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ace-oreos · 1 year

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Chain of Command: A Republic Commando Story

Alternately: I Put Five Spec Ops Troopers In One Room and Hoped They Wouldn't Kill Each Other

Featuring Vortex and Delta Squad - particularly Scorch, as he is a somewhat unwilling participant in Vortex's recon shenanigans - on a mission to recover hostages, who I'm sure have Very Important Jobs in the Republic. Written at the request of @thisistheendtimes (many, many months ago). I hope you enjoy! :)

It wasn’t that the ARC was eccentric, exactly - not in the same way Sergeant Skirata purported, at least. Eccentric was Lieutenant Mereel being curiously absent one day and back the next with a fresh layer of grime on his armor, a new blaster the likes of which weren’t often seen in the Core, and sporting a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Eccentric was Lieutenant Kom’rk - who was rarely seen around Arca - arriving unannounced with his mouth set in a grim line, smelling of ozone and disappearing into Zey’s office with Skirata and Vau without a word.

Scorch knew eccentric, and he knew Alpha ARCs didn’t quite fit the bill. Sure, they were obstinate chakaare when the mood struck, but they were largely predictable. He didn’t have to wonder where they would jump - either because they were provoked or for the hell of it - like the Nulls.

But there was something distinctly unsettling about the Alpha lieutenant prowling somewhere just out of Scorch’s line of sight. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The man seemed decent enough, even though he’d hardly spoken since they’d left HQ. In the six hours they’d spent in hyperspace, Scorch had gotten just two things out of the lieutenant: he had just recently returned from a solo op in the Outer Rim, and his name.

Vortex.

The ARC had fallen silent after that, and Scorch knew better than to pry. Not if he wanted to remain in one piece for this mission, anyways. Even though Vortex hadn’t seemed touched in the head quite as much as the Nulls, there’d been a hard set to his jaw that told Scorch he’d better find something else to occupy himself with.

So he set about winding up Sev - a distraction was good for both of them - and wondering how the shab Vortex hadn’t gotten decommissioned on Kamino. A defective clone was a dead clone. And there was no way the Kaminiise hadn’t noticed one of their original products was blind in one eye. Entire batches got wiped out for less.

“Look alive, Six-Two,” Boss said, bringing Scorch back to the present. He nudged the toe of Scorch’s boot. “They’ll be moving the hostages sometime in the next two hours.”

“If comm chatter is reliable,” Fixer put in. They were all familiar with Fixer’s thoughts on the matter, so Scorch didn’t needle him over it. “Intel says they’ve got up to a five hour window.”

“Didn’t Sergeant Vau ever tell you not to take intel at face value?”

Scorch jumped. Vortex had returned from pacing the perimeter and now loomed over the squad, his black-and-gold helmet angled towards Fixer. “The enemy knows they only have so much time before someone comes for the hostages. They won’t drag their feet.”

“Sir,” Fixer said, as near to agreeable as he ever got.

If Scorch didn’t know any better, he would have sworn he heard the ARC sigh at the title. That was more than a little weird, and for a moment he was tempted to ask about it. Then he shoved his curiosity back where it belonged. No point causing trouble.

Vortex pulled off his helmet and pinned Scorch with a stare as though he’d overheard the question running through his mind. “Problem?”

“No, sir.” Scorch held his gaze.

Vortex studied him a moment longer. Then the corner of his mouth lifted in something that was almost a smile. “It’s alright.” His voice was surprisingly soft. “I’m not going to bite your head off, you know.”

“Don’t mind him,” Sev chimed in. “He scares easy.”

“Mir’sheb,” Scorch grumbled.

“That’s a shame.” Vortex’s smile took on a sharper edge that gave Scorch pause. “He and I have work to do.”

Scorch’s stomach knotted. He wasn’t particularly eager to find out what constituted work for an ARC. Not after seeing the Nulls’ handiwork up close on Triple Zero. I’ll pass, sir. Thanks for the offer, though. Maybe try Sev.

Hoping his misgiving didn’t show on his face, Scorch nodded. “I’m game.”

____________

Commandos weren’t a bad sort, Vortex decided. More readily adaptable than other units he’d served with. And on a mission like this - a hostage extraction in enemy territory - adaptability was critical. Even if Delta didn’t know what to make of him, they’d been making a good show of themselves.

Scorch trailed a few steps behind. “I’m guessing there’s a reason you didn’t bring the whole squad, sir?”

“I’m not sir, Scorch,” Vortex said. I’m not much of an officer, and Zey knows it.

The commando paused. Then he shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

He’d clearly worked with ARCs before. Vortex vaguely remembered hearing about an undercover op on Coruscant that involved Delta, along with a few of the Nulls and another commando squad besides. Maze had mentioned it - something about Ordo and Mereel running circles around the chain of command for nothing more than personal amusement.

“And yes, there is a reason,” Vortex added. “We’re going to see if the Seps have learned their lesson about proper security.”

“You know you brought the guy who makes things go boom?” Scorch said. “Not exactly subtle, if that’s what we’re angling for.”

“If things go south, you won’t have to worry about subtlety,” Vortex answered. “Ideally, we’ll be in and out before anyone notices. The hostages aren’t soldiers, remember. We can’t rely on them for help if we get in a tight spot.”

“Better hope long-range comms stay up, then,” Scorch remarked.

“Don’t bank on it,” Vortex said, taking stock of the icons that were flashing across his HUD. The compound was crawling with Seps. They seemed to be mostly wets, although there were a handful of battle droids here and there around the perimeter. Fighting an organic enemy wasn’t always advantageous, for all that they were often easier to dispatch than droids; an organic could make decisions based on rapidly changing situations. They had reason. That alone made them a threat.

“What’s our move?” Scorch asked.

Vortex hefted his rifle. “We take a walk.”

__________

Scorch was beginning to rethink his previous assessment of Vortex. The ARC was walking straight into an enemy compound, and he seemed utterly at his ease even though he didn’t appear to be packing any weaponry besides his sniper rifle and a vibroblade.

Insane. Completely, utterly insane, the lot of ‘em.

Boss never would’ve allowed it. Scorch couldn’t help but wonder if that was precisely why Vortex had elected to take him along rather than one of the others. Because I’m off my rocker, he thought, heart hammering a rhythm to rival the Dha Werda.

“What exactly is the plan?” he asked. Delta wasn’t above improvisation when the situation called for it, but this was nothing short of stupid.

Vortex paused. “Do we need one?”

“Point taken.” Sir.

“Just try not to die,” Vortex said as he resumed picking his way down the slope.

Scorch decided then and there that he could learn to like the man, even if he was too reckless for his own good. He double checked his DC, ran a mental inventory of the explosives he currently had on his person, and followed the ARC. Boss was going to give him an earful for this.

And when the first hostiles advanced on them in a hail of blaster fire, Scorch wasn’t as surprised as he should have been to see Vortex engage them up close with his vibroblade. Grinning to himself, he hung back in order to lay down suppressive fire. Sev won’t be pleased he missed this.

All in all, it was a pretty shoddy job as far as stealth went. But - as even Fixer grudgingly admitted later when the hostages were recovered and they’d set course for Triple Zero - Scorch had pulled off some pretty spectacular detonations. The kind that sent a message, as Boss phrased it.

“Where are you off to next?” Scorch directed his question to Vortex. The ARC was settled beside Fixer, his helmet resting on one leg. His armor had acquired a few new dents here and there, but he looked no worse for the wear. In fact, he seemed almost relaxed.

“Dunno. Haven’t gotten word from Zey yet.”

“That won’t last,” Boss remarked. He knew how it went. They all did.

“Probably not,” Vortex agreed. He sprawled against the bulkhead behind him. “They’ll send me after some hapless Sep soon enough.”

“Bummer for him,” Sev said.

Scorch wholeheartedly agreed. Having seen the ARC in action, it was easy to feel sorry for whichever Sep found himself on the receiving end of Vortex’s ire. It was too bad they’d all be retasked soon; while Delta rarely worked with anyone outside of the squad, this mission had gone well.

Vortex caught his eye. Scorch couldn’t quite read his expression, but he thought a smile flashed across the ARC’s face. It was gone before he could decide if he’d really seen it. Yeah, you’re a bit odd, sir.

Scorch was itching to be out of the cramped cockpit by the time they finally touched down on Coruscant. The assorted diplomats and ambassadors they’d rescued were pleasant enough, but Delta didn’t do close quarters like Skirata’s boys. Sev was downright antsy, and even Vortex seemed ready to do… whatever it was ARCs did between missions.

The rescued hostages made themselves scarce as soon as they were clear to disembark. Delta lingered on the landing platform in something of an awkward silence. Scorch doubted Vortex was going to dismiss them, but Boss would probably wait for it anyway until he was directed otherwise. He was funny like that.

Unsurprisingly, Vortex seemed to notice. “Making sure the plastocrete doesn’t run away when we’re not looking, Sergeant?”

Boss, for his part, took it in stride. “Do you have anything else for us, sir?”

“Maze tells me Omega is planetside.” Once again, Scorch couldn’t figure out the look on the ARC’s face. Amusement, maybe. “So try to behave yourselves.”

“Easier said than done, sir,” Sev said under his breath.

“Do me a favor, and try not to get your shebse blown to pieces,” Vortex continued as if he hadn’t heard Sev. “After all our hard work, it really would be a shame.”

“The three of us can manage,” Fixer commented. “It’s Six-Two you’ve got to watch out for.”

I’m going to get you for that one, Scorch promised, but he kept it to himself. Boss wasn’t fond of him mouthing off in front of superiors - even though it was glaringly obvious Vortex didn’t give a mott’s shebs about rank.

“So I’ve heard.” With that, Vortex turned to Scorch and grasped his wrist, Mando-style. “K’oyacyi, ner vod. Nice job out there.”

“K’oyacyi, Lieutenant,” Scorch said, returning the gesture.

Vortex turned back to Boss. “Sergeant. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.” He clapped Boss on the shoulder, nodded to Sev and Fixer, and strode away before Boss could salute.

“So.” Sev jostled Scorch with his shoulder once Vortex was out of earshot. “Looks like Fi isn’t the only one with an ARC buddy.”

“Oh, shut up,” Scorch said, still watching the ARC. It was just as well this mission would be kept under wraps; if someone were to ask him what working with Vortex had been like, he didn’t have the faintest clue what he would say. “You’re just jealous ‘cos you’re still scared of him.”

“Mir’sheb. I’m surprised you two made it back in one piece from your little outing.”

Fixer let out a long-suffering sigh. Someone ought to start keeping a tally, Scorch thought, grinning to himself. “Can’t we go five minutes without you two bickering?”

“Save your breath, Forty,” Boss said. “They’ll get tired of it eventually.”

“Either that or they’ll get picked up for late-night entertainment,” Fixer grumbled. “I’m going to hit the chow hall. Coming, Scorch?”

“Yeah,” Scorch replied, his attention returning to more pressing matters now that Vortex had disappeared into HQ. Puzzling out the ARC could wait for a slow mission - they were bound to get one eventually.

All in all, it had been another adventure for the books.

#republic commando #the clone wars #star wars #delta squad #clone trooper oc #I made myself laugh multiple times while writing this I hope my enjoyment translates <3 #writing #dar's playground

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reneeofthestars · 4 years

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Nerra Voa Numa

** I’m so excited to finally share the fic I wrote for “Found: A Clone Wars Zine”!! This was such an amazing project to be a part of, and I’m so thankful to the mods for allowing me to participate. **

***Leftover sales for the zine are currently open, so check out @foundaclonewarszine if you are interested in purchasing one of these amazing zines!***

Click “Keep Reading” to stay on Tumblr, or read it on AO3

* * *

The bustle of the spaceport felt oddly comforting. Boil squinted against the harsh Rylothian sunlight as he stepped off the hoverbus, letting himself be jostled along by the crowd. Food carts tempted him with sweet aromas, pilots called for cargo or passengers, engines roared and sputtered on the landing platforms, droids and beings alike called and beeped and whistled.

The debarkation processes for civilian freighters and transports were far less organized than those the Grand Army of the Republic had used, but it had a liveliness to it, an energy that reminded Boil of the anticipation that had filled him the first time he watched the oceans of Kamino shrink into a cloudy sphere before vanishing altogether in the blur of hyperspace.

He hadn’t felt that excitement in years. When the Imperial troops loaded into the cruisers – that is, the Star Destroyers – it was like watching some parody of Boil and his fellow soldiers. The clones set out under orders to drive back the mindless Separatist droids and defend the citizens, and their focus was palatable. The stormtroopers were commanded to instill order – even when there was no disorder to be found – and their energy felt…wrong.

Boil had worn the stormtrooper armor for years as he trained new recruits. He remembered how civilians had looked at the clone troopers when they came to the cities during the war – yes, there had been skepticism and dismissal; but there had also been relief, friendliness, appreciation. As a stormtrooper, he only felt positive emotions from a select few Core Worlds. Everywhere else, the civvies looked uneasy, mistrustful, even scared.

But he had been able to chalk those feelings up to the vast changes in the galaxy. The war had begun and ended so suddenly; residual turmoil was expected. He went on as he always had: a soldier following orders.

And he had fellow clones in the ranks that he spent time with. They mostly kept to themselves; the natural-born recruits viewed them as either superiors or inferiors. They had quietly complained about the degraded plastoid armor and inefficient helmets, reminisced old battles, spoken to each other like only brothers could. But one by one, they died in skirmishes with criminals, or were forced into retirement by their superiors, until Boil was the last clone at the Arkanis Imperial Academy. He’d never been without a brother before, and the loneliness had almost swallowed him whole.

He had known it was only a matter of time, but that hadn’t stopped the swooping sensation in his gut the day his supervisory officer told him to clear out his bunk and come to her office. He’d signed the discharge doc absently, writing his nickname without thinking. The officer had scowled and ordered him to resign it with his birth number.

And now, here he was: a clone on Ryloth with a limited credit supply, a bag of clothes, his old armor, and no idea what he was supposed to do now.

A passing Rodian caught his eye and frowned, like she was trying to figure out if she knew him. Boil ducked his head and hurried on, securing his headwrap closer to his face, trying to obscure it best he could. It had been ten years since the end of the war, and most civilians seemed to have already forgotten its existence. But there was still an impression that the clones were somehow responsible for the hardships of the war, which could lead to…problems. Boil ran a gloved hand over his face. Getting a job would be difficult.

Maybe he could be a mechanic. Or a mercenary. Or maybe a bodyguard. He’d have to find a place to buy a good blaster – the Empire hadn’t let him take his standard-issue blaster with him. Outside of war, he wasn’t sure what he could actually do. Maybe –

“Nerra.”

Boil froze. The voice was high and feminine, coming from somewhere off to his right. It was said quietly, almost absently, but it struck him to the core. He had a flash of a ghost town in a canyon, a small girl calling after him –

He spun around.

A young, teal-skinned Twi’lek woman was walking past, pushing a hovercrate brimming with electronic scrap. She wasn’t looking at him; she focused on the crowd in front of her, shooing away vendors that got too close.

Boil felt his breath catch, turning to tell Waxer – but no, Waxer had died years ago, what was he thinking?

He didn’t recall stepping forward. All he knew was tripping over his own feet as he hurried after her. “Ex – excuse me? Ma’am!”

She kept walking.

“Ma’am? Ma’am!” Why were his hands shaking? He stumbled to a stop. “Numa?”

She jerked to a halt, whipping around to face him, her head-tails swinging. Her eyes widened. “What did you say?” she demanded in heavily accented Basic.

“I – ” Boil faltered. “You called me ‘nerra’.”

The woman’s face flushed a darker teal. “It’s – it’s just an old habit. I didn’t mean to –”

“No, you – you called me ‘nerra’ when I was here. During the war. Me and Waxer.”

She fell silent. Her wide brown eyes were streaked with violet, taking in his face, his height, his orange-marked greaves visible just below his oversized poncho. Very quietly, she asked, “Boil?”

He laughed. It had been so long since anyone called him by his nickname. He wasn’t sure why it happened, but his knees gave out.

And then she was there, little Numa, alive and healthy, if still a little too thin, kneeling in front of him, her hands holding onto his shoulders as he shook.

“You’re alive,” he gasped. “I’m so glad – you’re alive. So many people died – so many we couldn’t save…”

“Shh.” She looked around, apprehensive. The crowd had parted for them, and Boil realized he was attracting stares. “Come with me. I’ll help you.”

“No, it’s – it’s alright,” he grunted, fighting to pull himself together. The last thing he wanted was a patrol of stormtroopers to see him like this. “I don’t know – what came over me. I just – I’m glad you’re alright, that’s all. I’ll be going –”

“No,” Numa said fiercely. “You helped me. You helped my people. It’s my turn to help you.”

Boil let Numa pull him to his feet, surprised by her strength. Wordlessly, he took the hovercrate from her. She hesitated before nodding slightly and leading him through the winding streets. He wiped his face with the cloth of the headwrap, embarrassed.

He followed her into the residential quarter, the chaos of the spaceport fading away behind them. It was a quiet area, save for the wind whistling through the rocks around them. The homes had been hewn into the stone; they were much better-kept than the village he and Waxer had found Numa in all those years ago. Adult Twi’leks chatted outside of homes as children chased each other. Several of them called out to Numa, throwing Boil curious looks. He kept his head bowed.

Finally, Numa had him park the hovercrate along the side of a particular building. She tossed a large rough blanket on top of it, camouflaging it with the stone. That caught his attention. He looked at Numa sharply, but she either didn’t notice or chose not to respond.

“Uncle Nilim!” she called, leading the way inside the house. The entry room opened into a sparsely decorated common area, with cushions and seats arranged around an outdated holoprojector.

An aging, blue-skinned Twi’lek man appeared from an interior room. It took him a moment to see Boil, then recoiled when he did. He held a frantic arm out to Numa, crying something in Ryl.

She said something very quickly in reply, her lekku twisting and gesturing, and Boil remembered a lesson on Kamino in his childhood; Twi’leks used their head-tails to communicate in tandem with their oral language. He’d never paid attention before. It was like the hand signals he’d used with other clones.

The man still looked skeptical; he skirted the edge of the room before approaching. He and Boil stared at each other for a long time before the Twi’lek finally gave a small nod. “You are older. But it is you.” He pronounced every word deliberately, with great care. He seemed to be practicing his Basic.

“And it’s you,” Boil responded, realization dawning on him. Numa had run to this man when Ghost Company had liberated her village. Boil had always assumed he was her father. But she called him ‘uncle’…

The man smiled. He placed a hand on his heart as he bowed his head. “Nilimb’ryl. Nilim Bril,” he introduced himself. “I am honored to finally meet you, Nerra.”

“My name is Boil. Uh, thank you,” Boil said hastily, bowing his head too.

Nilim gestured towards the common area, and Boil followed the two Twi’leks as they sat on some plump cushions. Boil mimicked them, grunting as he lowered himself to the seat. He was getting old.

“I told you we would meet again someday,” Numa said, beaming as she nudged her uncle. She looked to Boil, sitting forward eagerly on her cushion. “And where is the other? Waxer?”

The air rushed from Boil’s lungs. It never got any easier.

He didn’t need to say anything. Numa’s face fell. She extended an arm and touched his shoulder gently. “I’m so sorry.”

“He’d be glad you’re okay.” Boil forced a smile. “He always wondered if the war left you alone once we liberated the planet. It sounds ridiculous, cuz we only knew you for a day…but you left a big impact on him. On both of us.”

He set his pack down and reached inside. Nilim shrank away, reflexively grabbing his niece’s arm. “It’s alright,” Boil said quickly, holding up his hands. “I don’t have a blaster. I just want to show Numa something.” He didn’t move until Nilim nodded.

Boil moved his assorted belongings aside until his hand closed around his helmet. He hadn’t worn it since the war, but he’d been allowed to keep his armor, and the detail on the bucket was still intact. He stared at the visor, his reflection gazing back at him.

“When we found you, Waxer realized you might think we were droids, so he took his bucket off so’s not to scare you.”

“I did think that,” she admitted. “I remember being scared – I thought the droids were going to take me too. Then when I saw his face – ” she laughed. “I’d never actually met a Human before, so I wondered where his lekku were.”

“And when I took mine off, you pointed at us both and said ‘nerra’.” Boil was quiet for a moment. “He didn’t want to leave you behind. I did. If it had been up to me, I would have left you there, to continue my mission. Waxer was always a better man than me.” He hung his head, grip tight on the helmet.

“You’re a soldier,” Numa answered, her voice soft. “Sometimes you have to make hard calls. But you made the choice to help me. And you saved me. You saved all of us.”

Boil chuckled. “Heh. Well you saved us, too. Those two-legged insects would’ve eaten us if you hadn’t gotten us outta there.” He lifted the helmet from his pack and handed it to her.

She took it, her brow creasing as she examined the cartoonish figure painted on the side. Waxer had painstakingly added the decal to both their helmets.

Discomfort settled on him as Numa silently stared at the drawing of herself. “We both wanted to remember you,” he offered awkwardly. “When the war started, we knew we were fighting for the Republic, but it was just an idea. It’s not like we’d ever lived in it, or knew why it was better than the Separatists. But we saw what happened to the civilians caught in the middle. Waxer wanted us to remember who we were really fighting for. For you, and for people like you.”

Numa remained silent, her expression unreadable, her lekku still.

Nerves fluttered in Boil’s gut. He cleared his throat and tried to explain. “Our armor was the one thing that was our own. We never had possessions – we moved around too much, and it’s not like we had much shore leave. So, we clones started painting our armor to make it our own. Different colors for different companies, accents for battles, tally marks for fallen brothers… everyone was different.” He fiddled with the hem of his pack, waiting for a response that didn’t come. “It was the best way we had of honoring people. We always said our armor showed who we were, and who made us that way.”

Numa said nothing. Carefully, she set the helmet beside her. She stood abruptly and hurried from the room, refusing to look at him.

Something caught in Boil’s throat and he gulped, rocking forward on his cushion to stand, but Nilim laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Give her a moment,” he advised.

Boil slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“People end up where they need to be.”

What a strange thought. It reminded Boil of something a Jedi would say. A flash of – anger? shame? – shot through him before dissipating as quickly as it came. Keeping his voice low, Boil looked at Nilim. “Where are her parents?”

Nilim’s gaze drifted, his smile slipping away. “My brother and his wife were killed in the attack in Nabat. I have raised Numa since their passing.”

“I’m sorry,” Boil said. The only family he’d ever known were his brothers. He didn’t know what it felt like to have parents – or to lose them – but he imagined the pain was the same. A wave of guilt drove him to his feet. “I’d better get going. I’m only making things worse.”

The Twi’lek’s eyes widened, startled. “Numa will not want you to go. You are welcomed here.”

“I’m a clone,” he said gruffly. “I’m not welcomed anywhere.”

“Stay.”

Numa stood in the doorway, cradling something decorative. The whites of her eyes looked vaguely red, and her mouth was held in a thin line. She shifted from foot to foot, looking almost apprehensive.

“This is a Kalikori,” Numa said, holding the decorative piece reverently.

“It is a totem,” Nilim explained, “passed down the line of a Twi’lek family.”

“It honors all who have come before. It is our way of remembering our family.” She held it out to Boil, and he took it gingerly.

It was a long series of intricately carved figures, arranged in a T-shape with charms and carvings hanging from the points. Stone, wood, metal, and clay pieces were engraved with symbols and shapes. It was easy to see that great care had been put into creating it.

At the bottom of one of the strands were two small orange and white blocks joined by a teal rectangle with some sort of script chiseled into it. Boil’s mouth went dry, a prickling sensation springing up behind his eyes. “What does that say?”

“Nerra voa Numa,” she answered quietly, watching him closely. “Brothers and Sister.”

Tears spilled from his eyes as Boil held the Kalikori tightly to his chest. His shoulders shook and his breaths turned to gasps and sobs. He turned his face away, ashamed. He hadn’t cried like this since he’d learned of Waxer’s death.

Hands rested on both of his shoulders as he wept; one large and calloused, one slight and gentle.

“Boil.” Numa paused, taking a deep breath. “For the last ten years, every time I saw a clone, I would say ‘Nerra’, hoping that one of them would react to it the way you did. I’ve wanted to find you ever since you left. I don’t want you to leave again.”

“We added you to the Kalikori years ago,” Nilim murmured. “You have been a part of us all this time. You have a home here, if you wish.”

The words stuck in Boil’s throat. “I…I need to think on it.” He dashed a hand across his eyes, fighting to steady his breathing. He handed the Kalikori back to Numa, and she gently set it down.

“Of course.” Nilim squeezed his shoulder. “And while you think, I will be making lunch. You are hungry?”

“Thank you,” Boil said, successfully distracted by the idea of a home-cooked meal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything that wasn’t rations or Imperial-regulated meals.

Nilim left the room. Boil and Numa sat in near-silence as Boil worked to control his breathing. The tears kept falling, but they were drying, which he was grateful for; Numa was watching. From the other room, he heard Nilim shuffling about, cookware scraping together as he worked. Once he trusted himself to speak, Boil pitched his voice low. “Numa, why did you hide those electronic components?”

She looked to him appraisingly, and suddenly she seemed much older, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was no longer the frightened child that had trailed behind him all those years ago.

“Because beneath those electronic components are blasters for Syndulla’s resistance. The Free Ryloth Movement never truly dissipated. The war never ended here.”

Between them, the Kalikori and his helmet rested side-by-side. “I want to help you.”

She beamed, and before Boil could move, she’d thrown her arms around him tightly. He started in surprise before returning the hug.

When she drew back, her eyes were dancing. “I’ll message Cham and let him know you’re with us. Not a word to Uncle Nilim, though. He’s not on board with me being in the resistance yet.”

“I understand.”

“I’m glad you’re with us, brother. There’s much work to be done.”

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years

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One of the Brightest Stars

Word count: 3660 (is that alot?) idk

Warnings: major character death, sadness.

A/n: I’ve thought about this idea for a while and heres what we ended up with, broke my heart writing it and if the title is a James Blunt song that just seemed to fit.

It was raining on coruscant, the day you met. Throwing water down on the smog infested streets creating a wet smoke that weaved its way into your hair and clothes. You were tempted to leave, what kind of night out was this anyways? Underground, illegal fighting that you’d been talked into attending on this horrible night. It was awful, chants from the crowd you couldn’t make out wanted someone dead, that much you could tell. Every sound of a blow landed resonated in your soaked bones. Of course your friends, whose morals you were seriously contemplating, wanted you to stay. Teases flew haphazardly of your weak disposition, ‘barbaric’ was the term you returned as you passed through the crowd to escape. Scoffing as the mob goes wild with another declared victor, stopping in shock as the loser is dragged out of the ring. Bouncers parting the sea of infidels and dumping the man at the bottom of a street light. You regarded him with a look of haphazard disgust, turning your head away from the sight and hugging the wall of the alley in the hopes of not being noticed. He wasn’t your problem. You’re not a medic. He’s not your problem. You’re not a medic. No matter how many times you tell yourself this guilt still eats away at you. But this man could be dangerous, you saw how they went at one another in that ring, it was dark out, and you were alone. But then again, so was he.

“S-s-should I call someone?” You stammered out, so quiet that he didn’t hear you over his own groaning. You try again.

“Is - is there someone I should, I should call?” Under the glow of the blue hued street light his eyes almost seem yellow, and the way they meet yours has you taking a step back, retreating further away. Through the bloody nose, and split lip you look away. Eye contact made you feel exposed, like he was sizing you up for his next fight. As you look down you see clearly his attire. The symbol of the republic is hard to make out against the black material in the darkness. But the white plastoid that still covered his legs was unmistakable. And now, so was the earlier undeserenable chant. Kill the Clone.

He started to laugh at the realization that showed on your face, snickering through heaved breaths and the blood still coming out of his nose. “What? Never met a clone before?” He slurred agitated, looking you up and down, figuring out what kind of person runs from back alley fights. You winced as he pulled himself up with another groan and tried to start walking. “Maybe, maybe you should sit back down?” You asked, unsure of the situation, he had to be a clone, if the plastoid was anything to go by, so was his black curly hair. You saw him nod before falling into the wall and sliding down it, eyes closed in pain. You took a tentative step forward. Jumping as the blaster goes off to signal another fight starting, the crowd as wild as ever. When you look back to the clone propped up by the wall, he’d managed to pass out.

Kamino Archives - Batch # 34-7229 - Domino squad report: CT-27 5555 continues to display problematic empathetic traits.

When it rained now, your heart ached for him. For that clone trooper who you staggered into your apartment wondering when the Grand Army of the Republic would come to your door to charge you with theft of military property. The stubborn man who tried to limp out of your life claiming he was fine, Fives who had so quickly intertwined his way into your heart. Who jumped out of his skin every time you touched him, no matter how light and soft you were, but clung to you in the night so tightly the sheets would leave marks on your skin. Echo, the citadel, everything he confided in you, a civilian he didn’t know, nor trusted. He snickered when you tried to tend to the bruises, and was so tightly knit unraveling the trooper took you hours. You came to memorize names, Rex, Kix, Jesse, Skywalker, Ashoka. And when he could finally stand without all colour leaving his face Fives pressed a shaking kiss to your knuckles as the only thanks he could give. And almost twenty rotations later, there was a knock at the door and there he was. Covered in mud, hair to goatee to boots. You ushered him in without thinking, and your heart broke when you asked what happened, he just shook his head. His light brown eyes glassed over and he jerked when you tried to pull him into your arms. Shushing his protests and coming into contact with the mud that had gotten through his soaked Blacks as you ran your hand into his hair.

Kamino Archives - Batch # 34-7229 - Domino squad report: Retrial under Shaak Ti ends successfully, Domino Squad shipping out to Rishi moon.

“Cyare,” he gasped when you wrenched the door open. “Fives.” You threw yourself into him, he still had all his armour on, and you collided awkwardly with the plastoid. Hearing the sound of his helmet hitting the floor as he embraces you, burying his face within your hair. Only pulling back far enough for him to kiss you firmly. All your muscles that had been torn with anxiety finally let go as you relaxed in his arms. He was back, he was alive, he was safe now. It is a mystery to the entire 501st where the ARC Trooper goes when they finally land planetside. And you’re the only person in the galaxy that truly knows where he belongs.

Kamino Archives - Batch # 34-7229 - Domino squad report: ARC-1409 K.I.A ARC-5555 remains in service.

Fives sobs in your arms the night he returns from that campaign. From Hardcase’s death, to his arrest, the betrayal and subsequent deaths that resulted from Krell. He throws his armour off that night, jaw trembling as he looks at his Kama and Pauldrons.

“Lets run away.” You say, crying with him and holding his face in your hands. “Lets just go, no one has to know, we’ll go somewhere away from the war away from the republic away from it all.” He shakes his head.

“Away from the war? Mesh’la there’s nowhere far enough in all the galaxy.” When he wakes in the morning to leave again, back to the Grand Army of the Republic, he stops, and pulls your forehead to his. “I love you with all of my being.” He says, more serious than you’re used to, and presses something into your hand.

“Fives…” you stammer. It’s his graduation medal from Kamino, shining brightly in your palm.

“Keep it safe for me, yeah?” He smiles, “if i had time, i would’ve melted it down and made you a real ring…” You pull him forward into a burning kiss. You want him to stay longer, You want this war to be over, you want to be able to love him and for him to be able to love you, openly, freely, not as a weapon of the republic.

“I love you.” You call to him as he walks out the door again. He gives you his trademark smirk.

“I love you too.” He says

Kamino Archives - Batch # 34-7229 - Domino squad report: ARC-5555, stationed on Umbara was complicite in the execution of Jedi Master Krell.

You haven’t seen him in months. You come into your apartment dripping from the rain, only to collapse against the frigid durasteel door. He could be anywhere, even if he told you where the legion was dispatched that does not mean he wasn’t moved, transferred, or… Or dead. You weep. Taking gulps of stumbling breaths as reality hits you in an unforgiving wave as you realize, you may never know. Other militaries would contact those related to the deceased, but Fives, Fives would be another number in the kaminoan archives. Your grief manifests into a physical pain as your stomach intertwines and leaves you sobbing against the privy for the rest of the night.

“Listen, if anything ever happens to me…” “Fives don’t-” “If it does” “Don’t say it please, it can’t, i won’t…’ “Cyare-” “No! I won’t think of it, I won’t have you talking like that like, like…” “Okay Mesh’la, come’er. You know I always find my way back to you. But in case… in case I… get marooned, you find Rex, you find Captain Rex and give em hell for leaving me, okay?” “Okay. Okay, I love you, Fives.” “I love you too, cyare.”

You wait. One day after another, telling yourself that if he’s not back tomorrow you’ll go track the boys in blue down. If he’s not back tomorrow… Until finally, when Fives has been gone so long none of your sheets smell like him, even looking at his soap in the shower makes your crumble, and the elderly Twi down the hall starts asking where that man of yours got to because his rowdy laughter ‘aint keeping her up like she used to do with her sweetie back in the day.’

You tremble getting out of the speeder, forgetting to thank the driver as you hand them credits with the struggle of unpredictably jerky hands. The landing platform is busy, ships and speeders creating chaotic white noise along with the sounds of thousands of boots on durasteel. Picking one person out from the crowd is nearly impossible, how you’re supposed to find Captain Rex seems completely out of your depth. So you do the only thing that you seem capable of and wander slowly into a forgien world. Flashes of Kamas and pauldrons grip at your heart strings and solidify your determination. Colours of yellow, green and red painted armour make you wonder how they would have highlighted his eyes and hair differently had Fives been in another battalion. An engine backfire catches your attention as a trooper begins to yell at the other about fuel burns.

“There’s one thing Bacta can’t mend and that's burns! Get that through that shiny bucket of yours!” The stern voice breaks through the commotion and your eyes catch his helmet where it lies perched on his hip. Just above a blue strip of paint on his thigh plates. You make a mad dash towards the trooper, unsteady feet sending you into the sides of another clone who you push away in your haze.

“Wait!” You call to him, if your wits had been more present you would have recognised the hair style and medic insignia that catch your eye when he turns to face you.

“Can I help you mam?” He asks with a covertly raised eyebrow.

“Are you, 501st?” you pant.

“Yes mam.” He responds coldly.

“T-torrent company?” Maker, you’re out of shape.

“... yes.” He- Kix, you realise, responds hesitantly. You straighten yourself up. “I need to speak with Captain Rex.”

Kamino Archives - Batch # 34-7229 - Domino squad report: ARC-5555 operated on CT-5385 against orders. Charges for treason - Status: Pending.

Kix is far less sauve in person. You know him to be sharp as a whip and a noteworthy smooth talker. But the stories Fives had told you on the nights neither of you slept, one laying on top of the other, listening to him talk for hours about his brothers while carding his hands in your hair, those stories painted a different picture to the man you see in front of you. This Kix keeps looking over his shoulder like he’s got a thermal detonator strapped to his back. And every time your eyes meet his, he pales slightly and looks away. Then again, you might be the strangest thing he’s ever seen, you stick out like a sore thumb in a sea of faces that are all alike. “Wait here.” Kix tells you before disappearing into a barrack. You give him a nod and fish the medal out of your pocket, squeezing it tight. The doors open with another woosh, and you spy Kix inside looking out like you’re a crazed Loth Cat. But he is blocked from your sight by another set of armour and a clone with a Buzz cut whose colour gives away his identity.

“Rex...” You say from a memorized holo-still that you’ve got framed on your bedside table. His blonde buzz cut setting him apart from the other three men in the photo. Only one of whom you’ve got memorized down to every cell.

“Who. Are. You.” Oh, he’s so much colder than Fives, and so much more hidden away.

“I need you to tell me the location of one of your troopers.” You rush out, tunnel vision encasing your mind, heart so close to finding its other half. The Captain laughs at you.

“And you think I'm going to give that information away to some civilian? What makes you entitled to one of my men?” You shake with rage.

“He’s my fiance.” You seethe, and he laughs at you again. Anger becomes liquid in your tear ducts.

“Listen, I don’t know what must’a happen for that delusion to come to light and I don’t have the time for what I'm sure would be an entertaining explanation. So if you’ll excuse me.” He goes to push past you and your tears.

“CT 27-5555.” You deadpan, you’ve always hated those numbers just as much as he did. He never was, and will never be, a number to you. The captain stops in his tracks and looks feral when he turns back to you.

“What did you just say?” He grits out, and it makes you feel powerful. He may think he knows his men, he may think he knows the in and out of his company. But he doesn’t, you know Fives better than anyone in the galaxy, and right now that gives you power.

“CT 27-5555 of Domino Squad, made ARC status after the battle of Kamino, fought at the citadel, on Umbara and hasn’t been planetside in months.” You see the panic in Rexs’ eyes, you’re dangerous now, you have insider information, a spy? A sepratist? Republic traitor? Any of these identities would make you an atomb bomb.

“Who are you?” He says looking at you like a detonator. You’re crying in front of him, everyone looks tantalizingly similar to Fives, and yet they’re so different it's like a laser pointer and a Loth Cat, something that you just can't get under your hands.

“Please.” You beg, “just tell me where he is.” You uncurl your hand, leaving indents in it from the points and engraved words of the medal, and the captain's face softens tenfold. He opens his mouth to say something when the doors woosh open again.

“Captain, General Skywalker is- Maker!” Jesse exclaims upon seeing you. And you absentmindedly wipe away tears, Jesse is exactly as you pictured him. “How in the- you’re real! I knew it!” Rex looks more confused than before, but you, you can’t help but smile a sad smile at the memory.

“I had an idea” Fives had said one night, hiding in one of the shower stalls just to be able to talk to you. “Well there is a first time for everything.” You teased, sitting on your bed in one of his old decommissioned undershirts, the very same one he’d been wearing the night you met. “That's disrespecting a republic soldier.” He commented, maker, you were feeling the distance tonight, you wanted him here, tackling you onto the bed for your snide comments and feeling his goatee when he kissed you. But all that would have to wait. “Soon to be an ex-soldier.” You reminded him, the war was coming to a close, and the second Fives had confirmation of sepratist surrender the two of you planned on taking off. “Cayre that’s a dangerous line of thinking.” He said, looking over his shoulder. “I know, I know, oh!” You realised all of a sudden. “I also had an idea!” Fives smiled at you, he was feeling the distance as well, seeing you in his GAR shirt was making him antsy. “You go first then.” He said, rubbing his chin where stubble was growing in. “EJ” You smiled hopefully, it was a risky suggestion and a far away thought, stemmed from pillow talk about future dreams. “As in-” “Echo Junior” He finished for you, looking at the hologram version of yourself that was so close yet so far from the real thing. “I love it.” He said after a long silence, something that always accompanied bringing up Echo. “he would’a hated it though, always hated the name, even if he did repeat orders like a damn-” “Like a damn echo.” You said with him, shifting on the bed. “Okay tell me your idea now.” “WHO’S THAT?” Came a familiar voice as you watched Fives whirl around as one of his brothers briefly appeared on the holo before disappearing again. “JESSE YOU BANTHA SHIT.” You heard Fives shout, before the holo-call disconnected and the image turned off all together, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Jesse.” You stated, coming face to face with the tattooed man for the first time. He was easy to recognize from the holograph and stories alone.

“Maker,” he said stunned and laughing “He always said you were just some holo-video.” Rex is looking between the two of you now.

“Jesse, you know this woman?” He inquired immediately, still on edge.

“Yes sir, no sir,” he stammered. “Well yes and no, Fives one night, he, well i…”

“He caught him on a comm with me.” You supplied, Jesse nodding enthusiastically at your response. You knew there was no hiding it now.

“I see.” Rex said thoughtfully. “Dismissed.”

“But sir, I, she…” Jesse started, before catching a glare and mumbling a yes sir as he retreated back into the barracks like a Loth wolf with its tail between its legs. Rex looked at you again, and took you in. Scrutinizing your existence with a sigh when his eyes land on the metal in your hand. Eyes glossing over in a thousand yard stare.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do, he said if he was missing to find you and I haven't heard from him in months…” You rambled, stopping when the captain raised his hand to rub his eyebrows.

“Who else have you told?” He asked.

“No one.” You breathed, “where is he.” You pushed, getting desperate now.

Kamino Archives - Batch # 34-7229 - Domino squad report: ARC-5555 removed his inhibitor chip against orders. Request for termination - Status: Granted.

Captain Rex brings you inside the torrent company barracks, and sits you down to tell you. Fives is dead, he tried to kill the chancellor, and was charged with treason. All of the warmth leaves you. Fives is dead, he tried to kill the chancellor, and was charged with treason. You cover your face with your hands as you cry, your headache splitting your skull in two as you try to contain tears and noise. Fives is dead, he tried to kill the chancellor, and was charged with treason. Fives will be buried stripped of his rank, medals, and labeled a traitor to the republic. Rex stands over you while you cry, unsure of what else to do. In all but a few moments he learns of your being, your devotion to his brother, and then, he widowed you.

“Can I see him?” You all but beg, and with a nod Rex walks out of the room, leaving you with no choice but to follow him. Rex... admires you. Yes, he does admire your will, to seek him out and risk your own life just to be able to love a clone. One of many million, who you had given your heart to. He admires your strength because when he leads you to the medbay morgue and you see the lifeless body, you do not cry. Rex stands guard at the door, and intrudes on this intimate moment that is a glimpse of the life that he never knew Fives had.

“Look at you, so this is what it takes for you to get a haircut eh?” You try the lame joke and run your hand over his cold face, stopping at the trademark goatee, tapping it lovingly. “And yet, you still have this.” silent tears begin. “I still set the table for two people, even when you’re gone.” You confess, “because I never know when you’re going to be back.” “Why didn’t we just leave?” You whisper to him, “you stubborn, stubborn man. Why didn’t we just go?” You lean in close and smooth his facial hair over, and over again. Crying, and cursing the republic. You hear clatter from outside, and turn to look, Rex is looking as well, he’s risking everything to let you say goodbye. His eyes meet yours and you know this has to be quick. “Say hi to him for me, say hi to Echo for me, and remember how much i love you? Please? Because I do, I love you so, so much Fives. More than I could ever say.” You place one last kiss to his forehead, knowing that this will be the last kiss you ever give him. And place the medal on his chest, the one that made him a soldier, that made you engaged and made your claim to his heart, real. “Keep it.” The voice from the doorway says, and it sounds so similar to his, you gasp. But when you turn the eyes won’t have a golden hue, the hair won’t feel the same, and the man will be a carbon copy on paper, but completely different in reality. Your lonely fingers curl around the medal once again, and lift it from his chest.

Kamino Archives - Batch # 34-7229 - Domino squad report: ARC-5555 Terminated. No members of Domino Squad remaining.

End of report.

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danger-xylophones · 4 years

Text

Changed Your Name (Captain Rex x Jedi! Reader)

This can be seen as a sequel to Uncharted or predating it

Summary: You and Rex don’t always have time to call but you do find ways to talk

Warnings: none except for some slightly suggestive language, I put it into a text conversation format and I used female pronouns

Word count: 2383 words {masterlist}

[Cyar’ika]

!!!

Three exclamation points. This was how this conversation started. Now, Rex would like to think that he has holochatted with you enough times to get a grasp on the bizarre shorthand you used. You had explained to him that the people of your planet primarily holochatted (or ‘texted’ as you told him it was called on your home planet) using shorthand. So, naturally, Rex made it his duty to figure out how to communicate the same way. However, the captain wasn’t particularly good at it and he still had a lot to learn. Case in point: the three exclamation points. What did those mean? Were you in trouble? You were supposed to be on leave right now. Suddenly, the captain’s earlier anxieties returned. He never liked leaving you alone on Coruscant (even if you weren’t really alone, you had your entire battalion along with the Jedi) but now he was extra concerned because there was little he could do to help you as he was off-world and currently setting up camp for the night.

[Captain Rexy]

What? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Was there an attack?

Cyare, what’s going on?

The captain was on the verge of a crisis and suddenly very grateful for the helmet aiding in disguising his growing panic.

[Cyar’ika]

Rlx, Rexy, m fine. But look-

You sent him a picture and Rex sighed in a cross between affection, relief, and soft frustration at his needless worrying. The picture wasn’t of great quality, a little grainy and very dark which told Rex you were out at night. However, before he could begin to panic because you were out at night and anything could happen to you, Rex took notice of the corner of a sign indicating you were in the alleyway beside 79’s. Most likely, you had headed to the clone hang out with your boys and had simply stepped out for a breath of fresh air. Rex knew that you weren’t a people person and that you could easily be overwhelmed even by your own men.

Rex could also see the tip of your thumb slightly covering part of the picture which told him that you had taken this picture in a rush. But what had caused that rush was in the center of the image; a little tooka kitten that looked to be a light shade of blue with darker, almost black spots dotting over its face and back was sitting on top of your boot-clad foot grinning up at him seemingly through the image.

[Cyar’ika]

Can we keep him?

he’s so cute

he jst plopped down on my foot

[Captain Rexy]

No.

[Cyar’ika]

wut

Why not?

[Captain Rexy]

You already have a tooka that goes on missions with you.

[Cyar’ika]

Yeh but this would be OUR tooka

[Captain Rexy]

As tempting as that is, no

[Cyar’ika]

[Captain Rexy]

Still no.

[Cyar’ika]

:’’’’’’’(

[Captain Rexy]

Cyare…

[Cyar’ika]

We could name him Rex Jr. too

Rex couldn’t help but shake his head and sigh whilst ignoring the way his face warmed. You were always like this whenever you saw an animal you deemed cute. He remembered the first time you had shown him the tooka you adopted early on in the war and Fritz told him the story of how he argued with you for maybe five minutes before you eventually went ahead and adopted it anyway. You named it Snake due to the markings it bore which gave it a reptilian look and it was the unofficial mascot of your battalion. And the damn thing hated Rex. So, the captain wasn’t ready to share your affection with yet another living being.

[Captain Rexy]

No.

[Cyar’ika]

But he could be the mascot or the 501st

[Captain Rexy]

We can’t keep him.

End of story.

[Cyar’ika]

Boo.

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name…

[Cptn Stick-In-The-Mud]

Really?

[Cyar’ika]

How did that happen?

…[Cptn Stick-In-The-Mud] changed [Cyar’ika]’s name…

[The-Most-Annoying-Jedi]

Didn’t know you thought you were texting Anakin this whole time

A chuckle escaped Rex as he read your response, catching the attention of some nearby troopers and the general in question. The captain was quick to disguise his chortling as a random coughing fit so he wouldn’t have to explain himself. Anakin, however, still sent him a raised eyebrow that Rex quickly waved away before returning his attention to your ongoing conversation when the general was distracted by a ding coming from his wrist.

…[The-Most-Annoying-Jedi] changed your name… …[The-Most-Annoying-Jedi] changed their name… …[General Ice] added [Anakin Skywalker] to the chat…

[General Ice]

Tell your captain to stop arguing with me

[Anakin Skywalker]

Oh, so it’s you that’s got my captain so distracted.

Rex, stop arguing with Y/n.

Rex pulled a face underneath his bucket before sending an incredulous look at Anakin who was smugly smiling back at him. He would have liked to say that he was taken aback by you adding Skywalker to the conversation but you’d done this before.

[Captain Rex]

But, sir, she’s being unreasonable.

[Anakin Skywalker]

How so?

[General Ice]

I want Rex to make this little guy the mascot of the 501st

You sent another picture. In this one, it was clear that you were back in 79’s, crammed into a booth with Commander Fritz on one side and Bolt on the other, and peaking out over the top of your shirt was the little tooka. The little furball was smiling again, this time in contentment as he was undeniably warm and safe. The captain felt the familiar worm of ugly green wriggling around; he should be lying against your chest, not that little monster.

[Anakin Skywalker]

Force…

He’s adorable

[Captain Rex]

No, not you too

Why don’t you keep him?

[General Ice]

I would, gladly, but look at him-

Another picture, this time of only the tooka as he was curled up in the palm of what was probably Fritz’s hand.

[General Ice]

Look at his lil ol’ face

Yet another, zoomed in on the creature’s face.

[General Ice]

Plus he’s blue

And I already have Snake

[Captain Rex]

And that brings me to the very first objection I made

[General Ice]

That was not

[Captain Rex]

Yes, it was, general

Your reply didn’t come through immediately and for a second, Rex was worried he had angered you by using your title. He knew that you didn’t like being referred to by it. But, his fears were laid to rest when your response came through.

[General Ice]

Ok, so, maybe it was

But still-why can’t he be your battalion’s mascot?

He’s friendly, protective, trustworthy and v loyal

Jst like the men of the 501st

[Anakin Skywalker]

Those are all valid

Why can’t we keep him, Rex?

The captain suddenly felt like walking into the ocean. By now, he had taken off his helmet and switched to his datapad as he sat by the fire beside the other general he was now about to argue with.

[Captain Rex]

General L/n had the added luxury of Snake being partially trained when she found him

None of the men in our battalion would have time to train the little guy.

On top of that, General L/n has her own apartment where the tooka can stay.

You do not, General, so, he would have to stay aboard the Resolute.

Or, he’d stay in the temple or the barracks where he’d only be underfoot.

The captain leaned back in his seat, eager to see the response to his well-crafted arguments. Anakin’s eyes were busily flicking over the screen of his own pad as he tried to think of a comeback and Rex could just imagine you making that ridiculously adorable face you always make when you know you can’t win an argument but are determined to try. Your eyebrows would knit together and your lips would form into a minuscule pout, after that, your nose would crinkle just a little bit as your eyes would focus on something unseen. Then, suddenly, you’d snap back to reality with your rebuttal on your tongue. Maker, he missed your face.

[Anakin Skywalker]

I hate to say it, Ice, but Rex has a point.

We can’t take him.

[General Ice]

It’s alright

But we have to do something for the little guy.

He was just shivering on top of a trash can when I walked by the alley.

He perked up when I made him realize I wasn’t a threat

And he’s so skinny, he could die and it’d be my fault.

There you go again, letting the facade of the ‘Ice general’ melt away to reveal the compassionate, loving girl Rex held so close to his heart. A wave of guilt suddenly crashed over the captain and he wanted nothing more than to hold you. Rex caught Anakin’s eye and they both seemed to share the same guilt though Rex wasn’t certain the general understood how far his feelings delved.

[General Ice]

Wait, didn’t Padme say she wanted to get a tooka?

[Anakin Skywalker]

Yeah, how did you know?

[General Ice]

I overheard part of your holo call like a week ago

I recommend making sure your door is shut before you do those btw

Do you think she’d want the little guy?

[Anakin Skywalker]

Maybe, how old do you think he is?

[General Ice]

Not sure, I’d wager around two and a half months old

[Captain Rex]

And you’re sure he doesn’t belong to anyone?

[General Ice]

Positive.

So?

[Anakin Skywalker]

I think that’s perfect!

Thanks

[General Ice]

Thank you, actually, for taking that off my conscience

I’ll take him to the vet and get him all checked out tomorrow

For now, he’ll be living in my room in the temple

Oh, and I request visitation rights

[Anakin Skywalker]

Pfft, I’m sure Padme won’t mind

[General Ice]

Oh, and one more thing.

[Anakin Skywalker]

[General Ice]

Padme needs to make him the official mascot of the 501st on Coruscant.

Rex’s face dropped as he stared apathetically at his datapad, by now most of his brothers had retired for bed and thus he could be a bit laxer with his facial expressions. Of course you would figure out a way to undermine him. Anakin could be heard laughing to the captain’s right and Rex just bowed his head in defeat.

[Anakin Skywalker]

Done.

Alright, I’ll let you two lovebirds get back to gross couple talk now

[General Ice]

It’s not gross!

And you can’t say that when you have ‘gross couple talk’ with Padme at two in the morning!

[Anakin Skywalker]

How did you…?

[General Ice]

Shut. your. door. and. WINDOWS. hotshot.

My room is right next to yours, peedunky.

…[General Ice] removed [Anakin Skywalker] from the chat… …[General Ice] changed their name… …[Y/n] changed your name…

[Cptn-Stick-In-The-Mud]

Cyare…

I’m sorry.

[Y/n]

Y’know, maybe I should start dating Fives-

He at least likes to have fun

Rex snorted unceremoniously, seeing right through your bluff.

[Cptn-Stick-In-The-Mud]

Please, we both know you’d strangle him when he got a little too handsy

Besides,

You knew that we couldn’t keep the little guy

…[Cptn-Stick-In-The-Mud] changed [Y/n]’s name…

[Cyar’ika]

I know

I just got excited at the idea of having a little one for us to take care of

:’)

Rex’s face grew warm once again. The two of you had talked about your future together and whether or not you eventually wanted children. You’d been on the fence about it...until now.

[Cptn-Stick-In-The-Mud]

I wish I was there to hear you say that in person

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name…

[Cyar’ika]

Believe me, I wish you were here too

;)

Oh...Rex’s armor suddenly felt a little too tight. The captain couldn’t help but smile at your boldness as he struggled to craft a flirty reply.

[Cptn Sexy]

There isn’t a moment where I stop missing you

...

[Cyar’ika]

Ner mesh’la alor’ad…

That’s so sweet

…you changed your name…

[Cyar’ika]

Why did you change it?

It’s accurate

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name...

[Cptn Sexy]

Y/n…

[Cyar’ika]

;)

...you changed your name…

[Cyar’ika]

[Rex]

Cyar’ika, please

[Cyar’ika]

:(((

[Rex]

[Cyar’ika]

You’re catching on

[Rex]

...you changed your name…

[Captain Rexy]

Better?

[Cyar’ika]

(*.* )

Almost

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name…

[Cyar’ika]

There

[Rexy]

Whatever makes you happy.

[Cyar’ika]

Oh, believe me, this does

I miss you-please hurry home

[Rexy]

I’ll try, ner cyare, I’ll try

[Cyar’ika]

I know you will

You sent another picture. In this one, you were already in bed, hair fanned out over your pillow with the duvet pulled up to your nose but the covers weren’t enough to hide the dazzling smile. Just above your head was the infamous tooka, Snake, sound asleep on the pillow. His deep red fur looked glossy and freshly brushed and the black markings on his face added a seriousness to his furry little image. You must have snapped this picture mid ear-twitch because one of his black striped ears was blurry. In the curve of Snake’s body was the younger tooka you had found who looked like he had received a bath and a brushing for his fur looked less matted and much shinier than in any other picture. Both of the animals were completely passed out and it was easy to tell that you would soon be following their lead. You just had to turn off the lamp on your bedside and Rex knew that you would be dead to the world for a few hours till you woke up curled around his pillow with the tookas wedged between you. You looked happy but Rex could still see the longing in your eyes.

[Cyar’ika]

We’ll see you when you get back. I love you, always.

…[Cyar’ika] changed your name...

[Cyar’ika] Good night.

[Riduur] Good night, ner riduur.

And as night settled on the captain like a heavy blanket and Anakin ushered Rex to get some rest, he couldn’t help but think back to the image of the little tooka curled into Snake and the adoring smile you sent both the animals and him. He knew you loved him and he knew you loved those two. And suddenly, the idea of sharing your love with a little one didn’t seem so impossible.

#clone wars #captain rex #star wars: clone wars #help me I'm obsessed with this animated man #danger-xylophones

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