#so tired of fandom treating fox like a punching bag over Fives

[shadowmaat]

Drink Caf and Know Things (or not)

Rex sat in the tiny caf shop, nursing a caf long gone cold. His head was too full for the rowdiness of 79's, and alcohol wouldn't mix well with his emotions anyway, even if Skywalker had given them all vouchers. Fives was dead, and they only had this last night to mourn him before they shipped out again in the morning.

The bell above the door jingled and Rex looked up. A familiar face slouched in, nodded at him, and headed for the register. His hands tightened around his mug. Naturally Fox would find him here. The bastard had eyes everywhere.

At least Fox was in his civvies; a ratty, oversized hoodie advertising Mercy's Garage, a pair of equally ratty jeans, and boots he'd probably confiscated from a natborn officer.

Steaming caf in hand, Fox made his way over to Rex's table and sat.

"Captain," he said, sipping his drink and sighing in appreciation.

"Commander," Rex replied, wary.

"Thanks for submitting that report," Fox said. "I know it isn't easy when it's one of your own that turns."

"Yeah." Rex grimaced, then grimaced again as he took a sip of his own stone-cold caf. "First Cody's man, Slick, and now this." He took another sip.

"I'll forward you my own report once I've got everything analyzed."

And that was Fox to a T: meticulous attention to detail, bordering on obsessive, at times. It had only gotten worse on Coruscant, where bureaucracy was the lifeblood of the upper echelons of power.

"Appreciate it." Rex abandoned his mug and rubbed his temples. "I just wish I could understand why. He was a good soldier until this. A little annoying at times, but who isn't?"

Fox snorted. "That way lies madness, Cap. Everyone has a cracking point, and with the way this war is dragging on..." He shrugged.

Anger washed through him, along with the pulsing mantra of Why Fives? that had been a constant in his head since this shitshow had begun.

"And that thing about us having chips in our head." He let out a huff of frustration, and glanced up to see Fox watching him with sharp-eyed attention that immediately disappeared under a veneer of indifference.

"Anything to that?" Fox took another swig of coffee.

Rex frowned at him, not allowing himself to be distracted by the faint whiff of vanilla coming from Fox's mug.

"No," he said, watching the Commander closely. "I had Kix look through all his records. Plenty of scans showing plenty of brain trauma, a couple cases of parasites I don't want to think about, and one trooper who got a piece of shrapnel embedded in his skull, but nothing that looked like a chip."

There was a brief flash of disappointment, there and gone so fast Rex wondered if he imagined it. Fox nodded.

"Right. Well, if you hear any more, my inbox is always open." He stood, gulping down the rest of his vanilla latte and setting the mug on the table. "I'll let you get back to your brooding."

Rex scowled up at him. "I'm not brooding!"

He wasn't. There was a difference between brooding and thinking deeply on something important.

"Whatever you say, Captain Broody."

Rex threw a sugar packet at him as he headed for the door, but the bastard actually caught it.

"Oh, and Rex?" Fox turned back to look at him, all hint of amusement gone. "I am sorry. It's never easy having to put down one of our own."

Rex shrugged, the grief heavy in his chest. "He tried to kill the Chancellor. You had your orders."

"Yeah, I did." The bell jingled as Fox opened the door. "Doesn't mean it was right."

He was gone before Rex could think of a response.

Taking both mugs back to the counter, Rex puzzled over Fox's behavior. Was the Commander acting weird or was he just imagining things? Like Fives had been imagining things. Ugh.

He got a fresh caf, a vanilla latte this time, and headed back to his table to broo- to think. Was this the end of it, or just the beginning?