the last reason - missing scene: all words wasted
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“Oh, kid,” Patches murmurs.
Hound has Fox wrapped up in his arms, pressed against his chest tightly. Fox is fast asleep, body rising and dropping with each even breath and only occasionally shivering.
Fox really is asleep, which is why Patches doesn’t have to guess which of the two people lying in that bed is the one crying. They carefully step closer to the cot and lean down to Hound’s head, carefully nudging his shoulder. Hound flinches.
“Shh,” Patches says, and Hound relaxes a little again as his eyes find theirs. “I’m just here to check up on you two, as promised.”
Hound swallows, then nods as if his face isn’t stained with tears, visible even in the dark room. “Thanks. Thanks for coming. He’s—Better now, I think? Still cold. I dunno’ what happened, Patch. Is he gonna be okay?”
“Quiet,” Patches says softly as they take Fox’s temperature. The bastard whines in his sleep.
“It’s okay, Ori’vod, is’ just Patches,” Hound mutters. “You can sleep. M’here. You’re safe.”
“Mhm,” Patches confirms. “Just me.”
Patches studies the way Fox’s face loses some of its tension, then does the same to the results. Hound watches him.
“Alright, he’s not in immediate danger,” Patches concludes, frowning. “I’m guessing he just wore himself out until his body was too exhausted to function and he broke down. You did everything right, vod, all he really needs is warmth and someone to make sure he’s not getting worse. Good job.”
“Don’t feel like I’ve done a very good job,” Hound murmurs. He’s hiding half of his face in Fox’s neck.
“Why’s that?”
“Dunno.”
He goes quiet, sniffs. Patches sighs again.
“Don’t beat yourself up over this,” they say. Hound sounds like he’s choking back tears and his left hand strokes through Fox’s curls as he rearranges the both of them slightly to lie more comfortably. Patches wishes they knew how to offer some comfort.
“I just don’t know how to help him,” Hound whispers. “I’m trying. But—It was so bad today. You should’ve seen him. And he couldn’t tell me what happened, and he thought he was dying and I don’t know what to do.”
“You can’t help him if he won’t let you. That’s not on you, Hound.”
Hound’s head twitches in a tiny headshake, careful not to disturb the sleeping Commander.
“I shouldn’t have left him all alone. I should’ve just commed you.”
“Fox can take care of himself, usually, and you had no way of knowing he was this sick.”
“He was crying,” Hound says. “I’ve never seen him cry before.”
“He’s human. Even if he likes to pretend he’s not,” Patches says.
Hound lets out a long breath. He sniffs.
“I’m just worried, Patches. He’s not well at all. And he has new scars. And he—he told me—he thought we’d be angry at him. For what, I’m not sure. And fucking Cody ,” he spits out the name, deliberately not using his millitary rank and title, “his fucking batchmate apparently hates him. Because he’s Guard. I just don’t know what to do, except find Cody and beat him up, maybe.”
“Hound, don’t try to beat up Marshal Commander Cody. He’s going to beat you into a pulp.”
“I don’t care.”
“Fox would,” Patches notes. Hound huffs. “Maybe. But Cody really does deserve it.”
He goes quiet. Carefully, his eyes meet Patches’.
“Thanks for coming by,” he mumbles. “I’m glad he’s better now.”
“Of course,” Patches says. “If you notice anything irregular that isn’t just him having a nightmare, comm me. I’ll come. Goodnight, Hound.”
“Sleep well,” Hound says. He slings himself around Fox again. Fox snores.
Patches shuts the door quietly.
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