#endgame fox/bail/breha

[lbibliophile-sw]

Soundscape

Also on AO3 [960w] @ailesswhumptober - day 21: "this will make you feel better, ok?"

The job of Marshal Commander is stressful and hectic and for every problem he solves another two seem to pop up in its place, but Fox does try to practice self-care. He delegates where he can. He accommodates the medics’ instructions as much as his duties allow. He makes sure to eat, even if it is just ration bars between meetings or while completing formwork. He stays hydrated, even if a rather higher percentage than advisable is caf. And he tries to sleep.

He blocks out his schedule and he leaves his office, he locks his comm to all but emergencies and he settles into bed. And then he lies there. Fox tries to sleep, but if he is anything less than utterly exhausted, then his mind just goes around and around in circles – work and worries and his mind replaying everything he might ever have possibly done wrong. He stays in bed, the medics have been very firm that resting is better than nothing, but too often just ends up watching the hours count down until his next shift, frustrated with the knowledge that he is neither sleeping nor working nor even enjoying himself.

He is fairly sure that at least part of the problem is that his room is too quiet. Clones are social creatures, spending their whole lives crowded in next to each other. Fox is one of the elite few with rank sufficient to earn the privacy of an individual bunkroom; a luxury that he is now finding he would rather do without.

He’s tried borrowing a bed in one of the general barracks, hoping that the sound of his vode around him will settle him. And to be fair, it did stop him from spiralling. But only because he startled every time one of the other troopers moved or made a sound, constantly alert in case something needed his attention. And honestly, it was just plain awkward, feeling like he was intruding on his subordinates’ private space.

It might have been easier sharing with the other commanders – fewer people and closer in rank – but they mostly each cover different shifts, so there would be little difference to his private room anyway.

So he starts looking for other ways to cover up the silence in his room.

He tries the radio; but finds himself either cursing the inanity of talk shows, or taking mental notes for work from the news bulletins. He tries music; but he never realised just how many styles there are to choose from. And even when he eventually finds ones that might work, it just leaves him lying in bed feeling guilty about the indulgence.

It is Senator Organa who finds him a solution, during one of the stolen conversations when they are not yet Fox and Bail, but ‘Commander’ and ‘Senator’ are more than their titles.  

Fox shows up to their early morning meeting – ostensibly a security briefing regarding an upcoming press conference – with eyebags almost as big as his oversized cup of coffee. Official business quickly out of the way, Organa asks after his health. To his own surprise, Fox finds himself honestly describing his problem, frustrated by his persistent inability to just make his tired brain cooperate.

Organa ponders for a minute.

“Perhaps a slightly different approach is needed. You know, I used to do a lot of hiking when I was younger. I am assuming that your training covered wilderness safety as well as urban environments?” Fox blinks at the non-sequitur, but nods. “What is the first sign of danger in natural environments?”

“Silence.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t quite understand what that has to do with -” Fox’s comm beeps. He looks at the message and grimaces. “ Sorry, Senator, I need to go.”

“Of course. I’ll send you a file, and you can tell me how it goes.”

Fox is kept moving from crisis to crisis all day, but when he settles down that evening he sees that the Senator has indeed sent him a sound file. He wonders what it is. Perhaps he has sent his own music recommendations; Fox is interested to hear them even if he doesn’t have any real faith that they will help.

Fox opens the file, and his room is filled with a cacophony of noise. Or… perhaps not. It takes him a moment to parse the medley of natural sounds, but he starts to pick out distinct patterns within the chaos. Clearest, are the long fluting calls – a melodic rise and fall with a flourish at the end. Next, he notices the intermittent clusters of chirps and squawks, several sequences of each. There are lower rhythmic sounds: a regular creaking, a flowing drone, and something that almost sounds like bonk. And behind it all, a whirring buzz in a dozen different pitches and rhythms…

The next thing Fox knows, his alarm is going off. And he feels more rested than he has in weeks.

That night, he plays the file again. But instead of losing himself in the deluge, he focuses on picking out one sound, learning its rhythms and variations, letting the rest of the soundscape flow around him and fill all the empty spaces in his mind.

The next night, he chooses a different sound to follow.

Another day later,  he manages to steal time with the Senator again and gushes about all the sounds he has identified and listens raptly as Bail tells him about nightingales and cicadas and pobblebonk frogs.

Three weeks later, just as the soundscape is becoming familiar, a new file appears in his inbox.

And so it continues. Fox spends his days run off his feet, treasuring the rare hours he spends with Bail, and each night he is lulled to sleep by the sounds of Alderanian wildlife.

When the War ends, Fox follows Bail back to Alderaan. That first night, lying in bed between Bail and Breha, should be a dream come true. And Fox is so so happy. But he is also staring at the unfamiliar play of shadows on the ceiling, feeling the itch in his brain as it refuses to let him relax. As much as he wants to be here, he also finds himself ruefully missing his music player.

A warm breeze brushes his face, and with a burst of clarity he realises that he doesn’t need the tinny recorded wildlife after all, not when the reality is right there. He focusses on the sounds coming in through the open window – the lilting call of the nightingale, the creak of the frogs in the pond, the droning hum of cicadas – and lets them wash through him. Then he focuses on the steady breathing of his partners beside him, and lets the combined melody drag him down into sleep.