Commander Fox x Senator Reader
Your voice echoed in the Senate chamber, sharp and laced with desperation.
“They are massing on our borders. Do you understand what that means? My people are not soldiers. If the Separatists come, we won’t stand a chance.”
Bail Organa looked at you with soft regret. Padmé Amidala gave you a sympathetic nod. Even Mon Mothma lowered her eyes.
But sympathy didn’t stop invasions.
Mas Amedda cleared his throat, voice cold. “Senator, the Grand Army’s resources are stretched thin. Reinforcements are already dispatched to Felucia and Mygeeto. We cannot spare more.”
You felt like you’d been struck.
“So we are to be sacrificed?” you snapped, voice rising. “Left to be slaughtered while this chamber debates logistics?”
Whispers erupted. Chancellor Palpatine raised a hand, calm and unbothered. “We understand your concern, Senator. But this is war. Sacrifices must be made.”
You wanted to scream.
Instead, you bowed stiffly and left the chamber before your fury bled into something less diplomatic.
⸻
You didn’t notice him at first—too blinded by anger, by heartbreak, by the fear that your people were going to die for nothing.
But as you stormed through the marble corridors of the Senate building, your shoulder collided with armor.
Red.
Hard.
You looked up—into the steady, unreadable face of Commander Fox.
He barely moved. His arm reached out instinctively, steadying you. “Senator.”
You blinked. You hadn’t realized you were trembling.
“Commander,” you said, voice sharper than you meant.
Fox tilted his head slightly. “Rough session?”
You laughed bitterly. “Only if you consider being told to watch your world burn while they debate budgets rough.”
He said nothing. Not at first. Just watched you, eyes tracking every twitch of emotion on your face.
“I’m sorry,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You don’t need to hear that. You’ve got your own war to fight.”
“I listen better than most senators,” he said quietly.
You blinked.
Fox’s voice was never warm. It was always firm, controlled. Professional.
But this—this was different.
You leaned against the wall, fighting the tears building behind your eyes. “I’m a senator and I’m still powerless.”
“You care,” Fox said, after a beat. “That already makes you different.”
You looked at him. “Do you ever get used to it?”
He was silent. His jaw tensed.
“No,” he said. “But you learn to live with it. Or you break.”
You didn’t realize your hand had drifted close to his until your fingers brushed the back of his glove. A mistake. Or maybe not.
He looked down at your hand, then back at you.
The air between you was taut. Too intimate for a Senate hallway. Too dangerous for two people on opposite sides of a professional line.
And yet…
“If there’s anything I can do,” Fox said, voice low, “for your people… or for you…”
You looked up at him, studying the man beneath the red armor. The one with the tired eyes and careful words. The one who could have kept walking but didn’t.
“You already have,” you whispered.
And then you were gone—leaving Fox standing there, staring at the spot where you’d been.
Fingers still tingling.
⸻
The shuttle’s engines hummed low, a mechanical purr echoing through the Senate docks. The air was thick with fuel, heat, and tension. Your transport was nearly ready—small, lightly defended, and insufficient for what lay ahead, but it would take you home.
You stared out across the city skyline, heart pounding.
They said you were making a mistake. They said returning to your home world was suicide.
But it was your world.
And if it was going to fall, it wouldn’t do so without you standing beside it.
You heard the footsteps before you saw them—measured, purposeful.
Then: the unmistakable voice of Chancellor Palpatine, oiled and theatrical.
“Ah, Senator. So determined.” He approached, flanked by crimson-robed guards and the sharper silhouettes of red Coruscant Guard armor.
Commander Fox stood behind him, helm off, unreadable as ever.
You straightened. “Chancellor.”
“I’ve come to offer you a final word of advice,” Palpatine said smoothly, folding his hands. “Returning to your planet now would be… ill-advised. The situation is deteriorating rapidly.”
You lifted your chin. “Which is why I must be there. My people are scared. They need to see someone hasn’t abandoned them.”
Palpatine sighed, as if burdened by your courage. “Yes, I suspected as much.”
He turned slightly, gesturing behind him.
“I anticipated you would refuse counsel, so I’ve taken the liberty of organizing a security detail to accompany you.”
Your brows furrowed.
“Commander Fox, accompanied by his men” he said, voice silk. “And a squad of my most loyal Guardsmen. Until the Senate can act, they will serve as your protection detail.”
Your eyes snapped to Fox, stunned. He met your gaze with that same unreadable intensity—but his stance was different. Less rigid. Like he had volunteered.
“I…” You turned to Palpatine. “Thank you, Chancellor.”
He gave you a benign smile. “Don’t thank me. Thank Commander Fox. He was the one who insisted your safety be taken seriously.”
Your breath caught.
Palpatine gave a slight bow and turned, robes billowing as he departed with his guards, leaving the dock strangely quiet again.
You looked at Fox.
“You insisted?”
He stepped forward, stopping just shy of arm’s reach. “You’re not a soldier. You shouldn’t have to walk into a war zone alone.”
“Neither should you,” you said softly.
He blinked. “It’s different.”
“Is it?”
You held his gaze for a moment too long.
Fox shifted, jaw tight. “My orders are to protect you. And I intend to do that.”
There was something in his voice. Something unspoken.
“I’m not helpless, you know,” you said, voice a little gentler. “But I’m… glad it’s you.”
His eyes flickered.
“You’ll be staying close, then?” you asked, half teasing, half aching to hear the answer.
“Yes,” he said. No hesitation. “Wherever you are, I’ll be close.”
The words lingered between you. Heavy. Charged.
You nodded slowly, stepping toward the shuttle ramp. “Well then, Commander. Shall we?”
He followed you silently. And when you boarded that ship—uncertain of what awaited—you didn’t feel so alone anymore.
⸻
The ship was mid-hyperspace, engines humming steadily, the stars stretched thin and white outside the viewport like strands of pulled light.
You sat quietly near the front cabin, reading reports from home—civilians evacuating cities, militia forming in panic. Your fingers were white-knuckled around the datapad, but you didn’t notice. Not when your ears were quietly tuned to the conversation just beyond the corridor.
Fox’s men weren’t exactly quiet.
⸻
“Okay,” Thire muttered, not even trying to keep his voice down. “So let me get this straight. You volunteered us for this mission?”
“You hate senators,” Stone chimed in, boots kicked up on a storage crate. “Like… passionately.”
“And politics,” Hound added, his strill sniffing at a nearby panel before letting out a low growl. “And public speaking. And long transport rides. This is literally all your nightmares rolled into one.”
“I didn’t volunteer,” Fox said flatly.
“Didn’t you, though?” Thire drawled.
“We were assigned.”
“You asked to be assigned,” Hound smirked. “Big difference.”
“Orders are orders,” Fox said, clearly trying to end it.
“Right,” Stone said. “And the fact that she’s smart, brave, and has eyes that could melt a blaster coil—totally unrelated.”
Fox didn’t respond.
There was a pause.
“You’re not denying it,” Hound grinned, teeth flashing.
“You’re all on report,” Fox muttered darkly.
“Oh no,” Thire said with mock horror. “You’re going to write me up for noticing you have a crush?”
Fox growled.
“Come on, vod,” Stone said, voice a little gentler. “She’s not like the others. She actually gives a damn. And she looked gutted after the Senate meeting. Anyone could see that.”
“She’s brave,” Fox admitted, low. “She shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
They all went quiet for a beat.
Then Thire leaned in, grinning. “We’re just saying. If you start calling her cyar’ika, we’ll know what’s up.”
Fox shoved the heel of his hand against his temple and groaned.
You were definitely not supposed to have heard any of that.
And yet… here you were, biting back a smile and pretending to be Very Deeply Focused on your datapad, heart fluttering unhelpfully in your chest.
He cared.
He was trying not to—but he cared.
And for someone like Fox, who lived his life behind armor and discipline, that meant everything.
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