Commander Fox Week 2021 Loyal/Exhaustion
Title is lines from Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Words stopped making sense about half an hour ago. They started dangling just out of reach on the other side of a foggy cloud at least an hour before that, and Fox reaches for his caf only to find it empty for the third time in as many minutes. He sighs deeply and sets the cup back on the coaster. Rubbing his face, he tries to regain the train of thought he lost quite a while ago. The report's due on the chancellor's desk at 0800, and he has… 500 words left.
Fox stares at the padd in front of him, twirling his stylus absentmindedly. "Who the fuck decided these things needed a minimum word count requirement?" he asks the air.
There's a clatter, and it takes Fox a moment to process the fact it was someone tripping into the other desk in the room and scattering padds. "What are you still doing awake, Fox?" a brother whispers harshly.
Grabbing his caf mug, Fox takes a sip of air as he looks over at the formerly empty desk. Stone. It was Stone leaning over it with his helmet still spinning on the floor where it fell. Stone who got that stupid tattoo in a washroom on Kamino from some random CT that Fox never got the name of before they were all shipped out. "Report," he says and clears his throat. "Writing a report. What are you doing still awake?" Nope, that sounded wrong. "Still doing awake." And that feels redundant somehow.
Fox takes another sip of air and stares down at his caf mug, feeling somewhat betrayed.
Stone carefully takes the mug from him and sets it down further away on the desk. "Right, you're heading to bed. I'll finish your report. Force knows the chancellor can't be bothered to tell us apart most of the time; I'm sure he won't notice."
The padd is pulled out of Fox's grip, and Stone jerks backwards a bit when it finally comes loose. Fox stifles a yawn. "I'm fine, Stone." He holds out a hand while the other reaches for his caf mug again. "Just need a little more…" Blank. Blinking, Fox tries to summon the word from beyond the fog.
"Fox, 1010, darling sleep-deprived little brother, you can't come up with 'caf'. You're done."
"Stone. Padd. Now."
Stone pointedly sets the padd and caf mug on the other desk before pulling Fox's chair back, with Fox in it, from his. "Nope. Come on, up you get." He drags Fox out of the chair, and Fox stumbles into Stone.
It's a much longer walk than usual back to the barracks. It's a much quicker walk than usual back to the barracks. Every time Fox blinks they're still walking; every time he blinks they've teleported corridors. The smell of the lower levels clings to Stone, specifically the smell of spiced street food.
"Bastard," Fox mutters as Stone settles him down onto his bunk.
"What?"
"Didn't bring any back for me."
Fox's boots slide off his feet and thud to the floor. They're quickly followed by his upper armor and belt. "Dude, you literally hate anything spicier than a mild curry sauce. I still don't understand how you're related to me."
"We're clones," Fox slurs, tipping sideways onto his mattress. Force, this pillow. It's the best thing he's ever slept on. And the mattress! So soft and comfortable. "Grew up together," he finishes half into his pillow.
Stone snorts. "Still a drool monster I see." The blanket is gently pulled up over Fox's shoulders, and Stone lifts and moves Fox's head, running a hand over the curls. "There," he says softly, "now you won't get a crick in your neck. You better thank me in the morning."
Fox hums and burrows into the blanket. Stone laughs. Then the door opens and closes with a swish-swish.