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W H A T

Event Horizon

Chapter Forty-One: Impedance

Chapter WC: 10,077

Chapter Tags/Warnings: a certain character appears that deserves his own warning, actually multiple characters

A/N: Every time I start writing one of these author's notes I feel the need to start off apologizing. But you know what, I'm not sorry. I love drama.

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Coruscant, 20 BBY

It takes four days before the Oracle reaches Coruscant.

Four days of rest and recovery, and four days of waiting.

Waiting for the ship to arrive.

Waiting for the Council to summon you.

You've been on edge, unable to sit still, and Wise has had to threaten you with sedatives several times. The only thing keeping you from going insane is the few minutes each day that you get to see Rex.

Wise has allowed the Captain into the medbay under the guise of acting as your liaison with Anakin and the rest of the 501st, traveling separately aboard the Resolute. It's a reasonable excuse, not that anyone is asking questions. And Wise's word is law in the medbay. If he says Rex can come visit, no one questions it.

Each visit is a welcome distraction from the monotony of being cooped up in the bed. The two of you spend hours talking, and you relish every second you get to spend with him. Your conversations are innocent, for the most part. You share stories, catching up on the months you've spent apart, and you learn new things about him, and he about you.

And of course, you steal the occasional kiss, always careful not to get too carried away.

You know the two of you need to talk about the future, and what happens next, but neither of you are willing to break the bubble you’ve found yourselves in. So you continue as you have been, sneaking kisses and spending stolen hours together, knowing full well that the real world will eventually come crashing down on the two of you.

Today, the bubble is finally bursting.

The Oracle has arrived at Coruscant, and the Council is waiting for you.

You've tried to put it out of your mind, tried to distract yourself, but there's nothing else you can do. You can't keep avoiding the inevitable.

So here you are, standing side by side with Booker in the hangar, watching the men disembark onto the tarmac for the first time in months.

You'd forgotten how bright the sun is on Coruscant. How loud. The bustle of the hangar, the whine of ships taking off, the shouting of mechanics, all of it is overwhelming. And the sheer number of clones, all walking past you, heading into the base, it's almost too much. You find yourself looking back toward the safety of the ship, yearning to run back inside.

"Relax," Booker mutters to you as he nods at the passing troopers. "You're making everyone nervous."

"I am relaxed," you reply, forcing a smile and waving at the men. They give you salutes and respectful nods, but you can see the wariness in their eyes. Change is coming, and they can sense it.

"Sure you are," Booker drawls. He steps up beside you, his hands resting behind his back, his posture ramrod straight. He looks the perfect image of a Commander, and a pang of pride hits you. He's grown so much in the time he's served with you, and it's a stark reminder of just how fast they've all matured.

"I'm fine," you lie, glancing over at him.

"Uh huh," he murmurs, and he arches a brow. "How's the ribs?"

"I'm fine," you repeat. You shift from foot to foot, grimacing. You'd insisted on being here for the landing, despite Wise's objections, and you're beginning to regret it. "Just...stiff. They're still a bit tender, but nothing I can't handle."

"That's a lie," he deadpans, and he gives a nod to one of the ARCs passing by. "You're wincing. And you're favoring your right side."

"So I'm not a hundred percent," you concede. "It's still healing."

"It'd heal faster if you'd actually listened to me," Wise interjects as the clone medic approaches the two of you, a scowl on his face. "And if your di'kutla Council had let you go back to your quarters like I'd suggested."

"Hello to you too," Booker chuckles as the two men clasp forearms.

"Book," Wise says with a nod. He turns his gaze to you, and his expression darkens. "I told you to wait in the medbay until the ship was unloaded."

"I wanted to say hello to the men," you reply, waving a hand at the crowd of clones, who are milling around, exchanging greetings and hugs. "And to welcome them home."

"Uh huh," Wise grunts. He looks past you, and his expression softens slightly. "Hey, kid."

"Sir," a familiar voice says from behind you. Dash steps forward, his helmet tucked under his arm, a small smile on his face. "Glad to see you're up and about."

"Dash," you sigh, relief flooding through you. You step forward, reaching out and grasping his forearm, giving him a quick squeeze. He looks tired, but there's a spark of happiness in his eyes that warms your heart. "I could say the same about you. How are you feeling?"

"I'm good, General," he replies, ducking his head. He shifts his helmet in his arms and reaches into a pouch on his belt, withdrawing a small device and holding it out for you. "Here. All fixed."

"Thank you," you murmur as you take your comm unit and slide it onto your wrist. You power it up, and the screen flickers to life, a steady stream of notifications scrolling across the screen. "How many missed calls do I have?"

He grins sheepishly. "Just the ones from General Kenobi, or...?"

"Kriff," you groan. You glance at the comm unit, the messages blurring together as you scan through them. "I'm never going to hear the end of this."

"Probably not," he agrees, and he steps forward and reaches for your arm. "I reprogrammed the encryption keys and set up some extra security measures, just in case. Should be good as new."

"You're amazing," you sigh, and you pull him into a hug. He's tense at first, his shoulders stiff, but after a second, he relaxes, wrapping his arms around you and returning the embrace.

"Careful," he chides, a small laugh escaping his lips. "Wise will skin me if you pop those stitches."

"Don't care," you say as you give him one last squeeze before stepping back. You look him over and grin. "Enjoy your time off. Get some rest."

"Will do," he replies. He glances past you to Booker. "And don't worry. I'll take care of Price. Make sure he doesn't get himself into trouble."

"You're a saint," Booker says with a smirk. "Have fun."

"Oh, we will," Dash snorts, and he nods at Wise. "Chief, can you take a look at my shoulder before we leave? It's still a little stiff."

"Sure," Wise says. He motions for Dash to follow him, and the two men walk toward the hangar, leaving you alone with Booker.

You glance over at him, and he's watching the departing clones, his expression pensive. He's been quiet since your conversation the other day, and you haven't pressed him on it. Now, though, with the others gone, the two of you can talk.

"Credit for your thoughts?" you ask, nudging him.

"Not a whole lot to say," he replies with a shrug. "Just thinking about everything that's happened. And everything that's coming."

"Yeah," you murmur. You look around the hangar. It's emptier now, the men having headed off to the barracks and elsewhere in the city, leaving the two of you alone to oversee the few groups of stragglers. "It's...strange. Being here. Like nothing's changed. And everything has."

"I know," Booker sighs. His lips curve up into a half-smile, and he bumps your shoulder. "We'll figure it out."

You open your mouth to respond, but a flash of blue and white catches your attention, and you watch as Rex steps off the ship, his eyes on his datapad. He's dressed in his usual armor, his bucket tucked under his arm, a stern expression on his face.

He looks every bit the perfect clone soldier. But when he glances up and spots the two of you, his gaze softens, his lips curling into a warm, affectionate smile, and the illusion shatters. He's no longer the stoic, professional soldier, but a man in love.

Your breath catches, and your heart skips a tiny, traitorous little flutter.

"Yeah," you breathe, the corners of your lips lifting. "We will."

Rex looks around before pointing to his vambrace, nodding his head toward the doors leading from the hangar. He doesn't have to speak for you to know what he's saying. And you're all too happy to say yes.

You give him a smile and a quick nod, and Rex ducks his head, hiding his grin. A warm feeling spreads through you at the sight of his hand coming to cover his smile, and you feel a slight flush spread across your cheeks as he gives you one last look over his shoulder before disappearing through the doors.

"No," Booker says after a minute. You glance at him, finding him staring after Rex, his brows raised. His gaze snaps to you, and he looks you over from head to toe, his eyes widening in shock. "No way. Really?"

"What?" you ask, feigning ignorance. You clear your throat and smooth the front of your robes, and you straighten your posture, trying to look unaffected. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Please," he scoffs. He waves a hand in the air, gesturing between the door Rex disappeared through and yourself. "That wasn't a hey, how're you doing look. That was a let's sneak off and make out in a closet look."

"That is a horrible description," you grumble. You start toward the door, ignoring his questioning gaze, and you motion for him to follow. "Come on. The men are unloading the ship. We should get out of their way."

"Not until you explain," Booker replies, matching your stride and falling into step beside you. "And I want details. Everything."

"There's nothing to tell," you mutter, and the two of you duck into the hallway, leaving the chaos of the hangar behind. You walk in silence, weaving your way through the halls until the sounds of the city begin to filter through the walls.

When you're far away from any listening ears, you slow your pace, and Booker slows beside you, waiting patiently for your explanation.

"We've just been...talking," you say, keeping your voice low. You don't need anyone overhearing. Not yet. "And we've gotten closer."

"Closer," Booker repeats. He snorts. "As in, closer than you already were? Because that's impossible."

"We've been...we're..." You huff, shaking your head. Your shoulders slump, and you let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I'm going to be honest with you. And I need you to keep it between us. Can you do that?"

"Of course," he says immediately. "Always."

"Okay," you say as you come to a stop in front of the doors to the lift. It opens immediately, and you step inside, punching in the code for the ground floor. The door closes, and you stay standing in the center of the lift, the space feeling suddenly very small. "We're together. As of the other night."

Booker blinks. Once. Twice. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

"Wait. What?" he asks, his voice rising. He shakes his head, and he takes a step toward you, his hands moving animatedly. "Together, together? Like, kissing, holding hands, dating, together?"

"Yes," you reply, and a wide, happy smile spreads across your face, the giddiness bubbling in your chest.

"Holy shit," Booker breathes. He steps back and leans against the wall of the lift, his eyes wide. He props his foot up on the wall behind him and folds his arms across his chest. "That is...wow."

"Yeah," you sigh, the smile not leaving your face. You can't remember the last time you felt so happy, and you're not even with him. The mere thought of Rex has your heart pounding, a blush spreading across your cheeks, and the ache in your chest isn't entirely due to the wound.

"So. You're telling me," he starts slowly. His head tilts to the side. "That the two of you have been sneaking around the ship, doing kriff knows what with Rex, the poster boy for the GAR, without me knowing about it?"

"We haven't been doing kriff knows what," you retort, glaring at him, but there's no heat to it. "And it's not like that. We're taking things slow. We just...talk. That's all."

"That's all?" he asks skeptically.

"Well," you mumble, looking down. "Maybe some other things. But that's all."

"Other things," Booker echoes. "Other things."

"I swear to the Force, if you repeat this," you growl, and his hands fly up. He gives you an innocent smile that does nothing to hide the amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"I won't," he promises. He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's just...surprising. I didn't think Rex had it in him."

"Neither did I," you say softly, and you rub your arm, chewing the inside of your cheek. "I mean, we haven't even really talked about what we are. Or what's going to happen. With us. This."

"Yeah, that's a problem," Booker says. He pushes off the wall as the lift comes to a stop, and the doors slide open. The two of you step into the bustling hall, and you fall into step beside him, weaving through the crowd.

Within a few steps, you're out onto the street, and the noise from the hangar has faded. The traffic is steady, and there are droids and humans and aliens everywhere. It's a strange sense of normalcy, being surrounded by people who don't know about the war, who don't have any idea of what's happening out there. For a brief second, it feels like none of it matters. Like the war, and the Jedi, and the Council, doesn't exist. And it's nice.

You turn left, heading for the Temple, and Booker follows. He's silent for a minute, lost in thought, before he speaks.

"What do you want to happen?" he asks, keeping his gaze ahead.

"Honestly?" you start. You pause at the crosswalk and wait for the light to change. "I want to keep this. Keep us. Whatever that means. As for Rex..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know," you murmur. You shake your head, and the light changes. The crowd begins to move, and you follow the flow, your hands tucked under your arms. "I know that I don't want to lose him. I just...he already has reservations about this. About being together."

"And that's why you haven't talked," Booker surmises. You nod, and his jaw clenches. "That's a problem."

"I know," you groan. "But I don't know how to talk to him about it. I don't want to scare him away."

He snorts. "I'm pretty sure it'd take a lot more than this to scare him away."

"Maybe," you murmur, and you let out a weary sigh, rubbing your eyes. The Coruscant sun is blinding, reflecting off the buildings and shining directly in your face. "It's just...this whole situation is...complicated. If he's not ready, I'm not going to force him."

"Force him," Booker repeats, shaking his head. "The two of you are ridiculous. From what I've heard, he's been waiting for this since Kamino. Before, if Fives is to be believed. I'd say that's more than a little ready. He's just worried."

"About getting caught?" you ask, and the question hangs in the air. It's a valid concern. After all, the two of you are breaking the rules. It's a serious infraction. You'd be reprimanded, and Rex would likely be dismissed. There's no way the two of you would come out of it unscathed.

"About karking it up," he replies. He looks around, and he grabs your arm and pulls you off to the side. The two of you lean against a building, sheltered from the sun. "Listen. Rex...he's a good guy. The best, really. And he loves you. A lot. But he's never done anything like this before. Hell, none of us have. He's afraid he's not going to be good at it."

"Well, then I guess we're a good match," you snort a laugh. "Because I'm not exactly an expert either."

"Oh, please," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Don't give me the innocent monk act. We both know that's a load of bantha fodder. You've been around."

"It was a lifetime ago," you say, waving a hand dismissively as you push away from the wall. You continue down the sidewalk, dodging a speeder bike as it whizzes past, and your eyes fall on the Temple looming ever closer in the distance. "That doesn't matter. This is different."

"How?"

"Because this isn't a fling," you say softly, and your steps slow. The bustle of the city seems to fade away, the voices becoming quieter, the wind carrying them away. The aura of tranquility that seems to surround the Temple washes over you, calming your nerves and clearing your mind. "It's real. This is a relationship. And I've never been in one. Not like this. Not where it's mattered."

"Well, lucky for you, neither has he," Booker says, his tone serious, and you glance at him, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. "You'll figure it out. Both of you."

"Hopefully," you murmur.

The two of you pause outside the massive gates, closed as always. You let out a heavy sigh and look up at the towering spires above, the sunlight reflecting off the white stone and causing you to squint. It's been months since you've been here, and it feels like years. Everything has changed so much, and yet, nothing has. The Temple is still the same.

"So. How do you want to play this?" Booker asks as he glances at you.

"With caution," you reply wearily.

"Any ideas?"

"We go in. We tell the Council what happened. Again," you add with a grimace. You cross your arms over your chest, your fingers playing with the sleeve of your robe. "And we let them decide."

He lets out a derisive snort, and you roll your eyes, giving him a sharp look.

"Just let me do the talking," you say firmly. "And whatever you do, don't interrupt. If you can keep your mouth shut for five minutes, we'll get through this."

"No promises," he mutters, but he nods in understanding, his gaze serious. He reaches up, clasping your shoulder and squeezing gently. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

"Right," you sigh. You glance around the courtyard, the nerves twisting in your stomach, and you take a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

The gates to the Temple slide open, and the two of you step inside, heading up the path that leads to the entrance. You ascend the stairs and into the grand hall, which is, unsurprisingly, empty. There are a handful of acolytes milling around, but otherwise, the building is quiet, and you take a minute to breathe, relishing the silence.

It feels odd, having a clone at your side as you walk through the Temple. Rarely does anyone other than the Jedi step foot in the sacred halls. Even meetings are often held offsite, or at least, out of sight. And you've certainly never had one with Booker.

You can see the awe on his face as the two of you move through the vast space, the lights and shadows dancing along the walls and columns. His gaze is roaming everywhere, taking in every detail, his head craning back to see the towering ceilings. You have to nudge him a couple times to get him to focus.

The turbolift to the High Council spire opens, and the two of you step inside. The doors close, and you can hear Booker's heavy breathing as the lift begins its ascent, the numbers ticking by on the display. He shifts beside you, the nervous energy rolling off him in waves.

"What's the worst they can do?" he mutters, more to himself than to you. He lets out a dry laugh. "It's not like they're going to expel you from the Order."

"You never know," you deadpan, and his head snaps toward you, his brows arching. You give him a smirk and shrug. "Well, they could. Not likely, but..."

"You can't be serious," he sputters. "They'd expel you? After everything?"

"I mean, probably not," you admit. You look away, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But...they could. If they wanted to."

"I thought the Jedi were supposed to be all about compassion and mercy," he grumbles, shaking his head. He lets out a huff of annoyance. "If that's the case, they can kiss my—"

The doors to the lift slide open, and the words die on his lips. He gives you a wide-eyed, almost panicked look, and he clears his throat.

"Behave," you hiss as you step into the empty antechamber. He gives a curt nod, his gaze focused straight ahead.

"Yes sir."

You roll your eyes, but can't keep the smirk from spreading across your face as the two of you make your way across the room. The doors to the Council chambers are closed, but a gentle push has them sliding open, revealing the High Council in session.

Booker's shoulders tense beside you, his breath catching, and you reach out and brush your hand against his. His gaze shifts toward yours, and he offers a quick, reassuring smile before straightening his posture and moving aside for you to enter first.

The bright sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the chamber, and the Masters seated on their thrones look like glowing beacons in the sea of light. Most of the Masters appear in hologram form, their faces projected by the chairs, but Obi-Wan is sitting in the center of the circle, as is Master Windu. Master Yoda is absent, away on Ilum for a Gathering, and his absence leaves an empty seat in the ring.

As soon as you take a step forward and allow the doors to shut behind you, Obi-Wan sits up in his seat, the foot draped over his knee falling to the floor with a thud. The rest of the Council turns their attention toward you, but you remain focused on him. He looks...well, he looks exhausted. Dark circles line his eyes, and his beard is longer than usual, a sure sign that he hasn't taken the time to tend to it recently.

He's a mess, and you feel a pang of guilt, knowing that you're at least partially responsible for his current state. You hadn't meant to worry him, but you have a feeling the last several weeks haven't been easy for him, either.

Obi-Wan's gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering on the bandage peaking out from your collar. You watch his eyes widen, the muscles in his jaw clenching, and the emotions flit across his face. Concern. Fear. Worry. Guilt. It's all there, clear as day. And the weight of it in the Force is staggering.

"I'm okay," you project to him, opening your mind. "I'm here. I'm okay."

His shoulders sag in relief, and he shakes his head. He gives a rueful smile, and you feel his presence pressing against your shields, a gentle reminder that he's here. "You've a nasty habit of causing me stress, my dear."

"I try my best," you project, the corner of your mouth lifting into a half-smile, and you feel a brief flicker of amusement from him, gone just as quickly as it appears. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling yourself. "Sorry."

He nods once, swallowing hard, his shoulders slumping slightly. The concern on his face remains, though, and you wonder if it has more to do with the nature of the Council's summons than your injuries.

You make your way toward the center of the room, the weight of the Council's gaze pressing down on you. Booker trails a few steps back, his head bowed respectfully. The silence is heavy, and it's impossible not to notice the air of anticipation in the room.

This is going to be bad.

"Masters," you greet and bow your head. Booker offers a formal salute and falls in beside you, his back ramrod straight, his expression neutral.

"Master Anathorn," Mace says, inclining his head. His gaze is stern, his brow furrowed, but his expression softens. "I trust you are well?"

"Yes, Master," you murmur. You try not to flinch as he leans forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees. His brow furrows slightly, and he tilts his head.

"Really?" he asks skeptically, and his gaze sweeps over you. He shakes his head. "I find that hard to believe. The reports we received were quite alarming."

"That's one word for it," Obi-Wan mutters under his breath.

"Obi-Wan," Mace warns.

"I'm fine, Master," you insist.

"Are you?"

"Yes," you reply through clenched teeth.

"So I suppose the report from Skywalker was inaccurate then?" Mace continues, arching a brow. “His captain indicated you suffered an extensive list of injuries during the battle on the surface, including a wound to the abdomen that required surgery. Is this true?"

"It is," you say, and you glance at Booker before straightening. You offer a smile, trying to look nonchalant, even though your heart is racing. “But the Council summoned me, and here I am. I am ready and able to serve, Masters. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to discuss the mission, and the events surrounding it, at the earliest possible convenience. As I have no doubt you have more pressing matters to attend to."

Mace narrows his eyes, studying you. You meet his gaze evenly, doing your best to look confident. After a minute, he sighs and leans back in his chair, shaking his head.

"Of course," he murmurs. He glances around the circle. "Let us begin. Master Anathorn, Commander Booker, please provide a full debriefing of the situation, and a report of the actions taken to secure the planet."

You clear your throat, and you turn toward Booker. He arches a brow, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You nod, and he takes a step forward, reciting the same statement he had given over the comms on the ship. You do your best to fill in what he doesn't mention, keeping the report concise, sticking to the facts and not giving away anything more than the Council needs to know.

When you finish, there's a silence in the room. The Council members exchange glances, and the uneasiness in the Force grows stronger, the apprehension hanging thick in the air. They seem hesitant to speak, and your stomach clenches as the anticipation builds.

"First," Master Plo finally speaks, his hands resting on his lap, his fingers steepled. His hologram flickers slightly as he tilts his head. “I wish to extend my condolences to you and your commander for the loss of your men. They will be greatly missed."

Beside you, Booker's posture stiffens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You reach out and touch his arm lightly, and he looks over at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pain and gratitude. He nods once and takes a deep breath before returning his attention to the Council.

"Thank you, Master," you say softly. "Your words are appreciated."

"Indeed," Master Mundi adds. His expression is grim, his lips pressed together tightly, his brow furrowed. "It was unfortunate that so many had to be sacrificed. Especially given the nature of the mission."

You frown, tilting your head, and Obi-Wan clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm sorry," you start, glancing around the room. "I'm not sure I understand. It wasn't intentional."

"No," Plo says, his tone conciliatory. "It wasn't. And we do not blame you for the loss of your men, or the failure of the mission."

"We do not," Mace echoes, nodding his head.

Obi-Wan looks away, and you can see his jaw clench, his hands gripping the armrests tightly. He glances at you with a look that can only be interpreted as apologetic. Suddenly, you have a sinking feeling that you're not going to like what comes next. Your hands clench into fists behind your back.

"But you do," Booker says, his voice flat. The Council shifts uncomfortably, and you turn toward him, surprised by the accusation in his tone. "Don't you?"

"Excuse me?" Mundi asks, his eyebrows raised.

"Commander," Obi-Wan interjects, his tone warning.

"You do," Booker says, ignoring the admonishment. He squares his shoulders and takes a step forward, his gaze hardening. "The fact that we're here means you must. Otherwise, why would General Anathorn have been ordered to report while obviously injured? Why wouldn't Master Kenobi have been allowed to debrief the Council himself?"

"You overstep, Commander," Master Shaak Ti scolds, her voice sharp, but you can hear the strain in it. She looks every bit a disapproving mother, but you know she's not as angry as she appears. Not with him, anyway.

"Do I?" he challenges, and she purses her lips, glancing at the others. "If I'm mistaken, please, correct me. Because this meeting feels a lot like an inquisition."

The room falls silent. There's a sudden rush, a sharp inhale, and you can hear Obi-Wan suck in a breath. Beside you, Booker stands stock-still, his expression carefully blank.

You can't find the words to reprimand him, and frankly, you're not sure if you should. He's right. This does feel a lot like an inquisition. The silence, the lack of emotion, the questions. It's all too reminiscent of the last time you were brought before the Council, your investigation into Yaddle's death dismissed and your questions brushed aside in favor of a promotion.

You've tried to move past that, to push the memory from your mind, but now, standing in front of them, the fear and shame and anger come flooding back, and the resentment is hard to swallow. You're a general now. A Master. With a clone unit under your command, and men who are relying on you to lead them. And yet, it seems you've made no progress.

The silence drags on, the awkwardness in the room increasing, and it's Mace who breaks it, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You are correct, Commander," he admits, his hand falling away. "It is an inquisition. Of sorts."

"Why?" you ask, your voice strained. Your heart is pounding, the anxiety twisting in your chest, and you do your best to remain calm, to keep your emotions in check. But the anger is bubbling up, and it's hard not to let it get the better of you. "To what end?"

"I think that's obvious," Mace replies, his brow furrowing slightly. He leans forward in his chair, his gaze intent. "You are one of our best, and brightest. I think you've proved that with this campaign. But there are...concerns."

"Concerns," you repeat flatly.

"Your judgment has been...compromised," he explains.

"My judgment," you echo, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. "Really."

"You made a decision," Mundi says, and he rests his hands on his knees, his gaze fixed on you. "A decision based on your attachment to your men. A decision that went against the orders given."

"The orders," you snap, your control slipping, and you can feel the anger flare, hot and bright in the Force. You take a breath and clench your hands into fists, doing your best to keep it under control. “It was the only way. We were outnumbered, my men were dying, I had to—"

"We understand," Shaak Ti soothes, holding up a hand. She offers you a reassuring smile that feels too much like pity. "You were faced with an impossible decision. And you made the choice that seemed the best course of action. We do not fault you for it."

"I would have made the same choice," Plo says, and you can see the hint of a smile beneath his mask. "Your men are worth any risk. And they are fortunate to have you."

"But the fact remains, there is a cost. For you, and for the Republic," Mace continues, and he lets out a heavy sigh. "We cannot afford another defeat like the one at Duro. And we cannot afford our Jedi to act rashly."

"Rashly?" Booker sputters.

"Commander," Obi-Wan starts, his voice firm, and Booker looks over at him, his gaze sharp. "It's not personal."

"Isn't it?" he snaps, and he turns toward the Council, his posture rigid, his shoulders tense. "My men died. Good, loyal men, who served the Republic with honor. Men who were loyal to her. And if it wasn't for the General, more would have died."

"And yet, the shields were destroyed, the city was left unprotected, and the Separatists were able to raze the entire planet," Mundi counters, shaking his head. "All of which could have been avoided if the shield had remained intact."

"You can't blame the General for that," Booker insists. "They had no other option. It was either retreat, or die. Which would you have had her do?"

"Booker," you murmur, reaching out to grab his arm. He flinches away from you, his gaze snapping toward yours, and the fury in his eyes takes your breath away. He's never looked at you like this. He's angry. So angry. And for the first time, you see the anger not just as an extension of his loyalty, but a product of his own fears and emotions. He's not just defending you, he's protecting himself. His brothers. "Stop."

He hesitates, his jaw clenched, and you can see the struggle behind his eyes, the conflict warring within him. But he does as you ask, taking a step back and returning to his position at your side. His expression is blank once more, his emotions carefully hidden, but his hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles white.

"You're right," you say, and the Council looks at you in surprise. You square your shoulders and meet their gazes one by one, doing your best to remain calm. "We could have. We could have stayed and fought until we were all dead. But what good would that have done? Would it have made any difference in the end? Would the Republic have benefited?"

"We would have had the planet," Mundi answers.

"Would we have?" you challenge. "Or would it have fallen as easily as it did without us there? I don't think the answer is clear. Not to me."

"Your point is made," Mace sighs, and he runs a hand over his head. He looks tired, weary. Like he's carrying the weight of the war on his shoulders, and he's close to breaking. "And I will concede that your decision may have saved lives. But that is not the point."

"Then what is the point, Master?" you demand. You're struggling to maintain your composure, the frustration building, and the Force is thrumming around you. "What are we here for?"

The silence returns. The Council looks uncomfortable, shifting in their seats, exchanging nervous glances. Then Mace clears his throat, his brow furrowed.

"The Chancellor is...displeased with the events on Duro," he admits hesitantly. "And he has made it quite clear that he feels the Council failed to provide adequate guidance to our Jedi generals."

"Oh, please," you scoff, rolling your eyes. You let out a harsh laugh. "That's what this is about? Politics? Really?"

"We cannot afford another incident," Mundi adds.

"Another incident," you repeat. "Like what?"

"Like the incident on Hisseen," Obi-Wan answers pointedly.

Your jaw snaps shut. You can't look at him, can't bear to see the disappointment on his face, and you drop your gaze to the floor, clenching your hands into fists. The silence hangs heavy in the air, and you can feel their eyes on you, the judgment radiating from them in the Force. It's suffocating, the pressure increasing with each passing second, and it's almost too much.

"It's not a punishment," Obi-Wan assures softly. You don't answer, keeping your eyes down. He lets out a sigh, and you can feel him reach out to you, his presence warm and soothing. "You know that, don't you? This isn't personal."

"Sure feels that way," you reply, unable to stop the bitterness from leaking through the bond.

"The point, Master Anathorn, is that the Chancellor has made his concerns known," Mundi continues, oblivious to the conversation taking place between you and Obi-Wan. "And that as a result of our loss, Duro has decided to secede from the Republic."

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush, and you swallow hard as Booker curses under his breath beside you. You glance at him, finding him staring at the ground, his fists clenched, his expression dark.

"Oh," you murmur. You look up at the Council, at the pitying expressions on their faces, and you take a deep breath, your shoulders slumping. "Shit."

"Precisely," Mace agrees. He sits back in his seat and shakes his head. "It was a major blow. And it has placed the Order in a precarious position. We cannot afford to lose any more systems. Especially now, with the war at its height."

"So, what happens now?" you ask, glancing around the room. You shift uneasily, your feet shuffling against the polished marble. "What does the Council suggest?"

"We have spoken at length," Plo Koon says, his tone even. "And the decision has been made. There will be no repercussions. For you, or the 419th."

The wave of relief that crashes over you is staggering, and you sway on your feet, the weight lifting from your shoulders. Booker steps toward you and holds out his arm, and you grab hold, giving him a grateful smile. He nods, squeezing your arm briefly before releasing you.

"There's more," Obi-Wan interjects, and the relief evaporates, replaced by a sense of dread.

"Yes," Mace agrees. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "There is."

"What else?" you ask quietly.

"Given your recent injury and the restructuring that will need to occur with your unit," he begins slowly, "the Council believes it would be in the best interest of the Republic for the 419th Brigade to be temporarily reassigned, and for you to spend some time at the Temple, recovering and meditating."

"For how lo-," Booker starts, but he stops short, the realization hitting him, and he spins around, staring at you with wide eyes. "Wait. Are they benching you?"

"I...yes," you whisper. The floor sways beneath your feet, and you shake your head, trying to clear the fog from your mind. "That's what this is, isn't it? I'm being benched."

"We would like you to take some time to focus on yourself," Mundi says. "You have been through a lot. And the loss of so many men in such a short period of time is not easy. Consider this a meditative retreat. Nothing more."

"Nothing more," you repeat hollowly.

"It will be good for you," Shaak Ti assures.

"Good for me," you echo, blinking hard. It feels like you're outside your body, watching the conversation play out in slow motion, the words echoing in your head.

"This is temporary," Mace adds. He sounds far away, distant. "Until you are fully healed and have had the chance to regain your strength. And until the 419th has been replenished and readjusted."

"And after?" you ask weakly. "When will the assignment end?"

"That will be determined later," he replies.

"How much later?"

"That is a discussion for another time," Mundi answers.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your tongue. You want to argue, to protest, but the energy has left you, and the ache in your chest has returned, a sharp pain that sends a shudder through your body.

"This isn't a punishment," Obi-Wan repeats, his voice echoing in the back of your mind, and you glance at him. He's looking down, his fingers tracing the pattern carved into the armrest of his chair, his expression solemn.

"Isn't it?"

He doesn't answer.

"Well," you finally manage. You offer a strained smile. "Thank you for your...counsel, Masters. And I appreciate the concern. If that is all, Commander Booker and I will be leaving."

"General Anathorn," Mace calls as you turn to leave. You pause and look over your shoulder at him, arching a brow. He sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Please. Take some time. Rest. Heal. When the time comes, we will need you."

For a moment, the anger rises, threatening to boil over, and the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you bite them back, swallowing them down. There's no point. No matter what you say, or do, it won't change anything. They've made their decision, and there's nothing you can do about it.

"Yes, Master," you say. Your tone is polite, respectful. "May the Force be with you."

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, and the doors slide closed behind you. Booker strides past you toward the lift, jabbing the button with his finger and waiting impatiently as the door opens. You follow him inside, the silence hanging heavy between the two of you, and he keeps his eyes forward, his expression stony.

"That went well," he deadpans as the doors close and the lift descends.

"Yeah," you sigh, leaning against the wall. You rest your head back and close your eyes, letting out a weary sigh. "Could have been worse."

"Right," he snorts.

You open one eye and look at him. He's still staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched, his lips pursed. The frustration is rolling off him in waves, and you can feel the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"What's going on with you?" you ask, frowning slightly.

"Nothing," he mutters. He glances at you. "Everything."

"Booker."

"Don't worry about it," he grumbles.

"I'm going to worry," you retort, folding your arms over your chest. He glares at you, and you arch a brow, giving him a pointed look. "Talk to me."

"They were wrong," he snaps. His shoulders slump, and he leans back against the wall, shaking his head. "And you know it."

"I don't know anything," you reply quietly.

"You saved lives," he argues. "Dash's life. My men's lives. They should have given you a kriffing medal, not put you on ice."

"They're doing what they think is best," you say, though the words ring hollow, even to you. "They have a point. I lost focus. I made a mistake."

"Because you saved lives," he hisses. "What kind of general would you be if you'd just left Dash and the others there to die?"

"A bad one," you admit, and he huffs a laugh. You give him a rueful smile as the door opens, and the two of you step through. "But that doesn't change anything. I have to deal with the consequences."

"This isn't fair," he says, shaking his head. He's silent for a minute before he turns his gaze to you, his expression somber. "Does this mean you're staying here?"

"It looks that way," you murmur. You chew your lip. "I'm sorry. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

"We'll take care of each other," he replies firmly, and he reaches out, gripping your shoulder tightly. "Don't worry. We've got this."

"Yeah," you say. You try to smile, but it falls flat, and he lets out a sigh.

"Look," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm...sorry. For losing my temper. And for stepping out of line. That's not...that's not like me. Not usually. I just—"

"I know," you assure him, holding up a hand. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," he counters. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the loose curls from his face. "It only proved their point. And I'm...I'm sorry."

"You were trying to protect me," you say, offering him a half-smile. "I get it."

"I know," he sighs, and he glances around, his eyes sweeping the empty halls. "I just..."

"You just what?"

"I'm gonna miss you," he admits, his voice cracking, and your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat. You swallow hard, the words stuck. He gives a sardonic laugh and shakes his head. "This whole thing has just been...weird. I never expected this. Any of it. But now..."

"I know," you whisper, and the two of you walk side by side through the deserted halls. The sunlight streams in through the windows, casting a warm glow across the walls and floors. It's peaceful, serene. And it's a sharp contrast to the chaos in your mind. "I'm going to miss you, too."

"Good," he grins. "Because if you didn't, I'd be insulted."

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, and he nudges you playfully with his elbow. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as the Temple bustles around you. People are coming and going, going about their lives, and you can't seem to shake the feeling of being lost, like a ship without a heading.

Booker hovers, his hand held out toward you as you make your way down the steps toward the entrance. You reach the bottom and turn, smiling softly at him. He lets his hand fall, and his gaze flicks around, taking in the cityscape and the busy traffic lanes.

"You're still going to come around, right?" he asks, and you arch a brow. He shifts nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "When you can. To the base. To check in. Or something."

"Or something," you chuckle. "Of course I will. As soon as I can. You can count on that."

"Good," he murmurs. He swallows hard and holds out his hand. You roll your eyes and grab it, pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap around you, and he rests his chin on top of your head, sighing heavily. "This sucks."

"It does," you agree, and you squeeze him tighter. "I'll see you soon. And I'll be fine."

"Yeah," he says, pulling back. He gives a lopsided smile. "Enjoy your...time off. And get some rest. You're supposed to be healing."

"Yes, Commander," you reply, and he shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

"I'll see you around," he murmurs.

"Yeah," you echo. "You will."

He takes a step back and salutes before turning and walking away, and you watch him go, your feet rooted to the spot. You can feel the exhaustion settling over you, your wounds aching, and you know it's not from the injury. It's from everything. All of it.

Booker gives one last wave as he pushes open the door, and the sunlight spills in, bathing the corridor in an orange glow. You blink a couple times, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the harsh light.

"Kriff," you whisper to yourself.

You're so tired.

So, so tired.

It takes a minute for your vision to adjust, and by the time you've gathered your bearings, the doors have slid shut, sealing you inside.

You sigh and turn away from the doors, heading back into the silence and stillness of the Temple. Your steps echo in the empty corridors, the light from the windows fading as you walk, the shadows deepening.

The silence is suffocating, and a weight settles on your shoulders, slowing your steps as you wander. You're exhausted, but the idea of returning to your room and trying to sleep feels impossible. So you walk, drifting aimlessly through the empty halls, lost in thought.

It's not the worst outcome. Not by a long shot. But it still stings. To have your choices paraded in front of the Council time and time again as if you're some wayward child, as if you're not capable of thinking for yourself, is frustrating. And to have your decision made for you, even if it's a temporary situation, feels like a slap in the face.

You thought you made progress with them. Perhaps it was foolish to think otherwise. But given how things had been left before, the change was welcome.

Now, though, it feels as if nothing has changed at all.

Once again, the decision had been taken out of your hands, and you'd had to stand there and take it. Because, really, what other choice did you have?

None.

The thought has a lump forming in your throat, and you swallow hard, forcing it down. Your fists clench and release at your sides, and you find yourself reaching for the necklace again, the pendant cool to the touch. You roll it between your fingers, the rhythmic motion helping to ease the anxiety building inside you.

You know, realistically, that it's a temporary situation. You've been through worse, and the time off will give you the chance to recover, both mentally and physically. But still, the fact remains that it's a punishment. And that the Council didn't see fit to consult you first is a clear indication of their lack of trust in you.

That's the part that hurts the most.

Your feet slow to a stop, and you look around, realizing that you've wandered into the Archives. The lights are dimmed, the room bathed in shadow, and the faint glow from the shelves illuminates the space. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

It's only then that you notice you're standing among the busts of the Lost Twenty.

It's not an intentional visitation. In fact, it's not one you'd ever really considered. You'd always thought recognizing the Jedi who left the Order, disillusioned with your way of life, was a pointless endeavor. Especially when so many had fallen to the Dark Side, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Your gaze meets the last bust in the row, next to Yaddle's, who was erected only recently on your insistence. Dooku's eyes are unseeing, cold and hollow, and yet, it's as if he's looking right through you, the disapproval clear on his face.

You let out a huff of annoyance and roll your eyes.

Even his statue is smug.

You can't deny that he'd had a point. The Republic was flawed. There was a rotting core to it, a lack of understanding of the people it was meant to serve. It had grown corrupt, the bureaucracy a hindrance, and the corruption ran rampant, affecting every level. But while you could agree with him on that point, you could never agree with his solution.

It was one thing to speak against the Republic. It was another to destroy it, and everyone in your path, in order to reshape it in your own image. And while you could acknowledge the hypocrisy of the Jedi Order, of the Senate, there was a line. One that had to be drawn, even if you were the one drawing it.

Even if his offer to help you control your power had been tempting.

It's the same dilemma you're faced with now. The same choice.

You could take Dooku's advice. You could leave. You could walk away from the war, the Order, everything. And no one would fault you. You could go anywhere, be anything, and no one would question your decision. They'd understand. It was the right thing to do.

And yet, the thought of doing it, of turning your back on the Republic, on your men and your brothers and your friends, fills you with a dread so profound that it's a physical ache. You couldn't do that.

No matter how much you hated the politics, no matter how much you despised the Chancellor, no matter how many times you were pulled in a thousand different directions, no matter how many times you'd had a hand raised against you, no matter how many times the Council doubted your motives, you couldn't leave.

You could never abandon those who needed you.

Your hand curls into a fist at your side, and you close your eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. The anger, the frustration, the fear, swirl inside you, threatening to drown you, and you reach for the Force, seeking its calm, its soothing presence.

"This isn't helping," you mutter.

“Another rising star grounded, hm?”

Your eyes snap open, and you whirl around, your hand automatically moving to the lightsaber clipped to your belt. Master Krell steps into the circle of light, his four hands tucked behind his back, his yellow eyes glowing.

"Master Krell," you say. You let go of the saber hilt and give him a slight bow. "Forgive me. I didn't hear you."

"That much is clear," he huffs. He glances at the busts beside you, and his expression turns somber. "Although, I'm not surprised you found your way here. I've often sought refuge in the Archives as well."

"I'm not seeking refuge," you protest.

"Aren't you?" he asks, arching a brow.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words die on your lips. You look away, the flush of embarrassment warming your cheeks.

"I suppose news travels fast," you mutter.

"It does," Krell agrees. He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as they move over you, taking in the bandage peaking out from your tunic. "It was a grave mistake."

"One I'll pay for," you reply, and you shake your head and glance at the busts beside you, the disappointment on the faces of the Lost Twenty. "At least the Council agreed to let me keep my position."

"For now." He lets out a derisive scoff, and you frown. "You may have survived this battle, but the war is far from over. And without a doubt, they will try to ground you again."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because they have little stomach for the fight," he says, his voice bitter. Krell steps up to your side, and his gaze moves over the busts, his lips pressed together tightly, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

"You disagree with their decision," you surmise.

"As should you," he replies, his eyes flicking toward yours. He regards you for a minute, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But I suppose the Council's judgement is beyond reproach."

You snort and look away, unable to meet his gaze. You can feel the anger simmering inside you, the frustration and irritation. The feeling is mirrored by him, and it's like a physical presence, pressing against you. It's almost a relief to feel someone else's anger, rather than having to hold your own in check.

"They were wrong to take you off the active duty roster," Krell continues, and he looks at you with a sympathetic expression. "To force you into this...retreat."

"Yes," you say softly. You nod, biting your lip. "Yes, they were."

"And yet," he continues, his four arms spreading out to his sides, "what can be done? It is the Council's decision, and you must abide by it."

"I don't have a choice," you agree. You sigh and run a hand through your hair, shaking your head. "At least it's a temporary situation."

"Indeed," he muses, and his lips twitch. "But perhaps not as temporary as the Council might like."

"What do you mean?"

"I have heard that the Chancellor's patience is wearing thin," he says, his voice low. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and his smirk widens. "Word travels fast, as you said. And it seems the loss of Duro has him quite concerned."

"He should be concerned," you say. You roll your eyes, your annoyance returning full force. "This isn't the first time a system has threatened to leave the Republic. If he's worried about losing systems, he should focus his attention on actually listening to his people."

"You and I are in agreement," he replies with a chuckle.

"That's a surprise," you muse, tilting your head. You give him a curious look. "I didn't know you cared much for the political side of things."

"I have no desire for politics," he scoffs, and he glances at the busts of the Lost Twenty beside him. "But I will not allow the Republic to turn its back on those who have given so much."

"No," you murmur, and you reach up and touch the pendant of your necklace, rolling it between your fingers. "Neither will I."

Krell looks at you, an odd expression on his face. It's almost as if he's studying you, and there's something else there, too. Something more serious. More calculating. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but the words die on his lips, and he closes it with a snap, his gaze turning back to the busts.

"Your faith is admirable," he says after a minute. He takes a step back, his hands folding behind his back, and he shakes his head. "But it will not change their minds. Or the outcome."

"I know," you concede. "But it's worth a shot."

"Is it?" he asks. His lip curls slightly. "What is the saying? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result?"

"Well, no one has ever accused me of being sane," you reply with a wry smile. "And it's not the first time I've been grounded. I'll figure something out."

He hums, but doesn't respond, and the two of you stand in silence, the darkness enveloping you. It's strange, seeing him in the Archives. You'd never taken him for the scholarly type. He's not exactly the model Jedi. Then again, neither are you.

"Perhaps you're right," he muses after a minute. He steps up beside you and places a hand on your shoulder. His touch is firm, his grip strong. You meet his gaze, and he gives you a small smile. "I do believe the Council is wrong in this matter. But I also believe that you will find a way to rise above it."

"Thank you," you whisper, and you smile, the first genuine smile you've felt all day. "I appreciate the support."

"Of course," he replies as his hand falls away. He gives you a curt nod. "And with that, I bid you goodnight. May the Force be with you, General Anathorn."

"Goodnight, Master Krell," you reply with a small bow.

Krell turns and walks away, disappearing into the darkness, the shadows swallowing him whole. You watch him go, your eyebrows furrowing, his words still echoing in your head.

His support is surprising. You hadn't expected it. And his words echo your own thoughts. You knew the Council was wrong. You knew it would be hard to stay grounded. You knew the men would struggle. But hearing another Jedi say it, hearing them agree with you, is a comfort. Especially someone as strong as Krell.

He is right. There is a certain madness to repeating the same actions over and over, expecting a different result. The question is, how can you break the cycle? How can you prove to the Council that you're worthy of their trust?

"The definition of insanity," you murmur.

You sigh and turn your attention back to the busts before you. They look at you expectantly, judging, waiting for you to make the right choice.

A shiver runs down your spine, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You look around, but the Archives are empty, and, slowly, the feeling passes. You sigh and run a hand over your face, the exhaustion sinking into your bones

You're too tired for this.

Your hand closes around the pendant of your necklace again, and you roll it between your fingers.

You can figure this out later. Right now, you need to sleep.

You turn and start toward the door, and the bust of Yaddle catches your eye, her warm gaze fixed on yours, and you can't resist the urge to stop and say goodbye. You reach out and brush your fingertips over the top of her head, running your thumb along the edge of her ear.

"Goodnight, Master," you murmur.

You step away from her, and she watches you go, her eyes following you until the darkness swallows you whole.

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lordofthenerds97 · 2 days ago

Text

SCREAMING

Ok so first of all, I love cabur’ika

Chefs kiss. Adorable. Phenomenal. I would die for Wise. In fact, I would kill for Wise. (Not me over her fangirling and screaming and coming up with an adorable lil plot bunny that might turn into a fanfic of a fanfic for some Wise smut because he has me in a chokehold and I will live and cherish all the Clone OCs because they are treasures in my eyes and deserve all the love and happiness)

And the fact he threatened Rex’s life

“I’ll kill you.”

Me @Wise:

Jfc

But also. Holy shit. The protectiveness. SHE HAS FAMILY AND IM UGLY SOBBING OVER HERE BECAUSE HE WOULD KILL A BROTHER FOR HURTING HER

Event Horizon

Chapter Forty: Tethered

Chapter WC: 16,515

Chapter Tags/Warnings: some angst, some hurt/comfort, some...

A/N: I'm back back back again with a loongggg chapter. So much dialogue, so much to catch up on. Thanks everyone for your lovely comments and reblogs on the last chapter! Also icymi, new Rex and Goldie art.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

Hyperspace, 20 BBY

“I just pulled you out of bacta yesterday. You are not fine,” Wise says with a long-suffering sigh, barely sparing you a glance over his datapad from where he stands at the end of the bed.

"I'm better," you argue. You sit up further and try your best not to wince as the bandage pulls at the fresh scar tissue on your side.

You're not sure who the argument is really for anymore, him or you. But the longer you sit in the medbay aboard the Oracle the more you can feel the walls starting to close in.

Wise just scoffs and shakes his head, keeping his attention on his datapad.

You roll your eyes and look away, shifting uncomfortably. The bed is too soft, the sheets too smooth, and the room smells like antiseptic. There’s a curtain drawn around your cot, offering a semblance of privacy, but you can hear the voices of the other patients nearby, muffled and indistinct.

It’s been days since Rex and Wise helped you board the shuttle to take you away from Duro, leaving behind the destruction and death and the horror you helped cause. Days since the surgeons repaired the damage to your ribs and sealed the deep laceration in your side and arm. And in those days, all you've done is lay here, trapped in this sterile hell.

You'd be lying if you said the memories of your actions on Duro haven't been haunting you. You’ve spent most of your time stuck here, meditating and trying to process what happened. The visions have stopped, or at least you're not being visited by them while conscious, but the nightmares haven't.

The only time they seem to let up is late at night, in the quiet, dim hours, a soft light in the corner and Rex's presence next to you. The nightmares aren't gone completely, and they still come, but they're easier to deal with, knowing he's here.

The first night, the medics had tried to make him leave. You'd nearly had a meltdown, and Wise had finally intervened, telling them to just let him stay. Ever since, he's been a constant presence in the medbay, coming and going like clockwork. It’s the only way you can keep track of time, honestly. That, and Booker showing up every day at 1700 with food and news from the outside world.

“How’s our favorite prisoner?”

You look up as Booker strides in through the curtain, wearing a grin that almost masks the worry in his eyes. He stops by the foot of the bed, a tray of food in one hand and a stack of datapads under the other, and then turns his back to you abruptly. “Oh, sorry. Everybody decent?”

"Yes, and it's not funny," you groan, sinking down against the pillow.

"Oh, I disagree," Booker snorts. He sets the tray down on the side table and flops into the chair. "You look great."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't sarcasm," he assures you, though the mirth in his voice betrays him. He leans back in his chair, balancing on the rear two legs, and props his feet up on the bed, crossing them at the ankles. "So, how’re we feeling today?"

"Better," you reply, a half truth. You pick up the fork and push around the food on your tray. A pile of protein noodles and a glass of water. Your appetite is still nonexistent, even with the nutrients and fluids they've been pumping into you. "Where's Rex?"

"On the holo with General Skywalker," he replies.

"Ahsoka too?"

"Yeah, her too," Booker sighs.

"What's that about?"

"The Council's not happy with how things turned out," he says, dropping his voice to a low murmur. "You'd think the Jedi would have better things to do than to focus on the blame game. But, nope."

"I'm not surprised," you mutter, poking at the noodles. The smell is nauseating. "No point in defending me. What's one more slap on the wrist?"

"Well, they can't do much else," Booker says, glancing at Wise. "At least, that's what Skywalker told us. Something about a welcome home party. I'm assuming that means you're gonna have a lot of time to catch up on your reading. And, uh, your other hobbies."

"Lovely."

"Don't worry," Booker says, patting your foot. "We'll keep you company. We're grounded until further notice, so it's not like we're going anywhere anytime soon. We can keep you entertained. Maybe even go out on the town again."

"Sounds like a good time," you reply flatly, stabbing a noodle, and you try not to grimace as you take a bite.

Somewhere in the medbay, a call light chimes, and Wise gives you a sympathetic look before he ducks through the curtain and disappears. Booker waits until he's gone before he speaks again, his voice dropping even lower.

"How's the pain?"

"Fine," you lie, swallowing the mouthful. "I can handle it."

"Good."

You pause, the fork hovering over the tray, and turn your head to look at him. He's not looking at you, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His hands are laced behind his head, his expression blank, but there's something in his voice that gives him away.

Your gaze flicks to the stack of datapads and back up. The one at the bottom of the pile is face down, but the GAR symbol on the back is clearly visible. Your heart sinks.

"You got the numbers back, didn't you?" you ask quietly.

Booker sighs and looks over at you. "Yeah.”

You close your eyes, and you place the tray on the bedside table.

You've tried not to think too much about the aftermath of what happened, how the men might've reacted, but you've heard some of the hushed conversations and seen the looks on the faces of those who came in and out of the medbay.

It was full to bursting when you awoke here, and you'd spent the better part of two days listening to the cries and moans of the men who'd survived, feeling their pain and suffering in the Force. You accepted it, knowing it was your burden to bear. And even after everything that's happened, they were still grateful, and they were still glad you were alive.

But the men who didn't survive? The ones you all led to their deaths?

The weight of their sacrifice has been bearing down on you, and now, with Booker's confirmation, it's all the heavier.

"How many?" you ask softly. You've been avoiding asking the question since you woke up, and it's the only one you can't bring yourself to answer on your own.

“Listen…”

"Please," you beg. "I need to know."

Booker’s feet fall back onto the floor, and he rests his forearms on his knees.

"Two thousand, six hundred and forty-eight," he replies after a pause, his voice soft and measured. "The final number isn't in yet, but..."

The number echoes in your mind, and your stomach lurches, bile rising in your throat. You turn away, taking a shuddering breath. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, and you reach up, covering your face with your hand, trying to hold back the sobs that threaten to overwhelm you.

It's more than you'd expected. More than a whole regiment. One fourth of your men gone in the blink of an eye.

You know, deep down, that it’s not your fault alone that this happened. Your decision was the final domino in a chain of events that was set in motion the moment you received the call to aid Duro, perhaps even before that.

It's easy to say it was your failure to anticipate the outcome, to prepare for the worst, but the truth is far more complicated. No matter what decisions you made or didn't make, Duro was always doomed, and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

It doesn’t make the loss easier.

You feel the weight of the mattress shift, and Booker's hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Scoot over,” he says softly.

You hesitate, but he gives your shoulder a gentle nudge, and you slowly move over. He climbs onto the bed beside you and settles down, pulling you close, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. You rest your head against his chest, and his chin comes to rest on top of your head.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

"For what?"

"For not seeing the signs sooner," he replies, a note of bitterness creeping into his tone. "I knew something was off, but I didn't want to push. I should've—"

"Stop," you interject. "It wasn't your fault."

Booker sighs heavily and squeezes you tighter. You can feel his fingers digging into your arm, the frustration and pain rolling off him in waves.

"The Council wants me to talk to the men," he mutters. The bitterness is replaced by something else, a weariness, his body held tense against you. "They're worried about morale, after...everything. There’s going to be some restructuring and reassignments."

"You mean they want me gone," you reply, and he stiffens.

"It's not like that."

"I don't blame them," you sigh. "It's the smart move."

"That’s not going to happen,” he says sharply. You look up and meet his gaze, and you can see the determination burning in his eyes. "I'm not going to let that happen."

You can't tell if it's his words or the look on his face, but the tears are coming again, hot and fast. Booker sighs and draws you against his chest again, holding you close. You can feel the ache in his chest, the sorrow, and you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder.

"We're not giving up on you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Any of us."

You nod and tighten your grip, and his hand moves to the back of your neck, gently rubbing the tense muscles there. You let out a shuddering breath and close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax into the contact, his warmth.

"Dash told me what happened," Booker says after a pause, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "At the generator."

You swallow hard and take a deep breath, the tears blurring your vision.

“You saved his life," he continues. You can feel his hands tremble before he flexes them and readjusts his hold. "If you hadn’t pulled him away, he'd be dead. They all would. You would. I'm...I'm so sorry for what you went through, but you did the right thing."

"Did I?" you ask bitterly, your voice cracking.

"Yes, you did," he says firmly.

"How can you say that? After all the death, after—"

"Because it's the truth," he cuts you off, his grip on your neck tightening, his fingers digging into the tense muscles there. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but it's true. You made the only choice you could. We both did. And I'm not going to let anyone, the Council, or the Chancellor, or whoever, tell you any different. You hear me?"

You swallow and nod, not trusting yourself to speak, the tears falling freely now. Booker hugs you tightly and presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you can feel his own tears mixing with yours. You hold each other close, and you lose track of how much time passes, the pain and grief ebbing and flowing, the two of you wrapped up in each other's arms.

Finally, he pulls back and gives you a weak smile, his fingers brushing the tears from your cheeks.

"Come on," he says softly. "Let's get you out of here."

"But Wise—"

"He'll get over it," he says dismissively with a wave of his hand. He stands and pulls back the blanket, helping you slip your feet over the edge of the bed. "We're getting out of here."

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, slowly easing yourself off the bed and onto the floor. Booker unfolds a pair of loose-fitting trousers he’d brought from your room, and you step into them, leaning against the wall to keep from falling over.

"Here," he says, helping you balance and pulling the pants up your legs, careful to avoid jostling the bandages on your side. You pull the drawstring tight before slipping off the gown, and he averts his eyes as he helps you into the sweater. It's oversized, with the sleeves hanging down past your hands, and the soft fabric is a welcome change from the stiff medbay garb.

"How do I look?" you ask, smoothing down the front of the sweater and doing your best not to grimace at the dull throb of pain that accompanies the motion.

"Honest or nice?" he asks with a wry smile, and you narrow your eyes.

"Both."

"Honest, you look like hell," he replies. He tilts his head. "Nice, like a woman who can still kill me with one hand behind her back."

You scoff and roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You can't remember the last time you smiled, but it feels good, almost foreign, the muscles in your cheeks stretching in a way they haven't in weeks.

"Ready?" he asks, offering his arm.

You take a deep breath and nod, gripping his forearm. "Let's go."

Booker pushes aside the curtain, leading you through the medbay. It's less busy than the last time you'd walked through it, most of the patients having already been discharged or moved to the recovery wing. Wise is nowhere to be seen, and the two medics on duty are preoccupied with arguing with a trooper a dozen beds down. The two of you breathe a sigh of relief and move faster toward the door, until a voice stops your in your tracks.

“Where are you going?”

You freeze and turn to see Dash sitting up in his cot, his dark hair mussed and a tired look on his face. He’s surrounded by a mess of discarded wrappers and datapads, and the bedside table is littered with half-empty cups of caf. You spot your destroyed comm among the pile of tech, its wires and circuits exposed.

"What are you doing awake?" you whisper, glancing back at the medics, who are still too preoccupied to notice the three of you.

"Fixing your comm," he replies with a shrug, and he gestures to the broken device. He glances between the two of you, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on?"

Booker looks over toward the medics and back, a mischievous glint appearing in his eye.

“Prison break,” he says quietly, his hand cupped to the side of his mouth.

A look of alarm crosses Dash's face. "You can't leave. Wise'll kill you."

"Wise can go fuck himself," Booker retorts cheerfully. He winks at Dash and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you toward the door. "Take a nap, kid. And if he asks, you didn't see us."

You glance back at Dash to see him watching the two of you go, a worried expression on his face. But there's a hint of a smile there, too, a glimmer of his usual optimism that you haven't seen since before Duro.

“No idea what you’re talking about. I think these meds are messing with my head," he drawls, settling back into his pillows and reaching for the cup of caf. “Just don’t take too long. Captain Rex will be back soon, and I don't think he'll be very happy to find you gone, General."

"Yeah, yeah," Booker waves him off. "Don't get your sheets in a twist."

Dash laughs as he turns his attention back to the pile of electronics, and the two of you slip through the door and out into the corridor. It's meal time, and most of the troopers are either eating or working, leaving the corridors empty and quiet. Booker keeps a firm grip on your arm, steadying you as you make your way through the ship, and you exchange conspiratorial smiles when you pass by the occasional crew member.

It's been so many months since you were able to just be together like this, no war or battles or missions hanging over your heads. You'd almost forgotten what it was like, the thrill and the anticipation, the spark of excitement that comes from breaking the rules. It's a welcome distraction from the turmoil and grief, and for a brief, shining instant, everything feels normal again.

“I haven’t done anything like this in ages,” you mutter to him as the two of you walk side-by-side, Booker's hand resting gently on the small of your back.

"Like what?" he asks, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know," you reply with a shrug. "Breaking out of the medbay. Sneaking around. Feels like being a Padawan again."

"You? Breaking the rules?" he gasps, feigning shock. "I never would have guessed."

You snort. "Oh, shut up.”

He chuckles and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, and the two of you walk in comfortable silence through the corridors. The ship is quiet, save for the hum of the engines and the soft voices of the men, and you take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of grease and metal and recycled air. It's not the first time you've been grateful for the ability to hide in the vastness of hyperspace, where the war and the darkness can't reach you. And it helps being surrounded by the familiar faces and sounds and smells of home.

You're still a bit wobbly, your body aching and sore, and you lean against Booker's side, letting him support some of your weight. He doesn't comment on it, and he slows his pace, his steps careful and measured.

“You don’t talk much about those days," Booker says softly. His gaze is fixed forward, his tone carefully neutral, but you can feel the undercurrent of curiosity, the unspoken question.

"Talk about what?"

"Your life before us," he replies. "You never mention it."

"There's not much to say," you reply evenly. The lie comes easily with years of practice to perfect it, but Booker sees right through you.

"Come on," he prods, shaking you slightly. "Indulge me."

You sigh and look down, worrying the inside of your cheek. You've avoided talking about your past with the men, and Booker has never pressed you. But you know he's curious, and you owe him more than just silence.

It’s been a long time since you’ve thought about your childhood in the Temple, about your years of training, and even longer since you allowed yourself to miss it, the comfort and security and innocence of it all. But now, with the memory of those nights sneaking through the corridors of the Jedi Temple with Obi-Wan fresh in your mind, it feels almost natural to share the stories with Booker, to allow yourself a glimpse back at a simpler time.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he says with a grin.

"That's a lot of ground to cover," you chuckle.

"I'm a patient man," he replies, winking. "And we've got a lot of ship to walk."

You laugh and shake your head, but the memories are already coming back, the stories you haven't told in years.

"Well," you begin, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I guess I'll start from the beginning. I was brought to the Temple as a baby..."

You tell him about the first years of your life, about the other younglings, the games and the mischief, the endless lessons and meditation. You tell him about training with Master Sinube, about the times Obi-Wan had covered for you, the adventures you'd gotten into. You tell him what it was like to be chosen by Yaddle, about the day she died, and the years you'd spent mourning her, unable to understand why she'd been taken from you.

And the more you talk, the easier it becomes, the pain and the sorrow fading away, replaced by a bittersweet nostalgia. You can almost feel the warmth of the sun on your face, hear the laughter of the other younglings, taste the sweet pastries you'd make with Master Yoda for the Festival of Stars. It's a strange feeling, to share this part of yourself with someone else, to allow yourself to remember the joys and sorrows of the past.

Booker listens intently, a smile playing at his lips. He asks questions, probes deeper, and his curiosity is contagious. Before you know it, you're telling him stories about the less appropriate times, the late nights and the pranks, the time you'd accidentally set a training room on fire, the time you and Obi-Wan had nearly ruined diplomatic relations with Hynestia Prime as teenagers.

"Wait, wait, wait," Booker says, laughing, stopping the two of you in the middle of the corridor. "How did you end up in the fountain?"

"I couldn't tell you," you chuckle as you against the bulkhead, wincing when the wound in your side pulls. "Hynestian ice wine is stronger than it looks."

"So I've heard," he says, grinning. "And the prince?"

"He didn't seem to care much," you snort. "He sent a marriage proposal to the Council the next morning."

Booker doubles over, howling with laughter, and the two of you dissolve into fits of giggles, clutching each other for support. The pain in your side is forgotten, the weight of the grief and the darkness lifted, if only for a short time.

Booker finally manages to regain his composure, wiping the tears from his eyes. He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading the two of you down the corridor.

“You miss it," he says after a pause, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah, I do," you admit with a sigh. "I didn't realize it until now, but...I do. There were good times. The Temple was home, and the Order was family. It's not perfect, and there are things I wish I could change, but..."

"What would you change?" he asks quietly.

"Well," you start slowly, but the words die in your throat, and you frown.

A hundred things come to mind, and none of them seem right to speak about with Booker. There’s enough discontentment already without speaking on the way they turned their backs on you over Yaddle, or how the Council had been so slow to act the growing threat of the Separatists, or how the rules and restrictions had only grown more stringent and the punishments for breaking them had increased.

The Order isn’t the same as it was, and the changes weigh heavily on you. But it's not Booker's burden to bear, and you can't bring yourself to share that burden with him.

"Never mind," you sigh as the memories fade away, replaced by a sadness and a weariness that you can't shake.

Booker watches you carefully before nodding, and you can see the understanding in his eyes. You’ve known for a long time that he’s more than aware of the rumors and whispers about you, the speculation about your motives and loyalty, and that it bothers him, too. He doesn't need to hear the details.

The two of you walk in silence for a while, and the melancholy settles over you again. The nostalgia and the joy had been brief, a reprieve from the grief, and it fades as quickly as it came, leaving behind a hollowness in its wake.

You turn down a side corridor and approach a large viewport looking out over the stars, and Booker stops, letting go of your arm and stepping up to the transparisteel. You join him, leaning against the railing, and the two of you stand there, side-by-side, gazing out into the endless expanse.

The stars are a blur as the Oracle speeds through hyperspace, a kaleidoscope of color and light. It's hypnotic, and you let yourself get lost in the pattern, your mind wandering, the events of the past days playing over and over in your head.

“Can I ask you something?" Booker's voice cuts through the silence, pulling you back to the present. When you turn, his brow is furrowed, his hands resting on the railings. "And be honest."

"Of course," you reply.

He takes a deep breath and glances down, his fingers tapping against the metal.

"Would you leave the Order? If you had the chance?" he asks as his eyes meet yours, unwavering. "For good."

You're caught off guard by the question. You'd expected him to ask about the past, not the future. You look down, chewing the inside of your cheek.

Your first instinct is to deny it, to push the idea and reassure him you’d never even think about it. But you stop yourself.

The Order is your home. Or, it always felt that way. But the longer the war goes on, the more you realize home isn’t the Temple, not anymore. Not since Yaddle disappeared, and certainly not since the war began.

Now, the Jedi Temple is just another building, a relic of a past you can no longer fully claim. You still believe in the ideals, the principles, and you have no doubt the Order is doing what is best for the Republic, but it feels distant, alien, and at times, almost hostile.

In truth, the most at home you’ve felt since Yaddle’s death has been among the clones, and the most at peace with yourself has been with Rex. The Order is the foundation for everything you do, but the 419th are your foundation now, and it's the men, the bonds between you and the friendships you've made, that have given you strength, purpose, and the will to carry on, no matter how heavy the burden might be at times.

Leaving the Order and your position as their general behind is unthinkable. But after the war ends, if you survive it...well, that's a different question, and one that's not as clear cut.

"I...don't know," you admit softly.

Booker nods and turns his attention back to the viewport, and you follow suit, your gaze drifting back to the stars.

"Why are you asking?" you press gently after a pause.

He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly.

"I don't know," he mutters, and his shoulders slump. "I guess...I guess I'm just wondering if you're okay."

You blink and look up at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I'm worried about you," he says, a slight frown crossing his face. He rests his hands on the railing again, staring out at the stars. "I know Snap has already told you how we feel, but...it's not easy. The Council may be giving you shit for what happened on Duro, but we don't."

He pauses, his jaw working, his gaze fixed on the viewport. You watch him closely, waiting, unsure where this is going.

"We don't blame you for any of it," he continues, and there's a note of determination in his voice, a hint of anger. "I know what's going to happen once we get to Coruscant. You're going to take the fall for it, and the Council is going to sweep the rest under the rug. It's not fair, and it's not right."

"Booker," you start, reaching out to him. "You know I have to. It was my call, my decision."

"That's what they're counting on," he replies bitterly, pulling his arm away from you and turning to meet your gaze. "They know you'll take the fall, because that's who you are. But it wasn't your fault. It was an impossible choice, and you did what was best. You made the only decision you could, and I'll be damned if they're going to hang that around your neck."

“You can’t protect me from this, Booker," you tell him, and you take his hand, squeezing gently. "They're going to do what's necessary, and there's nothing either of us can do to stop them. I'll accept whatever punishment they deem fit."

"You shouldn't have to," he says. He shakes his head, a note of pleading creeping into his voice. "You've done nothing but try to make things better. You're a hero. You deserve better."

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in. A hero. It's a term that's been thrown around a lot lately. You've heard it from him before, from many of the men, even from Anakin, that you should be praised and celebrated, not condemned and questioned. But the truth is far more complicated, and the praise feels hollow and meaningless. You're not sure you can ever truly accept it.

"There's no such thing," you say with a sigh. "Not really."

"Maybe not," he concedes, his eyes searching yours. "But you deserve a chance to live your life, not just survive. You deserve the opportunity to make your own choices."

"I chose to lead the 419th, and that's what I'm going to do," you reply, a note of finality in your tone. You take his hand, holding it firmly. "No matter what happens, I'm not going anywhere."

"You should," he says with a bitter laugh. "Get as far away from here as you can. Find a nice planet somewhere in the Outer Rim, or even the Unknown Regions, and settle down. Live the rest of your life in peace."

"And do what?" you scoff. "Plant vegetables and raise nerfs?"

"Whatever the hell you want," he replies with a shrug. "Hell, open up a bar or something, and let everyone else fight the war."

You can't stop the amused smile from spreading across your face at the suggestion, and a soft laugh escapes your lips. It's a nice fantasy, the thought of getting away from it all and starting over. Your dreams of the golden fields and Rex have shown you that it might be possible, if you could convince him to go with you. But even that feels distant, out of reach, a faint whisper in the back of your mind. And not one you can dwell on while people all over the galaxy are fighting and dying.

"My taste in alcohol doesn't exactly fit with the general populace," you say wryly. "I think I'd have an issue with my clientele."

"Who cares?" he replies. "It's your place. You can kick out anyone you want. No rules. No regulations. No Council breathing down your neck."

You smile and shake your head. "And who would run it?"

"Me," he says confidently. "I'm good with numbers. I'd manage the books, keep the lights on. I'll even work for tips."

"What, so I can be your boss?" you ask, arching an eyebrow.

"You're my boss already," he replies with a lopsided grin. "Might as well pay me for it."

"Fair point," you snort.

"It's your life, General," Booker says after a pause, his tone soft, serious. "You should do what's best for you. That's all I'm saying."

You sigh, running a hand through your hair and wincing as your wound pulls. "And if what's best for me is staying right here, with you and the 419th, can you accept that?"

He's quiet for a while, his brow furrowing, and his gaze moves back to the stars. You wait patiently, letting him process his thoughts. It's not an easy decision, and you know he's wrestling with it, too. He's had his own doubts about the war and the toll it's taken on the both of you. And you're not the only one who's lost someone along the way.

Finally, Booker takes a deep breath and sighs, a resigned look crossing his face. "If that's what you want."

"It is," you reply, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Then I'm with you," he says, his grip tightening on yours. "Until the end."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," you reply as you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand, and the two of you stand there, watching the stars blur by, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you. He seems content to keep standing here, and you're happy to indulge him. There's still a lingering sense of guilt and shame, and it will be some time before it fades completely. But the pain is easing, and for the first time since Duro, it doesn't feel like the weight of the galaxy is resting on your shoulders.

"How are the others?" you ask quietly, breaking the silence. "How's Snap?"

"They're alright," he replies, his tone neutral, but there's a hint of weariness in his voice. "Most of them, anyway. Snap's pissed about his leg, and he's got a wicked scar, but he's gonna be fine. They all are."

“And you?”

"Me?" Booker scoffs. "I'm peachy, thanks for asking. Drowning in reports and requisition forms, and someone decided to pick up a new shiny on Duro that's made my life a living hell this past week. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

You look away and try to hide your smile, feigning ignorance. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh huh," he grumbles, rolling his eyes. "Well, you're gonna have a hell of a time dealing with him. Looks like we're stuck with him now."

"I thought Price would want a reassignment," you frown. "Doesn't he want to join his batchmate? The one from the 212th?"

"You'd think," he snorts derisively. "But he's dead set on staying with us. Thinks he owes it to you."

"Owes me?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "For saving his life. Won't shut up about it, actually.”

"That's not—"

"Don't even try," he interrupts with a smirk. "If the rest of the men weren't already convinced of your heroics, the kid's been telling everyone within earshot about it. So much for being a humble Jedi, eh?"

You sigh and shake your head. "I can talk to him—"

"Oh, no," he interjects, and his expression turns serious, his eyes fixed on you. "You're not talking to him. Or any of the men. I'm putting my foot down."

"Excuse me?"

"You're still recovering, and the last thing anyone needs is you getting worked up about everything that happened," he says firmly. "Let the kid gush. Let him sing your praises. Hell, let him build you a statue if it'll make him feel better. But until I get the all-clear from the Chief, you're not setting foot near the barracks, got it?"

"That's ridiculous," you protest, a scowl crossing your face. "I'm their General. I have a duty to them."

"Yes, you do," he replies, his tone even. "And your duty right now is to get some rest. We'll deal with the men. The Council is sending over a team to assess the 419th, see how the losses will affect operations."

"When?"

"In a couple days," he says. "We'll have our briefing and start going through the personnel files."

"And where will I be during all of this?" you press, a hint of bitterness entering your voice.

"Taking care of yourself," he says firmly, and his expression softens, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "Don't worry about the rest. Let me and the others take care of the heavy lifting."

"Booker, I can't—"

"I won't hear any arguments," he cuts you off, and his grip tightens, his eyes boring into yours. "I'm serious. We've got this. And if we need your input, we'll ask for it. But until I say otherwise, you're taking the time to recover. That's an order."

You narrow your eyes, glaring at him. "You're enjoying this."

"Maybe a little," he admits with a smirk, and he pulls away, letting his hand drop from your shoulder. "But I mean it. I've got everything covered. Just take care of yourself. Please."

"Alright," you relent, the irritation fading, and you sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. "If it'll make you happy, I'll stay out of your way."

"It will," he replies. "Thanks."

The two of you exchange a smile, and he reaches down, his hand resting gently on the small of your back, guiding the two of you away from the viewport. You try not to drag your feet at the prospect of going back to the medbay, the thought of spending another night alone with nothing but the endless stream of memories and nightmares for company.

"Come on," he says softly. "Let's get you back to the Chief before he finds out you're gone."

"Yeah," you murmur, a hint of dejection in your voice. You glance back over your shoulder, the stars blurring together into a sea of light, and then sigh and let him lead you away.

You don't make it further than a few steps down the hall before a familiar figure rounds the corner, and your heart skips a beat in your chest. Rex is marching toward you, a deep frown on his face, and you can sense his anger and frustration before he even opens his mouth.

“Uh oh. Busted,” Booker mutters under his breath, and he stops short, pulling away from you. "You’re in trouble now."

“Me? This is your fault,” you hiss back, jabbing him in the ribs with your elbow, and he grunts. “I’m innocent. I’ve been kidnapped.”

Rex is upon the two of you in an instant, and the scowl on his face is enough to make both of you squirm. He plants his feet in front of the two of you and crosses his arms, glaring at Booker.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he demands.

"Hey Rex," Booker greets him, his tone casual, as if he hasn't just been caught red-handed. "Fancy seeing you here. How's it going?"

"You know damn well how it's going," Rex retorts, and the glare shifts from Booker to you, the disapproval evident. "We've been looking all over the ship for you. What are you doing out of bed?"

"Nothing," you reply. "Just...enjoying the view."

"Really? 'Cause the last time I checked, the view is exactly the same in the medbay," he replies dryly, his eyes narrowing.

"Is it?" you ask, feigning surprise. You glance over at Booker, who just shrugs, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Yes," Rex sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. "It is."

"Huh," you mutter. "How 'bout that."

Booker snorts and tries to stifle a laugh, and you can't hold back your own grin, the two of you exchanging a conspiratorial glance. Rex looks between the two of you and lets out a groan, shaking his head in exasperation.

"This isn't funny," he snaps, jabbing his finger at the two of you. "You're injured, and you need rest. Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to sneak out of the medbay?"

"Okay, seriously," Booker cuts in. He holds up his hands. "You can stop with the yelling. She didn't have anything to do with it. It was all my idea. Blame me."

"Oh, I am," Rex replies darkly. "Trust me."

"Come on, man," Booker says, and he puts a hand on Rex's shoulder, the gesture intended to placate him. "It's not that big a deal. She's fine. She was just stretching her legs, that's all."

"And you didn't think to bring a comm unit or tell someone where you were going?" Rex presses, pushing Booker's hand away. He turns his attention to you, and his eyes dart to the floor. "And where are your shoes?"

You follow his gaze, and a flush creeps across your cheeks as you realize that you're not wearing any shoes. Or socks. You'd been so eager to escape the confines of the medbay that you hadn't even thought about it, but now that you have, a chill runs down your spine. Your feet are cold and aching, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to warm them up.

"Well..." you begin slowly, trying to think of an excuse, but Rex is already stepping toward you, his frown deepening.

"You've been missing for an hour," he says quietly, reaching out. His hand hovers in the space between the two of you before he glances at Booker, and he sighs and rubs the back of his neck instead. "I was worried something happened.”

"Nothing happened," you assure him. "We're just—"

"Taking a walk," Booker finishes for you.

Rex nods slowly and looks down the corridor, his expression hardening.

"Alright," he says, and he turns and starts walking back the way he came.

"Where are you going?" you shout after him.

"To get a pair of socks," he calls over his shoulder, not stopping or looking back. "You're not walking around this ship barefoot. Just stay there.”

Booker chuckles and shakes his head, and you stare after Rex, bewildered.

"Told you," he whispers. "You're in trouble."

"Shut up," you mutter, and you shove him playfully.

He grins and shoves you back, and the two of you start arguing like children, pushing and wrestling with each other. He’s being gentle, and you can tell he's holding back, not wanting to hurt you. It only serves to make you more frustrated. You're not an invalid, and the fact that everyone else thinks you are is beyond irritating.

You're about to push him again, harder this time, and put him in his place, but the sight of a familiar face returning stops you in your tracks.

“Hey! Stop that," Rex snaps as he reappears, carrying a pair of socks and boots. Booker immediately stops and steps back, straightening his posture and folding his hands behind his back. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"It's not my fault," you protest, but Rex ignores you, kneeling down in front of you and grabbing your foot. You're so shocked that you can't even react as he slides the sock onto your foot and starts working the boot over it.

You glance at Booker to see him grinning at you, and you can't keep the sheepish smile from spreading across your face. He raises his eyebrows and gives a pointed look at Rex, who's still on his knees in front of you, and the embarrassment intensifies.

"Oh, no you don't," Rex grumbles, and he yanks the other boot from your grasp when you try to pull it out of his reach. "I've got it."

"I can do it," you insist.

"Let him," Booker interjects, his tone playful. "It'll make him feel better."

Rex sighs and glares up at him, but the look melts away as soon as his eyes meet yours, and he goes back to working the boot over your foot. He takes his time, carefully buckling them and adjusting the straps, and your face heats as his hand lingers on the back of your calf.

"There," he murmurs, looking up at you.

"Thanks," you manage to squeak out, your cheeks burning.

"Don't mention it," he mutters.

You stare down at him, unsure what to do or say. His hand is still resting on your leg, and his thumb is rubbing slow circles on the back of your knee. It's a tender, intimate gesture, and it's all you can do not to throw yourself at him and kiss him.

The silence that has settled between you is broken by a loud snort, and the two of you quickly look over and see Booker watching with raised brows, his mustache twitching.

"What?" you snap as Rex jumps to his feet. His face is bright red, and he turns and faces the wall, refusing to look at you.

"Nothing," Booker smirks, and he winks at you. "I'm gonna head to the office. I've got a bunch of reports to finish. You okay to get her back?"

"Yeah, yeah," Rex mumbles, his voice hoarse. "Go ahead. I've got it."

"’Course you do," he chuckles. He steps forward and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He plants a quick kiss on the top of your head. "See you in the morning, General. Captain."

“Bring cards,” you call out after him, and Booker gives a thumbs up over his shoulder as he strides away.

The two of you watch him disappear around the corner before turning to each other, and an awkward silence descends upon the two of you. You look away, trying to keep your composure, and you can hear Rex clearing his throat, no doubt fighting the same battle.

"So..." you trail off, biting your lower lip.

"So," he says with a shrug, and you lapse into another uncomfortable silence.

You glance down and notice that his hand is balled into a fist at his side, and you remember the way he'd hesitated earlier, the way his fingers had lingered on the back of your leg. He'd wanted to touch you. You take a step toward him, and his eyes meet yours, his gaze intense, searching.

"You're not mad?" you ask hesitantly.

"I was," Rex admits. "But...he's right. You were only taking a walk."

"I didn't mean to worry you," you reply.

"I know," he sighs. "I was just...scared."

"I'm sorry," you say, taking another step forward. "I just needed to get out of there. It’s been days, and…”

"I understand," he says softly, and the look in his eyes takes your breath away. "And...I'm glad you're safe."

"Me too," you smile.

Rex moves closer, his eyes never leaving yours. He's mere inches away now, and he casts a furtive glance up and down the corridor before he cups your cheek in his palm. You lean into the touch and close your eyes, relishing the warmth of his hand. He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone, and a shiver runs through you.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

"Better," you reply, and you reach up and take his hand, giving it a squeeze. "You don't need to worry about me, though."

"That's a lost cause, cyar’ika," Rex murmurs, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, his fingers curling around yours. “You shouldn’t be wandering the halls like this. You could get hurt."

"I was feeling claustrophobic," you say, a small, apologetic smile crossing your face.

"We're on a starship," Rex replies wryly.

"Exactly," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

He sighs and shakes his head, but you can see the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. He brushes his knuckles across your cheek and steps away, his hand dropping to his side.

"Let's get you back," he says, and he offers his arm to you.

"Can we take the long way?" you ask him with a mischievous grin, your arm linking through his. "I haven't seen the outside of that room in a while."

He snorts and rolls his eyes. "Fine. But if the Chief or anyone else asks, it's your idea, and I had nothing to do with it."

"Deal.”

The two of you set off, strolling slowly down the corridor. You lean against him, enjoying the closeness, the feeling of his arm, warm and solid, beneath your touch. The corridors are empty, save for the occasional clone trooper who nods at the two of you as you pass, and the quiet is a welcome reprieve.

The silence between the two of you is comfortable, and Rex seems content to let it linger, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. You let your mind wander, and soon enough, you find yourself lost in thought.

Your conversation with Booker has brought up a lot of questions, and a lot of uncertainties. You've been so focused on getting the war over with that you've never really given any serious thought to what life will be like afterward. At the beginning of the conflict, you and the rest of the Jedi had thought the war would end in a few months at most, and life would go back to normal.

But as the months and years went on, and the losses mounted, the reality became clear.

You'd spent the past year fighting a war that wasn't going to end anytime soon. It had already changed you, and it’s changed the lives of the men. And there was no telling how much more the war would change the galaxy.

As for your place in it, you have no idea what your future holds. But you have a feeling it depends on the man walking beside you, and just how far the two of you are willing to go to be together.

Rex’s hand comes to rest on yours, his thumb rubbing the back of your palm. You resist the urge to lace your fingers through his, to hold his hand properly.

He's been skittish around you since you woke up from the bacta tank, and you don't want to push him too far, too fast. But to go from casual touches and hugs while the two of you were still pretending to be nothing more than friends, to this, his hand on yours and nothing more, is difficult. Especially since your kiss on Duro was so...intense.

You’ve only been awake and lucid for a couple days, and in that time, he's kept his distance, only touching you occasionally and always in a professional or protective manner. He sits by your bedside in the evenings and reads reports with you, his eyes glued to the datapad, and his hand rests on the sheets beside him, never once venturing close to yours. Even now, his touch is hesitant, light and cautious, as if he's unsure of himself, afraid of what might happen if he does anything more.

It's frustrating, to say the least, and part of you wonders if it's because he regrets what happened. Maybe he's changed his mind about the two of you. Maybe he's decided it's too risky. Maybe he's not sure what he wants anymore.

Maybe you need to make it clear that you're ready for this, and whatever happens, it's going to be worth the risk.

"What are you thinking about?" Rex asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. He turns and looks down at you, his gaze searching, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"You," you answer, your voice soft.

"Me?" he says, his brow furrowing. He sounds surprised, and you can sense the nervousness building within him.

"Mhm," you nod. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I guess not," he says slowly, but he still looks unsure. He glances away, a hint of uncertainty in his expression. "You're always on my mind."

"Always?"

"Always," he confirms as he turns back to look at you. "Ever since...well, ever since we met."

"Well, that's good to hear," you say, unable to hold back a smile. You lean closer, letting your head rest on his shoulder, and you feel him stiffen for a second before relaxing slightly. "Because you're on my mind, too."

Rex ducks his head, and his cheeks flush, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. You laugh and nudge him with your shoulder, and his grip on your arm tightens.

"Rex. Relax," you say gently, and his eyes meet yours. You give him a reassuring smile and squeeze his arm, hoping the touch will ground him, remind him that it's okay, that this is okay. "I'm just teasing. I promise I won’t bite. Well, not unless you want me to."

He groans and covers his face with his free hand, his head falling forward. You can't keep the smirk from spreading across your face as his flush creeps down his neck.

"Not funny," he mumbles, but there's no real anger in his voice. And when his hand falls, you can see the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"I'm sorry," you say, laughing.

He huffs and rolls his eyes, his hand dropping from yours, and the loss of contact sends a pang of disappointment through you. He steps away and puts a bit of distance between the two of you, his gaze turning back to the path ahead.

"Come on," he mutters. "Let's go."

You walk beside him, your shoulders brushing every now and again, but he doesn’t try to take your hand again. A heaviness settles over the two of you, the silence weighing down on you like a shroud, and you find yourself fidgeting as you walk. It feels like something has shifted between you, a wedge that hadn’t been there before. You can feel it, an unease that hadn’t existed before, a wall that wasn't there a week ago.

You want to ask, but you can't bring yourself to break the silence. You cross your arms over your chest and hunch your shoulders, and Rex does the same, his gaze fixed on the floor ahead.

It's clear the two of you need to talk, but you're not sure how to start the conversation. The last thing you want to do is push him. You made a mistake before the battle began in asking for that dinner, and his hesitation had been apparent, even if he hadn't said no. Now, you're not sure what's holding him back, but whatever it is, it's not something that can be fixed with a joke.

Even though Rex had told you he loved you and kissed you after everything fell apart, and even though he had taken the time to check up on you while you were in the bacta tank, and even though you feel a connection between the two of you, stronger than any other relationship you've ever had, you can't assume anything. You can't risk scaring him off again. You’re not sure you can survive losing him.

But there's something bothering him, and the longer it goes on, the more it seems to eat away at him. His smiles don't quite reach his eyes, and the bags beneath his eyes have gotten darker. You’ve caught him staring off into the distance a dozen times in the past couple days, his expression troubled and conflicted. Whatever is bothering him is weighing him down, and you wish he would tell you what it is.

He's clearly hurting, and you can feel his pain, his uncertainty, as if it were your own.

"Are you alright?" you finally ask him.

"Of course," Rex replies quickly, his gaze never wavering from the path ahead.

"Rex," you say softly, stopping.

He stops too and turns to face you, his brow furrowed, his hands clasped behind his back. "What's wrong?"

"I can tell something's bothering you," you say, reaching out and resting a hand on his arm. "You can tell me. I'm here for you."

"It's nothing," he says. He gives your hand a gentle pat and turns, continuing down the corridor.

"Rex," you say, a note of exasperation in your voice.

He doesn't reply, and he doesn't stop walking.

"Rex," you repeat, louder. You haven't moved from your spot, and the gap between the two of you widens.

Rex slows, but he doesn't turn. His shoulders slump, and he comes to a stop, his head hanging forward.

"I'm not letting this go," you say, keeping your tone even. You cross your arms over his chest and wait for him to turn and face you.

He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, and for a second, you think he's going to keep walking. But he sighs and turns, his eyes meeting yours.

"Now isn't the time. You need to get back."

"You need to talk," you counter, raising an eyebrow, and you plant your feet, standing your ground. "And I'm not moving until you do."

"You're so stubborn," he mutters, shaking his head.

"So are you," you retort. "So either you start talking, or we're going to be standing here all night."

Rex’s eyes narrow, and you stare right back, determined not to blink first. The two of you stand there, locked in a silent stalemate. You're not going to let him brush this off, not this time. Something's bothering him, and the longer he keeps it bottled up, the worse it will get. And if there's one thing you've learned over the past several months, it's that things have a way of bubbling to the surface, no matter how hard someone tries to bury them.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, and the fight seems to go out of him. He closes the distance between the two of you and takes your arm, gently leading you into an alcove, out of view. You allow him to guide you, and he stops, turning to face you. His hands are still holding your arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

"This is what's bothering me," he says quietly.

"Me?" you ask, confused.

"No," he sighs, his hands tightening on your arm. "Yes. No."

Rex drops his hands and runs a hand through his hair, a look of frustration crossing his face.

"I don't know how to say it," he admits quietly, and his gaze falls to the floor, his brow furrowing. "There's so much going on, and I..."

He trails off, and you wait, giving him the space to sort through his thoughts. You can see the pain in his eyes, and you want to reach out and comfort him, to reassure him, but you stay still, giving him the time he needs.

"Rex, what is it?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light and encouraging. "Whatever it is, we can work it out. Together."

Rex takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, his gaze is fixed on the wall behind you, and his jaw is clenched. He looks almost...scared.

"It's just...what happened back there. After..." he trails off and takes another deep breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "What happened between us...was a mistake."

Your heart drops to your feet. You feel like someone's knocked the wind out of you, and you take a step back, the shock and pain washing over you in a wave.

It takes all of your self control to keep your face neutral. The last thing you want is to make him feel bad about his feelings, but hearing those words stings. You knew you were pushing your luck, and the possibility of Rex having changed his mind was always there, but you hadn't thought it was actually the case.

You swallow the lump in your throat and square your shoulders, doing your best to look unaffected. The mask you’re used to wearing slips into place, and you can feel the walls coming up around your heart, blocking out the hurt and rejection.

"Oh," you manage to choke out, trying not to cringe at how hollow your voice sounds. "Okay. I'm...I'm sorry."

"No, no," Rex says quickly, taking a step toward you, and he reaches out and takes your hand. You pull away and cross your arms over your chest, and he drops his hand back to his side, a crestfallen look crossing his face. "Please, let me explain."

"You don't have to," you tell him, looking away. You're not sure how much more of this you can handle, and the last thing you want is for him to apologize. The last thing you want is for him to pity you.

"No, please," he insists, and he takes another step toward you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder.

You turn and look at him, and the pain and fear in his eyes is enough to make you pause. You nod, giving him permission to continue, and Rex lets out a shaky breath, his hand dropping back to his side.

"It's not...it's not because of you," he begins, his voice cracking. He swallows hard and continues, his eyes fixed on the ground, his tone quiet. "It's...everything. I care about you, cyar'ika. More than anyone. And I meant it, what I said to you. But..."

"But what?"

"This is wrong," he whispers. "Everything about this is wrong. It's...it's selfish and reckless and irresponsible, and I..."

"You regret it," you say, finishing the sentence for him, your heart sinking. "I understand."

"I don't," he says firmly. "That's not what I'm saying. I could never regret you. Please, just let me finish."

"There's nothing to say," you say, the mask cracking. You can't stand here and listen to him talk about the two of you like this. Your chest is tight, and it's getting harder and harder to breathe. "We were both under a lot of stress. It was a mistake, and it won't happen again."

"I don't want it to stop," Rex says, his voice rising slightly before he quickly looks around, his gaze darting up and down the hall, checking for anyone who might have overheard him. His tone drops again, and his voice shakes as he continues. "I care about you, and...and I love you, and I want to be with you, but..."

"But what?"

"But I can't," he says, the words coming out in a rush, his voice breaking. He looks down and takes a shaky breath, and his eyes meet yours. "We can't do this. We can't be together. It's not possible."

"Right," you nod, doing your best to hide the hurt, the disappointment.

You should’ve known it was too good to be true, that someone as kind and wonderful as Rex would ever want someone like you. You should've realized it before the kiss, but your own stupidity blinded you, and now...

"I want to. I do. So much," Rex breathes. His hand cups your cheek, his fingers trembling against your skin. "More than anything. But it's...it's impossible."

"I see," you murmur.

"Cyar'ika," he says softly, and the pain in his eyes, the way his voice cracks, the way his hand trembles against your cheek, it breaks something inside of you. You feel like your heart is shattering, and you close your eyes, trying not to cry. "Look at me."

You shake your head, and his hand slips from your cheek. You take a deep breath and open your eyes, doing your best to keep your composure.

"It's okay," you say quietly, trying not to break. "I understand."

"Please," he whispers, and his voice cracks. He takes your hand in his and holds it tightly, his gaze boring into yours. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm just...I'm trying to protect you."

"Protect me? From what?" you ask hoarsely, your brows furrowed. You shake your head and take a step back. His hand falls away, and his shoulders slump. "From the Council? They don't need to know about this. About us. I'd never—"

"It's not the Council," he interrupts, and he glances down the corridor. You follow his gaze, and you both spot a droid approaching. Rex quickly pulls you deeper into the alcove, shielding you from view. The two of you wait until the droid passes, and he releases his grip on you, stepping back. "I'm trying to protect you from me."

"What are you talking about?" you demand, the hurt giving way to confusion.

"Look," he starts, and he turns away, running a hand over his head, his expression strained. "I can't...I can't give you what you want."

Your eyes narrow. "What is it you think I want?"

"A life," he replies, turning back to face you. He lets out a shaky sigh, and his eyes lock with yours, the look in them so earnest, so desperate, it takes your breath away. "A future.”

"What does that mean?"

"It means...it means this can't be forever," Rex says, gesturing between the two of you. "You're a Jedi. I'm a clone. I'm not...I can't be what you need. I know you saw a future for us in that dream, and I know you want that. You deserve that. But...that's not going to happen. Not with me."

"Rex..." you sigh.

"I don't know how much time I have left," he says softly, his voice trembling. He's trying so hard to keep it together, to stay strong, but you can see the cracks forming in his facade, the pain and sorrow starting to leak through. "I could...I could die tomorrow. Or next week. Next month. I can't give you a life, and I can't promise you a future. Not one like the one you saw. All I can give you is now, and maybe not even that."

"Rex, that's not true," you say, stepping closer, but he moves away, putting distance between the two of you, as if he can't bear the thought of being close to you.

"Yes, it is," he says, his voice cracking. He glances up and down the corridor, his expression pained, and his eyes flicker to yours before darting away. "I'm sorry, but...this is the way it has to be. This is the only choice I can make."

"No."

"Cyar'ika—"

"No," you repeat, your voice rising.

Your anger is threatening to spill over, and you take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You know it's not his fault, that he's just doing what he thinks is right, but the fact that Rex would give up so easily, without even trying, without fighting for the two of you, infuriates you. After everything, after all this time, he's just going to walk away?

"No?" Rex asks incredulously.

“It’s not the only choice, and you know it," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You can feel the hurt starting to bleed through the cracks, and you fight to hold it back, to keep yourself from lashing out at him. "You're choosing to be alone, and to suffer alone, and that's not the only option."

"Maybe not, but it's the right one," he says, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the pain and sadness reflected there. “It’s what’s best for you."

"Don't," you hiss, taking a step forward. He recoils slightly, his eyes widening, but you press on. "Don't do that. Don't try and tell me what I need or what's best for me. I've been listening to everyone telling me what to do and how to act for years, and I'm done with it. It's not the Council's place to decide what's best for me, and it's not yours, either."

"You know that's not what I'm doing," he murmurs.

"Yes, it is," you snap. "You think I don't know what the risks are? You think I don't understand that every single day could be the last, for either of us? I do. More than you realize.”

"Then why are you fighting me on this?" he demands, and he runs a hand over his head, letting out a sharp exhale. The pain in his eyes is like a knife in your chest. "If you know that, why would you want to risk it?"

"Because," you say, your voice wavering, the tears threatening to spill over, "it's worth it. Because I'm in love with you, Rex. And I don't care if it's selfish, or stupid, or reckless. I don't care about the consequences. I don't care if we only have a day left together, or a year, or a lifetime. All I care about is being with you."

The alcove falls silent save for the sound of your ragged breathing. You stare at each other, the air thick with emotion, and the tears in his eyes threaten to undo you. But underneath the pain, you can see the longing, the same desire that burns within you, and the sight fills you with hope.

"Do you hear yourself?" he whispers, and his eyes dart up and down the corridor, his voice low. "You can't mean that."

"I do," you reply, your voice softening. You take a step forward, your hands clasped in front of you. "I love you, and I'm not afraid. Not of anything. Not of the Council, or the Senate, or the war. Not even death. But the thought of losing you, of being apart from you...that's the scariest thing in the world. I don't care about the rest of it. All I care about is you, Rex."

Rex falls silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, and his shoulders sag. You reach out and take his hand, and he squeezes it tightly, his breathing shaky.

"There's no future without you," you whisper, your voice trembling. "What I saw...it was only worth dreaming about because you were there, too."

Rex looks up at you, his eyes wide, and a spark of hope flares within you. You can see it in his expression, in the way his gaze lingers on yours, and the way his hand tightens, as if he's afraid you'll slip away.

"You said you don't regret me," you continue, stepping closer, and you gently cup his cheek in your palm, the tears spilling down your cheeks. "Do you really believe that, or were you just trying to let me down easy?"

"I meant it," he says, his voice hoarse, and he leans into your touch, his hand resting on top of yours. "I've never regretted you, cyar'ika. Not for a second."

"Then what's changed?" you ask. "Why is it different now?"

"Nothing's changed," he murmurs, and he turns his head and presses a soft kiss to the center of your palm. "I'm still the same man, and my feelings for you are the same. Nothing could ever change that."

"Then why?"

"Because..." Rex trails off, and he takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "Because it's not fair. To either of us. To have something like that and know that it's going to end, that there's no chance of it lasting...it's not right. I don't want you to have to go through that."

You give him a sad smile and brush a stray tear from his cheek. He closes his eyes, his brow furrowing, and his grip on your hand tightens.

"And you think I would rather live with regret?" you ask, tilting your head to the side.

"What?"

"If something were to happen, if we were to lose each other," you say softly, your thumb brushing across his cheekbone, "do you think it would be better for me not to have had this? Not to have had you? Do you really believe that?"

"I..." Rex opens his eyes and stares at you, his gaze searching.

"Would you rather live with regret than take a chance?"

"No," he admits, his voice quiet. "I would never want that. Not for either of us."

"Then don't let that be the reason you choose," you say, leaning closer, your hand resting against his neck, and his pulse races beneath your fingers. "You're right. We don't know how much time we have, or what's going to happen. But that's the price of love. And the risk is worth it. To me, anyway."

Rex closes his eyes as he finds your hand, and he rests his forehead against yours, letting out a shuddering breath. When he opens his eyes again, the pain in his gaze takes your breath away. He squeezes your hand, his other hand coming up to cradle your face.

"You really want this?" he asks, his voice rough.

"Yes," you breathe.

"Even knowing the risk?"

“Yes.”

"Cyar'ika," he whispers as the fight goes out of him, his shoulders sagging. His eyes glisten, his lower lip trembling. "You...I..."

"You can say it, you know," you murmur, and a small smile tugs at your lips. "If that's what you want."

Rex nods slowly, his gaze locked on yours. He swallows hard, and a tear spills down his cheek as he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your palm.

"You know," he says quietly, his voice cracking. You wait for him to continue, to deny his feelings, to try and push you away again, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "It's not fair. You know just what to say to get your way."

"It's not getting my way if we both want the same thing," you reply with a grin. "But if it helps..."

He laughs, a soft, rueful chuckle, and his smile grows, the warmth in his eyes sending a spark of joy through you.

"You're a terrible influence, cyar'ika," he sighs. His fingers tighten around yours, and he pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. "The worst, really."

"And yet," you tease, sliding your arms around his neck, "here you are."

"Here I am," Rex agrees with a fond smile, and his hand slides up your back, pulling you closer. He ducks his head, his lips hovering over yours. "I love you, too, by the way. In case that wasn't clear."

"It was," you laugh.

You close the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips against his. He melts into the kiss, his hands tangling in your hair and pulling you flush against him. The kiss is soft and gentle, a sweet press of his lips against yours. But the intensity of the emotions behind it, the way Rex holds you, as if he's afraid you'll disappear, leaves you breathless.

It’s hard to hold back, harder still to let him lead. The slow, almost hesitant way he kisses you, as if he's scared he'll break you, is almost unbearable. It takes every ounce of your self control not to deepen the kiss, not to push him against the wall and devour him.

Instead, you force yourself to let him take his time, his lips lingering on yours, his hands trailing down your back. He’s so gentle, so tender, and it almost hurts. But the pain is mixed with pleasure, and you can feel the heat spreading through your body, chasing away the chill in your bones.

Rex breaks the kiss and pulls back, his eyes dark and his cheeks flushed, and he smiles a lazy, satisfied smile. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing over the spot where they'd been earlier, and he lingers there for a second, his breath hot against your skin.

"You have no idea how hard it's been," he breathes as his fingers trail up your spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, "keeping myself from doing that all this time."

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea," you grin, and he chuckles, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Yeah, well," he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours, his hands gripping your hips. "Now that I've started, it's going to be difficult to stop."

"Then don't," you smirk. You press a kiss to his jaw, the stubble scratching your lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

Rex smiles and leans into the kiss, his lips ghosting over your cheek. He tilts your chin up and presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose before slotting his lips against yours again. This time, he's a little more insistent, a little less hesitant, pulling you closer as he kisses you, and a rush goes through you at the realization that he's starting to let go, to allow himself this. You press closer, and he lets out a pleased hum, smiling against your lips.

The two of you stand there for a while, the quiet broken by the occasional giggle or whispered promise, and you revel in the feeling of being close to him, the way he holds you, the way his hands wander, exploring every inch of you. He touches you reverently, as if you're made of glass, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns across your skin, and it's so sweet, so tender, so perfect, that it leaves you breathless.

Finally, Rex breaks the kiss and lifts his head, and he brushes a stray tear drying on your cheek.

"It doesn't change anything," he sighs. "The risks are still there. There are rules, and the Council..."

"Fuck the Council," you mutter, and his eyes widen, a startled laugh escaping his lips.

"Cyar'ika," he scolds, but his tone is amused, and the corners of his lips are turning upward. "You're a Jedi, and a general."

"Sorry," you apologize, laughing, and you press a kiss to his cheek. "But seriously. Screw all of it. We've been dancing around this for months, Rex. Months. And the war's just getting worse. I don't know how much time we have. So, can we please just...forget about the rules and the consequences and everything else for a second, and focus on the fact that we love each other? Can't we just have that? Please?"

Rex chuckles softly and shakes his head, his arms tightening around you, and he gives you a tender smile.

"For once, I agree with you," he says, and he tilts your chin up and kisses you, slow and sweet, his lips soft against yours. "Just this once."

"I'll mark the occasion on my calendar," you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

"You and I both know you don't have one of those," he snorts.

"I could get one," you reply, shrugging. "My first entry. Today, Captain Rex admitted he's wrong about something."

"I did not," he huffs, his brow furrowing, and he leans back and gives you a stern look. "Don't put that on there."

"Yes, you did," you insist, grinning. You press a kiss to his cheek and step back, and his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you close again. "You said I was right, and that we should just ignore all the rules and focus on us."

"Well, that's not..." He starts, and he stops, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Alright, fine. You were right. But we need to talk about this, and the risks involved."

"We will," you assure him. "Right now, I just want to enjoy this. Just for a little while."

Rex looks at you, his gaze soft, and he nods. "Okay. We can do that. But we can't keep this a secret forever. Sooner or later, people are going to find out, and..."

"One step at a time," you interrupt, and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He relaxes slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "So?”

"So," he repeats, a grin pulling at his lips. "We're really doing this?"

"I mean, unless you're having second thoughts," you tease, and he laughs, his breath tickling your cheek.

"No," he answers, cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "Not at all."

You smile and press a kiss to his palm, and he lets out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I love you," Rex murmurs. "And...and I'm willing to risk whatever comes next, as crazy as it sounds. If that's what you want."

"I do." You lean into his touch and grin. "This is all I want."

"Me too," he says, his eyes opening, and the adoration and love in his gaze is almost overwhelming. The smile on his face is infectious, and you can't hold back a grin. "We're really doing this. We're together."

"We're together," you repeat as you bounce a bit, unable to contain your excitement. You throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, and he lets out a startled laugh.

"Easy," he laughs, but he pulls you close, holding you tightly. The motion tugs at your wound, and a hiss of pain escapes your lips before you can stop it. Rex quickly releases you, his eyes wide, his hands hovering near your injury. "Kriff. I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you wince. "I'm fine. It's not bad. Just a bit tender."

He studies you for a second before he lets out a sigh and drops his hands. He steps back and looks around, his eyes sweeping over the corridor, checking for any possible prying eyes or ears.

"I should get you back," he says, turning back to you with a solemn expression. "It's getting late, and you need to rest."

"Can't we stay like this a little longer?" you ask, and you grab the front of his armor, pulling him in for a quick kiss. "We don't get many opportunities like this."

"As tempting as that is," Rex sighs as he extricates himself from your grasp and steps back, "no. We've already pushed our luck enough tonight."

You sigh and nod, and he takes your hand and leads you back toward the medical wing. The two of you walk in silence, your shoulders brushing, and the occasional smile passes between you. You can't wipe the grin from your face, and every time you look at him, his eyes are locked on yours, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips.

Rex is in love with you.

He wants to be with you, and he's willing to break the rules for the chance. It's more than you'd ever hoped for. And if the two of you have to hide it, if it has to be a secret, well, you're used to secrets. Besides, you can think of worse things than sneaking around with him, stealing kisses and spending stolen nights together.

As you walk, your pace slows, and you drift closer to him. Exhaustion is beginning to seep into your limbs, and you find yourself leaning into him, letting him take your weight. The cocktail of medication Wise has been pumping into you has been keeping you awake and alert, but after the physical and emotional toll the day has taken on you, your body is starting to give out.

You blink, trying to clear the fog from your eyes, and you stumble slightly. Rex immediately grabs your arm, steadying you, and you lean against him.

"Alright?" he asks, concern evident in his tone.

"Mhm. Tired," you mumble. You stifle a yawn, rubbing your eyes.

"Almost there," he says gently, his hand sliding around your waist and pulling you closer, supporting some of your weight. "You should've told me you were exhausted."

"Wasn't until now," you say, the words coming out slurred. "I was having fun."

"Fun, huh?" he chuckles, and the rumble in his chest vibrates through you.

"Yeah. I like spending time with you."

"I like spending time with you, too," he replies. Rex looks around before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. "We'll do it again. Soon."

"When?" you ask, your eyelids fluttering. You feel like you're about to pass out, but you force yourself to stay awake, wanting to spend as much time with him as you can.

Rex pulls you to a stop, steadying you as you sway on your feet, and he looks you over. You must look a sight, because his eyes soften, and he shakes his head and sighs.

"C'mere."

You let out a gasp as the world blurs around you, and you're lifted into the air. Rex scoops you up in his arms, one arm around your back, the other hooked under your legs, and he holds you against him, cradling you to his chest. He continues walking, and you blink, staring up at him.

"What're you doing?" you ask, confusion lacing your voice. "I can walk.”

"No, you can't," he snorts. "You're barely upright."

"Still," you grumble, struggling halfheartedly.

"Stop squirming," he says. He ducks his head, and a kiss brushes against your hair. "I've got you."

"Rex," you groan, closing your eyes and leaning into him. Your head is spinning, and you can't keep your eyes open any longer.

"Cyar'ika," Rex sighs, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice. "How about this. If you stop fighting me, and you listen to Wise and actually rest until we get to Coruscant, we'll do something together. Anything. Your choice."

"Anything?" you ask, opening one eye and looking up at him.

"Yes. Anything."

"And it's a date?"

Rex laughs, a soft, gentle laugh, and he looks down at you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"If that's what you want," he says, his voice warm and affectionate. "It's a date."

"Okay," you murmur. You snuggle closer, letting out a contented sigh, and let your eyes fall shut. "Can we eat at Dex's?"

"Of course," he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Good," you mumble, and you drift off to the steady, soothing rhythm of his heart beating against your ear.

The next thing you know, you're being lowered onto a bed, and you let out a sigh, blinking open your eyes. Rex is leaning over you, and he smiles as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face. You're about to ask him to stay when your eyes shift over his shoulder to find Wise staring at the two of you. The clone medic stands a respectful distance away, his arms folded across his chest, a scowl on his face.

"Don't be mad," you plead.

"Oh, I'm not mad," Wise retorts, rolling his eyes. "I'm pissed. Because I told you specifically to not move around, and you did the exact opposite."

"She just needed to stretch her legs," Rex interjects. You try not to look too pleased at him coming to your defense despite his own reservations about the situation, but you’re sure you’re failing. "You've got her cooped up in here. And she's getting bored. She needed a change of scenery."

"So she decides to go for a stroll," Wise says with a snort, and he moves to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder and pressing you back against the mattress. "And has Dash lie for her."

"That was Booker's idea," you argue. You try to push him away, but your movements are sluggish and uncoordinated, and you end up waving your hand lazily in the air instead. "Not my fault."

"Uh huh," Wise drawls, his gaze flicking over to Rex, who has taken a seat beside the bed. "And you thought that was a good idea?"

"Well," Rex starts, his voice hesitant. He clears his throat and straightens his posture, folding his hands in his lap. "Not particularly. But I thought it was a good sign. That she's getting restless."

"It's a good sign, alright," Wise grumbles, and he reaches for a scanner, holding it above you. It emits a high-pitched beeping noise, and a holographic screen appears, displaying your vitals.

"There's nothing wrong with me," you complain, crossing your arms over your chest and slouching against the pillow, your bottom lip jutting out.

"Your vitals would disagree," Wise says. He pokes your shoulder. "Stop pouting. It doesn't work on me."

"I'm not pouting," you mutter.

"Looks like a pout to me, General," Rex chimes in, and you shoot him a glare.

"You're supposed to be on my side," you say accusingly.

"And I am," he replies. He shrugs. "Just being honest."

"See? At least someone here is," Wise scoffs as he runs a handheld scanner across the length of your body. You squirm at the tingling sensation, and he gives you a sharp look, his brows furrowing. "Would you sit still?"

"I'm going crazy in here," you sigh, slumping back against the bed.

"Then don't run around and make it worse," Wise grumbles. His fingers press lightly against the bandage around your ribs, and you bite your lip, holding back a whimper as the pain flares through you. "How's the pain? Scale of one to ten."

"A three," you lie, and he arches an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look.

"Really."

"Maybe a four," you concede.

"Alright," Wise says, his expression softening. "Well, the good news is that you didn't rip any of the sutures."

"Told you," you say, shooting him a smug look. "You didn't even need to scan me."

"And the bad news," Wise continues, ignoring your comment, "is that you're exhausted, and your little stunt has set back your recovery by a couple days. Which means more bacta and a whole lot more rest."

"Fine," you huff, sinking lower into the bed, and Wise rolls his eyes.

"Which means no more going for walks," he warns.

You open your mouth to protest, but Rex catches your gaze. He raises his eyebrows and gives you a pointed look, and, remembering his promise, you close your mouth. A smile spreads across your face, and his lips quirk up into a grin.

"No more walks," you confirm, nodding solemnly.

"Good," Wise says, his tone clipped. He gives you a hard look, his eyes darting between the two of you, and his head tilts slightly. "What's that look for?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, shaking your head. You clear your throat, looking anywhere but at Wise. "What look?"

"That's not a nothing look," Wise replies, and he gestures toward Rex, who's doing his best to remain neutral, though you can see the slight flush to his cheeks. "Something's going on. What is it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rex says. He shrugs and shifts in his seat. "We were just...talking. The General promised me she'd stay put. And she will."

"Uh huh," Wise mutters, and he studies the two of you for a second longer before letting out a sigh. He shakes his head and gives you a stern look. "Get some rest. And don’t move."

"Yes sir," you say, smirking.

"Funny," he drawls. He turns and jerks his head toward the curtain. "Captain, a word?"

"Sure," Rex says, rising to his feet. He glances at you, and his eyes linger, a warm, tender look on his face. You can tell what he wants to say, what he wants to do, and you wish Wise would hurry up and leave so he could. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," you say, smiling. “Bye Rex.”

His lips curve up into a small, shy grin. “Bye.”

"Alright, that's enough," Wise grumbles, and he pulls the curtain aside and ushers Rex through, giving you a stern look as he does. "Stay. Put."

"I will," you sigh. You wave a hand in the air, gesturing for him to leave. He gives you a final glare before pulling the curtain closed behind him.

As soon as the fabric settles, your shoulders slump. The fatigue is catching up with you, threatening to drag you under, and the last bit of fight left in you is fleeing quickly. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to suppress the pain flaring in your ribs. Maybe wandering the halls of the Oracle wasn't such a good idea after all.

"She okay?"

"She will be," Wise sighs. His voice is low, and the tone is one you haven’t heard him use often. He's worried. "She needs rest. And less excitement."

"I know. Sorry," Rex mutters. "I shouldn't have encouraged it."

"I'm glad you did," he admits softly. "As karking annoying as it is, it's good to see her smiling again. And you're probably the one person she'll actually listen to."

"Yeah, well. It took some convincing," Rex chuckles. "But she promised to behave."

"And how did you manage to convince her of that?" Wise asks. There's a hint of suspicion in his tone, and no small amount of amusement, and you hold your breath, waiting for Rex's response.

"She's tired," Rex replies, and you let out a silent breath, grateful for his quick thinking. "And I've been around her enough to know how to handle her."

"Handle her," Wise repeats, his voice full of disbelief. "Right. Like a feral tooka."

"More like a..." Rex pauses. You can hear the smile in his voice, the affection evident, and your heart skips a tiny, traitorous little flutter, "a nexu. Dangerous, if cornered."

Wise snorts. "And you're not scared of being on the wrong end of her claws?"

"Nah. Not anymore," Rex replies, and you feel your cheeks warm. "I know how to get out of the way."

"Lucky for us," Wise mutters, and the two men chuckle. Their footsteps move away from your bed, and they settle on the far side of the room. "So. You want to tell me why you've really been in here every night since the incident?"

"What are you talking about?" Rex asks, his tone carefully neutral.

"I'm talking about you sitting here with her, watching her sleep," Wise drawls, and your eyes widen. You didn't know Rex did that, and the thought sends a thrill through you. "Or do you want to try and tell me it's because you're just a good friend and a dutiful Captain?"

Rex is silent for a minute, and the anxiety twists in your stomach, worry beginning to set in. You know it's ridiculous to be concerned. Wise knows how to keep a secret, and he would never go out of his way to report either of you for this. But a part of you is terrified if he pushes the issue, Rex will realize he's made a mistake and pull back.

"Is it that obvious?" Rex asks quietly, and your worry melts away, relief flooding through you.

"Only to me," Wise replies. He lets out a sigh, and there's a creak as one of the chairs in the room shifts. "Well, and to Booker and a few of the others. But I doubt anyone else suspects anything. Not unless you've been careless."

"I haven't," Rex assures him. He's silent for a second, and the chair creaks again. "What gave it away?"

"Oh, I don't know," Wise snorts. "Maybe the fact that the two of you can't be in the same room without touching and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Or maybe it's the way you talk about her. Or the fact that you've barely left her side since the day she was brought in here."

"Yeah, yeah," Rex mutters, clearing his throat. You can imagine the flush spreading across his face, and the image sends a smile across your face. "Guess I'm not as subtle as I thought."

"Oh, you're subtle," Wise says, and the amusement is clear in his tone. "To an outsider. But to me? You're about as subtle as a Hutt. I've been watching the two of you since Kamino. It was just a matter of time before something happened."

"Watching us?"

"Keeping an eye on you, is more like it," Wise clarifies. He lets out a heavy sigh. "Listen. I don't know the specifics, and I'm not going to ask. Force knows I don't want to know the details. But I'm not blind, or stupid. I know there's something between the two of you."

"Yeah," Rex says softly, his voice thick with emotion, and he clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. "There is."

"It's none of my business," Wise continues, his tone softer, "and I'm not going to tell anyone. I just...don't…” He sighs. “Be careful with her. Please. She's...she's like family. I don't want to see her get hurt."

The room falls silent, and your breath catches in your throat. You can't help but be touched by his words, by his concern for you. He's always been protective, especially after Nadiem, but this is the first time he's openly admitted his feelings to someone else. It warms your heart, and the ache in your chest isn't entirely from the wound.

"I don't want to hurt her," Rex says, his voice barely a whisper. "Ever. I love her. More than anything. I'd die before I let that happen."

"Good," Wise replies gruffly. He clears his throat, and you hear the chair scrape against the floor as he stands, a grunt escaping his lips. "Because if you do..."

"I know," Rex says, and you can hear the amusement in his tone. "You'll kick my ass."

"No," he corrects. There's an edge to his voice, a coldness that sends a shiver down your spine. "I'll kill you."

The threat lingers in the air, hanging heavily over the two of them. You don't doubt that Wise would make good on his promise. In fact, you're fairly certain that he'd succeed.

You sit up to listen closer, wincing at the pain flaring through your side. The movement causes the bed to creak and groan, and you freeze, your eyes trained on the curtain. You wait for several beats, holding your breath, until Wise speaks.

"Good talk, Captain. Glad we're on the same page," he announces, his voice full of false cheer. You hear him clap a hand on Rex's shoulder. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got rounds to finish."

"Right. Of course," Rex says, and you can picture the way he's nodding his head, his lips pursed in a tight line. "Thanks. For, uh...being understanding. About all of this."

"Like I said," Wise drawls as his footsteps start moving toward the curtain, "it's none of my business. Just do me a favor."

"Yeah?"

"Get better at lying," Wise says, his voice dry. "Or we're going to have a problem on our hands. A big one."

"Right," Rex replies wearily. "I'll...work on that."

You lie back and close your eyes as Rex's footsteps grow quieter, and the door to the medbay hisses open and shut. When they're gone, you let out a sigh and sink into the pillows, your eyes fluttering shut. The conversation was...well, surprising. And enlightening.

You weren't aware Wise knew about your feelings for Rex, or his feelings for you. But the fact that he's not going to say anything, that he's willing to risk his own neck to keep the two of you safe, it's...well, it's touching. And more than a little surprising.

The curtain shifts, Wise's familiar presence approaching your bedside, and you try to keep your breathing even as he pulls the sheets up around your shoulder and adjusts the pillows. You can't quite hide the grin though, and he sighs as he pulls away.

"Knew it," he grumbles.

You peek open one eye and find him staring down at you, his arms folded across his chest, his brow arched.

"What was that about?" you ask innocently.

"Nothing," Wise says. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, and his eyes glint. "Just a friendly chat between brothers. Don't worry about it."

"Uh huh," you murmur. You yawn, and he turns and heads back toward the curtain. "Wise?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks," you say softly. You turn your head, watching him. "For not saying anything."

"You know I'd never betray you like that," he says as he looks over his shoulder, his gaze serious. "Never."

"I know," you say, and you give him a small, reassuring smile. "But thanks, anyway. You're a good brother."

Wise blinks, his eyes widening slightly, and he turns away. You can see a flush starting to spread across his cheeks as he pauses at the curtain. Finally, he shakes his head and steps through, yanking it closed behind him, leaving you alone in the darkness.

"Good night, cabur'ika."

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lordofthenerds97 · 4 days ago

Text

IT FINALLY HAPPENED

IM SCREAMING

ITS PERFECT

AND YADDLE’S FORCE GHOST

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dust to Dust

Chapter WC: 6,865

Chapter Tags/Warnings: angst, once again doing whatever I want with the Force /threatening

A/N: This chapter has been rotating in my brain for almost nine months. I honestly can't believe we've made it this far. I can't believe I've made it this far.

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Duro, 20 BBY

You've never seen anything like it. You never knew such a thing was even possible.

In just one year, you've seen more death and weapons of destruction than you ever thought possible. Tanks, ships, lasers, even an ion cannon, once. You've lost count of the battles, the planets, the people you've left behind.

But none of it compares to this.

None of it could have prepared you.

The missiles rain down, hitting the surface and exploding with devastating force, striking first outside the wall surrounding the city and moving inward, a fiery trail of devastation that leaves nothing in its wake. Buildings are leveled, entire city blocks reduced to rubble. And the screams are constant, the cries of the wounded and dying mixing with the roar of the bombs. It's a nightmare, a vision of hell brought to life.

Your vision.

You're not sure what you thought it would be like, this cataclysm, but seeing it now brings to life a terror that you never knew existed. A dread so profound, so deep, that it sweeps through you and leaves you breathless and cold. And you understand now, with a clarity that almost brings you to your knees, why the Force showed this to you.

You did this.

It was your call. Your decision. You led your men here, to this end. You pulled Dash out, you gave the order for him to abandon his post. If it weren't for your choices, they could be safe right now. The shield could have held. The mission could have been completed. The Separatists could have been driven off.

But you chose wrong. You chose attachment, friendship, love, over duty. And now, hundreds, maybe thousands, are paying the price.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into the wind. You can't tell if the men heard you, but it doesn't matter. You'll apologize a thousand times, a million, and it will never be enough. It will never bring back the lives lost.

There's no taking back what's done. No undoing the choices you made. All you can do is try to save who you can, if there's anyone left to save.

You glance at the men around you, their faces ashen and pale, their eyes wide with horror and fear. You know they feel it too. The crushing weight of responsibility, the burden of the lives that are lost, or will be, because of their actions.

"I'm sorry," you repeat, your voice cracking.

"It's not your fault," Dash says weakly. His head is leaning on Price's shoulder, and he looks up at you, his eyes glassy. "It's mine. I couldn't...I couldn't do it. You made the right call."

You want to find comfort in his words, but you can't bring yourself to believe them. Did you? Was it the right choice? Or did you just let your feelings get the better of you, the attachment you have for your men, the ones who've become like family to you, overrule the greater good? Who were you trying to save, really? Your men, or yourself?

"It's no one's fault," Price mutters. He's staring off into the distance, his face blank and emotionless. "It just is."

Snap shakes his head, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Screwball just stares, his mouth open, the horror etched into his features.

"We need to get out of here," Snap announces. His voice is shaking, and he reaches up, wiping the rain and tears from his eyes. "There's...there's nothing we can do. We have to keep moving."

"To where?" Screwball asks, gesturing around at the burning city. Another missile strikes the outskirts, and the ground trembles, sending bits of rubble falling around you. A rock pings off his pauldron, and he flinches, ducking his head. "There's nowhere to go."

"We'll figure something out," Snap replies as he pulls away from you and begins limping forward, his gait uneven. "Come on."

You and the others follow, the five of you huddling together, trying to stay out of the path of the deadly projectiles. But it's impossible to avoid them all. You have to duck and dodge, scrambling around the ruins, the smoke stinging your eyes and lungs. The air around you is thick with ash and the smell of burning metal, and the rain is still pouring down, running in rivets through the cobblestone streets.

A flash of lightning lights up the sky, and a thunderous crack fills the air, followed by the roar of a ship's engines. You look up and see the dark outline of a fighter as it flies past, the rain and smoke obscuring its form. A squad of vulture droids is chasing it, followed by another Republic fighter, and the laser bolts light up the night. The battle is still raging, though it feels like a lifetime ago.

"Reinforcements?" Screwball asks, watching the spectacle above.

"Or just more targets," Price mutters.

"You think Booker made it yet?" Snap asks, his tone hopeful. "Maybe he can turn them back, get some more ships out here."

"I don't know," you say, but you can't hide the doubt in your voice. Even if he was here, the battle is already lost. What could he do, even if he wanted to?

A part of you hopes Booker and the rest of the regiment you left on Nadiem are safe, far away from this hell, but you know it's probably wishful thinking. The odds are that they're already here in orbit, fighting against the Separatist blockade. And if not, the chances are they'll be caught up in the massacre, cut off from support and stranded. Just like you.

You lift your wrist to try to send a message, only to realize your vambrace is cracked down the middle, your comm shattered in its casing. You curse under your breath, kicking a piece of rubble and sending it flying into the wall next to you.

"Booker was right. We should have stayed on Nadiem," you mutter. "I should have listened."

"What?" Dash asks, and he winces as Price adjusts his grip, taking more of the younger clone's weight. "You couldn't have known. None of us could."

"I did know," you admit, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "I saw it. In a vision. This. The missiles, the destruction. I saw it, and I did nothing. I thought...I thought maybe we could change it. That we could make a difference. But we couldn't."

The group falls silent, the only noise the crackling of the fires and the rumble of the explosives in the distance. Your shoulders slump, and you close your eyes, feeling the weight of the guilt pressing down on you. You should have told them sooner, you think. Should have trusted them, believed in them. They would have understood, would have done everything in their power to change the outcome.

But it's too late now.

You feel the hair raise on the back of your neck, and you move your head just in time to avoid a blaster bolt as it zips past, narrowly missing your ear.

"Get down!" you shout, and you throw out a hand, using the Force to shove the others against the nearest wall. You duck behind a pile of rubble, your heart racing, and reach for your lightsaber. A sigh of relief escapes you as it comes to life in your hands again, flashing a familiar yellow.

"What was that?" Dash asks, his voice trembling.

"Droids," Screwball hisses.

Price peers around the corner, and a volley of blaster bolts fly past his head. The droids from the generator site seem to have caught up to you again, looking worse for wear, but still determined. You spot two commando droids, their armor dented and covered in scorch marks, and a trio of B1s. They're firing from across the street, their shots ricocheting off the wall and shattering the glass windows nearby.

"Go," you tell the others, motioning toward a nearby alley. "I'll hold them off."

"We can't leave you," Snap argues.

"You're not," you say. "I'll catch up. Just go."

Snap hesitates, but Price grabs his arm and yanks him forward, dragging him away from you. Screwball and Dash follow, and you hear their footsteps fading as they run. You wait until they're out of sight before moving from your cover, the lightsaber raised.

The commando droids see you first, and they stop firing, turning to face you. They both reach for the glaives strapped to their backs, the curved blades extending with a metallic snap. They begin to move forward, slowly, deliberately, while the other droids continue to fire.

You raise your lightsaber and block the bolts, letting them ricochet off the blade and fly into the surrounding buildings. You focus on the commandos, keeping an eye on their movements. They're trying to flank you, and you move with them, staying between them and the alley, giving the others time to get away.

They advance on you, and you dodge their attacks, sidestepping their slashes and parrying their strikes with quick bursts of the Force. They're fast, and you're beyond exhausted, but you've learned your lesson now, and you let the anger and pain fuel you, pushing your body to its limits.

One of the commandos goes high, and you duck, rolling underneath its swing and coming up behind it. Your lightsaber takes its head clean off as you throw Yaddle's blade. It arcs through the air, slicing through the three B1s and returning to your hand.

The remaining commando lunges, and you leap over its strike, kicking off the wall and bringing your saber down on its head. It surprises you by rolling out of the way, and your blade cuts into the pavement, sending sparks flying. It takes advantage of your stumble, slamming its elbow into your chest and knocking you to the ground.

The air is knocked from your lungs, and you scramble to get up, barely blocking its strike in time. You curse as your lightsaber shorts out again, and the commando kicks you, sending you flying backward. You hit the wall with a grunt and drop your saber, and the droid bears down on you, its blade arcing toward your neck.

There's a flash of light in the sky, and you look up just in time to see a missile streaking toward you, a trail of smoke behind it. The commando turns and freezes, realization dawning on its form as the weapon plows into the street and explodes.

You throw up a barrier as the explosion sends shockwaves rippling through the air, the blast throwing you down the street and into the wall at the end. Your head slams against the stone, and your vision goes white, the pain radiating through your skull.

When the ringing in your ears stops, you roll over, groaning, and push yourself up. Everything is blurred, and your balance is unsteady, but you're alive.

You look back to see the street where the droids had been is nothing more than a crater, the surrounding buildings reduced to rubble. Fire licks at the walls, and pools of molten metal run through the cracks in the ground. There's nothing left. Nothing but dust and ash.

You stumble forward, picking your lightsaber up and holstering it.

But Yaddle's saber is nowhere in sight.

A sense of dread washes over you, and the blood drains from your face as you realize what this means. If the lightsaber is gone, destroyed, the last remnant of Yaddle is gone, too. Her memories, her thoughts, her essence. It's all been erased, wiped out by the flames.

And that means the Light will be gone with her.

"No," you breathe, and you stagger forward, trying to find the lightsaber, trying to find any sign that it survived the blast. You search the area frantically, shoving aside rocks and debris, hoping against hope that it's somehow intact. "Where is it?"

Another explosion rocks the street, and the ground shifts beneath your feet. Your hand scrabbles for purchase against the crumbling wall, managing to catch yourself before falling. You can hear the building above you creak and groan, and a shower of stones and dust rains down, pelting you with debris.

"No, no, please," you whisper, your hands shaking. The pain in your side has returned, a sharp stabbing sensation that radiates through your entire body, and the world spins around you. But you can't leave without it. It's all you have left.

You push forward, moving from pile to pile, looking for the chrome hilt. Your heart pounds, and your lungs burn, the smoke filling the air and stinging your eyes. The flames dance around you, drawing closer, and the heat is almost unbearable.

And still, you keep searching, even as the building threatens to collapse around you. Even as the fires rage and the smoke grows thicker. You can't leave without it.

"Where is it?" you murmur, a note of hysteria entering your voice. You're running out of time. If you don't find the lightsaber soon, it will be lost forever, swallowed by the flames. "Where is it?"

There's a crash as the roof collapses, and you dive out of the way, rolling across the ground as the building comes down, burying the remains of the street in rubble. A plume of smoke rises from the wreckage, and the flames spread, licking at the edges and consuming everything in their path.

"No," you say again, your voice cracking.

You struggle to your feet and limp toward the remains of the building, reaching for the Force to steady your movements. You can feel the pain and the exhaustion pulling at you, and your knees buckle, sending you to the ground. You cry out as the tears start to fall, mingling with the rain.

This isn't how it's supposed to end. This isn't the vision the Force gave you. The planet is being torn apart, your men are dying, and you...you're supposed to succumb to the dark side, let it consume you and give in to the rage and grief. Let Rex be the one to pull the trigger. That's how the story goes.

But here you are, kneeling in the wreckage, the darkness nowhere to be found. Instead, there's just emptiness. Emptiness and an overwhelming feeling of loss. And you know, deep down, that there's no point in looking any more. The lightsaber lost to you, just as she is, just as the part of yourself that was once good and true.

"I'm sorry," you murmur. Your hand is shaking, and you reach up, touching the pendant around your neck. The stone is warm beneath your fingers, and you trace the edges, trying to find comfort in its familiarity.

"I'm sorry."

It's a pitiful thing, a small gesture in the face of so much devastation, but it's all you have left. You take a deep breath, and it shudders, a sob escaping your lips as you close your eyes. All you can see is her face, her smile, the warmth in her eyes. And all you can feel is the ache in your chest, the hollow pit of emptiness where the darkness used to be.

And, in that instant, something breaks inside you.

It's a quiet snap, a subtle shift, but it resonates through you, rippling through the Force like a stone cast into a pond. You can feel it, the change, and a strange sense of calm settles over you. It’s not the calm that precedes the storm of rage and fear that overtakes you in times of darkness, but the calm after the storm, the stillness and quiet that follows in its wake.

It shouldn't have ended this way. It shouldn't have ended at all. You should've done better, fought harder, been stronger. The Force had given you opportunities again and again to see the signs, to prepare for the onslaught, and you failed to see it. You'd been so focused on saving Rex, saving the men, from some dark, twisted version of you that you'd failed to realize the danger was coming from within.

But the past is the past. It's gone now. Gone forever.

"I'm sorry," you murmur again, and your hand falls from the pendant.

You watch, unmoving, as the missiles continue to fall, and the flames lick at your heels, the smoke choking your lungs. Your ribs scream in agony, and the blood loss is starting to take its toll. You can feel yourself slipping, the world fading away around you. And through it all, the Force is silent, the whispers and voices that have plagued you for months, years, gone.

And, somehow, the absence of the dark is the most terrifying thing of all.

"I'm sorry," you breathe, the words barely audible over the roar of the flames. "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing to forgive."

Your eyes fly open, and you whip around, searching for the source of the voice and finding only rising fire and the empty night. The wind howls around you, and the rain pours down, stinging your skin and obscuring your vision. But there's no one there, no living being in sight. Just the ghosts of the city and the flames that will consume it. Still, your heart pounds, and you can feel the hope sparking in your chest, a fragile flame, burning bright and true.

"Master?" you call out, scrambling to your feet. Your wounds scream in protest, and you stumble, the dizziness threatening to send you crashing back down. But you don't care. You need to see her. Need to know she's there.

You turn on your heel as a wall crumbles, sending a plume of ash and embers into the sky. And in it, you see a flicker of something, a shape, a face.

It can't be.

You have to be hallucinating.

You're dying.

"Yaddle, is that you?" you ask, and your voice is hoarse, a weak rasp, barely audible above the crackle of the flames.

But she hears you, and the shape begins to move, the shadows shifting and coalescing into a form. It's small, humanoid, its features obscured by the smoke and haze, a shadowy specter floating amidst the flames. But you recognize the pointed ears, the familiar cloak, the warmth and light radiating from the figure, and a sob escapes your lips, the tears falling freely.

She's not real. She can't be. You know that. But still, you can't stop yourself from stepping forward, reaching for her. The hazy ghost of her form watches you approach, her head tilted to the side, and you can almost make out the smile, the glint in her eyes.

"Yaddle," you repeat, and you choke back another sob, the pain in your side flaring. “I'm sorry."

“You see now, child… what the Order would not,” she says. Her voice is distant, faint, and yet, you can hear her clear as day.

You stumble forward, falling to your knees before her, the flames roaring around you. Your injuries scream, and the tears stream down your face, the emotions flooding through you, relief, joy, pain, regret, sadness, hope, all at once. It's overwhelming, and you clutch at your chest, trying to hold it all in.

"I tried," you insist, and the tears fall, a wave of grief washing over you. "I tried so hard, I just..."

“You chose the heart over the whole,” she says. There's no anger in her tone, no disappointment. Only a sad understanding, a weight of knowledge that has aged her beyond her years. "A Jedi’s burden is not to love without fear… but to choose despite it.”

A girder cracks and crashes to the ground between you, and you flinch, but Yaddle remains, unfazed. Her face is barely visible now, her features shrouded in smoke and shadow, but you can still see her eyes, the familiar gold and green that seem to shine with a light all their own.

“This is not your end,” she says, bowing her head. “But it is a turning.”

“I don’t want to become what I felt in me back there,” you admit, the words heavy on your tongue. "Not again."

“And yet… the dark calls to those who fear themselves more than they fear the fall,” Yaddle replies, her tone solemn.

The flames dance around her, and she moves, her cloak hanging still despite the breeze. The wind is picking up, and the rain has turned into a downpour, the droplets falling from the sky in sheets. You wipe the rain and tears from your eyes to find her standing before you, her face level with your own. She’s glowing with a strange light, her presence suffused with the Force, and it almost hurts to look at her. But you can't bring yourself to look away.

“It was never the power,” she continues. "It was always the fear.”

"How do I stop it?" you plead. "Please, Master, tell me. How do I make this end?"

She steps forward, and her hand reaches out, resting on your cheek.

Her touch is cold, like the water from a mountain stream, and the shock of it sends a shiver down your spine. But there's a comfort in it too, a peace that settles over you, a gentle calm. And you find yourself leaning into her, her presence filling the void within you, the emptiness that has been gnawing at you for so many years.

“Remember who you are, not just who they told you to be,” she says. Her hand drops, and she turns, her gaze falling to the burning city, the devastation. "And remember who we fight for."

"I will," you whisper. "I'll make things right."

She smiles and nods, the flames flickering in her eyes.

"You already have."

You blink, taken aback. The flames roar, and the image of her flares and dissipates, replaced by the fire and the smoke and the chaos. Your heart aches, and you reach out, grasping for her, trying to hold on.

But she's gone.

A part of you wants to run after her, follow her into the fire and ash, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to follow.

"Goodbye," you say, the word a faint echo. You feel a faint brush at the back of your mind in return, and despite yourself, a small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

A wave of fatigue washes over you, and her last words come back to you, her final request.

You take a deep breath, letting the air fill your lungs. The wind howls, and the rain pours down, washing away the ashes and tears. You stand, slowly, and look out over the burning city. The missiles have stopped, but the fires have spread, engulfing the streets and buildings. And still, the battle rages, the Republic ships fighting valiantly against the Separatist fleet. All is not lost. Not yet.

Your hand lifts, and you close your eyes, focusing on the Light. It's weak, so far away, but you can feel it, a flicker of hope, a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds. You reach for it, pulling it into you, letting it fill the cracks and wounds in your heart. And you let go of the fear and guilt, releasing it into the Force.

When you open your eyes, the familiar hilt of Yaddle’s saber is in your hand.

It feels right, holding the weapon again, and the weight of it settles over you, anchoring you. You thumb the activator, and the blade comes to life, casting its green glow over the destruction. You look up at the burning sky, watching the fighters streak across the heavens.

The battle isn't over yet.

And you have work to do.

The time for grieving will come later.

By the time you reach the watchtower, the sun is rising again.

The missiles have long since stopped falling, but the city is in ruins, the air thick with smoke and the smell of death. You've spent the last several hours digging through crumbling buildings and collapsing streets, looking for any survivors, fighting off what few droids remain to aid their escape, and it's left you exhausted and weary. Every time you blink, black spots fill your vision, and your body aches, a dull throb of pain that runs deep into your bones.

You look up at the ruined remains of where you and Rex had last stood together, a sigh escaping your lips. He had made you promise to meet him here if the darkness became too much for you, if you felt like there was no other choice, and now, that choice has been taken away from you. He'll never know what happened, or how close you came to ending it all.

He's not here, either. No one is. All the clones you've helped pull from the rubble have picked through the collapsed gate and trudged out into the destroyed streets and factories beyond. You still have no way to contact the fleet or your men, but from what you've gathered, they're beginning to pick up survivors from the surface, ferrying them away from the destruction.

You stand in silence, watching the sun rise over the smoldering city, the sky streaked with red and orange. The day will be beautiful, even as the ash and smoke float on the wind, casting everything in a gray hue.

You turn away from the ruined watchtower, the tears welling up in your eyes, and you wrap an arm around your waist. Your ribs are a mess, and you're certain there are several broken bones, your left arm covered in scorch marks and burns, the sleeve of your robe singed away. The pain is nearly unbearable, and your head spins, a sharp stabbing sensation running through your temple.

But the worst of the pain comes from your side, the gash that seems to be deeper with every step, blood flowing freely from the wound. You can feel it spreading, the warmth seeping into the fabric of your clothing, and you know that if you don't treat it soon, it will kill you.

You have to keep moving.

You walk through the shattered gates and out into the ruined streets, following the trail of debris and fallen droids. Someone has come through and rounded up the bodies, but the wreckage remains, the broken and burning vehicles and ships littering the streets.

As you make your slow trek, your feet slow, weighed down by the gravity of it all. You know what the Jedi would say. What they will say. This is the price of attachment. It blinds us, clouds our judgement, and leads to suffering. You can hear them now, their voices echoing in your head, their disappointment and disapproval a weight on your shoulders. But you can't bring yourself to believe it, not completely.

Duro was doomed from the start, by your hand or another's. Grievous had sunk his claws deep into the planet, and he would not have let it go without a fight. And the Republic's decision to invade, despite knowing the risks, had only compounded the tragedy. But it doesn't erase the pain of knowing that so many lives were lost, and for what? For a war that is tearing the galaxy apart, piece by piece?

It’s hard not to wish you could turn back time and make a different choice, save those who could be saved. But you can't. And even if you could, you're not sure what good it would do. This is the path the Force has laid before you, and all you can do is follow it, no matter where it may lead you.

Your path now takes you through the obliterated manufacturing district and toward the valley beyond. You can see the Republic fleet hanging in orbit, and you wonder if Rex is up there, watching over the carnage. You can picture him, his face etched with worry, pacing the bridge of the ship, waiting for any word. Waiting for you.

Or maybe he’s already given up. Maybe he's already resigned himself to the fact that you're dead. That you're not coming back.

"I'll find a way," you whisper to yourself.

The pain is getting worse, and you can barely put one foot in front of the other, the world tilting and shifting around you. The valley is pockmarked with craters and blown out tanks, slowing your progress to a near crawl. But you keep moving, pushing past the exhaustion, the blood loss, the grief.

A rumbling reaches your ears, and you look up as a medical transport flies over head, dropping from the sky and soaring toward a small gathering of abandoned buildings. It disappears from view, but the noise grows louder, and soon, another transport appears, followed by a dozen more. They're picking up survivors, and you know you could be among them, could get off the planet, find Rex, tell him everything.

With that thought in mind, you quicken your pace, your steps becoming more frantic, your breathing labored. Your head is pounding, and your vision is blurred, the world spinning around you, but you keep going, stumbling over the debris, falling and rising again.

As you near the buildings, the transports are beginning to take off, rising into the air and disappearing into the clouds. There are men lined up along the street, far more than you had expected to see, and for a moment, you’re stunned. You had thought Duro would be a wasteland, but here, the survivors are gathered, waiting for the last shuttle out.

They look as bad as you do, some worse. Bloodied and broken, armor scorched and dented, many leaning on each other as they wait. But they're alive. They've made it. And so have you.

You keep pushing forward, limping down the street, and their voices begin to reach your ears. They're murmuring to each other, some shouting, and the sounds blend together, a cacophony of noise that threatens to overwhelm you.

"...lost, sir..."

"...dead..."

"—can't find her."

"We're sure she was in the building?"

"How could this happen?"

"I don't know."

"This is madness."

You approach, your hand pressed against your wound. The crowd shifts slightly as a few of the men board the transport, and you notice a familiar blue pauldron among the crowd. Rex's back is to you, and you can see his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his shoulders tense. Wise stands next to him, a bacta patch taped to his head and a grim expression on his face as he directs the men.

"...and get her body," Wise is saying. "We'll make sure she's laid to rest."

Rex's head hangs, his voice muffled by the crowd.

"No. She's not dead," he says, his voice low, but firm. "Not until we have a body. I...I'm not leaving without her."

"It's not safe," Wise replies as he places a hand on Rex's shoulder. "You have to accept—"

"No!" Rex shouts, and the men around him flinch. "I'm not giving up. Not until we've found her."

You stop in your tracks, the realization dawning on you. He thinks you're dead. He hasn't given up on you.

The weight of it hits you like a blow, and the tears come, hot and heavy. Your mouth opens, but no words come out. All you can do is stand there, watching, unable to speak.

Rex shakes his head. His shoulders are trembling, and he takes a step back, running a hand over his face. You're too far away to hear what else he says, but the grief in his voice is clear, a raw, aching pain that cuts deep.

"Rex," you breathe.

You try to call out to him, but your throat is too tight, the words lodged inside. Your knees buckle, and the ground rushes up to meet you. You watch as Rex shrugs off Wise's hand and walks away from the transport, and the crowd begins to board, leaving the two of you behind.

Rex stops a short distance away, leaning against the wall, his head bowed. His hands are shaking, and he brings a fist to his mouth, trying to muffle the sob that escapes his lips.

"I'm sorry, Rex," Wise says, his voice barely audible above the roar of the engines.

Wise turns, walking back toward the shuttle, and the ramp closes, the doors sliding shut. The transport begins to lift off the ground, the turbines kicking up dust and debris, and the last of the survivors on the street are swallowed up by the swirling wind.

Rex watches it fly away, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his helmet clutched tightly in his hands.

"Rex," you manage to croak out, your voice cracking, trying to break the spell, but it's not enough. You're still too far away, too caught up in the haze of pain and exhaustion, drowned out by the sound of the engines.

He doesn't turn.

"Please," you plead, your voice a hoarse whisper. "Look at me."

There's a pause, and you reach out, using the Force to guide his gaze. His body stiffens. Slowly, Rex turns, his eyes searching the street.

Your gaze meets his, and the world goes still.

It's like a switch is flipped, the weight pressing down on your shoulders lifting, the fear and the doubt and the guilt evaporating in an instant. And all you can see is him, the man you love, the man who has stood by your side through it all, who has seen you at your best and your worst, and yet, still chosen to stay. Who hasn't given up on you, even now.

Your name is barely a whisper on his lips as he stares at you, a choked sob. But it's enough.

“Hey,” you say weakly, a tired smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

And Rex runs.

His helmet falls to the ground, forgotten, as he sprints across the space between you, his footsteps echoing through the street. You see his face, streaked with dirt and blood, his eyes red and swollen.

You try to move to meet him, but your body is frozen, the pain keeping you rooted in place. You can only watch with bated breath as he comes closer, the sun behind him framing him in a brilliant halo of light.

"Rex," you murmur again, the words a sigh.

His arms are around you in an instant, and he pulls you against him, holding you tight. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck, warm and uneven, and his hands are everywhere, tracing your features, running through your hair, caressing the back of your neck. You sink into him, his warmth seeping into your bones, and you can't stop the tears as they roll down your cheeks, mixing with his.

"I thought I lost you," he says, his voice hoarse, and the tears fall faster.

"I'm here," you reply. "I'm okay."

"I thought you were dead," he repeats, and his arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. "I couldn't find you. I couldn't—"

"I'm sorry," you say, the words catching in your throat. "I'm so sorry."

Rex shakes his head, and he presses his forehead to yours, his eyes squeezing shut.

"No," he says. "Don't be. Just...let me hold you. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur as you reach up, placing a hand against his cheek, brushing the tears away with your thumb.

He leans into your touch, his eyes opening again, and the warmth you see in them steals your breath away.

Rex's hand comes to rest over yours, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your knuckles, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, his lips lingering. Tears continue to fall, mingling with the ash and blood, and he takes a shuddering breath. A soft, almost incredulous laugh escapes his lips, and his free hand traces the edge of your jaw, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"You came back," he whispers.

You nod, smiling, and a faint sob escapes your lips.

"Always," you promise.

There's a moment, a brief, breathless pause, where the only thing you can do is look at him, and he looks back. His gaze is filled with an emotion that is impossible to describe, and it pulls at something deep within you, tugging at a thread that binds the two of you together.

Then Rex surges forward, capturing your lips with his.

A small gasp escapes your lips, and his hands cup your face, pulling you close, as if he's trying to draw the very air from your lungs. Your hands wrap around his neck, holding him close. The kiss is desperate, frantic, filled with a need that goes far beyond the physical.

It's not perfect. It's clumsy and rushed and filled with the salt of tears. His lips are chapped and cracked, and the blood from his nose drips onto your face, staining your skin. But it's Rex, and it's all you've ever wanted.

The kiss lasts forever and ends too soon, and you're both breathless, clinging to each other, your bodies pressed against one another. You pull back, just far away to rest your forehead against his, and his eyes lock onto yours, searching, seeking.

“I love you,” he breathes, his voice low and rough through ragged gasps. "I love you. I should’ve—I tried to tell you, before. So many times. I just...couldn't find the words. Or the courage. I—"

You lean in and silence him with a kiss, and he melts into it, the last bit of resistance draining from him.

"It's okay," you murmur, breaking the kiss and smiling up at him. "It's alright. I love you too. I have for a while."

Rex's eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat. His hand slides down your neck and rests over your heart, and his thumb brushes against the stone, tracing the pattern.

"I...I know," he whispers, brushing his nose against yours. "I think I've always known. Just didn't want to admit it."

"I guess we've both been a little stubborn," you reply with a weak laugh.

"You're telling me," Rex says, chuckling, his breath warm on your cheek. "Kriff, you scared me."

"Scared myself too," you admit, leaning into his touch. "Thought I was done for."

Rex swallows hard, and his trembling hands tighten on your waist as his smile falters. You can feel his pain and fear, a mirror image of your own, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

"When we saw the generator explode...I couldn't find you. I went back to look, but...there was nothing left. I thought—" He breaks off, his voice catching, and the tears begin to flow again. "I thought you were gone."

"I'm not going anywhere," you reassure him. Your hand moves up, cupping his cheek. "Not without you."

Rex nods and takes a shuddering breath, the tears falling freely now.

"I'm sorry," you say again. The words seem pitifully inadequate, but they come out anyway, tumbling from your lips. "For everything. I should've been there, should've seen it coming, should've—"

"It's not your fault," Rex says, and the conviction in his voice cuts you off. "This was a setup. An ambush. They used us."

"I know," you say. "But if I had just been stronger—"

"No," Rex interrupts, his tone firm. He tilts your head up, forcing you to look him in the eye. "No more blaming yourself. This was war. Things happen. People die."

"But—"

"No. I'm not letting you carry the blame for this," he says, his grip tightening. "Not alone."

You swallow the lump in your throat, and the tears well up again, burning hot. You nod, and Rex sighs, the last of the anger and resentment draining from his eyes.

"Come here," he says, pulling you close.

He leans in, stealing another kiss, softer and slower than the first. Your fingers trace his jawline, the stubble rough beneath your fingertips, and he sighs against your mouth, a contented hum rumbling in his chest. It sends a shiver through you, and you press closer, losing yourself in the sensation, the heat, the taste of him.

The pain is still there, but it's fading now, pushed to the background by the warmth of his presence, the solidity of his body against yours. It feels like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Like a missing piece finally being returned to its place.

You're safe, and you're together. And in this fleeting, fragile moment, the war and its horrors are far away, lost in the shadows of the past.

Rex pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes shining. His smile is soft and gentle, and you feel your heart swell, the love and the joy welling up inside you, threatening to overflow.

"What do we do now?" he asks, his voice a soft rumble.

You sigh and close your eyes, savoring the warmth, the comfort. You're not sure how much time passes before you speak, but eventually, the words come, a quiet murmur.

“Let's go home."

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lordofthenerds97 · 4 days ago

Text

I’m gonna need some time to process this

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Ashes to Ashes

Chapter WC: 15,440

Chapter Tags/Warnings: angst, unnamed/minor character death, this is a battle chapter, a heavy one

A/N: sorry sorry sorry (thank you for 850 followers!) sorry sorry sorry

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Duro, 20 BBY

Sweat drips down your face, stinging your eyes, but you don't dare lift a hand to wipe it away. You keep your focus on the droid in front of you, the buzzing in your ears drowning out the battle raging on all sides. Everything is a blur, a flurry of blasterfire and smoke. You can barely tell friend from foe, ally from enemy. You just keep moving, dodging and ducking, weaving your lightsabers through the chaos.

You’ve lost track of time, your body reacting purely on the training instilled in you from childhood. There's no time to think or plan, no room for error. Just action. It's instinct, pure and simple, a fight for survival, and every fiber of your being is focused on staying alive. Keeping the soldiers around you alive. Killing as many of the droids as possible.

You've been at this for hours.

Hours since the first wave of droids marched out of the wastelands and up to the city. Since you and Rex had split up and led the men to their positions along the perimeter. Since the first shot was fired. Since the fighting began.

Hours since you saw Rex.

Your vision fades in and out as you move, your mind drifting between past and present. Droids are everywhere, advancing and retreating in waves. Blasters firing and deflected. Men falling and getting back up. Until all you can see around you is dust and smoke and debris.

And through it all, you feel it. An itch under your skin, a pressure behind your eyes. The familiar presence, the cold, unrelenting pull, the darkness that hangs over the battlefield, drawing closer with each passing minute.

You're not sure what's worse. The knowledge that it's coming, or the fear that it's already here.

But there's nothing you can do. You can't think about it now. You have a job to do. So you keep fighting, and the hours pass.

As taxing the battle has been, it's nothing less than routine. There's a certain comfort in that. In knowing that the enemy is predictable and the strategy is the same. Your men have the advantage of higher ground and better weapons and more experience. The droids don't stand a chance. Not really.

So why can't you shake the feeling that something is wrong?

The wind picks up as you slice through another set of droids, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You duck behind a piece of rubble and peer out into the distance, searching the horizon, but find nothing. The wind has picked up some, the dead grass jutting from the cracks in the ground and debris swirling around your feet. There's something familiar about it, something that sends a chill racing down your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“How're you doing, sir?" Snap's voice asks through the comm on your wrist, and you glance down at it before returning your attention to the landscape before you.

"Could be better," you admit. A droid attempts to dart around your cover before being shot down, and you shake your head. "But we're holding our own."

"Any idea how many are left?"

"Not really," you sigh with a grimace. "Couple thousand, give or take.”

“Right," Snap says, and the line crackles, his voice cutting out before coming back. "Keep...alive."

"I'll do my best," you mutter as you duck out from behind the rock and start toward the nearest group of droids. You slash through them easily, blades cutting through the metal like butter, and you advance, heading further outside the city walls. The wind is getting stronger, and the clouds are beginning to thicken, a storm brewing in the distance. You grit your teeth and push on. "How are things at your end?"

"I don't want to jinx it, but..."

"Then don't," Dash's voice cuts in sharply.

"We're holding steady," Snap finishes, a hint of irritation in his tone. "A little bored, to be honest."

"I said don't," Dash groans, and you smirk at the exchange.

"Relax, Dash'ika," Screwball snorts. "We've got this."

The banter continues, the troopers trading quips and insults, and the knot in your chest loosens a bit, the pressure behind your eyes easing. It's a welcome distraction, the casual, easy conversation grounding you, and you find yourself laughing to yourself at the antics of your men. It's not much, but it's enough. For now.

"General, how's it going out there?" Dash asks in an attempt to distract the others from their argument.

"Oh, you know, the usual," you answer dryly as you slice through a pair of B1 droids, their circuits sparking and smoking as they hit the ground. "Nothing too exciting."

"Yeah?" Snap snorts. "That's not what it looks like on the feed."

"Yeah," Screwball chimes in. "You're practically swimming in clankers."

"Jealous?" you ask, and a round of laughs and jeers come through the comm.

"What do you think?" Snap asks. "You gonna let us have a turn?"

"Nope," you reply with a grin as you deflect another shot. It ricochets off a tank and hits a droid in the chest, sending it flying backwards. "Any word from outside?"

"Not yet," he replies, sighing. "Long range is still down."

"Well, hopefully they're not all having too much fun without us," you mutter, and there's a murmur of agreement through the line. "Stay alert. I'll check in soon."

The comm crackles and dies, and you return your attention to the droids swarming around you. A series of explosions in the distance signal the arrival of another wave, and you brace yourself as the ground begins to rumble beneath your feet. The wind is picking up again, whipping the dust and smoke into a frenzy, and you duck down, shielding your eyes with one hand. You can't see a thing, but you can sense them, their mechanical bodies looming like specters in the darkness.

"Sir!" a voice shouts.

You turn just in time to see a blur of white and brown flying toward you. A clone launches himself in the air and tackles a droid that was about to shoot you in the back, sending the pair of them tumbling to the ground. He manages to land on top of the droid and draws his vibroblade, sinking the weapon into the metal chassis with a grunt. There's a loud crack, and the droid falls still.

Another droid turns and begins firing, and without thinking, you yank the trooper towards you with the Force. The droid's blast sails harmlessly over his shoulder and hits another in the chest, the force of the shot sending it careening into a wall.

The trooper lands at your feet, and he quickly rolls and fires his blaster, dropping another pair of droids before he scrambles back to his feet. You're already moving forward again, clearing a path, and he follows hot on your heels.

"Sir!" the clone shouts over the noise. "Sir, it's me, Lieutenant Price!"

"I remember," you call back, deflecting another round of shots and sending them into the ground in front of the droids' feet, kicking up a spray of dust and dirt. "Good form, by the way. Didn't think you had it in you."

"Oh, uh, thanks, sir!" Price says, and you can practically hear the blush creeping across his face. You shake your head and keep moving.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing good," he replies with a grunt as he takes down another pair of droids. "We're losing men."

You grimace and duck behind a chunk of concrete to avoid a hail of blaster fire. The lieutenant presses against the side of the wall, his chest heaving, his helmet askew, his hands gripping the blaster tightly. He looks like he's been through hell and back, and you have a sinking suspicion that's exactly what he's been through.

"What happened?"

"We lost the north tower," Price answers, and the news hits you like a punch to the gut. You had sent a team up there earlier, and now they're gone. Just like that. Your throat tightens.

"The south tower?"

"Still holding."

"Alright," you breathe, trying to keep your composure. You peek over the edge of the rubble and scan the battlefield. A series of explosions rips through the droid ranks, sending plumes of dust and smoke high into the air, and Price takes the opportunity to pop off a couple shots and duck back down. "We need to keep moving."

"All due respect, sir," he pants, "that's easier said than done. We—shit, look out!"

He grabs your arm and pulls you back as a tank rounds the corner of the building. The two of you tumble to the ground, and you scramble back behind the cover of the debris, narrowly missing the tank's laser cannon. The blast obliterates the stone wall, showering the both of you in pieces of duracrete.

"We have to get back," Price shouts over the noise. "Sir!"

"We can't," you reply, peering over the rubble at the tank. "I need to find their tactical droid. I have a feeling that—"

A blaster bolt ricochets off the stone inches from your head, and you duck back down, gritting your teeth. The lieutenant swears under his breath and fumbles for his blaster, firing a couple rounds over the top of the barrier before ducking back down.

"You have a feeling, sir?" he asks incredulously. "That's it? You have a feeling?"

"Yes," you growl, watching as a group of droids advances on the position where you and Price are hiding. A squad of your men run to intercept them, and you wince when you watch two of them fall in a hail of blaster fire. "A feeling!"

Price lets out a nervous laugh. "A feeling. Great. I love feelings."

You can't stop the chuckle that escapes your lips, and you shake your head, glancing up at him. He looks exhausted and frustrated and scared, and you can't blame him. This is a fight that none of you were expecting. And while you may have experienced this level of opposition before, he certainly hasn't.

You reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze and trying to import some semblance of reassurance through the touch.

"Hey," you say quietly, offering him a small smile. "I know this is scary, but we've got this. Okay? You're doing great."

Price's shoulders slump a little, and he lets out a shaky breath. His grip tightens on his blaster, and he nods. "Thanks, sir. I...I needed to hear that."

"First time?"

"What gave it away?" he asks, his voice heavy with sarcasm, and you snort and pat his shoulder before pulling away.

"A feeling," you quip. He laughs, a short, startled noise, and you take a deep breath and look out at the battlefield again. "So, what's the plan, Lieutenant?"

"Plan? Well, uh..." he trails off. "I'm not really...sure, sir. I mean, I'm not exactly the planning type. That's not really my—"

"No time like the present to learn," you cut him off, and he swallows hard. You can see him wracking his brain for a strategy, his helmet darting left and right as he tries to make sense of the chaos.

"Okay," he mutters, peering over the edge of the cover. "There's a tank coming our way."

"And?"

"And we should get back to the wall," Price says, turning back to you, "and we can lay down explosives to cover our retreat."

"Good," you nod and gesture to him. "Lead the way."

"Really?"

"Yep," you reply, popping the last syllable. You shoo him forward. "Go. Go now. I'll follow."

"Right," he nods and glances over his shoulder, stiffening as he takes in the droids closing in. "Oh, okay. Okay. Let's go."

He gives himself a little shake and jumps up, and you follow close behind, deflecting the blasts aimed in his direction. The two of you sprint across the battlefield, dodging and weaving through the carnage and debris. There's a group of clones huddled behind a stack of crates, and Price motions for them to follow, the squad falling in behind the two of you as you make a break for the wall. They empty their pockets of explosives, laying a trail as they move.

"Keep going," Price yells over the din, and you nod, pushing the clones forward as they scramble through the rubble.

The air is getting thicker as the storm looms overhead, and the wind is blowing in all directions, whipping your robes around your legs and obscuring your vision. The droids are relentless, a steady stream of fire coming from their blasters as they chase after you and the clones, and it's all you can do to keep them at bay.

"General, what's your status?" Rex's voice crackles through the commlink on your wrist, and you let out a relieved sigh at the sound of his voice. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," you pant, deflecting another shot. "We're fine."

"Where are you?"

"We're on our way back," you reply, gesturing for the squad of clones to keep moving. A shot whistles by your ear, and you duck, a small yelp escaping your lips. "Don't worry."

"Worried isn't the right word, General," he grumbles, his tone laced with concern. "I just...you're taking longer than expected."

"It's a big battlefield," you snap, a little harsher than intended, and you grimace. "Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean that. It's been a rough day."

"You're telling me," he grunts. There's a burst of static, and he curses under his breath. "I'm losing your signal. Where are you?"

"Almost back," you answer as the wall comes into view, a beacon of hope in the sea of chaos. You gesture to the men. "Run! Now!"

The clones sprint for the gate, and you run with them, keeping an eye on the droids behind you. The ramparts rise ahead, 501st troopers manning cannons and laying down cover fire. Soldiers’ shouts and the roar of Separatist tanks rumbling into position fill the air with deafening clamor, and you sprint harder, desperate to escape.

A thunderous crash shudders beneath your feet as smoke and dust billow from the breach a tank blasted through the wall. Two clones are hurled through the air, landing with sickening thuds meters away. You bite back a scream and press on, the wind howling around you.

Then the first explosion erupts where the wall once stood. A fireball flares outward, flinging debris, battle droids, and troopers in every direction. A clone beside you is knocked off his feet, and you seize his arm and haul him upright. He stumbles, helmet spinning, and you grasp his shoulder and shove him toward the city gate.

Within the walls, the mines you’d planted detonate in rapid succession. Brilliant bursts tear gaps in the droid ranks, sending chunks of durasteel and limbs flying. The droids scatter, their formation broken, and the clones waste no time in regrouping and surging forward to cut down those remaining.

"Go!" you yell, shoving the clones in front of you toward the safety of the gate. "Keep going! Come on, get inside!"

You sprint toward the opening in the wall, the ground shaking beneath your feet. Your ears are ringing, and your lungs burn, but you don't dare slow down. You're so close. Just a little farther.

"Look out!" a voice cries.

A final blast rattles the earth, and you stumble, your lightsabers skidding from your grasp as you fall onto your knees, palms scraping raw dirt. The ground trembles again as a massive chunk of wall collapses, its jagged debris hurtling straight for you. Instinctively, you extend a hand, and the Force arrests the fragment, leaving it suspended above your head.

For a moment, you're stunned, the sight of the giant slab of stone hovering inches from your face leaving you breathless. You barely notice the figure sliding across the dirt towards you, snatching up your lightsabers as he goes, until you're grabbed around the waist and thrown through the gate, the rock slamming into the ground in front of you.

"Sir!" Rex shouts, his arms shielding you from the worst of the debris as the wall continues to collapse around you. "Can you hear me?"

"I'm here," you gasp, and the ground shakes again, sending another wave of dust and rubble into the air. "Rex, I'm okay."

Another explosion tears through the wall, and a section of the stonework topples over. You reach out with the Force and push it aside, gritting your teeth against the strain, and the stone hits the ground a couple meters away.

"Come on," Rex says, tugging you back up and pulling you against him, one hand pressing against the back of your head. "Get to cover. We have to close the gate!"

"But—"

"Now!" he barks. "Before they regroup!"

You falter, knowing that if you close the gate now, the men still outside will be trapped, cut off from the safety of the city and left to fend for themselves. Your heart twists at the thought of leaving them behind, and you look to Rex, your eyes pleading. His expression is unreadable behind the tinted visor, but his posture tells you everything you need to know. He's already made up his mind.

"Rex," you say weakly, the word little more than a plea, but he just shakes his head.

"You can't save them," he says softly. He grabs your shoulders, giving you a firm shake. "The droids are already inside the city. We have to seal the gate. It's the only way."

He's right, you know he is, and the fact that he's able to see the bigger picture while you're paralyzed by guilt and fear sends a fresh wave of shame coursing through your veins. You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze, and you look down at the dirt and debris beneath your feet, swallowing hard.

"General," he says, his voice cracking, "please. There's no other option."

The pain in his voice breaks your heart, and you close your eyes and nod. The moment you do, Rex turns and pulls a lever, and the gate begins to slide shut, a low rumble filling the air as the metal scrapes against the concrete. You watch the gap narrow, your mind racing and your lungs struggling to take in air. There's still time. If you hurry, maybe you can—

"General," Rex barks. "Close it."

You grit your teeth and push out with the Force, willing the gate to shut faster. It slams shut with a resounding clang, and you're left staring at the blank metal face. A heavy blast strikes the barrier, followed by another, and another, and another, but the gate holds, the steel absorbing the impact of the blasts. Still, you stand there, watching the blows strike the metal, counting each one.

A hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to see Rex, his eyes wide, his helmet discarded. You can see the pain in his eyes, the guilt, and you realize he's holding himself together by a thread, just like you are. But unlike you, he's strong. He knows what he has to do, and he's willing to do it. You've always admired that about him, and in this instance, it's the one thing that keeps you from breaking down.

"I'm sorry," he whispers as he holds your lightsabers out to you, the metal gleaming dully in the flickering light. You take them numbly and clip them back to your belt.

"We did what we had to do,” you say quietly.

"That doesn't make it any easier."

"No," you sigh. "No, it doesn't."

Rex nods, his fingers tracing along your jaw before his hand falls away. His eyes are distant and haunted, and he seems lost, his thoughts somewhere else entirely. You know he's replaying the same scenario in his mind as you are, wondering if there was anything he could have done differently. Anything either of you could have done. But it's pointless. The past is the past, and nothing can change what happened. All you can do now is move forward.

A flash of lightning illuminates the sky, and the rumble of thunder reverberates through the city. The clouds above are dark and foreboding, the wind howling and lashing at the walls around you. Rex looks up at the ominous sky with a grim expression, his brow furrowed in thought.

"We need to fall back," he says, and you nod, following him as he turns and begins walking quickly. "I've ordered a retreat into the city. It's the only safe place now."

"What about the wounded?" you ask, looking over at him as the two of you begin to run, weaving through the crowds of men heading deeper into the city, weapons in hand. "There are men on the outskirts."

"They're being taken care of," he answers. "As best we can."

You can't hide the shock that must be written all over your face, and Rex's eyes narrow.

"I'm not heartless," he snaps, stopping and turning to face you, his expression dark. You wince. "I know what's happening. What's being left behind. But right now, we don't have a choice."

"We never do," you mutter, and Rex sighs, his gaze falling to the ground. He tugs his helmet back on and adjusts the seals, the white plastoid reflecting the red of the sunset. "So what's the plan?”

"We can't hold the outer wall. Not against a full assault,” he says, and his shoulders slump. "We need to move onto phase two."

"Right," you murmur, thinking back to the plans the two of you had drawn up hours ago. A backup plan in case the initial assault didn't work. Guerrilla tactics in the streets of Duro. It hadn't seemed likely at the time. "Phase two. I'll contact the others and tell them to set up shop in the east quadrant. That's where the heaviest fighting will be."

Rex nods and leads you through a narrow alley between two buildings, the darkness swallowing you. You can hear the faint echoes of the battle in the distance, the rumble of blasterfire, the clatter of droid feet on stone, the crackle of the flames that are burning throughout the city.

It’s quieter here, though, muffled by the stone, and you find yourself leaning closer to Rex, seeking his warmth. He glances down at you, but doesn't pull away. But he doesn’t do more than that. Price isn’t far behind you, and a squad of 501st troopers brings up the rear. There are no private conversations for either of you, not anymore. It still hurts, try as you might to push it out of your mind, your heart still sore from the sting of his earlier rejection.

The shadows around you deepen as the storm rolls in, a rumble of thunder echoing in the air. The sky opens up, and the rain begins to fall, cold and harsh and heavy. Somewhere behind you, Price lets out a sigh of relief, and you glance back to see him removing his helmet and running a hand through his damp hair.

"Oh, thank the Force," he mutters, tilting his head back and letting the water wash over his face. "That's much better."

"Don't get too comfortable, Lieutenant," Rex grumbles. "We've got a lot of work to do."

Price sighs, but nods and slips his helmet back on.

You exit onto the main thoroughfare, where a group of clones in gold armor are huddled together, and Rex pulls you to a stop underneath the battered awning of a nearby building. His hand is warm against your back as he takes a step closer to you, his gaze focused on the men ahead of you.

You watch them with a strange sense of detachment, their words sounding muffled and distant, like you're underwater. Like everything is underwater. The rain is falling in sheets now, a thick curtain that obscures the view and the noise and the chaos. A strange sort of numbness settles over you, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to focus on the steady presence of Rex next to you.

"It's bad," one of them says, and his voice cuts through the haze, his words finally registering in your mind. You shake your head, trying to focus, and the others continue.

"The droids are everywhere," another adds. "We've lost the north tower. There's no way we can hold them off."

Your stomach churns, and you open your mouth to say something, but the words won't come. Your tongue is dry and heavy in your mouth, and all you can manage is a soft whimper. The clone who'd spoken first looks at you and stiffens, and he bows his head in apology.

"Sorry, General," he murmurs. "I didn't mean—"

"No," Rex interrupts, and his grip on your shoulder tightens. You blink and turn to him, taking a shaky breath. "She knows. She's been fighting all day, just like the rest of us. Give her a minute."

He gives your arm a gentle squeeze and lets go, and you watch as he steps toward the clones. You're barely able to keep up as he begins speaking, your thoughts swimming, the voices blending together into a dull roar. All you can think about is the tower, and the men you left behind, and the ones that are still fighting out there, somewhere. Men who are going to die, who are dying right now, and there's nothing you can do about it.

In the year since the war began, you’ve suffered losses. You’ve watched ships explode in the sky and crash to the ground, you've watched your brothers-in-arms fall at your side. And each time, it hurts. But you’ve come to accept the weight of their lives and bear the burden of their sacrifice. Because you have to. Because they deserve no less. But this, today, here, it's different. These were your men. Yours.

You’ve enjoyed the luxury of minimal casualties so far, thanks to the nature of your command and the skill of your troops. You've never lost so many, not in one battle, not like this. It's not right, not fair, and it's more than you can handle. It's too much. Too soon. And you have no idea how to deal with it.

You feel like you're drowning.

Rex is talking, but his words are lost on you, and all you can hear is the roar of blood in your ears. The rain is pounding down harder now, and the wind is whipping around the corner, sending the droplets cascading across the road. You're shivering, your robes soaked and clinging to your body, and your legs are trembling. A wave of exhaustion washes over you, and you lean heavily against the building behind you, struggling to remain upright.

There’s a sudden sharp pinch in your neck, and the world lurches back into focus with a jolt.

You hadn’t even noticed Wise was among the group surrounding Rex, and it seems he took advantage of your distraction to inject you with a stimulant. Immediately, you're struck by a surge of energy, the fatigue and confusion banished from your mind, and the numbness begins to fade.

You're not sure if that's a good thing.

“Ow,” you complain, slapping a hand over the injection site. You scowl and rub your neck, turning to face the medic. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes," Wise retorts dryly as he tucks the spent stim into his pocket. "Because you weren't paying attention. Sir."

"I'm fine," you mutter, brushing him off. You ignore the dubious look he shoots your direction and turn back to the others. Rex is gesturing to a holomap projected above his gauntlet, his lips moving quickly as he lays out the plan. You watch him, a dull ache forming in your chest, and you reach up to rub your eyes.

"The droids are coming from all directions," he explains, his finger tracing a path along the glowing blue map. Several spots ping red, and the area beyond the gate is still glowing a violent crimson, the enemy forces spreading out across the field. "They've pushed past our defenses and are already inside the city. The shield is holding, but if they manage to reach the control center, it won't be for much longer."

"If we lose the shield..." another clone begins, trailing off, the rest of the statement hanging in the air between the five of you. If the shield fails, the entire planet will be exposed, and the droids will have free reign to do as they please. There's no telling how many ships are in orbit, fighting against your naval forces. If they make it to the surface, it's over.

"We can't let that happen," Rex says firmly, and the clones nod, their expressions grim. He points at a spot on the map, and a series of blue dots appear. "We'll divide into three groups and hold the perimeter. If we can keep the droids contained and out of the inner city, we'll have a chance."

"Yes, sir," one of the clones nods, his tone somber. You can tell they're all thinking the same thing. The odds aren't exactly in your favor. But none of them hesitate.

"How are you doing?" you murmur to Wise as the conversation continues around you. He grunts and shrugs his shoulders.

"Been better," he admits. "This damn storm is messing with my joints."

"Yeah," you reply with a weak chuckle, "I know the feeling."

Wise grunts again and lays his hand gently on your shoulder, his thumb stroking the fabric in a slow, soothing pattern. You lean into it, grateful for the comfort, and close your eyes. A flash of lightning lights up the street, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The rain is coming down harder now, and you can feel the ground shaking beneath your feet.

"How are you holding up, cabur'ika?" he asks, his voice dropping so that only you can hear him underneath the rain. You give a half-hearted shrug, your eyes still closed. He sighs. "You did the best you could."

"Did I?" you ask, your voice hoarse, and he hums quietly, a low, comforting noise.

"Yes," he replies simply. You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you, and lean into him. "You did.”

"I don't think it was enough."

"It's never enough," Wise murmurs, his tone resigned, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. "Not in this war. Not for any of us."

"You're a real ray of sunshine, aren't you?" you snort, and he chuckles, the warm rumble vibrating through his chest and into yours.

"You're no picnic yourself, kid," he shoots back, his voice light, teasing. You crack a weak smile. "But I've seen a lot worse. You did good today."

"Thanks," you mutter, opening your eyes to glance at him. He gives you a tired smile and pats your arm.

"Anytime," he says as he pulls away. "Don't die out there, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

You straighten, the cold air stinging your skin where his arm had been. Rex is waiting for you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet, but you can feel his concern through the Force. He nods at Wise, who returns the gesture before turning and marching off.

"Give Kix a hug for me," you call after him, and he throws a hand up in acknowledgement. The two of you watch him walk away, the rain streaming down his armor in rivulets, and you let out a soft sigh. "Any word from the fleet?"

"Not yet," he answers. "Long range is still down."

"That's not good," you mutter, and he nods in agreement. "Ahsoka should have found the signal jammer by now. Something's wrong."

"She'll be fine," he assures you, though the words ring hollow. "I'm sure she'll check in soon, but for now, we have to assume we're on our own. We have to make do."

"Make do," you echo, and the words taste bitter on your tongue. You swallow hard and shake your head, trying to clear the worry and frustration from your mind. "Right. We can do that."

"We have to," he reminds you, his voice heavy with resignation

You fall into silence, watching the men around you as they prepare for the fight ahead. The rain continues to pour down, and you can see flashes of lightning in the distance, hear the thunder rolling overhead. You close your eyes and try to relax, centering yourself and focusing on the here and now.

The rain is soothing, the steady drumming of the droplets against the pavement and rooftops a calming white noise that helps you think. You breathe in the damp air, letting the chill seep into your bones, and you let the Force flow through you, your senses reaching out across the city.

There's no denying the darkness here, a shadow looming over the battle, but it's different somehow. Sharper. Colder. Like ice, slicing through the air, leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake. A chill runs down your spine. Something's not right.

You let out a strangled gasp as a burst of pain lances through your chest, a sudden, searing agony that feels like a vibroblade being driven between your ribs. Your hand instinctively clutches at your chest, and you double over, struggling to take in a breath. A scream rips from your throat as the pain intensifies, and it's only a pair of arms around you that keeps you from collapsing completely.

"General!" Rex's voice cuts through the haze, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "General, can you hear me?"

You can barely see him, your vision clouded by tears, but you manage a weak nod. Your throat is tight, and you can't find the words, the pain in your chest too great to form a coherent sentence.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" he asks, and you shake your head, struggling to take a breath. Your eyes squeeze shut as you force yourself to pull back, shuttering off the pain as best you can. "Medic!"

"No," you manage, gasping for air, your heart hammering in your chest. "Not mine."

"Not...yours," Rex repeats, his grip loosening slightly, though he doesn't let go. "Whose, General? What's going on?"

"We're being attacked! Droids coming in from underground!"

Your eyes open at the sound of Snap's voice, and the pain vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold numbness. You pull away from Rex, his hands sliding down your arms and falling away, and you stagger forward a step, your eyes darting around the city.

"We can't hold them off! They're everywhere," Snap shouts into the comms, his voice laced with fear and desperation. "Requesting backup!"

"They're inside," you murmur, and the horror of the realization hits you like a punch to the gut. The droids are already here. They're in the city. And you didn't see it coming. How could you not have seen it? "I have to go."

"Whoa, hold on a second," Rex says, catching your arm and pulling you back. "You're not going anywhere. I can't let you run off alone."

"I'm not alone," you snap, and the anger in your voice surprises even yourself. Rex flinches, his grip loosening, and you pull free. "They need me, Rex."

"And we need you," he counters, his tone firm. "Please. We'll send reinforcements. Just wait until—"

"They won't get there in time," you interrupt as you take a step away from him, the pain in your chest returning, burning hot and bright. More of your men are being cut down, and you can feel their deaths as keenly as if they were your own. You can't stay here and do nothing, not while your brothers are in danger. "This is what the Force has been warning me about, and I'm not about to let it happen. I have to go."

Rex takes a step toward you, his hand outstretched. You can feel his worry, and you hate yourself for causing it, but this is bigger than the two of you. This is about saving lives. You can't let your feelings, or his, get in the way of that.

His hand stills suddenly, and you can feel his surprise when he registers the weight of the Force pushing back against him. It's gentle, but unyielding, a wall of energy that stops him in his tracks. He tries to move, his boots digging into the dirt, and a sharp gasp escapes his lips. His helmet turns toward you, his visor reflecting your grim expression, and the two of you stare at each other.

Then, with a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, Rex steps back.

"Price," you say, looking over your shoulder as you step out onto the street, "come with me."

"Right behind you, sir," he says, jogging over to you, his blaster clutched tightly in his hand.

You look back at Rex, the guilt of what you've done twisting your heart into knots, but you know it's for the best. He'd never have let you leave, and he'd have followed. He can't, not this time. You can't let that happen. If you're going to prevent this vision from coming true, he needs to stay here.

He has to survive.

"Rex," you murmur, the words sticking in your throat.

He gives a curt nod, his hands balled into fists, and his voice is strained as he replies. "Go. Hurry. Be safe."

You hesitate for a second, wanting to say more, but the words won't come. With a heavy sigh, you turn and run, and Price follows close behind.

You sprint down the street, heading in the direction of the building housing the generator. Price struggles to keep up with your pace, and you find yourself cursing his lack of speed. It's not his fault, really, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins is pushing you faster and faster, and the urge to go, go, go is overwhelming. You need to get to Snap and the others, and you need to stop whatever's happening. Before it's too late.

"What's happening?" Price pants as the two of you duck behind a piece of rubble, taking a second to catch your breath. "How are they getting in?"

"They must've drilled a tunnel or something," you mutter. "We'll have to find a way to seal it."

"Oh," he nods and swallows. He peeks around the corner and shuffles nervously. “Well, about that..."

"Price," you sigh and close your eyes for a second, pushing down the urge to scream. "Please don't tell me there's another problem."

"Um..." He shrugs. "Okay. No problem."

You groan, your hands clenching into fists. "Seriously?"

"Well, I wouldn't say there's a problem per se," he hedges. You glare at him, and he sighs, ducking his head. "It's just...the maintenance droid had been spending a lot of time in the lower levels. We left it alone because we assumed it was just cleaning or fixing things, but..."

"But now you're wondering if it was opening a secret door for the Separatists," you finish.

"Yeah," Price agrees with a wince.

"Great," you mutter.

You shake your head and peer around the edge of the rubble. A squad of droids are marching down the street toward the building, their weapons drawn. You grit your teeth and reach out with the Force, yanking the nearest one into the air.

The droid flies across the street and slams into a wall, and the others turn and fire blindly in your direction. A few movements of your blades to send their bolts back to them, and a few well-placed shots from Price have the squad reduced to a pile of sparking metal and wires in the middle of the road.

"Come on," you say and take off toward the generator building. "We can't waste any more time."

"We’re getting cut to pieces down here!" Screwball shouts over your comm as the two of you dart down the street, dodging the stray blaster fire from the remaining droids. "They're everywhere."

"Any time you wanna show up and save us, General, feel free," Snap adds, barely audible over the sound of blasterfire. "We can't hold this position much longer."

"ETA two minutes," you call into your comm. "Don't die."

"That's the plan," Screwball grunts.

Price follows close behind you, his breathing labored as he tries to keep up with your pace. Water splashes up around you as your boots hit the pavement, and the droids continue to fire on you, the bolts whizzing past your head as they chase after you and Price. The wind is picking up, whistling in your ears, and the rain pelts against your skin with increasing intensity.

"This way," Price yells over the storm, and he turns down a narrow alley, leading you away from the main road.

As you round the corner, you're nearly blinded by the light coming from the shield generator, the red glow of the machine bathing the street in a hellish hue. The front doors underneath its arch are open, and you can see streaks of blasterfire flying back and forth inside, a small squad of men crouched in front and firing into the room.

You duck behind the nearest building and creep closer, the pair of you hugging the wall. You peer around the corner as a barrage of blaster bolts flies out the doors and into the street, and you wince, ducking back and narrowly avoiding the spray.

"Screwball!" you shout into your comm. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and...clear, General," Screwball pants.

"How many are there?"

"Enough to be a problem," he replies, and you grimace, glancing at Price. ”You coming...any time soon...sir?"

"I’m outside," you shout back. "I need to know what we're dealing with."

"Droidekas," Screwball grunts. "More of those—fuck!—commandos too.”

”More cortosis, sir,” Dash chimes in with a burst of static. "Don’t let them near your lightsabers!"

"Thanks for the tip," you mutter. "Hold tight, we’re coming in.”

"Roger."

Another round of bolts flies out the doors, your hand balling into a fist as a body falls through the threshold, crashing into the street with a sickening thud. You clench your jaw, fighting the urge to leap into action, and instead you reach out with the Force, pulling the fallen clone to your side.

The limp form slides across the ground, coming to rest at your feet. Price lets out a choked gasp, and you glance at him to see him shaking his head.

"One of yours?" you ask, knowing the answer.

"Yes, sir," he mutters.

You close your eyes and swallow the lump forming in your throat, willing yourself to remain calm. You can feel the rage boiling inside you, a dark cloud spreading through your mind, and the urge to kill the droids is almost overwhelming. You force the emotions back down, burying them deep, and you take a deep breath and look at Price.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, and he nods his thanks. "Can you tell me his name?"

"It's Rivet," he replies, his voice cracking slightly.

"Okay," you say quietly, and you turn to the fallen clone, crouching down and gently turning him over onto his back. There’s no point in checking for a pulse. You let out a sigh and bow your head, saying a silent prayer for the fallen soldier, then you straighten and meet Price's gaze. "I need you to cover me."

"Of course, sir," he says without hesitation, his shoulders squaring.

The pair of you peer around the corner. There's a break in the firing, though you can hear grunts and metal bodies falling inside the room, and you reach out, trying to get a sense of the enemy's numbers. A dozen. Two. Three. Four. It's hard to tell. Their signatures are masked by the sheer number of droids in the area. But there's at least a handful of commandos, and they're armed with cortosis.

"You ready?" you ask.

"Ready, sir."

"Good." You ignite your lightsabers, the yellow and green glow cutting through the haze of red. "Let's go."

The pair of you race toward the entrance, and the four clones tucked outside scramble to their feet and fire at the approaching droids, providing a brief reprieve for the two of you as you duck and roll inside the room. The droidekas turn and open fire, and Price drops behind a table, using the metal as a shield just as a volley of bolts heads in your direction.

"Get down!" one of the clones shouts as a barrage of blaster fire from above rains down on the droids.

You flatten yourself to the floor and press your back against the wall, ducking out of the way. Two poppers roll across the floor with precision and detonate, and the shields around the droidekas flicker long enough for one of the clones to blast the weakened panels, rendering the machines useless.

"Clear!"

You stand, scanning the room for any remaining droids. They’re coming from the halls, and your men are holding them back, but they're struggling. One falls to a droideka's attack, and you lash out with the Force, shoving a commando away before it can land a finishing blow. The clone scrambles up and returns to the fight.

“Where’s Snap?” you shout, deflecting the shots aimed at you, keeping them from reaching the others.

“Upstairs,” one of them calls back.

You nod and take off, sprinting toward the staircase at the far end of the room.

"Wait! General!" Price cries.

"Stay with the others!"

You don't wait for a response, rushing up the steps, your boots echoing on the metal. As you near the top, a blast from above strikes the wall beside your head, and you duck, barely avoiding the shrapnel. The doors to the generator room fly open with a wave of your hand, and you slide inside, deflecting the blaster bolts headed your way.

The scene that greets you is chaos.

Bodies of fallen clones litter the floor, wires sparking and panels smoldering as smoke fills the air. You barely have time to dodge as a blade arcs through the air, barely missing your neck. You roll and come up swinging, slicing through the commando droid's leg before stabbing it through the chest, burning through its circuits.

The droid's glaive falls at your feet, and you kick it aside, the weapon skidding across the floor and stopping at a pair of familiar boots. You glance up as Snap grabs the weapon, turning and lobbing it at a droid coming up behind you. The metal connects with a sharp crack, and you spin, slashing the creature into pieces.

"Snap!"

"Sir!"

"Nice throw," you call over the noise.

"Thanks," Snap replies. "Where's Price?"

“Here!” the lieutenant shouts as he ducks into the room, firing on the droids that are pouring in from the lower levels. He slams his fist on the control panel for the door, and it slides shut, blocking off the horde.

“I told you to stay put,” you grunt as you shove a droid into a wall.

"Couldn't," he says as he shoots another one. "You needed me."

You shoot him a disbelieving look over your shoulder, then sigh and shake your head. "We'll talk about this later.”

The droids fall in a blur of motion, their metal bodies collapsing to the floor with a series of clangs. In a few minutes, the rest of the droids scattered throughout the room join the bodies on the floor, and you let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“That door isn’t going to hold long,” Snap warns as he throws away the glaive he's holding. He picks up his fallen blaster rifle and checks it for damage. Satisfied, he nods. "I'd give it ten minutes, tops."

"Then we'll have to make them count," you reply. You can hear the shouts and screams of your men below. The occasional blaster shot echoes up the stairs, and Dash flinches with each one as he pops up from cover. You can feel the weight of their losses through the Force, but the pain in your chest eases slightly at the sight of him alive and unharmed. "Dash, where’s Screwball?”

"He was helping some of the men upstairs, last I saw him," Dash replies, making his way toward the generator’s control panel to inspect the damage.

"And the others?"

Dash glances over his shoulder, and he and Snap share a look before they both shake their heads.

You feel your stomach drop as the realization sinks in, your gaze following the trail of bodies and blood splattered across the floor. The message is clear.

They're all gone. Fuse, Streaker, and the rest, all of Price’s men. All of them. Gone.

A chill runs down your spine, and the room suddenly feels colder. A shiver courses through you, and you wrap your arms around yourself, struggling to push down the fear and anger building inside you. You're so tired. Tired of losing men, of fighting, of death.

It would be so easy.

So simple.

You could just...let go. Let yourself fall, surrender to the darkness, give in to the rage and the pain and the anger. You could make them pay, all of them. The droids, the Separatists, everyone who had taken your men from you. You could bring their whole world crashing down around them. They wouldn't even see it coming.

"General?" Dash asks. His voice is distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears. "Are you alright?"

No.

"Fine," you answer automatically. You blink and take a breath, and the haze clears, the anger fading along the edges of your vision. Your fingers tighten around the hilts of your lightsabers, and you force yourself to deactivate them and clip them back to your belt. You take another breath, and the darkness retreats further, allowing you to see the helmets watching you. "What's the status on the shield?"

Dash pulls up the display, his fingers running over the keys, and you step close to peer over his shoulder. You can feel Snap’s gaze boring into the side of your head as he studies you, but you ignore him, your attention focused on the flickering blue screen.

"Still up," Dash reports. "But I don't know how much longer this thing will hold against a direct assault. If it goes critical, we're going to be in a lot more trouble."

"So no pressure," Snap mutters.

"Yeah, no pressure," you agree with a sigh. “We’re just going to have to hold the line a little while longer."

“Just the four of us?” Price asks incredulously as he looks at the small group gathered around the generator. He gestures toward the door, which is starting to bend inward from the droids outside, the metal screeching in protest. "Against that?"

“Five of us,” you correct.

“Who—“

There's a loud bang as a droid body slams onto the ground in front of you, and Price yelps, stumbling back. The four of you look up to see Screwball on the catwalk above, and he gives you a cheeky salute before jumping over the edge and landing beside the others. He rolls his shoulders and shakes his head, his gaze landing on the damaged door.

"This place is a mess," he mutters as he kicks aside a broken droid. "Sorry I'm late."

"How the hell are you still alive?" Dash exclaims with a laugh, and Screwball chuckles, slapping him on the back.

"Skill. And some luck," he shrugs. He glances around at the fallen bodies and the destroyed equipment. "Guess it wasn't as easy as we thought, huh?"

"No," Dash agrees. "It wasn't."

"It's about to get a lot worse," Snap says, nodding towards the door. You can see the outline of a laser cutter burning through the metal, and the door begins to buckle, a hole forming in the center, the edges glowing red-hot. The five of you raise your weapons and aim at the door, prepared for the worst.

As the first droid enters the room, a barrage of blasterfire meets it, and its body crumples to the floor, smoke rising from its melted frame. The next droid is met with a similar fate, and soon the pile of corpses blocks the door, providing a temporary barrier against the invaders. But you know it won't hold for much longer, and the five of you stand together, preparing for the onslaught that's sure to come.

"We'll hold the line," you say, and the others nod, their expressions grim. "We've handled worse. And I don't plan on losing today."

"General," Rex's voice comes over the comm. "What's your status?"

"Shield's still up," you reply. "And we've got some company. The generator is holding, but not for much longer. Any word from Ahsoka?"

"No," he replies, and you can hear the frustration in his voice. "Still no comms."

You ignite your sabers as a group of commando droids kick aside the bodies and step through the hole in the door. They're fast, dodging and weaving between your attacks, and you have to use the Force to block their blows and push them back. You're barely able to keep up with their speed, and one of them nearly manages to get a strike in before a blaster bolt takes its head clean off.

"We're taking heavy fire here," Rex informs you as a droid rushes forward, its blade coming down in a deadly arc.

You bring up your shoto to parry the attack, and you wince as it shorts out immediately, sparks flying as the blade sinks back into the hilt. You quickly switch to your other lightsaber, swinging it up and catching the commando in the chest, slicing it cleanly in half.

"Unfortunately, so are we," you grumble. You reach out and yank the next droid's blade from its grasp, sending it flying across the room. "The droids are coming from all sides, and there's a tunnel that leads straight here. They're trying to take down the shield."

"A tunnel?" Rex repeats, and you hear a barrage of blasterfire over the comm, a muffled curse following the noise. "Damn it. There must be an entrance on the other side of the city."

"We're pinned down up here," you inform him, grunting as you duck under a blade aimed at your head. You spin and lash out with a kick, catching the droid in the chest and knocking it back. "They're getting past our defenses, and we can't hold out much longer. You need to find the entrance and seal it off."

"Copy that," he says, his voice tight. "Good luck, General. Stay alive. I'm not done yelling at you yet."

"Noted," you mutter, and the line goes dead.

The five of you fight against the seemingly never-ending wave of droids, your movements becoming more and more desperate as the battle rages on. Somewhere along the way, you lose your lightsaber, and you're forced to rely on the Force alone, pulling blasters and glaives and even a droid body to throw at the commandos. You can't tell how much time has passed, the only thing keeping you going being the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the need to keep your men safe.

Your head is throbbing, and the ache in your chest has returned, a sharp pain that radiates through your body. As much faith as you have in the Force, it’s not meant to be tapped into this much for this long, and you can feel your body weakening with every movement you make. You’re running out of energy, and time.

"Sir, I have a bad feeling about this!" Price calls as he shoots down another commando. "How are they still coming?"

"I don't know!" you shout, reaching out and stopping a droid midair before throwing it back into the hoarde. You wipe the sweat from your brow and shake your head, trying to clear the fog from your brain

You all yelp as a blaster bolt slams into the generator, the machine sputtering and sparks flying. A series of alarms begin to blare, and Dash curses and slides under a droid's swing. He rushes to the control panel, typing furiously, before he slams a fist down on the panel, silencing the alarms.

"This thing is a piece of shit," he hisses as he scans the readings. "We can't take another hit like that."

"So don't," Snap replies, shoving a commando out of the room and back into the hallway. "We need a plan."

"What happened?" Rex demands over the comm, his voice frantic. "We heard alarms."

"We're fine," you reply quickly. You catch a glimpse of Dash frantically working the console, his fingers flying over the keys, and you glance away, swallowing the lump in your throat. "For now. The shield is holding, but we're surrounded."

"What's the status on the generator?"

"Bad," you say as a commando slashes at your arm, its blade slicing into your skin. You grab its arm and wrench it free from its socket, kicking it in the chest and knocking it into a group of droids. "Really, really bad."

"Can you repair it?"

"Maybe," you mutter, glancing over at Dash, who gives you a thumbs up. You return the gesture. "If we had the time."

The droids continue to press the attack, and you're pushed back, your boots sliding against the floor as the five of you retreat. You duck behind the large column holding up the generator, and you slump against the cool metal, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Just focus on the tunnel," you call into the comm. "We'll figure out something here."

"Understood," Rex replies, his tone somber. You hear him call orders, and the men respond in the background, but you don't catch the words, the pounding in your head drowning everything out. "Just...stay alive. Please."

"That's the plan," you tell him, your voice cracking. "But Rex, if we can't—"

"Don't," he snaps. "Just...don't."

"Okay," you breathe, leaning your head against the column. You close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing, trying to block out the noise of the battle and the voices of your men. The only thing you can think of is the darkness that's been following you. The shadows that have haunted your dreams and clouded your thoughts. If you could use it somehow...

No. You promised Rex you wouldn't give in. You can't do it. You won't do it.

"Any ideas?" you ask the others. They look at you, their expressions grim, and the silence is answer enough.

"Nothing good," Screwball sighs, and you let out a low, humorless laugh.

"Yeah," you agree, shaking your head. "Nothing good."

"What about a distraction?" Snap suggests, his voice strained, and you turn to see him creeping toward one of the security consoles. He types quickly and pulls up a schematic of the building. "If we could draw their attention away from the generator..."

"They'd just come right back," Price argues. "There's no point."

"Not if they were focused on something else," Snap replies, pointing to the screen. "Look, there're ventilation shafts leading out of here. Someone could climb through, drop down on 'em, and start shooting."

"And get killed," Price counters. "Whoever does this would be sacrificing themselves."

"I'll do it," Screwball offers without hesitation.

"No, I'll do it," Snap says, turning to face the others. "I'm the fastest and the best shot. It has to be me."

"But," Price starts to protest.

"I can't ask anyone else to do this," Snap cuts him off. "I'm the captain. This is my responsibility."

"You're not asking," Screwball growls, and he moves closer. "I’m going too. Someone has to watch your six."

Snap sighs and shakes his head. "Fine.”

"We'll stay here," you tell them. "And keep the droids occupied. Dash, do what you can to keep the shield up."

"On it," he nods and heads for the controls.

"You ready?" Snap asks Screwball, and the other man gives him a nod, rolling his shoulders. You all take a deep breath, sharing a long look, before you bow your head.

"May the Force be with us all," you murmur.

Screwball hesitates, looking from you to Snap and back again, and then he's throwing himself at you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. He yanks Dash in by the collar, and Snap joins the pile, squeezing hard. You gasp and wheeze, struggling to breathe, but the men are relentless, and you're left standing awkwardly in the center, unsure what to do.

"You guys are crushing me," you protest weakly.

"Just deal with it, sir," Snap chuckles, his helmet pressed to the back of your head. Dash just squeezes tighter, and you let out a shaky laugh and relax into it, your arms pinned to your sides.

"Get off me," Price hisses as Screwball tries to pull him into the huddle, and he squirms, smacking his helmet. "What are you doing? Stop hugging!"

"It's called team spirit," Screwball snorts and releases Price, who stumbles back and adjusts his armor, letting out a huff. "You better get used to it, kid. You're stuck with us."

"I don't need any—"

Price's words are cut off as a blaster bolt nearly clips his helmet, and the clones dive for cover, pulling him out of sight. You raise your hand and lash out with the Force, flinging several of the droids into the wall. But more keep coming, and you're soon forced to fall back, taking shelter behind one of the consoles.

Snap crouches opposite you, and when your gazes meet, you give him a nod. He returns the gesture and checks his blaster rifle before he holds up a hand, counting down on his fingers.

As the final finger goes down, you lift two droids off the ground, flinging them back into the crowd behind them. Snap jumps out from behind his cover, and Screwball follows, the pair of them shooting as they go.

They scramble up the staircase to the catwalk, and Price covers them, blasting a hole through the chest of a droid that was about to intercept. The men disappear from view, and you hope against hope that they'll be able to make it, that their plan will work.

The next few minutes pass by in a blur of blaster fire and droids, and you lose track of time, focused only on fighting and surviving. Your muscles are screaming, and your vision is starting to blur. You can't keep this up for much longer. You're not sure you'll last the hour.

You duck and roll as a blaster bolt flies over your head, and you reach out, plucking a droid off the ground. With a twist of your hand, it crumples in on itself, its metal body twisting with a groan in your grasp.

Your eyes widen, and you gasp, letting the droid fall to the floor. Your hands are trembling, and you clench them into fists, trying to steady yourself. That...that wasn't you. You didn't do that. It wasn't you.

But there's no denying the power you felt. The darkness is swirling inside you, filling your veins with an unnatural cold. And it wants out. It's calling to you, begging to be set free, and the thought of all that energy, all that raw, unfettered strength is almost too much. Too tempting.

A droid lands beside you and tries to slash at you with its blade, but you dodge and reach out, gripping it with the Force. Your fingers curl around its throat, the metal buckling and bending as your grip tightens. You can feel its circuits struggling to function, and a small, dark part of you relishes the sensation, reveling in its struggle. The rest of you is horrified.

With a scream, you throw the droid across the room, its body slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch. You can hear its systems struggling, the lights blinking and sputtering, and it finally goes still. You stare at the motionless droid, panting heavily, and you shake your head.

No. This isn't who you are. It can't be. You're a Jedi. You're better than this. This is just a test, a challenge, and you'll rise above it. You have to.

"Dash!"

You spin on your heel just in time to see a droid slice down on the young clone's side. His scream pierces the air, and the blood drains from your face, a wave of terror and fury washing over you. The droid advances on him, its blade raised, and Price fires, the bolt taking its head off.

Price runs to his fallen brother and helps him up, and Dash immediately pushes away from him, stumbling toward the generator.

"No," Dash groans. His hand is pressed against his side, the blood seeping through his fingers, and he leans heavily against the machine. "No, no, no, no..."

Price is by his side in an instant, helping him stay upright, and you lash out with the Force, sending a trio of droids flying into the nearest wall. Their metal bodies clatter to the ground, and you take the opportunity to join the pair, crouching beside Dash.

"Let me see," you demand, and Dash removes his hand, wincing as the fabric pulls away from the wound. You wince as well, sucking in a breath through your teeth. The blade had sliced cleanly through the side of his stomach, and the injury is deep, blood pouring from the wound. "It's bad, but I think you'll live."

"It doesn't matter," Dash pants, pushing away from the pair of you. He slumps against the generator, his breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. "Bomb. There's...there's a bomb."

"What?" Price asks. "Where?"

"Stuck to the generator," he coughs and points. "I need to...to disable it."

You follow his gesture, and your heart drops into your stomach when you see the device attached to the machine's frame. It's blinking a series of red lights, and you have no doubt that it's counting down, ready to explode at any minute.

"We need to move," Price says.

"I can do it," Dash insists. "Just need...need time."

"We'll buy you as much as we can," you assure him, and you reach out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just stay calm, okay? Focus on the task, and the Force will guide you."

"Right," he nods and looks down, taking a deep breath. "Yeah. I can do this."

You squeeze his shoulder and stand, moving to Price's side. The lieutenant has taken cover behind a console, and his gaze is locked on the droid forces still entering the room, a dozen at a time. They're pushing through the doors, a seemingly never-ending flow of metal bodies, and you can tell the two of you aren't going to be able to hold out much longer.

"We're not gonna last like this," Price mutters, echoing your thoughts. "This was a suicide mission from the start."

"We had to try," you say softly.

"At least the others made it," he grunts. "Small mercies."

You sigh and raise your hands, lashing out with the Force and pushing a group of droids back. They slam into the wall, and the ones behind them scramble to get out of the pile, allowing Price the chance to take them out.

"Yeah," you agree, watching the carnage unfold. You know it's only a matter of time before they break through your defenses and overwhelm you. "Small mercies."

"Sir, can you hear me? We've located the tunnel entrance," Rex reports, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. "There's a small garrison guarding it, but we're pushing through."

"Good," you breathe. "That's good."

"What's the status on the shield?"

"Not great," you reply. "We're...we're doing the best we can, but..."

Your words trail off as you look over your shoulder at Dash. He's still working on the device, pulling wires and disconnecting parts. But he's clearly struggling, his movements sluggish, and you can see the blood starting to color the white of his armor.

"But what?" Rex demands.

"But I'm not sure it'll be enough," you admit. "Rex, the droids are everywhere. We're trapped, and we're running out of time."

There's a pause, and you can practically feel the weight of the words hanging between the two of you. You take a shaky breath and close your eyes, willing yourself to stay calm, to not let the fear and anger overwhelm you. But it's no use. Your heart is pounding, and the darkness is threatening to consume you, the shadows in your mind threatening to drag you down.

"If I don't make it—"

"Don't," Rex interrupts. "You're gonna make it."

"Rex," you say softly. "Just listen, please."

"No," he replies, his tone harsh. "I'm not gonna lose you. I'm not losing anyone else today. Do you understand me?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, tears stinging your eyes, and you press your lips together, struggling to keep your emotions in check. It's all too much, and you know you're barely holding it together. You don't have the strength to fight him, not now.

"Yeah," you reply, your voice cracking. "I...I understand."

"Good," Rex says. "Now hold on, I'm coming."

The comm goes dead, and you let out a sigh, leaning against the column and closing your eyes. It only lasts a second before a commando droid is bearing down on you, and you barely have time to react before it slices across your chest, scraping against your plate and catching the skin of your arm.

You hiss in pain as your eyes snap open, the dark cloud enveloping your mind, and you reach out and wrap your fingers around the droid's throat, squeezing. The metal begins to bend and crack, and a wave of dark satisfaction washes over you, the cold emptiness inside you spreading like ice through your veins. You can feel the darkness taking control, and for once, you don't try to stop it.

The droid struggles in your grasp, its limbs flailing as it tries to free itself, but you just tighten your grip, relishing the power surging through you. You can feel the Force flowing through your fingertips, the pressure building in your skull, and you can sense every cell, every fiber, every molecule in the room. It's a heady feeling, and it's only strengthened by the anger and frustration coursing through you.

You release your grip and watch as the droid collapses, its systems sputtering and sparking. You turn and throw out your hand, and a blast of energy erupts from your palm, striking the cluster of droids advancing on you. Their bodies crumple to the floor, and you step forward, your boots splashing in the pool of blood spreading across the floor.

Before you can make it further, the beeping of the bomb reaches your ears, and you turn to see Dash struggling to disconnect the device. His fingers are stained red, and his hands are shaking, but he's trying, fighting to disarm the weapon before it explodes.

"No," you whisper, your heart breaking. You know it’s too late now, the timer almost run down. "Dash, you have to get out of here."

"Almost...got it," he pants. "Almost..."

You look back down at Dash, then at the doorway where droids are trickling in, slower this time. The sounds of Snap and Screwball flanking them on the other side reach your ears, the pair of them yelling and shouting as they take down the droids. You can feel their exhaustion and determination, their drive to complete their mission, and you know that they won't give up, that they'll do whatever it takes to hold the line.

But is it worth the cost? Is it worth the risk? Are you willing to sacrifice everything, sacrifice the people you care about, for a cause that may not even succeed? For a planet that may be lost anyway?

Your eyes find Dash again. His fingers falter as he struggles to disconnect the last wire, and you know, deep down, that this isn't right. That none of this is right. That it never has been.

The darkness within you recedes, and a cold acceptance washes over you, weighing you down. You can't continue like this. You can't continue to sacrifice the lives of your men, can't continue to put them in harm's way for a cause that seems increasingly futile. You have to stop this. You have to do the right thing.

You take a deep breath, and the resolve settles deep in your chest, a heavy stone in the pit of your stomach.

"Get away from the generator.”

Dash freezes and looks up at you. "What?"

"Get away from the generator," you repeat, raising your voice. "Now!"

"I'm almost done," he insists, and his gaze flickers back to the device. "I can do this. I just need more time."

"There is no time," you snap, and you reach out, using the Force to yank him away from the generator and drag him toward you. He cries out, and you flinch, hating yourself for the pain you're causing him, but you know you can't let him continue. "It's going to explode. We have to get out of here."

"No," Dash chokes out. "I can't. I won't leave. I have to—"

He gasps as you wrap your arms around him, dragging him to his feet and pulling him toward the exit. His hands reach for the generator, trying to get away from you, but his injuries have left him weakened, and he can't break free from your grasp.

"Sir, I can't leave," he pleads. "Please, I have to—"

"We're going home," you interrupt, your voice firm. You won't let him throw his life away, not for this. Not for something that's not worth the cost. "All of us."

"But the shield—"

"The shield is already failing," you tell him. "The bomb is going to go off anyway. At least we can live to fight another day."

He hesitates a moment, but you feel the fight leave him, and his shoulders slump as he gives in. You adjust your grip, holding him upright, and the pair of you stumble toward the exit, dodging the shots aimed at you. Price runs ahead of you, trying best he can to provide cover, and the three of you manage to make it back into the hallway, where Snap and Screwball are still fighting.

"We're leaving!" you shout. "Fall back!"

“What?” Snap asks, his head whipping around. He stiffens when he catches sight of Dash’s injured form and quickly turns, firing a shot over his shoulder as he joins the group.

"Go," you command, and the five of you start moving down the hallway. The droids are in disarray now, confused by the sudden retreat, and the men quickly put distance between them. "Now!"

The five of you run through the hallways, your footsteps echoing off the walls. The blasterfire continues, but you keep your head down, focusing only on getting out. You can feel the energy gathering around the bomb, a pressure building in the back of your mind as the timer winds down. You're not sure if it'll even matter at this point. If you get far away or stay close, the blast will surely be enough to kill all of you.

But you have to try.

"Come on!" Price shouts, pushing you forward.

"Go!" Snap orders.

You run down the hall as fast as you can, the droids hot on your heels, and your lungs burn, your muscles screaming for relief. Dash tries to keep up as best he can, but he's still unsteady on his feet, and he stumbles, nearly falling before you grab him and yank him upright.

"Stay with me, soldier," you growl, and he grunts in response. "I've got you."

You're near the end of the corridor, the exit just ahead, the crackle of lightning shining through and beckoning to you, and the men pick up the pace, desperate to escape.

You're so close.

Just a little further.

And just as you're about to reach the doorway, the explosion hits.

It's like a wave of fire and ice, a pressure so intense that it shatters the very air itself. You drop Dash and throw up your hands, instinctively using the Force to create a barrier around the five of you. But the force of the blast is too great, and the shockwave ripples through the shield, breaking it apart and sending all of you tumbling to the floor.

The air is knocked from your lungs as your body slams into the ground. There's a flash of light, and for a brief, horrifying instant, the world goes white. Rubble falls around you, and the ground beneath your feet is shaking, the walls and ceiling groaning under the strain. Everything is moving too fast, and you're helpless to do anything but lay there, the shock keeping you frozen in place.

And then it's over.

You fall forward and hit the floor with a grunt, the weight of your armor driving the breath from your lungs. You roll onto your back, coughing and gasping for air, and your vision begins to return, the world slowly coming into focus.

You can see the sky.

It takes you a moment to register the droplets of water on your face, and you watch, stunned, as a cloud passes overhead, the sight of it unimpeded by the haze of smoke or warbling barrier.

The shield is down

Duro is exposed.

A loud crack rings out in the silence, and a piece of rubble hanging from where the ceiling used to be finally gives and falls. It lands with a thud as a plume of dust billows out, coating the ground and settling over your prone form.

The noise seems to break the spell holding everyone in place. Screwball and Price are the first ones up, stumbling to their feet and reaching for their weapons. Price's helmet is dented, and he tosses it aside with a sigh before reaching for Dash and hauling him upright. The young clone is trembling, his hands shaking as he holds his wounded side, and you can't tell if it's from fear or pain. Maybe both.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry."

"You did good," Price says softly. "You did your best."

"Is he okay?" you ask. Your words come out strained, and you struggle to pull yourself upright, the ache in your body slowing your movements. You can feel bruises forming beneath your armor, the dull throb of a broken rib and the sharp sting of cuts and scrapes. But the pain is nothing compared to the guilt weighing on your heart.

"I'm fine," Dash replies, his voice tight. "I just need a minute."

Price glances at you, and the two of you share a look. You can tell he's thinking the same thing you are. Dash is not fine. None of you are fine.

"Where's the Captain?" Screwball asks, turning to scan the rubble.

You stiffen and scramble to your feet, ignoring the pain shooting through your side. You're about to call out his name, but the words die in your throat as you spot Snap lying on the ground, unmoving. You stumble toward him, your heart racing, and kneel beside his body, your hand shaking as you reach out and touch his arm.

"Snap," you murmur, and he stirs, hissing in pain.

"I'm okay," he breathes, and his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. "Just...just got the wind knocked outta me."

"Good," you sigh, relieved, and he sits up, his movements slow and careful. His helmet is missing, and the hair on the side of his head is singed, a gash bleeding down his cheek. He reaches up and gingerly touches the wound, hissing in pain.

"We should move," Price says, glancing around. "The droids will be here soon."

"I need a medic," Dash groans.

"You need a fucking bacta tank," Screwball mutters. He unbuckles Dash's damaged chest plate and tosses it aside, wincing at the bloody mess underneath. Price pulls a wad of bacta patches and gauze from his pouch, and the two of them try their best to dress the wound, applying pressure and packing the gauze tightly around the cut.

"It's gonna hurt like a bitch, but this should hold until we can get you to the medical tent," Price informs him.

"Better than nothing," Dash mumbles, and his gaze drifts to the charred husk of the generator. A frown pulls at his lips, and you can see the guilt and shame etched into his features. You can't blame him. You're feeling the same thing.

"Hey," you say, nudging him. He looks at you, his eyes wet, and you offer him a sad smile. "Don't. It wasn't your fault."

"If I had just..."

"It wasn't your fault," you repeat. "I made the call. And I don't regret it."

Dash lets out a shaky breath and nods, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Okay," he says. "Okay."

"We need to go," Price says again. Some of the rubble around you is beginning to shift, and you all share a nervous look. "Now."

You take one last glance at the ruins of the generator before turning away.

"Let's go."

You head outside, and the first thing that hits you is the smell. Burning metal and rubber and chemicals, thick in the air and stinging your eyes. The rain has lessened somewhat, but it's still pouring down, the droplets washing away the dirt and ash clinging to your armor. The smoke is thick, and the ground is littered with the remains of droids and vehicles, some of them still smoldering.

There's a heaviness in the air, and you know it's not just the lingering effects of the explosion. Something is bearing down on you, loss, despair, grief, a sense of finality that settles over your shoulders like a lead weight.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly as you walk, trying to clear the heaviness from your mind. Your grip tightens around Snap's waist as you trudge down the ramp, and he leans into you, his body heavy and limp. The others are just as battered, their movements sluggish and weary, and you can't bring yourself to push them, not after everything they've been through.

Dash lets out a cry of pain and doubles over, and you stop, turning to see Price half carrying him, the younger clone's arms slung over his shoulder. His face is ashen, and his teeth are clenched, blood seeping through the bandage wrapped around his waist. You can feel the pain radiating off him, and it's enough to make your own injury flare, a stabbing sensation that shoots down your side.

Biting your lip, you reach out with the Force in an attempt to ease his suffering, to give him a measure of relief. But the darkness inside you rises up, fighting against your control, and you struggle, your hand shaking.

"I'm fine," Dash pants, catching your gaze. "I can make it."

You release the Force, and a wave of fatigue washes over you, your head spinning and your limbs feeling leaden. It takes everything you have not to collapse, and you take a deep breath, trying to regain your balance. You and Snap fall back against the side of a building, the pair of you leaning heavily on each other for support.

"Just a little further," Snap whispers.

"Just a little further," you echo.

Snap lets out a pained groan, and his legs give out from under him. You lunge for him, trying to catch him, but your own legs are shaking, and you hit the ground hard. The two of you sit there a moment, staring at each other in silence.

"You okay?" you finally ask.

"I'm fine," he says, and he offers you a weak smile. "Just a little tired."

"Yeah," you agree, and the two of you look up, taking in the chaos around you. "It's been a hell of a day."

The city is in ruins, the buildings crumbling and the streets strewn with debris. The smell of smoke and ash is thick in the air, and the rain has turned to a steady drizzle, coating everything in a fine mist. The battle is still raging on the outskirts of the city, the booming of cannons and blaster fire echoing in the distance. A heavy feeling of dread settles in the pit of your stomach, and you can feel the darkness creeping closer, its tendrils wrapping around you.

You turn, looking up and squinting into the rain. There's nothing but clouds, smoke and shadows. But the feeling doesn't abate. If anything, it gets stronger, a deep, unsettling chill that burrows into your bones and sinks into your very soul.

"Sir, what is it?" Snap asks, his voice strained.

"I don't know," you murmur, your eyes still searching the darkness. "Something's wrong."

"Wrong how?" Price asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. "We're losing. That's about as wrong as it gets."

"No," you shake your head. "Not that. Something else."

"Look, whatever it is, we need to keep moving," Screwball says. He and Price are both supporting Dash, and the young clone is slumped against their shoulders, his eyes fluttering. "This is no place to linger."

"He's right," Snap says, his voice soft. "We should keep going."

You nod and take a deep breath, forcing yourself back onto your feet. Your side is screaming in protest, and you grit your teeth and ignore it, taking Snap's hand and helping him up. But just as you're both about to step forward, the roar of an engine sounds overhead.

You watch as one of your gunships breaks through the clouds high above, circling the area and firing into the streets. You can hear the droids shouting, the clank of their metal feet on the ground as they scramble for cover. The ship moves closer, and the cannon turret spins, aiming directly at the group.

"We're saved," Price breathes.

"We have to get their attention," Screwball says, and he and Price adjust their grip, hoisting Dash up higher. "Come on!"

They move, dragging Dash with them, and you and Snap follow, doing your best to keep up. The gunship continues its descent, and the men wave their hands and shout, trying to get its attention.

"Over here!" Screwball bellows. "We're over here!"

"Hurry!" Price adds.

You're all running now, dodging the wreckage and debris scattered across the street. The ship is getting closer, the whine of its engines deafening, and you can feel the wind from its thrusters kicking up dust and debris.

Snap shifts in your arms as he cranes his neck to get a better look, and his hand suddenly tightens on your shoulder, pulling you to a stop. "What the hell is that?"

"What?" you ask as you tilt your head, trying to follow his gaze. Water drips into your eyes, and you wipe it away, squinting against the rain. "What are you talking about?"

Another flash lights up the sky, and the world is plunged into darkness again, the wind whipping around you. There's a crackle in the air, and the smell of ozone burns your nose. You feel a sudden chill run down your spine, a sense of foreboding that sends a shiver through your body.

"There," Snap says, and he lifts a shaky hand, pointing somewhere beyond the ship.

At first, you don't see it, but as your eyes adjust, you can make out a bright light, a small speck that seems to be moving through the sky. It's not the Republic ship. It's not a part of the battle. It's something else. Something new. Something...familiar.

"Oh no," you breathe as the realization dawns on you. "No, no, no."

You know that light.

You've seen it before.

And it means only one thing.

Snap lets out a choked gasp, and the others stop their yelling, their attention locked on the approaching object. It's getting closer now, the light flickering as it cuts through the clouds, a strange, high-pitched buzzing filling the air.

"Is that—"

The missile hits the ship circling overhead with a deafening boom, and the sky is lit up by the explosion, the shockwave rocking the ground beneath your feet. The ship is engulfed in flames, and the remains plummet to the earth, crashing into the streets below.

You're frozen in place, unable to move or speak or think, and all you can do is watch as the debris rains down, the fiery wreckage falling to the ground like meteors. The smoke rises, thick and black, obscuring the sky, and the rain does little to extinguish the flames.

"Oh, shit," Screwball whispers, and his voice cracks. More and more lights are beginning to appear, dotting the clouds like stars. "There's...there's dozens of them."

A sickening sense of horror washes over you as you watch the projectiles fly through the sky, the rain streaking past their blazing forms. Your mouth is dry, and your heart is pounding, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing through your body. And you know with a cold certainty that this is what the Force has been warning you about, the visions you've had for months, the future that's always hovered just out of reach.

This is it.

You're here.

And there's nothing you can do to stop it.

"They don't want to take Duro," you say softly, and the words are barely a whisper, carried away by the wind and rain. "They want to erase it."

mando'a translation: cabur = protector/guardian (cabur'ika is essentially little guardian but idk to me it's just a more fond/familiar way of saying it)

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lordofthenerds97 · 4 days ago

Text

Respectfully, of course

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Awoken

Chapter WC: 6,660

Chapter Tags/Warnings: this one is a bit of an ouchie and i wish i could say it's going to get better but...

A/N: I had a 3am revelation on Sunday and ended up restructuring all the beats for the battle part and moved them around, and then rewrote basically everything, so this chapter is a lot shorter than I teased previously. It just makes more sense this way, you'll see what I mean next week.

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Duro, 20 BBY

Your eyes flutter open, squinting against the sun bearing down on you, and you take a deep breath. Slowly, your senses return to you. First the smell of dust and stale air that permeates Urdur, tinged with blaster oil and caf. Then the taste of it, thick and dry, coating the inside of your mouth and settling in the back of your throat.

Finally, the weight of a body pressed against yours registers. An arm is draped over your hip, and a leg is tangled with yours. There's a warm puff of breath against the back of your neck, followed by a low, contented sigh.

You freeze, your mind racing to catch up with your body. The worn metal roof of the watchtower brings it all rushing back to you.

Rex.

He's asleep, his arms around you, holding you close, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Somewhere during your rest, the two of you shifted positions. Your head is on his bicep, and he's pulled you back against his chest, his body curled around yours protectively and his nose buried in your hair.

A shiver runs down your spine as the full weight of the situation dawns on you. Rex is practically wrapped around you, and the sensation is...intimate. More so than the night before.

This isn't him comforting you, or holding you while you cry. It's not him keeping watch while you sleep.

This is Rex clinging to you. This is him needing you. This is him being vulnerable with you.

And the realization fills you with a sense of calm, a gentle warmth that spreads from the center of your chest outward. You can't remember the last time you felt like this, if ever. Like you're safe. Like you're home.

Rex lets out a soft snore and buries his face in your hair, and you bite back a laugh, trying your best to keep still. He'll wake in an instant if you move, and you don't want him to pull away.

So you lie there, reveling in the warmth of his body and the feel of his arms around you. In the way his chest rises and falls against your back. In the rhythm of his breathing. In the quiet, peaceful intimacy of the embrace.

You don't remember falling asleep. You don't remember much of anything, really, the events of the past several hours a blur of tears and exhaustion and the weight of his touch on your skin. But you do remember the way Rex looked at you, the way he held you, the way he whispered promises to keep you safe, the words that spilled from his mouth and wrapped themselves around your heart.

It was everything you wanted to hear, needed to hear.

It was everything.

Well, almost everything.

You have a sneaking suspicion that the word he called you was something more than a mere nickname. It's the reason why you didn't push him further about the translation, why you gave up so easily. It was the right thing to do. The honorable thing. And you knew he'd tell you if and only if he was ready.

Deep down, a part of you knows the answer already. The truth has been written on your hearts for months, and you've both been too afraid to admit it. Too afraid of what the confession might mean. But the war has made liars and cowards of the both of you, and it's time for that to change.

And so you decide that, once Rex wakes, you'll do something about it.

For now, you close your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the feel of his chest rising and falling against your back. You press yourself further into his embrace, and you let yourself imagine a galaxy where the two of you aren't Jedi and clone, where the war doesn't exist. Where this isn't a stolen, secretive thing, tucked away in the shadows and the quiet corners of the galaxy. Where this is everything, and the two of you can simply be.

It's a selfish fantasy, and a dangerous one. One that could never truly be. But in this place, on this dusty, forgotten world, in the fading light of the morning, you allow yourself to pretend it's real.

You drift back into sleep and the safety of the fantasy that's haunted your dreams for weeks now. The field, the grass, the warmth of the sun on your skin, and Rex, standing beside you, his hand in yours, a gentle smile on his face.

It's not as vivid as it appeared to you in the depths of the Force, the details faded and blurred at the edges, but the feelings remain. The warmth, the safety, the joy, the peace. The overwhelming sense of belonging.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and the picture slowly crystallizes around you. The colors come into focus, and the sun seems warmer, the light brighter. You can feel the grass brushing against your ankles, the coolness of the wind on your cheeks.

You can feel Rex.

He's beside you, his arm around your waist, his chest pressed against your back. You can feel his breath tickling the back of your neck, his lips moving against the shell of your ear as he murmurs your name.

“Rex,” you exhale. The word is barely more than a whisper, and it escapes your lips unbidden, the ghost of a sigh. You turn and look up at him.

Your eyes meet, and he smiles, the expression tugging at the corners of his mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. His face is illuminated by the morning light, and the sight is breathtaking, the warmth and joy radiating from him filling your heart with a love and affection that threatens to overwhelm you.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks with a tilt of his head, his tone teasing.

"I don't know," you answer. You look over his shoulder, trying to find some clue, some other detail that will let you know where you are and how you got here. But there's nothing. Just the two of you, surrounded by the vast expanse of golden plants stretching as far as the eye can see. "What are you doing out here?"

"Trying to find you," he says. "I was worried about you."

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you reply automatically, and he snorts.

“I know.”

You share a smile at the familiar words, and you take a step closer into his warmth as a light breeze picks up, scattering petals across the ground and swirling around you. The air is sweet and fresh, and the scent of flowers and grass is heavy in the air.

His hand trails from your shoulder to entwine your fingers together, a shudder running down your spine at the sensation of his bare skin against yours.

He’s not wearing gloves, you realize, and your brow furrows. But the words you dreamt before fall from your lips anyway.

"I’m glad you found me,” you murmur on cue, and his lips curve into a lopsided grin.

Just as before, Rex’s free hand reaches up, capturing a strand of hair fluttering in the breeze and tucking it behind your ear. His touch is gentle, the calloused pads of his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek and jaw.

“I’m always going to find you. No matter what," he promises, repeating the words that have been branded on your heart since the first time they were uttered. The effect is the same, a surge of warmth and love spreading through you and stealing your breath away.

You want to reassure him that you’ll always find him too, but the words die in your throat. This is where the vision stopped the last time you experienced it, and the idea of losing him again, even if it is just a dream, terrifies you.

You’re unable to stop yourself from looking around again, trying to find some landmark, some familiar sight. But there's nothing. Still, you can’t shake the sense that there’s something about this place that’s as familiar as it is alien.

The wind rustles the plants around you, the grass bending and swaying with the movement. You look down at your feet, and you notice for the first time that you’re not wearing your white robes. Instead, you're dressed in a simple tunic and pants you’ve never seen before, the fabric soft and worn. Rex is similarly dressed, his armor replaced by a short-sleeved shirt and pants secured at the waist by a belt.

Something doesn't feel right.

Your hands drift down to your lightsabers, and the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning.

They're gone.

Panic rises inside you, a sudden dread threatening to consume you, and you take a deep, shuddering breath. Your fingers fumble for the weapons, frantically searching for the familiar comforting weight, the cold metal, but the only thing they find is empty air.

You try to reach out with the Force, but it's like trying to catch smoke. The usual ease and flow is gone, replaced by something impenetrable and solid.

"What is it?" Rex asks, his voice breaking through the haze, and you look up at him. There's a confused frown on his face, his brows knit together and his eyes clouded with concern. You shake your head, struggling to find the words. "What's wrong?"

"My lightsabers," you manage, a tightness forming in your chest. "They're...they're gone."

Rex doesn't reply. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable. You wait, watching him, hoping he has an answer. That he can explain why you're not wearing your robes, why you're not carrying your lightsabers, or where you are, or what's happening. But he doesn't.

Instead, his expression shifts, and the emotions that flood his features threaten to drown you.

Regret. Fear. Despair. And something else. Something deeper, something darker, something you know well.

“Wait,” you breathe, your eyes widening. “No. No, not now.”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears as the world around you begins to fall away. The bright colors bleed from the sky, and the sun dims, the warmth and light fading into darkness. The grass fades from gold to black, and the breeze turns cold, a chill that settles in your bones.

You cling to Rex’s hand, but the tighter you hold, the faster the scene dissolves.

You try to call out his name, but the words won't come.

You can feel him, his fingers squeezing yours, his voice echoing in the distance, a frantic, desperate plea for you to stay, to not let go.

You fight. With every ounce of strength left in your body, you fight. You hold onto him, the pressure almost unbearable, the pain threatening to tear you apart.

But it's not just the pain.

There's fear. And sadness.

And loss.

So much loss.

You feel the ground underneath you tremble and shudder. You feel the earth crumble beneath your feet. You feel the heat and the burning and the crushing and the breaking.

Try as you might to stop it, you can’t hold back from lifting your head up and watching as the dark sky opens. Streaks of light, burning fire and molten metal and a thousand screams. A flash of blue, the outline of a ship. The explosion. The death.

You're frozen in place, your heart in your throat, and Rex is screaming, shouting your name.

You try to call out to him, to tell him to run, to get away, but the words won't come.

Then, there's nothing.

Only silence.

You shoot up with a gasp, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Your chest is tight, the air in your lungs replaced by the weight of panic. It’s too much, too heavy, and you rip Rex’s arm off of you and scramble to your feet, blood pounding in your ears.

You need to move. To get out. To escape the darkness and the heat and the ash and the dust.

"I can't...I can't..."

A hand shoots out, grabbing your arm, and you spin and lash out. Rex grunts as the heel of your palm slams into his chest, sending him flying backward toward the far wall. His hold on your arm doesn't lessen, and the momentum drags you with him, the two of you crashing into the duracrete together.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Rex soothes, his hands reaching out, and you fight, trying to twist out of his grasp. He pins you to the floor, his weight settling on top of you. "I've got you. I've got you. Just breathe. Focus on my voice. You're okay. I'm right here. Just breathe. In and out. There you go."

The familiar tone and the pressure of his body are a comfort, and you let out a choked gasp, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You try to push him away, but he doesn't budge, his grip on your arms firm but gentle.

"Don't," he pleads, his voice soft and low. "Don't push me away. Please."

His eyes search yours, and you stare back at him, trying to focus on his words. The pressure in your chest eases, the weight lifting slightly, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath, the scent of his skin filling your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I didn't...I didn't mean to. I just..."

"It's okay," he breathes, and the panic subsides, the fear and desperation giving way to exhaustion and shame. Rex sits back against the wall, pulling you with him, and his arms wrap tightly around you. "It's okay. You're safe."

"I'm sorry," you whisper again, the words muffled by his neck. "I didn't...I didn't mean to...to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"I know," he murmurs, and he rubs your back, his touch gentle. "It's okay. I'm not hurt."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," he repeats, and he presses his lips to the top of your head. "I'm not mad."

You nod half-heartedly, and you bury your face in his shoulder. You're shaking, your whole body trembling, and you focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting weight of his arms around you.

Rex doesn't speak, his fingers running along your spine, and the silence stretches out between you, heavy and thick. You can't bring yourself to break it, the thoughts in your head swirling and churning, a whirlwind of guilt and fear.

"Bad dream?" he asks after a while, his voice barely more than a whisper.

A breathless, humorless laugh escapes your lips, and you nod. He hums, and you take a shaky breath, steeling yourself for his inevitable questions. But they don't come. Instead, he continues stroking your back, the repetitive motion soothing.

"The vision," you admit quietly, your voice thick, and he nods, his nose bumping the crown of your head. "I was...there was...there was something."

"Something?"

"Something...I don't know," you murmur, and you close your eyes, trying to recall the details, but the memory remains out of reach, slipping through your fingers like water. "I don't remember. I just...it was..."

"Okay," he soothes, and his hand moves up to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck. "You're alright."

"I'm scared," you breathe. You turn your head slowly toward the window and peer out, squinting at the clouds starting to form in the distance. The sun is still shining, but the wind is picking up, rattling the old panes of glass. "Something is going to happen. Soon."

"We're prepared," Rex reminds you, his thumb tracing the ridge of your ear. "We're ready."

"I know," you murmur, and you lean back against him, letting out a sigh. "But I'm still afraid."

"I know," he echoes. "Me too."

You sit in silence, watching the sun begin its descent across the horizon. The shadows lengthen, stretching out across the dusty ground, and the air is filled with the soft murmurs of the troops, their voices muffled by the thick duracrete walls.

You can feel Rex's eyes on you, but you don't look at him. You can't. If you do, you're afraid of what he'll see. Of what you'll see.

Because it's not just the visions that frighten you.

It's the feeling.

The sense of impending doom that lingers at the edges of your mind, a shadow looming just beyond the light. A darkness waiting to swallow you whole.

You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself. You don't want to think about it, not yet. You want to stay here, in this place, with him. Just for a little while longer.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it together," Rex murmurs, tightening his hold on you. "I promise."

"Rex..."

"Do you trust me?" he interrupts, his tone serious. You pull back to meet his gaze, his eyes locked on yours, burning with a fierce determination that melts the ice forming around your hear. Your lips part wordlessly, and when the words don't come, his head dips closer. "Do you?"

"Of course I do," you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, a hoarse rasp in the quiet of the room. "More than anyone."

"Good." The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a small, half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We're going to get through this."

You sigh and close your eyes. Rex pulls you closer and wraps his arms around your shoulders, his chin resting on top of your head.

For a second, everything is okay.

And then, in the distance, an alarm sounds.

The two of you are on your feet before the first note of the klaxon echoes across the city, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. The warmth, the lingering sensation of his touch, the peace, it's all gone, replaced by the sharp, bitter taste of adrenaline.

Rex is the first to the window, bracing one hand on the sill while the other forms a fist and scrubs furiously at the dust and grime coating the glass. You hurry over to join him, strapping your belt around your waist. He mutters a curse under his breath and pushes hard, and the panel opens with a squeal of protest. It dislodges completely and falls into the street below, shattering against the stone.

A gust of cool, dusty wind blows into the room, carrying the smell of smoke and the acrid taste of blasterfire. Rex leans out, his jaw clenched, his expression grim. You stand beside him and follow his gaze, craning your neck to try and catch a glimpse of what's going on.

So far, you don't see anything on the horizon, but that means little. There's no telling what could be coming for you. Or where it's coming from.

"I can't see anything," Rex says as he scans the area. He pauses and glances over at you. "Do you feel anything?"

You look down, closing your eyes as you reach out with the Force. The faintest hint of an energy tingles at the edge of your awareness, and you follow it, tracing the invisible thread through the air and out of the watchtower. There's no life on Duro to guide you, and it's difficult to detect anything through the veil of the darkness that blankets the planet, but you manage to push through the haze, focusing on the faint pulse of energy in the distance.

There's a disturbance in the Force, an uneasy stirring in the atmosphere, and you recognize the feeling immediately. It's like reaching out to grasp the cold durasteel handle of a weapon, the smooth, unyielding surface biting into the flesh of your palm as you pull, and it's accompanied by the metallic taste of blood and the smell of scorched metal.

"Droids," you murmur, your eyes shifting behind your eyelids. "Marching through the valley. Heading this way. They killed the scouts."

This time, the curse Rex bites out is louder than the others. His hand grips your arm tightly, and he gives you a gentle tug.

"How many?" he asks. You open your eyes, and his gaze meets yours, hard and resolute.

You frown and concentrate again, probing the endless void. It's hard to get a sense of the size of the army, but you can feel them moving through empty streets and fields with a singular purpose. Tanks and speeders and droid transports and walkers, all rolling towards the city in a tidal wave of metal.

"Hard to say," you answer after a pause, shaking your head. "Thousands. They're too far away. Too spread out."

"Alright," Rex sighs, and the hand on your arm squeezes gently before letting go and returning to the window sill. "That's not ideal."

"No," you agree quietly.

Your mind races, trying to make sense of the situation, and your gaze wanders out the open window again, drifting up to the sky. The warble of the shield has evened out some, stabilized by the efforts of Dash and the team in the city below, and you breathe a sigh of relief. At least something is going right.

"We have some time before they reach the city," you murmur. "An hour or two."

He lets out a relieved sigh. "Good."

"And the shield generator seems to be holding."

"That's good," Rex repeats quietly, and you glance over at him to find him watching you carefully. You swallow, the intensity of his gaze sending a flush creeping up the back of your neck.

"What?" you ask softly, and he shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Nothing," he replies. "You just...look better."

You arch an eyebrow.

"Well, thank you," you snort, rolling your eyes. "I'm flattered."

"Not like that," he huffs, and a faint pink hue appears on his cheeks, spreading down his neck. "You...you look more like yourself. More...alive."

"Oh," you say, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. "Well, I...that's good, I suppose. I feel better, at least. Thanks to you."

Rex ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It was nothing," he mutters. "I was just...I was worried about you. That's all. I couldn't...I couldn't watch you go through that. Not again. And especially not now."

"Well, I appreciate it," you say, and the corner of his mouth twitches. "Thank you."

His eyes dart away from yours, and he clears his throat, looking out the window again as the flush on his neck deepens. He scratches the stubble on his chin and shrugs.

"It's my pleasure, sir," he replies, his tone light, teasing. You can't fight the smile that spreads across your face, and he looks at you again, his eyes bright. "Always happy to do my duty."

"Stop," you laugh. You give him a gentle shove, and he catches himself, his hand gripping the windowsill and holding himself steady. "I'm trying to be nice to you."

"I know," Rex chuckles. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

"Never mind," you snort, crossing your arms over your chest. "Now I'm annoyed again."

"That was fast," he muses. "I thought it would take longer."

"Hey!"

Rex laughs softly, the warmth in it filling the room, and you shake your head and look down at the floor. You know what he's doing. He's trying to make light of the situation, trying to distract you from the dark thoughts that have plagued your mind for the past several days.

It's working. But of course it is. It always does. He knows you too well. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you smile, to make you laugh, to lift your spirits. And despite everything, despite the uncertainty and the threat that looms on the horizon, he's still trying. He's still taking care of you. And you appreciate it more than he'll ever know.

You lean out of the window and squint, peering down at the streets below. You can see the clones moving through the alleys, heading toward their designated positions along the wall, and you can feel the nervous energy in the air, the sense of anticipation. The battle is coming, and everyone knows it.

"Are the defenses ready?"

"As much as they can be," Rex answers. "We're as prepared as we're going to be."

"I guess we'll see what happens, won't we?" you sigh.

Your comm beeps in the pocket of your outer robes, still slung on the floor from where Rex discarded it in his haste to comfort you, and you duck back inside the watchtower.

You pull the device out and press the button on the side, the familiar blue glow illuminating the room as the holographic projection of Snap flickers into existence. He looks like he's about to speak, and then his brow furrows, his expression shifting from one of concern to confusion.

"Uh, General?" he asks, his voice slightly distorted.

"Hey," you greet him with a tired smile as you straighten, folding your robe over your arm. "I'm here."

"Are you...okay?" he asks hesitantly. He looks between you and Rex, and you realize with a start that you're standing a bit too close. You take a step forward, the heat rising in your cheeks, and Snap arches an eyebrow. "I mean, I know that's a stupid question, but..."

"It's fine, Snap," you assure him with a wave of your hand. "I just woke up."

Snap's eyes dart to Rex again before settling back on you, and a smirk forms on his lips. You shake your head and sigh, running a hand over your face.

"So, what's going on?" you ask, deciding to ignore the knowing look on his face, and his smirk disappears as quickly as it appeared.

"Oh, right." Snap clears his throat. "We have incoming. Lots of it. One of our scouts made it back, said the rest of his squad was wiped out by the clankers. We're guessing at least a legion."

"Great," you sigh. You glance over at Rex, who's listening intently, his face set in a hard line. "I was able to get a read on them. Looks like there's a lot of walkers. And transports. Maybe a company or two of tanks. They're coming in from the west. We should see them soon."

"Copy," Snap replies. "I'll update the commanders. We're setting up now."

"Good. Be careful," you warn. "No heroics, alright? Stick to the plan. Your boys are the last line of defense. I'm going to join the 882nd outside the gate."

"Yessir," he nods and snaps off a salute. "They're not getting through us, General."

"I know," you smile, a burst of pride swelling in your chest, and his expression softens. "Keep me updated. May the Force be with you."

"Right back at you," he says. He looks over your shoulder and smirks again. "And you too, Rex."

"Thanks," Rex drawls, his tone dry, and Snap grins before his hologram fizzles out and disappears. He lets out a sigh and steps away from the window, turning to face you. "We should get going.”

"Yeah," you nod, and you look down at the robe in your hands, your thumb running over the woolen material. The idea of putting it on suddenly seems daunting, the weight of your responsibility heavier than ever.

"Here," he murmurs, his voice soft.

He takes your outer robe from you and holds it up, and you slip your arms through the sleeves, the heavy material settling across your shoulders. You turn around, and his brow furrows in concentration as he does the clasp and smoothes out the creases in the fabric.

"How are you feeling?" he asks quietly, his eyes searching yours. You bite your lip and shrug, avoiding his gaze. "I mean it. Are you alright?"

"I'll be okay," you reply after a pause, watching his hands move. You feel a bit ridiculous, being fussed over like a child, but you can't bring yourself to argue. You know he needs the distraction, and the truth is, you're not complaining. "I'm ready for this."

"Yeah? You sure?"

You look up at him and raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth quirking upward.

"You don't believe me?"

Rex hums and gives you a small smile, his fingers moving from your shoulders to the lapels of your robe, the movement almost unconscious, his focus seemingly elsewhere.

"I didn't say that," he murmurs after a moment. His gaze is distant, unfocused, and he continues, "Just...promise me something."

"Anything," you say without hesitation.

His eyes dart up to yours, a flicker of surprise passing through them at the swiftness of your reply, and his fingers pause on the fabric of your robe.

"If it gets bad," he begins, his words measured and deliberate, and he licks his lips. "If it's too much, or if you can't... Promise me you won't lose yourself."

You open your mouth to respond, but Rex cuts you off, tugging you a step closer and holding you by the lapels. His gaze bores into yours, and his voice drops an octave, a low, husky murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm serious," he rasps. "If it happens, if you start slipping, I want you to stop. Stop and take a breath. Don't go there. Just come back here, to the tower, and we'll figure it out together. Alright?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, your heart racing. He's asking you to do the impossible, and he knows it. But it's clear that the sight of you in the throes of your vision had shaken him more than you'd realized.

You hesitate, and he lets out a sharp breath through his nose. His grip tightens, and his jaw clenches, his eyes darkening.

"Promise me," he repeats, his tone insistent, pleading.

For a brief, fleeting second, you consider lying. Consider telling him what he wants to hear, that you'll be okay, that you can handle it, that you won't lose yourself, that you're not scared. But the words die in your throat, the lie burning a hole in your heart, and the truth spills out instead.

"I can't make that promise," you admit, your voice hoarse. "You know that."

"Try," he says softly. His hand moves from your lapel to your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin under your eye, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping. "Please. For me."

You nod slowly and let out a shaky breath, swallowing against the lump forming in the back of your throat.

"Okay," you whisper. "For you. I'll try."

Rex stares at you for a minute, his eyes darting between yours, searching for any hint of a lie. Finally, he lets out a soft sigh and leans forward, pressing his lips against your forehead. Your eyes flutter, a pleasant chill running down your spine at the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips.

All too soon, he pulls away. You look away to avoid his gaze, blinking away the sudden moisture gathering in the corners of your eyes.

His helmet flies across the room and into your awaiting hand, and you hold it out to him.

"Here," you murmur. "It's time."

"Thank you," he replies quietly.

He holds your gaze for a heartbeat longer before he slips the helmet over his head, and you watch as his features disappear, replaced by the blank stare of a soldier's visor.

Without thinking, you reach out and grab the front of his chest plate, pulling him forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. He stumbles, his hands shooting out and finding your waist, and the two of you nearly fall over.

"Careful," Rex laughs. "You're going to knock us both over."

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I just..."

"It's alright," he soothes, his arms circling your waist, and his fingers gripping the fabric of your robes tightly. "I get it."

"Be careful out there," you murmur. "Please."

Rex nods, and his grip tightens, his arms crushing you against his armor. You return the gesture, burying your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. It's all so familiar, and yet, at the same time, it's new. This isn't the first time the two of you have hugged, not even close. But this feels different, somehow. Like it's the last time you'll get the chance.

"I will," he replies. "Don't worry about me."

"You know I will," you huff.

"I know."

Rex pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, his hands cupping your face, the tips of his gloved fingers tangling in your hair. He holds you there for a moment, his thumb rubbing slow circles across your cheek.

"We're gonna be okay," he breathes, his voice barely more than a whisper. He takes in a deep breath before his hands slide down your arms and fall away. "Besides, I owe you a drink, remember? I can't miss that."

A breathless chuckle escapes your lips, and you nod. "You do. Or was it dinner?"

"Both," Rex replies with a huff of laughter. He steps away and moves across the room toward the hatch, pulling it open to reveal the ladder leading down into the tower below. "Whatever you want."

Your smile widens as you approach the ladder and peer down, and you pause for a moment, considering. You look back up at him.

"Whatever I want?" you echo, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "You sure about that?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Within reason."

You hum and take a step onto the first rung of the ladder, holding his gaze. Your teasing expression fades, and your smile falters as you think about what might happen, the battle waiting for you outside the walls. A faint, wistful smile plays across your lips, and you tilt your head.

"Dinner would be nice," you say quietly, the tone of your voice leaving no room for doubt about the true meaning behind the words. You take a deep breath, your heart fluttering in your chest, and you swallow thickly, forcing yourself to continue. "And a drink. Someplace quiet, maybe. Just the two of us."

Rex goes still. A soft noise hisses through the modulator of his helmet, a sharp inhale that's quickly cut off. You wait, watching him carefully, waiting for any sign that he understands.

He doesn't react, though, and a wave of disappointment crashes over you. You look down and turn back to the ladder, a lump forming in the back of your throat. It's not his fault, you know that, but the rejection still stings.

You take one step down before you hear his voice. It’s soft, hesitant, and it takes you a second to realize he's said your name. Not the title you've grown accustomed to hearing from his lips, not the usual respectful distance that separates the two of you, but your name, spoken in a way that's never crossed his lips before, that’s never been spoken outside of your visions and dreams.

Your hand stills, your grip on the cold metal tightening.

"What is it, Rex?" you ask, forcing the question past the lump in your throat.

He doesn't reply right away. You can feel him standing there, silent and motionless, watching you, his presence a tangible thing in the air. It's as if time itself has stopped, the entire galaxy hanging in the balance as he decides what to say, and you find yourself holding your breath, the pounding of your heart deafening in the sudden silence.

Finally, his voice comes, barely audible, but loud enough for you to hear.

"That's a very dangerous thing to ask," Rex finally replies, his voice low and rough. "For both of us."

You swallow thickly, nodding.

"I know."

The two of you stay like that, suspended in time and space, neither daring to move. There's no turning back now, not after what you've said, today and every day before, and there's no going forward, either.

He's not wrong. Not about any of it. What you're suggesting is risky, dangerous, and reckless. And if you're caught, if word of it ever reaches the Council or the Senate, the repercussions could be severe.

But you're tired. You're so tired. And the war is taking its toll on both of you, and there's a part of you, a part that's getting bigger every day, that just doesn't care. That's tired of following the rules, tired of worrying about what's right and what's wrong, tired of holding back.

The rules, the expectations, they all seem so small, so petty, so insignificant compared to the weight of everything else. Compared to the life you could have, could be living. With him. If the two of you would just stop being so stubborn and scared and just give in.

The decision has already been made, and the two of you know it. The only question left is whether or not he'll admit it. Whether or not he'll allow himself to hope. To dream.

Rex remains silent. The seconds drag on, your grip on the ladder growing tighter with each breath. Your heart sinks, and you bite your lip, the pain sharp and bittersweet. You pushed too far, said too much, and now he's gone, lost to the fear and doubt that clouds his mind. The disappointment is overwhelming, and a lump forms in the back of your throat.

You sigh and close your eyes, a resigned smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's okay, you reason with yourself. You understand. The war, the responsibilities, the uncertainty, it's a lot to deal with, and the last thing he needs is the added complication of a relationship with a Jedi. With you.

You don't blame him. Not for this, or for anything else.

You just wish it didn't hurt so much.

“Alright,” you finally say, the word little more than a sigh, and you force your smile to widen into something more believable, trying to ignore the ache in your chest. “Well, I guess that answers my question. Good to know, at least. We can pretend this never happened. Like we always do. No harm done. Right?"

"Wait," Rex whispers, and the soft, pleading tone of his voice steals the breath from your lungs. "No, not...that's not what I..."

The commlink on your wrist beeps loudly, the shrill tone shattering the fragile silence, and the two of you flinch. Rex lets out a harsh sigh, and you glance down at the device, your heart sinking as the display flashes with an incoming call. One of the 882nd’s commanders. The timing couldn't be worse, but there's nothing you can do. You're needed. He's needed. The battle is waiting, and there's no turning back now.

"Looks like they're ready for us," Rex says, looking away.

"Yeah," you mutter, and he takes in a shaky breath. "Guess so."

You don't have the words, the strength to say anything more, and you can't bring yourself to look up. If you do, you'll break. And right now, you can't afford the distraction. The stakes are too high, the consequences too great. Whatever conversation there is to be had will have to wait.

"I'll see you on the other side, Captain," you murmur.

And with that, you drop down into the shadows below.

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lordofthenerds97 · 4 days ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Six: Restless

Chapter WC: 10,464

Chapter Tags/Warnings: fluff, but this is VERY hurt/comfort heavy and i did make myself cry multiple times writing it so beware

A/N: These two will do literally everything but tell each other they love each other smh (i say as if this isn't my fault). Btw I changed the Lieutenant's name bc I decided I'm keeping him.

Have to plug this art of Goldie @ghostymarni made for me today too. LOOK AT HER!!!

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Duro, 20 BBY

Dawn breaks, and Dash and the engineers are no closer to fortifying the shield generator than they were when you arrived. It's been hours since the power to the main generator came back online, and there's still no sign of an attack. And while you're grateful for the time to prepare, it's hard not to be suspicious, and more than a little wary. The shield only allows so many dropships in per hour, but the longer you wait for the droids to attack, the larger the force must be.

It's not as if you've done nothing with your time, however. You and Snap had spent the last few hours crawling the city with Screwball, noting choke points and potential weak spots and doing a little sightseeing.

Screwball had found evidence of tunnels below the city, and while you hadn't found any access points yet, they would provide an excellent secondary route should the droids break through the main gate and flood the city from above. Your only concern is whether they're stable, and how extensive they are. There could be a dozen access points, or none. You simply have no way of knowing.

The streets are filled with clones as your squads move from block to block, each passing minute bringing more troopers and more supplies into the city. The footprint of Urdur is chaotic, a maze of streets and alleyways that weave through the ancient buildings making navigating the city difficult, even with a map. It didn't help that the structures were crumbling, with half-collapsed floors and missing staircases, leaving you to take detours and double back often.

But as difficult as it was to navigate for you, it will be worse for the droids. And that's exactly what you're counting on. The narrow roads and sharp corners make for perfect ambush locations, and with the help of the 882nd, who had arrived a short while ago, the entire city will be a deathtrap.

And though you're sure it'll all go to hell the moment the fighting starts, you also have a plan.

After hours of searching, the three of you returned to the generator and joined the others, sharing the information and brainstorming strategy. There was some debate about how to deploy the men, and you and Rex ended up butting heads a bit over how best to defend the city, with the Captain advocating for a centralized position and you suggesting a more distributed approach.

In the end, you had won the battle. The 882nd as the 419th's heavy infantry regiment would be posted up outside the walls, while the 501st would man the walls, keeping the enemy from entering the city. The 103rd regiment, which were comprised of the 419th's scouting, demolitions, and recon regiments, would be spread out throughout the city, covering the key points of access and providing a flexible response should the droids break through the wall. Malestrom Company, led by Snap, would stay at the shield generator site as a last line of defense.

And you? Well, you were going to do what you did best. Hunt down the enemy and take them apart.

With the plan in place, there wasn't much else to do but wait.

And wait you have.

You've been pacing the perimeter of the generator for hours, a nervous energy driving you forward. It's not the waiting that bothers you. It's the lack of information. You have no idea where the droids are or how big their forces could be, and every minute that passes brings with it the fear that you're unprepared for the coming fight.

You know you should be patient. That this is the right decision. The only option. But the longer the silence stretches, the more on exhausted and on edge you become, and you know you're not the only one.

You'd commanded Dash to take a break and let Fuse and the others take over for a bit, and though he had protested, he hadn't argued for very much longer. He'd collapsed onto the nearest cot and was out like a light within minutes, several of the other members of Maelstrom spread out around him. The rest were scattered throughout the room, most asleep or close to it, a quiet murmur of voices the only sign that they were awake at all.

You, on the other hand, are too keyed up to sleep, the adrenaline in your system refusing to allow it. You watch them from above on a catwalk overlooking the generator, leaning against the railing and scanning the space for anything out of place. But all you see is a group of soldiers who have worked themselves to the bone in order to make this mission a success.

It's been months since your men were able to truly rest, months since they'd stepped foot on a planet not actively trying to kill them, and the reality of the war is wearing on them all, not just you. You've always known the toll the conflict would take, but the constant fighting has made it easier to ignore, to push away the thoughts and emotions and focus on the mission. But seeing your troops like this, so tired and worn, has reminded you of just how bad things are, and how far you've all come in such a short time.

More than anything, you wish they were all back on Coruscant. Back home. Safe.

But they're not. And the war won't end anytime soon.

You sigh and push the guilt away, letting go of the anger and resentment that comes with it. The only thing you can do is resolve to speak to the Council when this is over, and stand your ground until they agree to let the 419th take a vacation, a proper break from the war and the violence and the death. It's the least you can do for your men. For your brothers.

Your hands tap a restless rhythm on the railing, and your gaze drifts around the room, watching the steady rise and fall of the troopers' chests and the subtle twitches and shifts of their bodies. It's almost mesmerizing, and you find yourself zoning out, letting the world drift away and your mind wander.

You know you should sleep. You promised Snap you would, and you don't intend to draw his ire again. But you also know that the echoes of your vision will come if you do.

You can already feel them waiting, the faintest whisper like an itch at the back of your mind, one that will come to the fore if you dare close your eyes. A city burning, Rex holding a blaster to your chest, his eyes filled with grief and pain, and the two of you pulling the trigger together, your fingers entwined. The feeling is visceral and painful, and no matter how hard you try, you can't shake the memory.

It's not a new sensation, nor is it the first time it's plagued you, but the visions are stronger now, and more frequent. It's a premonition, and you know it. A glimpse of the future. One shrouded in a heavy layer of some meaning you've failed to yet grasp.

Or maybe you're just being stubborn, refusing to believe it will come true despite everything telling you otherwise. You don't know. All you know is that the thought of losing your friends—of being the cause of their deaths—is too much.

Your hand drifts up to your neck, slipping inside your robes to grab hold of Yaddle's pendant. The feeling of it between your fingers is soothing, a small comfort that helps keep the shadows at bay. You're not sure how much time passes, the seconds bleeding into minutes and beyond, but the pendant remains firmly clasped in your hand, the familiar weight grounding you in the present.

"Hey."

You look over your shoulder to see Rex approaching, his helmet tucked under his arm and a cup of caf in his free hand. He offers the mug to you with a raised brow, and you feel a flutter in your chest at the sight. It's a small thing, a kind gesture, but the thoughtfulness of the act isn't lost on you.

"You're my hero," you murmur as you accept the mug, your fingers brushing his in the process. He huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

"Don't speak so soon. I couldn't find you any sugar rations."

The corners of his mouth lift as you take your first sip, and your nose wrinkles as the bitter liquid hits your tongue. You force yourself to swallow, a shiver running through your body at the acrid taste, and Rex chuckles at your expression, his eyes twinkling.

"It's not that bad," he teases.

"You're right. It's worse."

Rex snorts and rolls his eyes. "Well, if you don't want it..."

"I didn't say that," you grumble, clutching the mug protectively and holding it to your chest. Rex shakes his head in mock exasperation and leans against the railing next to you. "Thanks. Really. I can use the energy."

"You could use sleep," he corrects, giving you a pointed look. You shrug and take another sip, grimacing again. "You know I'm right. When was the last time you slept? A real night of sleep?"

"I don't know. When was the last time you did?" you retort, and Rex sighs. You both know the answer. Neither of you have had a decent night's rest in weeks. But you can't resist the urge to poke at him anyway. It's a habit at this point.

"That's not fair, and you know it," he scolds, giving you a disapproving frown. You raise an eyebrow and take a drink of caf, ignoring the way the caffeine twists your stomach into knots. "This isn't a joke."

"I didn't say it was."

"You're acting like it," he mutters.

"How's the perimeter?" you ask, changing the subject.

Rex stares at you for a beat, clearly not impressed by your tactic. His jaw works as he debates whether to press the issue or not, before he finally sighs and shakes his head, his shoulders dropping.

"We've got sentries posted every five hundred meters, and we've set up motion sensors and mines around the perimeter," he explains. "I've got the rest of the boys doing the same at the choke points we identified earlier."

"Good," you nod. "Any word from Ahsoka or Anakin?"

"Nothing," Rex replies with a frown. "Long range comms are still down."

"Damn," you mutter, your hand tightening around the mug. Ahsoka should've been able to locate the signal jammer by now, and the fact that she hasn't is a bad sign. It could mean anything, and none of it good. "We're on our own, huh?"

"For the time being," Rex confirms, a note of unease in his voice. You glance at him and see a flash of worry cross his face before he schools his expression back into a neutral mask.

"And the scouts?" you ask. "Have they found anything?"

"Nothing to report yet. They've been moving in a grid pattern and haven't seen anything unusual," he replies as he leans against the railing next to you. He braces his elbows on the metal bar and lets out a heavy breath, his gaze fixed on the ground far below. "And the general in charge of this operation is dead on her feet, despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise."

"You're a pain in the ass," you mutter into your cup, and Rex smirks, his gaze darting to you and back.

"And you're avoiding my question."

"Which was?"

"When was the last time you slept more than a few hours?" he asks again, and you groan, shaking your head and taking another drink. Rex sighs and gives you a look. "C'mon. We're stuck here until the Seps decide to attack. No point in pretending."

"Rex..."

"Please."

The pleading note in his voice is your undoing, and you deflate, the fight going out of you. You sigh and turn to face him, leaning your hip against the railing.

"I don't know. Probably..." You trail off and sigh again, running a hand through your hair, your fingers tangling in the messy strands. You don't have the energy to be coy or avoid his question. "Probably after that night at 79s. Maybe. It's hard to remember."

"That was months ago," Rex says softly. You shrug and give him a small smile, but he doesn't return it. Instead, his frown deepens, his brows furrowing as he studies your face. "Are you kidding me?"

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, the words coming out sharper than intended, and the cup hits the railing, a splash of caf sloshing over the edge. "It's not like I have much choice, Rex. I sleep when I can, but the visions, they...I just can't seem to get any rest. So I try to meditate instead."

"And how's that going for you?" he asks dryly.

"It's going great," you growl. Rex snorts, and you scowl at him. "Why are you even asking me these questions if you're just going to mock me?“

"I'm not mocking you," he insists, his expression softening as his voice drops low. He shifts closer to you, and his hand drifts down to the railing, his fingers finding yours and gently prying them from the mug. You relax slightly, your body responding to his touch despite the frustration, and he sighs. "I'm sorry."

You watch him for a second before you release the breath you've been holding, your shoulders sagging as the anger drains away. You can't stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he continues, his voice low. "I'm just worried."

"You're always worried," you point out, and he smiles, nodding.

"I am," he agrees. He lets go of your hand and lifts his fingers to your cheek, brushing the hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His touch is warm, his fingers lingering against your skin, and you lean into the contact, his thumb stroking the line of your jaw. "But can you blame me?"

"I guess not," you admit reluctantly. He gives you a knowing look and drops his hand, and you bite back a sigh of disappointment. "But it's not like I can just...sleep. I've tried. It doesn't work."

"I know," he murmurs, his expression softening. "But if you can't sleep, at least try to rest."

"I am resting."

"Yeah, sure you are," he snorts. He reaches out and grabs the cup, setting it on the railing behind him. He takes a step forward, his hand finding yours again, and he gives your fingers a light squeeze. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Where are we going?"

"Just outside," he replies with a shrug. "Away from all of this. For a minute."

"Is that an order?" you tease. Rex rolls his eyes and pulls you towards the stairs. You follow without protest, your fingers laced through his.

The two of you move quickly and quietly, your boots barely whispering against the metal grates as you descend the staircase, careful not to wake the others. Most of the troopers are already asleep, sprawled out across the cots and the floor, their armor piled neatly nearby. The only ones awake are those manning the generator itself, and their attention is too focused on the controls and machinery to notice you and Rex slipping through the room and out the door.

Urdur is less gloomy in the daytime, the shadows cast by the towering buildings not nearly as ominous as they had been in the dark. Rex doesn't let go of your hand as he pulls you down the street, and you let him, too caught up in the feeling of his fingers wrapped around yours and the soft glow of the sunrise to care.

He leads you through the city, empty and silent save for the occasional squad of clones patrolling. Rex takes a winding path, avoiding the major thoroughfares and sticking to the smaller streets and alleys. It's almost peaceful, the two of you wandering through the ruins, and the further the two of you get from the generator, the lighter the burden on your shoulders becomes, the weight of the mission and the war fading away, if only for a while.

"Rex, where are we going?" you ask again, breaking the silence that has settled between you, and he shrugs.

"Does it matter?" he replies as he lets go of your hand and drops back to walk next to you. You give him a wry smile and shake your head.

"No," you chuckle. "But you have to admit, this is a bit strange."

"What is?"

"Us, taking a leisurely stroll through a ghost town." You gesture at the empty streets and cracked pavement. "I mean, I appreciate the sentiment, but it feels like we should be doing something. Like we should be preparing."

"We've done everything we can," Rex points out. "There's nothing left to do but wait.”

You hum reluctantly in agreement, and he shoots you a small smile.

“Besides, it’s not much different than the time you showed me around Coruscant,” he says as he looks away.

Your cheeks heat at the reminder. He'd said the words lightly, casually, but there's a hint of something else in his tone, a note of fondness that catches your attention. And you can’t help but smile at the memory of the two of you walking through the city and talking for hours, the war and your stations forgotten in favor of each other's company.

He'd been so nervous then, so unsure, and the sight of him fidgeting and shuffling his feet had been a welcome distraction from the turmoil raging inside your own mind. That day had changed something between you, a fundamental shift in the relationship that had grown so slowly over the past nine months, and the thought of it is almost overwhelming.

You never would've guessed when you sat across from him and told him about your past, about Yaddle and what you'd gone through, that it would lead to the two of you here, side by side. Perhaps you knew then that you were attracted to him, but the depth of the connection, the bond that's formed between you, has come as a surprise. And while you've both fought it, the two of you have only managed to dig yourselves deeper, until the feelings have become too big, too strong, to deny any longer.

Yet, you're still dancing around the subject, neither of you ready to take that final step and acknowledge the feelings aloud, or risk the consequences of a confession. But it's there, a constant presence between the two of you, a connection that grows stronger each time you're together, even if neither of you are willing to say it out loud.

And in the silence, the truth remains unsaid, though the feelings remain.

"It's a little different," you tease, and Rex rolls his eyes. You bite back a grin and bump your shoulder against his, earning a huff and a sideways glance. "Sadly, no Dex's waiting for us this time."

"Shame," he quips. "I've been looking forward to that nerf burger for months."

A quiet, breathless chuckle slips from your lips before you can stop it, and Rex looks over at you with a soft smile.

"I missed that."

"What?"

He looks away again, his cheeks coloring, and he clears his throat.

"Your laugh,” he says quietly. “I haven't heard it in a while."

Your heart swells in your chest, the words washing over you and leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You want to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat, and all you can manage is a soft, "Oh."

He nods, his eyes flicking over to meet yours for a second before dropping away again. He's still blushing, and a foreign giddiness wells up in your chest. It's a strange sensation, the sudden urge to laugh and cry at the same time, and you take a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on the ground.

Rex’s words are sweet, but they also remind you of how long it's been since the two of you had a day off, a moment to just sit and relax and enjoy each other's company, without the threat of death hanging over your heads.

All the promises you’ve made to meet up on Coruscant when you both have downtime seem to be getting further and further away. There's never time. Never an opportunity to actually act on them. The war seems like it's only getting worse, and the distance has been wearing on the both of you, more than either of you would care to admit.

You've always been a solitary person, a loner by nature with only Obi-Wan and occasionally Anakin for company, but since Rex, Ahsoka, and the rest of the men have entered your life, you've found yourself craving the closeness, the comfort, the love that comes from having others around who care for you.

It's a weakness, and the Jedi are taught to resist the pull of attachment, but it's impossible to deny the truth of the matter: you're lonely, and you need them. You need Rex.

And not just because of the visions or the darkness that haunts you. You need him because of him. Because he's kind and brave and smart, and he has a dry humor and wit that never fails to amuse you. Because he's always there for you, no matter what, and because he loves you. All of you, every piece and part, no matter how broken or flawed. And because you love him too. So much it hurts.

The thought is sobering, and the giddiness dies, a melancholy sadness taking its place. You feel Rex's gaze on you, but you can't look at him, the emotion too raw, too close to the surface.

"I hope we'll get the chance to have another day like that again someday," you finally say. It's not what you want to say, not the words that burn in your throat, but it's the closest thing you can manage right now. It's the truth, as painful as it is.

"I do too," Rex murmurs. You glance up at him, and his expression is so achingly gentle that your breath catches. "More than anything."

You smile despite the ache in your heart, and you reach out to take his hand, lacing your fingers through his and giving his hand a squeeze. He returns the gesture, and the two of you continue on in silence, lost in your own thoughts, each wrapped up in the memory of that day and the promise of more to come.

Eventually, Rex stops walking. The main gate of the city stretches above you, the massive metal doors closed tight and covered with thick layers of dust and rust, and the sight is oddly familiar, a nagging sense of deja vu tugging at the edges of your consciousness. Before you can think too much on it, he tugs on your hand and leads you toward the steps lining the wall, nodding at the guards stationed nearby as he passes.

The two of you take the stone stairs two at a time until you reach the top of the battlements. He doesn’t stop, guiding you to the base of one of the guard towers, and he lets go of your hand as he steps up to the door, pulling it open and gesturing for you to follow him inside and up the ladder.

Rex reaches the top first and offers you his hand as you reach the last rung, and you take it, letting him pull you up and into the room above. It’s small, no larger than your quarters on the Oracle, cramped and filled with crates stacked haphazardly against the walls and corners. A series of small windows line the far wall, the glass clouded with age and neglect, but you can see the barren landscape beyond.

You walk over to the window and lean against the frame, resting your elbows on the rough stone. The white and gold figures of the 882nd regiment are spread out below, and you can see their speeders parked in neat rows near the city gates as they move through the abandoned factories and warehouses outside. Beyond the walls, the ground stretches away, flat and empty for miles, dotted with the occasional spires and domes of half-buried structures. It's desolate and bleak, but beautiful, in a tragic sort of way.

"It's quite the view," you murmur, and Rex hums in agreement as he joins you, his hands resting on the sill beside yours.

His shoulder brushes yours as he leans forward, his gaze sweeping over the horizon, and you steal a glance at him. The light plays across his features, his dark skin glowing golden in the dawn's rays, and you find yourself mesmerized by the sight, the shadows and scars and the worry lines all fading away, leaving only the man beneath the armor.

He turns and catches you staring, a crooked grin tugging at his lips, and he raises an eyebrow.

"So," he drawls, "how do you feel about sleeping now?"

It takes you a moment to register the question, and once it does, you groan and drop your forehead onto your folded arms, shaking your head in exasperation. Rex chuckles, and you peek up at him, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

"You can't be serious," you grumble, lifting your head. "This is your master plan? To drag me to an abandoned guard tower and hope I fall asleep?"

"No," he says innocently, and he crosses his arms and leans his hip against the sill. "It's my plan to keep an eye on you and make sure you actually rest."

"Rex..."

"You know I'm right," he interrupts, his tone firm. "And I'm not letting you leave until you at least try."

"I'd like to see you try and stop me," you challenge, and Rex raises an eyebrow, his mouth twitching as he bites back a grin. "You know you wouldn't stand a chance."

"If this is your way of goading me into sparring with you, it's not going to work this time," he replies dryly. You pout, and Rex shakes his head, a fond smile playing across his lips. "We're not fighting today. That's not what this is about."

"What is it about?"

"You. And the fact that you're barely holding it together," he answers softly. You blink at him in surprise, a cold chill settling over you and seizing your heart, and he continues before you can respond, "You can't keep going like this. I can't. Not if...if you're not okay."

He pauses, and the two of you stare at each other, a tense silence filling the space between you. You want to deny his words, to insist that he's wrong, but the concern in his eyes and Snap’s earlier words about taking care of yourself stops you. Instead, you sigh and dip your head, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

"I know," you finally admit. "I'm not trying to be stubborn. I just don't know what else to do."

"That's why I'm here," he says gently. "I'm not asking you to sleep, just try."

You nod, a flush creeping up your neck and staining your cheeks. You feel exposed, vulnerable, the confession pulling at the cracks in your facade. It's been so hard lately to hide the darkness, the fear and the uncertainty that lingers beneath the surface. So hard to ignore the nightmares and the visions and the memories of the pain. It's almost overwhelming, the constant pressure, the weight of it all, and the urge to break is nearly too much to bear.

You know he's right. You know you need to rest. But the thought of sleep, of slipping back into the depths of your mind and finding nothing but torment and anguish and death, is more than you can handle.

But Rex is patient, his eyes never leaving you as he waits for you to gather your thoughts. And you love him even more for it.

"It's not easy," you say as you meet his gaze, the words coming out strained, your voice rough. "Sleeping."

He nods, and you continue, "It's not like the visions are new, but they're different now, more frequent, and it's harder to keep them at bay. When I sleep, I'm...lost. And alone. And I'm afraid that I won't find my way back."

Your eyes sting as the truth slips past your lips, the emotions rushing forward like a dam breaking, and you press your palms into the sill to keep them steady.

Rex doesn't speak, doesn't offer empty words of comfort or false promises of safety, and for that, you're grateful. Instead, he steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder, the weight and warmth of it grounding and soothing. You lean into the touch as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, and the two of you stand there for a while, his chin resting on the top of your head and his breath tickling your hair.

"What if I stayed with you?" he suggests quietly. "If you were...not alone."

You freeze, your mind racing at the implications, and you turn to face him.

"What are you saying?" you ask, though the answer is already there, the idea taking root and blossoming.

Rex blushes and shrugs, but he doesn't step back or release his hold on you, his body a solid line against yours. "I could stay. If you wanted. I could sit with you, or...hold you, or...or whatever you need. Whatever would help."

His face is burning red now, his gaze fixed on the ground, and your chest floods with affection. It takes everything you have not to reach up and cup his cheek, to brush your thumb over the curve of his bottom lip. Instead, you slide a hand down his chest, stopping just above his heart.

"You would do that? For me?"

"Of course," he murmurs, finally looking at you, and his expression is so soft, so sincere, that you feel like you might melt. "Anything."

The words are a balm to the ache inside you, soothing the pain and easing the weight of the darkness. You smile and press your forehead against his chest, his arms wrapping around you.

"Okay," you murmur, your voice barely audible. He gives you a soft squeeze, and the two of you stand there for a minute, simply breathing each other in. Eventually, you pull away, and Rex releases his hold on you, his hand lingering on the small of your back. "I guess we should get comfortable."

Rex nods, and the two of you spend the next several minutes moving the crates around and creating a space comfortable enough for the two of you, large tarps spread across the wooden slats to pad the hard floor. You sit down and scoot back until your shoulders hit the wall opposite the windows, and you wait for him to join you.

It's awkward, the two of you sitting side by side, the air filled with a strange sense of anticipation. It's far from the first time you've slept next to someone, platonic or otherwise, but it's the first time you've done so with Rex.

He's not just anyone. He's not a random fling or a drunken night with a stranger. He's your closest friend, and the man you love. He's the one who holds your heart, and the only person who truly knows and understands you. You trust him with your life. And more. So much more.

The thought is exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, and you feel a wave of trepidation wash over you. You can't lose him, and you don't know what you'd do if this somehow went wrong. If it somehow drove a wedge between the two of you. But at the same time, you can't deny that you want him. All of him.

As if sensing your nerves, he turns to you, his face serious.

"You sure?" he asks quietly, and you chuckle, the anxiety fading away at the sincerity in his eyes.

"Are you?"

"I'm asking you," he counters, his lips quirking. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and Rex's expression softens, a hint of vulnerability flashing across his features. "It's just...I don't want to pressure you."

"You're not," you assure him, and the truth of the words settles between the two of you. He's never pushed you, never forced anything, always giving you space and time, and the realization fills you with a deep sense of gratitude. "I wouldn't have said yes if I wasn't sure."

Rex nods and looks away, a hint of color returning to his cheeks as he shifts closer and leans back against the wall next to you. There's still some distance between the two of you, a gap neither of you is quite willing to cross, and you sigh as the silence stretches on.

"This is stupid," you mutter. "I'm too old for this."

Rex glances at you in surprise, a question on his lips. Before he can say anything, you sigh and undo the clasp on your belt, tossing it to the side before you work on removing your outer robe. The motion is quick, and you try not to notice the way his eyes widen as you move.

Once the heavy fabric is off, you fold it into a pillow and lay down, scooting until your head is in his lap. Rex tenses under you, and you turn onto your side, facing away from him and tucking your legs close to your body. You can feel his gaze on the back of your head, and his breath comes out in a slow, shaky exhale, but he doesn't move.

"Is this okay?" you ask after a beat, looking up at him. His eyes are wide, the blush from earlier spreading down his neck and across his ears. "Are you alright, Rex?"

"Yeah," he chokes out, nodding his head vigorously, his hands twitching where they're pressed against his thighs. He clears his throat, his voice still hoarse as he continues, "I'm good. I'm great. This is fine."

"Just fine?"

"More than fine," he replies, a nervous edge to his tone, and his gaze drifts down to your face, his expression softening. "How are you? Is this...are you comfortable?"

"Yes," you murmur, and Rex relaxes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you. For doing this. For staying with me."

"It's nothing," he insists. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers gentle against your skin, and the feeling is soothing. You nuzzle his thigh, and his breath catches, his hand stilling before he continues stroking your cheek, the touch light and careful. "It's the least I can do."

"It's not nothing," you say, looking up at him. His gaze meets yours, and you take a deep breath before speaking again. "It means a lot to me. And...it means a lot to me that it's you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Rex nods, his expression thoughtful, and the two of you settle back into silence. His hand doesn't stop, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw and the curve of your ear, down your neck to the collar of your tunic, and back up again. It's a gentle caress, an intimate touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake. You close your eyes and hum contentedly, relaxing into the sensation and savoring the feeling of his hands on your skin.

After a while, his touch moves down your arm, his fingertips dancing over your shoulder, and his palm rests on your hip. His thumb rubs circles across the bone, and you squirm at the tickling sensation, a giggle bubbling up in your throat.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his hand lifting away, but you reach back and grab his wrist, keeping it there. He hesitates, and you open your eyes, turning to look up at him.

"It's fine," you assure him, smiling softly. "I was enjoying it."

His brow furrows, his gaze darting down to his hand on your hip and back up to meet yours. There's a question in his eyes, and you nod, giving his hand a light squeeze before releasing him.

Rex exhales slowly, and his hand returns to your waist, his touch tentative and gentle. He keeps his eyes on your face, watching for any sign of discomfort, but when he finds none, his hand molds to the curve of your hip again, resting there. You smile and close your eyes again.

"Do you remember that day in the city?" Rex asks, his voice low.

"Of course," you murmur, turning your head so your cheek rests against his thigh. The plastoid of his leg plating is hard and unforgiving underneath the pillow of your robes, but you ignore the discomfort, focusing on the heat radiating from his body and the weight of his hand against your side. "How could I forget? That was the day you finally realized I wasn't just a crazy Jedi."

"You're not crazy," he retorts, giving your hip a light pinch. You yelp in surprise, and Rex chuckles, the rich, throaty noise filling the room and warming your heart. "Just a bit unhinged, is all."

"Unhinged?" you protest as you roll onto your back and open your eyes to glare up at him. His expression is teasing, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, and you narrow your eyes. "How is that any better?”

"You're right," he laughs. "Not unhinged. A little eccentric, maybe."

"Eccentric?" you repeat indignantly.

"What? I think it suits you," he says, grinning down at you, and you groan, burying your face in his thigh. He snorts a laugh and nudges you with his leg. "It's not a bad thing. I like it."

You don’t move, trying to hide the grin that threatens to spread across your face. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that to you, and it’s not the first time you’ve gotten the feeling that he genuinely likes the less conventional aspects of your personality, even the ones you've spent most of your life trying to hide from everyone else. But it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing, and it doesn't stop the flush that spreads up your neck and stains your cheeks pink.

After a second, Rex sighs, his hand rubbing your hip soothingly. "I meant what I said. You're not crazy, and anyone who says you are isn't worth your time. And the men will agree with me."

"Yeah?" you ask, peering up at him. He nods, his expression sincere, and you bite back a smile, your gaze falling away from his face. "I'm glad I have their support."

"They'd follow you anywhere," he says softly, his fingers trailing down your side, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. "And so would I."

You close your eyes, a lump rising in your throat as his words wash over you, and you reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His words are like a balm to the ache inside you, and you squeeze his hand, holding onto him like a lifeline.

It's a simple thing, the two of you sitting together, talking quietly, his hand holding yours, and yet, it feels like everything. Like more than either of you can say, but also like everything you need. A safe place. A sanctuary. A refuge from the chaos of the war and the darkness of the visions. A home.

You bite your lip, a sudden swell of emotion rising inside you, and you take a deep breath, forcing the tears back before they can spill over. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed, and Rex's hand tightens around yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand gently.

"What is it?" he asks quietly, his voice breaking the silence. You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. How to put your feelings into words. "Hey. Talk to me."

"I just..."

You trail off, the words catching in your throat. He waits, his eyes never leaving your face, and you take a deep breath before continuing, the truth tumbling out of you.

"I had a dream, when I was healing that boy on Nadiem," you confess quietly. Rex’s brow furrows, but he nods, encouraging you to continue. "The Force showed me what could be, the future I could have, and..."

Your breath catches, and you swallow hard, trying to regain your composure. The emotions welling up inside you are overwhelming, and you squeeze his hand again, drawing strength from the warmth of his touch. He doesn't push you, just watches you, his gaze fixed on yours, and you find the courage to keep going.

"It wasn't the first time I'd had a vision like that," you explain softly, your voice trembling. “It's become something like a haven for me, I think. I thought it was a manifestation of the Light side of the Force. Something my mind latches onto in the darkness. But now, I'm not so sure. I think...it's real. Or it could be."

"What was it about?" he asks, his voice low, the words barely more than a whisper. You blink away the tears and give him a small smile.

"A field," you murmur, and you look away, trying to remember the details. "A field of golden grass and flowers, and the sun was shining. I could hear kids playing, and birds, and insects, and...I felt safe. And happy."

You pause, the memory flooding back to you, the sensations so vivid that you can almost taste the sweetness in the air, and your smile widens, a single tear rolling down your cheek. You wipe it with the heel of your hand, and Rex's grip tightens, his fingers entwined with yours.

"Sounds nice," he whispers.

"It was," you reply, your voice wavering. "I've had similar visions before, but this was the clearest, the most real. I felt like I was home."

The two of you fall silent as Rex watches you intently, his expression unreadable. He’s waiting for you to continue, but you can't bring yourself to speak, the weight of the confession threatening to break the dam, and so the two of you sit there, neither saying a word.

“What else?” he finally prompts gently.

Your eyes meet his, and you take a shaky breath. You look away and focus on the feeling of his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, and the words slip out, a quiet confession that lingers in the air between you.

“You were there too. With me."

Rex doesn’t respond. Doesn't move.

He simply stares at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief, and you let out a soft, breathless chuckle that breaks the silence. His lips twitch, and he looks away, the blush creeping across his cheeks and ears again. You nudge his leg with your head, earning a quiet grunt.

"I'm serious," you insist.

Rex huffs a laugh, still not meeting your eyes.

"You're…you’re sure it was me?" he asks after a beat. You nod, and he gives you a half-smile, the corner of his mouth curving up. "What was I doing?"

You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. You can feel him watching you, his gaze burning a hole into your forehead, but you don't look at him, trying to figure out how to describe what you saw. What you felt.

"We were just standing there. Talking," you start slowly, your voice low, almost a whisper. You close your eyes, the image filling your mind. "We hugged. You said you were looking for me. That I'd run off."

"Run off?"

"You seemed worried, but not surprised," you say with a small smile.

"Of course I wasn't," he murmurs. You turn your head and open your eyes, meeting his gaze. His expression is thoughtful, a hint of sadness lurking behind his smile. "I know you."

"Yeah, you do.” You swallow hard and look away, the emotion building up in your chest, raw and aching. "You told me you were always going to find me."

"Sounds like me."

"It did," you laugh as you wipe your cheek again. "And you did."

"Always will," he vows quietly, his voice thick with emotion, and you close your eyes again, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "If that's where you are, that's where I'll be."

The room falls quiet as his words steal the air from your lungs. You can't breathe, can't move, can't speak. All you can do is lie there, the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, and hope that the silence between the two of you says what you can't. What you don't have the words for.

Because if the vision is true, if the future you see is the same as the future Rex wants, it changes everything. It's more than the two of you can possibly comprehend, more than either of you are prepared for.

It's everything. Everything the two of you have ever wanted, everything the you have ever dreamed of. Everything that's been missing in the lives you've lived for far too many years.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

“I’m grateful for it. That the Force would show me a place like that. A home," you manage after a beat, your voice hoarse. "But...it was also cruel. To give me something like that only to take it away. I can't...I don't think I can..."

Your voice cracks, the sentence trailing off, and you turn away, covering your face with your hand. You can't keep going.

The answering silence hangs over the two of you like a shroud, a heavy weight that settles on your shoulders. Your fingers play with the robe folded underneath your head, picking at a loose thread until the pressure building inside you becomes too much.

You sigh and push yourself up, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. You can feel Rex's gaze on you, the concern and worry emanating from him almost tangible, but you keep your eyes on the ground, too ashamed to look at him.

"It's a lot," you admit quietly, your voice muffled by the fabric of your pants. "The whole thing. It's a lot."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "It is."

"It didn’t used to be like this. I don’t know why the Force is showing me these things, or what it means," you sigh as you glance up at him.

He's staring down at his hands, his brow furrowed and his mouth pressed into a thin line. The sight is familiar, a look he's worn so often in the past several months that it almost feels like a second skin. A mask.

You wish more than anything you could wipe the expression from his face, but you know you can't, and so you continue, "I know I'm supposed to be better at this. Stronger. I don't understand why I'm failing."

"Failing? At what?"

"Being a Jedi," you reply, a bitter edge creeping into your voice. You take a deep breath, and the anger and resentment drain away, replaced by a weary resignation. "I used to think I was terrible at it. That the only reason I wasn't expelled from the Order was because Yaddle took pity on me. But now...I feel like maybe I wasn't a failure, or a lost cause, and that...it's worse."

You pause, a sudden exhaustion settling over you, and the words come out before you can stop them, spilling from your lips in a harsh, ragged whisper.

"It means I could have been more."

The room is silent save for the thud of your heart in your ears, the words hanging heavy in the air. They're true, though you've never said them out loud before, and the truth stings, a deep ache that radiates through your chest.

After a beat, Rex speaks, his voice soft and gentle, but firm, the conviction in his tone leaving no room for argument.

"You are more."

You look up, the tears welling up and threatening to spill over, and he holds your gaze, his eyes burning with a fierce determination.

"You are so much more," he continues. "You're kind and caring and loyal, and you're a good friend and an amazing Jedi. The best. And even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter. Not to me."

"Rex..."

"I'm not a Jedi," he interrupts, his voice low and rough. "And I'm not saying this because I'm trying to be the voice of reason, or because I think that's what you want to hear. I'm saying it because it's the truth."

He pauses, the emotions rising to the surface, and his voice wavers, a note of sadness and longing creeping in. "I know how much it means to you, being a Jedi. And I respect that. But...you can't keep pushing yourself like this. You can't keep tearing yourself apart trying to live up to some impossible standard."

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are," he says, the words cutting off your protests, and he reaches for your hand, holding it tightly. "You're not a machine. You're not invincible. And the war isn't going to get any easier."

"I know."

"Do you?" he asks, his brow furrowed. "Because it doesn't seem like you're giving yourself a chance to rest. To process."

You hesitate, the truth of his words hitting you, and you let out a laugh, a harsh, bitter noise that echoes off the walls.

"I guess I've just been hoping I'd eventually figure it out," you admit, your voice catching. "That somehow, if I just kept going, it would all make sense. And it would work. It's always worked before."

"Maybe it's time to try something new."

You snort, and he raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his gaze.

"Like what?" you ask.

"You could start by not being so hard on yourself," he replies, his tone matter-of-fact. "Maybe stop trying to fix everything, or take on the burden of the whole galaxy, and give yourself a little bit of room to breathe."

"Rex, I can't—“

"Yes, you can," he says softly, and his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and gentle, his thumb brushing the skin just below your eye. "You've given so much already. And you don't have to do it alone. You've got me, and the men, and General Kenobi. And General Skywalker and Commander Tano too, if you let them. We'll help you through it, no matter what. You can lean on us."

The words are kind, and the sentiment is touching, but you shake your head, the doubt and fear lingering just beneath the surface rising up and choking the air from your lungs.

"No," you croak, and you pull away from his touch. "You don't understand. I can't...I can't rely on others, or ask them to carry my burdens. It's not fair."

"Fair?"

"I've caused so much pain and suffering already," you say quietly, the guilt and shame heavy in your gut, and you hug your knees tighter. "I can't drag everyone else down with me."

Rex sighs and shifts closer, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him. You fight the urge to push him away, to hide, and allow yourself to lean into him, the warmth and solidness of his body a comfort against the storm inside you.

"I know what it's like," he murmurs, his hand resting on the side of your neck, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, "to feel like you have to be perfect, or strong, or unbreakable. Like you have to keep all the pieces together and not make a single mistake. And I know how exhausting and lonely it can be."

You nod, and the tears well up, spilling over your lashes and streaming down your cheeks. Rex doesn't hesitate, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you, cradling the back of your head in his hand as he holds you tight against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against the crown of your head, his breath tickling your hair.

"I've felt it too," he whispers, his voice hoarse, and you squeeze your eyes shut, the sob building in your throat. "I still do. It's been...hard. Especially lately. It's not easy, and it's not something we can just fix overnight. But it's also not something we have to do alone."

You sniffle and nod again, clutching the front of his chest plate as the tears fall faster. The words hit deep, piercing the shell of your heart and filling you with a warmth that spreads through your chest, radiating out to the tips of your fingers and toes. The feeling is familiar, a sensation that's followed him since the day he rescued you, a connection that's only grown stronger with each passing day, and you can't help but press yourself closer, desperate to feel the comfort of his presence.

Rex sighs, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his lips brush against the top of your head. The gesture is tender and affectionate, and it only serves to intensify the ache inside you, the desire to be closer to him, to hold him and be held. To feel safe. And loved.

"You're not alone, and you're not broken," he continues softly, his voice strained, his grip on you tightening as he speaks. "You're just tired. And overwhelmed. And hurting. And that's okay."

The last word catches in his throat, and you pull away, looking up at him through watery eyes. His expression is pained, a raw emotion written across his face, and his gaze darts away from yours. He tries to mask it, but you can see the tears clinging to his eyelashes, the redness in the corners of his eyes. And the sight breaks your heart.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, wiping his cheeks roughly with the back of his hand. "I'm not trying to make this about me. It's just...seeing you like this, it...hurts."

"I know," you whisper. "I know, and I'm sorry. For worrying you. For not being able to handle it. I just...I'm not..."

"It's okay," he cuts in, his voice soft, the pain in his eyes melting into a tenderness that nearly steals your breath. "We're in this together, remember?"

You give him a smile, a small, trembling thing, and Rex returns the expression. The two of you lean back against the wall again, and he tucks his arm around you, drawing you back into the safety of his embrace.

"You're not a failure. Not by a mile. I don't know anyone else who could do what you do, or deal with everything you've dealt with, and still be standing," he murmurs, and his free hand reaches over to touch yours, his fingers ghosting along the scars that stretch across your palm. "You're amazing."

"That's sweet," you mutter, your face burning at his praise. "But you're biased."

Rex snorts a soft laugh and squeezes your hip. "Maybe. But I’m not the only one who thinks so. Ask the men. Ask anyone who's served with you. They'll all tell you the same thing. Hell, you can ask Lieutenant Price. The boys told me he has an impressive poster collection.”

“Oh, enough with the kriffing posters,” you grumble, burying your face in his chest.

He chuckles and rests his chin on top of your head, his arms encircling your waist. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying the feeling of being close to each other, and the weight that's been sitting heavy on your chest lifts, allowing you to breathe again.

"Thank you," you mumble, and Rex hums, the noise rumbling in his chest. You look up at him and add, "For...all of this. For listening. And for being here. For not giving up on me."

"I'll never give up on you," he promises, and the sincerity in his voice brings tears to your eyes. You quickly look away and press your cheek against his chest again, blinking furiously as you fight back the emotions. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," you say hoarsely, your voice muffled by the plastoid of his armor.

"I never do," he counters, and his hand moves to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair. He presses his lips to the crown of your head, and his breath is warm against your skin. "Not to you. I'm here, cyar'ika. Always."

Tears sting your eyes again, but they're tempered by the warmth of his words, the feeling of his breath on your head. The sound of the Mando'a rolling off his tongue sends a shiver down your spine, chasing away the cold dread that's been gnawing at the pit of your stomach and replacing it with curiosity. You've heard him say the word before, wrote it in a message once or twice, but he's never offered a translation.

You pull back and look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What does that mean?"

Rex blinks at you, a look of confusion passing over his features before his eyes widen, a flush creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. He clears his throat and looks away, his gaze darting around the room before settling somewhere over your shoulder.

"What does what mean?"

"What you just said," you prompt, and his blush deepens, the color reaching the tips of his ears. You bite back a grin and poke him in the chest, trying not to laugh at his embarrassment. "You've said it before. What does it mean?"

"Uh, it's a...it's a nickname," Rex stammers, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. "A term of endearment."

"Oh," you reply softly. You duck your head, a smile spreading across your face, and you look up at him through your lashes. "Well, that's...that's nice."

Rex laughs nervously and nods, still not looking at you, and your grin widens.

"Do I get to know what it means?"

"I'll tell you later," he mumbles as he looks at the ceiling.

"Later?" you prompt, nudging his shoulder. "When is later?"

“After you rest," he replies firmly, finally meeting your gaze. Your lower lip juts out, and Rex shakes his head, his lips twitching as he tries not to smile. "No. I'm not falling for that this time. Now come here."

You huff and turn away, crossing your arms and glaring at the wall, but he doesn't give up. He pulls you into his lap, tucking your legs across his and resting his chin on the top of your head. You resist at first, but he's persistent, and eventually, you relent, allowing him to maneuver the two of you into a more comfortable position.

Rex shifts until his back is pressed against the wall and his legs are stretched out in front of him, and you curl into him, tucking your head beneath his chin and resting your hands on his chest plate. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, and you nuzzle his neck, inhaling deeply as his scent fills your lungs.

"Are you going to keep sulking, or are you going to close your eyes?" he asks after a beat, a teasing lilt to his voice. You sigh dramatically, and he snorts, the warm puff of air tickling the shell of your ear. "Fine, but I'm not moving until you do."

"I guess I have no choice, huh?" you grumble, though the smile is still on your face, a fluttery, giddy feeling swelling in your chest. "I suppose you win this round, Rex."

“I’ll mark the occasion in my calendar," he drawls, and you elbow him in the ribs. “On this day, General Anathorn gave in to Captain Rex. A glorious victory for the Republic."

"Asshole," you mutter under your breath. He snickers and tightens his arms around you, pulling you even closer. "You're lucky I'm too tired to keep arguing with you."

"I'll count my blessings while they last," he deadpans, earning another elbow. "Hey, watch it."

"Oh, sorry," you reply, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Rex gives a long-suffering sigh, but the arm around your waist remains where it is, his thumb stroking the fabric of your tunic. "Are you comfortable?"

"Very," he murmurs. "Are you?"

"Yes," you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips. "This is nice. Being like this, with you. It feels...safe."

"Yeah," he breathes. "It does."

You hum contentedly and close your eyes, a yawn stretching across your face, and Rex chuckles, his nose nuzzling the crown of your head.

"I'll wake you if anything happens," he whispers as he grabs your outer robe and drapes it over the two of you.

You nod and press a light kiss to his neck, snuggling closer. Rex stiffens at the contact, his breath hitching before he relaxes, a pleased rumble emanating from his chest. The two of you fall into silence, his fingers tracing patterns along your back as your breathing begins to slow, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the chill that lingers beneath your skin.

It's easy to forget, wrapped up in his arms, the soft light of the rising sun painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Easier than it should be. But you don't fight it, the comfort and security of his presence a balm to the fears and worries that plague your mind.

For a brief, fleeting second, everything is okay, and you're simply a man and a woman, lost in the warmth and affection between you. Nothing else matters. Not the war. Not the visions. Not the darkness that haunts you. Just this. Just the two of you. Together.

"Sleep," Rex murmurs, his voice a quiet whisper. "I'll be here."

And so you do.

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lordofthenerds97 · 4 days ago

Text

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Five: Specters

Chapter WC: 8,318

Chapter Tags/Warnings: none?

A/N: All the lore about Duro I stole from legends and then took all the parts I wanted for ~flavor~ and threw away the rest. The same thing with all the tech stuff 🤷‍♀️

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Duro, 20 BBY

It’s the early hours of the morning when you land outside the towering walls of the city housing the northern shield generator. It’s named after the original founders of the planet, a group of scientists and researchers who came together to form the settlement that eventually grew into a thriving city. They called it Urdur, a word meaning "new" or "fresh" in the Duros language, and the name stuck.

Now, it’s a skeleton of its former glory, a charred out husk of metal and rubble. It's a ghost town, empty and silent, and a sense of foreboding washes over you as the ship descends, landing near a series of warehouses and factories too important to abandon completely. You can feel the eyes of worker droids watching you from the windows, tracking your movements. Waiting.

The streets are barren, the buildings empty, and the whole place has a sense of stillness to it, a quiet that only the dead can truly appreciate. Even the breeze seems to be stagnant, a cold, heavy weight that settles on your shoulders with the morning fog as the doors to the gunship slide open.

Rex jumps out first and holds out a hand for you. You take it, and he helps you down. He releases his hold almost immediately, his hands going to his blasters as his helmet scans the surrounding area, searching for any sign of danger. You know he doesn’t see anything. Neither do you. But that does little to ease the dread that has taken root in your stomach.

It's still pitch black outside, the faint light of dawn hours away, and the glow from the ship is the only source of illumination around you, a harsh white light that reflects off the durasteel of the buildings. The rest of the city is shrouded in shadow, the stars blotted out by the thick blanket of smog and the shield shimmering faintly above.

The only other light comes distantly from the the red haze of the emergency lights along the perimeter of the shield, somewhere deep inside the city center. You take a deep breath and look up at the shield cast in a bloody hue. It stretches up, high into the sky, and seems to fade into nothing, the dark clouds obscuring its full height.

"Well," you say, turning back to Rex, "at least the shields are still up."

"Not for long," he replies, his voice distorted. His helmet turns in your direction, and his hands fall away from his blasters, dropping to his sides. "The rest of the men will be here soon. We should move fast. Give us time to dig in before the enemy gets here."

"We will," you confirm. "You ready?"

"I've been ready," he drawls.

Rex tilts his head toward the ship, and his troopers start filing out, forming a line around you. Dozens of your men do the same from the surrounding transports, and soon, the entire area is surrounded.

One by one, the gunships take off again in bursts of light and wind, sending dirt and debris swirling through the air. You wince as the light stabs into your eyes, and Rex steps in front of you, shielding you from the worst of it with his armored bulk. He turns his head and watches as the gunships disappear, the hum of their engines fading away until the only thing left is the crunch of the clones' boots and the soft hiss of their respirators.

"Thanks," you murmur, and Rex nods, stepping to the side. His hand hovers near the small of your back as you straighten, a comforting touch that lingers even as he drops his arm.

"Anytime."

Rex looks over at Snap, and the clone's helmet dips in a quick nod. They both turn to the other troopers, gesturing for them to move out, and the men begin moving in a loose formation. The two captains flank either side of you as you trudge toward the closed gate, and you watch movement break out along the walls, the silhouettes of figures lining the edge.

The gate opens slowly, a low groan echoing across the courtyard. It reveals a row of shiny troopers, and the clones stiffen as you approach, snapping to attention.

"General," the sole clone with paint on his armor greets as he steps forward with a salute.

"Lieutenant," you say. You glance around, and a frown tugs at your lips. "Is this all of you?"

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant replies, his helmet dipping. He's young, and his nervousness is visible in the Force. "The rest of the company is stationed at the main shield generator. We were left to guard the perimeter."

"I see," you hum. You tilt your head, and a sense of unease fills you. There's something wrong here, but you're not sure what. "And the rest of the city? What happened to the civilians?"

"They left," he says. "A couple weeks ago."

"And no sign of the Separatists?"

"No, sir."

You glance at Rex and shake your head. His posture relaxes, but his unease bleeds through the Force, and his gaze darts between the wall and the shield above. You sigh, a sinking feeling settling in your gut.

"Alright, Lieutenant," you order. "Take us to the generator."

"Yes, sir."

The Lieutenant spins on his heel, and you follow him inside. You can hear the men fall into step behind you, their weapons drawn and ready. Rex and Snap keep close, their helmets sweeping the streets. The clones fan out, a wave of white and blue and gold pouring into the city, filling the empty space.

Urdur is a mess, and the city is in ruins. Most of the buildings are nothing more than piles of rubble, and the ones that are still standing have been abandoned, their doors locked tight and the windows boarded up. The streets are filled with debris and broken down machinery, remnants of a civilization left forgotten centuries ago. The only sign of life is the occasional droid, scurrying away at the sight of your soldiers.

"I'm not surprised the locals fled," Snap murmurs, and you can hear the grimace in his voice. "This place is depressing."

"Agreed," you mutter. "It's like walking through a tomb."

"You're not far off," he says, his voice low. He tilts his head toward a nearby pile of debris. "This city's been dead for a while."

"How long is a while?" you ask.

"At least a century, according to the intel." Snap pauses and lets out a frustrated noise, his helmet shifting in your direction. "You didn't read the briefing, did you?"

"Yes, I did, thank you. I just skimmed the history section," you offer, and Rex huffs out a laugh. Snap lets out a long sigh and shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "I did!"

"Skimmed isn't reading, General," Rex teases.

"Close."

"Not really," Snap scoffs, and you can't help but chuckle at his annoyance. "What were you doing that was more important than reading the briefing? And don't tell me you were sleeping. You know that's not going to work on me."

"Well," you start, glancing at Rex out of the corner of your eye and meeting his gaze. He shakes his head.

A smirk spreads across your lips. You'd spent multiple nights in hyperspace en route to Duro messaging him and talking with him about the upcoming mission, among other things. Mostly how nice it would be to work together again. It wasn't anything serious. Just a conversation between friends. Nothing more. At least, that's what you've been telling yourself.

But it's getting harder to convince yourself otherwise. Especially after what almost happened in the cargo bay.

"You know me. I get distracted," you finally say, and Rex's shoulders relax as Snap sighs. "But I did read most of it."

"Right," he says, his tone disbelieving. "Just don't ask me anything else."

"Fine," you huff. "Lieutenant?"

"Sir," the clone replies. He turns, and you can feel the apprehension in his aura, the hesitation. He seems surprised, and more than a little confused, at the way his superiors are talking to each other. Like friends, instead of soldiers. "Are you..."

"No, Lieutenant," you interrupt. "I'm not going to ask you about Duros history. I just want to know what you've been dealing with here."

"Oh," he says, his voice wavering slightly. "Okay. Well, there's not much to tell. We've been doing rounds for the past couple days. And the shield generator is...it's just over the next hill. We should reach it soon."

"Good," you reply, and the Lieutenant turns, the movement awkward and hurried.

You frown, and Rex glances at you. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before you look back to the Lieutenant, your eyes boring into the back of his head. His posture is rigid, and he doesn't speak, his hands clenched tightly around his blasters.

The Lieutenant's nervousness is a tangible thing in the Force, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, a prickling sensation racing up your spine. It's not the nerves of a shiny at his new posting, it's something else. And if Rex's reaction is any indication, he senses it too.

"So," you start, keeping your voice casual. "What's wrong with the shield generator?"

The clone's footsteps stutter, and he stops, turning back to you. "Sir?"

"The shield generator," you repeat as you cross your arms over your chest. "What's wrong with it?"

The Lieutenant is silent for a moment before he speaks.

"I...uh..." His shoulders slump, and he sighs, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I don't know, sir. All I know is that there's a problem with the main reactor. We've been running on auxiliary power for a couple of weeks, and we can't get it back online."

"I see," you murmur, and you shoot a pointed look at Rex. The captain sighs and shakes his head, exasperation radiating from him and mixing with your own. Your hands fist at your sides, and you take a deep breath. "And you didn't think that was worth mentioning?"

"I'm sorry, sir," the Lieutenant offers. "I didn't realize..."

"What, exactly, have you all been doing here?" you ask, your voice sharp. He flinches, and the other clones shift nervously, your troops tensing at the change in tone. You hold up a hand and force a calm expression onto your face. "You have a malfunctioning shield generator, and all you've done is patrol the perimeter?"

"We tried to fix it, sir. But it's ancient, and we don't have the equipment or the know-how to get it back online," he replies quickly. "We...we didn't think anyone was coming. We've been on our own for months."

"Of course," you sigh.

The Lieutenant hesitates and clears his throat, his gaze darting between the three of you.

"Can...can you fix it?" he asks, his voice tentative.

"We're going to have to," you mutter, and he shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples, closing your eyes. You should have expected this. You shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. "Fine. Just...just keep walking."

"Yes, sir."

The Lieutenant starts moving again, and the rest of the group follows. You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his retreating back, and Rex falls into step beside you, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

"This is not funny," you hiss. He grunts and tilts his helmet toward you, a silent agreement. You sigh and drag a hand over your face, pinching the bridge of your nose. "This is a disaster."

"Stop pouting," he chides quietly, his voice low as he leans in closer to you. You can hear the smile in his voice, and your scowl deepens into a glare. "You knew what we were getting into."

"That's not the point," you snap.

"It's exactly the point," he says, his tone firm. "You knew this was a long shot."

"I know," you groan. You run a hand through your hair and blow out a breath, letting some of the frustration drain away. "I just...I thought maybe..."

"Me too," he murmurs, and he gives your shoulder a light squeeze. "We'll make do. We always do."

You give a sharp nod and take a deep breath, trying to ease the ache in your chest. It doesn't work. Instead, it only tightens, a vice grip around your heart that leaves you feeling cold and hollow.

The rest of the walk to the generator is a quiet affair. It's a short walk, but it feels like forever, and the longer you're here, the worse the feeling in your chest gets. It's not dread, or worry. Not really. It's...something else. Something you can't quite place. Something that has you on edge.

"Rex," you murmur as you approach the top of the hill. "Something's not right."

"I know," he replies. His voice is quiet, the words only meant for you. "I can feel it too."

"You should take the 501st and reinforce the wall. When the 882nd arrives, have them set up outside of it," you instruct. You can feel his hesitance, but Rex nods anyway. "The rest can hold the perimeter, and the 103rd will secure the city. That's priority. I'll handle the generator."

"Yes, sir."

Rex falls back, his steps slowing, and he pulls out his comm. His fingers dance over the display, sending orders and instructions to the troops waiting outside the wall. You turn back to the path ahead, your gaze focused on the Lieutenant as Snap steps closer to your side.

The clones behind you continue moving forward, slicing a path through the heavy mist that blankets the ground and swirls around you. You trudge together in silence, checking every corner and every window until the shadow of the building housing the shield generator falls over you.

The structure is massive, a monolith towering over the surrounding buildings and reaching toward the sky. Its facade is cracked and pitted, and the stone is coated in a layer of dust, the red of the emergency lights casting an ominous glow over the exterior. There are no windows or doors, and the only way in is a large, open archway.

As soon as you get close, the doors beyond the archway open, and two clones from the advance team emerge, weapons raised. Their stances relax at the sight of the Lieutenant, and they wave you forward, stepping aside to let you pass.

"General," the first clone greets. "Everything is secure."

You resist the urge to scoff and shake your head, sensing the embarrassment and anxiety radiating from them. They've probably spent the last week lazing around and drinking, and while you can hardly blame them for taking advantage of a quiet posting, it's just another in a long line of disappointments.

"Good work," you say. You don't mean it. Not really. But there's no point in berating them. The damage is done.

Your gaze slides past the two troopers to the inside of the building. It's an open atrium, with a high ceiling and a wide staircase leading up to the second level. You can't see much in the dim light, but you can make out the glint of metal and the flash of a blaster barrel poking out from behind a pillar.

"Any movement?" Snap asks, his voice low.

"Nothing yet, sir," he reports. The troopers share a glance and turn back to you. "Just a maintenance droid or two. But we didn't want to touch anything. You know, in case..."

"Of course," you sigh. "Well, let's hope there's something left for me to salvage."

The trooper nods and steps aside, allowing you and the others to enter. Snap follows closely behind, his hand hovering near his blaster as he scans the room for threats.

"Where's Dash? He's the best person to figure this thing out," you ask him, and Snap nods over his shoulder toward the entrance. "He's outside?"

"Here, sir," Dash pipes up, shoving his way through the ranks of the clones and jogging over to you. You can't help but smile as he comes to a stop in front of you, and the trooper takes off his helmet, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He offers you a weak grin, and the familiar, easy charm in his eyes sends a wave of relief crashing over you. "Sorry, I was just taking some readings outside. Got a bit lost."

"Anything interesting?" you ask, raising an eyebrow, and Dash shakes his head, letting out a laugh.

"Not really. Just that this is some old tech. Like, really old," he replies. He looks around, and his mouth twists into a grimace. "And not Republic standard."

"That's not surprising," you reply. You tilt your head, indicating for the troopers to follow, and the three of you head for the stairs. "This planet was abandoned centuries ago."

"Well, yeah, but this is, like, really old," Dash repeats, his voice echoing around the chamber. He gestures at the walls, his hand waving through the air. "It's, uh, it's a Durosian design. From their golden age. The Republic didn't start using this type of technology until about five hundred years after that."

"If it isn't broken, don't fix it. Or so the saying goes," you mutter, and Dash snorts.

"Not sure I'd call this functional, sir," he points out, and you shrug, glancing at him as the three of you crest the top of the stairs. The Lieutenant is already ahead of you, leading the way inside the main control room, and the door opens with a hiss. "But if I can figure out how to get the main reactor back online, we'll be in good shape."

"Then we better get started," you say.

Dash nods and pulls out his datapad, tapping on the screen as the three of you step through the doorway and into the large chamber. It's a spacious, circular room, the walls stretching endlessly up into the dark. The generator sits in the center of the room, easily the size of a small starship, and its surface is covered in glowing blue panels and wires. The whole thing is vibrating, a deep, mechanical rumbling that reverberates through the floor and settles in the back of your skull.

"I hope you can work with all this noise," you mutter, wincing as the machine gives a particularly loud whine.

"Don't worry about me," Dash replies, his gaze fixed on his datapad. "I can work with anything."

"I don't doubt that," you murmur, a fond smile curling on your lips.

He looks up and gives you a grin before he moves to the center of the room, heading straight for the console built into the generator. He drops his helmet and datapad onto the ground, and he crouches down, opening his toolkit.

Snap nudges your shoulder, and you follow him as he strolls around the consoles lining the outer walls. You can see a number of images and maps on the dust-coated displays, but the text is in an unfamiliar language, and none of the images make any sense. You're not even sure what they're supposed to show.

"Don't suppose you speak ancient Duros?" you ask Dash as Snap continues searching for something useful.

"Uh, no," Dash calls back, poking his head out from the panel he's opened. "I mean, basic programming is the same across the galaxy. It's pretty intuitive. Just gotta figure out the interface after I get the core running again."

"And you think you can?" Snap asks, his tone skeptical.

"Messing with ancient technology we barely understand? Sure," Dash jokes. He pauses and frowns, his expression thoughtful. "Honestly, I'm a little insulted. Do you really have that little faith in me?"

"It's not your skills we're worried about," Snap scoffs. "We're worried you'll end up turning the generator into a bomb. Again."

"That was once," Dash says defensively. "And it wasn't my fault. It was—"

"—the wiring was wrong. I know," Snap interrupts, a hint of a laugh in his voice. He stops and glances back at the younger clone. "Still ended up exploding. And taking out half the station."

"You said you wouldn't bring that up," he grumbles. He pulls a panel out from under the console and sets it aside before crawling into the opening. His voice is muffled as he speaks, and you can't help but smile at the frustration in his tone. "That was a long time ago. I was young. I've grown since."

"Not by much," Snap quips.

"Oh, shut up."

Dash disappears into the panel, his movements hidden by the machinery. A loud clang echoes through the space, followed by a curse and the hiss of an electric torch. You sigh and turn to the Lieutenant, who's remained standing awkwardly by the door, watching the three of you. He straightens, snapping to attention as your gaze settles on him, and he clears his throat.

"Sir," he starts, and he shifts on his feet. "Do you need anything else?"

"Go clean up whatever mess you all made down there," you order. He flinches, and you soften, sighing. "The city was evacuated weeks ago. What have you been doing for the past couple of days?"

"Patrolling," he replies. He hesitates and swallows thickly. "There's not much else to do. We were ordered not to interact with the locals."

"So, nothing," you sigh, and the Lieutenant nods, a slight dip of his chin. "Right. Well, there are a lot of things that need fixing. Make yourself useful. Start clearing the streets."

"Yes, sir," he murmurs. He pauses, his brow furrowing. "Um...if I may?"

"What is it?" you ask, and the clone hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. You cross your arms over your chest and give him a pointed look. "Speak, Lieutenant."

"What...what happens if the shield fails? I mean...what are we supposed to do?"

"I won't lie," you say quietly, "if we fail, it won't be a pleasant experience. That shield is the only thing between us and occupation."

"Right."

"But don't worry," you continue. You offer him a wry smile and pat him on the shoulder, trying to ease his nerves. It doesn't seem to help. "This isn't our first invasion."

"No, sir," the Lieutenant agrees, and his eyes go wide, realization dawning on him. "Wait. You're—you're General Anathorn, aren't you? I've heard about you."

"That's me," you reply. You raise an eyebrow and gesture at him. "And you're..."

"CT-6010, sir. Patch," he answers quickly. His expression shifts into a faint grin. "You saved my batchmate on Kamino. CT-4128. He's part of the 212th now."

"Oh." You frown and rack your brain, trying to place the trooper. It's been so long, and there were so many of them, and you weren't exactly paying attention to the names and numbers. You shrug. "Well. Tell him I said hello after this is over."

Patch smiles and salutes before hurrying out the door. You watch him go, a strange sense of deja vu washing over you. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of stories like that. Troopers whose lives you've saved. Who would be dead if it weren't for your intervention. Who would have fallen on the battlefield if you weren't there to save them. And they're everywhere. You can't walk through a camp or a ship without being stopped and thanked for some past act or another.

You're a Jedi. It's part of the job. You're expected to save lives, to fight for them and protect them, at least to some degree. But the gratitude and praise you get for it never stops being uncomfortable. You never stop feeling undeserving of it. Like you're taking credit for someone else's actions.

You've done nothing special. Nothing anyone else wouldn't have done in your place. And you certainly don't deserve the accolades. You're just doing your job. And it's the least you can do. After everything the clones have sacrificed for the Order. For the Republic. For the galaxy. It's the least you can do.

Snap lets out a low chuckle, and you turn to find him watching you, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his lips. You glare at him, and he grins.

"You've got quite a fan club," he says, and you shake your head, rolling your eyes. "Bet you he's got your poster hanging up in his bunk."

"Shut up," you huff. Snap snorts and turns away, his grin fading as he returns to his search. You follow him, leaning against a nearby desk. "Any luck?"

"Not much," he mutters, his gaze drifting to the consoles in front of him. One is a map of the city, and the rest seem to be some kind of security system. You step up beside him and examine the image, the screen split into sections showing various locations around the building. Each section is labeled, and there's a blinking indicator for what looks like a camera.

"Huh," you mumble, and Snap shoots you a questioning look. "That's interesting."

"Looks like they've got security," he says. He reaches around you and taps the screen, and the image changes to a different location. He grins and does it again, the image shifting to show another view, and he clicks a few more times. "Oh, yeah. This is great. This is gonna be fun."

"Fives is rubbing off on you," you laugh, and he smirks.

"Maybe a little," he admits. He continues to scroll through the images, his gaze darting from screen to screen. "Check this out."

Snap points to a blinking indicator that appears to be moving around the building, and the image changes, showing a small service droid. It's moving slowly, with stilted, jerking movements, and its body is covered in dust and grime. You watch it for a moment before the image changes again, the droid disappearing from view, and you glance at each other.

"I don't like the look of that," you mutter, and Snap nods, a grimace tugging on his lips.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'creepy'," he offers. You snort and shake your head.

"Fair point."

"Could just be malfunctioning," he says. "This place is pretty rundown. That thing is older than all of us put together and then some."

"Could be," you agree. You stare at the screen, and your eyes narrow. "I'm going to see what I can find. Can you keep an eye on Dash?"

"Of course," Snap replies. "What are you doing?"

"I need a minute alone," you explain. You gesture vaguely at your head and offer him a weak smile. "You know."

"Right," he says. His eyebrows furrow together, and he gives you a concerned look. "Are you okay? You've been acting a little...off. Since we got here."

"Just a headache," you reassure him. You pat him on the shoulder and turn away, heading for the door. "I'll be back."

"Take a guard with you," he calls after you, and you roll your eyes as the door slides open. You don't stop, and you hear Snap sigh heavily as he watches you leave. "General..."

"I'll be fine," you call over your shoulder. "Keep an eye on Dash."

The door closes behind you with a hiss, cutting off whatever response he might have. You take a deep breath and let the air out slowly, letting go of the anger that has been building since you arrived, and your shoulders drop. A few of your troops glance in your direction, their heads turning in unison, and you offer a tight smile. Their expressions relax, and their attention returns to the task at hand, which, for most, seems to be wandering aimlessly through the halls.

You move to do the same, your feet carrying you down the stairs back to the main atrium and through the nearest hallway. As you walk, you close your eyes, willing the Force to surround you and calm your nerves.

The pressure behind your eyes eases the further you walk, though a shadow still looms at the edges of your mind. The feeling is persistent, and you can't help but wonder what's causing it. What is it about this place that has you so on edge?

You wander aimlessly, the minutes ticking by as you explore the depths of the building. It's a strange mix of the old and the new, a maze of hallways and empty rooms, and the layout seems to change every time you turn a corner, as if the structure is shifting around you.

The next room you enter is filled with maintenance droids, each standing in a charging station along the wall, covered in dust and cobwebs. Some are missing parts, their arms or legs broken or dangling uselessly, and their heads are hanging, their optics dark and their bodies motionless. It's a depressing sight, and you can't help but feel a pang of sorrow for the machines. They're just like the rest of the planet, left behind and forgotten.

One port is missing a droid, the light underneath slowly blinking red, and you step closer to it. The dust has been disturbed, and there are fresh footprints on the ground in front of the station. You crouch and run a finger through the dirt, studying the imprints. The switch to auxiliary power must have activated the droid, and the thing must have wandered off, lost and confused and alone.

You stand and stare at the empty charging station for a long moment. There's a sadness to the room, a heaviness in the air that weighs on your chest, and the lights are dim, barely illuminating the space.

It's sad, you think. And lonely. A whole city left empty and abandoned, with nothing but droids and ghosts to fill the streets. A city that should have been thriving, filled with life and people. Instead, it's a barren husk, a shell of its former glory, and even the memory of the inhabitants has faded with time.

You shake your head and let out a heavy sigh. There's nothing here for you. Nothing worth pursuing.

Behind you, there's the sound of metal scraping metal, and you turn quickly on your heel to see the droid from the security feed ambling through the doorway. As soon as it sees you, its movements stop, and its faded yellow eyes fix on you.

"Hello," you greet it softly, holding out your hands. The droid tilts its head, its limbs twitching as if trying to remember how to move. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Hello," the droid repeats back, its voice a tinny echo of your own. Its gaze is empty, unseeing, and the droid sways slightly. It's struggling, trying to stay upright, and its head keeps twitching, its optics rolling in their sockets. "Hello."

"I'm not an intruder," you announce, and the droid's head tilts, the motion eerily familiar. You swallow and continue. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help."

"Help," the droid repeats. It takes a tentative step toward you, its joints creaking and groaning as it moves. It's slow, and its steps are unsteady, but the thing keeps coming, its focus locked on you.

"Yes, help," you confirm. The droid's head tilts further, and its gaze shifts to the lightsaber at your hip. "I'm a Jedi."

"Jedi," the droid says, and it lets out a shrill, staticky whine, a glitch in its programming, and its movements become erratic, its arms flailing wildly and its legs stumbling over each other as it lurches toward you. You take a step back, your hand reaching for your lightsaber, and the droid screeches, the high-pitched whine echoing through the empty chamber.

It lunges forward with an arm outstretched, and you barely have time to grab your weapon before it's on you. You grab hold if it with the Force and shove it away, sending it flying across the room, and its body smashes into the far wall with a loud clang, its limbs twisting and bending at odd angles.

You ignite your lightsabers, the yellow and green blades humming to life, and the droid drags itself back onto its feet. It charges at you again and lets out a scream of static, its hands reaching for your throat as it lunges at you.

With a reluctant sigh, you yank it towards you and slice through the air.

The droid's head hits the ground first, rolling away into the shadows before you let the body drop. You watch it go and shake your head, dispelling the sadness that had taken hold of you and forcing the thoughts of the city from your mind. This isn't the time or place to dwell on things like that.

"Well," you murmur as you return your weapons to your belt. You take a moment to catch your breath and straighten, your hand rubbing the back of your neck. "That was unexpected."

"General?"

You whirl around and see Snap in the doorway, his blaster drawn and ready. He takes a tentative step into the room and scans the area before he turns back to you. His eyes settle on the dead droid, and his helmet tilts.

"What happened?"

"It attacked me," you reply. Snap looks back at you, and you shrug, glancing down at the body. "It must have gone crazy from the power loss."

"I guess," he says. He holsters his weapon and steps closer to the droid. "I heard the noise and thought..."

"I'm fine," you assure him. You take a step toward the door and stop, your brow furrowing as something occurs to you. "How did you know where I was? The building is a maze."

Snap pulls off his helmet and smiles sheepishly at you, running a hand over his head and looking up at you through his lashes. "I, uh, might have put a tracker on your commlink."

"Really?" you ask, your voice flat, and Snap laughs nervously, his face turning red. "When?"

"About a month ago," he admits. "Booker's idea."

"Why?" you press, and he shrugs, his gaze sliding away from yours. You sigh and fold your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow. "Snap."

"It was a precaution," he explains quickly. He glances up at you and gives you a pointed look. "Just in case."

"In case of what?" you ask. Snap shrugs again and avoids your gaze, and you watch him for a beat before realization dawns on you, a heavy weight settling in your gut. "In case I turn."

"Well," he starts, and he hesitates, his shoulders slumping as he meets your gaze. "Yes."

You take a deep breath and force yourself to keep a straight face, a mask of indifference. But the words still sting, a reminder of the worst parts of yourself. The fear that lives in the back of your mind.

It's not a new idea, the possibility that you'll fall to the dark side and hurt the people around you. But to know that both of them have considered the possibility—that they've actively planned for the eventuality that you might not be the person they thought you were—is a harsh truth to accept. And it stings more than you want to admit.

But it's what you wanted, isn't it? You hadn't told either of them about your vision or the dark thoughts that sometimes plague your mind, and yet they still managed to anticipate your worst-case scenario. If they've considered the possibility that you're dangerous, even in the best of circumstances, what else are they planning for? What other precautions have they taken?

It's not like you don't trust them, but the knowledge that they've been monitoring your behavior, keeping tabs on your mental state...well, it's not exactly comforting.

"Right," you finally manage to say, your voice a croak. You push past him and start for the door. "Good thinking. Thanks."

Snap reaches out and grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks, and you glance down at his hand and back up to him. His expression is pinched, his mouth turned down and his brow furrowed, and he opens and closes his mouth a couple times, struggling to find the words.

"You're not mad?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head. You carefully extract yourself from his grip and give him a small smile, though you're not sure how convincing it is. "I get it. It's...good, actually. Keeping an eye on me. Just in case."

"General..."

"C'mon, let's go see how Dash is doing," you interrupt, and he falls into step behind you as you start walking again, your boots clicking on the floor. You make it a point to keep your pace slow, your strides measured, and the two of you walk in silence for a minute before you finally speak again. "It's good that you're looking out for me."

"Yeah," Snap murmurs, his voice low and his tone thoughtful.

He doesn't look at you, instead focusing on the hallway ahead of him. You can't help but notice how his hands are clasped tightly behind his back, the leather of his gloves creaking against the strain of his fingers.

You glance away from him, your gaze darting to the walls and floor and ceiling as the two of you make your way through the winding halls. The silence between the two of you is thick and tense, the air heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, Snap quickens his pace until he cuts you off, stopping you in the middle of the corridor and forcing you to look at him. He reaches out and grabs your arm in a tight grip, and his brows knit together, his gaze boring into yours.

"Are you okay?"

Your mind stutters to a halt. "What do you mean? I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you're acting weird," he replies, and he gives your arm a shake, his tone accusing. "And not in the usual way."

You blink, and Snap releases your arm, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, a frustrated huff leaving his lips. He looks tired, his eyes red and his skin pale, and you're reminded of how little rest the three of you have gotten over the last week along with the rest of the brigade. You're exhausted too. Exhausted and worried and afraid.

Afraid that something will go wrong. Afraid that the mission will fail and you'll have to face the consequences. Afraid of what that means for the future. For the war. For the Jedi.

Afraid of losing yourself.

And you know that if you were to tell him, Snap would understand. He's seen the worst part of you already, and he's stayed by your side, even after everything that's happened. He's witnessed you at your weakest and your strongest, and he's never judged you for it. But admitting it out loud feels impossible. Like a failure. Like defeat.

So you swallow the words and shake your head, and you force a smile onto your lips.

"I'm fine," you insist. "I just have a lot on my mind."

Snap frowns, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you, like he's trying to read your mind or see through the lies. He must find something, because his mouth turns down into a scowl.

"Look, sir. The last couple of months have been rough. For all of us," he says quietly, and he gestures to the hallway behind him. "We've been hopping from planet to planet, and we've been on the front lines of this war for a while now. We've all lost people. We've all seen things that...well, we're all tired. And seeing you like this..."

"Like what?" you press, raising an eyebrow, and he sighs, his frustration seeping into his voice.

"Like...this." Snap pauses and sighs, his head dropping as he takes a moment to collect his thoughts. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "I know you're trying to put on a brave face for us. But you're not sleeping, and you're not eating. And the way you fight, the way you've been throwing yourself into battle without regard for your own safety. We've all noticed."

Your jaw clenches. "You're worried about me."

"Of course we're worried about you!" he exclaims, his tone sharp, and his gaze darts to the side, his eyes going wide. He takes a breath and rubs a hand over his face, his features twisting into a grimace as he shakes his head. "Sir, we're...we're scared for you."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you have to resist the urge to stagger back a step. Instead, you take a deep breath and clench your fists, your nails digging into the palms of your hands

"I..." You start, and a lump forms in your throat. Your mouth opens and closes several times as you try to think of a response, but the words die on your tongue, and you finally manage a quiet, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Snap says softly. He looks down at the floor, and his brow furrows. "We know you're under a lot of pressure. And we understand why you're doing this. We get it. But...I need to know if there's something else going on. If you're...if there's a problem."

"What?"

"A problem," he repeats, and he gestures vaguely to his temple. "If you're struggling. With...you know. The darkness."

You stare at him for a second, your eyes going wide. He shifts, his expression turning sheepish, and you can't help but laugh, a quiet chuckle that slips out before you can stop it. He smiles a little, but the smile is strained, and his eyes are full of concern.

"I'm not struggling," you reply honestly. You shake your head and run a hand through your hair. "Not right now. Not...not like that."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," you reply firmly. You hesitate and sigh, and your shoulders drop, the adrenaline draining from your body. "I'm not okay. But I'm not losing myself either."

Snap studies you for a minute, his gaze sweeping over your face, and his expression softens. His hand moves to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and he nods slowly, his eyes bright with sympathy.

"Okay," he says. "I believe you."

"Thanks."

"But you need to take better care of yourself," he continues, and he raises an eyebrow, his tone taking on a hard edge. "No more pushing yourself to exhaustion. You need sleep. And food. You can't keep going like this."

"Snap—"

"I'm serious. Booker's already had it up to here with you," he scolds, his hand lifting to above his head. "But he's too nice to say it. I'm not. You're our General. You need to take care of yourself. Do you understand?"

You roll your eyes and huff a laugh. "Yes, mom."

"I'm not kidding," he grumbles. "I'll tell get General Kenobi to order you back to the temple if I have to."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would."

The two of you glare at each other for a beat before the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile, and the two of you start laughing. He throws an arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer, and the two of you turn and continue down the hallway, falling back into step with each other.

"I will," Snap says, his voice softer. "I know you don't mean to, and I know you're just trying to do the right thing, but you're not a lone gunner anymore." He glances at you and gives your shoulder another squeeze, his expression serious. "You're part of a team. We're here to help you. Just...trust us. Trust me."

"I...I do. I will," you manage, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. It's not a lie. Not really. You trust him. Of course you do. You love him. And Booker. But...you don't know how to be any other way. To rely on others. To accept help. To not have to fight for every little thing. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize...I'll try harder."

"I know," he says, and he smiles, squeezing your shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here."

You nod and follow him out of the room, your mind whirling as you struggle to process what he's said. You hadn't realized just how badly you've been treating yourself, or the toll it's taking on your friends. The thought hurts more than you'd like to admit, and guilt threatens to overwhelm you, a hot flash of shame that burns your cheeks and tightens your chest.

You've been selfish, and the realization is hard to stomach, but you can't ignore the truth in his words, or the weight behind them. No matter what the visions show you, no matter how bad things get, you can't let yourself fall back into old habits. Not now, not after everything you've worked so hard for, and not after everything you've lost.

"Hey," Snap says, and you glance at him, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. "You wanna hear about the shield generator?"

"Is there anything to tell?"

"Not really," he admits, a sheepish look on his face. "Dash got the main reactor running again, but it won't be able to keep the shield online for long. A day or two at most."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's old, sir," he snorts. "Like, really old."

"How old?"

"Like, two thousand years. Give or take a decade or two."

"Two thousand years," you repeat. You rub your forehead in an effort to stave off the headache threatening to form behind your eyes, and you let out a frustrated huff, shaking your head. "I'm starting to think we're out of our depth here."

"I think you might be right," Snap agrees. He pauses, glancing at the hallway before gesturing for you to follow, and he continues walking, the two of you following the path back to the main atrium. "The whole thing is being held together with spit and luck. One bad hit and it's all gonna come crashing down. There's no way this is going to stand up to an attack."

"We'll just have to keep the Separatists from getting through," you sigh, and Snap snorts, rolling his eyes. You elbow his side, forcing him to release his grip on your shoulder as he stumbles away from you with a laugh.

"Yeah, good luck with that," he quips. "I'll go ahead and start writing our wills."

"Come on, don't be so negative," you chastise. He shrugs, unrepentant. "We've faced worse odds."

"Sorry," he chuckles. "But we're talking about the Seps. They're not going to be gentle."

"They won't get the chance," you promise, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing lightly. Snap gives you a dubious look and shakes his head. "This city might be a graveyard, but it's not going to stay that way. We'll make sure of it."

"You really believe that, huh?" he asks, and you nod, giving him a confident smile, which earns you a small snort of laughter in return. He sighs as the two of you stop at the top of the stairs, looking out over the room below. "It's not going to be easy."

"Nothing ever is," you say. You let out a deep breath and square your shoulders, pushing your doubts away and forcing a smile onto your face. "But we'll manage. We always do."

"I guess you're right," Snap says, his tone contemplative. "I wish Booker was here. He's always the optimist."

"I'm sure he wishes he were here too, but he's needed where he is," you remind him, and the trooper lets out a heavy sigh, nodding in agreement. "We'll have to try and be positive on our own for once. Besides, the last thing we need is him and Jesse in the same place. I can't handle another near brawl over my honor."

"True," he chuckles.

"We'll just have to wait and see how it goes," you tell him. You pat him on the shoulder and offer him a smile. "But it's going to be okay. I trust the Force to guide us through."

Snap groans. "Please, not another Jedi speech."

"You just gave me a speech about my health, and I don't get to talk about the Force?" you tease, raising an eyebrow at him, and the captain laughs, shaking his head and holding his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, alright," he chuckles, smiling down at you fondly. "You're the boss."

You grin up at him and pat his chest. "Glad we're in agreement."

He lets out a low laugh, and the two of you start walking again, heading for the control room where Dash is waiting. As you walk, the conversation lulls, and the two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, the only noise the echo of your footsteps. You can't help but think of the dream, the golden fields and the bright sky. The hope and the love. It all seems so far away now, lost in the haze of smoke and dust. But the vision has stuck with you, and it's the thought of seeing those fields again that keeps you going.

Snap is right. Booker is the optimist, the glue that holds your brigade together, and without him, the task of keeping morale up is almost impossible, even for you.

But, if nothing else, the memory of the dream gives you something to hold on to, a promise that things will get better. Even if they don't feel like it now. Even if the darkness is closing in around you.

You've come this far, and you have your brothers at your side. There's no way you're giving up now.

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lordofthenerds97 · 4 days ago

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They’re too cute your honor, I love them

Have I talked about my growing love for Wise? Because good gods, it’s growing

I’m also very in love with the way you write the Force. The feelings, connections, Auras, all of it. Don’t mind me slipping into your DMs to ask a bajillion questions 🙃

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Four: Fault Lines

Chapter WC: 13,262

Chapter Tags/Warnings: this chapter is 50% awkward flirting and teasing and the other 50% is arguing and scene setting and existential dread

A/N: Point of order for military stuff that's happening in these next couple chapters: the 501st is typically referred to in canon as a battalion. I'm making some assumptions that they grow to the size of a legion by the end of the war, though they're still a battalion by the time the Umbara arc happens according to canon. Yes, it's a kids show and they play it pretty fast and loose with the terms but I can't stomach ambiguity SO! At this point, the 501st is a battalion.

A legion is the same thing as a brigade. Goldie and Booker as Senior Commander lead the 419th Brigade, which is comprised of 4 regiments or 16 battalions, or up to 9,216 troops total. Just to give you an idea of size. I spent forever building her army and naval forces, and I could keep yapping but that’s not what we’re here for lol enjoy the chapter 🫡

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Duro, 20 BBY

Duro is an industrial world, and not one you'd ever desired to visit. It's a grim, polluted planet, with few natural resources and an atmosphere thick with pollution. The factories that litter the landscape are a testament to the greed and avarice of the corporations who own them, and the few workers left to maintain them are often treated little better than slaves. The planet's only saving grace is the flotilla of orbital cities, floating above the surface, where the majority of the inhabitants live.

There's an air of desperation down here on the surface, a sense of hopelessness, and it's not hard to see why. The Duro have wrung every last drop of profit from their world, stripping it bare and leaving nothing but ruins. They're a race in decline, clinging to their fading legacy with grim determination.

The Republic has managed to maintain control of the planet with a small garrison of troops stationed at a posting called the Equatorial Communications Hub. The hub is a series of towers, each housing a relay connected to the orbital cities by a network of repulsorlift tubes. It's an ugly building that juts out like a spike amongst the ruins in the distance, its white exterior stark against the dark sky, and the Republic's flag flies proudly from the top.

You look around as your gunship flies over the factories and the crumbling buildings streaking past below. It's an eerie sight, a ghost town, and it's easy to imagine how much worse the situation could become if the Separatists gain a foothold. You can't help but think of Nadiem, the image of the burned, bombed-out buildings and the piles of rubble fresh in your mind. The same thing could happen here, if the 501st and your forces aren't successful.

"It's a damn wasteland," Wise calls out over the hum of the gunship's engines. He leans over, glancing down at the row of factories, his face pinched with distaste. "What a shithole."

"Remind me why we have to land here?" Snap asks from the copilot's seat, bracing his arm against the cockpit as the ship rocks violently. "It looks like it's gonna blow up at any secon—hey! Watch it!"

"I'm trying," Dash snaps, his eyes focused on the controls. He eases the ship around a smoking tower, narrowly avoiding a collision, and the squad lets out a collective sigh of relief. “You try flying in this mess and see how you do, okay?"

"Someone's touchy today," Screwball observes from the back of the ship. He's fiddling with his rocket launcher, inspecting the charge and checking the power level. "You get up on the wrong side of the bed, little brother?"

"Oh, fuck off," Dash mutters, and you can't help but smile as he shoots Screwball a look of annoyance that translates through his helmet. "I'm trying not to get us killed. So maybe focus on that instead of harassing me."

Screwball opens his mouth to retort, but Wise clears his throat, his voice booming over the comm.

"Enough," he commands, and the two of them fall silent. "Save it for the clankers."

Screwball nods, turning his attention back to his weapon. Dash sighs, and you reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. He's been tense since the battle on Nadiem, the strain showing in the tightness of his shoulders and the weariness in his eyes.

He's not the only soldier who's been affected, though. The rest of the men are tired too, the months spent in and out of combat without respite having taken a toll. They're all dealing with it in their own ways, but for some, the burden has been harder to bear.

Snap is usually the most laid-back member of the squad, but you've noticed that even he has become more serious, his usual jokes and quips replaced by grim silence. Wise has been snapping at everyone, and Screwball seems to be constantly on the verge of a breakdown, oscillating between bouts of manic energy and depressive moods. And Dash...well, he's just exhausted. He's been working twice as hard to cover for his brothers, and it's not going unnoticed.

“You’re doing well,” you murmur, and Dash nods, his hands tightening on the controls. You can see the faint tremors in his fingers, the result of too many hours awake, and you sigh.

You've barely had any sleep yourself, your dreams haunted by visions of destruction and death. The images are getting clearer, more detailed, and they're becoming harder and harder to ignore. You're no closer to understanding them, and it's been an exhausting effort.

But the Force is telling you that it's important. It’s giving you the tools, the warnings, and you have to trust that it will show you the way. Even if it means sacrificing your sleep and your sanity.

And, hopefully, this time, it'll be worth it.

“Really,” you insist. You squeeze his shoulder, trying to convey the sincerity of your words. "I know it hasn't been easy, but you're doing a great job. I'm impressed."

"Thanks," he mumbles, his head dipping forward. You can't see his face, but you can sense his relief. He relaxes for a moment until the ship shudders as a gust of wind buffets it, the hull groaning in protest, and his spine stiffens. “I think I'm getting better at this flying thing.”

"I'll say," you remark, watching as he guides the ship around a towering factory billowing smoke into the air. "It's been, what, two months since you've had a crash?"

He snorts, and you know he's rolling his eyes, though he’d never do that in front of you directly.

“I’m serious,” you laugh and pat his shoulder. “Keep this up, and I might even let you fly my fighter.”

“Really?”

His head snaps towards you, and his voice is so hopeful that you can't help but smile.

You've spent a lot of time with the clones under your command over the past few months, and it's a privilege to see their personalities come to the fore, to watch them evolve into individuals, rather than just identical soldiers.

Dash has been particularly receptive to your efforts. His eagerness to learn and his natural affinity for technology has made him Maelstrom Company's de facto pilot under Snap, and the responsibility has allowed him to step out of his brothers' shadows and into his own. And as he's grown, so has his confidence. You've watched him go from a nervous, shy kid to a capable soldier, and you're proud of the progress he's made.

And he's not the only trooper who's improved. The rest of the squad have made similar strides, and you've seen them all blossom, each man finding his own niche within the 419th and discovering his strengths and weaknesses. It makes you a bit sentimental, and a lot proud. They've become more than just soldiers, and you’re well aware that you’ve grown attached, far more than you probably should be.

It's something you never expected, at least not to this extent. You'd never wanted a command of your own, never wanted to be a general, content to let Obi-Wan do all the leading and all the commanding. And the idea of being responsible for so many lives had scared you, especially considering your past. You'd had no choice in the matter, and you'd accepted your role with a sense of resignation.

But as the weeks and months had passed, you'd slowly come to realize that it wasn't the burden you'd expected. It wasn't easy, not by a long shot, and the losses and the deaths weighed heavily on you. But there was something rewarding about the work, a sense of purpose and a sense of accomplishment. You were able to help people, and make friends while doing it, and that was something you could get used to.

"Maybe," you say, giving Dash a playful smile. "We'll see."

He chuckles and returns his focus to the controls, his shoulders squared with determination. The ship shudders again, and you brace yourself against the wall as the viewport fills with a haze of grey. The men curse and complain, their voices rising over the roar of the engines, and you bite your lip, fighting the urge to snap at them.

Dash guides the ship into a sharp turn, the engines whining in protest. The turbines kick in before the ship levels out again. You all breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Sir, we’ve got movement on the ground, coming from the eastern quadrant of the city," Snap reports. A squadron of droids lumbers through the empty streets in the distance, heading towards the hub. "Looks like an entire company, at least."

You study the group, watching as the droids march in formation. They're moving quickly, and you can see the blaster bolts flashing as they fire into the windows of the surrounding buildings. Your intel suggests this part of the city has long since been abandoned, but it doesn't seem to stop the droids from continuing their attack.

"There's no civilians there, right?" you ask warily.

"No sir," Snap confirms. "All civilians were relocated to the orbital platforms, and the area was deemed secure."

"I'm going to make a low pass," Dash announces. "Check for heat signatures."

You nod, and Dash pushes the controls, dropping the ship towards the city below. He's careful in his movements, weaving between the towering shells of factories and the crumbling remnants of the city's infrastructure.

The men around you lean forward, watching intently, their eyes fixed on the droids. The gunship drops lower until its belly skims the rooftops of the lower buildings, and the droids come into focus, the dim sunlight glinting off their metal plating.

“I’m not picking up any organics," Snap reports, studying the scanner. “We should—“

The radio crackles, and a voice cuts in.

“Gunship 2899, this is 501st Captain Rex, what is your location? Over.”

The men exchange a glance, and you lean over, bracing on Dash's shoulder as you activate the comm.

"This is General Anathorn," you answer. "We are inbound to the rendezvous point. What's your status, Captain?"

“Engaging enemy forces, General,” Rex replies, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Care to join us?”

You can't help but smile, and the men chuckle, shaking their heads. You feel a flutter of excitement, the anticipation of seeing Rex again causing your heart to beat a little faster. You've missed him more than you'd ever expected, and the thought of being together, fighting side by side, it fills you with a sense of relief that’s almost staggering.

It'll be good to have him back. And even better to fight beside him.

"I think we can manage that," you answer, and Rex's answering chuckle echoes through the cabin.

Behind you is a chorus of groans and gagging noises, and you turn, glaring at the rest of the men. They pretend not to notice, staring studiously out the viewport or checking their weapons. You roll your eyes, and the comm crackles, Rex's voice ringing out once more.

"Copy that, sir," he says, his voice betraying his smile.

"See you soon, Captain," you murmur.

“Looking forward to it.”

The line cuts out in a burst of static, and you step back, trying not to look too eager. You cross your arms, clearing your throat, and turn to face the men. You can feel their barely-contained amusement through the Force, and you try to ignore the flush of heat creeping up your neck.

"Don't say a word," you warn, but it’s too late. The cabin explodes with laughter and cheers, and you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

It's good-natured, and they mean well, but it's still embarrassing.

You'd thought you'd been subtle in hiding your affection for Rex, but it was becoming increasingly apparent that your efforts had been futile. More than once, the men have caught you messaging and comming him, and their reactions have ranged from concern to bemusement to downright delight. They'd always seemed supportive, even approving, but their behavior as the hours counted down until your reunion has turned their teasing from gentle ribbing into outright harassment.

They were enjoying this, and you weren't sure how to feel about it. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways this could end badly if you decided to actually do something about the feelings you've harbored for the clone captain. So much could go wrong.

But at the same time, there was an ache inside, a longing, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore. And with the way the men were behaving, you were beginning to think it might be okay to act on those feelings. At least a little. If the opportunity arose. Maybe.

"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Screwball asks, his voice thick with laughter.

"Denied," you mutter, and the men snicker.

Snap covers his mouth, his shoulders shaking with barely-contained laughter, before his shoulders finally straighten. "What's the plan, General?"

"The plan is to land, kill every single droid in our path, and save the Republic," you answer. You cross your arms, trying to hide your embarrassment, and give them a pointed look. "Any questions?"

A few hands raise. You roll your eyes.

"Any questions not about my personal life?"

They put their hands down, and you nod.

"Good."

The gunship banks, and the men brace themselves as it drops towards the street below, weaving through buildings and dodging explosions erupting from the ground. Screwball and another trooper slide open the doors before they kneel and arm their rocket launchers, two troopers poised on either side to provide cover. You can see flashes of light in the distance, and the distinctive boom of exploding ordnance echoes through the cabin.

A group of droids rounds the corner in formation, firing at the approaching gunship. The rockets launch, streaking towards the droids, and the resulting explosion is deafening, a cloud of smoke billowing out and engulfing the street. The men cheer as the ship rockets through the plume and joins two more of your gold-painted gunships, the trio descending in a wedge formation.

“Focus on the tanks,” you order over the comms. "Scramble the fighters and begin aerial strikes. Let's try to minimize the damage."

You look out the open door and watch as the three ships separate, each flying along a different trajectory. The droids in the distance are a sea of black and gray, their blasters flashing as they return fire. You can see the blue armor of the 501st slowly advancing, the clones moving in formation and using the cover of the buildings to their advantage. Your eyes roam the field, and your breath catches as you finally catch a glimpse of the one you’re searching for.

Before you can overthink your decision, you step up to the open doors and unclip your lightsabers from your belt. A cool breeze blows past your face, ruffling your hair and tugging at the sleeves of your robes, and the scent of smoke fills your nose.

"Cover me," you order.

Screwball lets out a quiet chuckle. "You got it, sir."

He readies his rocket launcher, aiming at the nearest group of droids, and fires. The missile soars through the air, and the droids are engulfed in a flash of orange and red, the explosion rocking the ship.

You take a deep breath, centering yourself, and close your eyes. And then, you leap.

The wind rushes past your ears as you plummet, your body arcing gracefully through the air. You land in a crouch and ignite your sabers, deflecting the bolts that fly in your direction before you push out, sending a shockwave that knocks the nearest droids off their feet.

You sprint forward, closing the distance, and slash through the droids, cutting them down with a flurry of strikes. The metal parts clatter to the ground, and the droids fall, their circuits sparking and sputtering.

A gunship swoops down and fires down at the droids, and you take advantage of the distraction, sprinting through the street and cutting down the machines in your path.

“You really know how to make an entrance," a voice calls from behind you as a familiar warmth blooms in the back of your mind.

A thrill runs through you, and you turn and find Rex approaching, his pistols drawn and firing rapidly. He ducks and weaves, his shots finding their targets, and the droids collapse in a heap of scrap.

"I was trying to impress you,” you shout back. "Did it work?"

"Mission accomplished," he jokes. You block another shot, and he takes a step closer, covering your flank. The two of you stand back-to-back, a familiar position, and you can't help but grin. It's good to have him at your side again.

"You seem to be doing well," you remark as your squad disembarks from the gunships, landing in the midst of the battle. They fan out among the 501st, forming ranks and returning fire. "How are things here?"

“Just another day at the office,” Rex quips, and you snort, rolling your eyes. He takes down two droids with two precise shots and tilts his helmet toward you. “Your boys been behaving?"

"As well as can be expected," you reply. You throw your blade, impaling a droid, and it slumps to the ground. You catch the blade as it returns to your hand and twirl, deflecting a blast and slicing through another droid. "Though they've been getting a little out of hand lately."

"Out of hand, huh?" he asks. His tone is curious, but you can sense the hint of worry in the back of your mind.

"Nothing I can't handle," you assure him. "They're just teasing."

"Teasing?" he repeats, and the question is heavy with implications. "What about?"

"Nothing," you say quickly. A little too quickly. "Just...nothing."

You're saved from further questioning by a sudden barrage of blaster fire. You duck and roll behind the nearest cover, Rex following suit. You both kneel, peering around the corner. A tank sits at the center of the battlefield, firing relentlessly, and you sigh, rubbing your temples. There's a headache coming on.

"What are the odds that you're going to let me deal with the tank while you stay here?" you ask. Rex shakes his head, and you huff, unsurprised. "I didn't think so."

"No, but thanks for asking this time," he retorts, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Fine," you mumble. "Any other ideas?"

Rex gives a nod, tapping the side of his helmet. "Yeah. Just give me a minute."

His attention turns back to the battle, and you take the opportunity to study him, his armor and the lines of his helmet. The familiar jaig eyes emblazoned on the front of his helmet are freshly painted, the only similarity between this set of armor and his old one besides the blue pauldron.

You’ve grown used to seeing the phase two clone armor among your troops, but to see it on him feels strange. It's a reminder that the war has changed, and that the men, the clones, are evolving too.

But despite the new armor and the fresh paint, it's still him. Still Rex. You can feel his presence, his mind, his emotions. And you can feel his affection, a warmth in his aura that radiates from him and seeps into your own. He's clearly happy to see you, and the knowledge of it eases the doubts in your mind, soothing the fears you've harbored.

The war has taken its toll, but he's still here, and he's still yours.

Rex notices your stare and turns towards you, a question in the tilt of his head. You don't bother to hide the fact that you're looking him over, and he clears his throat.

"What?" he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, your thumb running along the line where the old fascia plating meets the new. Rex goes still with a slight intake of breath, his hands tightening around his blasters.

"This looks good," you tell him as your hand drifts down, touching the side of his chest plate over his ribs. There's another welded seam where the plastoid plates are joined, the edges smooth and polished. "Did you weld this yourself?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah. I did," he answers, his voice strained. He shifts slightly under your scrutiny, his emotions fluttering like a bird caught in a net. "Too attached to the old look, I guess."

"Well, I'm glad you're still you," you tease as your hand falls back to the hilt of your lightsaber. You shrug a shoulder and turn, looking out over the field. “I’ll miss the old pauldron, though.”

Rex lets out a huff of laughter, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“You can try to stab me again, leave your mark on this one too," he jokes, gesturing to the blue pauldron jutting out from his shoulder. "If it'll make you feel better."

"Don't tempt me."

Before either of you can say anything more, a sudden blast erupts. The ground shudders as the tank's shell explodes, sending a plume of smoke into the air. You both turn and peer around the edge of your cover, and you're surprised to find a crater where the tank once stood, its metal shell shredded and its engines smoking.

"Huh," you mutter. "Guess we don't have to do anything after all."

"Looks like the boys are enjoying themselves," Rex chuckles, nodding towards the group of 501st and the 419th as they charge the droids. "We should probably get in there."

"Right behind you, Captain," you reply, and the two of you emerge from cover.

You leap across the street, and the battle is on. The droids are already scrambling to regroup, but their efforts are futile. Your squads close ranks, firing on the enemy with practiced precision. At your side, Rex picks off the stragglers while you deflect the bolts that fly in his direction, using the Force and your blades to guide their trajectory away from his armor.

Within minutes, the field is littered with metal parts and smoking wreckage. The 501st cheer as they take down the final droid, and you sheathe your lightsabers, watching the men celebrate.

Rex holsters his blasters and leans against the pile of debris, breathing heavily. His helmet tilts towards you, and a breathless laugh escapes his lips as you join him, resting your back against the same chunk of rock. The two of you look out over the field, the silence broken by the occasional burst of cheering and laughter.

"It's good to see you," he says softly.

"It's good to see you too," you reply, your tone fond, and you reach out and lay a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answers. He lifts his hand, his fingers curling around yours. "Just tired."

“Liar,” you tease, giving him a small smile, and he huffs a laugh.

"Maybe a little," he admits. Rex's thumb traces a small circle on the back of your hand, and you lean closer, pressing your shoulder against his. "Things have been rough lately. I've missed having you around."

"Yeah," you agree. You turn towards him, and the two of you face each other, the silence heavy with words unsaid. "Me too."

The moment stretches, and Rex's free hand reaches up and removes his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His blond hair is damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes are tired, but the affection in them is unmistakable. It's a look you're familiar with, and the sight of it never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

"So," he begins, his mouth curving into a smile. "You want to tell me what's going on with your boys?"

You groan and close your eyes, and Rex chuckles, shaking his head. You can feel his eyes on you, studying your face, and you can't help but flush a little under the intensity of his gaze.

"Is it that bad?" he asks, and you can hear the concern in his voice. "Is someone giving you trouble? Booker should know better."

"It's not like that," you say, opening your eyes and meeting his. He frowns, his expression thoughtful, and you sigh. "I'll tell you later. We've got work to do."

"If you're sure," he says, his brow furrowing.

"I'm sure," you insist, and you push off the wall. The rest of the troops are approaching, the 501st and 419th converging in the middle of the field. Your men greet their brothers, and a small crowd forms, the 501st exchanging handshakes and friendly ribbing with your men. Fives is among them, and he greets the members of the 419th like they're old friends, clapping them on the back and laughing.

You're happy to see the camaraderie between the two squads, and it's nice to see the 501st mingling with your troops. Rex is at the center of it all, trying to maintain some semblance of order, but his attempts are halfhearted at best. He's smiling, a wide grin, and you can't help but stare.

The 419th had never gotten much interaction with the rest of the army before, and it had made for a lonely experience. You've been in the Outer Rim for over three months, trudging through jungles and swamps and the occasional desert. But rarely have you done so with another army nearby. You'd often wondered if the isolation was on purpose, or if the 419th had simply fallen through the cracks. Whatever the case, the result had been the same, and you're grateful that the situation has changed.

You watch them all with a small smile, your thumb and forefinger pressed to the bridge of your nose in an attempt to stave off the headache building in your skull.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

"General!" Fives calls, catching your attention. He waves at you with a bright grin. "Over here!"

You roll your eyes, but join him anyway, the others clearing a path for you. The men stand to attention as you approach, and Fives gives a lazy salute.

"Good to see you, sir," he greets. "Been awhile."

"At ease," you tell him, and the men relax, dropping their hands. You give his shoulder a pat. "How are things? Everyone holding up?"

"We're hanging in there," Fives answers. You tilt your head, trying to get a read on his emotions, and he seems...happy, his aura calm and unbothered. You're relieved. Fives has had a rough go of things lately, and you're happy to see him looking well.

"Good. We're glad to have you," you say.

"We're glad to have you too, sir. We missed you," he replies. There's a teasing note to his voice, and his grin widens, his eyes glittering with mischief. He glances at Rex. "Some of us more than others."

There's a chorus of snickers, and you fight the urge to groan as Rex stiffens. The teasing has officially begun.

"Thanks, Fives," you mutter, and he just shrugs, unfazed by the dryness of your tone. Rex, on the other hand, is practically radiating embarrassment. It's kind of cute.

"Hey, no problem, sir," Fives replies, a cocky smirk on his lips. He steps forward, and a low, conspiratorial murmur fills the space. "He's been insufferable, by the way."

Rex's face pinches in annoyance. "Fives."

"He's been moping, sir," Fives continues, ignoring his captain. "He wouldn't stop complaining about the comm traffic."

"Fives." Rex's tone is a warning, and Fives turns, raising his hands in surrender.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he defends.

"Well, stop helping," Rex snaps. The 419th all exchange knowing looks, the 501st snickering amongst themselves, and he sighs. "Let's just...get back to work, shall we?"

"Yes, sir," Fives responds, and he shoots you a wink. "We'll see you later, General."

He gives a quick salute and turns on his heel, marching off with the rest of the 501st. They break apart, the clones heading towards their various squads and companies, and Rex gives you one final look before heading off to rejoin them. You can't help but watch him walk away, and the men of the 419th all chuckle, nudging each other and smirking.

"Get moving," you order, and they salute, heading towards the command post and their assigned duties. You sigh and follow after them, wondering how many times you can repeat the same words before they'll listen.

As the two armies make the trek toward the hub, the city stretches out around you, a sea of gray buildings and smoke-belching factories. The sun is low in the sky, and the air is filled with the haze of pollution, a thick blanket of smog hanging low over the buildings.

It's a depressing sight, and you can't help but notice the destruction. Broken windows and scorched walls, shattered glass and twisted metal, and the occasional skeleton of a destroyed tank or an abandoned transport. It's a graveyard, and the thought causes a sharp pang in your chest. This planet was already dying, and the war is only accelerating the process.

The Republic and the Separatists are little better than the corporations that have stripped Duro bare. They've come to pillage and plunder, to take what they can and leave nothing behind. And they're destroying a planet that was already struggling. A planet that could have been saved, had they been wiser.

But these are thoughts for another day.

You're tired, and your mind is foggy, the exhaustion of the past weeks catching up to you. You're still feeling the effects of the visions, the strain of using the Force and the toll of the sleepless nights, and it's hard to focus. Your steps are sluggish, and the ache in your head has returned, a dull throb behind your eyes.

The men notice, of course, and they give you concerned glances. Without speaking, Snap drops back and takes Booker's usual place at your side. The two of you fall in step, and he clears his throat.

"The rest of the men just arrived at the hub," he says quietly, his hand finding your elbow, steadying you. "I had Dash fly ahead. He said the comms are a mess. Apparently there was some kind of power failure earlier today, and they haven't been able to restore service. He thinks the Separatists are jamming the signal to the flotillas."

"And the fleet," you guess, and he nods. You sigh. You're starting to regret the lack of sleep. You'd been so focused on the mission, trying to compensate for Booker’s absence, and now, you're paying the price. You stifle a yawn, blinking the exhaustion away. "How are Anakin and Ahsoka?"

"Eager to get started," Snap answers. He guides you around a piece of debris, careful not to jostle you too much. "They want to start a recon mission tonight."

"Of course they do." You rub your eyes and lean further into his hold. "I don't know about you, but I could use some rest before we go chasing after any more droids."

"Agreed, sir," Snap replies, his grip tightening on your elbow. "Let's take it easy, okay?"

"Okay."

It's quiet, and you can tell the men are listening in, even as they try to pretend otherwise. Their concern is almost stifling, their auras full of worry and affection, and it's hard not to be overwhelmed.

You know that they care about you. It's not a new realization. But it's still a strange feeling, being surrounded by people who are invested in your wellbeing. You'd only just recently gotten used to Booker's constant worrying, his hovering and the way he seemed to know your moods better than you did. And now, he's not here, and the role has been passed on to Snap, who seems to have taken it upon himself to be your self-appointed caretaker.

You can't really blame him. You know you haven't been yourself lately, and the fact that you've been neglecting your own health is something you can't ignore.

It's just hard to remember, sometimes.

"Wise said he has something for you, if you want," Snap tells you. "For the headache."

"He always does," you sigh. You glance up at him, studying his expression, and he tilts his head, waiting patiently. "Is he mad?"

"He's Wise," Snap says, and you can't help but snort. That's a yes. "He'll get over it."

"He's worried about you," Screwball chimes in from behind you. "He always is. That's just how he is."

"I'm fine," you protest. They both gives you pointed looks, and you relent, sighing. "Okay. Maybe not fine. But I will be."

"You should have said something sooner," Screwball scolds, and the men around him nod. "We could have helped."

"I know," you admit.

You're not sure what else to say. They've given up so much for you already. You're not sure how to tell them that they've already done more than you could ever ask for. They've followed every order, every command. They've trusted your judgment, even though it's led to countless close calls and far too many brushes with death. They've taken your extra training in stride without complaint. And they've become more than soldiers. They're your friends, and you know how lucky you are.

"It's just a headache," you tell him. "Nothing to worry about."

Screwball doesn't look convinced, but Snap gives him a stern look, the two of them having some kind of silent conversation. They share a nod, and Screwball falls back, rejoining the others. Snap releases his grip on your elbow and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"Come on," he mutters. "Almost there.”

Your men are quiet for the rest of the journey, and the streets are empty, save for a stray droid here and there. The clones make quick work of them without you ever having to raise a hand, and by the time you reach the command post, the sun is low in the sky.

The hub is a massive building, a spiked tower rising above the surface of the city. It's an ugly mixture of modern utilitarian architecture and the ancient style of Duro's long-forgotten civilization, a reminder of a forgotten past, and the sight fills you with a sense of foreboding as you approach. The repulsorlifts connecting the hub to the flotillas have been shuttered, and the building looms, dark and ominous, against the setting sun.

Rex leads the way up the ramp and into the building, the rest of the men following close behind. You hang back, your gaze fixed on the tower. It feels as though the atmosphere itself is holding its breath, the air heavy with anticipation.

The door hisses open, and you turn, following the others inside.

The interior of the building is dark and gloomy, the hallways lit only by dim, flickering lights. The walls are bare metal, and the floors are lined with cables and conduits snaking through the corridor. It's a labyrinthine structure of hallways and empty rooms, and it takes you a moment to get your bearings.

Snap stays close, a silent sentinel at your side as the others form up around you. The two of you keep an eye on Rex’s back as you walk, and you can see him glance over his shoulder every so often in your direction as if checking to make sure you’re still there. You meet his gaze each time and give him a reassuring smile.

You walk until the hallway branches off, a makeshift sign directing toward the medbay the Republic has set up in the lower levels. Snap slows to a stop and nudges your arm.

“I’m gonna go talk to Wise and see if he has anything for your headache," he says. He pauses and glances at the group ahead of you. "You'll be okay?"

"Yes, Snap," you sigh, and he narrows his eyes and turns his head, cupping a hand over the side of his mouth.

“Hey Rex,” Snap calls out. Rex stills, the rest of the squad following suit. "I'm going to see if the Chief has anything for our General. Think you can keep her out of trouble until I get back?"

“Snap,” you hiss. He shrugs and turns back, a smug smirk on his face. You shake your head. "I'm fine."

Rex chuckles and turns, his expression playful.

"I think I can manage," he replies, and Snap gives him a salute, disappearing down the hallway. You're left standing awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, the remaining members of the 419th giving you curious looks. You roll your eyes and start walking.

"I should be offended by that," you mutter as Rex falls into step beside you, letting Fives take the lead.

"Nah," he replies. "It's good. They're just looking out for you."

"They're treating me like I'm fragile," you grumble.

"They're treating you like a sister," Rex corrects. He tilts his head towards the men, his voice soft. "Which isn't too far off."

"You're not helping," you grumble. You give him a sidelong glance, and he shrugs. "I can't believe they're doing this."

"I can," he retorts. His voice is gentle, and his eyes are bright. "You deserve it. And honestly, I'm glad. After the last time we saw each other—"

"Let's not talk about that," you interrupt, and he gives a quiet huff. "Please."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to," you mutter. Rex gives you a skeptical look, and you sigh. "It's just...I'm not sure how to...talk about it."

"Then we won't," he agrees. He's silent for a moment, and you can feel him studying your face. "For now."

"Thanks," you whisper, and he hums.

You walk in silence after that. You're acutely aware of Rex's presence next to you, the familiarity of his mind. It's comforting, and you're reminded again how much you've missed him. Even his emotions, which are often tumultuous, are a comfort. They're warm and affectionate, and they fill the space around you, wrapping you in a soft blanket.

It's nice. But it's also incredibly distracting.

By the time the squad emerges from the hallway, you're a jumbled mess of emotion. You're tired, and your head is pounding, and the last thing you need is another round of teasing. But with Anakin, you know there's no chance of avoiding it.

The rest of the clones disperse, and you and Rex continue on through the command center, a large, open space with the ceiling extending far overhead. There are catwalks lining the upper floors, and a series of computer consoles are arranged in neat rows, each console manned by a clone or a droid.

Rex leads you towards a raised dais with a holotable in the center of the room. Anakin and Ahsoka are there, along with several other members of the 501st, including Jesse. The trooper stands to the side, his arms crossed, and he greets Rex with a curt nod before his eyes slide over to you. A slight smile touches his lips, and it only widens when he takes in how close Rex is hovering next to you.

You roll your eyes. You're not sure why you assumed he'd be any less insufferable than the others. Jesse had been the one to tell you, explicitly, that Rex was in love with you, but he'd done so with such a straight face and had been so unflappable in the aftermath that it was hard to imagine him still teasing you about the potential relationship.

But apparently his patience and self-control were only a ruse, and he was just as bad as the rest of the men. You can only imagine what Rex had to endure in your absence.

Ahsoka looks up and meets your gaze, her expression shifting from frustration to relief as you and Rex ascend the steps. You're struck by how different she looks, her blue eyes still bright and full of life, but her expression older, her features sharper, and her aura heavier. She's grown since the last time you saw her, and the war has left its mark.

Still, though, she smiles just as brightly as ever, her excitement and happiness radiating through the Force. She darts around the holotable and embraces you in a hug.

"Master Anathorn," she exclaims, her voice muffled against your shoulder. You laugh and return the hug, giving her a squeeze. "It's so good to see you."

"Good to see you, too," you reply, and you step back, taking her in. "You've gotten taller."

"Have I?" she asks, her eyes crinkling.

"You have," you confirm.

She glances over her shoulder at her master, and you follow her gaze. Anakin is leaning against the holotable, his arms crossed. His gaze is fixed on the map, but he's clearly listening to the conversation. He looks older too, his hair slightly longer, his eyes a bit more tired, but there's still a spark of mischief in his gaze. He meets your eyes and gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Took you long enough.”

"Nice to see you too, Anakin," you sigh.

"Glad to have you back, Goldie," he replies, breaking out into a grin. He rounds the table and approaches, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze before he steps away. You grimace, and Ahsoka snickers.

"I forgot how much I hated that nickname," you grumble. "Any chance you'll stop calling me that?"

"Not likely," Anakin replies easily. You shake your head and glance at Rex, who's watching the exchange with a mix of bemusement and annoyance.

Anakin follows your gaze, trailing down to where Rex is still hovering on the step behind you, his hand balanced on the railing next to your hip. You can't help but notice how close he is, his armor almost brushing your back. Anakin arches a brow and smirks.

"Captain," Anakin greets. "You're late."

"Sorry, sir," Rex replies, his voice tight. He hesitates, glancing down at his hand, and shifts back, clearing his throat and tucking his hand behind his back. "We were delayed."

"Oh? By what?"

Rex clears his throat. "Droids."

"We were fighting your battles for you, evidently," you add with a glare. You're not sure what game Anakin is playing, but you don't like it, and the urge to defend Rex is too strong to ignore. "You could have at least mentioned that we had a Separatist blockade to deal with. Or did you forget about us?"

"We didn't forget about you," Ahsoka interjects quickly. She gives her master a look, and he holds up his hands, his expression innocent. "We're glad you made it."

"Thank you, Ahsoka," you say. You glance at Anakin and scowl. "It's nice to know some people have manners."

Anakin just smirks. Ahsoka sighs and turns, and Rex falls into step beside you as the four of you crowd around the table. There’s a brief, featherlight touch on the small of your back, a flash of gratitude in the Force, and the contact sends a shiver up your spine. You give him a sidelong look and find his expression is carefully neutral, his gaze focused on the holomap. His fingers twitch against the hilt of his blaster.

"Okay, well, let's get started," Anakin says, turning his attention back to the holotable. He waves a hand over the display, and a series of images and data files appear. "The Separatists have managed to cut off communications from the flotilla and are jamming our transmissions to the fleet. We need to get the signals back up, and soon."

He pauses, his gaze moving over the gathered group.

"Our intelligence suggests the Separatists are using a signal jammer located somewhere in the city," Anakin continues, pointing near the hub. "We’re guessing it’s a distraction while they prepare for their assault on the shield generators. It's only a matter of time before they start launching an offensive."

"And we can't let that happen," Ahsoka adds. She crosses her arms and leans against the table, her eyes narrowed. "The shield generators are located at the north and south poles of the planet. One is in the center of the capital city, and the other is on the edge of a small farming settlement. The Separatists are planning on attacking both at the same time."

"If they manage to destroy the generators, the shields will fail," Anakin says, a scowl forming on his face. "And once the shields go down, they'll launch their ships. And we'll be in big trouble."

"We'll have to divide our forces, split up," Rex says, and Anakin nods. "One group can take out the signal jammers, and the other two can protect the shield generators."

"Ahsoka is going to lead a team to find the location of the jamming device," Anakin says, nodding to the Padawan. He turns back to you just as Snap arrives, carrying a bottle of water and a small packet. "Goldie, how many men did you bring?"

"Three regiments, sir," Snap answers for you as he passes you the water and painkillers. You give him a grateful look and down the pills, chasing them with a sip of water. "A little over six thousand. They're ready to move out, just waiting on your orders."

"That's good. We're going to need them," Anakin says, and his eyes slide to Rex. "Rex, take the rest of the 501st with Goldie to the northern generator. I'll take two regiments to the south and rendezvous with Ahsoka when she’s finished."

"Understood, sir," Rex replies. He looks over at you and tilts his helmet in your direction. "What do you think, General?"

You study the hologram, and your gaze settles on the capital city, a collection of buildings and factories arranged in a circular pattern. A thick wall surrounds the city, and the shield generator is placed in the center, the structures surrounded by a complex network of defense cannons and guard towers.

To be honest, you're not thinking much of anything. Your head is pounding, and your thoughts are slow and fuzzy. But Rex is looking at you expectantly, and the rest of the group are waiting, so you force yourself to speak.

"It's going to be difficult," you say. You lean against the table, bracing yourself. "But we can do it. My only concern is Grievous' fleet. Our ships can’t hold him off forever.”

"We can't worry about them right now," Anakin says. "Our priority is keeping the Separatists from taking the shields down."

"Agreed," you sigh. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to ease the ache in your head. "Alright. We'll go north. We should try to reach the generator before the droids arrive."

"Copy that, sir," Rex says, and he raises a hand, signaling the troops. "Let's move out."

You nod at Snap, and he does the same, passing the message on to the troopers nearby to take to the regimental commanders. You push away from the table and turn, stepping away as the room bursts into a flurry of activity. Rex is by your side instantly, his hand finding your arm and guiding you down the stairs. You don't resist, letting him lead, and his grip tightens, a reassuring squeeze.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly. You shake your head, and he sighs, a sympathetic rumble in the back of his throat. "How bad is it?"

"Not too bad," you lie.

"Liar," he accuses. You let out a soft laugh, a small, strained noise that makes his brow furrow. "What do you need?"

"Some time alone," you murmur. "It's...hard, having so many people around."

"Okay," he says. "Can you hold on a bit longer? Just until we can get somewhere private?"

You nod, and he leads you through the bustling crowd, weaving between the troopers as they gather their gear and prepare for the mission. The room is alive with movement, the buzz of voices, and the clatter of armor and weapons. But you hardly notice. You keep your eyes down, focusing on the ground beneath your feet and the feeling of Rex's hand on your arm. It's comforting, grounding, and it's all you can do not to cling to him, to use him as an anchor.

It doesn't take long for him to find a quiet corner, tucked behind a stack of crates and out of sight. It's an out of the way alcove, dark and cool, and the noise fades into a distant murmur.

Rex pulls you to a stop, and you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and letting your head fall forward. You can feel his worry, his concern, but he stays quiet, giving you the space you need.

He's always been good at that, at knowing what you need, even if you can't put it into words. It's something you've come to appreciate. Especially now, with the noise and the lights and the overwhelming press of his mind.

You let the Force flow through you, washing over you and clearing the fog from your thoughts. The painkillers kick in, and the sharp stabbing pain in your skull fades, leaving behind a dull ache. You focus on your breathing, on the beat of your heart, and the chaos around you begins to recede, replaced by a sense of calm.

When you finally open your eyes, Rex is standing next to you, his gaze fixed on your face. You give him a small smile, a slight curve of your lips that does little to reassure him.

"I'm okay," you tell him, and his jaw tenses, his brow furrowing.

"You're not," he counters, his voice low and soft.

"No," you concede. "But I will be. It's not the first time."

"It wasn't like this before," he says. "Is it—"

"No," you answer before he can finish. You know what he's going to ask, and you don't want him to. "It's not."

“Seems like it is,” Rex insists, his eyes searching yours. You sigh and rub your temples, your shoulders slumping. He's right. It's hard to argue. But the visions are still a raw, open wound. The memories too fresh, the feelings too raw.

You can't talk about it.

"I just need a minute," you whisper.

"Okay," he murmurs, and he steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. You feel his absence like a cold breeze, and a wave of frustration washes over you.

It's not fair how much you want him. It's not fair how close he is, and yet how far away. It's not fair—the war, and the rules, and the fear. You're tired of being afraid. Tired of keeping your distance. Tired of wondering if this is the moment everything comes crashing down. It's too much. You're so, so tired.

Without thinking, you close the gap, wrapping your arms around Rex’s waist and burying your face in his chest plate. You can feel his surprise, his hesitation, and the sudden spike of anxiety. But he doesn't push you away. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer and guiding you both deeper into the shadows, his grip tightening as the room continues to buzz with activity.

It's risky, the two of you so exposed. Anyone could see, anyone could walk by and catch you in each other's arms, but you don't care. The fear is a distant echo, buried under the exhaustion and the need to feel his body pressed against yours.

You can hear his heart pounding, the rhythm of his breathing, and the soft exhale as he rests his chin atop your head, his body molding to yours. You breathe him in, the scent of his armor, the clean smell of his skin, and the subtle spice of his aftershave. It's comforting and familiar, and it soothes the ache in your chest.

"It's not that bad," you murmur, and Rex scoffs, his grip on you tightening. "It's not."

"No. Of course not," he mutters. His cheek presses against the top of your head, his hand stroking your back. "That's why you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding," you retort, your voice muffled by his chest plate. He chuckles, and you sigh, leaning against him. "Fine. I'm hiding."

"It's okay," he whispers. "You can hide here."

"Thank you," you murmur, and his hand cups the back of your head, his thumb running over the skin of your neck.

"You're welcome," he replies. He pauses, and you can feel the hesitancy radiating through the Force, the weight of his thoughts. You wait, and eventually he speaks. "Are we okay?”

You know what he's asking. It's the same question that's been haunting you since you admitted you want more. It's the same question that's been plaguing your mind, keeping you awake, and torturing you with doubt. Are you okay? Are the two of you okay? Can things go back to the way they were? Or is this something that will change everything?

"I don't know," you admit. "I want us to be."

"Me too," he whispers.

"Then we will be," you promise. You close your eyes and rest your head against his chest, savoring the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms. "We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," he murmurs, his grip tightening, holding you close. You sigh and close your eyes, letting yourself relax. "Yeah, we will."

You stand there for a long time, just holding each other. Eventually, Rex pulls back, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“What’s going on with you? You don't seem like yourself." He tilts his head and brushes a stray hair out of your face, his voice soft. "Is this about the vision? You can talk to me, you know."

“It’s not about the vision,” you reply, and when his face turns skeptical, you sigh. “It’s not. It’s just a headache.”

“Have you talked to the Chief?"

"Of course I've talked Wise," you grumble. Rex frowns.

"Then why do I have the feeling you're not telling me the whole truth?" He tilts his head, his brow furrowed, his concern bleeding through the Force. "There's something you're not telling me. What is it?"

"Wise said that I'm probably just tired," you deflect. Rex arches a brow, his expression dubious. "It's just a side effect. And the lack of sleep isn't helping."

“A side effect of what?”

“I…”

"Side effect of what?" he repeats, lower this time. You pull away from his grasp, and Rex’s eyes narrow, his hands dropping to his sides. You can see the muscles in his jaw flexing, the frustration radiating off of him in waves. "Please don't tell me that it's nothing. Not again. Not this time."

"You're gonna be mad," you warn, and he shakes his head, his expression tight.

"Probably," he concedes. He lets out a breath and steps closer, his gaze locked on yours. "But I'm not going to stop worrying. So please, just tell me what's wrong."

You swallow and look away, biting the inside of your cheek. You shouldn't have said that. But you know that he'll see right through any lie you could possibly come up with, and, honestly, you don't have the energy for it.

You glance over your shoulder, scanning the crowd, but there's no sign of anyone paying attention to the two of you. Even so, you take his hand and lead him further into the darkness, until the two of you are hidden completely, a pile of crates blocking the view.

You take a deep breath and brace yourself, meeting his gaze.

“I healed someone on Nadiem. A child, with a serious brain injury," you confess. "It was...extremely taxing."

You watch as Rex’s expression shifts from suspicion to shock, his eyes widening. He takes a step back, his hands clenched at his sides, his mouth working, but no words coming out. After a moment, he just shakes his head and sighs.

"Of course you did," Rex says, his voice rough. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, a look of pain crossing his face. "When?"

"Not long before our last conversation," you admit. He curses, and you wince. "Rex, it wasn't—"

"It was," he cuts in, his voice tight. His jaw tenses, and he turns away, running a hand over his face. He mutters something under his breath, and the frustration in the Force is almost tangible.

You can't help but notice how tired he looks, his face lined with stress and exhaustion, his eyes heavy with dark circles. He looks haunted. Like he hasn't slept in days. Or weeks. You're not sure which, and the realization is painful.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he flinches. His head jerks up, his eyes finding yours, and he takes a step back, his expression guarded.

"Rex," you urge softly. "Talk to me."

"I just..." he trails off, his gaze drifting away. He sighs, his shoulders drooping, and he leans back against the crates. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't put yourself in danger like that. And you...you still did."

"It was an emergency, Rex," you say, your tone a mixture of exasperation and fondness. You take his hand and squeeze, and his fingers curl around yours. "Besides, it was…different this time. Yeah, my head hurts, but the way that it felt? I've never felt anything like it. It was incredible. I felt more in control than I ever have. The pain wasn't as bad, and the drain wasn't as severe."

Rex gives you a sidelong glance and tilts his head. "Why is that?"

"I don't know. I have a theory, but it's..."

"What?" he prods, his brow furrowing. He straightens up, and the curiosity is written all over his face. "You think you might have finally learned how to control the Force, right?"

"Yes," you confirm. You smile at him and step closer, your hands moving to his shoulders. “I trusted the Force, and it guided me. And it worked. Better than it ever has. The kid just walked out of the medbay the next morning, completely healed. It was a miracle, Wise said."

Rex frowns and glances away, his brows drawn together. He's silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the ground. When he speaks, his voice is soft.

"It doesn't change anything," he says, and you scoff, dropping your hands to your sides.

"It changes everything," you argue, and he shakes his head.

"Not if it puts you in danger."

"It was worth the risk, Rex," you say, and he huffs.

"Not to me."

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm. It's hard. Your emotions are bubbling up, threatening to boil over, and you're not sure what to do. You're angry, and frustrated, and hurt, and you can feel his anger too, and his fear. But there's something else, something deeper. There's a vulnerability there, an aching loneliness, and you can't bear to let it fester.

"Why?" you ask. "Why does it bother you so much? You know what I can do, Rex. It's not like this is the first time."

He shakes his head, his eyes dark. "It's not about the Force."

"Then what?"

"You," he says. His voice is rough, and his eyes are bright, burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's about you. You're always pushing yourself too far, putting yourself in the line of fire, and not caring about the consequences. That's what bothers me. You're so focused on saving everyone else that you don't realize you're going to get yourself killed. Or worse."

You take a breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I can't help it, Rex," you say, and his face twists, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "I can't turn it off. And I'm not going to apologize for trying to save lives. And, frankly, I'm getting tired of hearing about it. So, for once, can we not do this?"

"Not do what?" he asks, his voice rising. "Be concerned about you? Or worried about the possibility that you might not make it through the war? No, we can't not do that. Because that's my reality."

"That's not fair," you protest, and he shakes his head, pushing off the crate and stepping forward, closing the distance between the two of you in one stride.

"Neither is expecting me to be okay with the fact that you're constantly throwing yourself into danger," Rex says, his voice sharp. He leans closer, and the air between you seems to crackle, the Force rippling with energy. "Or worse, not even tell me about it."

"It's not that simple, and you know it," you hiss, and Rex shakes his head, his eyes blazing. "I can't—"

"Yes, it is," he insists, his tone firm.

"No, it's not," you retort. "You don't understand what it's like to have this power, to have the ability to help people, and not use it."

"And you don't understand what it's like to have to stand by, helpless, while the person I—" He cuts himself off, and his expression turns stricken. He takes a deep breath, swallowing hard, and continues, "The person I care about risks her life. Over and over again."

"I do," you argue. The anger coursing through you, hot and bright, burns through your veins, but you fight to keep it at bay. You fight to keep your voice down, even though the urge to do something, anything, is threatening to break free. "I do understand. Because that's what it's like for me too."

"It's different," he insists, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "It is."

"How?"

"Because it is," he snaps, his frustration seeping through the Force. "You're the Jedi. I'm just a clone."

"Don't," you warn, your voice low. The anger is replaced with a sharp pang of hurt, a deep, piercing ache that leaves you reeling. "Don't even start with that."

The two of you fall silent, breathing hard. Rex stares at you, his eyes wild, his expression a mix of frustration and pain. He looks at you, really looks, and the weight of his gaze is almost unbearable. You can't meet his eyes, so instead you stare at his chest, your heart pounding. You're shaking, and you're not sure if it's from the rage or the pain.

Rex is right, though. It is different. Your life is worth more than his, and the knowledge of it sits heavy in your chest. It's a bitter truth. An awful, painful realization that has been slowly eating away at you since the day you first met him, met all the clones. They were never meant to survive. In the eyes of the Republic, he's expendable, a replaceable cog in the machine of war.

And you hate it. You hate that the galaxy has so little regard for their lives. You hate that the Jedi Order has allowed the clones to be used like this. You hate that, no matter how much you try, no matter how much effort you put into saving their lives, it will never be as important as saving your own. And most of all, you hate that Rex knows it, too.

You close your eyes, trying to regain control, but the anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface. The ache in your chest is a physical pain, and it takes every ounce of strength not to lash out, to throw the boxes at his feet, to send them flying into the wall. To shatter the silence with a blast of power that would leave the entire room shaking.

But you can't. You can't risk it. The only thing keeping you grounded, keeping you from losing control, is Rex. The warm press of his mind, the familiar hum of his Force signature. It's the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. You cling to it, holding tight.

"Fine," Rex sighs, and he runs a hand over his head, his expression resigned. "But that doesn't mean it's not true."

"It's not true," you whisper. He raises an eyebrow, and you shake your head, the anger fading, replaced by a desperate, aching sadness. "I won't let it be true. I can't. Rex, you're—you're more than just a clone. To me. You have to know that."

"I know," he admits, his voice soft. He closes his eyes, and his shoulders slump. "I do. But that doesn't change anything."

"No," you agree. You swallow, the ache in your chest spreading. "I suppose it doesn't."

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the air heavy with the weight of your words. You can feel the pain, the guilt, and the sorrow radiating off him. And you know it's not going to get any easier. Not anytime soon.

You're exhausted, too tired to keep the fires of your rage burning, and every second passes leaves you feeling colder than the last. You don't have the energy to keep arguing, to keep trying to convince him that you're doing the right thing. Or that it's going to be okay. The truth is, you're not sure if it is. But you have to believe.

So instead, you reach for him, and Rex lets out a shuddering breath before he meets you halfway. Your arms wrap around his neck as you pull him into your arms, his chest plate pressing against yours, his arms encircling your waist, and he buries his face in your neck. You close your eyes and let him lean into you, his body curling around yours.

"Why are we doing this?" Rex asks, his voice a rough whisper. You can feel his lips move against the skin of your neck, his breath tickling the hairs at the nape. You shiver, and he presses closer, his fingers digging into your back.

"Doing what?" you murmur.

"Arguing," he answers. "We shouldn't be doing this. Not now. We should be...we should be celebrating, or...or doing something. Anything."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," he mutters. You pull back, looking up at him, and his expression is pained, his jaw clenched. "I just know it's not what I want. Is it—is it what you want?"

"Well, you know I do enjoy a good argument," you quip, trying to lighten the mood, and Rex gives you a deadpan look. You sigh and rest your forehead against his chest, closing your eyes. "No, it's not what I want."

"Me neither," he admits, and he lets out a shaky breath, his hand cupping the back of your head. "We've barely spoken for months, and the first thing we do is fight. Why are we fighting?"

"Because we're stubborn.”

"I'm stubborn," he corrects. "You're impossible."

"Oh, come on," you huff. "I'm not that bad."

"Worse," he counters, a smile tugging at his lips. "Definitely worse."

You kick his boot with the toe of yours as you glare up at him, and he gives a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You can't help but notice the way his eyes shine in the dim light, the hint of mischief and warmth, and you feel the last bit of anger fade away, replaced by a familiar sense of affection.

"Rex," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," he murmurs, his thumb moving gently near the spot by your ear. You lean into the contact, and his gaze softens, a look of tenderness settling over his features. "So much."

"So stop being mad at me," you plead. He sighs, his eyes searching yours. "Please."

"You make it very difficult not to be," Rex says, his voice laced with humor. "Especially considering your track record."

"I'm working on it," you grumble. "I'll try not to worry you so much, okay? I promise."

"Well, that's something," he says with a chuckle. You laugh, and he squeezes your waist, a playful tug. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

"You're too young for that," you tease. "Maybe an ulcer."

"Oh, well, as long as it's an ulcer," he drawls, and you snicker. He gives you a look, but it lacks heat, and he can't hide his smile. "Seriously, though. Please be careful. I have a bad feeling about this whole thing."

"I'll try," you reply. You stroke his cheek, his stubble scratching against your palm. "You too."

"Always am," he assures you.

He tilts his head, leaning into your touch, and his eyes slide shut. His forehead presses against yours, and his hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. His scent fills your senses, his presence enveloping you, and you close your eyes, letting yourself relax.

He feels so good, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, the weight of his hands on your hips grounding you. And it's only now, with the space between you closed, that you realize how much you've missed him. How much you need him. How much you love him.

You open your eyes, taking him in. He's so close, his lips inches from yours. All it would take is a shift, a tilt of your head, and you'd be kissing him.

"You should know that I...I..." Rex falters, and his eyes flicker open, a hesitant look on his face. His mouth works, but no words come out, and his grip on you tightens. "I'm..."

"What?" you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his jaw clenching.

"I'm—"

"Hey, Captain!"

Rex jerks back and yanks his hands away as if burned, and he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet and into the stack of crates behind him. You reach out, steadying him, and his cheeks burn as his eyes dart over your shoulder, his attention focused on whoever called his name. You turn to find Fives rounding the corner, and the trooper skids to a halt, his gaze darting between the two of you, his mouth hanging open.

"Fives," Rex greets, his voice strained. He straightens, adjusting his armor and clearing his throat, and his gaze lands anywhere but on the clone. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh…" Fives hesitates, his eyes flickering over to you. His face twists into an apologetic grimace, and you shake your head, a silent signal that it's fine. He nods, his expression easing, and he gestures vaguely over his shoulder. "I just...we're ready to move out. We're waiting on the two of you."

"Right. Right, of course," Rex replies, his voice thick. He glances down at you and clears his throat, his expression carefully neutral. "General."

"Captain," you murmur.

He looks at you, his eyes wide, his cheeks still flushed, and his mouth works silently. You can feel your brows rise in amusement, and his gaze darkens, a warning.

"I'll be right there," Rex says, his tone firm.

"You got it," he replies. He shoots you a glance before he turns on his heel and walks off, the bounce in his step telling you that he's enjoying this a little too much.

You sigh and turn back to Rex, his gaze locked on the crate next to you. He's avoiding your eyes, his lips pressed together and his arms crossed over his chest.

"So," you start, and his gaze snaps to yours. "Where were we?"

"Nowhere," he says, his expression pained. He shifts his weight and glances away, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Absolutely nowhere. That was...nothing. We can talk about it later."

"If you're sure," you say, and he nods. You can't help but notice the flush in his cheeks, the slight tremble in his hands. He's nervous. Really, really nervous. You're not sure why. "Okay. If that's what you want."

"That's what I want," he confirms, his voice tight.

"Okay."

Rex lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs his face, his hands falling away to grab his helmet off a nearby crate. He pulls it on, the hiss of the seals echoing in the space, and his posture straightens. The change is subtle, but it's noticeable. The air around him feels more controlled, the chaos and uncertainty giving way to focus and confidence. It's like a switch has been flipped. He's Captain Rex again, not the man who was inches away from kissing you.

You shake your head, a wry smile touching your lips, and he tilts his head, studying you. His gaze lingers for a moment before he turns and walks away, his strides purposeful, and you're quick to follow.

By the time you reach the entrance to the building, it’s nearly dark, and the streets are crowded with troopers filing into transports, tanks, and gunships. The air is filled with the buzz of conversation, the steady rumble of engines, and the whine of repulsorlifts. It's a chaotic scene, and the noise is disorienting, a dull roar that seems to fill your senses.

“Sir.”

You turn to see Snap and Wise approach, the latter adjusting his medpack on his shoulders as he walks. Wise gives you a once over, his brow furrowing while his gaze roams your face, as if he could see your headache if he looked closely enough. His gaze darts to Rex, and you can feel the disapproval radiating off of him.

"You good, sir?" Wise asks, his voice low.

"I'm fine, Wise," you reassure him.

"Uh-huh," he hums, clearly not convinced, and Snap gives him an exasperated look.

"That's the fourth time today," Snap warns. Wise scowls, his lip curling. "It's not going to work. Stop asking."

"It might," Wise mutters.

"It won't," he counters, and the medic lets out a huff. "We're ready, General. All units accounted for."

"Thank you," you say, and you glance at Wise. "Both of you."

Snap salutes and heads off, and Wise lingers, his expression unreadable. He sighs, shakes his head, and adjusts the strap on his pack.

"I'll ask again later," he warns. You shake your head, a faint smile forming on your lips, and he grunts and steps closer, lowering his voice. "And about whatever that was. With the Captain."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply smoothly, and you hold Wise’s gaze with raised eyebrows, daring him to call your bluff. His expression doesn't change, and the two of you stand there for a long moment, a silent battle of wills.

Wise finally breaks first, a heavy sigh escaping him.

"Yes, sir," he grumbles, though you know better than to think he’s going to let that go so easily. "You coming?"

"No, she's riding with me," Rex interrupts, and you turn to see him standing behind you, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture is casual, but there’s a tightness to his tone that catches Wise's attention, and the medic frowns. He nods in the direction of one of the 501st's gunships. "Orders."

"Of course she is," Wise drawls. He raises an eyebrow, and you can tell he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue, settling for a knowing smirk. "See you in a bit, sir."

Wise salutes, turns, and jogs off, his long stride quickly eating up the distance to his transport. He joins his brother, and the two of them climb inside, disappearing from view.

Rex catches your eye and jerks his head toward his ship, and you follow him, shaking your head at his blatant lie. You’re the highest ranking officer on the planet. There are no orders. But, as far as excuses go, it works, and you don't argue. You're not going to pass up a chance to spend more time with him.

"You’re giving me orders now, Captain?" you tease. "I should put you in the brig for insubordination."

"I think we're past that," Rex replies. He slows his pace, and you match him, the two of you walking side by side through the throng of troopers. He clears his throat and glances toward you. "Sorry. I just...now that you’re here, I'd rather keep you close. For everyone's safety."

"Right," you drawl. A smirk curls on your lips, and you nudge him with your elbow. "For everyone's safety."

"Yes," he says, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He gives you a pointed look that translates through his helmet. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," you laugh. "I'm just agreeing with you. For everyone's safety."

"General," Rex sighs.

"Captain."

His hand finds your shoulder, and he nudges you gently in the direction of the waiting gunship. “Just get on the damn ship, will you?"

"Alright, alright," you concede, holding up your hands. "You're getting very pushy."

"I'm trying to keep you alive," he replies, his tone flat. "It's a full-time job."

"A little dramatic, don't you think?" you quip, and he grunts in response. Rex's hand slides down your back before he gives you a light shove, and you stumble forward, biting back another laugh.

"Get going. Or I'm going to leave without you."

"You're lucky you're cute," you mumble. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he stiffens, letting out a choked noise. A wicked smirk spreads across your lips, and you tilt your head, your gaze fixed on his. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he croaks, and he gestures at the ship. "After you, sir."

"Thank you, Captain."

Rex sighs and shakes his head, his helmet tilted in a way that tells you he's rolling his eyes. But the exasperation doesn't last, and the fondness in his aura only intensifies. You can't help the flutter that passes through you at the feeling, or the smile that lights up your face as you turn and board the gunship.

It’s strange, how connected you feel to him now, as if the past couple of months have only heightened the bond between the two of you. His presence in the Force is stronger, more vibrant. You're acutely aware of his mind, his emotions. They're clearer, more defined, and the connection is easier to maintain. Rex is closer, in every way possible.

You can't help but wonder if it has something to do with the dream of the golden fields. If the two of you truly are linked in some way. That there's a future for the two of you.

Or maybe it's just the stress and anxiety of the mission, the fear that something will happen, and your other vision will come true. Maybe you're just worried. Or maybe you're just missing him.

Maybe this is how it's always been, and you've just been too blind to notice.

You don't know, and you're not sure if it matters. Not right now. As long as he's here, and the two of you are together. That's all you need.

Rex's hand finds yours as you grab onto the safety handle to steady yourself, brushing your fingers lightly before pulling away to grasp the one above his head. The gesture is small, subtle, but it's more than you could have asked for. It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, and neither is he. That no matter what happens, the two of you are in this together.

You can worry about the rest later.

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