#thornfox

After all, they have to control every aspect of the environment, know what to do if there’s a crisis, or a medical emergency. They need to know how the lighting works, how easily it can be shut down, how to get it back up. They need to know every entrance, every exit, every security flaw. They need to fix those flaws, they need to increase the security in general, they need to create backup plan after backup plan. They need to know a million other things, prepare for a million different situations. 

 That kind of preparation takes time. It takes coordination with local authorities-- coordination that can’t be done over holocall. It takes feet on the ground, and people who know what they’re doing.

 And since the Chancellor likes to keep the Red Guard within spitting distance at all times, the CG gets to deal with those preparations instead.

 (Really, Thorn doesn’t know how the Chancellor survived before the CG existed. The amount of threats he gets is off the charts. They can barely keep up, and they’re trained for perfection.)

 It’s a one-night layover that has them both here- in a few hours, Thorn will be flying back to Coruscant to finalize the Diplomatic Escort Service’s plans regarding the Chancellor’s flights, while Fox will stay here, working with the local authorities to plan every minute of the Chancellor’s stay, from the moment the Imperialis enters Thiurus’ airspace, to the moment it’s back in hyperspace, headed back to Coruscant. 

 Logically, they both should be asleep. It’s 04:00, and they both have long weeks in front of them-- who knows when they’ll get an opportunity to sleep like this again? They ought to be in bed, ought to be catching up on all the sleep they’ve missed, or at least trying to do so.

 Instead, they’re in the kitchen, and the light above the stove is on, providing a dim light for them to see by. They’re in the kitchen, and Thorn is trying to remember what he read on the holonet the other day about making scrambled eggs.

 “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Fox asks dubiously, arms crossed. He’s leaning against one side of the archway that leads into the kitchen, head tilted so that it rests against the chipped wood. He looks tired.

 But they’re all tired, these days. That’s simply a fact of life.

 “Of course,” Thorn lies, waving a hand dismissively. He pauses. “Mind if I say something mean?”

 Fox snorts. “Go for it.”

 “Just because you have to sleep with a textbook to learn anything doesn’t mean we all have to.”

 “Oh, kark you.”

 “Maybe later, I’m making eggs right now.”

 The apartment they’re staying in is very distinctly natborn , from the frankly absurd amount of blankets in the closet, to the simple existence cramped kitchen they’re both wedged in right now. Really, for Thorn, the whole trip has been one oddity after another-- since they’re supposed to remain low-profile, he hasn’t been wearing his armor, and combining that with his hair and the masks that are custom on Thiurus, he’s been assumed, again and again, to be a natborn. It’s a perk of Thiurus’ culture, and the large number of humans living there-- clones just aren’t recognizable. 

 But, to be fair, it’s not like anyone would actually believe there was a clone on their planet either. Not until the Chancellor literally arrived with the Coruscant Guard in full armor. Apparently, there was a general understanding throughout the galaxy that unless you either lived on Coruscant, or your planet literally got invaded, you’d never see a clone. So seeing a human that looked like a clone didn’t mean much, because there was no way they were actually a clone.

 At least, that’s how Senator Amidala had explained it when Thorn escorted her to Naboo. She’d had a meeting with a friend in a cafe, and Thorn had told her that-- You need a Guard that isn’t her handmaidens, Senator, I understand that they know what they’re doing, but the Chancellor has entrusted me personally with your safety, and I cannot take any chances -- an explanation that had her pursing her lips, then barging into her parents’ room, rifling through their closet, and pulling out two outfits. She’d thrown said outfits at Thorn and Rys, pointed them towards two freshers, and instructed them to yell if they needed any help.

 It was not the weirdest experience Thorn had had while escorting a senator, but it was certainly up there.

 “Eggs,” Thorn instructs, digging through the cabinets, and he hears a grumble, but surely enough, as soon as he straightens up with the pan, the egg carton is sitting on the counter. “Thank you, babe.”

 Fox rolls his eyes, and hops back onto the counter across the stove, leaning back to rest his head on the cabinets. “If you start a fire, I’m going to kill you.”

 “Kark off, I can cook,” Thorn shoots back, setting the pan down on the stove. “Wanna grab me the butter?”

 “Not really, no.”

 Thorn turns his head to the side, meets Fox’s eyes. Opens his own wide, pleading. “Would you please grab me the butter, darling?”

 Fox stares at him. Sighs. Hooks a foot around the fridge door, pulls it open, and reaches over to grab the butter, shutting the fridge door before holding the butter out to Thorn. “Flattery doesn’t suit you.”

 Thorn takes the butter, then, impulsively, he presses a quick kiss to Fox’s knuckles. “And yet now I have butter,” he counters, and spins back around to face the stove before Fox can reply. 

 There’s a grumble from behind him that sounds suspiciously like his words said back to him in a mocking tone, but no actual response, and Thorn grins to himself. Kark yes. Thorn, 5, Fox, 4.

 And okay, maybe he shouldn’t be keeping a mental record of all the times he’s left Fox speechless, but kriff it, he is. Considering how often Fox is able to get the last word, leaving him speechless is a Forcedamned accomplishment. Thorn may be better at it than most, but that’s not much.

 “I can hear you being smug,” Fox says, moments later, voice petulant in a way he rarely lets himself be. Thorn barely chokes down a snicker.

 “You can not .”

 And Fox’s response to that sounds suspiciously like a word that turned into a muffled yawn halfway through. Thorn bites down on his tongue, forces himself not to mention it. There’s a part of his mind that urges him to point it out, to tell Fox to go to sleep, but-- he knows that Fox knows he needs sleep, knows an intervention won’t be welcome. Knows that the fact that Fox is awake, and not because he’s doing flimsiwork, means that for whatever reason, sleep isn’t an option right now. Knows that just telling him to go to bed won’t help, is much more likely just to prompt a sharp response.

 After all, they both know that Fox isn’t the only one awake right now. And if Fox told him to go to bed, Thorn knows he’d react in a similar way. Knows that he’d regret his reaction once the sun came up, but have no time to apologize, because his flight would already be leaving. 

 Internally, Thorn takes a moment to briefly curse the nature of their jobs. This shouldn’t be an issue, because they’re both part of the Coruscant Guard, and distance is rarely an issue. This shouldn’t be an issue, because they should be able to apologize the next morning, even if it’s just over a holocall, yet they can’t do that. They can’t do that, so they can’t afford to let themselves actually verbally disagree with each other, because the Guard needs them to be a united front, and they have no way to easily make up. 

 It’s unfair, and Thorn is more than used to life being unfair, but--

 Well, when Cody and Rex have issues, Cody goes to Fox to complain. He can go to Fox to complain, and he does, and Fox nods along with him, and eventually Cody gets it out of his system. Eventually, he and Rex get to actually talk about whatever went wrong, and they get to fix it, be stronger. 

 And it’s a small thing, maybe, but Force hells, Thorn envies that. 

 Because when Thorn thinks Fox is being di’kutla, he swallows it down, shuts up and deals with it on his own. And Thorn knows that when Fox thinks Thorn is being di’kutla, he does the same. There are too many cameras on Coruscant for them to do anything else, too many people watching for them to actually ever air their grievances with each other. Senators have no issues with exploiting any fractures in the Guard, so the only way to keep everyone safe is to make sure that there aren’t any fractures for them to find in the first place. 

 It’s not fair. But there’s nothing Thorn can do about that, so he sets it aside, goes back to the eggs. Ignores Fox’s yawn, pretends not to notice that his eyes are shut as he leans against the cabinet. Focuses instead on the small thrill that comes with the fact that Fox trusts him enough to relax in his presence, focuses instead on actually fulfilling his words and not burning the apartment down. Rolls his eyes when Fox opens his eyes just to needle him about what temperature he set the stove to, grins at the look on Fox’s face when he actually tries the finished eggs.

 In a few hours, they’ll be planets apart again, both working to ensure the Chancellor’s safety. In a few hours, Thorn will be on a ship that's undoubtedly bugged, while Fox will be working with natborns who’d almost certainly sell a clone out in seconds. But they’re not there right now, so Thorn breathes, lets himself relax. Lets himself pretend that the world doesn’t exist outside of this room, this apartment, lets himself pretend that the only problem he has is the fact that for some Forcesaken reason, Fox actually likes pepper. 

 Theoretically, this is the life they could have someday. If Senator Amidala’s Clone Citizenship bills pass, if the war ends-- maybe they could have a life of this domesticity. Maybe they’d be able to actually be open with their relationship, be able to do all the things normal couples do without the fear of it being used against the Guard as a whole.

Hesitating, Thorn ruffles his own feathers, "Is that alright, Dogma?" He doesn't want to push the trooper beyond his comfort level in this. Most of the guard knows by now that Fox has taken on a prospective mate, though that's the extent of most of the rumors.

All it takes is a soft hum of assent, and Thorn slides immediately into the nest on Dogma's other side, also wrapping his wings around them. After a muted series of taps to his comm, he confirms Dogma's suspicions. "I just submitted a report that Commander Fox," he pauses in exasperated affection to glance at the other Commander, "needs a sick day. Stars know he doesn't take care of himself."

Thorn nestles closer to Dogma. "Alright,?" He asks, only continuing when he receives a small noise of approval, "From what I've seen, you're good for him. He used to not care about his own health at all- beyond keeping himself at the minimum standard for Command."