with his forehead resting against Tal’s plackart.

“I’ll give you something to help you sleep, yeah? You’ll feel better after some rest.”

Tal would like to believe that this is all a stress reaction. The war has been getting more taxing by the day, so it wouldn’t surprise him. Fox in his position as a Marshal Commander experiences this strain even more than the rest of them.  

Even so, Tal knows better than that.

Fox doesn’t react to him.

The medic sighs and opens one of the drawers by the biobed without letting Fox go.

“Sharp,” he warns softly before injecting the sedative hypo into Fox’ neck. He holds the other until his eyelids grow heavy and he sinks into Tal’s hold.

Tal holds him for a moment, brushes his hand over Fox’ back before he carefully sets him down on the biobed.

Carefully, he removes the rest of Fox’ armour and sets it on a stand to the side.

Tal seizes the opportunity and checks for new scars, branching trees of lightnings specifically. Fox doesn’t let him get to him often anymore. He hides from him.

If it only wasn’t Tal’s job to specifically poke around in the business of his vode, especially the more uncomfortable aspects of it.

There are new lightning strikes that rank up Fox’ flanks and spread over his chest.

Tal sighs heavily. Being part of the guard has always felt like a burden. Not that his vode in the GAR were any better off. At least, on Coruscant, they didn’t take active fire often. Here, they are killed by different things.

He spreads a blanket over Fox’ sleeping form and dims the lights of the medbay before he heads into his office. He doesn’t close the door in order to be able to keep an eye on their sleeping commander.

Maybe, later, he will ask Thorn to set up a guard by the door. Even someone like Fox wouldn’t get away with shooting an infinite number of people without having himself killed.

He digs out his holoprojector from the desk drawer and ponders his possibilities a moment.

It is a gamble if Kix will be good talking to him or if he will be cursing the guard out altogether. He breathes out, rests his temple against his palm and twists the com device in his other hand.

Tal didn’t kill Fives. It was Fox, that much Kix has to know. His captain was present at the scene after all.

He types in Kix’ code and closes his eyes. They are medics, it is their duty to keep their brothers healthy and walking. Even if Kix is angry at Tal for whatever specific reason, he will have to overcome these feelings eventually. Both of them have felt that there is something going on beyond their consciousness for some time now.

He waits for the other medic to pick up the call. Carefully, he brushes his hand over the notes in his desk. Maybe now they will be able to piece this entire thing together. Tal refuses to believe that Fives was not up to something.

When he eventually does, Tal can immediately make out the frown that flashes over Kix’ face.

“Something is happening,” Tal simply states. Kix nods, thinks, ponders. The other medic glances over his shoulder suspiciously before walking out of the room. Tal can follow the change of scenery in the projection.

“Can you meet me here?” Kix inquires. The barracks of the 501st are much less monitored than the Guard base.

Tal nods determinedly. He can make it work. “I will be there.”

“Good. I will inform Vet. Kemi ulyc.”

Kix ends the call, leaving Tal in silence.