#wishfill

Fox shuffled into the office and dropped a datapad in front of Thire with a sigh. A moment later, he pulled off his bucket, running a hand through his hair before slumping into the empty chair. The chair creaked under him as he leaned back.

Thire and Thorn exchanged a look, both noticing the bags under Fox’s eyes.  The exhaustion in every movement and line of his body.

“Made caf. Want some?” Thorn offered.

“Bring the whole thing,” Fox said flatly.

Thorn rolled his eyes but poured a cup. “Maybe we should ask the medics if they can hook it up intravenously, save you the trouble.”

Fox’s face lit up at the suggestion. “Think they could?”

“Fox. No,” Thorn said firmly, handing him the mug.

Fox scowled but didn’t argue. Thire shook his head, barely glancing up from his own datapad.

“Rough patrol?”

Fox tilted his head, leveling a look at Thire. “Ever had a good one?”

“There was that one time, remember, Thire? That one senator ordered a bubble machine, and then—” Thorn started, grinning.

Fox held up a hand to cut him off. “I honestly don’t want to know.”

Thire nodded sagely, as if that were the best decision Fox had made all night. “Planning on getting some sleep?”

“The Republic doesn’t stop just because I need sleep,” Fox said as he stood. His eyes swept over the desk, taking in the collection of datapads in their slots. He grabbed several, raising his caf cup in a salute.

“I’ll be in my office.”

The door had barely closed behind him before Thorn glanced at Thire. “He actually admitted he needs sleep.”

Thire almost smiled, his focus still on his datapad. “Progress.”

“Think he’ll figure out it was decaf?”