This blog is 18+, minors DNI. Fics contain adult themes and smut.
Ruin the Friendship - Completed in two parts. Fives x Reader, friends to...
Part I
Part II
SERIES:
Twin Flames - Echo x Reader (Evermore and Folklore) *ON HIATUS*
Chapter 1: My Tears Ricochet
Chapter 2: Hoax
Chapter 3: This Is Me Trying
Chapter 4: Long Story Short
Chapter 5: Gold Rush
Chapter 6: The 1
Reputations - Fives x Reader
You're taken. You're smitten. You're screwed.
Chapter 1: Gorgeous
Chapter 2: Delicate
Chapter 3: I Did Something Bad
Chapter 4: Dress
Chapter 5: Don't Blame Me
Chapter 6: Call It What You Want
Chapter 7: Look What You Made Me Do
Chapter 8: So It Goes...
Chapter 9: New Year's Day
Chapter 10: King of My Heart
Chapter 11: ... Ready for it?
Chapter 12: This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Chapter 13: Dancing With Our Hands Tied
Chapter 14: End Game and Getaway Car
In My Mind - Captain Rex x f!JediOC "Keira"
Smut, Romance, Lore.
A series based off of my 'Guilty as Sin?" One shot. Pining, Romance, Smut. Attachment can be the downfall of a Jedi, but is it really so wrong to be in love? Captain Rex and the new 501st general struggle with rights and sweet, sweet wrongs. Featuring chapters based on Taylor Swift songs.
Chapter One: Anti-Hero
Chapter Two: Midnight Rain
Chapter Three: Delicate
Chapter Four: Snow on the Beach
Chapter Five: My Tears Ricochet
---
MINISERIES/ONESHOTS:
The Tortured Padawan Department: A series of oneshots based off of Taylor Swift's TTPD anthology.
Guilty as Sin?
Fresh Out the Slammer
You Are In Love - A Rex X Reader Fluff Moment
That's So True - Fives X Reader (He's an Idiot)
Handprints in Wet Cement - Echo x Reader Fluff
Thank you for checking out my stories! I appreciate you.
Summary: You're bored out of your mind at a Senate banquet. Fortunately, Fox has some "confiscated contraband" that's enough to lure you from your post. However, this leads to a topic that catches Fox off-guard, leading him to slip out his best kept secret.
Word Count: 10.1k (i need therapy)
Warnings: Brief alcohol consumption, mutual pining, openly discussing sex like it's nothing, THIS IS SMUT - MINORS DNI
A/N: I am incapable of writing a SFW Fox fic. Thank you @bigbadbatch for beta reading this for me so I don't die like Fives.
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The heavy double doors of the Republic Senate Banquet Hall were designed to keep the chaos of Coruscant out, but all they really accomplished was trapping a different, far more exhausting brand of madness inside.
To the average galactic citizen, tonightâs gala was the pinnacle of high society. It was a dazzling display of unity, wealth, and unwavering resilience in the face of a grueling war. To you, it was a waking nightmare. The air inside the cavernous hall was heavily perfumed with imported Corellian lilies, expensive roasted meats, and the sweat of hundreds of politicians who had never seen the muddy trenches of the Outer Rim. The noise was a bruising weight on your ears. It was a chaotic symphony of clinking crystal glassware, high pitched forced laughter, and sycophantic conversations that made your temples throb.
Worse than the noise, however, was the clothes.
The formal ceremonial robes of a Jedi were clearly designed by someone who had never had to swing a lightsaber, let alone stand perfectly still for four hours under the blinding glare of high intensity lights. Your formal attire was a masterpiece of restrictive design. The inner tunics were woven from a heavy, stiff linen that scratches mercilessly against your collarbone. Over that sat the drapes. They were thick bands of dark, heavy fabric that pressed down on your shoulders like pieces of lead armor. The final insult was the formal cloak. The yards upon yards of floor-length silk caught on your boots every time you shifted your weight, wrapping around your legs like a fabric trap.
To the Senate, the outfit looked like discipline and flawless devotion to the Republic. To you, it just felt like a very expensive, very hot coffin.
You were stationed near the Chancellorâs elevated dinner table, ostensibly under the guise of "heightened security detail." In reality, you were a glorified living ornament. The Jedi Council loved to place its generals on display at these functions. You served as a subtle, visual reminder to the wealthy dignitaries that the Order was successfully bleeding for them on the front lines, so they should probably keep voting to fund the military.
Every muscle in your shoulders was locked into a painful knot. You tried to rely on your training, closing your eyes for a brief second to reach into the Force, searching for a thread of peace. But the Force in this room was a muddy, turbulent swamp.Â
One senator was hoping another senatorâs trade route would collapse. Meanwhile, a corporate delegate was furious that his glass of Alderaanian wine wasn't chilled to the exact, correct temperature.Â
The sheer, concentrated selfishness of the upper class was staggering. If you stayed inside for one more minute, you were going to entirely lose your composure.
Stepping backward into the deep, welcoming shadow of a massive marble pillar, you bided your time. You watched the crowd for a while, timing your exit perfectly between a boisterous burst of laughter from a group and the grand entrance of a fresh, distracting tray of rare Naboo appetizers. The moment the eyes of the surrounding dignitaries shifted toward the food, you bolted.
You snuck down the hallway and slipped through a pair of arched glass doors at the rear of the hall and stepped out onto a balcony.
The air out here wasn't exactly clean - it was the upper levels of Coruscant, after all. It tasted faintly of speeder exhaust, and the permanent metallic rust of a world entirely made of durasteel. It was cold, but more importantly, it was beautifully quiet.
You immediately leaned your forearms against the polished stone railing, letting your head drop forward. You closed your eyes and took a long, slow, deep breath, letting the wind whip at your robes. Slowly, the tight, throbbing knot behind your eyes began to loosen.
You knew you couldn't stay out here forever. Eventually, an aide or a fellow Jedi would notice your absence. If anyone asks, you firmly told yourself, crafting the mental script, that you are conducting a physical sweep of the perimeter. You were just assessing security vulnerabilities along the outer terrace. You are doing your job. That would work.Â
"You look like you're plotting an escape, General."
The voice was instantly recognizable. You didn't even have to open your eyes to know who it was. Regardless, you opened your eyes and turned your head, a genuine, unforced smile breaking across your face for the first time all evening.
Commander Fox stood in the balcony doorway. He wasn't wearing his helmet - it was tucked securely under his left arm. In his right hand, he casually carried two condensation beaded glasses of chilled liquid.
"Commander," you exhaled, letting your rigid posture slump just a fraction now that you were in safe, trusted company, "Are you accusing me of slacking?"
"Just making an observation," Fox replied smoothly, his boots clicking with each step against the stone tiles as he walked out onto the balcony. He stepped right up to the railing and extended his right hand, offering one of the glasses, "Here. It looked like you were about two minutes away from drawing your lightsaber on yourself."
You took the glass, your fingers brushing briefly against the rough, black fabric of his glove. You took a sip and nearly sighed with relief. The liquid was crisp, ice cold, and carried a sharp bite. It was the exact kind of drink you would get for yourself if you wanted to forget where you were.
"You're terrifying, Fox," you teased, raising the glass to him in a silent toast, "Did they teach you mindreading on Kamino, or is this a specialized skill they only give in Commander training?â
Fox took a slow, deliberate sip from his own glass, a rare, faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Neither, Sir. Itâs just what happens when a clone gets stuck on the same planet with his commanding officer for an entire war. You learn the tells. For instance, when you start rubbing the bridge of your nose right before the Chancellor speaks, it means I have approximately ninety seconds before you completely bolt."
You let out a soft, genuine laugh, "Am I really that transparent?"
"Only to me," Fox murmured. His eyes drifted away from you, fixing on the endless, swirling traffic lanes below, where millions of speeders blurred into rivers of red and white light cutting through the skyscrapers. His smirk faded, replaced by his usual, no nonsense professionalism, though his tone remained relaxed, stripped of the rigid military formality he used regularly, "And frankly, I don't blame you tonight. The banquet is a complete disaster. I've spent the last hour stationed near the western entrance listening to a senator from Bespin complain about the air quality on Coruscant."
You snorted into your drink, thoroughly amused, "You're joking."
"I wish I were," Fox exhaled, "A man who literally represents a floating city surrounded by toxic gas clouds spent fifteen minutes lecturing me on atmospheric filtration systems and the legal rights of Tibanna gas workers. Protocol dictates that I remain silent, stand at attention, and maintain a pleasant, compliant demeanor. But internally? I was calling him a colossal idiot in three different languages. It's pure bantha crap in there tonight, General. You don't want to go back in for the closing toasts. Trust me."
"And what do you suggest I do instead, Commander?" you asked, tilting your head back against the stone pillar, looking up at him with a playful, challenging glint in your eyes, "Desert my post entirely? Mr. Protocol himself, suggesting a retreat from a mandatory Senate function? I'm shocked. Truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had a hot date lined up down in the lower levels."
Fox actually scoffed, a short, sharp laugh that rattled the plastoid plating on his chest. "A date. Right. Because between managing logistics for this entire planet, dealing with the Chancellorâs endless security audits, and hunting down rogue bounty hunters, I have so much free time to court civilians."
He turned his head to look back at you, his intense gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual. "No date. But I did manage to acquire something far more valuable than a civilian companion during a customs raid in the lower docks this morning."
Your curiosity sparked instantly. Your strict Jedi training entirely failed to suppress the sudden, human urge to know what a tightly wound Clone Commander considered contraband worth bragging about. You leaned in slightly, your robes rustling. "Oh? Do tell, Commander. What did you find?"
Fox leaned closer, lowering his gravelly voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as if they were discussing highly classified Separatist intel rather than standing on a balcony at a public gala. "My men impounded a light Corellian freighter coming in from the Mid Rim. The captain was smuggling unmarked spices, but his personal cabin had some luxury items. Specifically, a pristine, high definition, completely functioning holoscreen. Color-accurate, localized audio, no blue hue. The whole works."
You blinked, a bit startled. "Fox. Did you steal a civilian holoscreen?"
"I requisitioned a piece of unmonitored electronic equipment for monitoring purposes," he corrected flawlessly, his eyes gleaming with a hint of rare, wicked mischief, "It is currently set up and fully operational in my quarters at the military ops center. And before we left for this nightmare gala, Thone got it hooked up to the local broadcast feed."
You stared at him, a sudden, ridiculous realization dawning on you. "Wait so youâre saying-"
"Dilf Dungeon," Fox beamed, âThat diabolical show you saw that ad for outside 79âs and have been curious about ever since? The season premiere is tonight. If we leave through the eastern maintenance lift right now, we can escape before the Chancellor's convoy blocks the main exits."
The sheer, glorious absurdity of the situation struck you right in the chest. A highly respected Jedi General and the fearsome Commander of the Coruscant Guard, elite protectors of the Republic, bailing on a crucial, high stakes political gala just to go watch trashy civilian dating drama on a stolen holoscreen.
"Fox," your voice was entirely devoid of any Jedi restraint as a massive, beaming grin split your face, making your eyes crinkle, "If I get caught, I am telling the entire Council that you baited me.â
Fox pulled his helmet from under his arm, sliding it back over his head. Through the visor, his voice carried a distinct, amused smirk. "They'll never believe you, General."
By the time Fox's private office door sealed shut behind you, the tension in your shoulders from the weight of your robes had turned into a dull, throbbing ache.
The main office room was exactly what you would expect from the Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It was a functional, unyielding workspace dominated by a heavy central desk stacked with encrypted datapads and a flickering tactical grid mapping the lower districts. There were no personal trinkets and no signs of life outside of the strict demands of a soldier.
To the side, however, a narrow door led into his private quarters. It was a compact layout designed for sleeping and thatâs it. The quarters were dominated by a single, narrow cot pushed flush against the dark durasteel wall like a utilitarian daybed, and tucked just beside it was a private refresher.
"Make yourself at home, General," Fox murmured as he unlatched his chest plate. He set the plastoid armor into its designated spot for the night. "The security logs for the night shouldn't hit my desk for another few hours. We have time."
He stepped past the cot, bending down to pull a heavy, reinforced storage crate out from beneath the frame. He flipped the latches, fished out a folded bundle of dark fabric, and disappeared behind the sliding door of the refresher.
You leaned your back against the edge of his metal desk, crossing your arms tightly over the heavy, suffocating layers of your ceremonial robes. Every second spent wrapped in the stiff, chafing inner tunics felt like a minor form of torture.
When the refresher door hissed open a minute later, Fox stepped out completely transformed. The imposing Commander of the Guard had vanished. In his place was a man wearing simple, standard issue gray GAR sweatpants and a form fitting black t-shirt with a faded Republic cog stamped over the left chest. Stripped of the bulk of his armor, the sheer physical reality of his build was obvious. But most important, he looked entirely comfortable.
An immediate, sharp wave of jealousy hit you right in the chest.
"You've got to be kidding me," you groaned, looking from his relaxed collar down to your own heavily draped, velvet lined prison of a robe. "You look like you're about to take a standard cycle of shore leave, and I am currently sweating through three separate layers of formal roves. Do you happen to have a spare set of those in that crate, or am I expected to watch the premiere of Dilf Dungeon like an expensive human statue?"
Fox paused, an amused smirk tugging slowly at the corner of his mouth. He leaned his hip against the doorframe of the refresher, crossing his thick arms over his chest as he took in the sheer, tragic absurdity of your elaborate attire.
"The crate is strictly inventoried for Guard personnel, General," he hummed, his voice dripping with dry, playful trouble. "I'm fairly certain misappropriating Grand Army physical training gear for a Jedi civilian counts as a code violation. I'd hate to have to write myself up."
"Fox," you warned, narrowing your eyes at him with a mock-serious glare, "I am your commanding officer. If I have to sit on that cot in these formal drapes, I will make it my personal mission to make you audit the entire military inventory logs for the next three standard months."
Fox let out a short, low huff of a laugh, shaking his head. "Rank pulling. Truly unbecoming of a peacekeeper."
Despite the teasing, he moved back to the storage crate beneath his bed without a second thought. He dug through the neatly stacked contents until he found another bundle of dark gray and black fabric, tossing it directly at your chest. "Here. Go. Before you actually find a code violation to charge me with."
You caught the heavy, soft material with a triumphant grin, "Thank you, Commander."
You practically bolted into the small refresher. With an almost aggressive sense of relief, you began tearing at the intricate, stubborn bands at your shoulders. You unpinned everything, letting the thousands of credits worth of custom tailored fabric fall into a sad, crumpled, abandoned pile in the corner of the floor.
You shook out your arms, letting out a long, shuddering breath of pure physical freedom, and reached for Fox's spare clothes.
The moment you pulled the gray sweatpants up, however, the reality of the size hit you. Clones were engineered to be tall, heavily muscled soldiers. You, by comparison, were completely swallowed alive by the fabric.
The thick waistband of the sweatpants had to be rolled over three full times just to keep them from sliding completely off your hips, and even then, the heavy fleece cuffs pooled comically around your bare ankles. You pulled the black short sleeved t-shirt over your head, and the shoulder seams dropped halfway down your biceps, the hem hanging so low it reached nearly to your knees. You pushed the massive sleeves up your arms, took a breath, and slid the door open.
Fox was standing by the desk, adjusting the volume on the scavenged holoscreen. The moment the refresher door hissed open, his eyes snapped over to you.
He froze entirely. His gaze slowly tracked from the comically rolled up waistband down to the pooled fabric at your feet, then back up to the way the oversized collar shifted loosely against your bare collarbone.
A silence stretched across the room. Then, a deep, rumbling chuckle started at the base of Fox's chest.
"This is outstanding," Fox remarked dryly, a genuine grin splitting his face as he shook his head, "Good to know that if the Separatists ever cut off our supply lines to the front, we can use my spare physical training uniform as an emergency shelter for you. You're drowning in that, General."
"Oh, shut up," you whined, throwing your hands up in exasperation, though you couldn't help but laugh as you took a clumsy step forward, nearly tripping over the excess fabric of the left pant leg. You kicked your foot out toward him in mock defiance. "It is incredibly comfortable. And frankly, after three hours of standing like a statue for the Chancellor, I don't care if I look like a deflated balloon. Now, turn on the contraband, Commander. I didn't risk a lecture from the council just to stand here and be roasted by my own officer."
Fox let out another soft huff, the amused glint still lingering in his eyes as he walked over to the narrow cot. He plopped onto one side of the mattress, leaning his back straight against the wall, one leg bent casually up to support his arm.
You happily shuffled over, navigating the massive sweatpants, and plopped down on the opposite side of the cot. The mattress was firm but compared to standing on the cold marble floors of the Senate, it felt like absolute heaven. You pulled your legs up, crossing them securely beneath the massive folds of the gray shirt, using the far side of the durasteel wall to prop yourself up.
Fox picked up a small, heavily modified remote control, pointing it toward the crate near the foot of the bed. "The things I let myself get dragged into," he grumbled, "If anyone checks the power logs and asks why my quarters has a signal that is streaming a civilian broadcast, I'm blaming you."
"No one will check," you shot back smoothly, leaning your head against the wall. "Boot it up, Fox."
Fox paused, the remote control hovering in his hand. He didn't turn toward the screen immediately. Instead, he slowly turned his head to look back at you, his brow raised.Â
"Fox?" he questioned, his eyes locking onto yours with amusement, "So we're good to drop titles entirely now?"
You gave him an unbothered, playful tilt of your chin. "Iâm hiding in your private quarters, wearing your sweatpants. Titles can take a break."
 "Fair enough."
With a quick tap of his thumb, the holoscreen hummed to life. His quarters were instantly flooded with light, casting vibrant shadows across the cold durasteel walls.
Within two minutes, the sheer, unadulterated chaos of civilian entertainment exploded into the room. The showâs premise was laid out by a wildly enthusiastic Twi'lek host with entirely too white teeth and an obnoxiously shimmering vest. A group of young, incredibly glamorous civilians had been moved into a luxury estate on a tropical resort world, entirely unaware that the new batch of contestants entering the house to date them were, in fact, their own fathers.
Fox's expression went from mild curiosity to absolute, unfiltered horror in a matter of frames.
His jaw visibly tightened as a young human woman on screen began sobbing hysterically into a silk couch because her father had just entered the main lounge wearing nothing but golden swim bottoms and immediately tried to flirt with the woman she befriended moments ago.
"What? What is this?" Fox asked as if he were trying to analyze a crime scene that made absolutely no logical sense. His brow furrowed so hard the scar near his hairline twisted. "Why is she weeping? Why is the man in the gold short talking directly to the recording droids about his 'emotional journey'? Is this some form of psychological warfare?"
You burst out laughing, the sound echoing brightly in the cramped room as you watched his face. "No, Fox! Itâs a reality show. Itâs entertainment. Look at his face! He genuinely thinks heâs the most attractive man in the Core."
"He looks like an insecure man with zero emotional discipline," Fox groaned, his eyes wide with a mixture of disgust and profound disbelief as the screen cut to a commercial for luxury speeders. He turned his head to look at you, âThe civilian sector is completely untethered. If my men conducted themselves with this level of public instability, the Coruscant underworld would have dismantled the Guard in a standard week. Who watches this? Why would you want to watch this?"
"Because my life is filled with war, political corruption, and tragedy, Fox," you said softly, shifting slightly against the wall, your voice relaxing into the quiet space between you, "Watching entirely inconsequential people cry over entirely inconsequential problems is the only time my brain actually turns off. It's pure, beautiful, garbage, and I will defend it to the death as elite entertainment."
On screen, the dramatic music swelled as two contestants began a screaming match over who got the larger bedroom, but Fox wasnât looking at the screen anymore.
He was still staring at you, his head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowed in deep thought.
"I still don't buy it," he mused. He shifted his weight on his side of the cot, resting his forearm on his raised knee. "There's got to be a psychological angle here. I bet you only like this garbage because it represents everything the Jedi Order doesnât stand for."
You turned your head away from the screen, an amused smile playing on your lips. "And what exactly do you think is everything the Jedi Order doesnât stand for?"
Fox gestured vaguely toward the screen with the remote control held loosely in his hand. "The whole premise of this show. Itâs entirely centered on relationships, romance and sex. Those are the big no noâs, right? This is your way of experiencing all of that, but through civilians who don't have a code to follow." He leaned back slightly, a look of absolute certainty on his face. "It's all about relationships and sex. That's what you guys can't have, right?"
You let out a soft snort, leaning your head back against the wall. You looked at him, your expression entirely flat, completely devoid of the solemnity clones usually expected when their generals were discussing the Jedi Code.
"Relationships, no. Sex and romance? Yeah, we can."
Fox froze. The remote control dropped from his hand. For a second, his brain seemed to physically stutter, as his mind was trying to process a sentence that completely shattered everything he had been led to believe about the Jedi.
"What?" he asked, his voice dropping into a flat, stunned register. He blinked, shaking his head as if trying to clear a bad comms signal, "No really, what?"
"We are forbidden from forming attachments, Fox," you explained calmly, shifting comfortably within the massive, enveloping folds of his clothes. "We can't have possessive love, we can't get married, and we can't allow our personal feelings for another individual to dictate our actions or cloud our judgment. That leads to jealousy, fear of loss, and attachment. But the physical act itself? The Order doesn't forbid it."
Fox stared at you, his jaw tightening. To a man who had been bred, raised, and trained under strict, unyielding military protocols where every single action had a regulation attached to it, this loophole sounded completely lawless.
"How does that even work?" Fox questioned. He looked genuinely baffled as his hand dropped to his knee. "How do you just do that? How can anyone separate a physical act like that from emotional attachment? It's an intimate connection between two people. You can't just switch your brain off from attachment, right?"
You couldn't help but laugh at the sheer, intense gravity of his confusion. You gave him a playful, teasing look, tilting your head. "Oh, Fox. Look at you. You're a total romantic, aren't you?"
A dark, red flush crept up the back of Fox's neck, though he stubbornly refused to look away, his gaze locked onto yours with fierce curiosity. âIâm just trying to make sense of this.â
"It's strictly one night stands," you admitted, your tone softening as you laid out the cold reality of Jedi intimacy. You looked past him for a moment, watching the lights of the holoscreen dance across the ceiling. "Itâs simple. You see someone once, and you go into it knowing that if they vanished from the galaxy tomorrow, you wouldn't care. There are no names exchanged, no second meetings, no comm frequencies traded. It begins and ends in that room."
You paused, letting out a small, quiet sigh that felt heavy in the narrow space between you. "I admit, itâs unfortunate. But itâs a necessary boundary to avoid attachment. It ensures that my path through the Force remains clear and untainted by the threat of loss. We take what we need for physical release, and then we walk away as strangers."
Fox didn't answer right away. He absorbed your words, his eyes tracking the subtle shift in your expression. The quiet in the room stretched out, entirely detached from the dramatic chaos playing out on the scavenged screen across from you.
Fox cleared his throat. He changed his position on the cot, leaning forward slightly, his chest tightening as he gathered a level of courage he rarely needed on the battlefield.
"Alright," he exhaled, prefacing his next line with a sharp, heavy breath that signaled he was stepping into dangerous territory, "This is the big one."
You raised a brow, thoroughly intrigued by his sudden intensity. "The big one?"
Fox swallowed, his eyes darting to the floor for a fraction of a second before snapping right back to yours, "So, is it any good?"
A wicked, delighted smirk broke across your face. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, entirely unwilling to let him off the hook that easily, "Is what any good, Fox?"
Fox's jaw clenched, his shoulders squaring as if he were facing down a firing squad. "The sex," he said, the word coming out clipped, professional, and entirely forced, "Is it any good?"
You hummed, leaning back against the wall again, throwing a casual, nonchalant shrug into your shoulders. "Itâs fine. Itâs not all itâs hyped up to be, honestly."
Fox completely short circuited.
He didn't just look surprised - he looked visibly, utterly stunned. He sat perfectly still on his side of the mattress, his eyes wide as your nonchalant review fully registered in his brain. He had sat through this entire conversation fully assuming that you were speaking purely from a theoretical standpoint. He had expected you to say you didn't know because you had never tried it.
But with your casual tone and your effortless dismissal of it all, it pretty much confirmed, without a shadow of a doubt, that you had. You had actually done it. With someone else. Someone nameless.
"Oh," Fox managed, the word coming out hollow.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Fox's gaze hardened, a strange, sharp tension suddenly flaring in his jaw. He placed his hand on his knee and squeezed, his knuckles turning white as he questioned the reality spinning out in front of him.
"You've actually done that?" he asked, "You've actually just gone out and found a stranger for the night?"
Fox sat perfectly still, his jaw locked so tightly that the small muscle near his temple twitched. The hollow, strained edge in his voice hung in the air between you, a tangible marker of the boundary he had just crossed by asking a question so raw and so entirely divorced from military protocol.
You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his reaction. The defensive, almost possessive sharpness in his dark eyes was entirely unexpected. To you, discussing the cold realities of the Jedi Code was as natural as discussing standard supply routes or hyperspace coordinates. But looking at Fox now, you realized his engineered, structured mind was fighting to process something that felt inherently lawless.
A sudden, lighthearted thought broke through your confusion. You leaned forward, resting your elbows casually on your knees, allowing the hem of his black t-shirt to sag loosely against your collarbone.
"You know, Fox," you began, letting out a soft, incredulous gasp as you tilted your head to look up at him, "Youâre sitting here looking at me like Iâve committed a crime. What exactly is stopping you from getting that kind of experience? Clones are technically allowed to. The Republic doesn't mandate celibacy for the Grand Army. We all know what the shinies are up to at 79âs when they are on shore leave. Rex in the 501st even told me one of his men found a long term girlfriend there."
Fox didn't blink. He stubbornly refused to break eye contact, though the blush that crept up his neck seemed to burn just a fraction more. His shoulders squared instinctively, a hard, protective instinct kicking in as he tried to save face, desperately scrambling to composure back over himself.
"My role doesn't exactly leave a lot of room for wandering around over there. Besides, when I do, you typically tag along and have never played wing-general for me," he joked, though his voice was in a defensive mumble. He cleared his throat, looking toward the far corner of the ceiling for a split second before forcing his gaze back to yours. "And frankly, if nameless encounters are as entirely mediocre as you claim they are, I don't mind waiting. Iâll wait for the right person."
His words were spoken with a stubborn conviction that made you pause. The teasing remark that had been forming on your tongue completely died away.
You stopped Fox in his tracks, your entire demeanor shifting from playful amusement to a deep, unyielding seriousness. You looked at the scars on his arms, then up to his hair. Your eyes dragged along the thin scar cutting into his hairline and down to the heavy exhaustion etched permanently under his eyes.
"The only reason itâs mediocre for a Jedi is because there is no passion allowed. There is no emotion, no vulnerability, no warmth. We purposefully drain the act of everything that makes it human so we can walk away without feeling anything."
You leaned back against the cold durasteel wall, pulling your knees up closer to your chest, your hands wrapping around your legs, "Itâs admirable that youâre holding out for the right person, Fox."
You turned your head to look at him, "Consider that a luxury you have. Once the war is over, you are a man with his own heart and his own destiny, you have the right to give yourself completely to another person. You have the right to feel that emotional intimacy where two people become entirely intertwined. You have the freedom to experience love in its purest, most passionate form."
Your voice cracked slightly, "But a Jedi will never know that. The Code ensures that we are permanently barred from that kind of intimacy. The freedom to love someone and to wait for the right person and give them everything you are; that is a beautiful, precious thing. Don't dismiss it just because my version of it is hollow."
Fox sat entirely paralyzed on his side of the cot. He never heard you speak with such unshielded vulnerability. To hear you call his capacity for love a luxury, especially to hear the quiet grief in your voice, tore an invisible tear through his heart.
"Look at them," you huffed, trying to inject a bit of your humor back into the room as the Twi'lek host began explaining the romantic drama. "This is a prime example of what I'm talking about. They can swap partners by the next broadcast cycle and they won't suffer a crisis of identity. It's the perfect model of detachment."
"Alright," he mused, "Let's say I accept the logic. If there's no emotion allowed, how does a Jedi even select someone? How do you choose a person to do that with? What's the criteria?"
You let out a genuine laugh this time. "Oh, it's incredibly scientific," you joked, throwing a wide, playful grin his way. "You don't overthink it. You just go into a cantina, look around, and pick the closest, tall, handsome guy who doesn't look like a total loser, but gives off massive 'one night stand' vibes. You look at them, they look at you, you reach an unspoken agreement, and that's it. It's safe. It's predictable."
You expected him to huff, or to make another dry, sarcastic comment about civilian lack of morals.
Instead, Fox completely slipped up.
"The woman I'm attracted to - hypothetically - I'm going to be attached to," Fox hesitated, for a moment. He stared at you, "I wouldn't want the idea of her with anyone else even scratching my mind. The thought of some random lowlife, some cantina stranger even looking at her like that."
You froze, the smile completely vanishing from your face as you stared back at him. The sheer, untamed ferocity in his voice was startling. You had seen Commander Fox face down angry anti-war mobs, corrupt politicians, and syndicates without ever losing his cool, but right now, he looked entirely ready to tear the galaxy apart with his bare hands over a purely hypothetical scenario.
"And that, Fox, is exactly why we look for guys who don't think like you.â Your voice carried a gentle but firm warning, "A man who loves with that kind of intense, protective possessiveness would get entirely destroyed by a Jedi. If a Jedi took someone like you to a room for a night and then walked away the next morning without ever looking back, it would break you. That's why random civilians are the only safe option. They don't care, so we don't have to care either."
The words were meant to be an explanation and a gentle reminder of why the boundaries existed. But inside Foxâs mind, the truth was an agonizing reality.
He sat there, staring at you, realizing the absolute, bitter irony of his entire existence. He was a perfect fit for every single piece of your physical description. He was the closest man to you, he was tall, he was undeniably attracted to you, and he knew damn well he wasn't a loser. He was right here. He was the safest harbor you had in the entire galaxy.
But because he actually cared, because he harbored a deep devotion to you that went far beyond military duty, he was permanently disqualified. A random, nameless scumbag in a dirty cantina was a safer choice for you than the man who spent every single day at your side. The fact that his attachment to you was the very thing that made him toxic to your Jedi way of life made him want to scream.
"Fox?" you asked softly, leaning slightly closer across the space between you, your eyes searching his face with genuine concern, âI can feel it. Youâre angry."
Fox closed his eyes. He took a slow, deep breath, "Itâs not that.â
He offered you a small, sad, and entirely heartbreaking half smile, "I'm not angry. I guess it just upsets me to think that out of everyone in this miserable galaxy, the person who deserves that kind of real, passionate love the most isn't even allowed to have it. Itâs a shame, thatâs all."
"Thank you, Fox," you said softly. You looked at the tired, dark lines beneath his eyes, giving him a gentle look. "But you know, you deserve that kind of love just as much as anyone else in this galaxy. Probably more than most."
Fox didn't answer. He simply gave a slight, microscopic nod.
You shifted your weight on the narrow mattress, stretching your legs out across the length of the cot. Without overthinking it, you casually rested your lower legs and feet right across Fox's lap.Â
Fox didn't move away. He didn't tense up, either. He simply let his hands rest on your legs, his thumb tracing a slow, subconscious circle against your shin, entirely accepting the casual intimacy of the gesture. He looked down at your feet in his lap, then cut his eyes over to the holoscreen where one of the girls was currently throwing a tropical drink into a dadâs face.
"This show is absolute garbage," Fox grumbled, "If you're that desperate for a distraction that we are watching this, letâs head down to the lower levels. Iâll personally escort you to the nearest cantina and help you scan the room for a tall, handsome stranger who fits your criteria. I'll even check his security clearance for you."
You slowly lifted your right leg and playfully nudged his forearm with your foot to get his attention. You tilted your head against the wall, a dangerously amused smile breaking across your face.
"Nah," you shrugged, "Iâve got one right here I can just look at."
Fox completely froze.
The circle his thumb had been tracing against your leg stopped dead. Slowly, almost painfully, he forced his neck to turn, his head pivoting until his intense, bewildered gaze locked back onto your face.
"Right here?" Fox questioned, "Are you telling me that I physically make the cut for one of your one night stands, but I donât make the final cut for the list because Iâm me?"
He expected you to laugh. He expected you to kick his arm again and call him an idiot.
Instead, the humor entirely faded from your face.
Your expression went serious. You looked at him, your gaze holding his with an intensity that made the smirk die instantly on his lips. The playful, teasing atmosphere evaporated.
"Fox," you said just barely over a whisper, "Trust me. You never want to be on that list."
Fox blinked, his brow furrowing, "Why not?"
"Because I don't even remember those men's names," you confessed bluntly, looking dead into his eyes. There was no shame in your voice, only the cold reality of the Code you lived by. "I can't picture their faces. If I passed them in a hangar or a corridor tomorrow, I wouldn't even recognize them. When I was with them, I felt pure apathy. They were a nameless, fleeting hookup meant to be forgotten. That is all they ever were, and that is all they were ever allowed to mean to me."
You paused, leaning forward, your knees brushing against his thighs, "If I woke up tomorrow and you were gone, I would be upset for quite some time. I would miss you terribly. I would miss your humor, your complaints, and the way you always know exactly when I need to escape. I care about you."
Fox's breath caught in his throat, his chest rising as your words sliced through his last defenses.
"If I put you on that list," you explained, "it would mean Iâd have to force myself to feel that apathy toward you. It would mean going into a room with you knowing that if you vanished from the galaxy the next day, I wouldn't care. And the truth is, Fox; I care far too much to ever do that to you."
He caught the beautiful, terrifying paradox immediately.
"Hold on," Fox paused, his voice dropping as he leaned in just a fraction closer, his eyes searching yours, "That kind of sounds exactly like the way you were describing what attachment is earlier."
A small, helpless, and incredibly soft smile broke across your face. You didn't look away. Instead, you looked at the man whose clothes you were wearing, whose lap your legs were resting in, and you gave him the ultimate, honest confession.
"That's why I'm sitting on the other side of your cot, Fox," you hummed.
"Well," he murmured with his familiar irony, "good to know that legendary Jedi self-restraint is actually functioning for something. I'd hate to think all that meditation was going to waste."
You let out a soft breath that was half laugh, half sigh. The casual warmth of your legs resting across his lap felt dangerously comfortable. But the sheer honesty of what you had just admitted, that you cared too much to ever reduce him to a nameless face, still lingered in the air
"If you keep looking at me like that, maybe you and I are just going to have to take a little trip to the nicer cantinas tonight. I'll help you find someone absolutely perfect for the night. Someone who is just right for you."
The reaction was instantaneous, and it wasn't the amused banter you had been angling for.
"No, no, no, no," Fox shut it down aggressively. His entire posture locked up, his hands tightening around your legs as he shook his head, "Absolutely not."
You blinked, surprised by the hostility of his rejection, "Fox, it was just a-"
"I know," he interrupted, doubling down. He leaned closer to you, his jaw set in a hard, uncompromising line, "If random, nameless encounters are as entirely bland and hollow as you say they are, then,â he paused, âI want the real thing, or I want nothing."
You stared at him, completely captivated by his romanticism. For a clone bred in a laboratory, his view on intimacy was staggering in its purity.
You tilted your head, âHow do you plan on identifying a feeling that complex?"
Fox didn't answer immediately. A sudden, quiet stillness washed over his face. A very small, private smile touched the corner of his mouth. It looked so soft, it completely transformed him.
"I know," he said simply.
The words slipped out before he could catch them. He froze for a second, his eyes widening slightly as he realized exactly what he had exposed. He rushed to correct it, "I mean- I'll know. When it happens. I'll know."
But the slip had already done its work. He kept his eyes fixed on the holoscreen, his heart thudding a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs. He had been keeping his feelings hidden for months, burying them beneath piles of datapads, late night security logs, and inventory records. The man was completely, deeply, and hopelessly in love with his General. He loved the brilliant, chaotic light you brought into his world. He loved the sound of your laughter in his quiet quarters. He loved the very fabric of your being. And keeping that truth locked away was becoming harder with every passing second.
You, however, had caught the slip, and your curiosity was instantly piqued. You pried at the sudden vulnerability, leaning closer across the gap of the cot.
"Fox.â You reached out, nudging his forearm with your foot again, demanding his attention, "Don't you dare try to 'I'll know' your way out of this."
Fox kept his head turned away, "I donât know what youâre talking about."
"Oh, bantha shit," you laughed, "There absolutely is someone in mind. Because if there wasn't, Fox, you'd just deny it. If you know youâre in love then what are you waiting for?"
Fox let out a long, ragged sigh that seemed to drag itself from the very depths of his soul. "I don't even know what I'm waiting for," he admitted in a defeated whisper. He looked down at your legs over his lap, "Even if I tried, it won't happen."
"Hey," you said, your humor instantly softening into a gentle, optimistic pep talk. You hated the absolute defeat in his tone. You couldn't understand why a man like him would ever count himself out. "Don't talk like that. You don't know until you try, Fox. You face down impossible odds every day. Whoever she is, you just have to take the leap."
Fox huffed out a bitter, hollow half laugh,"I do know. She's the only person in the galaxy I can't have."
The words were a direct, screaming confession, but your mind remained completely blind to it. You wouldnât even think of the idea that you were the center of his universe. You scoffed, throwing your hands up in a dismissive gesture as you rolled your eyes.
"Oh please," you exaggerated, entirely missing the mark as you rained compliments on him, "You know damn well you could get whoever you want, Fox. Look at you. You are incredible. You run the entire security of this planet without falling apart. You are handsome, you are fiercely dedicated, you are brilliant, and any woman in this galaxy would be damn lucky to have you completely devoted to them. Stop selling yourself short."
Every single word of praise tore through Fox. The compliments, meant to lift his spirits, actively hurt him. Hearing the person he loved list every single reason why he was desirable, while remaining utterly blind to the fact that his heart belonged entirely to them, was a form of torture the Republic wouldnât dare use on even its worst prisoners.
"Do you truly believe that?" Fox asked.
âI would never lie to you. You know that."
Fox looked away. The last line of hope inside his chest completely collapsed, leaving him entirely crushed. He stared at the far corner of the room, his face hardening into a mask of pure sorrow.
"Yeah," he whispered, his voice almost cracking, "Then it really is unfortunate."
The words echoed in the small space, bouncing off the walls. You sat perfectly frozen on your side of the cot, your mind racing backward through the entire conversation at lightspeed.Â
I'm waiting for the right person...Â
The woman I'm attracted to, I'm going to be attached to...Â
She's the only person in the galaxy I can't have...Â
That's why I'm sitting on the other side of your cotâŠ
The pieces finally clicked.
A sudden wave of realization crashed over you, leaving you entirely breathless. Your heart gave a massive, frantic thud against your ribs as your face dropped in shock. The blindness vanished in an instant, leaving truth exposed between you. It wasn't a civilian. It wasn't a senator's aide.
It was you. It had always been you.
"Fox," you softly whispered his name, the syllable barely carrying enough air to escape your lips.
He immediately locked down. Sensing the exact moment the realization hit you, his survival instincts kicked in with a vengeance. He completely shut his emotional vault, his face turning into an expressionless stone wall as he snapped his gaze upward. He stared fixedly at the ceiling, his eyes wide and unblinking as he deliberately avoided eye contact at all costs. His chest rose and fell. His breath came in strained, shallow gasps as he tried to pretend he hadn't just destroyed the only boundary he had left.
"Fox," you repeated, your voice stronger this time, filled with a sudden, fierce determination.
He didn't move. He kept staring at the ceiling as if his life depended on it.
Completely obliterating the physical boundary that had kept you safe on the other side of the cot, you crawled forward. You dragged your legs out of his lap, bending your knees as you slid across the mattress, closing the distance between your bodies until your chest was only inches from his.Â
You reached up, your hands entirely steady despite the frantic racing of your heart. You placed your fingers gently along the rough, scarred line of his jaw, your thumb resting against his cheekbone. The heat of his skin burned against your palms.
Gently, you guided his face down, forcing his head to turn. He still tried to look away, his eyes darting desperately toward the far wall, his teeth grinding together as he fought the pull of your hand.
You dropped your voice to a soft, incredibly intimate whisper, the sound vibrating directly against his skin.
"Hey."
The word was a command, a plea, and a promise all at once.
Fox's resistance completely broke. He finally, slowly, turned his eyes straight into yours. The depth of his devotion was entirely exposed, a quiet storm of love and terror swirling in his gaze as he looked at you from inches away, entirely at your mercy.
A breath shuddered out of him. The most fiercely guarded secret of Clone Commander Fox was laid out between you.Â
"You're right, Fox," you whispered, "I already failed in the attachment department. Because no matter what happens today or tomorrow, you will always mean something to me. You already do."
His hands came up, not to push you away, but to grasp your wrists where they held his face, as if your touch was the only thing tethering him to reality. His grip was tight, almost painful. Slowly, he leaned his face closer, his nose brushing against yours as his voice dropped.
"Please," Fox pleaded, "I know you forget those nights and the people you shared that with. But please, promise me you wonât forget this."
You began to breathe out, a soft, sweet response. A promise to never let him fade into the dark, but the words vanished entirely, swallowed whole as he leaned in and placed his lips on yours. There was no desperate collision. His kiss was claiming, deliberate and deep like slow, soul searching exploration that poured every ounce of his confessed devotion into you. His hands released your wrists to cradle your face, his touch tender, his thumbs tracing the arches of your cheekbones.Â
You melted into him, your own hands sliding up his chest, feeling the powerful, rapid beat of his heart through the soft fabric. You kissed him back with equal measure, pouring your own truth into it. It was your want, your certainty, your love, a word the Code forbade but your soul screamed nonetheless.
The kiss deepened, and grew hungrier. His tongue swept against yours, a slow, intimate dance. One of his hands slid from your face, down your neck, over your shoulder, coming to rest on your hip, his fingers pressing into the muscle there, possessive and grounding.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw and down your neck. You tipped your head back with a soft sigh, your fingers tangling in the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. He found the base of your throat and sucked gently, drawing a low moan from you. The sound seemed to galvanize him. His hands moved to the hem of your - his - t-shirt.
He paused, âMay I?â
The uncertainty in his voice melted you.Â
You pressed your lips to his ear, "Of course.â
That single fragment of permission was all it took to collapse the final wall of his hesitation. Foxâs hands slid beneath the hem of the shirt, his touch sending a shiver straight up your spine as his palms dragged upward. He was incredibly gentle, yet entirely checking for any sign of hesitation as he lifted the shirt over your head and cast it away into the darkness of the small quarters.
The cool air of his quarters kissed your skin. You sat before him in just his sweatpants, and you had never felt more seen. You reached for him, pulling his own shirt up. He helped you, his muscles shifting under your palms as you pulled the shirt over his head. His chest was a map of his service. There were pale scars from shrapnel, a deeper one from an explosion, but above that was the powerful build of a man who carried himself through war.
Fox reached back out to you, wrapping his hands around your back and pulling you closer until his lips were almost brushing yours. But he paused, blinking a few times and pulling his head back.Â
âI- What if-â he began, but he couldnât finish. The fear was too large. The fear of being inadequate, of being a disappointment, of giving you the most sacred thing he possessed only to have it filed away as a forgettable experience. The fear that his inexperience would mean he couldnât give you what others had, that heâd fail you in the one moment he wanted, more than anything, to be perfect.
You rested your forehead on his, sensing his fears, âI donât need this to be perfect. I need this to be you.â
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The answer to his fear was in the steady, sure pressure of his hands on your shoulders, a gentle but undeniable force that guided you backwards until the mattress met your back. You went willingly, your eyes never leaving his. The world narrowed to the space between your bodies.
He followed you down, bracing himself on his forearms, caging you in. t across your chest with each breath. His gaze traced the line of it, then lifted back to your face. He leaned in, slowly, his lips finding yours in a kiss. It was deep, unhurried, and profoundly quiet. A communication more intimate than words. His tongue swept against yours, a slow, claiming dance that tasted of shared breath and absolute trust. You could feel the slight tremor in his muscles, not from fear now, but from the intensity of his focus, the sheer magnitude of the moment.
He lowered himself, the heat of his bare skin meeting yours from chest to thigh. The sensation was so profoundly right it drew a soft, shuddering sigh from you both. He buried his face in the curve of your neck for a moment, breathing you in, his lips pressed to your collarbone. Then he lifted his head, his eyes finding yours again. In their depths, you saw a universe of feeling - awe, devotion, a tender, fierce protectiveness that stole the air from your lungs.
His hand slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweatpants and the soft cotton beneath. He paused, a silent question in his raised brow. You answered by lifting your hips. He drew the garments down your legs with a reverence that was never taught on Kamino. When you were bare to him, he simply looked, his gaze a slow, worshipful journey that made you feel not exposed, but seen. Truly, completely seen.
You returned the favor, your hands going to the waistband of his own pants. He helped you, shifting his weight, and soon the last barrier was gone, kicked to the foot of the cot. The reality of him, fully aroused and achingly ready, was a potent truth between you. The sight sent a fresh, liquid rush of heat through your core.
He settled back over you, and this time, the full weight of him pressed you into the mattress. The feel of him, skin to skin, from the hard planes of his chest to his legs against yours, it was an overwhelming, perfect intimacy. He kissed you again, as he positioned himself at your entrance. The broad, blunt head of him nudged against your sensitive folds, already slick and ready for him.
He stilled, breaking the kiss to look down between your bodies, watching. His expression was one of rapt, almost painful concentration. Then his eyes, dark and blazing with emotion, lifted back to yours. He held your gaze, a silent promise passing between you. This was it. No going back.
With a slow, inexorable press of his hips, he entered you.
It was a feeling beyond description. A stretch of initial resistance that melted instantly into a consuming, perfect fullness. He filled you completely, a joining so deep it felt less like penetration and more like two separate halves fusing into one whole. A low groan escaped his throat. It sounded like a mix of profound pleasure and overwhelming emotion. You cried out softly, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper, to take all of him.
He held there, buried into you, his entire body trembling with the effort of remaining still. His forehead dropped to yours, his breath coming in ragged, hot gusts against your lips. You could feel him, every throbbing inch of him, inside you. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart where your chests were pressed together. The connection was absolute, a circuit of sensation and emotion that left no room for thought.
Then, he began to move.
It was not a frantic pace. It was a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that seemed to originate from the very core of him. He moved with a natural, instinctive grace, his hips finding a cadence that worked perfectly. There were no words. The only sounds were the soft, wet sounds of him thrusting against you, the syncopated rhythm of your mingled breathing, the occasional, gasp or groan that was more feeling than sound.
Your eyes remained locked. In his gaze, you saw only Fox giving himself over to this experience with a trust that was humbling. You watched as pleasure consumed his face; the tightening of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelids, the parting of his lips on a silent moan. He watched you, seeing every flicker of ecstasy that his movements wrought within you, his own eyes darkening with a possessive, tender joy.
The coil of pleasure in your belly tightened, a sweet, relentless pressure. You could feel his own control beginning to fray at the edges, his rhythm gaining a subtle, urgent hitch. His thrusts became slightly harder, deeper, each one a deliberate press against that blissful, internal spot that made the galaxy burst behind your eyes.
You clenched around him and his eyes flew wide open, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat.Â
âPlease,â he managed to let out.Â
It was the only word spoken.
The peak, when it arrived, did not crash over you. It rose from the depths of the profound connection and radiated outward, suffusing every limb. Your climax was a silent, shattering expansion, a feeling of pure, radiant light flooding your senses. Your muscles clamped around him in rhythmic pulses, the sensation tearing his own release from him.
He didnât cry out. A deep, shuddering groan was wrenched from the very depths of his soul as he buried himself into you and held, pulsing inside you. His entire body locked, then convulsed in a series of powerful tremors. You felt the hot, intimate rush of his release, that triggered another, softer wave of pleasure within you.
Through it all, your foreheads remained pressed together. Your eyes, blurred with unshed tears of overwhelming feeling, stayed open, locked on his. You witnessed the exact moment of his surrender, saw the awe and the disbelief that washed over him. He saw the same in you.
For a long, timeless moment, there was only that point of contact and the emotion of a moment that was about far more than physical release.
Gradually, the tremors subsided. His breathing began to slow. He didnât collapse. He softened, his weight settling more fully upon you, but he kept his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still holding yours. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, tracing a slow path through the stubble on his temple. You didnât brush it away. It was a sacred part of this.
He had not lost his virginity through sex. He never wanted to. He wanted to by making love. And he did.Â
After a long moment, he shifted his weight completely off of you, rolling to the side just enough to pull you flush against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you like the whole army would be needed to try and tear you away from him.Â
You rested your head over his chest, your fingers mindlessly tracing scars on the edge of his shoulder. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, finally understanding the truth your Master spent your lifetime trying to protect you from.Â
The one night stands werenât intimacy at all. They never were. They were just the Jediâs fabrication of what they believed intimacy should be.Â
This is what it was actually supposed to feel like. It was supposed to leave you breathless, but not from sex, but from the sheer magnitude of caring about someone so much it hurt.Â
You let out a soft sigh and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against his chest. You spent your whole life following a Code that was designed to keep you from all of this. But lying there, wrapped in Foxâs arms, you knew there could be no darkness in this. You both were merely experiencing what love was supposed to be, with the person it was supposed to be experienced with.
â Chapter Summary: After the Jedi Council denied your request to fill in with the 501st, you seek help from a close friend to attempt to unravel the mystery of Ryker's logs.
â Word Count: 5.3k
â Chapter Warnings: Extremely brief mentions of past intimacy
â A/N: I fear you guys will either love this or hate this. Either way, please enjoy! Happy May 4th!
Touch Me Like It's Treason Taglist
Touch Me Like It's Treason Masterpost
Chapter Thirteen on Ao3
You sat with your back against the cold wall and let Coruscantâs filtered night paint your quarters in a dim, untrustworthy gray and red. The datapadâs glow cast blue shadows across your walls. On its surface, numbers and phrases stitched together into something you could not quite name, and yet your body recognized danger. The number sixty six returned again and again. Along with the words, Jedi, compliance and contingency. You did not say the words aloud. Saying them felt like making them more real.
You looked out your window. Traffic droned past far below, a ceaseless river of speeders cut into neat layers by light and regulation. You couldnât help but think about all of the tens of thousands of people speeding below you - all with individual lives. Lives that can be lived without anything holding them back.Â
The thought soon left your mind as you looked down at Rykerâs datapad, laying on your lap.
Rykerâs datapad looked like a hundred other Republic issue units that had passed through your hands. Its casing was scarred and there was a hairline crack along the frame that your thumb found again and again. You played with the various levels of encryption, bypassing each one. You could thank the men of the Coruscant Guard for teaching you those tricks.
Even with that, what you had recovered was barely enough to put the pieces together.
You pressed play on one of Rykerâs recordings.
âEmbedded protocol,â Rykerâs voice arrived grainy through the internal speakers. The file was degraded, or it had been recorded with deliberate sabotage to keep it from traveling intact. âEmergency, Jedi, treason, compliance, sixty six. It all goes back to sixty six.âÂ
You leaned your head back and closed your eyes against the screenâs glare. Sixty six. Jedi. Treason. Compliance. Emergency. The random list of words did not make sense. Ryker was not a poet, he was a soldier. You did not need poetry. You needed whatever the reason was for those words being chosen.
You exhaled deeply, your cot squeaking when you shifted your leg. On the corner of the datapad, the faint numbers 0075 felt like the galaxyâs worst idea of a joke.Â
Master Windu had taught you to sort feelings from function with precision. He had a gift for separating what served the mission from what served the self. You admired that about him. On the flip side, you spent your years learning how to love more complicatedly. Truthfully, it was the clones that taught you that. They had split your neat columns with their eyes and their jokes and their precise unregulated grief. They were somehow able to give you a sense of family - something a Jedi wouldnât dare even think of.Â
You owed them for that. Thatâs why you refused to give up on Ryker.
Ryker had mentioned âembeddedâ in one of his longs. You turned the word in your mouth without speaking it, as if you could attempt to put it into place. The Kaminoans had always spoken about the clonesâ design like a miracle of efficient planning. When they said âcompliance,â they meant the same thing a ship maker did when they said âsafety.â The terms were just relative. Â
You couldn't sit here anymore. The silence of the Jedi Temple now felt like a predatory thing. Master Winduâs lessons on detachment flickered in your mind, a stern reminder to center yourself, but they were drowned out by the memory of Rex's smile when you were laying with him on the plateau and the way he looked at you with unwavering trust.
If the Kaminoans had built a âsafetyâ into the men, it probably wasnât for the men's benefit. It could be a kill switch.
You moved with a sudden, sharp purpose. You traded your formal robes for a dark, weather-beaten cloak, pulling the hood low enough to shadow your face. Your lightsaber felt like a lead weight against your hip.
Leaving the Temple felt like stepping off a cliff. You bypassed the main hangars, opting instead for a lower level platform. You claimed a nondescript civilian speeder, a dull gray model that would disappear into the smog of the works district.
As you swung the vehicle out into the stream of traffic, the scale of Coruscant felt mocking. Thousands of speeders zipped past, a glittering lattice of lives that knew nothing of âembedded protocols.â You dove deeper into the traffic lanes, descending through the strata of the city where the neon signs of the lower levels began to bleed upward.
The wind whipped at your cloak, cold and smelling of rain that never quite reached the lower levels. Your hands gripped the steering vanes until your knuckles turned white. You weren't going to the Council. You weren't going to the Chancellor. In a city of a trillion souls, the circle of people you could trust had shrunk to a number you could count on one hand.
The Republic Military Operations Center loomed ahead. It was a brutalist mountain of reinforced durasteel and red glowing signals. It was the beating heart of the war effort, a place of maps, casualty lists, and endless logistics. It was also a fortress.
But you knew the back ways. You knew the shift rotations and the secondary security checkpoints that the Coruscant Guard tended to overlook when they were tired. More importantly, you knew who was inside. You needed someone who saw the galaxy in tactical probability and someone whose loyalty you could âoverrideâ.
You banked the speeder toward a landing pad tucked into the shadow of the south interceptor tower. It was the landing pad reserved for high clearance military members.Â
The wind up there was vicious, tugging at your cloak, trying to peel away the layers you had wrapped around yourself. You didn't use the Force to clear the way - you didn't need to. You knew the ins and outs of this place. You knew which cameras had a three second blind spot during their rotation and which biometric scanners could be fooled by a simple override sequence. That was a trick Fox himself had shown you during a shared late night shift when the weight of the war felt too heavy for each of you to carry alone.
Walking through the corridors of the Military Operations Center was like walking through a graveyard of your own memories. Every red armored trooper you passed saluted you. And even though they had their helmets on, you should sense the empathy in their eyes. Itâs been that way since the incident on the lower levels. You hated coming here for that reason specifically.Â
Finally, you reached the heavy blast door of the Commanderâs private office.
You hesitated. Your hand hovered over the chime, the cold metal of the wall seeping into your palm. Why were you here? Because in the almost two years of this grinding, soul eroding war, Fox was the only person who had never asked you to be a hero. He had never expected you to be the poised, untouchable Jedi that Master Windu demanded, nor the charismatic, unbreakable leader the clones looked up to.
He just let you be broken.
You pressed the chime. A moment later, the door hissed open.
His office was exactly as you remembered it. The lights were dim, it reeked of stale caf and was cluttered with the endless datapads of a planet wide police force. Fox sat behind his desk, his helmet off, resting on a stack of flimsies. The blue light of a dozen holoscreens cast deep shadows across his face. He looked older than he was, clones always did, but there was a specific kind of exhaustion in his eyes that had nothing to do with sleep.
He didn't look up at first, "I told the Senate Liaison that the security allotment for Sector 4 is non-negotiable," he rasped, his voice gravelly from hours of shouting orders or perhaps just from the silence he kept, "If they want fewer riots, they can pay for more-"
He stopped. He finally looked up, his dark eyes widening as they found you standing in the frame of his doorway.
Fox didn't jump. He didn't reach for his blaster. He simply stared at you for a long, quiet breath, as if checking to see if you were a hallucination brought on by his fifth cup of caf. Slowly, he leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight. That was a sound that quickly became a symphony of safety in your mind.
"You look like shit," he smirked quietly. You knew it wasn't a judgment. It was a meer observation.
Fox didn't wait for your witty retort. He didn't stay behind the safety of his desk, shielded by the stacks of digital paperwork that usually acted as his rampart. He stood, the armor of his legs clacking with a sharp, familiar rhythm, and crossed the small space between you in two long strides.
Before you could find your voice, he reached out. It wasn't the tentative gesture of a Jedi Master or the formal salute of a subordinate. It was the heavy, grounding weight of a man who had held you together more times than either of you cared to count. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into the cold, hard plastoid of his chest plate.
You let out a breath, your forehead dropping against the curve of his pauldron. The plastoid was cold, but the heat of him radiated through the gaps in his armor. Fox shifted, his chin resting against the top of your head for a moment before he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your temple.
It wasn't a romantic gesture - not in the way the holodramas described it. There were no soaring orchestras or promises of forever. It was something more primal, born from the dirt and the desperation of the early days of the war.
Back then, when the galaxy had first shattered, you had both been looking for a way to feel human in a world that demanded you be machines. It had started with a shared bottle of cheap Corellian whiskey and ended in the cramped quarters of a transport ship, a frantic attempt to prove you were still alive. Since then, it has settled into a quiet, unspoken understanding. You weren't âin love,â and you certainly weren't âtogether.â You were two best friends who knew the map of each other's scars. Perhaps even just two friends who occasionally engaged in drunken hook-ups to drown out the war.
"Somethingâs wrong," he murmured against your hair, his voice vibrating through your chest.
"I'm fine," you lied, though you leaned deeper into the embrace, your fingers catching in the edges of his back plates.
"Liar," he breathed, but he didn't pull away. He squeezed you once, a sharp, rib crushing pressure that reminded you that you were still solid, still there, before he stepped back just enough to look at you.
His hands stayed on your shoulders, his thumbs tracing the line of your collarbone through the heavy fabric of your robe. There was no awkwardness in the touch, no lingering heat of a new flame. Only the comfortable warmth of the history you each shared.
After a moment, he reached over and pulled a second chair from the corner. It was the one he always kept cleared, even when his office was buried in reports. He slid it toward the desk.
"The chair," he pointed towards it with his chin, "Sit down before you fall down. I'm not filing a medical report for a Jedi fainting in my office. The reports are already a nightmare."
"Wouldn't want to ruin your filing system, Commander."
"Exactly," he grunted, reaching for the water he kept in a cabinet, "Now sit. Dissociate. Do whatever it is you do. Iâve got Sector 4âs mess to deal with, and youâre going to stay right where I can see you."
As he moved back toward his desk, the space between you felt different. It was less like a vacuum of grief and more like a shared trench. You sat in the creaking chair, the phantom pressure of his embrace still ghosting over your skin.
Fox didn't ask why you were there. He didn't ask about the Council or the front lines. "Sit," he commanded.
You sat. The tension that had been holding your spine rigid for the last three hours snapped. You didn't speak. You couldn't. You just sat there, staring at the scarred surface of his desk, letting the dissociation wash over you. It was a familiar ritual.
You remembered the first time it happened. It was after the incident in the lower levels. The incident that wasnât supposed to be an incident but became a slaughterhouse. You could still hear the wet sound of the explosions, the static-filled screams over the comms, and the way-. You pushed the memory out of your brain.Â
Instead, you thought of how the Council wanted a report and the Senate wanted a scapegoat.
You thought of how Fox saw you in the hallway, looked at your blank stare, and grabbed you by the shoulder. He didnât say 'I'm sorry.' Instead it was, "General, I have a massive discrepancy in the armory that requires your immediate attention in my office."
You thought of how he marched you in his office, locked the door, and sat you in that very chair. He didnât ask questions. He just went back to work, his stylus scratching against a datapad, while you sat in the corner and stared at nothing, waiting for the world to stop shaking. He had been your shield, protecting you from the prying eyes of the Temple and the military alike.
Now, sitting here again, the memory of that protection felt like a warm cloak.
"Something's wrong," Fox said, breaking the silence. He wasn't talking about a mission. He was talking about the way your hands were trembling, the way you were looking through the walls instead of at them. He stood up, walked to a small cabinet, and poured a glass of water, setting it in front of you, "What can I do?"
"There might be a big problem," you whispered. "Everyone, Fox. I think we all might be in trouble."
Fox didn't flinch at the melodrama. He just leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest plate, "Well, as long as you're still here with me, you might as well stay here for a while. I have three sectors worth of violations to categorize. Itâs boring, soul sucking work."
He reached out, his hand hovering near your shoulder for a second before he pulled it back. It was a rare moment of hesitation from a man who lived by the book, "Stay as long as you need. The door is locked. No one comes in here without my say so."
You looked up at him, seeing the man behind the Commander. He was the only one who knew the version of you that wasn't a General. Well, he was until Rex.
"Why do you do it, Fox?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the hum of the computers. "Why do you let me sit here and break?"
Fox picked up his stylus, his eyes dropping back to the glowing screen of his datapad, but his expression softened just a bit, "Because," he started, "someone has to be the one to stay in the dark with you. And Iâve always been better at the dark than the light."
You let out a breath you felt like youâd been holding since you got back to Coruscant. Here, in the heart of the Republic's military, in the office of a man the rest of the world saw as a cold, rigid enforcer, you finally felt like you could breathe.Â
"You didn't come here just to stare at my wall," he noted, his voice dropping to that low, private register he saved only for the four walls of this office, "You have that look you get when youâve found a thread you canât stop pulling."
You looked up, the dim light making your eyes look hollow. Fox knew that look. It was the same expression you had after the lower levels incident.Â
"You don't need a reason to be here," he added, his tone softening, a ghost of the platonic intimacy from moments ago lingering in the air. "My door is always open to you. But I can see it in your eyes, and I can feel the way you're holding your breath. Something is burning, and youâre right in the center of the fire."
He pushed off the desk and stepped towards you, crouching down at your side, "Tell me what you need. Before you walk out that door and try to do something that gets you killed."
You reached out, your fingers grazing the edge of the plates on his forearm, seeking that grounding reality one last time. You knew that once you said the words, there was no going back. You were asking him to step outside the regulations he lived by and to choose you over the Republic.
"I need one of two things, Fox," you whispered, "And I need them to be invisible. No logs, no manifests, no traces."
Fox didnât blink. He just waited.
"I either need a discrete transport off world. Something that can clear Coruscantâs atmosphere without a Jedi signature or a Republic tail," you began, watching his jaw tighten, "Or I need the raw genetic template files for the clones. The deep-layer Kaminoan data. You know, the stuff they don't even show the Council."
"The template," he repeated, the word coming out as a breathless, laugh. He looked down at your hand on his forearm and shook his head, "Really? Thatâs what weâre doing tonight?"
He let out a long, shuddering exhale, a sound of pure, unadulterated exhaustion. There was no anger in his eyes, only a profound, quiet realization of the gravity of whatever you were holding back. He looked at you, and for a second, he looked like he wanted to laugh at the sheer, cosmic absurdity of it all.
"You never go for the easy stuff, do you?" he asked, teasingly, "You never ask for a chain code or a clearance. Youâre asking me to hand you the DNA of every man in the GAR."
He rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers lingering over his eyes as if he could push the reality of the request back into his skull. When he looked at you again, the "Commander" was entirely gone. He just looked like Fox - the man who sat with you in the dark, the man who knew your scars.
"A discrete transport shouldnât be too hard," he laughed, ticking it off on his fingers with a dark, weary sort of humor, "The genetic template? Thatâs- thatâs something else entirely.."
He leaned his head back, staring up at the flickering light on his ceiling, "I knew when you walked in here that you felt like the world was ending. I just didn't realize you wanted me to be the one to hand you the match."
Fox didn't pull away from you. He didn't tell you it was impossible. He just stood there, looking at you with âthe things I do for youâ written across every line of his tired face. He realized that by even hearing the request, he was already halfway across the line you were asking him to jump.
He looked at the locked door, then back at the chair where you sat. The reality of the choice was settling over him like a heavy fog. He would do it, not because he believed in the mission or the data, but because it was you who had asked.
"You and I are really never capable of a quiet night," he muttered, a faint tug of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth, "Transport or the template. What have you gotten yourself into now?"
âDefine âitâ,â Fives hummed. He kept his voice low, âBecause even before you two were separated from the group, we all saw what looked like two people trying very hard to stay warm.â
Rex took a deep breath.
âIt wasnât supposed to happen,â he repeated, and this time the sentence sounded tired rather than defensive, âShe was our general. Jedi general,â His mouth flattened, âI- we, were caught in the moment.â
Fives folded his arms on the table and leaned forward the smallest fraction. He had seen battles crack men open in a dozen different ways. He had learned which cracks to prize at with humor and which to leave closed until the person themselves reached for him. He did not reach. He waited.
Rexâs eyes tracked a pair of troopers entering the mess. They were debating the merits of nutrient paste like it mattered. It did, sometimes. Clones needed to pretend that the small things they chose were actually choices. He cleared his throat.
âYou saw us in Rykerâs cave,â Rex said bluntly, âYou saw enough.â The word came out like he would rather have swallowed it than let it stand.Â
âAfter that-â His hands shifted to the cup of caf, slowly bringing it to his lips, âIt was after that. After the land slide. I wish I even knew where to start.â
Fives nodded once. âStart wherever you can then.â
Rex flexed his jaw. He cataloged the moments he shared with you the way he cataloged enemy positions on a scan. The difference was that these moments refused to stay where he set them.
âShe wanted to relax,â Rex admitted, âBut she didnât want to relax alone. She invited me. It was like-â He stopped as if the word had caught in his teeth, âAnd then she didnât call me âCaptainâ when it was just us. She asked me about my scars and listened like she was learning a new language.â
Fives furrowed his brow in speculation, âSo you were close enough that she saw the scar on your chin?â
âNo it was the scar on my chest from Saleucami,â Rex confirmed without thought, âAfter the land slide we were trying to find a clearing so we could get a signal out. We ended up-â
âWait,â Fives held up a finger, smirking at the overlooked detail in Rexâs words, âHow did she see the scar on chest?â
Rex sighed, âIâm getting there.â
Fives was all ears as Rex went into his account of events, leaving only a few details behind. Fives didnât need to know Rex dismissed himself from you, under the lie of ânature callsâ, solely due to a poorly timed erection.Â
But now, Fives knew exactly what happened in the hotsprings. Fives knew about the moment you and Rex shared on yhe plateau. About how you touched his scar. About how your fingers intertwined with his. About how you two were so close, you could feel each otherâs breaths.Â
Fives new about the soft kiss you placed on Rexâs check as you told him that he deserves to find happiness in the war.Â
It was a lot to take in.Â
Fivesâ eyes widened as he exhaled deeply, managing to only get out a breathy, âWow, okay.â
Red nodded once, âI know.â
âAnd you needed that,â Fives shrugged. It came out more of a statement than a question.
âBut thatâs not all,â Rex went on, âEven when we were walking, she would ask about me. My training days, everything. She told me about a time Master Windu made her hold a stance until her legs locked. I told her about the rain on Kamino punching Ryker in the face sideways when the wind changes. She laughed. It sounded like-â
He stopped. Rexâs eyes drifted up towards the ceiling as if he was staring at something that wasnât there.Â
Fivesâs fingers tapped against the table in an attempt to get Rexâs attention.Â
âShe sounded like home,â Rex looked down at his caf, âand for the first time, I didnât see myself at Rex the clone. I saw myself as just Rex.â
Fives looked at him like a man watching a friend nudge his way through a minefield he had only half the map for.
âThis is going to sound crazy, but when our hands were together, I swear I could feel her pulse where our wrists lined up, and it felt like-â Rex shut his eyes, âLike a thing I wasnât supposed to have.â
âWhat if it was supposed to happen?â Fives asked.Â
Rexâs face changed in small ways that people who didnât know him would have missed, âI canât stop thinking about it. How it felt. Everything.â
âAnd now?â
Rex looked at him straight on, which he did more often than most captains, âUmbaraâs waiting. I can list you eight reasons I should be in the training room until I canât feel anything. I can list you twelve reasons I should be in the comms room with Echo pulling apart what we found in Rykerâs holopad until they give us what we need. But every time I close my eyes my mind thinks it knows where itâs supposed to be. And itâs not a battlefield.â
Fives propped his elbows on the table and let his hands fold. He wanted to make a joke about regulations and how theyâd never stopped any of them from getting something they wanted, but that usually meant extra drinks at 79âs or a few more rations. The joke would felt cheap. Fives swallowed it and settled for being a listening ear instead.â
âSo you feel guilty?â
âI feel like-â he swallowed, âEcho hasnât been the same since the Citadel. You know that. Iâve been watching him contrive reasons to be useful so he doesnât have to look at his own hands. I should-â
He didnât finish it.Â
âI havenât seen him really okay since then. A couple of times lately he looked better. When the General sat watch with him. When she talked to him like he was allowed to let loose,â Rexâs eyes flicked to Fivesâ, measuring what he could admit without losing himself, âAnd Iâve been in my head with this. If thereâs a scale for who gets my attention, I havenât set it right. Iâm letting a brother down.â
Fivesâs mouth cinched and released, âHeâs been down on himself,â he concurred, âEverybody knows it. Nobodyâs saying it because saying it makes it real. Heâll talk to me, sometimes. Not to you though. Not in the way he needs to.â He lifted a hand, forestalling the defensive heat he could feel building in Rexâs breath. âNot because of anything you did wrong. He doesnât want to put his baggage on the pedestal youâre standing on.â
âEcho was so nice to her,â Rex said quietly, âI didn't even welcome her to the 501st.â
Fives huffed a breath that wanted to be a laugh but couldnât be. âYeah. Yet she sees you. That shouldnât be a problem. But it is.â
âWhat now, Fives?â Rex broke, âIâll handle it? Iâll put this away until after the war? Should I call command and request reassignment for Echo to be closer to her because I canât have more than a few moments without thinking about her?âÂ
âI donât want you making a fool of yourself on Umbara,â Fives muttered, âI also donât want you reassigning Echo because of what you think is best for him. You need to do whatâs best for yourself.â
Rexâs mouth opened and closed a few times before he found his words, âI donât know whatâs best for myself.â
âNo, you donât,â Fives agreed, âBut, youâll come up with a plan. After Umbara.â
Rexâs eyes lifted with reluctant humor acknowledging the accuracy. It died fast.Â
âAnd then Ryker,â Rex added, âIf heâs right. If there are orders embedded in us-â He stopped, the way someone did when the thing they were about to say wanted to bite back, âIf they put something in us meant to aim us at the people we fight beside, then wanting her is the least dangerous thing in my head.âÂ
Fives let the silence breathe. Around them, meal service started and a pair of troopers argued cheerfully about whether you could taste the difference between two flavors of ration bars if you closed your eyes and pretended hard enough.Â
âI saw you with her on the outskirts of Rykerâs cave,â Fives said finally, âI saw the way you looked at her when she fell asleep at your side. I saw her robe fall off her shoulder and how you carefully placed it back over her. That wasnât a General and a Captainâ He made a face, âI saw a man finding renewed purpose in life.â
Rexâs throat bobbed. The words sounded like a kindness he hadnât earned. He took them anyway, because arguing them felt like a lie, âYou think I should tell her?â
Fivesâs eyebrows went up, âI think you should not say anything until you know exactly what you want to say,â He leaned back, the seat creaking with him, but between you and Echo, weâre walking into Umbara while fighting a civil war. I donât like our odds.â
Rex nodded like a man receiving a report he had already written, âThen I tell her.â
âNot yet,â Fives countered, âNot until we get through Umbara. You need to talk to Echo like a brother and not like a Captain who thinks they know whatâs best for someone elseâs pain.â He scratched at the edge of his gauntlet with his thumb, âYou do what you always do. You lead. You keep us breathing. And when the time is right,â He gave Rex a sultry grin, âThen maybe you find a sound proof room and drag the General in there with you.â
Rexâs jaw tightened, "A soundproof room? Really? I share everything and thatâs what Mr. ARC Trooper comes up with?"
Fives didnât flinch. He just broadened his grin, "Just saying, Rex. The 501st runs on discipline, but youâre running on guilt, jealousy and a very poorly hidden pining. It could be a liability."
"Get out," Rex ordered, though there was a faint, weary tug at the corner of his mouth, "Check your gear for any small repairs. If we're going to a shadow world, we need everything double triple calibrated."
âAnd Echo?â Fives raised his brow, slowly getting up from the table,
âIâll talk to him in the morning. Before the morning brief. He wonât like the time, but we need to talk before Umbara,â Rex ran his palm across the sides of his head, âAnd this stays between us.âÂ
Fives was fully standing now, the playful light in his eyes dimming just enough to show the brother beneath the prankster. He snapped a mock salute, âCaptain, my lips are sealed tighter than an airlock.â He paused before turning towards the exit, âBut Rex? Donât wait until the next battle to find the right words. Sometimes the âright timeâ is just the time you have left.â
Fives then turned to the exit, leaving Rex in an uncomfortable silence.
He didnât move for a long time. He just sat there, staring at the empty seat across from him, Fivesâs words about guilt and jealousy echoing louder than the chatter of the men from across the room.Â
Finally, Rex reached for his helmet, which sat on the table like a hollow skull. He caught his reflection in the visor. He stood, his back aching from sitting for so long. He had a morning brief to prep and a brother to reconcile with - all while pretending his heart wasn't trying to beat its way out of his chest every time you crossed his mind.
Stepping out of the mess hallway, Rex headed toward the barracks. He had work to do. He always had work to do. It was the only way to stay away from questions he wasnât ready to answer and confessions he wasnât ready to admit.
Reader x Echo, fluffy fic. Based on Slut! By Taylor Swift.
5k words, no warnings.
Huge thanks to @ct7567329 as usual for being the best sounding board. Check out her fics! Here's one of my favs.
Your hands tremble, just like they always do before you leave to see him.
You take a slow breath and steady yourself, closing your eyes as the evening air drifts in through the open window of your quarters. The breeze brushes cool against your skin, carrying the distant hum of traffic and voices from the streets far below.
You let it ground you, then laugh silently.
Itâs ridiculous, really.
You can stand in front of thousands every day. You command a room, deliver speech after speech without a flicker of doubt. Other senators, dignitaries, entire crowds hanging on your every word. That part is easy.
But this? A date? With Echo?
Youâre helpless.
A quiet laugh slips from you as you push away from the window and begin pacing slowly around the room. Itâs not even the first time. Not by a long shot. Youâve been seeing him like this for what⊠seven months now? Always quietly, always carefully.
Seven months of hidden meetings. Of late-night walks through crowded streets where no one paid attention. Of brushing hands beneath tables, of avoiding cameras and journalists and prying eyes.
Even with all that, every time youâre together feels like the first.
A grin creeps onto your face before you can stop it. You let yourself reminisce, the feeling washing over you like a wave.Â
â
Your arms are full of stacks of papers, all data reports and schedules. You know it could all be on a single datapad, but you need the tactile evidence of your work, the ability to spread everything out. Youâre wrapped up in thinking about the next meeting.Â
You take the corner too fast and tumble headfirst into someone.Â
Into him.Â
You collide with a hard plastoid chest, knocking you to the ground, papers scattering.
âWoah there. Are you okay?â He says, the vocoder of his helmet emphasizing his concern.
You pick yourself off the floor, laughing at yourself. âSorry. So wrapped up in my own mind I wasnât watching where I was going. What about you, are you okay?â
The trooper is decorated in blue and not the red youâre used to here in the Senate sector. He reaches up, arms flexing beneath his armor and takes off his helmet.Â
You gasp lightly at his eyes, so expressive. And that smile, soft as if somehow holy, sacred. He exudes an air of calm and a strong, grounding presence.
âLet me help you with that.â He says, bending down and helping you gather the papers all about the floor. âHavenât seen paper like this in so longâŠâ He says, looking up at your face. You blush under his intense gaze.Â
âSo what senator do you work for?â
You freeze. You look up at him. He looks back at you, inquisitive.
 He doesnât know. Doesnât know who you are.
âUh⊠Bespin. The Senator for Bespin.â You say back, clearing your throat as if to dislodge the lie. You smile at the rush of excitement the anonymity gives you.Â
Soldiers donât have time for tabloids, you think. Otherwise he would know. You aren't just a senator: Your very public recent breakup with a fellow senator is all over the holonet. And mentions of the breakups before that. You have a label.Â
Reckless in loveâŠ
Some say worse things.
 But hereâs this trooper, this man, helping you pick up papers from the floor, as if you were just a senatorial aid. Something about it, so mundane, feels good.Â
You both stand and he hands you the papers, a winning smile on his face. Your hands brush, skin to glove, and you nearly shiver, butterflies erupting in your stomach. Why do you feel like this?
âHere you are. Sorry for knocking into you.â He says, going to put his helmet back on.Â
âWait!â You say, then freeze.Â
He pauses and looks at you. âYes, maâam?âÂ
Again another flutter in your stomach. He called you⊠maâam. So polite. So formal, and yet he doesnât know who you are.
âDo you⊠ah⊠want to get caf? With me? As a thank you for helping me.â You say, stuttering.
What are you even doing?
His eyes widen and he smiles slightly. âI⊠Iâm on duty, maâam.âÂ
You deflate just a little. âOh. Ofcourse. Sorry.â You say and turn to go, cheeks burning.Â
âBut, Iâm off in an hour.â He calls after you. You turn back to him, biting your lip through a smile.Â
âSee you in the lobby then?â You say, flushed.Â
He nods. âSee you then.â
â
You kick your feet where you sit curled on the chaise in your quarters, grinning like an idiot at the memory.
Of course at caf youâd played it cool. Asked about his deployment. His squad. Pretended the pounding in your chest wasnât happening every time he laughed.
But then caf became dinner, and dinner became a second date.
Then, after a month, it happened.
â
You were walking with him through the lower market levels when a constituent approached you, breathless with excitement.
âSenator! I just wanted to say congratulations on the relief bill passing!â
You felt him pause beside you.
There it was. The moment youâd been dreading. Reality, sinking in.
You gave your practiced smile, thanked the woman politely, and shook her hand. When she left, you braced yourself. For everything, for the inevitable change.
For the way people usually started looking at you like an opportunity instead of a person.
You glanced sideways at him. He was just⊠watching you.
âSo,â he said after a moment, shoving his hands casually into his pockets. âSenator, huh?â
You winced slightly. âAre you⊠upset?â
âWhy would I be?â
âYou asked what senator I worked for.â
âAnd you technically answered,â he said with a crooked grin. âJust left out that it was you.â
You searched his face for negative emotion.Â
There was nothing. If anything there was⊠admiration? But really there was him.
Just him.
âDoesnât that⊠bother you?â you asked quietly.
He shrugged. âYouâre the same person Iâve been getting to know. Now I just get to know a new side of you.â
Your stomach fluttered again, just like it had the first time he called you maâam.
âYouâre still the same person who almost dropped three hundred papers on my boots,â he added lightly. âBeing a senator doesnât change that.â
You sigh, trying to loosen the knots weaving themselves into your sternum.
âWell. Iâm not just a senator. Iâm kind of, well⊠Iâm in the news quite a lot.â
âReally?â Echo says, and the two of you resume walking. âFor what, bills passing? Speeches?â
You wince.
âActually⊠I was dating a senator. It didnât end well.â Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. âMy love life has been a little⊠chaotic. Nothing crazy. Itâs just the headlines love a tragic tale, and my past love life fits the bill.â
Echo glances at you, brow slightly raised.
âWhat kind of chaotic?â
You huff a small laugh.
âThe kind where every breakup becomes a political analysis piece,â you say. âApparently my relationships say something profound about my legislative priorities.â
That pulls a quiet laugh from him.
âI dated Senator Taugh for almost a year,â you continue. âWe were photographed everywhere together. The press loved it. Called us the âpower couple of the Mid Rim.ââ
You make little quotation marks with your fingers.
âAnd then,â you sigh, âhe started seeing someone else. Quietly. For months. Without telling me.â
Echoâs jaw tightens just slightly.
âWhen it finally came out, the story wasnât âSenator cheats,ââ you say, shaking your head. âIt was âRomance implodes, and sheâs on to the next.â
You glance sideways at him.
âFor the record, I didnât date for months.â
Echo snorts softly at that.
âThatâs ridiculous that they put that on you.â
âWelcome to politics.â
For a moment the only sound between you is the echo of your footsteps against polished stone.
Then you add, quieter now, âSo⊠yeah. If anyone ever sees me with someone, it becomes a story. Speculation. Analysis. Commentaries on the holonet.â
Your shoulders lift in a small, helpless shrug.
âSo if anyone sees us talking,â you say lightly, âtheyâll probably assume weâre secretly engaged or in the middle of a scandal.â
Echo stops walking. You take one more step before realizing and turning back to him. Heâs watching you with that thoughtful, steady gaze again.
For a second you worry youâve scared him off.
But then he shrugs one shoulder.
âWell,â he says simply, âthat doesnât really bother me.â
You blink. âIt doesnât?â
He shakes his head.
âI spent my whole life being told what Iâm supposed to be,â he says. âSoldier. Property of the Republic.â His voice isnât bitter, just matter-of-fact.
âClones arenât supposed to have attachments, its too much of a distraction to date,â he continues. âThe Kaminoans didnât design us for that.â
He pauses, glancing down the quiet alley before looking back at you.
âSo if being with you means it has to be quietâŠâ he says with a small shrug, ââŠthen itâs quiet.â
Something soft settles in your chest.
You tilt your head. âYouâre okay with that?â
Echo smiles then, âIâve spent my whole life doing things the Republic didnât expect,â he says.
Then he starts walking again.
âSo yeah,â he says over his shoulder, voice lighter now. âI think I can handle keeping one secret. Especially one I like this much.â
Your heart fluttered. You laughed, unable to stop yourself, and that was the moment you realized why being with him felt so different.
Everyone else saw the headline first.
Reckless in love, scandals. Even failed bills on the senate floor.
But him?
He just saw you.Â
â
Thereâs a knock at your door.
You jump up, heart pounding. You shake out your hands, trying to stop the flood of nerves rushing through you. You adjust your dress pulling the hem as low as you can. You take a breath and open the door.
And there he is.
Heâs in civilian clothes. A dark shirt, dark shorts, an interesting fabric that shimmers slightly. His hair, still short from regulation cuts, is slightly tousled, and his eyes light up the moment he sees you.
âReady?â you ask.
He nods, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. You leave your quarters, locking the door behind you and switching off the lights. Out in the hallway, you slip your hand into his. His palm is rough and warm against yours, calloused from years of armor plates and blasters. The contrast makes your stomach flutter.
You know youâll have to drop his hand once you reach the street.
You always do.
If anyone sees where the two of you are going, this little romantic hideaway, if someone recognizes you and snaps a pictureâŠThatâs it.
Everyone will know you arenât just in another relationship.
Youâre in one with a soldier.
A clone.
And thatâs sure to make headlines.
You make it out of the Senate District without incident, but the moment you step onto the busy promenade Echo gently lets your hand slip from his.
You donât look at him when it happens.
The two of you call a speeder and ride across the city, the glowing towers of Coruscant streaking past the windows. You doubt heâs ever even been to this section of the city.
This is the luxury quarter.
The speeder drops you off outside a towering building, its glass edges disappearing into the sky. Soft lights glow along the structure like stars caught in metal.
Echo pauses beside you, glancing up.
âYouâve been here before?â He asks, eyes scanning the gilded building as it scrapes the sky.
âOnce or twice,â you reply.
Inside, the air is cool and perfumed, the marble floors gleaming beneath your feet. You step up to the front desk and offer a polite smile.
âTwo for a reservation,â you say. âNumber 2319.â
The Twiâlek attendant glances down at the terminal, then raises his eyebrows slightly.
âThe rooftop spa suite,â he says, impressed. âWonderful choice.â
Echo shoots you a quick look. You cast him a sly smile. Youâd told him what to wear, but not the extent to which youâd be pampering him tonight. All of your dates with him up until this have been quiet, reserved. Restaurants off the main strip, small caf shops, anything that wouldnât draw attention, wouldnât be the place a senator would take a lover. This, though? This is unlike anything Echo has ever done before, and youâre so grateful to be the one to give it to him.Â
The attendant gestures for you to follow and leads the two of you to a private elevator. He presses several buttons and then taps in a security code, the panel chiming softly as the doors slide shut.
The lift begins its smooth ascent toward the top of the tower.
You grab his hand as the doors open and step out into a sweep of open air and sky.
The rooftop stretches wide around you, the city falling away on all sides as if the building itself has risen high enough to brush the clouds. Evening is just beginning to settle in, the horizon painted in layers of molten gold, peach, and deepening violet. The last light of the sun spills across everything it touches, turning glass and water into mirrors of fire.
The first thing that catches your eye is the pool.
It spills toward the edge of the rooftop in a seamless sheet of glassy water, an infinity pool so perfectly placed it looks as though the surface melts directly into the sky. The far lip vanishes against the horizon, leaving the illusion that the water simply pours out into the sunset. Soft steam rises from its surface, catching the fading light and drifting lazily into the warm evening air.
The rooftop is built for comfort, designed for relaxation. Plush chairs settle around the pool, and circle a stone fire pit, flames already licking the sky, with white blankets draped on the edges of each loveseat. Near the firepit is a table of deep, rich mahogany, covered with white linen and plated elegantly.
A small brass bell sits at the edge of the table. One ring and dinner will appear. Until then, the space belongs entirely to you.
There are no crowds. No music drifting up from the streets below. No voices but your own.
Just the slow ripple of water over the infinity edge, the crackle of the fire, and the endless sky glowing as the sun sinks lower and lower, setting the entire rooftop ablaze in gold.
Echoâs hand tightens around yours, and a low, awed breath escapes him. âWow,â he murmurs. Your chest flutters, a grin splitting your face almost involuntarily. This, the luxury, the view, the quiet grandeur meant for no one but him, this is everything youâd imagined. Everything youâd wanted him to have, to feel.
You lead him by the hand toward the lounge chairs arranged neatly beside the pool, their cushions soft and inviting. The sky above is a painterâs dream: deepening blues bleeding into gentle pinks, streaks of lavender curling over gold. The sunset mirrors the one on your home planet, tugging at a thread of nostalgia you didnât expect. Echo leans back into one of the pool chairs, and you settle into the chair next to him. Echo leans back, arms folded behind his head, eyes scanning the prismatic sky as if memorizing every brushstroke.
You pause, just for a moment, watching him. The initial shock of the opulence has faded from his expression, but thereâs still a subtle tension. He had made it clear from the beginning that your fame, your wealth, your world of luxury wasnât what drew him. He wanted you. Just you.Â
Your hands drift almost instinctively to your thighs. The thought of his touch sends a ripple of anticipation through you. Your fingers gather the hem of your dress, brushing the soft fabric between your palms. Echoâs head turns, his gaze landing on you, steady and observant.
You stand in front of him. Slowly, deliberately, you lift the dress. The fabric slides over your skin, past your thighs, tracing the curve of your hips, rising over your stomach. The night air kisses your exposed skin, cool and thrilling against the heat of your pulse. The shiver it sends up your spine is delicious, prickling every nerve. Finally, the dress slips off entirely. You stand there in your swimsuit, a deep, iridescent purple that seems to drink in the dying light of the sunset and release it across your skin.
Echo exhales a breath that seems to come from the very center of him. He rises, his hands finding your bare waist, fingers warm. You lean into his touch, letting your hands wander to the buttons of his shirt.
His gaze meets yours, steady and reverent, and for a heartbeat, it feels like heâs silently questioning whether this moment is real.
Your fingers work carefully, unbuttoning him one by one. Each parting of fabric reveals familiar planes of muscle and skin. The reflections from the pool dance along his chest, rippling.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks.
Echo watches you. He watches you as though you are the only thing in existence, every detail etched into his mind.
Your fingers linger at the last button.
âYou didnât have to do all this,â he murmurs, low and contemplative.Â
You slide the shirt from his shoulders. The fabric whispers against his skin before falling loosely into your hands.
âI know,â you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. âBut I wanted to.â
You reach up, brushing your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, grounding him in this moment.
âEcho,â you say softly, âI donât do this to impress you.â
The fire pit crackles nearby, orange light flickering across his face, illuminating the subtle curve of his lips, the warmth in his eyes.
âI do it,â you continue, voice low, âBecause you deserve to feel like this, have all of this. You deserve something beautiful.â
Something shifts in him then, a subtle tilt of understanding, deeper than surprise.
His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, drawing you closer until there is no space left between you.
âYou already give me that,â he murmurs, sincerity threading through every syllable. Your chest tightens. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up to your own eyes. Your breath mingles as you draw ever closer. Your lips brush, tenative at first, then softly, gently. He kisses you deeply then, one hand in your hair, the other at your waist. When the kiss breaks, you swear the sun roars a final burst of color before setting at last.
Above, the first stars glitter, scattered across the darkening sky. Your gaze flickers toward the pool. Echo follows your eyes, his expression softening further, a slow grin spreading across his face.
âYou planning on swimming,â he teases, a playful lilt returning to his tone, âor were you just trying to distract me?â
You laugh softly, the sound lighter than you expected.
âMaybe both,â you admit.
Without another word, he extends his hand toward you, eyes sparkling.
âCome on,â he says. âLetâs see if the waterâs as wonderful as the view.â
Your fingers curl around his, warm and sure, and together you step toward the pool. The firelight dances behind you, the stars stretch endlessly above, and all at once the world feels entirely, impossibly, yours.
One step into the pool and you sigh. The water is perfectly heated, a soft warmth that slips over your skin and settles into your muscles. You let yourself gently collapse into its embrace, letting the liquid hold you, floating for a heartbeat.
Echo steps in behind you, careful at first. Then his arms slide around your middle, holding you close, grounding you. You lean your head back into the nape of his neck, feeling the steady heat of his skin against yours, and exhale deeply, letting the tension of months drain away.
âYou know,â you murmur, voice muffled slightly against his shoulder, âyouâre⊠really good at what you do. I mean, your whole life has served one purpose, and it isnât one you chose.â
He shifts slightly, letting the water buoy him so he can look down at you. âYeah,â he admits quietly, tone almost shy. âIâve⊠gotten used to it. Thatâs all.â
You hum softly, fingers tracing lazy circles over his forearms. âUsed to it doesnât mean you donât need a break. Youâre always the one holding everyone together, keeping people alive⊠your brothers. And I think⊠you deserve something like this. Actually, all of you do.â
His lips twitch in a faint, grateful smile, the sort that doesnât quite reach his eyes yet, weighed down by years of responsibility. âWe⊠we donât usually get to stop. Not like this.â
You tilt your head back, studying the way the last light of sunset flickers on his skin, the water catching reflections like liquid fire. âWell,â you say, a little mischievously, âI know how to fix that.â
He frowns, curious. âHowâs that?â
âI know tonight is about us, but what if we make a plan to bring your brothers here sometime. We can grill, have drinks. Iâd love to officially meet them, and besides, they deserve a night off too.â
He releases a breath in surprise. âYeah⊠yeah, I think youâre right.â
The corners of his mouth turn up a little more, and thereâs a softness in his eyes you rarely see, the kind reserved for moments when the armor drops, when the soldier is just a man again.
You tilt your head, brushing your lips against the curve of his jaw. âSo, tonight⊠let yourself rest. Youâve earned it, Echo. And maybe⊠maybe next time we can make it a regular thing. Your brothers, too. Iâll handle it.â
His arms tighten around you, warm and steady, the rhythm of his heartbeat matching yours. âI⊠Iâd like that,â he murmurs.
For a long moment, the two of you float there, letting the water and warmth hold you, the fireâs glow flickering across the terrace, the stars climbing higher overhead, and the city far below fading into nothing. The warmth of the evening still lingers in your skin, but the chill of the night air has crept in, urging the two of you out of the pool. Echoâs hand brushes against yours as you step onto the terrace, droplets of water glimmering on your skin in the firelight.Â
You look down and see in the cement two perfect outlines in water, his hand and yours. How you wish it was in unsettled cement, so that the two of you and this moment, this night, could be set in memory forever.Â
You dry off carefully, the towels soft against your skin, and slip into fresh clothes.
By the time you return to the table, the terrace has transformed into something almost magical. The bell you ring at the dining table sends a quiet summons into the night, and almost instantly a waiter appears with a cart. He lays out the domed dishes one by one, uncovering them with care. A bottle of champagne glints under the soft lights as the waiter pours it into two crystal flutes, leaving the table perfectly arranged before disappearing into the shadows.
Echo pulls out your chair and helps you to sit, ever the gentleman.
âThis is⊠unlike anything Iâve ever seen, ever had,â he says, voice low, awed. âAnd I havenât even tried it yet.â
You laugh, warmth spilling into your chest. âThis is a traditional dinner from Bespin. I had the chef here recreate it. I wanted to share it with you. If you donât like it, I can have them make you anything else.â
âIâll love it. I trust you.â He sits opposite of you, taking his drink in his hand.
You lift your flute, and he mirrors you, glasses meeting with a delicate clink. The champagne glimmers in the candlelight as you sip.
After a moment of quiet enjoyment, you set your glass down. âEcho⊠can I ask you something?â
His gaze flicks to yours, curious, attentive. âAnything.â
You take a slow breath, letting the flickering firelight calm your nerves. âI⊠Would you want to be, seen with me? Publicly. I mean would you want to be⊠official?â
He tilts his head slightly, the golden light catching the curve of his jaw. âI think about that. Every day.â he admits softly. âI think about us. What we are. What we could be. I actually even asked my captain what he thought about having an official attachment⊠â His hand hovers near yours, uncertain. âItâs not easy. For us. For⊠clones with everything else in our lives. We have rules.â
You reach across the table, letting your fingers brush his. âI know,â you say, voice gentle. âI donât want to make your life anymore complicated. I just⊠I just want you to be⊠with me. Out there, in the world. I want everyone to know how amazing you are. I want you by my side.â You pause, sadness creeping in.
âBut I suppose thatâs not meant for us.â
His hand closes over yours, warm and grounding. âI think⊠I know Iâm ready for that. I would give anything to be with you in the open. But⊠Iâm happy just having you in the quiet moments for as long as I can.â
You squeeze his hand, feeling a flutter of sadness. âMaybe⊠maybe we can tell a few people? Just the ones we trust, those most important in our lives. Then it wonât feel so⊠isolating. So secret.â
Echoâs smile is slow but sure. âI can do that,â he says. âFor you. Iâve always wanted to. But with your permission, I can tell my squad. Theyâre safe, they can keep it between them.â
You both fall into a comfortable silence for a moment, letting the words sink in.
âThen,â you say softly, âwe do it. We share us. With more than just us.â
Echo leans across the table, his forehead brushing yours in a gentle, grounding touch. âMore than just us.â
You laugh softly, heart swelling, as the fire flickers, stars blaze overhead, and the city hums far below, invisible, irrelevant. This relationship will soon exist beyond the careful walls and borders that protect you both, even if only to a few. The thought excites you. Scares you. But more than anything, it makes this feel more real.Â
Dinner slips by little by little, the conversation easy and unhurried. As the night cools, you ring the bell once more. Almost immediately, a waiter appears, clearing the table with quiet precision. You top off both your glasses with the leftover champagne, the bubbles sparkling in the firelight as you take a slow sip.
You guide Echo to the firepit just beyond the pool. The loveseat is plush, enveloping, positioned perfectly so the warmth of the fire washes over you as the night breeze brushes past. You sink into it first, letting the cushions cradle you, and Echo follows, curling in beside you.
The embers leap from the pit, tiny sparks drifting up into the sky, mingling with the stars. The glow washes over Echoâs face, softening the lines of fatigue, highlighting the strength in his jaw, the warmth in his eyes. You lean slightly into him, letting your shoulder rest against his, feeling the steady beat of his chest beneath your hand.
For a while, neither of you speaks. You watch the sparks curl and drift upward, the quiet crackle of the fire filling the space between your thoughts. Thereâs a stillness here that feels almost sacred, removed from everything else: the war, the responsibilities, the expectations.Â
Finally, Echo shifts slightly, turning so his arm can wrap around your shoulders. His hand rests lightly on your arm, thumb brushing in slow, reassuring circles. You look up at him, catching the faintest shadow of hesitation in his gaze, the same one youâve seen before whenever he allows himself to be truly vulnerable.
âIâve been meaning to tell you something.â He says, voice low.
Your heart tightens, a flutter of nerves mingling with anticipation.
He swallows, gaze dropping to your hands, then back to your eyes, steady and unwavering. âI love you,â he says finally. âIâve⊠Iâve loved you for a long time, and I just⊠I needed you to know.â
The warmth of the fire seems to wrap around you like a blanket as those words sink in. Your breath catches. âI⊠I love you too,â you whisper, barely above the crackle of the flames.
He draws you closer, the two of you melting into each other, limbs entwining naturally, the firelight flickering over the curve of his jaw, the line of his shoulders. The two of you stay there for a long time, speaking in quiet confessions, laughter spilling out between soft kisses, hands brushing over one another as the fire crackles and pops. Each spark that rises into the night sky feels like a promise. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and he presses a gentle kiss to your hair. No more words are needed. Tonight, the world has slipped away, leaving only this. Only the two of you, and the warmth of everything youâve finally said out loud.
The galaxy might be a terrifying place, and one not kind to a love like yours. But tonight? Tonight is yours. And that is enough.
-----
Inspiration Lyrics:
Flamingo pink
Sunrise Boulevard
Clink, clink
Being this young is art
Aquamarine
Moonlit swimming pool
What if all I need is you?
Love to think you'll never forget
Handprints in wet cement
Adorned with smoke on my clothes
Lovelorn and nobody knows
Love thorns all over this rose
I'll pay the price, you won't
And I break down, then he's pullin' me in
In a world of boys, he's a gentleman
In the tangerine, neon light
This is luxury
You're not saying you're in love with me
But you're going to
----
Thanks for reading! This was just a quick thought I had based on Taylor Swift's song Slut! Check out my other fics based on her music, here's one: Ruin the Friendship
Totally can say no but can I request headcannons of the boys when they play seven minutes in heaven with reader? Pretty please.
Rex
Rex doesnât do anything halfway. The second that closet door clicks shut, the Captain is gone and whatâs left is something far more dangerous. He cages you in without a word, his broad frame boxing you into the corner, one hand braced beside your head while the other drifts slowly and deliberately down your side. He watches you unravel first. Always. He watches your breath falter, your lips part and your composure slip.
Only then does he lean in.
His mouth claims yours like heâs been holding back for too long. His kisses are deep, steady, unrelenting. One hand slides to your waist, gripping just a little tighter than necessary, grounding you when your knees threaten to give out. He doesnât rush. He draws it out, letting the tension coil until every touch feels too much and not enough all at once. By the time he pulls back, your forehead rests against his, and he knows youâre putty in his hands.
Fives
Fives has zero patience and absolutely no intention of pretending otherwise. The door barely shuts before youâre pressed against it, breath knocked from your lungs as he lifts you like itâs nothing. His grin is sharp and satisfied, like heâs been planning this all night.
His hands are everywhere; your thighs, your waist, your back. Heâs never still, always pulling you closer and tighter against him. His mouth trails along your neck with reckless confidence, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. He likes that sound. You can tell.
Between kisses, he murmurs praises low and rough against your skin. All promises, plans, thoughts he shouldnât be saying out loud but absolutely is. And the worst part? He sounds like he means every word.
Echo
Echo is controlled, until heâs not.
He starts precise, like heâs cataloging every reaction you give him. Fingers tracing slow paths, testing your limits, learning your body. His hand is cool where it presses against you, while the heat of his mouth follows just behind, leaving a trail that makes your skin buzz.
Then something ignites him.
Your reaction, a sound, the way you lean into him, something flips that careful restraint into something sharper. Suddenly your wrists are pinned above your head, his body flush against yours, his movements more certain and more demanding. He doesnât say much, but the quiet, rough sounds he makes when you respond? They hit harder than words ever could.
Kix
Kix takes his time like heâs savoring you.
His touch is intentional, almost clinical at first. His fingers start brushing your pulse in your neck, lingering just long enough to feel how fast itâs racing under him. He leans in close, like heâs studying you.
Thereâs nothing detached about the way his hand tightens at your waist, pulling you into him. His knowledge works in your favor, and against you. He knows exactly where to press, where to linger, where to barely touch until youâre leaning into him for more.
He stays controlled, but itâs a fragile control. You can feel it slipping the longer he has you like this.
Jesse
Jesse walks in like heâs got something to prove, and the second the door shuts, you realize he absolutely does. Thereâs a cocky edge to him, a confidence that borders on dangerous, but it slips just enough to show how badly he wants this.
He doesnât trap you right away. He closes the space slowly, backing you up step by step until your spine hits the wall and his hand comes up to tilt your chin toward him. His kisses are bold, a little rougher than you expect, like heâs trying to leave an impression you wonât forget. One hand stays firm at your waist, keeping you right where he wants you, while the other slides up your side, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver.
And when you react? Thatâs when his control slips.
He exhales a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh against your lips, like heâs surprised by how much heâs into this - into you. His forehead presses to yours for half a second, his breath uneven, before he dives right back in, a little more desperate, a little less composed.
Jesse doesnât just want the moment, he wants to win it. And by the time that door opens again, itâs very clear he did.
Hardcase
Hardcase is chaos in the best way.
Thereâs nothing careful about him. Thereâs no slow build and no hesitation. Itâs immediate, overwhelming, heat crashing into you like a wave. His hands donât know where to settle, shifting constantly like he canât decide what he wants most.
His kisses are messy, hungry and a little wild. Heâs laughing against your lips one second and completely wrecking you the next. Everything about it is too much in the best way: the closeness, the heat, the way neither of you can seem to catch your breath.
By the end, youâre both disheveled, flushed, and grinning like you just got away with something.
Tup
Tup is soft until he isnât.
He starts hesitant, hands unsure at first, like heâs checking if this is really happening. But the second you respond, really respond, something inside him unravels.
He clings. Not gently, but like he needs you close, like distance isnât an option anymore. His face buries into your neck, breath warm and uneven, quiet sounds slipping out that he doesnât even try to hide.
Thereâs something intoxicating about the way he lets himself feel everything. The way his grip tightens, the way his voice softens and breaks just slightly when he whispers against your skin.
Itâs not practiced. Itâs like entering unknown territory.Â
And thatâs exactly what makes it so passionate.
Howzer
Howzer starts dangerously gentle.
He gives you space at first, just enough to make you step into him instead. His hands settle at your waist, light, almost polite, until you lean closer. Thatâs all it takes.
The shift is immediate.
His grip tightens, pulling you fully against him, one hand sliding up your back, the other anchoring you in place like heâs decided youâre not going anywhere. His voice drops when he says your name, low and rough, the kind of sound that sends a shiver straight down your spine.
He pretends to be in control but the way he deepens the moment, the way he stops caring about anything outside that door? Heâs already gone.
If you read this far, you should check out @bigbadbatch 's writing too!
Summary: The 501st and 327th joint mission is officially underway, and Fives is extremely displeased with the arrangements.
Word Count: 5.6k
Warnings: canon typical violence, character death, angst
A/N: Happy Spring Break! I love being off of work and being able to write again! Should I turn this into a long fic now?
join my taglist / masterlist
You kept reminding yourself that each Venator was the exact same. However, The hangar deck of the Resolute felt like a cathedral of the military industry. Above you, the blue glow of the space containment shields flickered, representing the thin barrier between the frantic life of the ship and the cold, unyielding vacuum of space. The air here was thick with your least favorite scent. Itâs a scent youâve grown to associate with the precipice of death, an olfactory trigger that told your brain that youâve lost all handle on any situation.
To the deck crews in their orange vests, or the naval officers barking orders into their comlinks, this was a masterpiece of Republic efficiency. But to you, standing near the lowered platform of a gunship, it felt like a countdown to a collision you canât avoid. Every thud of an AT-TE walker boarding a nearby dropship was a second ticking away from the silence of the Temple and toward the screaming noise of Ryloth.
You stood with your hands tucked firmly into the opposing sleeves of your Jedi robes, a posture of meditative calm that is a complete and total lie. Beneath the heavy fabric, your fingers were interlaced so tightly your knuckles have turned a ghostly white. You were battling the ghost of a laugh that wasn't filtered through a vocoder, and the crushing weight of being a General that you had to weld back onto your face.
Through the haze of welding sparks and moving cargo droids, two figures emerged. They moved a certain ruggedness that came from serving under you and Aayla in the galaxyâs most unforgiving environments. Their armor is unmistakable, slashed with bold, sun faded mustard yellow markings that have been chipped and scarred by the sands of Felucia and the dust of Quell.
They stopped several paces away, snapping into salutes that are technically perfect but carry the ease of men who have seen enough war to know where the formalities end and the brotherhood begins. In simple terms, two of the 327th finest ARC Troopers. Two men youâve grown quite fond of in your time leading the 327th.
"General," Sledge saluted. He was a mountain of a man, even by clone standards, with a heavy Z-6 rotary cannon slung over his shoulder like it weighed no more than a training saber, âHigh Command said you needed some heavy lifting for the canyon floor."
Next to him was Striker. His armor was modified with extra pouches and a customized rangefinder on his helmet that clicked perfectly as he tilted his head. He doesn't wait for Sledge to finish before heâs tapping the side of his helmet with a playful, twitchy energy.
"Itâs a pleasure to serve alongside you again," he says, his voice brimming with a restless, caf fueled zip, "Mostly because General Secura isnât a big fan of big explosions all the time.â
You raised your brow, crossing your arms across your chest.
Striker continued, rubbing his palm across the back of his neck, âWell, I suppose I also miss the company.â
You rolled your eyes as a small smile formed across your face. Itâs your âGeneralâs smileâ. The one thatâs supposed to radiate confidence and foster camaraderie among the ranks. Youâve given it a thousand times, but for the first time today, it actually felt real. Your most enjoyable missions have been alongside Sledge and Striker. You anticipated this one would be no different - even if Fives was tagging along.Â
âYou think the 501st can handle dragging through the mud with us,â Sledge laughed, setting his Z-6 on a nearby crate.Â
"The 501st is plenty comfortable in the mud, Sledge," you half laughed, your voice projecting a steady, calm authority that somehow masked the tremor in your spirit, "But I think you two are exactly what we need to navigate the north face. Iâm glad to have you both back."
"Glad to be here, sir," Sledge grinned, his eyes scanning the hangar with a professionalâs eye. "Though Iâll admit, itâs a bit cleaner on this ship than Iâm used to. Itâs nothing like our ship. It makes me nervous when I canât see the dirt on the walls."
Just as you opened your mouth to respond, the air behind you seemed to drop ten degrees. You donât need the Force to tell you he arrived.Â
Fives walked into the pool of light cast by the gunshipâs interior lights. His helmet is already on, the red eyes of the painted Rishi Eel staring forward with a predatory blankness. He didnât look at Sledge. He didnât look at Striker. He didnât even acknowledge the massive rotary cannon that would have gotten a comment from any 501st trooper.
He marched to the edge of the platform and snapped to a rigid, textbook attention. Itâs a posture so stiff it looks agonizing. It mirrored the physical manifestation of the wall heâs built between you.
"Reporting for duty, General," he saluted.
The voice that came through the vocoder is flat, metallic, and utterly anonymous. It was the voice of a soldier speaking to a superior officer. It was the voice of a man who is deliberately choosing to be a number because being a person hurt too much. There was no gravelly warmth, no hint of the "nobody" you held in the dark, and certainly no hint of the man who had dared to touch your face the previous night.
"Fives," you acknowledged. You wallowed hard to keep your own voice from cracking. You use his name, though for a moment, you thought you shouldnât, "Sledge and Striker will be assisting us with the canyon recon. Their experience with jagged terrain and high-altitude extraction is vital for the north face strike."
"Understood, General," Fives replied shortly.
He didnât ask for the mission specifics or offer the tactical insight that earned him his ARC rank. He simply turned on his heel and began hoisting heavy crates into the gunshipâs storage rack. His movements were mechanical, efficient, and hauntingly cold. He handled the gear with a violence that suggested heâs trying to punish the equipment for existing.
Striker watched him for a moment, his head cocked to the side like a curious bird. He leaned toward you, his voice a stage whisper that Fives definitely heard, "Wound a bit tight, isn't he, sir? Even for a 501st ARC. I thought Skywalkerâs boys were supposed to be the 'loose cannons' of the GAR."Â
Striker chuckled, nudging Sledge with an elbow before continuing, "Maybe he needs a few weeks with the 327th. We know how to relax. A little sand in the boots, a little sun-scorch on the brain, fixes that attitude real quick."
"Fives is focused," you hesitated, but said anyway. The lie felt like a jagged stone in your mouth, cutting you as you spoke it, âRyloth missions are high stakes. He knows the cost of failure."
"We all do, sir," Sledge muttered, his tone becoming more serious as he watched Fives work. He recognized the energy. Heâs seen it in men who are trying to outrun their own thoughts, "But focus is one thing. Looking like youâre ready to bite the head off a clanker with your bare teeth is another."
You turned your back on Striker and Sledge for a moment, ostensibly to check the navigation console inside the gunship, but really just to avoid their perceptive gazes. Inside the hold, the air was even more stagnant. Fives was stowing a crate of thermal detonators, his back to you.
The proximity was suffocating. In the hotel, this distance would have been an invitation. Here, in the belly of a war machine, it was chasm. You want to say something, anything to break the metallic silence. You wanted to tell him that the âtravelerâ lie wasn't a game, that it was a desperate attempt to find five minutes of peace in war. You wanted to tell him that youâre sorry for the rank, sorry for the robes, and sorry that the galaxy is the way it is.
But you canât. Because Sledge and Striker were right there. Because the deck crew was watching. Because you were General of the Republic and he was your subordinate.
"Is the gear secured, Fives?" you asked, his name sliding off your tongue so casually it felt like a slap.
Fives paused. His hand lingered on the handle of the crate for a second too long. It was a single, flickering moment of hesitation that told you heâs still in there. Then, he placed the crate down and turned.
"Everything is to regulation, General," he confirmed. He still wouldnât meet your eyes, even through his helmet. He looked at a point just above your left shoulder, "The 501stâs equipment has been integrated. We are ready for departure."
"Very well," you nodded, turning back to the others, "Sledge, Striker, get your gear stowed."
"You got it, General!" Striker chirped, hoisting his pack and hopping into the gunship with a practiced agility that was seamless. He settled opposite of Fives, grinning through his helmet, "So, Fives, right? Tell me, do you guys really have a no fun policy on the Resolute, or did you just lose a bet at 79's?"
Fives didnât answer. He sat down, hooked his arm through a grab-bar, and stared out at the hangar floor.
"Striker, leave him alone," Sledge grunted, climbing in and taking the spot next to Striker. He looked at you and gave a short, respectful nod, "Weâre ready when you are, sir."
You stepped into the gunship, the hydraulic hiss of the blast doors closing feeling like the final seal on a tomb. The interior lights shifted to a dim, tactical red. As the pilot fired up the engines, the ship tilted, throwing you slightly off balance.
You reached for a handhold, and for a split second, your arm brushed against Fivesâ pauldron.
The Force didnât just whisper; it screamed. Through the brief, accidental contact of your sleeve against his armor, you felt a tidal wave of resentment. It was a hot mix of betrayal and a profound, aching sense of being used. It was the feeling of a man who opened his soul only to have it treated like a tactical asset. He didnât flinch.
"Buckle up, General," Striker laughed, oblivious to the psychic storm, "Ryloth is a long way down, and I hear the Separatists have been practicing their aim."
You turn your gaze toward the cockpit, watching the containment shield fade away. You werenât worried about Ryloth, youâve survived much worse. But truthfully, you worried that you may never survive the silence of the man sitting three feet away from you.
"Itâs go time," you whispered, more to yourself than the squad.Â
As the gunship lifted out of the hangar, you couldnât help but think about how the interior of the gunship felt like perfect execution of claustrophobia - another prime example of Republic engineering that prioritized troop capacity over human dignity.
The transition from the artificial warmth of the Resoluteâs hangar and the upper reaches of Rylothâs atmosphere was violent. The gunship hit the thermosphere with a bone jarring thud, and the gravity wells of the planet tugged at your stomach. It was a sickening, lurching sensation that made the deck plating beneath you feel suddenly thin, as if the only thing separating you from a five mile plummet was a few centimeters of scarred durasteel.
Across the hold, Fives remained still. He stood with one hand on the arm bar and the other on the belt of his kama. Next to him Sledge had his helmet off. He was a veteran of the Star Corps, a man who treated each mission like an extension of his own soul. His calm was a grounding force in the turbulent cabin. Beside him, Striker was the polar opposite, acting like a bundle of restless, kinetic energy. His foot bounced a frantic rhythm into the deck floor as he was halfway through a story, his voice pitched high and fast to carry over the screaming, metallic whine of atmospheric friction.
"So there I am," Striker exclaimed, gesturing wildly with a hand that had seen too many close calls, "Hanging upside down by a glowing Felucian vine, my helmetâs full of swamp water, and three of those giant jungle spiders are debating which part of me to eat first. Iâm thinking, 'This is it, Striker, youâre going out as an appetizer.' And Bly, I kid you not, sir, Bly just stands there on the ridge, clears his throat, and says, 'Striker, if you wanted a closer look at the local flora, you should have just asked for a scout assignment.ââ
Sledge let out a low, rumbling grunt. It might have been a laugh if the pressure in his chest wasn't so high, "At least the spiders would've shut you up for five minutes," he muttered, tilting his head sarcastically at Striker..
Striker ignored him, his arm swinging toward the back of the gunship. Fives was standing dangerously close to the now partially open blast doors. His fingers were curled so tightly around the overhead grab bar that you could see the tension in his forearm plates. He was staring out at the Ryloth horizon, where the red dust of the planet was beginning to bleed into the sky. He hadn't spoken or even looked at you since the hangar.
"Hey, 501st!" Striker called out, trying to bridge the icy gap, "You ever fought in a canyon where the walls actually try to eat you?"
Fives didn't even turn his head. He didn't shift his weight. He remained utterly motionless, a ghost in the machine. The silence he projected was so heavy it seemed to dampen the roar of the engines, creating a pocket of absolute zero in the middle of a burning atmosphere.
"Heâs a real talker, isn't he?" Sledge grunted, shifting his gaze to you. He gave you a knowing, heavy lidded look. It was the look of a veteran who recognized a man on the edge of a breakdown, or a man who had already broken and was just waiting for the pieces to scatter.
"The 501st could only offer me one of their ARCs," you lied, "Iâm sure if you two were separated, you wouldnât be too thrilled."
"If you say so, General," Striker shrugged, though his bounce had slowed. The tension in the hold was no longer just atmospheric. It was a physical pressure, a vacuum of unspoken words and shattered trust that felt more dangerous than the mission waiting below.
"Incoming!" the pilot screamed over the internal comms, breaking the silence. His voice was distorted by a layer of frantic static and the roar of wind through a cracked viewport. "Vulture droids at six o'clock! Theyâre locking on.â
"Hold on!" Sledge bellowed, his voice echoing in the small space. He slammed his supply bag into a locking rack and grabbed the safety straps with both hands, his knuckles straining against his gloves.
Another explosion echoed through the cabin as the world tilted on its axis.
A massive explosion bloomed just outside the open blast doors, the heat of it searing the air inside the hold and turning the red dust of Ryloth into a blinding, orange haze. The gunship groaned a deep, structural screech that sounded like a living creature in pain.
The blast knocked you off balance, sending your body towards Fives. Instinctively, your hand reached out to steady yourself, searching for anything solid in the chaos. Before your palm could land flat against the center of Fivesâ chest plate, you felt a hand grab your arm. With one swift movement Striker pulled you back and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.Â
âCareful, Generalâ he exhaled, slowly releasing his grip around you. You stood with your back pressed against him for a few extra moments as you reached up for the grab bar.Â
You turned your head to face him, realizing he was much closer that you initially thought. Even with the darkness of the gunship, you were close enough to make out every faint scar on his cheeks.Â
âThanks, Striker,â you softly smiled, tightening your grip on the grab bar.Â
Striker gave you a playful wink before sliding his helmet back on, âAnytime, General.â
You found your gaze lingering on his helmet, where his bare face used to be, for a moment too long.Â
âI can't shake 'em!" the pilot yelled over the intercom, snapping your trance.Â
Another hit followed, more devastating this time. A sickening, grinding sound radiated through the cabin as a heat seeking missile found the starboard wing. The explosion ripped through the engine housing, and the gunship was instantly transformed from a vessel into a plummeting piece of debris.Â
The scream of the remaining engine became a high-pitched, mechanical wail that vibrated through your teeth and made your skull ache. The cabin filled with the thick, black smoke of burning wires and the sharp, terrifyingly sweet scent of leaking fuel.
"We're going down! We're going-" the pilotâs voice was cut off by static, "Brace! Brace-"
The gunship was no longer flying. It was tumbling. Through the half-open doors, you saw the canyon walls rushing past like jagged teeth of rock waiting to tear the ship apart. Centrifugal force suddenly slammed you back against the bulkhead, pinning you down. Across the hold, you saw Fives finally move. He wasn't reaching for a harness or a safety line. He was reaching for his DC-17s, his movements instinctive and lethal even as the world ended around him. He was going down fighting, even if there was nothing left to fight but the ground.
You saw Strikerâs hand reaching out toward you through the haze like a silent plea for a Jedi miracle.
Then the gunship slammed into the canyon wall. The sound was beyond hearing, swallowing your consciousness whole. There was a fleeting moment of searing, white hot heat as the fuel tanks ignited, a flash of red dust and blue sparks, and then the world simply ceased to exist.
Your consciousness returned not as a thought, but as pain.
âKriff!â you gasped, feeling the blaze of the wreckage burning entirely too close to your leg. The pain was the only thing that proved you were still a living entity in a world that had suddenly become very still.
The air was now suffocating you with aerosolized hydraulic fluid, burning insulation, and charred durasteel. Every inhalation felt like swallowing hot needles, the smoke coating your throat in a layer of bitter ash. Your skin felt as if it were still inside the explosion, a thousand tiny fires dancing across your arms and face where the heat of the fuel ignition had licked at you.
Then came the noise. Or rather, the lack of it. A high pitched, piercing ringing occupied the entirety of your senses, a relentless shriek that drowned out the wind. It was the sound of a nervous system trying to reboot after a catastrophic shock.
You tried to move, but the world didn't budge. You were pinned, chest deep, under a section of the interior hull, or a massive slab of durasteel that had once been the ceiling of the gunship, you couldnât tell. It pressed down on your ribs with an indifferent, crushing weight, squeezing the very air from your lungs.Â
"Striker?"
Your voice didn't sound like yours. It was a raw, broken rasp, stripped of the melodic authority you used on the bridge. It was the sound of a ghost calling out to another.
No response.Â
You couldn't move your torso, but you managed to tilt your head, your neck grating against the grit and ash of dirt. The red dust of Ryloth had coated everything in a fine, rust-colored powder, turning the wreckage into a red, dirty mess.
Through the haze of smoke, you saw him.
Within arm's reach, so close you could feel the dissipating heat from his armor, was Striker. He wasn't the vibrant, restless soldier who had been joking about Felucian spiders only minutes ago. He was pinned beside you, his body half buried in the mangled remains of supply crates.
His helmet had been ripped away in the impact. It lay several feet away, its visor shattered and dark. Your stomach dropped into a cold, hollow abyss. Beneath his head, a dark, viscous pool of blood was spreading into the red soil, turning the dust into a thick, black mire. It didn't pulse. It didn't flow. It simply sat there, reflecting the flickering orange light of the burning engines.
"Striker," you rasped, the word tearing at your throat.
He didn't blink or groan. The silence emanating from him was absolute, a void in the Force where a bright, frantic spark had been only moments before.
With a grunt of agony, you strained against the weight of the hull, stretching your arm through a gap in the twisted metal. Your fingers, caked in soot and trembling with a violent, uncontrollable chill, reached for him. You ignored the protest of your bruised ribs and the way the metal bit into your shoulder, reaching until your fingertips finally brushed the cool skin of his neck.
You pressed your fingers against the carotid artery, praying to the Force for even the faintest, thready sign of life. You held your breath, counting the seconds against the frantic thud of your own heart.
Nothing.
The man who had just looked at you with absolute fear in his eyes was gone. Striker, the heart and the mouth of the 327th, was gone before the dust from the crash had even settled.
You let your hand fall back into the dirt, your fingers curling into the soil. A tear tracked through the soot on your cheek, leaving a clean, salt burned trail in its wake. You wanted to take the team of ARC troopers. You had put him on this ship.Â
And now, the only thing left of Striker was the silence he had tried so hard to fill.
Panic flared but you forced it down into the cold center of your training. You closed your eyes, ignoring the stinging sweat and blood that ran into them, and reached into the Force. It felt distant, muddied by the trauma of the crash, but you grasped it with desperation. With a primal cry that tore at your raw throat, you pushed.
The Force surged through your trembling limbs, a violent outward pressure that defied the physics of the metal. The sheared edges of the hull screeched against the rocks, before it was heaved upward and tossed aside. It clattered into the dirt with a dull, hollow thud that you felt more than heard.
You crawled out of the wreckage. Your fingers, torn and caked in grit, dug into the red soil of the Ryloth canyon floor. The ground was hot, baked by the heat of the wreckage. As you dragged yourself out from under the shadow of the debris, your lungs finally expanded in a ragged, agonizing gulp of air. You collapsed onto your stomach, your cheek pressed against the ground, watching the world through a haze of gray smoke and flickering orange light.
Strikerâs body remained in your peripheral. He died reaching for a Jedi miracle you hadn't been fast enough to provide. You let that sit with you for a moment.Â
The dust began to settle, reminding you of the true extent of reality, "Sledge!"
You turned toward the nose of the ship. The cockpit was a mangled mess of shards, glinting like diamonds in the firelight. You staggered toward it, desperate to find the rest of your men. The pilot was still there, slumped over the shattered controls, his hands frozen in a final, futile attempt to save his crew. He was deceased, his journey ended in a canyon he had never intended to visit.
Then you saw the main fuselage, where the heaviest part of the ship had pancaked into the ground. Sledge was there. Or what was left of him.
The veteran of the 327th who had carried a Z-6 r like it was a feather, was pinned beneath the primary support strut. You didn't even have to reach for a pulse or check the Force. The weight of the ship had been absolute. You could see his heavy cannon lying a few meters away, half-buried in the dirt, silent and useless.
You stood there in the center of the carnage. The high pitched ringing in your ears finally began to fade, replaced by a much more terrifying sound - the absolute silence of the dead.
The Force rippled then, not with the cold resentment you had felt in the air, but with something else. A flicker. A pulse.
A survivor.
You turned your head slowly, your eyes tracking the wreckage until they landed on a crumpled wing that had sheared off the main body of the craft. It was leaning against the canyon wall, creating a small, dark hollow beneath the burning metal.
Fives.
Your heart, which had felt like a dead stone in your chest, gave a sudden, painful thud. The fear of being alone with him was gone, replaced by a desperate, soul crushing terror that he might be as still as the others. You didn't care about the lies or the awkward tension anymore.
You began to run, ignoring the scream of your bruised ribs and the fire in your lungs, stumbling through the red soil toward the man who held the last hope of survival.Â
Fives was on his back, his body contorted in the dirt. He was still wearing his helmet, his visor reflecting the orange glow of the burning fuselage. Your hands were shaking violently as you reached for him. You knelt in the dust, the heat of the fire licking at your back, and hooked your fingers under the rim of his helmet. The seals were jammed, bent by the impact, and it took a frantic, desperate tug to release the pressurized lock. With a sharp hiss of escaping air, the helmet came free, and you tossed it aside like it was a piece of poison.
His face was pale, stripped of the bravado he had worn on the Resolute. A dark, jagged smear of blood ran down his temple, matting the short, dark hair that you had memorized with your fingertips in the hotel. His eyes were closed, his lashes casting shadows against his cheeks.
"Fives," you whispered, the rank finally forgotten, buried under the wreckage of the ship, "Fives, stay with me. Please."
His chest was rising and falling in shallow, ragged thumps. The massive weight of the gunship wing was pinning his legs and torso to the ground. You could see the way the metal had buckled under the pressure, threatening to crush the life out of him before the dust even settled.
You sat down behind him and latched your arms under his armpits and around his shoulders, pulling his body onto yours. Planting your feet in the shifting dirt, your muscles screamed in protest as you pushed away from the gunship, desperately attempting to pull him out. You reached deep into the Force, searching for that center of stillness amidst the chaos. The weight was heavy, unbearably heavy. It felt as though you were trying to lift the canyon itself. You let out a groan of effort, your teeth gritting until your jaw ached, and funneled every ounce of your will into the ground.
Finally, the wing heaved upward, tumbling back into the canyon wall.
He didn't wake up. He only let out a soft, wet groan, his head rolling weakly to the side as his eyes fluttered beneath his lids. You scrambled your hands across your utility belt, searching for anything that could bring him back to lift. At your hip was your canteen, dented and leaking, but still half full. You grabbed it, unscrewing the cap with your teeth, and splashed the lukewarm water directly onto his face.
Fives sputtered, his lungs suddenly catching air. His eyes snapped open, not with the calm of a soldier, but with a wild, panicked intensity. He gasped, his hands flying up to catch your wrists in a defensive, bruising grip. His fingers dug into your skin, his pupils blown wide as he tried to figure out if he was still in the nightmare.
For a split second, he wasn't an ARC trooper. He was just a man waking up in a fire.
"Easy," you eased, leaning over him so your face was the only thing he could see, "Easy, Fives. Youâre okay."
His grip on your wrists didn't loosen, but the panic in his eyes began to melt into something else - a dazed, aching recognition. Before he could speak, the ground beneath you suddenly shuttered. It was a deep, tectonic rumble that vibrated through your bones and sent a shockwave of pebbles bouncing across the dirt. The crash had destabilized the entire canyon floor. Below you, a massive shelf of rock began to groan and crumble, sending a portion of the wreckage tumbling down the canyon.Â
"The- the land-," Fives rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through miles of gravel.
"I know," you panicked, your heart racing.
There was no time to run, no time to find a clearing. You tightened your grip around him and dug your heels back into the dirt, frantically pushing back from the cracked rock. If your mind wasnât laser focused on survival, youâd almost be impressed with how quickly you managed to drag both your bodies up against a narrow, vertical crevice in the canyon wall.
The canyon roared.
A massive rockslide thundered past the opening of the crevice, a literal river stone that blocked out the sky. The sheer force of the falling debris shook the very foundation of the planet, the noise so loud it felt like it was tearing the air out of your lungs.
To keep him from being sucked out or crushed by the shifting pressure of the rocks pressing against the opening, you pulled him closer, his back plates painfully digging into your skin.Â
Within moments, the only sound was the heavy thud of both your heartbeats. You were both trapped. The space was so narrow that there was no room for the rank you held or the armor he wore. You were pressed so tightly against him that the boundaries between your bodies felt dangerously thin. You could feel the searing heat radiating off his skin, a feverish warmth that fought against the damp chill of the canyon walls. After a few deep breaths, you managed to slow your heartrate, but his heart was still a frantic, heavy thud against your own ribs.
Subconsciously, you rested your chin on his head, The smell of his hair pulled you back to the hotel room where the galaxy had felt small and safe. It was a scent that made your throat tighten.
Slowly, he tiled his neck back. Your face was now inches from his, so close that his ragged breaths fanned across your lips. In the dim light that managed to bleed through settling dust, you could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. You watched the way his jaw worked, the muscle jumping as he fought to draw air into lungs that were likely bruised from the impact.
Fives looked at you. He didn't look away, and he didn't blink. The icy, professional mask he had worn in the hangar, the one that had cut you deeper than any vibroblade, had been scorched away by the fire of the crash. His eyes were wide and wet, shimmering with a raw, bleeding vulnerability that made you want to weep. The resentment was still there, but it was overshadowed by a terrifying, naked honesty.Â
Carefully, he brought his hand up to his pauldron, unclasping it before sliding it over his head. Fives tossed it to the side letting out a huff of breath that sounded more like a reaction to the pain. Without warning his head collapsed down onto your thigh.Â
âHey!â you gasped, tapping the side of his cheek frantically, âFiv-âÂ
You stopped, distracted by the sudden movement of his hand slowly moving across his body, his fingers carefully reaching into a small pouch on his utility belt.Â
His eyes opened, meeting yours again.Â
"You're bleeding," he whispered.
His voice was a trembling wreck, sounding as if it had been dragged through the very stones that now trapped you. He wasn't looking at you as his General. He was looking at the cut on your forehead where the blood had begun to dry in the dust.
He pulled a small rag out of the pouch and reached out towards you. His hands were shaking like he was unsure if he was allowed to touch the person in front of him. His fingers hesitated just a fraction of an inch from your cheek, the heat from his skin prickling against your own.
"Itâs okay," you exhaled.
The words were lost in the microscopic space between your lips, more a prayer than a statement. Nothing was okay. Your men were gone and you were trapped in a canyon with the only person who could see right through you.
His thumb brushed a streak of red dirt from your skin, his touch feeling like both a lifeline and an accusation. You leaned into his palm, as he brushed the blood off your cheek.
The vulnerability in his gaze sharpened into a look of profound, aching clarity, "I know who you are," he shook his head, his voice cracking, "And I hate that it changes nothing.â
Hates the cold. Despises it. Will do anything possible to avoid Hardcase and his incessant need to go outside for a snowball fight. He will cave, and come in like a wet tooka, cold and miserable. Luckily youâre here to warm him up.Â
Hot Caf and Cocoa have him purring like a kitten in your lap in no time.Â
Rex:
Its hard for you to pull him from his work, even if the power goes out.Â
Once you get him out in the city for a snowy walk and some caf, he opens up and actually enjoys his forced day off.Â
Echo:
He has stockpiles of books to read, and battery powered lanterns.Â
Naps. So many naps.Â
Fives:
Power goes out? No problem. He has candles and jokes and stories to tell. Heâll talk your head off if you let him.Â
Cuddle? Sure, thatâll work for awhile. Heâs gonna get handsy though. And you know what that leads to.Â
Hardcase:
Snowball fights, sledding, kriff if he could snowboard heâd be doing it.
He mainly just wants to be with you, and do whatever you want to do, but its hard to deny his urge to frolick in the snow.
Kix:
Obsessed with you keeping warm (prevent hypothermia and frostbite, ofcourse)
Did you know the best way to share body heat is⊠skin to skin?
----
What do you think? How would your fav clone handle a snow day? (I'm trapped by the ice storm, warm me up with a handsome clone, please?)
"You're an idiot, now I'm sure." - Fives friends to lovers oneshot.
Warnings: Angst and Violence
Listening Recs: That's So True by Gracie Abrams
Word Count: 4.8K
âYouâre bluffing.â You say, eyes narrowed, and you spot the bead of sweat making its way down his temple, past his tattoo. The whole place seems stilled for just a moment, the tension between you so tight it could snap, a cable sending you careening down.
It snaps.
âKriff!â Fives exclaims as he tosses his card on the table. âItâs like you can read my mind.â
Cheers erupt around the table as you claim all the credits in the middle, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.Â
Fives leans forward, hands palm down on the table. âWhat number am I thinking of? You have three seconds.â
You lean forward, until you are face to face with him across the table. Youâre so close you can smell the wintergreen of his breath. You blink your eyes at him and cock an eyebrow.
âThree.â He says. He swallows, hard.Â
âTwo.â You notice his eyes dart to your lips, so close to his.Â
âOne.â He whispers.Â
â5.â You say, smirking.
 His face goes slack and the table bursts into laughter, Jesse knocking over a drink in the process. You slide back into your seat beside Echo who throws an arm around your shoulder, choking on his laughter.Â
You love this. The camaraderie. You have such little time with your boys between missions, that nights like these, at 79âs, are only ever topped by nights at your small apartment. You secretly hoped this night would end back there, the boys having a sleepover right on your floor how they so often did.Â
Echoâs leg brushes yours and he pipes up, eyes levelled at his brother. Â
âYou couldnât think of a better number than five?âÂ
Fives snorts and rolls his eyes. âItâs literally in the name, what other number could I have picked? Letâs go again, best two out of three.âÂ
Hardcase nudges him with an elbow. âYou know why she can read you so well?â
Fives turns to him and gives him a look. âWhy, âCase?âÂ
Hardcase tears up the paper napkin in front of him, very dramatically, and then tosses the pieces in the air like confetti, sprinkling the table.Â
âYouâre in loooooooove!â
Laughter passes around the booth with groans intermixed. Fives eyes flash to you, panic on his face for just a split second.Â
Your stomach tightens, twisting, turning. You swallow.Â
Then he tilts his head back and howls in laughter. Laughing so hard tears stream down his face.Â
Your face heats. You laugh under your breath, trying to crack a smile.Â
âIn love? With her?â He breathes, wiping tears from his eyes.Â
Your breath catches.
Echo places a strong hand on your knees and clears his throat. âHey, now. Itâs not that far-fetched. I mean, look at her.âÂ
You know he means well, but the eyes of Torrent company are now all on you, and after that slight, you feel microscopic.Â
Fives jolts in his seat, suddenly seeming to notice your discomfort.Â
âI just mean that⊠youâre⊠you know. Our girl.â
You nod as the boys all mutter agreements and avoid the slight hurt in your gaze that you try so hard to mask.Â
âExcuse me.â You say, leaving the table and heading out into the dark night.Â
So much for a sleepover.Â
Kriffing Fives.Â
As you lean yourself up against the durasteel wall outside 79âs you do your best to keep from crying. Had it been anyone elseâŠ
Jesse, youâd have laughed along.Â
Echo, youâd have kissed his cheek jokingly.Â
Hardcase youâd have thrown something at him.Â
But Fives?
The hurt in your chest twists like a knife.
He knew.
You knew that deep down he knew how you felt about him. They all did. They had to.Â
You and Fives were closer than any of the others. You spent the most time together. Caf runs, holo marathons. Youâd been there each time he had to be patched up, every time he needed someone to talk to. And heâd been your rock through so many hard things.Â
Then there was the moments. Hands touching, warmth spreading. Sparks.
Every time the boys were gone you dreamed of them, of their faces. All melding into one in the way clonesâ do.Â
But it always had a tattoo at the temple.Â
You were best friends. But he just had to know that it was more for you.
But then he went and said that? Laughed at you like that?
âHeâs an idiot, now Iâm sure.â You hear beside you. Echo. He leans against the wall with you and hands you a drink. You huff out something that almost sounds like a laugh.Â
âYouâre biased.â
âYeah,â he says easily. âBut Iâm also right.â
The music from inside 79âs thumps through the walls. You stare out into the neon-lit street.
âI donât care,â you say quietly.
Echo finally glances at you. âBut you do.â
You freeze, then nod. He nudges your shoulder with his.
âHe laughed because he panicked.â Echo says, lips an inch away from his glass.
You scoff. âThat wasnât panic. That was⊠hysteria.â
âExactly.â
You blink.
Echo continues, voice softer now. âYou ever see him when Rex catches us sneaking ration sweets onto the gunship? Same laugh. He does it when heâs scared.â
You swallow.
âThat wasnât scared, Echo. That was embarrassed.â
Echo shakes his head. âNo. That was âoh kriff everyone can see straight through me and now I donât know what to do with my handsâ.â
You stare down at your drink.
ââŠyou think?â
âI know.â
The hope hurts almost as much as the rejection. Before you can respond to Echo the door to 79âs slams open.
âMove, move out of the way!â Hardcase bursts out first, nearly tripping over the threshold.
âHardcase, I swear to the Force!â Fives chases after him, flushed and wild eyed. He spots you and stops dead. Hardcase points dramatically at you like heâs delivering a bounty.
âThere. Talk. Iâm not dying for you two idiotsâ unresolved feelings.â
âHardcaseâŠâ
âNope. Iâve done my duty to the Republic.â
He vanishes back inside. Echo pushes off the wall. âIâm gonna⊠get another drink,â he says, clearly not needing one. He squeezes your shoulder as he passes. Silent support.
Then youâre alone with him.
Fives shoves his hands in his pockets, takes them out. Crosses his arms, uncrosses them. He looks like heâd rather face a Separatist tank.
ââŠHey.â
âHi.â
Your voice is flat. Controlled. It hurts more than yelling would. He winces.
âAbout insideâŠâ
âYou donât have toâŠâ
âI do.â
The words come out sharp. You look up. His jawâs tight.
âI kriffed that up.â
You say nothing. He exhales hard through his nose.
âI wasnât laughing at you.â He sighs
âIt kinda sounded like it.â you retort, the hurt lacing your voice.
âI was laughing at me.â He says quietly.
You frown and he rubs the back of his neck.
âWhen Hardcase said that⊠I justâŠâ He huffs. âI didnât know what to say. Everyone was staring. And if I didnât laugh I probably wouldâve..â He stops himself.
ââŠwouldâve what?â
His eyes flick to yours, then your lips, then away.
ââŠsaid something stupid.â
Your heart stutters. âYou did say something stupid,â you whisper.
He flinches like you slapped him. ââŠyeah,â he admits.
Thereâs a moment of quiet, and the whole city seems to fall to a hush. The universe narrows to just you. Has he always been standing so close to you? You hate this feeling. Things used to be so much easier, before you realized how you felt for him.Â
You use a fist to punch him in the shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. âWalk me home?â You ask.Â
He nods and you head into the Coruscant night together. The walk is quiet, but close. He drops you off with a gentle goodbye and you do your best to smile at him as you close the door.Â
* * * * * *Â
Days pass and things are⊠fine. Just fine. All the other boys seem to have forgotten the awkwardness of that night, and you are overcompensating in how you act. You pretend nothing happened. That Fives is nothing to you but a friend. Youâre bubbly and open and yourself.Â
But then Fives pulls you to the side one day. Your heart flutters at the touch of his hand on yours as he guides you away from the group.Â
âCan I ask you something?â He says, voice soft, serious. You nod, mouth dry.Â
âCan you read this message? I donât know whether to send it or not.â
You look down at his comm and your heart drops.Â
It's a text asking for⊠a date. Asking someone out. The number at the top of the screen isnât familiar.
Your eyes widen. You struggle with words. âYeah. That sounds good.â You say.Â
Fives is quiet for a second, staring at you. Then he says, âThanks⊠I just didn't know if it was good to send or not.â
You smile at him, forced.Â
âYeah, wouldnât wanna sound like an idiot again would you?â
He blinks, confused.
ââŠyeah,â he says slowly.
But youâre already stepping away before your face betrays you. âIâve got work to do,â you add and you donât wait for an answer. You donât look back. If you look back, you might stay. If you stay, you might cry, and you absolutely refuse to cry in front of him.
The rest of the day is a blur. Just you doing anything that keeps your hands busy. Anything that keeps you from thinking about him and that stupid text.Â
And her.
Kriff.
You wonder what her laugh sounds like. If sheâs pretty. If sheâs softer than you. Maybe sheâs normal. Maybe thatâs what he wants.
Not the girl they call our girl.
Later, the boys pile into the hangar loud as ever, Hardcase arguing with Jesse. Kix yelling about someone skipping med checks. Fives saunters in and suddenly youâre absorbed in your datapad. You donât look up.
âShe said yes!â He says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.Â
âGreat.â you say flatly. Thereâs an awkward moment.
Fives is never awkward with you. Well he never used to be. Now it seems more and more often that awkwardness lands between you like a grenade. It makes your chest ache. âSo, uh⊠yeah. Weâre going out tonight.â
You keep typing and you focus on the numbers. Because numbers donât hurt.
Numbers donât fall in love with other girls.
âThatâs great, Fives.â You say and finally look up. His brown eyes are big, bigger than usual. Staring into yours. Thereâs something there, something unsaid. Before you can muster the courage to say something youâll regret, Echo walks up.Â
âAre we still meeting at 79âs tomorrow night? I need to wash my civvies if so.â Itâs like he could feel the tension across the room and came over to break it. You blink, grateful for the interruption.
âYeah,â you say quickly, latching onto the normalcy like a lifeline. âSame time. Donât be late or Iâm not saving you a booth.â
âWouldnât dream of it,â Echo replies. He studies you for half a second too long. Echo notices everything. The tightness in your jaw. The way youâre not looking at Fives. The way Fives isnât looking at anything except you.
Fives shifts his weight beside your desk.
âSoâŠ,â he says again, softer this time. Like heâs waiting for you to say something.
You donât.
You just nod once. âHave fun.â
The words taste like rust. He hesitates.
âYeah. I will.â And he walks away.
You donât let yourself watch him go. You donât. You absolutely donât.
âŠYou do.Â
Just for a second. Long enough to see him laughing with Jesse, shoving Hardcaseâs shoulder, easy and bright. Like heâs not about to take someone else out tonight. Like he doesnât carry your favorite caf order in his head. Like he doesnât knock on your door when nightmares get bad.
You look back down at the datapad so fast the screen blurs.
Numbers.Â
Just focus on the numbers, you tell yourself.
But only one comes to mind.Â
* * * * *
79âs is tense. Nothing about the familiar walls, the lights, the music can tame the thudding in your chest. You havenât seen Fives since he told you he had secured a date with that mystery girl. But heâs going to be here, tonight, and you just know heâs going to talk all about it with his brothers.Â
With you, too.Â
You steel your heart. Focus on Echo, your other best friend. Heâll be stoic, your rock. He knows how you feel, how this will make you feel. Heâll protect you from the worst of it.Â
Youâre dressed up. You wanted to feel alive, special, like someone that someone would want. Youâd resolved that if someone wanted to pick you up tonight, you might actually let them. Normally the brothers chase off anyone who comes near to you, but youâll brush them off tonight.Â
You just want to feel wanted.Â
The boys filter in as you finish your first drink. Echo first, sliding into the large booth beside you, a few others after him.Â
Then, itâs like the air is pulled from the room when you spot him by the door. In a brown leather jacket, black shirt beneath, dark jeans. Hair neatly laid back, but somehow tousled. Itâs like you can smell the whiskey and wintergreen from here.Â
 Then you see her.Â
His hand is on her lower back, guiding her in. Sheâs⊠beautiful. Everything youâre insecure about, everything you lack, she has. She beams in the dim light of the bar.Â
You canât breathe.Â
He walks her up to your booth and the two of them slide in. He introduces her and the boys all smile and play nice. You smile kindly at her, pretending you arenât falling apart at the seams. Echo places a hand on your leg and squeezes, letting you know heâs there. Itâs grounding.
You study her as the boys playfully interrogate her. Sheâs calm, collected. Dazzling smile, charming responses.Â
Sheâs cool. The definition of popular.Â
You hate her so much.Â
The boys love her, theyâre eating out of the palm of her hand. Except Echo. He looks at her skeptically.
âSo howâd you two meet?â He asks.Â
They look at each other grinning. âFew days ago at another bar. Heâs lucky heâs cute, he was so drunk when he asked for my number. Then we went out yesterday.â She says flippantly.Â
âWhereâd you go?â You ask, the question startling even you.Â
âSome little cafe he likes. What was it again?â
Fives looks at you, guilt on every line of his face. âCourts Cafe.â
Your heart drops. Thats⊠thats your place. Yours and his. Thats where you first went when the friendship was starting, and the place youâve gone every time you wanted caf or a moment alone since. He took her there?
You plaster a grin on your face, desperately trying to make your eyes light up, âLove that place.â You say. The girl places a hand on Fives arm. She laughs. Then she perks up.Â
âOh! My friends are here finally. Let me go grab them, Iâll pop to the fresher and be right back.â She says, and she squeezes Fivesâ arm as she goes. You watch her leave, joining two other equally beautiful girls and heading to the fresher across the way.Â
Hardcase doesnât even wait until sheâs out of earshot. The second the fresher door swings shut behind her and her friends, he leans back in the booth like heâs been physically holding it in.
âWell?â he blurts, too loud already. âYou tap that yet?â
The table erupts.
Jesse chokes on his drink. Kix smacks Hardcase upside the head. Tup mutters, âStars, have some tact,â but heâs laughing too.
Fives groans. âShut up, you idiot.â
âWhat?â Hardcase shrugs, unapologetic. âItâs been, what⊠two whole days? Thatâs basically a lifetime for you.â
âThat is notâŠâ Fives rubs his temples. âThatâs not how that works.â
âOh please,â Jesse cuts in. âYou brought her here. Thatâs serious territory.â
âYeah,â Hardcase adds, waggling his brows. âYou donât bring just anyone to meet us. Thatâs practically a marriage proposal. Or at least a âboots under the bunkâ situation.â
âHardcase,â Echo warns.
But itâs too late. Theyâre piling on now.
âSo whereâd you even disappear to last night?â Jesse asks.
âBarracks were real quiet,â Kix says.
âToo quiet,â Hardcase echoes dramatically. âSuspiciously quiet.â
Fivesâ ears are red. Bright red.
âYouâre all kriffing children.â
Hardcase leans across the table. âSo thatâs a yesâŠâ
âNo!â
The word comes out sharp enough that a couple heads turn. Silence hangs for half a second. Your throat is so tight you canât swallow.Â
âExcuse me.â You say and slide out of the booth, heading to the fresher. You need to run your hands under some cool water to stop them from shaking.Â
âWay to go, vod.â Echo says as you leave.Â
The door swings shut behind you with a dull hiss.
Instantly itâs quieter in here. Muffled bass from the bar. Running water. Fluorescent lights that buzz faintly overhead. You grip the edge of the sink and twist the handle, cold water rushes over your fingers.
Theyâre shaking.
You brace both hands under the stream, letting the chill bite into your skin, trying to ground yourself. Trying to breathe. You stare at your reflection. You look⊠wrecked.Â
Pathetic.
âHeâs so stupid. Like really.â
You freeze.
Water keeps running over your knuckles.
The voice comes from the corner near the floor-length mirror.
Her.
Sheâs standing with her two friends, lipstick out, reapplying like sheâs in some holo drama. One of them is fixing her curls. The other is scrolling her datapad. They havenât noticed you yet.
âLike dense,â she continues, laughing under her breath. âCanât hold a conversation to save his life.â
Your stomach drops.
âI think all those clones are probably that way.â
Her friend snorts. âSeriously? Theyâre kinda just⊠grown soldiers, right? Like lab experiments.â
âExactly,â she says. âItâs weird. He kept talking about his brothers. All of them together all the time? Itâs codependent as hell.â
Your jaw tightens.
Brothers.
She says it like itâs something dirty, like itâs something to mock.
âI swear,â she goes on, popping her gum, âI had to carry the whole date. Iâd ask him something and heâd just stare at me for a second like his brain had to reboot.â
She rolls her eyes. âIt was fine. Total hole-in-the-wall. He acted like it was some big sentimental thing.â She makes a gagging noise. âMen are so dramatic.â
Your chest aches.
Courts.
The little table by the window. The first time Fives bought you caf because youâd skipped lunch. The way heâd pretended not to watch you smile. The way heâd tapped his fingers when he was nervous. Sentimental because it mattered.
Because you mattered.
âAnd stars,â she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially, âheâs not even that hot up close.â
Your head snaps up.
Her friend shrugs. âSo whyâre you here with him?â
She laughs. âFree drinks. His friends are cute.Isnât that weird? Theyâre all the same, but different. Anyways, figured Iâd see if any of them are upgrades.â
Upgrades.
Something inside you twists hard and ugly.
âAnd if not,â she adds, checking her reflection, âIâll ditch him. Itâs not like heâs gonna get it anyway. Sweet, but dumb.â
Your hands are trembling so hard the water splashes onto the counter. You shut it off too fast. The pipes squeal. They finally notice you. Three sets of eyes flick your way. They look you up and down.
âOh,â she says lightly, like youâre an inconvenience. âDidnât see you there.â You swallow. Your throat burns.Your hands shake.
Not from nerves anymore, from rage. Rage sharp enough it feels like itâs cutting through your ribs. Sheâs still smirking at you like this is funny. Like heâs some dumb story to tell her friends later.
âShut up.â You say.
Hey eyebrows raise. âYou his little guard dog or something?â she says, popping her gum.
You donât even think.
âNo,â you say, voice low and steady. âIâm someone who doesnât let people talk about good men like theyâre trash.â Her friends exchange a look. She just laughs.
âGood men?â she repeats. âHoney, heâs a clone. Heâs government property.â
Something inside you snaps.
âHeâs a person,â you bite out.
She rolls her eyes. âRelax. Itâs not that deep.â
âHe treated you like you mattered,â you say. âHe brought you to meet his brothers. He took you somewhere important to him. And you come in here and call him stupid?â
She shrugs. âBecause he is.â
Your vision tunnels.
âHe can barely string two sentences together without looking confused. All those clones are the same. Bred to shoot things, not think.â
Your hands ball into fists.
âYou donât know anything about them.â
âI know enough,â she scoffs. âHe stared at me like a kicked tooka every time I teased him. It was kinda sad. I almost felt bad.â
âHe deserves better than you,â you say quietly.
Her smile drops a fraction.
âExcuse me?â
âHeâs smarter than anyone in that bar. Kinder too. And youâre in here using him for free drinks and scouting his friends like theyâre upgrades?â
Her friends go quiet.
She flushes. âWow. Youâre way too invested. Thatâs actually pathetic.â
âPathetic?â You step closer. âYouâre mocking someone whoâd take a blaster bolt for people he met five minutes ago.â
She snorts. âYeah, yeah. Thatâs all heâs worth. God, you clones groupies are all the same. Acting like theyâre real men. Newsflash? Theyâre lab-grown. Replaceable.â
Replaceable.
You donât even feel yourself move. Your hand justâŠswings.
CRACK.
The sound echoes off tile and mirror. Her head snaps to the side. Everyone freezes, even you. Your palm stings. Her lip splits a little. For half a second, thereâs complete silence.
Then, âYou crazy bitch!â she screams, lunging. She shoves you hard. You stumble back into the sink, metal biting into your hip. She grabs your shirt, nails catching fabric, and you grab hers back on instinct. Years of breaking up trooper scuffles kick in automatically.
She swings wild. Her fist glances off your shoulder. You shove her away and she slams into the paper towel dispenser, plastic cracking. Her friend yelps and runs out the door, hollering for help. She comes at you again, shrieking now, mascara already smudging.
âYou donât get to hit me!â
âYou donât get to talk about him like that!â you shout back.
She claws for your hair. You catch her wrist and twist like youâve seen Rex do a hundred times. She gasps and tries to knee you. You both crash into the counter, knocking over soap and water everywhere. She finally lands one across your cheek. Your head snaps sideways.
Your ears ring and somehow that just makes you angrier.
âSay it again,â you snarl. âCall him stupid again. I dare you.â
She falters, because she can see it in your eyes, you mean it.
The door swings open.
âWhat the kriff is goingâŠâ
Fives.
And behind him, Echo and Kix.
They freeze at the scene.
Water everywhere. Paper towels torn apart. You and her gripping each otherâs shirts like animals.
Fives moves first. You think heâs going to go for her, baby her, take care of her as she sits on her ass bleeding from the nose, the lip.
He grabs your waist and hauls you back effortlessly.
Kix pulls the girl the other way while she screeches about assault charges and psychos.
Youâre still breathing hard. Chest heaving.
Fivesâ arms are tight around you, solid and grounding and searing your skin.
âHey,â he murmurs in your ear. âYouâre okay. I got you.â
Your cheek throbs. Your knuckles ache.
Across the room, she points at you. âShe attacked me!â
You laugh once. Sharp. Humorless. âMaybe donât call war heroes brain-dead experiments next time.â
Her friends go quiet. Real quiet. Because suddenly it doesnât sound funny anymore.
Fives squeezes your shoulders.
âYou good?â he asks softly.
You nod but your eyes burn. He leads you out of the fresher and into the night as Kix stays behind to patch up the girl and talk her out of pressing charges.Â
The bass from the bar thumps through the walls as the door swings shut behind you. Cold night air hits your face like a slap. Your heart is still racing. Cheek stinging.
Adrenaline hasnât burned off yet and your whole body feels like a live wire.Fives doesnât let go of you. His hand stays firm on your shoulders, guiding you down the narrow side alley beside 79âs, away from the door, away from prying eyes.
âEasy,â he murmurs. âWatch the step.â
You step down off the curb automatically. This feels so much like the other night, the one where he made fun of the idea of being with you. You, leaving the booth in such a rush, you standing out here in the silence, you and him here with the galaxy between you.
The alleyâs dim. One flickering yellow light overhead. Youâre shaking. He finally turns you to face him.
âLet me see.â
âIâm fine,â you say too fast.
âYouâre not fine.â
His hands come up gentle, thumb brushing your cheek where she hit you.
You hiss an he goes still, jaw tightening.
âStars,â he mutters. âShe got you good.â
âItâs nothing.â
âItâs not.â
His voice is soft but fierce. Protective in that way that makes your chest hurt. You canât look at him, because if you do, you might cry.
âIâm sorry,â he says suddenly.
âYou didnât have to walk me out,â you mumble. âYou should⊠go back in. Your dateâs probablyâŠâ
âSheâs not my date.â
The words are immediate. You finally look up. He looks distraught. Guilt written all over his face. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing once, boots scraping concrete.
âKriff,â he mutters under his breath. âIâm an idiot.â
You let out a weak laugh.Â
âNo, I mean it. Iâm a full-on, regulation-issue moron.â He rubs his face. âI didnât even like her.â
You blink.
â⊠what?â
âI met her at a bar. She laughed at my jokes. That was it.â He shakes his head. "I never liked her."
âThen why bring her here?â you ask, before you can stop yourself. The question slips out raw. Honest. It hangs between you.
He exhales slow and wonât meet your eyes.
â⊠Because of you.â
Your heart stutters. âWhat?â
He finally looks at you.. and he looks scared, like this is worse than any battlefield confession.
âI thoughtâŠâ He swallows. âI thought maybe if you saw me with someone else, youâd⊠I dunno⊠react.â
You just stare.
âI thought maybe youâd get jealous,â he says softly. âMaybe youâd finally see me.â
The world tilts. You shake your head to clear it.
âIâm tired, meshâla,â he says, voice rough. âTired of pretending Iâm cool just being your friend. Tired of watching you smile at everyone like they get the same version of you I do.â
You canât breathe.
âI figured⊠maybe if you thought I was moving on, youâd stop me.â
He laughs once, bitter at himself. âReal smart plan, huh?â
âYou brought her⊠to our place,â you whisper.
âI know,â he says again, sharper. âStars, I know. The second I said it out loud tonight I wanted to punch myself.â
His hands flex at his sides.
âI was being petty. Stupid. I just⊠I didnât know what else to do.â
You feel like your heartâs cracking open.
âAll this time,â he says quietly, âIâm thinking maybe you donât want me like that. Maybe Iâm just your vod. So I tried to prove I didnât care. I laughed you off the other night, when all I could think about was kissing you minutes earlier.â
He laughs weakly. Your eyes burn again.
âYouâre such an idiot,â you whisper.
âI know.â
âYou absolute, kriffing idiot.â
âI know.â
âYou brought a girl you didnât even like just to make me jealous?â You shove his shoulder.
âDo you have any idea how much that hurt?â You ask quietly.
âYeah,â he says softly. âI saw your face. Felt like I got shot.â
Your voice wobbles.
âShe was in there calling you stupid. Saying youâre replaceable. Laughing at you.â
His brow furrows. âSheâŠâ
âYou deserve someone who actually sees you,â you say.
His eyes lock on yours.
âI only ever wanted that to be you.â He says.
You gaze up into his eyes, and see stars there. You look down at his mouth. You lean forward.Â
Stars. Sparks. Everything youâve ever wanted.Â
You kiss. Lips melding, hands reaching.
You wince as the split in your lip reopens, you laugh lightly as you pull back.Â
âMy girl.â He says, hand brushing the blood from your lip, hand tangling in your hair.Â
His girl.Â
Always.
---
"I could go and read your mind
Think about your dumb face all the time
Living in your glass house, I'm outside, uh
Looking into big blue eyes
Did it just to hurt me and make me cry
Smiling through it all, yeah, that's my life
You're an idiot, now I'm sure
Now I'm positive I should go and warn her
I'll put up a fight, taking out my earrings
Don't you know the vibe? Don't you know the feeling?
You should spend the night, catch me on your ceiling
That's your prize, that's your price, well"
Thanks for reading! Please check out my story "Ruin the Friendship" Linked here:
đŹ 3  đ 3  â€ïž 15 · Ruin the Friendship - Part I - · Fives x f!reader
Word Count: 11k words
Chapter Warnings: War, Battles, Violence.
Chapt
â Chapter Summary: After surviving an unexpected battle on Agamar that felt more like a test than a skirmish, the 501st returns to the Resolute.
â Word Count: 7.7k
â Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, minor injury
â A/N: Posted at bottom!
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Chapter Ten on Ao3
The transition from the flat plains of the plateau to the jagged spine of the lower ridge was more than just a change in elevation; it was a shift in the very soul of Agamar. You were supposed to be out of the green by then. The mission was technically over. The abandoned post had been investigated, and the coordinates for the gunship pick-up zone had been pulsing a steady signal for a while now.
But as you and Rex climbed toward the extraction point, the world seemed to choke on its own breath.
The fog didnât just roll in, it seemed to bleed out of the gray, porous rock. It was thick and tasted of wet stone. You reached out with the Force, trying to shake the lingering warmth of that "chaos-free bliss" you had found at the hot springs last rotation. That peace felt like a cruel joke now. The Force here was abrasive. There was no tranquility on this ridge, just a bruised, weeping wound that grew more localized the closer you got to the coordinates.
"General."
Rexâs voice was low, cutting through the damp air. He hadnât looked back at you once since your last conversation. His posture was his typical military discipline, his shoulders squared, spine straight and his hands hovering habitually near his DC-17s. This was the Rex youâve come to know - a man who believed in the mission and the safety of his men.
But through the bond you quickly shared, you felt his focus sharpen into something painful. He wasn't thinking about Rykerâs logs anymore. He was thinking about the tactical silence.
"I feel it too, Rex," you said, your feet crunching into the shale.
"Feel what, sir?" He didn't turn, his eyes instead scanning the mist for the blinking beacon of the extraction site.
"The silence. It isnât natural. Weâre less than a klick from the rendezvous point. We should be hearing gunship engines by now."
Rex finally stopped, his boots skidding slightly on a patch of slick moss. He looked up toward the summit, where the fog turned into a wall of pure white. "Echo and the advance team ahead should have secured the perimeter already. If the rendezvous point wasnât safe, theyâd have signaled. If it was clear, theyâd be chirping for status," he tightened his grip on his pistols, "Silence on a pick-up usually means someone else got there first."
You stepped up beside him, your hand instinctively hovering near your lightsaber hilt, "You think the Seps intercepted our extraction codes?"
Rex finally turned his helmet toward you. The jaig eyes seemed to stare into the mist. "It wouldn't be the first time. But look at the terrain. This ridge is a bottleneck. If they took the extraction point they aren't just holding it. Theyâre waiting for us to walk into their trap."
You signaled a tactical advance, and he moved into the thick of the whiteout, heading toward the coordinates where your ride home was supposed to be waiting.
The ridge narrowed until you were walking a tightrope of stone. To your right was a rising wall of basalt, scarred by heavy blaster fire. Your stomach twisted as you inspected the marks. You knelt, running your hand over a blackened crater in the rock.
"Rex, wait."
He paused, looking over his shoulder, "What is it?"
"These burns," you whispered, "Theyâre fresh, but look at the angle. This wasn't a firefight from the treeline. This was an elevated sweep. High ground to low ground."
The Force flared like a sudden, sharp warning that made the hair on your arms stand up. You closed your eyes for a split second, letting your consciousness drift into the gray.Â
You saw flashes: The glint of a sniper scope from the high crags. The metallic shimmer of commando droids clinging to the rock face like insects. The sound of a single, suppressed shot.
You gasped, your eyes snapping open as you stumbled back, "Snipers! To the east!"
Rex didn't hesitate. He dived for cover behind a rocky outcropping just as a bolt of crimson energy hissed through the space where his head had been a second before. The crack of the rifle followed a heartbeat later, muffled by the heavy fog.
"Echo! Fives! Report!" Rex barked into his comm, but all that came back was static. Pure heavy, localized jamming.
"They've got a scrambler up there," you shouted over the sudden whine of incoming fire. You ignited your lightsaber, the blade snapping into existence and casting long, dancing shadows against the fog. You deflected a stray bolt, the hum of your saber the only steady thing in the chaos.
"We have to get to the extraction point," Rex yelled, returning fire blindly into the fog, "If the Echo is pinned down, the whole forward group is in danger!"
The air grew colder as you reached the outcropping of the pick-up zone, but the smell of scorched rock was now joined by the acrid scent of oil. Up ahead, a silhouette emerged from the mist, stumbling toward you.
"Captain! Get down!"
It was Fives. He lunged at Rex, tackling him behind a fallen tree just as the ridge lit up with a concentrated volley of fire.
As you deflected a barrage of bolts, the fog parted just enough to reveal the true state of the rendezvous coordinates.Â
It wasn't a slaughterhouse of brothers, thankfully. It was a desperate, crumbling circle. Echo and three other troopers were pressed against the base of a landing pylon, pinned by crossfire from the peaks above. The "graveyard" you had feared was actually the remains of their gear and the husks of several commando droids they had managed to take down before the jamming started.
"They lured us in!" Echo shouted, his voice strained over the comm, "The signal was a loop! Theyâve been picking us off since we landed!"
Rex looked at you, his eyes wincing behind his visor. The trap was fully sprung. There was no gunship coming yet, only more droids descending from the heights.
"General," Rex sighed, his voice dropping into that deadly, calm tone of a captain who had already decided how he was going to win, "Change of plans. We aren't waiting for a ride. We're taking those clankers, or we aren't leaving this rock at all."
You bit your cheek, âDonât you think the gunshipâs armor is heavy enough to-â You were cut off by a bolt searing the tip of your ear, followed by a flurry of sniper bolts hammering into the rock behind you.Â
"General!" Echoâs voice barked over the firefight.
You didn't think, but instead you moved. Three crimson bolts slammed into your saber in rapid succession. You felt the kinetic shock vibrate up your arm, the Force humming through your bones as you redirected the energy back into the mist. A distant, metallic clang told you that at least one of the droids had been found by the ricochet.
"Down here!" a voice yelled.
You and Rex lunged side by side into a shallow, natural trench near the landing coordinates. There, huddled against the cold stone, were Echo and Jesse. They looked like they had been through a meat grinder. Echoâs pauldrons were scorched black, and Jesse was holding a bacta patch to a gash on his thigh, his teeth gritted in a snarl. Hardcase and Tup, were hunkered down beside them, their DC-15As smoking from constant use.
"Report!" Rex demanded, checking the power cell on his pistol as he pressed his back against the pylon.
"Itâs a total washout, Captain," Jesse spat, his voice strained. He shifted his weight, hissing as the bandage on his leg reddened. "We touched down, and the second the transport cleared the ridge, the jamming hit. I couldn't tell a brother from a shadow for the first five minutes. My internal sensors were screaming that Echo was a commando. I nearly pulled the trigger on him."
Echo nodded, his expression grim under his helmet, "The frequency is modulating, sir. Itâs designed to interfere with our neural links. Every time I try to focus on a target, my vision swims. Itâs not just tech, itâs psychological warfare now."
You looked at Echo, noticing the way his hands shook slightly. It wasn't from fear, it was the sheer strain of the jamming frequency. Through the Force, the signal felt like a shattered wall of glass. Every time you tried to reach out to sense the enemy, the frequency shredded your focus. It was a sensory prison. You could feel the menâs frustration. The boys of the 501st relied on their interconnectedness and their ability to move as one mind. This jammer was cutting them off from each other, leaving them isolated in the fog.
"Whereâs the rest of the squad?" you asked, your eyes scanning the fog.
"Scattered," Tup answered, his voice cracking. "Fives and the others tried to push for the treeline when the first wave hit. We haven't heard from them since the screeching started. Sir, if we don't turn that thing off, we're just hopeless tookas. Weâve got three men missing in this whiteout and no way to call them back."
As if to punctuate his words, a massive explosion rocked the rock. Dust and shale rained down on your heads as a blast from the heights found its mark just ten meters to your right. The ground groaned beneath you, and for a second, the world went dark.
"Theyâre ranging us," Hardcase yelled, wiping debris from his helmet, "They aren't even aiming at us anymore. They're just saturating us with fire! The next oneâs going to come right down our throats!"
You looked at the men around you. Even in these high stakes, they looked at you with an unwavering, almost painful trust. You felt the weight of that expectation. You were simply a tired Jedi, but looking at Jesse, who was trying to stand on a bum leg just to be ready for your next command, you knew you couldn't stay in this trench.
"Rex," you muttered, your voice steady despite the hammer of your heart, "We can't hold this trench. If we stay here, we die in a hole. We need that jammer down, and we need it down now. If we don't give the evac team the clear signal, they'll never find us in this mess."
Rex looked at you, slowly. He knew exactly what you were suggesting. It was a suicide charge across open ground, but he also knew you were right. "Echo, Jesse, can you move? I need my best marksmen for this, or the General is going to be a target for every sniper on that ridge."
"I can crawl faster than a clanker can run, Captain," Jesse grunted, pulling himself up and leaning heavily against the rock wall, "Just give me a clear shot at the droid who's been chirping in my ear for the last twenty minutes."
"Good. Tup, Hardcase - stay here. Lay down a wall of fire. I don't care if you burn out your barrels. Make them think the whole company is still in this trench. If a single droid head pops over that ridge, I want it gone. Weâre going for the landing zone."
"Sir, yes sir," Tup saluted, already bracing his rifle against the ledge, his posture tightening with renewed purpose.
You vaulted out of the trench first in a blur of movement. Immediately, the snipers readjusted. Bolts stitched the ground at your feet, but you were already moving in a pre-calculated zig-zag. The Force was whispering the trajectory of every shot. You could feel the heat of the bolts passing inches from your robe.
You reached the outskirts of the landing zone, clearing a path for Rex and the others. The trek through the fog was brutal, but you knew it would be worse for the men. Without second thought, you paused and reached out through the Force. It told you that the top of the ridge was just under 100 meters up - a distance within your strength.Â
You rushed to the rocky walls and began to climb - ignoring the comm chatter that occasionally broke through. Your fingers bled as you gripped the sharp volcanic rock, the air growing colder with every meter. Above you, the red pulse of the laser grew denser. Gripping the rock with all your strength, you brought your comm to your mouth, âIf anyone can hear this, Iâm heading to the top. Extraction team, youâre clear to land.â
When you finally breached the summit, the commando droids were waiting. They moved with a fluidity that was almost human. You engaged two at once, your saber spinning in a defensive circle. The cold metal of their arms melted against your saber. You kicked a commando droid back, sending it sprawling toward the cliff edge, and made a break for the droids manning the jamming station. The station was protected by a localized energy shield, emitting a blue shimmer that repelled your first strike with a violent crackle.
After a few failed attempts, you reached into your robe and pulled out a spare charge, placing it carefully next to the shield. The explosion emitted a blue ripple of electricity. The jammer station hissed as it crumpled under the explosion.
The comms in your ear exploded with noise instantly, like a dam breaking.
"This is the extraction team! We have your signal! General, Captain, do you read? Weâve been circling your last known. The fog is too heavy, we can't get a lock on the rendezvous!"
Rex's voice echoed over the comms, "This is Rex! The jammer is down, but the ridge is crawling with snipers! If you don't drop in now, you won't have a squad to pick up! We are exposed on the south end of the summit!"
"Captain, we can't guarantee a landing in these conditions without losing the ship,â the pilot acknowledged, circling atop the landing zone yet again. Â
On top of the ridge, you stood amidst the smoking wreckage of the jammer, the sudden clarity in your comms a stark contrast to the heavy, oppressive silence that settled over the peak. The ridge was too quiet now. Not peaceful, a battlefield was never that, but it felt controlled. It was the kind of silence that only existed when someone had already decided where the slaughterfest would happen and was simply waiting for permission to begin.
You slowed instinctively, your boots grinding softly against the ground as you stepped away from the ruined station. The air was thinner with the higher elevation and wind tugged at the loose fabric of your robes, whispering warnings you didnât need spoken aloud.Â
You could feel them before you saw them. There were three distinct presences anchored into the stone a ways out from you, patient and precise.
Snipers.
They werenât firing yet. Which meant they were confident and that they were waiting for the fog to shift or for you to make the mistake of thinking the danger had died with the jammer. To a droid, the lack of noise wasn't a relief, it was a tactical window.
Rex and Echo were still pushing against the fog from below, their Force signatures bright and determined, but they were walking directly into the sights of those three silent watchers. The angle of the ridge meant they wouldn't see the snipers until they were halfway across the open killing floor.
You straightened slowly and exhaled. Your heart hammered against your ribs, not with fear, but with the cold clarity of a Jedi who had already accepted the cost of the next five minutes. You werenât the extraction. You were the distraction.
Without hesitation, you moved. The first bolt tore through the air where your head had been a heartbeat earlier, heat licking past your cheek with a terrifying sear. You twisted sharply, igniting your lightsaber mid-turn. The blade flared to life in a bright arc, intercepting the next shot and deflecting it sideways into the cliff face. Sparks exploded against stone as you broke into a sprint across the exposed spine of the ridge.
You didnât run in a straight line. You couldn't. These commandos were marksmen. They calculated lead-time and wind speed in milliseconds. Loose rock shifted beneath your feet, threatening to slide. You pushed with the Force, just enough to stabilize each step for a fraction of a second before launching yourself forward again. Blasterfire tracked your movement, precise and relentless, carving glowing scars into the ridge behind you.
One sniper adjusted position. You felt the tightening of intent and recalibration. You dove behind a jagged outcropping as a bolt slammed into the stone where your torso would have been, the impact shattering rock outward. Fragments stung your shoulder and cheek. You rolled, came up on one knee, and immediately moved again. Each movement had to be faster than the last.
Below you, confusion rippled through the men. Echo noticed first. His awareness spiked, snapping upward toward your position. You heard his voice crackle through the comm, strained and disbelieving.
âGeneral-?â a pause, then tighter, âWhere is she? That's not the mission plan! She's supposed to be in the rear guard!â
There was a brief second of silence, the kind of heavy pause that indicated Rex was visually confirming the madness you were currently performing. Then Rexâs voice came through in his typical calm, measured, voice of command.
âSheâs on the ridge.â
Echoâs concern sharpened into something dangerously close to panic. Through the comms, you could feel his analytical mind rejecting the lack of cover you had chosen.
âThe top of the ridge is exposed! Captain, sheâs alone! She's drawing all their fire! If they bracket her, she has nowhere to go!â
âI know,â Rex replied evenly, though his voice hummed with his suppressed anxiety, âShe knows what sheâs doing. Echo, keep moving. Don't let her buy that ground for nothing. Fives, where are you?â
Static was the only answer from the third squad.
You deflected another bolt, redirecting it downward into the rock. The explosion rattled your bones as you leapt across a narrow fissure, landing hard and rolling to bleed off the momentum. Your lungs burned now from the thin air, your breath coming fast and sharp, but you didnât slow. They were trying to herd you, forcing you higher toward the narrow peak where the wind was strongest.
You angled sharply instead, sprinting laterally along the ridge. Blasterfire followed, tighter now as the snipers kept adjusting with unnerving speed. One bolt clipped your sleeve, heat flaring hot along your upper arm. You hissed and kept moving, ignoring the sting as the fabric smoldered. You couldn't afford a single misstep, the Force was the only thing keeping your feet on the crumbling stone.
Another presence brushed the edge of your awareness. It was cold, focused and almost predatory. It wasnât one of the active snipers. But instead a quiet commando. He wasnât firing, just waiting.Â
You vaulted onto a higher ledge, your saber flashing as you deflected another shot. More stone cracked beneath your feet as you pivoted, your eyes scanning the ridge for the source of that new intent. Below, Rex felt it too. You sensed the shift in him. The exact moment his discipline strained under something sharper. His voice came through the comm again, low and urgent.
âEchoâs picking up another signal. Thereâs another clanker. Heâs not engaging the squad. Heâs waiting for you, sir. Iâm breaking for your position.â
âNegative, Rex!â you gasped, ricocheting a bolt that nearly took your hand off, âStay with Echo! Reach the rendezvous!â
A bolt screamed past your shoulder. Another slammed into the rock inches from your foot. You leapt as time stretched while you twisted midair, your saber snapping up to intercept a shot aimed squarely for your chest. The impact jarred your entire arm, shock rippling through muscle and bone, but you held, redirected the energy downward, blasting the ledge beneath you apart.
The stone buckled, making one sniper lose footing entirely as its perch dissolved into gravel, tumbling down the ridge in a cascade of metal and debris. You felt its presence flicker out on impact. Two remained. Plus the rogue commando, who was already lining up another shot.
Once the air steadied, you could hear Echo now. His voice was sharp, breathless over the comm, barely contained.
âSheâs drawing all their fire! Theyâre bracketing her! Captain, we need to-â
âHold position!â Rex snapped, voice taut beneath control, âSheâs buying us time. Trust her!â
You didnât let yourself think about that trust. You didnât feel as if you earned it yet, but regardless, you pushed forward. A second sniper repositioned, trying to gain some elevation over you as you reached out and shoved with a surge of raw air, ripping the stone from beneath it. Metal screamed as it slid, claws scraping uselessly against rock before it vanished over the edge.
One left. And the commando, again, already lining up another shot.
You sprinted, your saber flashing, deflecting wild fire as you closed the distance. Your muscles burned now, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of your focus. The air felt like ice in your lungs. You couldnât keep this up much longer. The commando fired again. You spun, catching the bolt and sending it spinning harmlessly into the sky, but the movement left you exposed. Your boots slipped on a patch of slick shale, and for a second, you were off-balance.
Thatâs when you felt the shot meant to kill you from behind.
The intent was absolute, cold, and final. You spun too late and your saber was out of position. The bolt was already in the air, screaming toward your back, a crimson needle of light against the grey fogâŠ
Shattered.
Blue energy slammed into it mid-flight, the shot disintegrating in a burst of sparks. For half a second, the world froze. You stared at the empty air where you should have been hit.
Then blasterfire erupted from your right. Not the single, rhythmic shots of a droid, but the wild, heavy, beautiful roar of DC-17s.
White and blue armored figures crested the ridge in a coordinated surge, blasters blazing, suppressive fire driving the remaining sniper into cover. They must have come from some hidden path, bypassing the droids' line of sight entirely.
A familiar voice cut through the chaos, breathless and unmistakably alive, âSorry weâre late, General! The rest of you flanked a little farther back than advertised!â
Fives.
Relief hit you so hard your knees nearly buckled. Fives and his team fanned out with brutal efficiency, forcing the commando to retreat under heavy fire. He moved to your side, his armor scuffed and scorched, his visor reflecting the colored hum of your saber. He gestured with his pistol toward the smoking remains of the jamming station you had disabled earlier.
âThanks for taking care of that jammer, sir,â Fives added with a sharp, appreciative nod, âThe screeching in our helmets was starting to get personal. We finally got a clear signal out to the fleet because of you. We would've been hiking blind without that silence.â
âI thought you were pinned in the valley,â you panted, adjusting your grip on your saber as the squad formed a defensive circle around you.
âTakes more than a few clankers to pin the 501st, sir,â Fives replied, firing a burst that sent a commando droid tumbling, âWe heard the coordinated, then we saw you drawing fire. Figured it was about time we helped you out.â
You surged forward with a final burst of speed, slicing down the last commando as you and Fives closed the gap together. The battle truly turned then. The ridge was no longer a silent clearing, it was filled with the roar of brothers and the sound of a trap being dismantled piece by piece.
You stood at the edge of the ridge, your chin held high, finally seeing the blinking lights of the extraction gunship breaking through the clouds. In the time you bought, with the help from FIves and his men, the gunship was able to reach the landing zone and pick up the rest of the squad.
Rex and Echo had their helmets off as the gunship finally reached the summit, their faces unreadable but their relief radiating through the Force, you knew the first part of the nightmare was over.
Rex nodded towards you as the gunship hovered at the ledge. He took a quick look at the scorched earth and the shattered droids, "Report?," he hummed, flicking his eyes between you, Fives and the other men.
"Summit's clear, Captain," you mock saluted, extinguishing your blade, "Let's get off this rock."
The gunshipâs bay was a welcome cavern of shadows and humming machinery as you stepped off the ledge and into the vibrating hull. The transition from the razor-thin air of the summit to the recirculated oxygen of the gunship was almost overwhelming. You stood there for a moment, your chest heaving.
As the doors hissed shut, sealing out the Agamarian fog, the adrenaline began to drain, leaving a cold, heavy ache in its wake.
The interior of the gunship was a study in 501st resilience. Fives was already leaning against the rack, checking the power cells on his pistols with a rhythmic, steady click. Hardcase and Tup were slumped against the opposite bulkhead, their armor caked in gray dust, but alive. The silence here wasn't like the silence on the ridge. It was the quiet of men who had stared into the mouth of a trap and bitten back.
Rex and Echo stood near the cockpit partition. Echoâs face was pale, his brow furrowed with the remnants of that tactical panic. He looked like he wanted to cite three different Republic safety regulations, but the words died in his throat as he looked at your scorched robes.
Rex, however, was a statue, his eyes hard and unreadable as he watched you. He didn't look like a Captain who had just won a battle, he looked like a man who was realizing the war had changed shape while he wasn't looking.
"We almost lost you on that ridge," Rex finally said, his voice a low vibration that carried over the roar of the engines.
"You didn't," you replied playfully, finding a seat on the bench, "Fives and the others came through."
Fives looked up, a lopsided, weary grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Hard to miss a Jedi lighting up the sky, Captain. It was better than any flare weâve ever had."
"It was reckless," Echo muttered, though there was no bite in his words. He sat down across from you, resting his elbows on his knees. "But Fives is right. Without that signal, the pilot would have circled until we were overrun. You bought us the window, sir. Thank you."
You nodded to Echo, the weight of his gratitude settling quietly between you. You leaned your head back against the cold durasteel hull, closing your eyes and letting the vibration of the ship rattle through your bones. The adrenaline that had kept your hands steady on the ridge was beginning to ebb, replaced by a deep, hollow ache that made even the act of sitting feel like an effort.
Beside you, Rex remained silent, but his presence was a grounding force in the dim light. You could feel him watching the deck, his mind likely replaying the tactical narrowness of your escape. The ship tilted slightly as the pilot adjusted for the final approach, a stomach-flipping lurch that signaled you were crossing the threshold of the fleet's protective umbrella.
"Home sweet home," Fives whispered, though his voice lacked its usual bravado.
The hangar bay of the Resolute was a jarring contrast to the jagged, foggy silence of Agamar. As the gunship hissed onto the landing mag-locks, the engine whine dying into a low, metallic groan, the side doors slid open to a symphony of absolute chaos. It was a sensory assault -Â the high-pitched shriek of starfighter engines being test-fired, the rhythmic, heavy clanging of power loaders moving crates of munitions, and the sharp, clipped shouts of deck officers trying to organize the intake of wounded and weary men.
You stepped down the ramp, your feet finally meeting solid durasteel with a dull thud. The transition was physical, a heavy shift in the weight of the air itself. The damp, chill of the ridge was replaced by the dry, recycled tang of the ship. A familiar mixture of engine oil and the sterile scent of the ventilation system. Your lungs felt tight, as if the Agamarian mist had left a physical residue inside you that the shipâs air couldn't quite displace.
Beside you, the squad began to decompress in the way only soldiers can. The rigid, lethal focus they had maintained on the summit began to flake away, replaced by the sagging weight of exhaustion. Fives was the first to begin unsealing his armor. As he pulled it off, his dark hair was matted with sweat and plastered to his forehead. He took a deep, theatrical breath of the hangar air, a look of pure, primal hunger crossing his face as he caught a whiff of the vents near the galley.
"Tell me the mess is not still serving the mid-cycle rations," Fives groaned, rubbing a gloved hand over his stomach, "I feel like I could eat a whole Reek. Raw. Without the horns."
"You always feel like that, Fives," Jesse retorted. He was leaning heavily on Tupâs shoulder, his leg dragging slightly as they moved toward the medbay intake. His armor was scorched in three different places, but his spirit was clearly intact, "But heâs right, sir. That ridge took everything we had left. I think I left my soul back there next to that landslide."
Fives turned to you, his eyes bright and searching despite the dark circles beneath them, "Come on, General. You haven't eaten since we were down in the valley. Join us? The boys would appreciate the company, and if the mid-cycle rations are through, itâs Coruscant-style protein cakes today. The ones that actually taste like food instead of compressed sawdust."
The offer was tempting. More than tempting even. You could feel the collective warmth of the squad through the Force, a bright, humming energy of survival and relief. They wanted to celebrate the fact that they were still breathing, and they wanted you to be part of that circle. In the 501st, the mess hall wasn't just for eating, it was where the ghosts of the mission were laid to rest through loud stories and bad jokes.
You looked over at Rex. He still had his helmet off, tucked securely under his left arm. He wasn't looking at the mess hall, and he wasn't joining in the banter. He was staring at the deck plating, his gaze fixed on a specific scuff mark on the durasteel. His mind was clearly miles away, likely back on that ridge, tracing the trajectory of the sniper bolts, or buried in the heavy weight of the datapad still clipped to his belt.
"I appreciate the offer, Fives," you said softly, offering a weary, genuine smile, "I really do. But I think I need a moment to wash the Agamar dust out of my lungs before I can handle the noise of the mess. My head is still ringing from that jammer."
Fives looked disappointed, a flicker of genuine sadness crossing his face before he masked it with a respectful nod, "Understood, sir. We'll save you a seat next time. And maybe a protein cake if Hardcase doesn't get to them first."
As the squad shuffled off, their laughter and the rhythmic clatter of their armor echoing faintly through the hangar, you turned toward the hall to your quarters. You felt Rexâs gaze on your back for a moment, a heavy, tethered sensation in the Force that felt like a physical pull, but you didn't turn around. You couldn't. You needed the silence of your room to process what was left on Agamar.
Your quarters were small, sparse, and blissfully quiet. The moment the door hissed shut behind you, the persistent thrum of the hyperdrive and the distant clatter of the hangar faded into a muffled, vibrating hum. You didnât even turn on the main lights, letting the dim blue glow of the emergency strips guide you through the darkness. You felt like a ghost in this space, moving with tired limbs toward the refresher, stripped of the armor and the expectations of the Jedi General who had just survived another mission.
The water was hot, almost scalding, but you didn't bother to turn it down. You stood under the spray with your forehead pressed against the cold permacrete wall, letting the steam fill the small stall until the world beyond the door ceased to exist. You scrubbed the Agamar mud from under your fingernails and the scent of scorched fabric from your skin, watching the gray-brown water swirl down the drain. But you can wash away the memories of the mission.Â
You kept seeing the way Rex had looked at you when you stood on that ledge. The way he had defended you, not just as a subordinate protecting a superior, but with a fierce, desperate protective streak that went beyond his programming. He was carrying the weight of the discovery of Ryker's survival like a physical shackle, a secret that threatened the very foundation of his identity, and yet, in the heat of the mission, his only priority had been your survival.
The "chaos-free bliss" of the hot springs felt like a dream from another lifetime. Had it really only been a rotation ago? The memory of the spring water's warmth was a cruel contrast to reality. As the steam swirled around you, your mind drifted back to the humid air and the way the world had seemed to narrow down to just the two of you.
You knew, with a sharp pang of Jedi guilt, that you had crossed a line. The Order preached detachment, a life of living service devoid of the messy, tethering complications of personal affection. But in that water, with the war looming just outside the valley, you had been indulgent. You had let yourself feel the breadth of his presence, the steady, grounding heat of him. And then, up on the plateau, there was the kiss - that soft, lingering touch against his cheek.
It was a blatant violation of every order you had been raised to uphold. It was a moment of pure, selfish human need, but as you stood there in the shower, the water turning your skin pink, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. In that moment, surrounded by the looming shadows of Ryker's warnings and the impending violence of the ridge, you had needed that touch. You had needed to know that something real existed between the duty and the death. It was a small, quiet rebellion against a galaxy that demanded each of you be nothing but a weapon.
The way the Force had hummed between you and Rex when you were back-to-back throughout the mission. In some ways, it felt more than just tactical synchronization, but something deeper, a resonance that scared you more than any droid army ever could. It was a connection that defied the rules of the Order and the regulations of the Grand Army. It was a momentary tether, and tethers were dangerous for Jedi. They led to fear, and fear led to the dark. Yet, as the hot water beat down on your shoulders, you realized that the tether was the only thing keeping you from drifting away entirely.
You stepped out of the refresher, the air of the room feeling ice-cold against your damp skin. You wrapped yourself in a soft, oversized robe and picked up a comb, standing in front of the small, fogged mirror. You were slowly working through a stubborn tangle in your damp hair, your mind still lost in the gray mists of Agamar and the memory of the springs, when a rhythmic, heavy knock echoed against the door.
You froze, the comb halfway through a strand of hair, reaching out with the Force to sense who was knocking. The signature hit you stronger than any blast could.Â
"Come in," you called out, your voice sounding small and fragile in the quiet room.
The door hissed open, revealing Rex.
He was out of his chest plate and pauldrons, wearing only his black body glove and his utility belt. Without the bulk of the white armor, he looked somehow both more vulnerable and more imposing. The dark fabric clung to the broad span of his shoulders and the hard lines of his frame. In his hands, he carried a steaming tray of food from the mess, the aroma of protein cakes Fives seemed so excited for cutting through the sterile air of the room.
"Fives wouldn't stop complaining that you were going to faint from hunger," Rex chuckled, his voice somewhat raspy. He didn't look at you directly at first, his eyes scanning the room with a soldier's instinct, checking the corners as if looking for threats that didn't exist here, "I figured I'd bring the mess to you before he started a riot."
"Thank you, Rex," you said, gesturing toward the edge of your cot, "Please. Come in. I think I actually am as hungry as he said."
He hesitated, a brief moment of standard military hesitation. Or perhaps the ingrained boundary between a Captain and a General. But the man in him overrode the soldier. He stepped inside, and the door hissed shut behind him, sealing the two of you into the small, dimly lit room.
The silence that followed was thick, charged with the unsaid energy of the hot springs and the plateau. You watched him move toward the cot as the blue emergency lights caught the sharp line of his jaw. He was so close now that you could feel the shift in his breathing, the way the Force around him swirled with a restless, agonizing restraint. He was also feeling the pull of the line you had both stepped over.
As he sat on the edge of the cot, the tray balanced on his knees, you found yourself looking at the back of his neck, at the short-cropped blonde hair and the vulnerability of the skin there. Your hand twitched, the phantom sensation of that cheek-kiss ghosting over your lips. You had been indulgent then, and as he settled into your private space, the air vibrating with his presence, you realized the indulgence hadn't ended at the plateau. It was here, in the quiet of your quarters, growing into something you weren't sure you could control.
"You look tired, sir," he finally spoke, finally looking up. His eyes were dark, searching yours for a sign that the Jedi General had returned, but finding only the woman who had touched his scar in a hot spring.
"It's been a long rotation, Rex," you sighed, sitting down beside him. The space was small, the cot even narrower. The heat of him began to bleed through the fabric of your robe, a reminder of the heat of the water and the heat of the mission, "for both of us."
He didn't pull away or offer a platitude about duty or the Republic. He just sat there, the tray between you, and for the first time since the ridge, you felt the silence begin to soften into something that wasn't a warning, but a shared, quiet secret.
The metal frame creaked slightly under your combined weight. The tray of food sat between you. In addition to the protein cakes, there were some mashed vegetables and a cup of lukewarm tea that Rex must have snagged as an extra from the mess hall on his way up. The tray sat there like a neutral territory, a physical boundary meant to remind you both of the roles you were supposed to play. You picked up a fork and forced yourself to take a few bites of the pancake, but food felt heavy in your mouth. Your appetite, which had been gnawing at you just moments before in the refresher, had vanished the second the door hissed shut, leaving you alone with him.Â
It was replaced by a thrumming tension that made your skin tingle. It was a static charge in the air that felt more potent than the jamming frequency on the ridge. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. It wasnât the comfortable, tactical silence you had shared on Agamar. Like the kind where you both knew exactly what the other was thinking without saying a word. This was something different, but it was expectant and dangerously fragile.Â
Somewhere beyond these thin durasteel walls, thousands of clones were sleeping, eating, or cleaning their rifles. Thousands of souls, and yet, in this dim blue light, it felt as though you and Rex were drifting in a void, the only two sentient beings left in the entire galaxy.
With a deep exhale, you picked up the tray, and walked over to your small desk, setting it down softly. You let your hands linger on the tray for a moment before turning back to face him.
You watched his profile out of the corner of your eye, careful not to stare, as you made your way back to the cot. In the cramped quarters, the lack of his signature white plastoid armor made him feel massive somehow. His black body glove, the slick, tactical fabric that usually served as a base layer for his protection, brushed against the soft, slightly damp fabric of your robe with every slight movement he made. His knee was only inches from yours. You could feel the radiant heat coming off his body in waves, a physical presence that seemed to command the space between you.
He wasn't looking at the food on your desk. He was playing with his hands in his lap, his thick, calloused fingers interlocked and twisting around one another. It was a nervous habit youâve never seen from another solider before, but you have from him. Rex seemed to present himself as was the image of absolute stability, a man of stone and iron. But here, in the semi-darkness, the iron was melting.
Through the Force, his signature was a literal storm. It was a swirling vortex of conflicting emotions that made your own head spin. He was resisting something; a powerful, physical impulse that he was fighting with every ounce of his legendary willpower. You could feel his need for contact, and to say words he wasn't allowed to say, and the forcing down of a feeling he wasn't supposed to have. It was a brutal, internal battle against ten years of Kaminoan conditioning that had whispered into his ear since decanting that he was a weapon, a tool, a number. Not a man who could want, and certainly not a man who could want you.
Yet, as you sat back down with your own heart racing against the constraints of your Jedi vows, the realization hit you with a quiet, stinging irony: strangely enough, you were both fighting the same ghost, and you had more in common than either of you dared to admit.
As the seconds ticked by, his breathing began to increase, becoming shallow and sharp in the quiet of the room. You could see the pulse jumping in his neck, the skin there appearing incredibly vulnerable without his neck covering.Â
"Rex?" you whispered. The sound of his name felt like a secret, a soft utterance that broke the heavy stillness of the room.
"I was thinking about-" you both said in unison.
You stopped immediately, a small, genuine giggle escaping your lips. The sound was bright and out of place, but it was enough to break the tension just enough to let a flicker of light into the room, though the weight of the day remained firmly on your shoulders. Rex finally looked up, his amber eyes meeting yours in the dim light. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than they had been on the ship, but a ghost of a tired, lopsided smile touched his mouth.
"You first, sir," he nodded. It was a reflex, the old habit of protocol slipping out like a shield he was trying to hide behind. Even here, in your private quarters, he was trying to retreat into the safety of "Sir" and "General."
"No, no," you laughed playfully, letting a bit of that âwhat happens on Agamar stays on Agamarâ adrenaline turn into a gentle nudge. You bumped your shoulder against his, a brief contact that sent a jolt of pure electricity through your arm, "I'm the General, so Iâm pulling rank. You first."
Rex huffed a short, dry scoff, shaking his head. He looked back down at his hands, and for a moment, the Captain returned, his jaw setting, "I think we've had enough orders for one rotation, General. How about we say it on three? Together. No ranks. Just-,â he paused, âjust a conversation?"
You nodded, your heart doing a strange, fluttering dance against your ribs that made it hard to stay still. The intimacy of his âno ranksâ suggestion was a bridge you hadn't expected him to build, "Alright. No ranks. One. Two. Three.â
Your thought left your lips, "the logs.â
As did Rexâs, âthe hot springs.â
â A/N: I'm honestly not even sure how to begin this a/n. This story and writing as a whole has been on my mind constantly for the past few months. The fact that I simply have had 0 time for anything (including taking care of myself) is making me sick. Figuratively and literally tbh. I began a new job in August. While it was my dream job, it was extremely demanding, but I knew that by around Thanksgiving break, I would probably be a good place to find my footing again. I was SO wrong. I ended up getting a promotion (of sorts) at work. While this promotion was an AMAZING opportunity, it doubled my workload for about the past month.
TLDR - I'm a first year teacher who got her classroom changed right before Thanksgiving break, but still had to grade for the previous class. So I've been responsible for almost 350 students at a title one school.
ANYWHO, as I said - this story has been on my mind consistently and all I've wanted to do is continue writing. I feel horrible for vanishing but some nights, I didn't even have enough time to eat. It's been that obnoxiously busy for me. However, on a positive note, my co-worker is a huge star wars nerd and he made the first move soooooooo ;) yes, we've done a matching jedi outfit photoshoot at galaxy's edge so I guess we are getting married now ig.
Warnings: Breeding kink, piv, oral f receiving, fingering.
Word Count: 6.8k/Takes place in Season 1
Listening Rec: Wish List by Taylor Swift.
Summary: Everyone has a wishlist. You just have specific things on yours that only Hunter can help with.
----
âItâs so cute!â Omega squeals, pressing her face against the glass of the terrarium, fogging up the glass. The tank is pretty bare, just piles of dirt and a small cave in the back left corner. But hiding in that cave, and poking out itâs little furry head, is a pucksey. Itâs nose twitches as it peers up at Omega, chirping at her.
Suddenly the little thing burrows halfway into the dirt, then pops back out, its ears flicking as it shakes off dust. Omega nearly swoons.
âCan I hold it?â She asks, her voice bright with excitement. Sheâs looking up at Hunter, eyes pleading.
Hunter grunts, a sound that means ânoâ more than âyes.â The merchant, however, either doesnât notice or doesnât care; he cheerfully scoops the creature into his hands and deposits it into Omegaâs waiting arms.
Omega gasps, holding it close. âOh! Itâs purring!â she exclaims, holding the pucksey close. The little creature nuzzles her cheek, whiskers brushing her skin as its tiny claws knead her sleeve. âHunter, please. You know a pet is on my wishlist!â
Hunter folds his arms, shaking his head. âSorry, kid. The Marauderâs no place for a pet.â
Omegaâs smile falters immediately. âI could keep it at Cidâs,â she insists quickly. âOn Ord Mantell! Iâm there half the time when your missions are too dangerous, anyway.â
Then her big brown eyes swivel toward you. âHeâll listen to you!â she pleads. âCâmon, please?â
You canât help but laugh softly at her persistence, but you still shake your head. âHunterâs right, sweetheart. Pucksies love to dig and thereâs not exactly a lot of dirt on the Marauder. Besides, Cid would lose her mind if one tore up her place.â
Omegaâs shoulders slump. She strokes the creatureâs fur one last time before handing it back to the merchant. âBye, little guy,â she murmurs, lower lip trembling. Then she spins on her heel and storms off into the crowd, boots kicking up little clouds of dust.
âStay where I can see you!â Hunter calls after her.
âSheâll be okay,â you say, spotting the glint of Echoâs armor as he jogs after her. âEchoâs on her tail.â
Hunter exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. âIt just isnât practical,â he mutters. âWe barely have space on the ship as it is.â
You nod, because heâs right. The Marauder feels smaller by the day. Hunterâs bunk doubles as storage for mission gear. Techâs workspace is a constant explosion of tools and wires. Wreckerâs side of the ship is half weight rack, half toy pile. Your quarters, a repurposed supply closet, barely fit a cot and toolbox. And Omegaâs alcove behind the galley, though cozy, is cramped.
You bump Hunterâs shoulder with your own. âWell it is on her wishlist,â you remind him softly. âMaybe a plush version would do the trick. No dirt. No mess. No complaints from Cid.â
That earns a faint smirk from him. âShe does love Wreckerâs tooka doll.â
You grin. âThen a pucksey plush it is. Iâll keep an eye out,â you add. âFor her wishlist.â
Hunterâs mouth twitches, like heâs hiding a smile. âAppreciate it.â
âDid someone say wishlist?â Techâs voice cuts in as he sidles up, datapad in hand, Wrecker lumbering along behind him.
âTell me you found the new data chip thatâs on mine,â Tech says, eyes wide with hopeful anticipation.
âNah,â Hunter replies, scanning the crowd again for Omega and Echo. You can tell by the way his jaw tightens that he doesnât like not having eyes on her.
âDid you ever write your wishlist?â Wrecker asks you, nudging your arm with a grin.
You shake your head, laughing. âStill thinking about it.â
He groans dramatically. âCome on! Itâs not that hard. Everyone wants something!â
You roll your eyes. âAll I want right now is to finish shopping and get back to the ship. That engine coil isnât going to fix itself.â
As the lot of you head slowly back to the Marauder, keeping an eye out for Echo and Omega, youâre lost in thought.
 Wishlists had been Omegaâs idea a few months ago. âAlways good to have something to look forward to!â Sheâs said, greeting everyone as they returned to Ord Mantell from a long mission, with an even longer list. Everyone had made one. Techâs is all spare parts and, well, tech. Wrecker wants a conglomerate of things, each thing more random than the last. Echoâs is mostly practical, comfort items. Hunterâs is also practical. But yours? Yours is blank. No matter how much you try, you canât think of a single thing you want on your wishlist.Â
Well, maybe there is one thing. A few things, maybe.
Lost in thought, you donât see when a large man carrying stacked crates turns down the narrow aisle. He nearly runs headfirst into you, and you freeze seeing the collision about to happen.
Hunterâs hand shoots out instantly, firm and steady against your lower back as he guides you aside, keeping you upright. The man mutters something and stumbles away without so much as an apology.
âWatch where youâre goinâ!â Wrecker calls after him.
âYou okay?â Hunter asks, his hand still there.
âYeah,â you breathe, dusting yourself off. When he finally lets go, the absence of his touch leaves an almost physical chill in its place.
Hunterâs gaze lingers on you a moment too long, a flicker of a smirk tugging at his mouth. He knows. Of course he does. His heightened senses means he can literally hear the fluttering in your chest.
You try to mask it, looking away, but your blush betrays you.
Itâs not cute, you tell yourself. This crush on Hunter. Itâs dangerous. You donât feel this way about the others. Not about Techâs sharp wit or Echoâs quiet steadiness or Wreckerâs easy warmth. But something about Hunter gets under your skin. The way he moves, protective without being possessive. The way his voice softens when he speaks to Omega. The way he carries everyoneâs weight like itâs his duty alone.
You donât want to be misunderstood. You appreciate, no, you love them all, each in their own way.
You remember a night a few months back. Cidâs parlor, a bottle too many passed around. Youâd told them, slurred but sincere, that you loved them. That they were the closest thing to family youâd ever had.
âAw, we love you too!â Wrecker had said, squeezing you half to death. Tech had made some sarcastic but fond comment about âemotional inefficiency.â Echo had clapped your back, pulled you into a hug, and whispered, âGlad to have you.â
And Hunter⊠Hunter had smiled at you, eyes warm. âAlways,â heâd said.
What you feel for Hunter is⊠different. Itâs more of a want.Â
A wish.Â
All of you finally make your way back to the Marauder, arms packed with supplies.
Echo meets you at the ramp, arms crossed, a faint crease in his brow. âShe wonât come out,â he says quietly. âReal torn up about that pucksey.â
You glance toward the galley, where the soft hum of Omegaâs music leaks from behind her curtain. Hunterâs jaw tightens again, but his eyes soften.
âWeâll give her some space. You work on fixing the coil so we can get back to Ord Mantell. The further weâre from the problem the better.â He says. You nod and get to work.Â
Time passes quickly when youâre in the zone, your mechanicâs brain always thinking two steps ahead. Thatâs why youâre here, after all. The Batch had picked you up on some backwater planet when they crashlanded. Youâd agreed to fix the ship if they got you off planet. They agreed. You never left them.
Once the coil is fixed you send Tech a comm and have him get the ship up and flying while you hop in the fresher.Â
There are only two freshers on the Marauder. The men, ever chivalrous, designated one of them as the âgirlsâ roomâ for you and Omega. Itâs a small courtesy, but one that means a lot, offering at least a little privacy amid the chaos of life aboard the ship.
That chivalry seems distant in your mind now. Youâve scrubbed the dust and grease from your skin, the warm water rinsing away the grime of the market and the repair job. But no matter how long you stand there, you canât wash away the lingering memory of Hunterâs hand on your lower back, the steady weight of it, the way it made your breath catch.
Just need a minute more to clear your head.
You shut off the water and reach for the hook, only to realize youâve made one crucial mistake.
Your change of clothes is still sitting on your bunk.
You stare at the empty hook, towel dripping in your hands. Thereâs no way youâre putting your dirty clothes back on. You glance at the short corridor outside. Itâs late, and the others are busy. Hunter and Echo working on the nav readouts, Tech in the cockpit, Wrecker probably asleep already.
Itâs only a few meters to your quarters. What are the odds youâll run into anyone?
You wrap yourself tightly in the towel and crack the fresher door open. The coast looks clear.
Two steps outâŠand you slam face-first into a wall.
Except itâs not a wall. Itâs a chest. A very bare chest.
âUh⊠hey,â Hunter says, blinking down at you. His face goes red almost immediately. Heâs in half-kit, armor belt slung low on his hips, towel slung over one shoulderâŠclearly on his way to the fresher right beside yours.
You squeak, clutching your towel like your life depends on it. âOh, kriff, sorry!â you blurt, and then youâre gone, practically diving into your quarters and slamming the door behind you.
Your heartâs pounding so hard it feels like itâs trying to escape your ribs. You press your back to the door, trying to breathe, face burning hot enough to power a generator.
Smooth. Real smooth.
You force yourself to calm down. Inhale, exhale. Then start pulling on clean clothes with trembling hands. The embarrassment wonât fade, though. Every time you blink, you see the way his expression had gone from shock to red heat in half a heartbeat.
Then comes the knock. Three short taps. Youâd know that rhythm anywhere.
You groan softly.Â
When you open the door, Hunter stands there, still unshowered, clearly uncomfortable. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.
âI, uhâŠâ He clears his throat. âDidnât see anything. Youâre fine. Not, fine, I meanâŠyouâre good.â He winces at his own words. âYouâre all good.â
You press a hand over your burning face. âWas bound to happen sometime,â you mumble. âI just wasnât thinking. Iâm sorry.â
âDonât be,â he says quickly. His lips twitch in what might be a grin. âAccidents happen.â
You risk a glance up, and he smiles. It leaves your heart betraying you once again. He nods once, stepping back.
âGet some rest,â he says softly. Then heâs gone, leaving you standing in the doorway, pulse still racing.
You shut the door and collapse onto your bunk, burying your face in your hands.
The rest of the flight passes uneventfully, though your mind refuses to let it go, the memory looping in your head, equal parts horror and⊠something else.
You tell yourself itâs just embarrassment.
But deep down, you almost wish he had seen something.
No, no, you canât think like that! But your mind keep reeling, playing on the âwhat ifâ.
âWhat ifâ your towel had dropped, âwhat ifâ heâd undone his belt, âwhat ifâ...Â
You groan and bury your hot face into your pillow.Â
â
Back on Ord Mantell, Omegaâs mood still hasnât lifted. Sheâs been quiet all morning, dragging her feet through Cidâs parlor and sighing dramatically every time Hunter walks by.
After the tenth sigh, Tech, whoâs been working hard on his datapad is about to pipe up when you cut him off.Â
âOmega, want to go to the market with me?â
She brightens instantly. âCan I look for a pet?â she asks, eyes wide.
You laugh. âNot a pet⊠but I promise to buy you something from your wishlist.â That sets her off.
Within minutes, sheâs darting ahead through the crowded streets, bouncing from stall to stall. Every few steps she calls your name, pointing out something new.
âStay close!â you call after her, weaving between vendors.Â
Then it happens fast, Omega turns a corner, doesnât see the crate in her path, and goes down hard.
âOmega!â
You sprint a few meters and skid to your knees beside her. Sheâs sitting in the dirt, blinking back tears, both knees scraped and raw. Her pants are torn through, dust coating her palms.
âOh, starsâŠâ You steady her shoulders. âYou okay?â
Her lip trembles. âMâfine,â she insists, even as her eyes well.
âCâmon,â you murmur gently. âLetâs get back to Cidâs and get you cleaned up.â
She nods, biting her lip, and you take her small hand in yours. Together, you walk through the bustling market, her limp barely noticeable but your heart hammering the whole way.
The second you step through Cidâs doorway, Hunterâs already moving.
âI smelled blood,â he says, voice sharp as he crouches in front of Omega. âWhat happened?â
Omega squares her shoulders, chin lifting. âI fell. Itâs okay. Just need to get cleaned up.â
You can tell sheâs trying to sound tough, but Hunterâs frown doesnât ease.
You hurry to the counter and grab the first aid kit, setting it beside her. âThisâll sting,â you warn softly, pouring a bit of peroxide over the scrapes. Omega hisses but doesnât pull away. Hunterâs already taken her hand, letting her squeeze his fingers as you clean and bandage each knee with practiced care.
âAll done,â you say, taping the last bit of gauze in place. âNowâŠâ you pause with a teasing grin, âa kiss to make it better?â
Omega blinks at you. âWhat?â
You laugh, shaking your head. âSorry. Forgot none of you had mothers growing up. They say if you kiss it, it makes it feel better. Want me to try?â
She tilts her head, curious. âDoes it really work?â
You smile. âOnly one way to find out.â You bend down and press a quick kiss to each bandaged knee. âThere. Better?â
Omegaâs grin spreads slow and warm. âYeah, actually! How does that work?â
Right on cue, Tech strolls through the room, eyes glued to his datapad. âItâs a psychological phenomenon involving dopamine release,â he says absently, not even looking up.
Hunter chuckles under his breath. You meet his eyes, and something in his expression softens, a mix of gratitude and something quieter, deeper.
He reaches over and ruffles Omegaâs hair. âKnew sheâd have you fixed up in no time.â
Omega beams, proudly showing off her bandages like battle scars.
You lean back on your heels, heart easing for the first time all day. Hunterâs gaze lingers on you a moment longer than necessary before he stands and clears his throat.
âThanks,â he says quietly.
You nod, smiling up at him. âAlways.â
You watch as Omega goes off to show Echo her new bandages and talk about the magic of the kiss.Â
âWe didnât get to grab anything at the market. I saw a plush she might like, not a pucksey, but one she doesnât have. Iâll go grab it.â You say, but Hunter stops you.Â
âActually⊠Wrecker caused aâŠscene in the ship during flying lessons while you were gone. Can you take a look at it? Itâs on the underside of the hull. Ill send Wrecker to grab the plush. He needs a task he canât kriff up for a few seconds, and if anyone knows plushes, its him anyway.â
You laugh and nod. âLet me grab my tools.âÂ
â
The ship's in worse shape than Hunter let on. Thereâs a foot-sized hole in the base hull near the landing gear, and the surrounding metal looks like itâs been chewed by a rancor.
âHow in the hellâŠâ you mutter under your breath, crouching beside it. Youâll need cutting tools to smooth the jagged edges, but maybe you can snap this bit loose first.
You brace one hand against the hull and pull down hard.
Pain sears through your palm, white-hot and sudden. You stumble backward, hitting the ground hard, clutching your hand.
The metalâs torn straight through your glove, slicing deep. Blood wells fast, running down your wrist.
âStarsâŠâ you gasp, but before you can move, you hear boots pounding in the dirt.
Hunter skids to a stop beside you, dropping to one knee. âWhat happened?â His voice is sharp, worried. He grabs your hand before you can hide it, eyes widening at the blood.
âHow did youâŠ?â You start.
He doesnât answer, just rips off his bandana and wraps it around your hand, pulling it tight. âI heard your heartbeat,â he says, voice low but steady. âHad me scared there for a second.â
You blink at him, caught between pain and confusion. âYou heard my heart? From all the way inside the bar?â
He grimaces as the fabric starts to soak through and helps you to your feet. âI was already heading out,â he says, avoiding your eyes. âBut⊠yeah. Yours is justâŠloud, to me.â
âLoud?â you echo, trying to keep up. âLike⊠Iâm dying or something? Is something wrong with my heart?â
Hunter shakes his head quickly. âNo, itâs not that.â He steadies you as you step inside. âI justâŠhear it more than others. Now sit still.â
He grabs the first aid kit youâd used earlier and sets it beside you, unwrapping his bandana carefully. His brows knit tight as he cleans the wound, the set of his mouth somewhere between frustration and concern.
âBoth my girls needing first aid in one day,â he sighs, half to himself.
Your heart skips, and you know he hears it, because his eyes flick up to yours for just a second.
He smiles faintly. âYeah,â he murmurs. âThatâs what I mean. Loud.â
Your throat goes dry, pulse quickening again. You want to blame the sting of the antiseptic, the adrenaline, the blood lossâŠanything but the way heâs looking at you right now.
âThere.â he says. âAll patched. Does it hurt?â You flex your fingers, palm up, and wince.Â
âYeah. But Ill be okay.â You go to pull your hand away but he gently grabs your wrist.Â
You freeze. He looks at you, eyes deep amber. Without breaking eye contact, he pulls your palm up to meet his lips, kissing the bandage softly.Â
Your heart goes wild.Â
He laughs into your palm. âSo loud.â he says. âBut a kiss to make it better. Did it work?âÂ
You nod wordlessly and hop off the chair youâre on, swallowing hard. He drops your hand, knuckles still brushing yours.Â
You keep your hand tucked close to your chest the rest of the evening, even after the throbbing eases. The memory of his lips against it keeps looping through your head.
By the time everyoneâs crowded around the little table for dinner, the room hums with the familiar chaos of the Batch.
You settle in with your tray, choosing the far side of the table from Hunter, the two of you the heads of the seating arrangement. Surely he canât hear your heart over the din of mealtime?
âWe ship out in the morning.â Hunter says during a lull in the conversations. âQuick trip to Corellia. Dropping off some⊠merchandise for Cid. Weâll be gone for three days, okay Omega?â
She sighs. âFine. I wanted to look for some wishlist things while you all were away anyway. I already saw one I want to get for Wrecker today!â
Wrecker cheers and everyone laughs.Â
After dinner you and the men work to pack up the ship and get ready for the trip.Â
You spend a few hours replating the hull where it sliced you earlier. This time Omega is there to oversee, just in case.Â
Ship packed and ready, you and the rest of the crew say your goodbyes to Omega, knowing you'll leave too early for her to sleep on the ship this time.Â
This mission isnât dangerous, and normally Omega could come, but Hunter mentioned something about a side mission, something for the men. You donât know, you just know that this trip should be quick, and maybe youâll have enough down time to think about your wishlist.Â
â
Corellia is beautiful. The contrast of deep emerald green of forests and the bright shining lights of large cities dazzles you. The Marauder is set down about a mile outside of the nearest city, in the thick of the forest. Itâs an easy mission, but the cargo needs to lie low.Â
Youâve just finished general maintenance when the boys come back, the sun just about to set on the first day.Â
âAnd⊠finished!â Wrecker calls. You look at him confused.Â
âFinished? I thought we were here for three days?â You ask.Â
âOh, we are.â Echo says, an unusual perkiness in his voice.Â
âThere comes a time, my friend, when all adults must⊠slate their thirsts. A free for all.â Tech says, eliciting a grimace from you, until he sets down the crate heâs carrying, full of Corellian wine.Â
You blink at him. âA free for all?â
Wrecker grins, dragging a hefty log into place. âYeah! You get to sit back, relax, and forget all the rules for a little while. Its just about fun. No missions, no cargo, no⊠adulting. Well. Only the good adulting.â
You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes. âAdulting?â
Tech, balancing the crate of Corellian wine, sighs. âYes, well⊠certain⊠adult responsibilities. Obligations of a physical, emotional, andâŠother kinds of exertion.â
Your eyebrows shoot up. âOther kinds of exertion?â
Wrecker chuckles, giving you a wink as he piles wood for the bonfire. âYeah! Youâll see. Rules donât apply. No orders, no limits⊠just letting loose.â
Echo, unusually chipper, crouches beside you. âWe do this about once a year, havenât since youâve been with us. Or Omega. Back in our glory days, weâd pick a planet and just go wild. First night, we relax. Second day⊠fun. Third day⊠well, sleep it off.â
You swallow, cheeks warming at the meaning behind his words. âFun, huh?â
Hunter smirks beside you, amber eyes catching yours in the firelight. âStarting to sound like Echo,â he murmurs, voice low, but that little edge of amusement makes your pulse jump.
You glance at him, forcing a small smile. âIâll⊠try to keep up.â
âDonât scare her too much. Iâm sure she needs to let loose too anyway. Cooped up with all of us, surely thereâs some frustration to get out.â Wrecker says, eyebrows waggling.Â
You laugh. âSo tonight is⊠relaxing?â You ask.Â
âWell, and drinking. We just chat and catch up. Not alot of time for that on missions. This way we check in with each other. Just⊠while drunk.â Echo says, passing you a glass full of the rich red wine.Â
âOh.â You say.Â
You settle down by the fire with your glass, sitting on the forest floor with your back to a large log. The boys start drinking, and Wrecker has finished a bottle before youâre done with your glass.Â
You feel like an intruder for a bit, the boys all chatting, laughing and sharing stories. Youâre on the outside of a tight knit circle, but the more you drink, the closer to the inner circle you get. Soon youâre laughing along with all of them, staring up at the embers turning into stars above you.Â
Wrecker is the first to fall to sleep, him lumbering inside with an excuse of looking for more wine, with quiet snores echoing out into the night from the ship seconds later.Â
Tech mentions something about plans for tomorrow and âdata shoppingâ and slips away. Echo and Hunter are the last two, besides you, around the fire. They chat for awhile, and you donât realize youâve drifted off leaning against the log until a warm hand on your shoulder wakes you.Â
âSorry.â Hunter says. âYou should get to bed.â He says, offering to help you up. Suddenly, the sky above you yawns open in a flurry of colors. Greens and pinks and blues, an aurora.Â
Youâre in awe, and even Hunter looks up in wonder. He turns and settles down beside you, shoulder to shoulder, and gazes at the sky with you.Â
âNever seen one of these before.â He says.Â
You smile. âWe had them on my planet. I missed them.âÂ
He smiles at you. Youâre still so tipsy, the aurora seems to swirl around you.Â
âI should have added it to my wishlist.â You say. âSeeing one again.â
Hunter hums. âWhat else should be on your wishlist?âÂ
You blush as you feel his arm snake around the back of the log, to rest against your shoulders as you look up at the sky together.Â
âI used to think I didnât want anything. I have all I need.â
âBut?â Hunter asks.Â
âOmega changed my mind.âÂ
âWhat do you mean?â He asks, turning to face you.Â
You sigh, lazily.
âI want kids. I want to be a mom one day.âÂ
Hunter freezes. You donât notice.Â
You shudder against a cold breeze, the warmth of the wine still seeping through your veins, and glance at Hunter. âYouâre so good with her,â you say softly, âYouâd make a good dad.â
For a heartbeat, he freezes, amber eyes wide in surprise. Then, the faintest smile tugs at his lips, a mix of pride and somethingâŠelse. His gaze lingers on you, unspoken gratitude and more flickering in the firelight.
âIs that⊠really what you think?â he asks quietly, voice low.
You nod, cheeks still flushed. âI mean it. She looks up to you. You make her feel safe. Youâd⊠youâd be amazing.â
Hunter exhales, a low, satisfied hum escaping him. He leans just a fraction closer, his arm brushing against yours as it rests behind the log. âHearing you say that⊠yeah. That means a lot,â he murmurs, amber eyes locking with yours. âA lot more than you might realize.â
You feel the warmth of him in more than just the firelight. His body sits so close to yours, arm around you, that you settle yourself ever closer to him.
The aurora swirls above you, brilliant greens and pinks painting the sky, but all you can focus on is the subtle curve of his smile, the quiet intensity in his gaze. You donât realize what youâre doing when you lean forward, lips brushing his.Â
He pulls away, eyes wide and shakes his head, laughing and brushing off the attempt at a kiss.
âAlright, meshâla,â he murmurs, his voice low. âTime to get you to bed.â
You laugh, unable to be hurt by his gentle rejection for the alcohol in your veins. You attempt standing and nearly topple.Â
âMaybe,â he says, sliding a steady arm around your waist. âIâll help you there. Okay?â
Before you can argue, he helps you to your feet. Your balance is shaky, and he supports most of your weight as you step carefully toward the Marauder. The fireâs glow fades behind you, the forest alive with nighttime sounds.
âCareful,â he murmurs, guiding you over roots and uneven ground. âAlmost missed a step there.â
âAlmost?â you tease, though your voice is soft.
âYep,â he says, amber eyes glinting. âWouldnât want you twisting an ankle on my watch.â
âWould you kiss it better again?â You say, slurring your words. His grip on your waist tightens but he doesnât answer.Â
Finally, he pauses outside your door. âHere we are,â he says. âSafe and sound.â
You glance up at him, cheeks warm, still buzzed from wine and lingering adrenaline. âThanks,â you murmur.
âAlways,â he replies softly, his thumb brushing your arm in a casual, intimate gesture. He waits until you step inside before letting go, a small, teasing smirk tugging at his lips.
You fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.Â
â
You wake up alone on the ship, and find a note taped to the front door.Â
âFree for all day. Go out and explore. Meet us at these coordinates tonight.â
You fold up the paper and place it in your pocket for later. Explore? The Marauder is tucked safely in the forest outside the city, and with the crew busy with their own âadulting,â you decide to take the afternoon for yourself. Stepping out into the streets of Corellia, the bustle of the city hits you immediately.
You stop at a stall selling trinkets: little animals carved of various materials. You pick up a little creature for Omega, knowing she will love having something from this mission to fawn over.
You drift toward a fountain in the center of the plaza, the water sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Leaning over the edge, you toss a coin and make a quiet wish. You donât know what for.
As night blooms you make your way to the coordinates left for you. Itâs a⊠bar. Your stomach turns. You canât handle drinking anything more on this trip. You walk inside.Â
The lights are low and the music thumping, bodies twisting on the floor in front of you.Â
âThere she is!â Wrecker yells, and waves you over. You head to a table where he and Hunter sit, Wrecker with a pint of beer and Hunter with just water. You recall that last night he didnât drink at all either. You wonder if it has to do with his senses, if the effects of alcohol would be heightened too.Â
You slide into the booth across from Wrecker and Hunter, grateful for the small pocket of quiet it offers. The bass from the music makes the table tremble beneath your arms, and the lights strobe in dizzy flashes of gold and violet. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, trying to settle the nerves fluttering in your chest.
âYou made it!â Wrecker crows, lifting his pint in a sloppy salute. âFinally decided to join the grown-ups, huh?â
âI⊠donât really do grown-up bars,â you admit, eyeing the crowd with mild suspicion.
Hunter chuckles beside you, his voice low and warm, almost drowned out by the beat.Â
Wrecker laughs and grins wide, scanning the crowd like a hunter tracking prey. âAlright, meshâla,â he says, wagging his eyebrows at you. âIâll see you tomorrow.â
You blink. âWaitâŠwhat?â
âRelax,â he says, sliding out of the booth. âIâve got⊠business to attend to.â He waves over his shoulder without looking back. âDonât wait up!â
You turn in time to see him disappear into the sea of bodies, already laughing with a woman whoâs clearly charmed by his size and energy. Within seconds, heâs leaning down to kiss her, the two of them swallowed up by the crowd.
You snort softly, shaking your head. âSo⊠Iâm guessing thatâs âadultingâ?â
Hunterâs quiet chuckle rumbles through the din. âYeah. Pretty much. We wonât see any of them for the rest of the night. They need to blow off steam.â
Your gaze drifts across the room. Echoâs leaning casually against the bar, a Twiâlekâs hand splayed across his chest as he murmurs something that makes her laugh. Tech, somehow, already has two admirers, one on each arm, talking faster than they can probably follow. Wreckerâs nowhere to be found.
You look back at Hunter, realization hitting hard and hot in your chest. âAnd you?â you ask, fingers idly swirling the straw in your glass. âYou donât⊠need to blow off steam?â
Hunter glances at you then, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. âNot like that,â he says simply, eyes steady and unreadable in the low light.Â
âOh.â You nod, pretending to study the condensation on your glass, though your pulse is thrumming in your ears.
Hunter leans back, folding his arms. âYou, though,â he says quietly, âshould feel free to do whatever you want. Itâs your free for all too.â
You try to laugh, but it comes out thin. Around you, the lights flash, the music pounds, and bodies move in a dizzy blur of color and sound. You know you could stand, join the crowd, find someone to dance with⊠someone you can blow off steam with. It really has been so, so long since you were with someone like that.
But you donât want anyone else.
Not when the one youâve wanted all along is sitting right next to you, his shoulder brushing yours, his presence grounding you in the chaos.
You glance at him again, heart skipping. âI think,â you murmur, voice barely audible over the music, âIâd rather stay here.â
His lips quirk, slow and knowing. âYeah,â he says softly, turning his glass in his hand. âMe too.â
You stay seated a little longer, watching the crew vanish into their distractions, until Hunter finally leans over and murmurs, âReady to get out of here?â
You nod, sliding off the bench. The bass thumps in your chest as you move through the crowd, Hunter close behind. He doesnât hold your hand, but the subtle shift of his shoulder brushing yours is enough to keep you aware of him.
Outside, the air hits you like a wave of relief. The forest smells sharp and clean, a welcome contrast to the sweaty tang of the bar. The moon hangs low, pale and bright, filtering through the treetops.
Hunter falls into step beside you, moving slow and easy as you make your way to the trail leading to the ship. âBetter?â he asks, his voice low, private, as if only you two exist in the quiet.
âMuch,â you breathe, letting the cool air wash over you and the tension of the bar fade. âI donât know how you handle it in there with your⊠senses.â
He shrugs casually. âI just keep myself distracted.â
You force your heartbeat into submission, schooling it to behave when he glances at you from the corner of his eye.
âSo⊠what did you get into on your free for all day?â you ask as you step inside the Marauder, the familiar hum of the ship instantly calming your nerves.
Hunter exhales slowly. âHonestly? A fight.â
Your gaze drops and immediately notices the subtle bruising on his cheek, the torn knuckles. You reach for his hand, tilting it in the dim light of the galley. âHunter! What happened?â
âNothing serious,â he says, voice steady. âBlowing off steam. The boys have their ways⊠I have mine.â
You lift his other hand, tilting it in the dim light. âSurely you couldâve found some girl to help you with that,â you tease lightly.
His fingers tighten around yours, gentle, but enough to make your pulse trip.
âItâs on my wishlist,â he murmurs, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
You laugh before you can stop yourself. He chuckles too, low and rough, the sound warm in the quiet galley.
On impulse, you bring his bruised knuckles to your lips. Just a soft kiss, to make it better. But the second your lips touch his skin, the world narrows to the space between you. Time slows. Your breath catches.
Hunter stills completely. His amber eyes find yours, dark and unreadable. For a moment, the hum of the ship, the galaxy outside, everything disappears.
âA kiss to make it better?â he asks, voice a quiet rasp.
You nod, still caught in his gaze. Without breaking eye contact, you take his other hand and kiss that one too.
âBetter?â you ask, trying for innocence. It comes out softer.
His eyes are darker now. Deeper. He swallows, jaw tightening. âYour wishlist,â he says, voice low and rough. âFrom last night, do you remember?â
You nod again, cheeks burning.
âWell,â he murmurs, stepping closer, âmy wishlist has a few other things on it.â
You step back instinctively until the cool durasteel of the corridor meets your spine. He follows, slow and deliberate, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. Your heart hammers against your ribs.
âI want to hear it,â he says quietly.
For a dizzy second, you think you imagined it. âWhat?â
âYour heart.â His breath grazes your cheek. âI hear it all the time. When youâre awake. When youâre asleep. But I like it best when it skips. When I make it skip. Just like this.â
His hand lifts, rough fingertips tracing a line along your jaw. And your heart does stutter, betraying you completely.
âThatâs on my wishlist,â he whispers. âTo always hear that. To be the reason for it.â
You can barely breathe.
He exhales, eyes flicking between yours, searching, steady. âYou said Iâd make a good dad,â he adds, voice almost breaking. âThatâs on my wishlist too.â A beat. âKriff, but I donât want it if itâs not with you.â
And youâre floored.
âHunterâŠâ You whisper, eyes locked on his.Â
He leans closer to you, breath mingling with yours.Â
âTell me your wishlist.â He says, lips seconds from yoursÂ
âYou.â You say. âItâs just you. A family. You. Us.â
Then his lips are on yours in a crash. His arms wrap around you pulling you to him, and you feel yourself lifted until your legs wrap around his middle. Then heâs carrying you, still locked in that kiss, to his quarters.Â
It's a frenzy when he sets you down. Youâre clawing at your shirt, heâs tearing off your bra, and stripping his shirt at the same time.Â
âOh kriff.â He says, pulling you to him, bare chest to chest, for a long, deep kiss.Â
You fumble with his belt buckle and he stops you.Â
âYou first. I have to taste you. Now.â He presses you gently into the bed and pulls off your pants and shoes, everything until youâre bare before him. He kneels at the foot of the bed and pulls you to him, throwing your legs over his shoulders.Â
âThis okay? You stop me if anything isnât.â He says. You nod, breathless and he dives in.Â
Stars bloom across your vision, and immediately youâre writhing at his tongue, his touch. âYou taste better than I imagined. Than I could ever have imagined.â He says, lapping you up. His lips and tongue make small movements right at your apex, and youâre spiraling up and up, right when he plunges two fingers deep inside you.Â
You melt in his grip, muscles tensing and untensing.Â
âThatâs my girl.â he says, pulling himself from you, licking his fingers clean and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Immediately youâre up, pulling at his pants and belt.Â
âMy turn.â you mumble, but he stills you again.Â
âIâll be too sensitive, meshâla.â He says. âI need to be inside you. Can I be inside you?â He asks, punctuating with kisses to your neck, your jaw.Â
You nod furiously. He undresses lazily, and when his cock springs free, you gasp. He strokes it gently as he kneels on the bed.Â
âHow do you want me?â You ask, ready to flip over into whatever position he wants, absolutely whatever he wants.Â
âJust like this. I need to look at you, cyarâika.â His voice a hum reverberating in your chest.Â
Your heart is beating wildly out of your chest when he lines himself up over you. His eyes meet yours for just a moment, and he smiles as he slides himself home with a groan. You toss your head back, loving the feel of him inside you, such a perfect fit.Â
âOh meshâla.ââ He says, slowly finding a rhythm that he can withstand.Â
âI want you.â He says. âIve wanted you since I first met you. Since your heart first fluttered for meâ
Just like that your pounding heart flutters for him again.Â
âJust like that.â he says, thrusting harder, faster.Â
âI want you, Hunter.â You say. âI want all of you. I want more of you.â
You start to ramble,Â
âI want⊠more of yous. I want your kids, all of them. I want us⊠a family, just like that.â
Heâs losing it, hips snapping into yours, groaning as he leans down to kiss you deeply.Â
âIâm gonna lose it.â He says. âWhere?âÂ
âInside me, Hunter. I mean it. I want them. I want us.â
He shudders and with a final thrust you feel him deep inside, just as you crest your wave for the second time.Â
He falls to your side, panting next to you.Â
âKriff.â He says.Â
Barely breathing, you stare at him.Â
For a moment you lay there, staring at each other, eyes wide. Did that really just happen?
Your heart flutters again, and thatâs all it takes. The two of you burst into laughter as Hunter pulls you close.Â
âNo, Fives. Absolutely not.â You say, crossing your arms. The little cafe heâd decided to take you to this morning has it's charm⊠but the typical Fives charm isnât working on you today.Â
Youâve only been on Coruscant for three weeks, but Fives makes sure to come and visit you in the medbay everyday, just checking in. Itâs been⊠sweet. Thoughtful.Â
This idea, however? A disaster waiting to happen.
âCome on, you and Aby have practically nothing. Itâll be super small, just some 501st, maybe some 212th guys and their girls. A housewarming party! You need to meet more people here on Coruscant, and this way you get gifts at the same time!â
You roll your eyes. âYou just want an excuse to throw a party.â
Fives grins, leaning back in his chair like heâs settling into a debate he knows heâll win. âYeah, but itâs a fun excuse. Look, youâve been working nonstop since you got here. You need to have some fun, Coruscant-style fun.â
âIâm not sure your definition of fun and mine are the same,â you say, picking up your caf. âAnd I barely know anyone here.â
âExactly!â he says, snapping his fingers and pointing at you. âWhich is why this is perfect. Everyone gets to meet you properly, and you get to meet them when theyâre not bleeding or yelling or in the medbay. Win-win.â
You canât help but laugh at that. âFives, youâre impossible.â
âPersistent,â he corrects with a grin. âAnd donât think I didnât notice you smiled. Thatâs a âyes smileâ if Iâve ever seen one.â
You shake your head, but heâs already leaning forward, that ridiculous grin softening into something more sincere. âCome on. You and Aby deserve to celebrate. Youâve both worked hard getting settled here. Itâs not easy starting over, and⊠youâve done it.â
The quiet warmth in his voice makes you pause. For all his teasing, Fives always knows when to drop the act and mean it.
You sigh, pretending to think it over. âFine. But only if you help clean afterward.â
He gasps dramatically. âMe? Clean? You wound me.â
You arch a brow. âThen itâs off.â
âNo, no, Iâll clean!â he blurts, throwing his hands up. âSee? Already the best housewarming host ever.â
You laugh again, and he looks far too pleased with himself. The hum of the little cafe fills the quiet that follows. Itâs easy, sitting here across from him, sunlight spilling in through the window, painting the brown of his eyes a honey gold. Easy to forget that youâre just friends.Â
Maybe thatâs why you say it. Because itâs been sitting in your chest for days now, and you need to let it out before it eats you alive.
âAre you bringing Kitty?â you ask, forcing your tone into something casual, like youâre not bracing yourself for the answer. âI still havenât met her.â
Fives blinks, caught off guard. Then his expression shutters, mouth flattening into a thin, unhappy line. âKriff, no,â he says. âDoesnât mean she wonât show up, though. Weâre⊠off.â
âOff again?â you echo, stirring your drink just to have something to do with your hands.Â
His brows lift. âWow. You been getting intel on my love life?â
You shrug, smirking, but your voice comes out a little too tight. âHardcase said last night he gives it, what, three days before sheâs back in your lap?â The words tumble out before you can stop them. You choke on your own laugh and hide it behind your mug. âHis words, not mine.â
Fives groans, dragging a hand down his face. âHardcase needs to stop running his mouth.â
You grin, but thereâs a tiny twist in your chest. Everyone in the 501st knows about Kitty. Sheâs been Fivesâs⊠âsomethingâ since he first arrived on Coruscant as a shiny. She was the one he turned to between each and every of his numerous flings. Not exactly a girlfriend, but definitely not nothing. They broke up the night you arrived on CoruscantâŠthen got back together two days later. Now apparently, theyâre âoffâ again.
From what youâve gathered, sheâs a bartender a few levels down, gorgeous, temperamental, and more than a match for Fivesâs flirtatious streak. Maybe thatâs why you canât stop thinking about her. Or maybe itâs because Echoâs words from a few nights ago keep echoing in your head.
âListen,â heâd said quietly after dinner, when the others had gone to grab drinks, âif you ever run into Kitty, donât let her get in your head. Sheâs poison. Sheâll size you up the second she sees you and do everything she can to make you feel small. Hates any woman who so much as talks to Fives.â
Heâd looked at you pointedly.
âAnd you? You being his best friend? Thatâs gonna drive her crazy.â
Best friend.
That phrase hadnât left you alone since.
When did that happen? When did you become Fivesâs best friend? Youâre still the girl from Appla, still figuring out how to exist in a place like Coruscant. Surely that title belonged to Echo. Youâre just⊠you.
But the way Fives laughs with you, the way he finds you after his shifts, the way he looks at you like heâs actually glad youâre there, it makes something inside you flutter and ache at the same time.
Youâre still turning that thought over when his voice cuts through your spiral.
âHello? Are you listening to me?â
You blink, realizing heâs been talking the whole time. Heâs leaning forward now, elbows on the table, a smirk tugging at his mouth. âIâm trying to plan the perfect party here, and youâre a million miles away.â
âSorry,â you say, straightening in your chair. âI was⊠thinking.â
âAbout what?â he asks, grin widening. âMe, obviously.â
You roll your eyes and take a sip of your drink to hide your smile. âDonât flatter yourself.â
âToo late,â he says, flashing you that grin thatâs gotten him out of more trouble than it should. âNow, back to business, streamers or no streamers? This is important.â
You hum distractedly, nodding as he starts droning on about lighting and music choices, pretending to listen while your mind drifts again, to Echoâs words, to Kitty and as always, to Fives.
â
âHow do I look? Aby asks, spinning in the floor length mirror in the hallway of your apartment.Â
The apartment assigned to you by the GAR is big, much bigger than your cottage on Appla. You donât know what to do with so much empty space, the couch they provided and your beds being the only furniture. Besides the clothes you stowed away from your planet on the trek over, the place is an empty cave of bare walls and some sad haphazard party decorations that Fives insisted on.Â
Speaking of, you have no idea where he is. He was supposed to be here an hour ago to help set up, but heâs nowhere to be found.Â
Thatâs when thereâs a knock on the door. You open it, ready to berate him, only to see your friends, Kix, Echo and Hardcase, and a new friend, Jesse, all holding heavy boxes in the doorway. You let them inside as they chat together and drop the crates.Â
Kix starts up: âFood, decorations, lots of drinks, a stereo⊠yeah we should be good. Oh! And your gifts, obviously.â
You blink. âGifts?â
Hardcase grins, already tearing open one of the boxes like a kid on his birthday. âOf course! Itâs a housewarming party. What kind of guests would we be if we didnât bring bribes?â
âMeaning?â you ask, crossing your arms as he pulls out a collection of mismatched mugs, each one painted with crude little blue stars.
âMeaning,â Kix cuts in dryly, âthat Hardcase got into the rec-room supply closet and thought these were up for grabs.â
âThey were lonely!â Hardcase protests. âNow they have a home.â
Echo shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. âItâs a miracle youâve made it this far in life without being court-martialed.â
âNot for lack of trying,â Jesse adds, grinning as he drops his box onto the counter. âI brought the important stuff, anyway.â He flips open the lid, revealing rows of neatly stacked bottles all various shades of amber.
Aby gasps dramatically. âNow thatâs a housewarming gift.â
You laugh, shaking your head as you take in the chaos. âIâm starting to think this party might actually come together.â
âWouldnât have doubted it,â Kix says, setting up the small stereo on the counter. âThough Iâm surprised Fives isnât here yet. He was the one who couldnât stop talking about this.â
You frown, checking your comm. âHeâs over an hour late. Typical.â
Echo snorts. âHeâs probably still trying to figure out what shirt makes him look less like a douche.â You all laugh.
As if summoned, thereâs another knock at the door.
âThatâll be him,â Jesse mutters, smirking. âTen credits say heâs overdressed.â
You pull open the door, ready with some sarcastic jab about his timing, but the words die on your tongue.
Fives stands there, hair slicked back, dark shirt rolled to his forearms, a bottle of wine dangling from one hand and that disarming grin in full effect. He looks good, and judging by the way his gaze drifts over you, he knows it.
âWell, well,â he says, leaning against the doorframe. âLooks like Iâm just in time.â
âYouâre late,â you reply, though it comes out softer than you intended.
âFashionably,â he corrects with a wink, stepping inside and handing you the bottle. âFor you.â
You take it carefully, fighting the heat crawling up your neck. âYou realize I donât even own wine glasses, right?â
âThatâs okay,â he says, flashing that grin again. âI brought some.â
From behind him, Echo groans. âHe would.â
âOf course he would,â Kix mutters, though thereâs fondness in it.
The music kicks on, a low, upbeat rhythm filling the room. Abyâs already dragging Kix toward the makeshift dance floor, and Hardcase is halfway through unwrapping a string of lights.
Fives watches it all with a quiet smile before glancing back at you. âNot bad for a backwater-girl-turned-Coruscant-hostess.â
You roll your eyes. âDonât push it.â
He grins wider, stepping closer, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne, all smoke and spice. âWouldnât dream of it.â
Then, from across the room, Aby shouts, âHey! Somebody open the door. More guests!â
You turn just in time to see the door slide open again⊠and your heart drops straight to your feet.
A woman stands in the doorway, a crowd of people behind her.
Sheâs all curves, crimson lipstick, and confidence, eyes sweeping the room before locking on Fives.
âWell,â she purrs, a smile cutting across her face, âisnât this cozy?â
Fivesâ smile falters, just slightly. âKitty.â
Echo mutters something under his breath. Kix groans quietly.
You force yourself to breathe, to smile.
So much for a quiet housewarming.
The party ignites quickly, members of the 212th, the 501st, and even a few Coruscant Guard members all in civilian clothes carting bags and boxes of the most miscellaneous items youâve ever seen. Plates, bowls, silverware, vases, then blankets and picture frames and pillows. At some point someone carts in a whole table and chairs set. You and Aby are overjoyed, thanking everyone endlessly, but they care less about your appreciation and more about the music and the drinks.
The apartment fills faster than you can process. The air turns warm and loud, laughter bouncing off the bare walls as soldiers and their flings crowd into the space. Someone turns the music up, someone else opens another bottle, and suddenly, your quiet Coruscant apartment feels like the heart of a celebration thatâs been waiting months to happen.
You canât stop smiling, watching the 212th and 501st mingle like theyâre off-duty brothers again, no rank, no orders, just joy. Even the Coruscant Guard troopers loosen their shoulders as they join in, red armor traded for casual jackets and the same easy grins that fill the room.
Aby darts from group to group, greeting everyone, glowing with the kind of excitement only she can summon. Someone hands her a drink, and she spins back toward you, eyes shining. âWe might actually pull this off,â she says.
You laugh, still clutching your glass. âI think itâs already pulled off.â
âCorrection,â Fives says, slipping up beside you again, âI pulled it off.â
You shoot him a look. âYou were an hour late.â
âAh, but would it really be a party without a dramatic entrance?â he teases, taking a sip from his glass.
Before you can answer, Hardcase cheers from across the room, lifting a blanket above his head like a trophy. âYou have no idea how long Iâve been wanting to steal this from the barracks lounge!â
Kix groans. âThatâs not something to brag about, vod.â
âIs tonight about rules or fun?â Hardcase shouts back. âBecause I vote fun!â
That gets another cheer. You canât help it. You laugh, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably.Â
But as the crowd moves, you catch a flicker of red across the room. Kitty. Sheâs impossible to miss, a splash of color and confidence among the greys and blues of troopers. Sheâs standing near the refreshment table now, surrounded by a small orbit of men who canât seem to look anywhere else.
Sheâs charming them easily, tossing her hair and laughing in that syrupy tone that manages to sound both effortless and practiced. But every few moments, her gaze cuts back toward you.
And Fives.
You feel it, like static in the air between you all. Fives hasnât noticed yet; heâs busy helping Aby balance on a chair to hang the string lights, laughing when she nearly topples into Echo. But Kitty has. She watches you with the sharp, assessing look of someone taking inventory, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.
When she finally starts to move through the crowd, the sea of troopers parts for her without her having to say a word. You stiffen as she approaches, that crimson smile curving wider.
âSo,â she says sweetly, voice cutting through the music as she stops beside you, âyou must be her.â
You blink, caught off guard. âIâm sorry?â
âFivesâs new friend,â she clarifies, tone sugar-coated but sharp underneath. âThe one everyone keeps talking about.â
Fives turns then, catching sight of her. âKitty,â he says again, cautious this time. âDidnât think youâd actuallyâŠâ
âOh, donât sound so surprised,â she interrupts smoothly, her gaze flicking from him to you. âI wouldnât miss meeting the famous girl from Appla.â
You open your mouth to reply, but sheâs already smiling again, all charm and poison. âI have to say, I didnât expect you to be so⊠precious.â
Echo, standing nearby, mutters under his breath, âAnd here we go.â
Fives steps in quickly, trying for diplomacy. âKitty, come on.â
She ignores him, eyes still on you. âHope you donât mind me crashing. I just wanted to make sure the⊠decorations were up to standard.â She says as she turns her gaze to Fives.
You inhale slowly through your nose, meeting her gaze evenly. âGlad to have you.â
The music swells again, and someone calls Fives over to help move the table. He hesitates, looking between the two of you, tension flickering in his eyes.
You give him a small nod, forcing a smile.Â
He lingers a moment too long before turning away.
And the second he does, Kitty steps closer, her perfume cutting through the air. Her voice drops low enough that only you can hear.
âHeâs sweet, isnât he?â she murmurs, her tone lilting. âJust⊠donât get too attached. He always circles back.â
You hold her gaze, every instinct screaming to say something sharp, something that would wipe that smirk right off her face. But instead, you smile, tight and polite.
âWeâre just friends.â
Her eyes flash. For a heartbeat, neither of you move. Then she laughs softly and pats your shoulder. âOfcourse you are.â
She glides away through the crowd before you can respond, the sound of her laughter blending with the music.
Fives catches your eye from across the room, still holding one end of the table, his brow furrowed slightly in question.
You force another smile and lift your glass in a small toast.
â
The party was a hit, and two days later youâre still taking inventory of all of the gifts, and the mess, that were left behind. Youâre daydreaming about making the apartment even more cozy as you work, imagining what blanket should go on the back of the couch, when you smell the smoke.Â
You dash into the kitchen and there he is, panic all over his face and a flaming pot on the stove.Â
âI didnât peg you to be such a pyro, Fives,â you say as he waves a towel frantically at the small fire licking up from the pan.
âI justâŠâ he sighs, giving up. âI promise Iâve been practicing since Appla. Iâve tried to make fried tipyip twice, and now Iâm banned from the mess hall kitchens because of it!â
You laugh and grab a lid, smothering the flames in one swift motion. The kitchen fills with a thin haze of smoke, and Fives stands there, cheeks red. Whether from the heat or humiliation, youâre not sure.
Heâd lost a dare to Hardcase: cook a real meal for the squad, no ration bars allowed. Tonight was supposed to be his big win. The boys would be here in an hour, and at the rate he was going, everyone was leaving hungry and maybe a little asphyxiated.
He turns toward you, eyes wide. âPlease⊠just a little help?â
âOh, no. Absolutely not.â You cross your arms. âI swore an oath not to help you. Iâm only here because you needed my kitchen, and to keep you from burning down my apartment.â
Fives groans, dragging his hands down his face.
âIâd start over if I were you,â you add, patting his shoulder. âYou might even have time to salvage something edible if you really, really try.â
You slip off to your room before he can argue, grinning as you hear him muttering to himself.Â
You lose track of time, buried in organizing, until thereâs a knock at the door.
âIâll get it!â Fives calls.
A spike of suspicion jolts through you. You bolt out of your room just as the door swings open.
âHow much do I owe youâŠâ Fives starts, reaching for his wallet, but the words die on his tongue.
âSpecial delivery,â Kix says, holding up a stack of takeout containers with a knowing grin. Behind him, the delivery driver is already making a quick escape down the hall.
Aby laughs, looping her arm through Kixâs as they step inside.
You canât help but smile. The two of them together look effortlessly happy. Something soft and warm flickers in your chest at the sight. Aby and Kix had been circling each other for weeks now. Youâre just waiting for them to make it official.
âAh, Kriff.â Fives says, head hanging low. You storm up to him and slap his arm a few times as you talk, each word punctuated with a knock. âHow. Dare. You. Cheat.â You say, and he feigns injury.Â
âPlease, I was desperate!â He wails and you shake your head at him, disappointment on your face.Â
The door opens again and the rest of the boys filter in, Hardcase, Jesse and Echo.Â
âSmells good in here!â Hardcase says, hands rubbing together.Â
âDonât get your hopes up.â You say. âFives is a dirty, dirty cheater.â
Fives pulls his hands down his face. âI had no other choice. I didnât want anyone to face death by poison at my hands.â
Everyone laughs. You grab out all the mismatched plates you have and set the table, Kix and Aby laying the food out for everyone as you all grab a plate and seat yourselves.Â
The dinner is delicious, much to Fivesâ credit for choosing it. You all laugh and talk over the meal and just as soon as itâs plated, it's over.Â
âHolo?â Aby asks, and the boys jump at the chance. You laugh and nod, and Aby and the others all head over to the two couches and few armchairs in your large living room, flicking on the holoscreen.Â
You pick up the plates and take everything over to the kitchen sink, starting up a soapy sponge and get to cleaning.Â
âScoot over.â You hear someone say, and you slide over to the left without looking. His hands plunge into the hot, soapy water and grab a dish. Your fingers brush.Â
Fives starts washing dishes, right there beside you, just like back on Appla.Â
You glance up at him, surprised. âYou donât have toâŠâ
âI know,â he interrupts with that familiar grin, âbut I want to.â
The quiet hum of conversation and laughter filters in from the living room as the two of you fall into an easy rhythm. You wash, he rinses, and every so often your hands bump again.
Itâs domestic in a way that feels dangerous. Familiar.Â
âStill remember how to do this?â you tease, nudging him with your elbow.
He chuckles. âYou kidding? You think Iâd forget Appla? Best training I ever got.â
You roll your eyes, but you canât help the smile that tugs at your lips.
Dishes done, you and Fives make your way into the living room, where only one large armchair sits empty.
âGo ahead,â you say. âIâll just sit on the floor.â
âHell, no,â Fives replies, grabbing your wrist. âWe can share. Come on.â
He squeezes onto one side of the plush chair, and you slide in beside him. Your thighs press together tightly, uncomfortable for both of you, but neither of you says a word.
âHere,â he murmurs, sliding an arm under your legs and turning you sideways, resting your legs across his lap. You canât help the blush that creeps across your cheeks, but itâs far more comfortable this way. You lean back against the armrest, head resting on the soft chair back.
One of his hands settles on your shin, warm and steady. As the holo flickers to life, the other hand drifts just above your knee, lightly resting on your thigh. It sears, a fire that has nothing to do with the screen.
The holo hums softly, but you barely notice it. Every time his fingers flex slightly, heat shoots up your leg, and you shift just enough to keep your balance, heart hammering in your chest.
Fives leans back against the chair, eyes on the holo, but you catch him stealing glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He smirks faintly each time, as if daring you to look back, and you canât help it. You do.
âAre you⊠distracted?â he whispers, voice low, teasing.
âMaybe a little,â you admit, cheeks burning.
His hand presses a fraction closer, brushing your skin in a way thatâs deliberate but not overt, and your stomach twists in anticipation. For a moment, the holo might as well not exist. Just you, him, and the warmth between you.
Then a laugh from Aby on the other side of the room pulls both of you back, the tension breaking just enough for you to breathe, but not enough to make the searing feeling in your thigh fade. Fives catches your eye and winks, and you instinctively stick your tongue out at him.Â
This is friendship. This is what friends do. They banter, they share seats. They have fun.Â
Just friends.Â
â
Itâs days later and the shooting range is⊠not your style. Youâve only held a blaster once, and that was on Appla when you were too busy saving Fivesâ life to care about aiming.Â
The boys insisted it would be fun, but you know the truth. Kix wanted to show off in front of Aby, his now official girlfriend. It happened that night you all ate takeout and watched holos in your apartment. He whispered it to her. âBe mine?â And she squealed so loud you had to pause the holo.Â
You smile at them, Kix standing behind her, helping her aim. Theyâre cute. Itâs honestly a good match, his snark and seriousness to her bubbly effervescence.Â
âAre you gonna shoot or what?â Hardcase asks, and you shake your head. âJust observing.âÂ
The truth is youâre preoccupied. You can tell the rest of the boys are too. Echo and Fives and Rex are all on some secret special mission. You havenât heard from them in days.Â
Itâs the longest youâve gone without talking to Fives since you landed on Coruscant.Â
Blaster bolts whiz down the lanes, the loud whirring grating on your nerves. At first, it almost drowns out the comms.
âShould we come too?â you ask, and Aby looks up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
âYeah, sure. You two can wait outside the meeting hall,â Kix says, shrugging. âItâs probably nothing crazy. Just a debrief, the others are supposed to be returning today.â
Returning? Fives is back on Coruscant? Your heart hammers in your chest.
You and Aby follow, making your way to HQ, and settle on a few storage crates just outside the door. At first, the familiar laughter of the 501st drifts through the walls. Then⊠silence.
Theyâre in there longer than you can stand.
Finally, the door opens and the troopers file out, one by one. You and Aby rise to your feet. Kix comes first, burying his face in her shoulder without a word.
âWhatâs going on?â she asks softly, patting his shoulder.
Silence stretches.
Rex steps out next, helmet tucked under his arm. His face is grim, rigid, unreadable.
âRex⊠whatâs going on?â you ask, your voice shaking. He doesnât answer.
Grief and dread crash over you all at once, a weight in your chest you canât shake. You know. You just know.
âNo,â you whisper, and without thinking, you bolt toward the room, desperate to see the two missing troopers. Echo. Fives.
You crash headfirst into someone leaving the room.
Fives.
His eyes are stony, jaw set, shoulders squared like nothing can touch him. Relief surgesâŠthen the sharp sting of reality hits.
âOh my stars, Echo,â you gasp. Then your heart clenches.
âFives?â you whisper, tentative.
He doesnât meet your gaze. He brushes past you, walking down the hall with that unshakable tension in his stride. The others glance at you, sorrow in their eyes.
Your instinct screams to chase him but a firm hand lands on your shoulder, steadying you.
âGive him some time,â Rex says quietly.
You nod, chest tight, watching Fives disappear around the corner.
â
That night Aby spends with Kix, off remembering Echo by visiting his favorite spots in the city. You sit in your dark apartment, alone, comm in hand. Just in case he calls.Â
The knock at your door is soft, hesitant. You know before you open it who it is.
Heâs standing there, shoulders slumped, eyes dark and haunted, the weight of the day pressing down on him. He doesnât answer. He just steps inside the moment you move aside.
Aby and Kix are out, leaving the apartment quiet except for the soft hum of Coruscant. You stay close, letting him drop onto the couch beside you. His body is rigid at first, coiled tight like he might shatter, but he doesnât move away.
âEcho,â he whispers, voice breaking. âHe⊠heâs gone.â
You nod, swallowing hard. âI know,â you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. âI know.â
Fives leans forward, burying his face in his hands. âI keep thinking I shouldâve, shouldâve done something more. IâŠâ He canât finish.
You shift closer, wrapping an arm around him. âYou did what you could. He knew that. We all knew that. Youâre not alone, Fives.â
He leans fully into you, letting the grief spill out in trembling breaths and whispered names. For a long while, you just sit together, shoulder to shoulder, holding onto one another while the loss of Echo hangs heavy in the room.
Hours pass in quiet murmurs and the occasional choked sob. He doesnât sleep fully, but he rests his head against your shoulder, hand gripping yours as if letting go would mean losing himself entirely.
For tonight, youâre his anchor. Youâre his safe place. And in the shadow of grief, in the absence of the friend you both loved, that is enough.
In the morning, thereâs no sign of Aby or Kix. The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of Coruscant outside. You wake to find Fivesâ head resting in your lap on the couch, a blanket lazily draped over both of you.
You reach down and softly brush his hair away from his face. In sleep, the weight of his grief doesnât show. The sorrow that presses on him like a stone is gone, replaced with a rare, fragile peace. You sigh, slowly pulling your hand away⊠only for his own hand to twitch awake and catch your wrist, guiding it back to his hair.
âMore,â he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
You oblige. Your fingers move gently, stroking his scalp, letting him drift in and out of sleep. Half an hour passes like this, the quiet broken only by his soft breaths and the faint hum of the city outside.
When his eyes finally flutter open, the traces of tears are still there, glimmering. He sits up slowly, stretches, but doesnât look at you, doesnât speak. And yet the tears continue to fall.
You slide closer, wrapping your arms around him. His body shudders against yours, the sobs wracking him.
You never thought youâd see him like this. The charming, ever-positive Fives, the one who jokes through everything, broken. This is raw, unguarded. You want so badly to gather him up, to piece him back together.
âDo you want me to call anyone? The boys? Maybe⊠Kitty?â you whisper, trying to find any way to ease the ache.
His sobs turn into quiet laughter, shaky and soft.
âI just want you, honey,â he admits, the word slipping out before he can stop it. He stills the moment it leaves his lips.
You laugh softly. âHoney, huh? You can call me honey if you want, Fives.â
He laughs with you, gentle and raw, tears still streaming.
âIt suits you,â he murmurs, voice rough but warm, and you feel it. The trust, the closeness, the unspoken understanding that youâre it for him, now.Â
His friend. His best friend.Â
â
A few weeks pass, and you watch as Fives pieces himself back together. The edges of him start to soften again. The jokes come easier, the smile doesnât look as forced. You start bringing him caf during late-night debriefs, and you comm him after every long mission just to check in.Â
Itâs after one of those long missions that you decide to invite the boys over for a homecooked meal. Youâve heard theyâve âadoptedâ two new brothers, and youâre eager to meet them. Aby nearly squeals when she finds out Kix will be there too. Things between them have been⊠well, something special. You might even call it love, if you were bold enough to name it. Whenever Kix stays late at your shared apartment, you do your best to give them space, which usually means finding Fives and letting him distract you with whatever mischief heâs up to.
Thereâs no knock this time when the door swings open. The sound of boots and laughter floods the little apartment like a storm. Youâre standing over the stove, the warm scent of ronto pies filling the kitchen, when Hardcaseâs voice booms through the room.
âWelcome home! Well. Our second home.â He grins, slinging an arm around the shoulders of two familiar but unfamiliar faces, one serious, one shy.
You turn, wiping your hands on a towel. âSo these are the new recruits Iâve heard about.â
The serious one straightens immediately. âDogma, maâam.â
The shy one nods, voice soft. âTup. Itâs, uh⊠nice to meet you.â
âNice to meet you both,â you say, smiling. âMake yourselves at home. Dinnerâs almost ready.â
Tup hovers near the kitchen doorway for a moment, watching you move between the counter and the stove. Then, hesitantly:
 âCan I, um⊠help with anything? Maybe set the table?â
You blink, surprised, then hand him a stack of mismatched plates. âSure. Thatâd be great.â
He takes them carefully, as though they might break if he moves too fast. âIt smells amazing, by the way,â he says after a beat. âDid you really make all this yourself?â
âGuilty,â you say with a grin. âCookingâs how I unwind.â
He glances up at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth. âBetter than the mess hall. Way better.â
You laugh softly. âIâll take that as the highest compliment from a soldier.â
Fivesâ voice drifts in from behind you. âCareful, Tup, sheâll put you on dish duty if you arenât careful.â
You glance over your shoulder. Fives is leaning against the counter, arms folded, smile easy but eyes sharper than usual. Tup just chuckles under his breath, unbothered.
âI donât mind,â he says quietly, more to you than to Fives. âWouldnât be fair to let you do all the work.â
That earns him a flicker of warmth from you, but you see Fives straighten just a bit.
Dinner is easy and loud and full of laughter. Hardcase keeps trying to steal seconds, Jesse tells a story that makes Kix choke on his drink, and Aby glows every time Kix looks her way. Tup sits beside you, quiet but attentive, always ready to pass a dish or refill a glass before you even ask. You notice it.
Fives notices that too. The way Tup leans in when you speak, the way you smile back. The sound of your laughter catches in his throat in a way it never used to.
When the meal winds down, you stand to start clearing plates but Tupâs already halfway to his feet. âLet me help,â he offers quickly.
âIâve got it,â you start to say, but he shakes his head.
 âYou cooked. Least I can do is clean up.â
You give in with a little nod, and together you start stacking dishes. He follows you into the kitchen, sleeves rolled up. The two of you move easily around each other, quiet conversation, a few laughs over Hardcaseâs antics. Youâre halfway through rinsing when Fives appears in the doorway, drying cloth in hand, like heâs been waiting for the chance to step in.
Fivesâ grin tightens and he looks at you. âYeah? Thought that was our thing.â
You frown at him over your shoulder. âYou two have assigned chores now?â
âTradition,â Fives says, but it comes out flat.
You hand him a plate to dry anyway. âFine. Trade off.â
Tup chuckles. âGuess Iâll make the cut next time.â
âYou wish,â Fives mutters, quiet but not quiet enough.
You shoot him a look. Not angry, just questioning, but heâs already turning to the sink, scrubbing harder than necessary.
When the last dish is done, you wipe your hands on a towel. âHolo time?â you ask, trying to break the tension.
The lights are low when you step into the living room. The holo flickers blue and gold across the walls; Aby and Kix are curled together on the couch, Hardcase sprawled half-off the other end, Jesse on the floor with a blanket. Dogma stands near the wall, arms crossed.
Tup follows behind you, uncertain, until you pat the empty cushion beside you in the armchair. âThereâs room here.â
He smiles, starting toward youâŠ
âNo.â
Fivesâ voice cuts in from the kitchen doorway.
He saunters forward, his usual smile there but his eyes donât match it. âThatâs my seat.â
Tup pauses mid-step, confusion flickering across his face. âOh. Sorry, I didnâtâŠâ
Fives claps him on the shoulder, too hard to be casual. âNo harm done. Plenty of room over there with Hardcase.â
Before anyone can say otherwise, Fives drops into the chair beside you, thigh brushing yours.
You glance at him. âYour seat, huh?â
âAgain, tradition,â he says easily, stretching out, arm over the back of the chair.
Jesse snorts from the floor. âYou mean the one where you scare everyone else out of it?â
âExactly,â Fives says.
You roll your eyes but settle in, legs stretched across his lap as usual. His arm stays where it is, hand brushing your shoulder now and then.Â
After a few quiet minutes, you murmur, âYou know, Tupâs sweet. You donât have to scare him off.â
Fives doesnât look at you. âDidnât scare him. Just donât like watching him look at you like that.â
You turn to him, brows raised. âLike what?â
He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. âDoesnât matter. You should go for it.â
The words come sharp and offhand, like heâs throwing them just to wound himself first.
You stare at him. âThatâs not funny.â
âDidnât mean it to be.â
He focuses on the holo then, jaw tight, thumb tapping once against your knee before going still. The flicker of light paints his face in shifting color.
Across the room, Tup laughs softly at something Hardcase says, but the sound only makes Fivesâ hand curl tighter where it rests on your leg.
Itâs late when the holo ends. The others file out in a wave of yawns and laughter, Kix tugging a sleepy Aby toward her bedroom door, Jesse and Hardcase arguing over who cheated, Dogma politely thanking you again for dinner. Tupâs the last to leave, giving you a shy smile as he lingers in the doorway.
âThanks again,â he says. âFor the food. And⊠for letting me help.â
You smile back. âAnytime, Tup. Glad you came.â
He nods, hesitates like he wants to say something else, but then just gives a little salute before disappearing down the hall.
When you turn around, Fives is still there, leaning against the back of the couch, arms crossed, expression unreadable in the dim light.
âYou didnât have to chase him off, you know,â you say quietly.
He huffs out something thatâs half laugh, half sigh. âDidnât chase him off. Just⊠didnât feel like sharing a seat tonight.â
You tilt your head.
He looks at you then, really looks, and for a second, all the armor drops. âGuess I donât like watching someone else take my place.â
The words hang there, raw and unguarded. You open your mouth, but he cuts you off before you can answer.
âForget it,â he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. âThat came out wrong. IâmâŠâ He exhales. âIâm sorry. I shouldnât have snapped. It wasnât fair to him. Or you.â
You cross your arms, soft but firm. âYou think?â
He winces at your tone, but thereâs a flicker of a smile there too. âYeah. I think.â
You step closer. âWhatâs going on, Fives?â
He shrugs, eyes fixed on the floor. âI donât know. Itâs stupid.â
âTry me.â
Thereâs a long pause before he answers. âYou ever feel like the galaxyâs moving on without you? Like everyoneâs healing, finding something new, and youâre justâŠâ He gestures vaguely. âStuck in the same kriffing place.â
Your chest tightens. âYouâre not stuck, Fives.â
He finally looks up at you. His grin returns then, small, a little sad. âWhat if Iâm just old news. An old friend you might forget.â
You blink. âFivesâŠâ
âAnyway,â he mutters, forcing a crooked smile, âguess I should actually head out before Kix starts gossiping.â
You laugh softly. He backs toward the door, voice lighter now. âThanks for dinner. And for not kicking me out after I acted like an idiot.â
âYou did act like an idiot,â you say, smiling despite yourself.
âYeah, but I apologized. Thatâs gotta count for something.â
He hesitates at the door, fingers brushing the frame. âNight, honey.â
And then heâs gone.
â
The hum of medbay machinery fills the room as you sort through med-packs. Your comm chirps, and you glance at the screen: Abyâs name flashing.
âHey, Aby,â you answer, keeping your voice low.
âYou will not believe this!â she squeals, practically vibrating through the comm. âThe squad just got word, thereâs going to be a military ball next week! Only for troopers and their guests! Dresses, music, dancing⊠itâs going to be amazing! Kix and I are already planning!â
You grin, leaning against the counter. âNext week? Thatâs⊠fast. And only troopers?â
âYes! And⊠wellâŠâ Her voice drops a teasing note. âTup might ask you.â
You raise an eyebrow, smiling faintly. âOh really?â
Before you can respond further, the medbay door swings open with a rush. Fives strides in, slightly out of breath, comm in hand, eyes immediately locking on you.
âHey,â he says, voice low and sharp, leaning against the doorframe. âGot a minute?â
âOf course,â you reply, hanging up the comm. âEverything okay?â
He steps closer, tension radiating off him. âHave you heard about the military ball?â
âYes,â you nod, feeling your stomach twist.
âWell. Tup?â he adds, voice low, tight. âHeâs going to ask you.â
You blink at him, then glance at your comm. âSo Iâve heard.â
Fives exhales sharply, leaning against the counter, jaw tight. âYeah. So⊠what are you going to say?â
You shrug, trying to stay casual. âI⊠havenât thought about it yet.â
His grin is gone, replaced by a tense line of his mouth. âGo with me instead.â
You blink, caught off guard. âWhat?â
âAs friends,â he says. âDonât worry about slow dances, or⊠anything. Just⊠go with me. Donât let him ask first.â
You hesitate. âFivesâŠâ
He leans closer, voice dropping so only you can hear. âI donât like watching you and Tup get close. Not one bit. So yeah. Go with me. As friends. No questions.â
You glance at Fives, whoâs watching you, tense and restless. His insistence, the sharp edge in his voice leaving you confused. Then it dawns on you.
âI canât believe youâre jealous,â you murmur.
âNot jealous,â he mutters, eyes flicking away, voice low and sharp. âJust⊠not good at watching other people get close to you.â
You bite back a smile, caught between amusement and frustration. âYouâre impossible, you know that?â
âAnd you love it,â he says, smirking despite the tension. He steps back, letting you breathe, but the air between you feels charged, too small for the emotions swirling in it.
âGo with me,â he says again, quieter this time. âAs friends. Iâll be the perfect gentleman. Youâll have the time of your life.â
Silence stretches, thick and charged. You can feel his warmth beside you, the tension rolling between you like static.
Finally, you nod once. âFine.â
He exhales, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth. âFine.â
The quiet settles again, heavier now. You clear your throat, trying to break it. âOne condition,â you say.
âAnything.â
âBuy me flowers. I know weâre going as friends, but I still want flowers. Lilacs.â
He looks at you for a long moment, then his grin spreads, slow and boyish.
âDone.â
â
The dress feels heavy on you. Not just from the beadwork, but from everything it carries. Each opalite gem catches the light as you move, shimmering like frozen tears. Itâs beautiful⊠but you donât feel beautiful. You feel strange. Like the air has shifted and you canât quite catch your breath.
Excited, maybe. Nervous, definitely. But beneath it all, thereâs something softer, lonelier. A weight you canât name pressing against your ribs.
Aby notices. Of course she does. Sheâs sitting on the floor, fastening the strap of her heel, when she glances up and narrows her eyes.
âOkay,â she says, standing. âWhatâs going on with you? Youâve been quiet this whole time. Not even dancing to my pre-game playlist. Thatâs a crime.â
You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat. You sit beside her on the edge of the bed, the dress bunching awkwardly around your knees. The sight of her, radiant and confident, makes something twist in your chest.
And then, the worst mistake: you look at her.
Because the moment you do, your vision blurs.
Abyâs face softens instantly. âOh, sweetheartâŠâ
You shake your head, voice cracking. âI donât know whatâs wrong. Maybe Iâm just nervous? Maybe itâs the dress, or the ball, orâŠâ
She takes your hands gently, grounding you. âYouâre not nervous about the ball.â
You blink, confused.
âItâs Fives,â she says, simply.
Your stomach flips. âWhat about him?â
Her smile is small, tender. âYou love him.â
You try to laugh, but it comes out watery. âOf course I love him. Heâs one of my best friends.â
She tilts her head, the way she does when sheâs about to call you out on something. âNo. You love him.â
You inhale sharply, shaking your head. âAby, no. Weâre⊠weâre just friends.â
âRight,â she says softly, brushing away a tear thatâs escaped down your cheek. âAnd thatâs the problem, isnât it? You keep saying youâre friends, but itâs tearing you apart.â
You look down, fingers twisting in your lap, the beads of your dress catching on your skin. âHe doesnât see me that way.â
Aby sighs, squeezing your hand. âSweetheart, have you seen the way he looks at you? Like heâs trying to memorize you every time. Like heâs afraid if he blinks, youâll disappear.â
Your breath hitches. Youâd noticed it, of course. The way his eyes lingered just a little too long, the way his jokes carried a softness that wasnât there with anyone else. Youâd just never let yourself believe it meant anything.
Aby leans in closer, her voice gentle but firm. âYou need to stop pretending this isnât real. Go tonight, look him in the eye, and say something. Even if itâs scary.â
You swallow hard, blinking back more tears. âAnd what if he doesnât feel the same?â
âThen at least youâll know,â she says, brushing a curl behind your ear. âBut if he does, and Iâm telling you he does, youâll never forgive yourself for staying quiet.â
âIâm scared.â You whisper to the mirror in front of you.Â
Aby meets your eyes in the glass, her reflection steady and warm. âThat just means it matters.â
Just then thereâs a knock at the door.Â
âStay here, get cleaned up. Iâll go stall them.â Aby says, and leaves you to yourself.Â
Do you? Love him?
You know the answer.Â
All those touches that left your heart fluttering. His smile, his laugh.Â
Your heart aches. Then you take a deep breath.Â
No.
Tonight is just about fun. Not big reveals and secrets andâŠlove. Abyâs wrong.
Just fun. Just friends. Thatâs all.
You touch up your face and then make your way into the living room where you can hear Fives and Kix whistling over Abyâs maroon dress, her no doubt spinning and absorbing the attention.Â
You step into view and silence falls.Â
Kix speaks up, âYou look great.â He says with a smile. Aby elbows him, playfully.Â
Fives just stares.Â
âWeâll meet you there.â Aby says, giving you a look while dragging Kix out the door.Â
You walk up to Fives. Heâs still staring.Â
âSo?â You say, arms outstretched to show the dress.Â
âYou.â He swallows. âYou lookâŠbeautifulâ he nearly whispers.Â
You laugh quietly. âYou donât look so bad yourself.â
There's a moment of quiet, with Fives clenching and unclenching his fists. Then a look of shock crosses his face.Â
âKriff! I forgot your flowers! I bought them and everything, I left them in the barracks.â
You laugh. âWell thank you for the lovely bouquet anyway.â
The two of you are caught in each other's gaze for a moment more. Then he offers you his arm and the two of you are off into the night.Â
â
The ballroom is alive with soft light and the low hum of music, the polished floors reflecting the glow of chandeliers. Fives leads you inside, his arm steady around yours, and the rest of the squad drifts off to their own corners, leaving the two of you to your own world.
He pulls you onto the dance floor without waiting for a song to start, spinning you with surprising gentleness despite the heels digging into your feet. Laughter bubbles up from you both as you match steps, stumbling just slightly, and he steadies you effortlessly.
âYouâre killing me with these moves,â he teases, his grin bright, eyes shining.
âYouâre just mad I didnât fall on my face,â you reply, spinning under his arm and letting the music carry you.
He laughs, a rich, warm sound that fills your chest. âI like watching you dance.â
You blush.
The night stretches on in a blur of music and laughter. Fives is patient, attentive, charming in a way that feels effortless, and for a while, you let yourself forget the weight of everything else. Just let yourself float in this small bubble of joy.
Eventually, you excuse yourself, needing a moment to catch your breath. You slip into the quieter hallway toward the refreshment area, smoothing your dress and brushing your hair out of your face. As you reach for a glass of water, a voice halts you.
âWell, well⊠look who decided to show up.â
You freeze. Kitty. Fivesâ ex. Sheâs leaning casually against the table, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
You force a polite smile. âKitty.â
She tilts her head, smirk in place but her eyes piercing. âYou look⊠lovely. All glimmering and perfect. Just like him, huh?â
You stiffen. âWhat do you want, Kitty?â
She steps closer, lowering her voice to something dangerous. âIâm just saying⊠if he really wanted you, youâd know by now. Heâd be clear. Simple as that.â
Your stomach twists, heat rising to your cheeks. âThatâs⊠not true,â you say quietly, heart hammering.
Kitty laughs, low and knowing. âOh, come on. You know how he is. Donât get your hopes up, sweetheart. You might think he cares, but heâs Fives. He doesnât do subtle. If he wanted you, youâd already know.â
You glance toward the dance floor, and through the crowd, you see Fives laughing with another trooper, completely unaware of the conversation. Your chest tightens, anger and frustration sparking.
You straighten your shoulders. âWeâre just friends.â
Kitty tilts her head, amused. âAnd that's all you'll ever be.â
With that, she glides past you, leaving a cold trace of challenge in her wake. You grip your glass tightly, taking a deep breath, and turn back toward the dance floor.
The next slow song hums through the ballroom, soft and heavy with promise. You glance toward Fives and freeze. Kitty has looped her arm through his, her grin bright and teasing.
âFives, come on. Just one dance,â she purrs, leaning close.
He stiffens, just enough for you to notice. âKitty⊠really? Who are you even here with?â he mutters under his breath, clearly reluctant. His hand rests lightly on her waist, polite, restrained, but you can see it. Every movement is measured, controlled.
Your stomach twists. You know he doesnât want this, that heâs only appeasing her, but seeing him this close to anyone else makes something ache in your chest.
Before you can spiral further, Tup steps up beside you, hand extended, eyes warm and earnest. âMay I have this dance?â
You take it immediately, letting him guide you to the floor. His presence is grounding. Each step, each turn, is confident and deliberate, but your chest still feels tight and constricting.
From the corner of your eye, you canât help but see Fives and Kitty dancing together. Sheâs laughing, head tilted toward him, and he offers a tight-lipped smile, one hand still over hers. Itâs polite. Thatâs all it is.
Tup spins you across the floor, eyes holding yours, the heat of his attention making you a little uncomfortable. Every so often, your glance flicks back toward Fives, and you only feel worse.
And then⊠the moment your stomach drops.
Kitty leans up, pressing her lips to Fivesâ. He doesnât resist. He doesnât pull away. The world tilts, the music fading into a muffled hum in your ears. Your hands tighten on Tupâs, pulse spiking, eyes wide.
Tup notices instantly, jaw clenching, but doesnât say a word. His hand on yours is steady, but you canât look away. Fives, the man who occupies every corner of your thoughts, is kissing someone else, even if only out of obligation or politeness.
You force yourself to breathe, but a hot sting rises behind your eyes. You had told yourself tonight was just fun. Just friends. But seeing them like this, reality crashes in: itâs not just fun. Not for you. Not anymore.
The dance ends, and you gently step away from Tup. âI⊠need a moment,â you murmur, slipping out toward the balcony. Aby, mid-laugh with colleagues, catches sight of you and freezes. She can tell. She can always tell. She hustles after you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.
âJust breathe, okay?â she says, guiding you to a quiet corner. You let yourself sit, dress rustling, shaking slightly, trying to steady your racing heart. You donât cry, though your chest aches.Â
You want him. You want him so badly it hurts.Â
And he doesnât want you.
A soft shadow falls over the balcony. âHey⊠there you are.â Fivesâ voice cuts through the night.
You stay still, shoulders tight, not turning. Aby rises, blocking him instinctively. âJust a second, FivesâŠâ she starts, frowning, but you stop her with a whisper. âItâs fine.â She gives you a quick hug and returns inside, leaving you alone with him.
âIâm sorry.â His voice is low, hesitant.
âFor?â you ask, still not looking at him.
He shakes his head. âI⊠I donât know. Thereâs nothing going on with Kitty. It didnât mean anything.â
You shrug, voice flat. âWhy do I care if there is? Weâre just friends.â
He flinches at your words, and for a moment, you see it, the tightness in his jaw, the tension coiling through his shoulders. âWeâre⊠just friends,â he repeats, his voice low.
He studies you now, really sees you, the way your hands tremble slightly, the shimmer in your eyes from unshed tears.
âHoneyâŠâ he murmurs, a soft plea, hand outstretched to yours.
âI want to go home, Fives,â you whisper, voice breaking just enough to make him flinch.
He pauses then nods, dropping his hand. âIâll get us a speeder.â
The ride is quiet, the hum of the engine filling the spaces between your thoughts. Neither of you speak, though the tension is thick, lingering like smoke. At your apartment, he walks you to the door.
âThank you⊠for tonight,â you murmur, head down, refusing to meet his gaze.
He reaches out, taking your chin gently between his fingers, tilting your face up so your eyes meet his.
A lock of hair falls across your face, and he brushes it back softly. His hand lingers a moment longer than necessary. He swallows hard. âI still owe you flowers,â he whispers.
You laugh quietly, one solitary tear sliding down your cheek.
He doesnât hesitate. His thumb brushes the tear away, lingering against your skin. Neither of you says more.Â
With a quiet nod, he steps back. âGoodnight,â he murmurs, voice barely audible over the cityâs hum.
You close the door slowly, leaning against it for a moment. Your pulse still races.
Youâre still sitting there, back against the door, when the banging starts. Urgent. Furious.
You wipe your eyes, startled, and open the door.
Fives stands there, breathless, âNo,â he says, voice rough.
You blink. âFivesâŠâ
He steps forward, words tumbling out fast. âWeâre not ending tonight like that.â His hands rake through his hair. âKriff, honey, I donât even know what to say. I donât know how to fix it, or make it better. I just⊠I canât stand thinking that youâre hurting. That youâre crying because of me.â
The tears youâd fought so hard to hold back return, harder this time. He stops pacing instantly, crossing the space between you.
He pulls you into his arms. You collapse against him, inhaling the familiar warmth of him. You cling to him, fingers fisting in his shirt, and cry into his shoulder.
âTonight was supposed to be fun,â he murmurs against your hair.
âJust fun. Just friends,â you whisper back, voice breaking.
He goes still. Then, softly: âI am your friend. And youâre mine. My best friend, honey.â He pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away tears. âAnd Iâd do anything to make you happy.â
Your heart twists painfully. âI just wish things were simple.â
âIn this day and age? Me and you?â He lets out a small, helpless laugh. âNothing about this is simple. Thatâs what makes it special.â
He leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours. âLet me end the night the way it shouldâve ended,â he whispers. âCan I have this dance?â
You nod, breath shaky, and place your hand in his.
You dance there in your living room, no music, no lights but the glow from the city through the window. You move slowly, swaying in rhythm only the two of you can hear. His hand fits at your waist, yours against his chest. The world shrinks until thereâs only you and him, the quiet beat of two hearts trying to find each other.
By the time the moment ends, youâre both smiling: a little broken, a little healed.
Then his comm goes off, a shrill, jarring sound that slices through the stillness. You flinch. He checks it, jaw tightening.
âWeâre shipping out in the morning,â he mutters, the weight of duty settling over him like armor. âOrders just came in. Iâve got to head out.â
He slips the comm back into his pocket and looks at you, unreadable, a thousand things flickering behind his eyes that he doesnât say. His thumb brushes your knuckles once more, slow, lingering, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. Then he lets go.
Without another word, he turns and walks out into the night.
The door closes, leaving you in silence. You stand there for a long moment, staring at the space heâd just filled, the warmth heâd left behind fading too fast.
You sink down onto the couch, still in your dress, still holding the ghost of his touch in your hands. The city hums beyond the window, indifferent to the ache twisting inside you.
Youâre alone with your thoughts and your feelings, and neither of them make any sense at all.
â
You wake to the relentless chirp of your comm. Messages flood in: Aby, Tup, Fives. Your chest tightens as you scroll through them, the words jumbling in your mind. Each ping seems to echo louder than the last, but the one that makes your heart flutter sits prominently at the top of the screen.
âThank you for the last dance. Be thinking of you, honey. Home soon.â
Your fingers tremble as you stare at the message. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself.Â
The feeling washes over you all at once. Resolve.Â
You will tell him when he comes back. You have to.
You love him. Always have.
â
Days stretch into a haze. No word. Every holocall, every comm ping, your heart leaps, hoping.
Nothing.
Tonight though, something is different.
 Aby and you are placed on lockdown. Confined and restless.Â
âWhatâs he saying?â You ask, trying desperately to see the comm in Abyâs hand. Kix had been giving her updates throughout the mission. Fives had never reached out. You know in your heart something is wrong, terribly wrong.Â
âHeâs on planet. Heâs coming by.â Aby whispers.
You exhale at last. Theyâre home. Fives might even get here before Kix does, you think.Â
Half an hour later thereâs a knock at the door. You open it, ready to berate him for never responding to you, for making you worry. But it isnât Fives.
Itâs Kix.
âWe need to talk.â He says. Your heart falls.Â
The next hour is⊠lost to time. A blur. Words tumbling from Kixâs mouth, echoing in your mind like the soundtrack to a horror holo.Â
They were on Ringo Vinda. Tup killed a Jedi. Fives, Tup on Kamino. Something happened. Something. Some⊠thing. Heâs on Coruscant.
That should solve everything, right? Heâs almost home. But Kix continues.
âFives⊠he attacked the Chancellor. Heâs gone rogue. I ran into him, he gave me some coordinates to pass on to Rex. I did. Iâm sure Rex will sort everything out.â
Your chest constricts. Your hands shake. You canât believe it.
 You comm Fives again, and again, desperate, pleading.
Silence.
Kix stays with you and Aby in your apartment. He says itâs in case Fives shows up. You worry itâs actually to turn Fives in if he does show up. Or worse. To protect you from Fives.Â
Fives isnât dangerous. This is all a misunderstanding. You know it.Â
You lay in the dark of your room, trying desperately to sleep but knowing its futile. Youâre just about to drift off, exhaustion seeping into your bones, when your comm flashes to life.Â
You donât even check to see who it is. You answer it.Â
âFives? Fives! Where are you?â
âHoney,â he breathes, voice ragged, almost breaking.
 Itâs him. Itâs really him.
You stumble to the floor, hands gripping the comm, tears spilling unbidden. âFives! Oh stars, Fives.â
âJust listen,â he gasps. âI donât have much time.â
Your heart aches as he speaks, each word slicing through you.
âWe were never just friends,â he says, each syllable trembling. âIt was never that for me. Itâs you. From the moment we met, itâs been you. I should have kissed you. All those chances⊠I should have kissed you and Iâll regret that for all time⊠Honey, I still owe you those flowers.â
You nearly gasp into the comm: âFives. Fives, itâs you for me too. Its always been you. Please, come home to me.â
Thereâs static. The comm cuts off abruptly. Silence crashes over you, heavier than anything youâve felt before. You donât know if he even heard you.Â
You scream, sob, clutching the device to your chest. The tears come freely now, streaking your face.
Aby rushes in and kneels beside you, hand on your shoulder. You gasp out what just happened.Â
 âHe could still come back,â she whispers, voice steady, trying to anchor you. âLetâs just wait. Heâll come back.â
Morning light filters through your blinds. Your eyes are red, defeat etched in every line of your face. But when you hear the knock at the door youâre suddenly up, running to get it.
Hands shaking, you pull the door open.
Rex stands there, armor gleaming faintly in the soft light, holding a bouquet of lilacs. He doesnât speak at first, just holds the flowers out to you, eyes unreadable.
âAt the end, he said these were for you. To get these for you. Said he owed you. Iâm⊠sorry,â he says finally, voice low, tense, the weight of unsaid words hanging in the air.
Chapter Summary: A remote planet, a platoon of troopers, and... soup? Camaraderie and friendship blossoms into something that might one day be something more.
Itâs raining on Appla the day they arrive. The rain falls in sheets, silvery splashes melting into the red clay of the earth. The storm rolls in from the canyons like a warning, thunder growling low enough to rattle the mining shafts beneath the village.
For weeks, there had been whispers of a coming Republic presence. But on a planet as remote as Appla, people had learned not to believe in rescue. Not until they saw the ships for themselves.
Now, as the first gunships descend through the clouds, the villagers gather beneath dripping awnings and patched-together umbrellas. The settlement is small, a scattering of stone and durasteel, built where the hills bleed ore into the valleys. Its people are a mosaic of the Outer Rim: Twiâleks and Pantorans, Togruta and humans alike, all drawn here by the promise of work and the rumor of safety.
Applaâs mines are rich with a rare mineral, one the Separatists have been desperate to control. Thereâs whispers of an attack. Other villages have fallen in recent weeks. Thatâs why the Republic has come.Â
Youâve all strung up banners between lampposts and doorframes. Bright scraps of cloth flap wildly in the wind, colors running in the rain. A simple welcome for the soldiers theyâve been told will protect the town. For the first time in months, thereâs a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you and your friends wonât be forgotten after all.
Youâve been placed in charge of housing the troops. Though the soldiers are rumored to bring their own tents, you and a few friends have worked tirelessly to clean up the local community hall to work as a makeshift headquarters for them here. The timelines are fuzzy, some say they'll stay mere days, others say months. All you know is that as you watch the men descend onto the red, muddy earth, the color smearing on their blue painted shins, youâre filled with a sense of hope and excitement.Â
A leader of the settlement, Myra, steps forth, this town being ungoverned in the usual sense, and introduces herself to the men. You watch as one of them steps forward to greet her, Myraâs head held high. The soldier has armor slightly different from the others, with fabric at his hips and broad armored shoulders.Â
âWhat do you think theyâre saying? Do you think heâs cute under that helmet? If he is, that means they all are!â Aby asks, ever twittering in your ear.Â
Your best friend has been ecstatic ever since she heard there were men, new, real live men coming to this town. Being such a small settlement, sheâd run through all the eligible bachelors years ago, and her hunger far surpasses your own when it came to relationships.Â
You bat her arm. She shrugs and says, âWhat? Theyâre clones right? Iâm just hoping theyâre all handsome.âÂ
You roll your eyes but smile anyway. âTheyâre here to protect us, Aby. Not romance us. They probably wonât be here long enough for you to charm one anyway.â You giggle and she sticks her tongue out at you.
 Then you hear your name called over the din of the rain. Myra, waving you over.Â
You jog out into the rain, Aby on your heels. Immediately the rain soaks you to your bones, and you do your best not to shiver as you step up to Myra and the mystery soldier.Â
âThis is Captain Rex.â Myra says, beckoning you closer. You thrust out your hand and shout your name over a rumble of thunder. He takes it with a tilt of his head and gives you a firm shake.
 âWill you show him and a few of his men to the community hall? Start a fire for them.â She says, and you nod waving the captain over. He turns around and nods at a few of his men, who trot out to him as the lot of you make your way to the hall.Â
At the hall you wipe your muddy feet on the rug at the entrance and then knock off your boots when inside, hopefully avoiding a mud-massacre in the large open space. Aby, your shadow, does the same, and the men take their cues from the two of you.Â
You flick on the lights. âItâs not what youâre used to Iâm sure, but itâs dry and the roof mostly holds when it rains like this.â You say, strolling to the middle of the massive room.Â
The community hall was truly just a large open room, a stage on one end, kitchen on the other with some freshers tucked in a corner. Large windows grace the space with ample daylight, though today they just cast a grey glow over the pale walls.Â
âThis will do nicely, thank you.â The captain, Rex, says, and you turn to face him. He and the two men behind him seem to lift their helmets in synchronicity. You practically feel Aby stiffen beside you as they reveal their faces.Â
All bearing golden brown skin, and deep brown eyes, that seems to be where the similarities of these clones stop. Rex, his hair cropped short and blonde is in sharp contrast to the two men behind him with dark hair.Â
Same face, different bodies, and entirely different energies. Youâve always been sensitive to energies, and what you feel coming from these men is borderline overwhelming.
 Rex gives off an air of duty, he commands the room and your attention.Â
The one to the left of him, with the curve of blue on his helmet, now tucked under his arm, he seems to be careful, ever watchful.Â
Then thereâs the third. Heâs⊠electric. Thereâs a spark in his eyes that lights the small corner of the room, and his smirk when he catches you looking leaves your stomach turning. Aby clenches your arm from where she stands next to you.Â
âIâll⊠get a fire started.â You mumble and leave them there to explore the space. You hear Abyâs voice pipe up in her quick, highpitched cadence, and you shake your head slightly as you laugh under your breath. Sheâs chatting them up already.Â
Picking up some wood from a pile beside the hearth you stack the wood and strike a long match from the cup on the mantle.Â
âFire. I havenât seen a real fire in⊠well ever.â A voice comes from behind you.Â
You turn and it's⊠him, the electric one. You smile up at him as you stoke the fire.Â
âTradition on this planet. We have electricity, heating, so on. But a fire brings us together. Makes a place home. Hopefully this can feel like home for you while youâre here.â You say, standing.Â
You put out your hand, just like you had for the captain, and introduce yourself. He takes your hand with a smile, bright and dazzling.Â
âFives,â he says, voice low and even, rumbling like the thunder outside. It vibrates in your chest, steady and warm. âThanks for making this place cozy. Not often we get a literal warm welcome.â
He sinks down in front of the hearth, boots planted wide, elbows resting on his knees as he stretches his hands toward the fire. The light from the flames flickers against his armor, dancing over the white and blue plates until they glow like molten steel. Thatâs when you notice it, the small black 5 inked neatly at his temple. His name, carved right into his skin.Â
You find yourself smiling. âSo thatâs what they call you?â you ask, nodding toward the tattoo as you lower yourself beside him. The wood floor creaks beneath your weight. âFives?â
âYeah.â He smirks, tilting his head just slightly toward you. âBetter than just a number. CT-5555. Iâm lucky, the name came naturally.â
The word âluckyâ sits strangely in your chest. You poke at the fire instead of responding, nudging a log into place until sparks leap up the chimney. Around you, the rest of his platoon filters in, dripping armor leaving small puddles on the floor. A few of your neighbors move among them, showing where the cots and crates have been laid out, the quiet rhythm of people working together despite the storm.
âYouâve been all over the galaxy, right?â you ask after a moment, glancing sideways at him.
Fives hums, leaning back on his palms. âOh, sure.â His tone is casual, but his eyes go distant for a second, like heâs seeing something far away. âMy home planet, if you can call it that, was rainier than this. Rained every day.â
You wrinkle your nose. âSounds miserable.â
He laughs, a short, warm sound that cuts through the patter of rain against the windows. âYeah, youâd think so. But you get used to it.â
You rest your chin on your knees, studying him in the firelight. âWhatâs your favorite planet youâve been to?â
He crosses his arms, eyes flicking up to the ceiling as he thinks. The gesture pulls his shoulders tight, armor plates catching the orange glow. His mouth twists slightly, like heâs tasting the question. Then he smiles.
âCoruscant,â he says finally. âItâs home, really. Thatâs where we go between missions. Itâs a city planet. The whole thingâs covered in lights and noise and people. You can find anything there. Caf shops that never close, hangars filled with ships from every system. It never sleeps. I love that.â
The way he talks about it makes you see it, somehow. Those bright towers stretching up into forever, crowded streets buzzing with life. You can almost hear it, the hum.
âWhat about you?â he asks, turning his head toward you.
You blink, caught off guard by the earnestness in his tone. âMe?â
âYeah. Your favorite planet.â
You canât help the soft laugh that escapes you. âIâve never left Appla.â
He stares at you, eyes widening just slightly. âNever?â
You shake your head, smiling at the disbelief on his face. âNever. Born here. Grew up here. Guess I just never had a reason to leave.â
Fives studies you for a moment longer, and the humor in his expression fades into something gentler. âHuh.â He leans forward, elbows on his knees again, gaze flicking to the fire. âCanât imagine staying in one place that long. But thatâs war for you. Itâd be nice. To belong somewhere enough that you donât have to keep moving. But you really should go out, you know, see the galaxy. Thereâs alot more than rain and mountains out there.â
Then, in the distance, the townâs bells begin to toll a soft, low sound rolling over the hills. You rise, brushing off your hands. âIâve got to get going. Iâll bring some extra blankets for you and your men later. Thanks for chatting.â
He looks up at you, that easy grin returning. âSee you later.â
You nod, trying not to smile too widely as you turn toward the door. The hallâs light spills behind you, warm and golden against the rain, and even as the storm swallows you whole, you can still feel the echo of his voice. Youâve never met soldiers before him, the others. They seem so⊠human. Kind. Not at all like you pictured them to be.Â
You like that.
â
The storm finally breaks by morning.
When you step outside, the air smells clean, like something made anew. Puddles glitter in the red clay streets, and children splash through them while their parents sweep water out of doorways. The sky is still a dull gray, but for the first time in days, thereâs a promise of sun pushing through.
You spot them before you hear them. The clones move in pairs through the settlement, white armor dulled with mud and water streaks. Theyâve been in the community hall since dawn, heads bent over datapads and holomaps as they plotted whatever mission brought them here. Now, with the afternoon stretching quiet and the villagers returning to their routines, theyâve come out to help.
Rex is talking with Myra near the mining lift, hands clasped behind his back as he listens, serious as ever. A few of the men haul sandbags toward the southern ridge where the runoff from the canyons threatens to flood the lower homes. Others patch rooftops or help unload shipments of food from the freighter that arrived that morning.
And then thereâs Fives.
You find him by the well, sleeves rolled up, helping a group of teenagers haul a heavy water pump back into place. His armor plates are stripped off, left in a pile beside the wall, leaving just the black underlayer that clings to his frame. His forearms flex with the effort, muscles tensing as he braces the weight.
âCareful, thatâs been half-rusted since before I was born,â you call, walking up with a crate of ration bars for the men.
He glances over his shoulder, grinning when he sees you. âGood morning to you too.â
âItâs past noon,â you tease.
âMorning for soldiers,â he counters easily, wiping sweat and rain from his brow. âWeâve been planning all day. Needed to stretch the legs before we turned into statues.â
You set the crate on the edge of the well. âWell, if youâre feeling energetic, I could use some help in the kitchen. The townâs putting together lunch for your squad.â
His eyes light up, and you know instantly heâs going to say yes. âLead the way.â
The two of you make your way into the community hall kitchen where boxes of ingredients line the counters and the cabinets hang open. You hear a sudden rattling of metal and someone curses.Â
âThank the stars youâre here. You know I hate cooking duty.â Aby says, wiping flour off her shirt as she rounds the corner, stopping abruptly when she sees you⊠and Fives.Â
âOh. You found someone to cover my shift, great!â She says, scooping you into a hug as she skips away.Â
âHey wait!â You call but sheâs already gone, leaving you with a wink as she trots out the door.Â
You roll your eyes and sigh. âShe really does hate cooking. Itâs not about you, I promise.â
Fives smirks. âCouldâve fooled me.â
You gesture for him to follow as you push open the swinging door to the kitchen. The smell hits first: earthy and sharp, half raw vegetables and half burnt oil. Steam curls lazily from a pot on the stove, and Abyâs already managed to scatter flour across half the counter.
âLooks like she was starting onâŠâ you pause, surveying the chaos. âClaybread and vegetable soup.â
He leans in beside you, resting his forearms on the counter, studying the mess like itâs a battlefield. âClaybread?â
You grin. âLocal recipe. A bread made of local produce called claycorn. You fry it on a griddle and hope it doesnât fall apart.
You look around before you see where she left off, vegetables half chopped on the counter in the corner.Â
âHowâs your chopping skills?â
He straightens, glancing between the cutting board and you with visible hesitation. âIâve never cooked before.â
You blink. âEver?â
âHey,â he says defensively, holding up his hands, âIâm a soldier, not a chef.â
You cross your arms, trying to hide a smile. âSo what do you eat out there, then?â
He grabs a knife and gives it an experimental spin between his fingers, clearly more comfortable with it as a weapon than a utensil. âRations. Stuff that comes in tubes or boxes. Tastes like glue, looks worse.â
âThatâs tragic,â you say, nudging him out of the way to rescue the pot from boiling over. âAlright, soldier, lesson one: real food needs love, not just heat.â
He raises an eyebrow. âLove. Got it. Do I whisper sweet nothings to it?â
You laugh despite yourself, the sound echoing softly in the warm, messy kitchen. âJust chop those roots, smart-mouth.â
He does, though itâs slow going. His slices are uneven, some too thick, some paper thin. Still, heâs careful, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. You canât help but watch him for a moment, the furrow in his brow, the way his shoulders relax as he starts to find a rhythm.
âNot bad,â you admit when he finally looks up.
When heâs finished he makes a show of gesturing toward the pile of diced vegetables. âIâd call that a success.â
You grin and sweep the pieces into the pot with a wooden spoon. âCongratulations, you just made lunch happen.â
He smiles.
The two of you work side by side after that, falling into an easy rhythm: stirring, frying, bumping elbows when you both reach for the same ladle. Outside, you can hear the faint hum of voices and laughter drifting in from the square, the sound of soldiers and villagers blending together.
When the claybread hits the griddle, the smell of browning meal and butter fills the air. Fives leans over to sniff and grins. âOkay,â he admits, âthat smells alot better than ration bars.
You look up at him, smiling. âGood. Because youâre on dish duty if it burns.â
He chuckles, low and warm.Â
The two of you continue on until the other soldiers start to filter into the hall, all varying in muddiness and stripping down to their blacks.Â
âI got it from here. Thank you for your help, Fives.â You say as you start to dish out the soup into bowls and hand it to the men lining up.Â
âNo way.â He says. âIâm seeing this through. Serving the Republic, one bowl at a time.âÂ
You laugh but donât protest, and the two of you feed the literal army in front of you before grabbing your own bowls.
âI want to introduce you to my friends. Have lunch with us?â Fives asks, and you want to shy away, but he gives you these puppy-dog eyes and a lip pout when he notices your hesitation.
 You bump his shoulder with a laugh and give in, forfeiting your usual seat with Aby to walk over to a small group of soldiers in a semi circle. You recognize Rex, and the clone that was there yesterday when you opened the hall.Â
The room is buzzing with chatter and the clatter of spoons against metal bowls, but the laughter from this group stands out.
Rex looks up first, his sharp gaze softening when he spots you, giving you a little nod.
You smile, ducking your head a little.Â
A boisterous soldier pipes up, âThereâs the chef! This soup is the best Iâve ever had. Not that Iâve had many soups, but this tops them all!â
You blush and laugh. âJust doing my part to feed our heroes.â
âSheâs being modest,â Fives says, setting his bowl down beside Rexâs. âYou shouldâve seen her, real commander in the kitchen. Had me chopping roots like my life depended on it.â
âProbably did,â the lone medic across from Rex quips, smirking. âIâm Kix. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the meal.â
You nod, offering a polite smile. âGlad to be of service.â
The loud one pipes up. âHardcase! Pleasure to meet you!â And you smile brightly at him.
Next to him, the clone you recognize from the tour of the hall speaks up. âEcho,â he says. His tone is quieter, but thereâs a warmth there. âAppreciate the soup. Better than anything weâve had in weeks.â
âThanks,â you reply, glancing at Fives. âGuess we make a good team.â
He grins wide.Â
Rex rolls his eyes, but thereâs a trace of a smile tugging at his mouth. âDonât encourage him. His headâs big enough as it is.â
Fives points his spoon at Rex. âYou say that now, but when youâre asking for secondsâŠâ He winks at his captain.
You settle onto the bench between Fives and Echo, the wood creaking beneath you. Itâs strange, being surrounded by armor and identical faces, but they each carry themselves so differently that the sameness fades almost immediately. The conversation flows easily and you relax into the banter.
At one point, Fives leans in slightly, his shoulder brushing yours. âSee, theyâre not so bad.â he says, voice low enough for only you to hear.
You glance up at him, smiling despite yourself. âYeah.â
Rex catches the exchange and gives a small, knowing shake of his head before turning the talk back to the next dayâs patrol.
Kix speaks up then, pointing his spoon at you. âSo. Whatâs your story.â
You look at him confused. âStory?â
He nods. âEveryoneâs got one. What makes you tick, how do you spend your days out here in the middle of nowhere?â
You shrug. âI do a little of everything. We all do. Though I was training to be the town doctor, until our doctor⊠left. Suddenly. Now I just do what I can with what I know. We donât have anyone with more medical knowledge than my handful, so I make do.â
Kix grins. âNow that, I like. Iâm the squad medic. Letâs say tomorrow you show me what you know, and I can fill in some blanks. Howâs that sound?â
Your eyes widen. âYou mean it? That would be so helpful.â
He nods. âFor sure. Meet you in the morning after we get our briefings done.â
You smile and then Fives pipes up. âSheâs never left this planet. Can you believe that? Weâve all seen so many. Whatâs everyoneâs favorite?â
The crowd laughs and passes stories around like candy, sweetness filling the air and leaving you laughing and smiling. Every planet they describe seems more and more magical, and an ache in your chest blossoms for places youâve never seen.Â
Lunch winds down and all around you the men stand, stacking dishes and piling them on the counter near the kitchen before making their way back out to the courtyard.Â
âWell gentlemen, this has been nice, but duty calls.â You stand and stretch, then collect their empty bowls.Â
They all stand and give you words of appreciation for the meal and cleaning up.
Suddenly the bowls piled in your hands are taken from your grasp and carted off, Fivesâ arms full as he tosses you a smile over his shoulder.Â
âWhat do you think youâre doing, soldier?â You call, pivoting to wiping down the table.Â
âDishes! Thatâs part of kitchen duty, isnât it?â He shouts across the room. You shake your head and follow him into the kitchen.Â
âNo, youâve done enough. Go be with the others, I got this.â You say as you take a dish from his now soapy hands. He snatches it right back. âAh, ah. No. Iâm helping.â You roll your eyes, but slide next to him at the sink and start washing too.Â
âTell me more about other planets.â You say as you scrub and dry, and Fives sighs.Â
âWell letâs see⊠Thereâs Felucia,â Fives begins, leaning against the counter as he rinses a plate. âJungle planet, huge mushrooms everywhere. Bright colors everywhere, kind of like someone spilled a rainbow all over the place. Very⊠alive. Dangerous too, if youâre not careful. Predators, poisonous plants, the whole package.â
You shake your head. âNot on my bucket list. Next.â
Fives shrugs, grabbing another dish. âEvery planetâs got its charm. Even the rough ones like Umbara.â His tone softens a bit. âDark, dangerous⊠but the soldiers there taught me a lot. You get attached to places when they test you.â
You nod, feeling the weight behind his words without needing him to elaborate. âYouâve all seen so much,â you say quietly.
He glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. âAnd Iâm not done yet.â
The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, scrubbing, rinsing, and drying together. Between the steam and the soft clatter of dishes, thereâs a sense of normalcy, an unexpected peace amidst everything else.
Finally, you set the last plate on the drying rack. âAll done,â you say, brushing your hands together.
Fives wipes his hands too and looks at you, grin bright. âGreat teamwork.â
You roll your eyes playfully, but thereâs warmth in your smile.
Just then the door swings open and a clone, Echo, walks in. âFives, we have a quick briefing if you can make it. Some things are shifting, need to be ready.â Fivesâ demeanor immediately changes, the friendly, casual energy gone and replaced by seriousness.Â
âSee you later.â he calls to you as he leaves the room, following Echo into the main hall. You take your cue and leave out of the back door so as not to disturb the meeting happening in the other room.Â
âThere you are!â Aby nearly squeals as she sees you, and grabs you by the hand, leading you away.Â
âI need you to tell me everything! Whatâs his name⊠Fives. Tell me all about him. Is he nice? Is he funny? Is he single?â
You laugh at her as the two of you sit at your kitchen table, having slipped into the cottage you share and kicked off your boots.Â
âHeâs⊠nice.â You say and she nearly swoons.Â
âI met one. Kix. Heâs so, well, serious! But not in a bad way. He helped out today while I⊠supervised.â Abyâs smile could melt a moon.Â
âWell go on, tell me all about him.â You say and she launches into stories of his conversations with her. While she talks you think back to your day, and Fives. He really is nice, so nice. And funny. You could see yourself becoming fast friends with him, and you secretly hope that heâs around long enough for that to happen.Â
The rest of the day passes in a blur with the men in meetings and briefings that you arent privy to. You curl into your bed that night a little exhausted and sleep soundly, dreaming of soups and soldiers.Â
â
Days pass with these small, little changes that warm your heart. The soldiers, while waiting for new orders or to protect the valley from some forewarned attack, have made a habit of helping out around the village, which now is in better shape than it has been in years.Â
Fives has helped you with cooking duty every day for the week theyâve been here, and the closer youâve gotten, the more you are sad to know that soon he will leave, and youâll be left here on this rock for the rest of your life. His life in the GAR isnât fun, its war and fighting and loss, but it is glorious. Itâs seeing the galaxy, and the more he talks about it, the more you crave it.Â
Youâve been meeting with Kix every morning to go over some simple medic training, tools and tricks that will aid the village for years to come. This morning however, he didnât show in your usual meeting place. You notice the whole of the village is too quiet for what is normally a busy morning. So you go looking.Â
By the time you reach the edge of the settlement, you can hear it, shouting, laughter, the unmistakable sounds of competition. You follow the noise down toward the open field behind the village, where a mess of white armor, mud, and chaos collides in disarray.
âIs thatâŠâ you start, but Abyâs suddenly running up to you, by your side, and cuts you off.
âTheyâre playing!â she exclaims, eyes wide and delighted.
And they are. The clones have carved out makeshift goalposts from two fallen fence beams, and a mud-slick sphere that looks suspiciously like a repurposed supply container hurtles through the air. Every soldier on the field is drenched, streaked with red clay and rainwater. Itâs less a game and more a battlefield with rules that no one seems to follow.
âItâs some strange game, Iâve never seen anything like it!â Aby says, smile cracking her face in half, nearly.Â
You watch as Fives comes barreling through a wall of mud-smeared bodies, yelling something that sounds like a war cry. Heâs covered head to toe, unrecognizable except for the flash of his grin and the faint black 5 gleaming through the mess. Your heart does a leap at the sight of him, determination on his face. Your face heats.Â
âCome on, Fives!â you shout before you can stop yourself, cupping your hands around your mouth.
He glances up mid-sprint, just long enough to flash you a dazzling grin before a streak of black, Echo, slams into him from the side. Both of them hit the mud with a satisfying splat. The entire field erupts in laughter.
âOh, thatâs going to bruise,â Aby says through giggles, and you join in.
Rex stands on the sidelines, arms crossed, pretending not to enjoy himself. But even from here, you can see the faint smirk tugging at his mouth as he calls, âThatâs a foul, Fives!â
âWas not!â Fives shouts back, scrambling to his feet and slipping halfway through it. âEcho tackled me!â
âThatâs called defense!â Echo retorts, wiping mud from his face.
âLooked more like a hug to me,â Kix adds, and Hardcase bursts out laughing so hard he nearly drops the ball.
You and Aby cheer as Fives takes off again, this time diving through the muck to grab the ball just as it hits the goal line. He raises it above his head triumphantly, a champion crowned in mud and chaos.
He turns toward you immediately, smirking as he cups his hands around his mouth. âDid you see that?â
You clap and whistle, laughing. âI saw you fall⊠twice.â
âStyle points!â he yells back, and Hardcase slaps him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over again.
âAlright, troops,â Rex calls, raising his voice over the laughter. âOne more round! Then youâre all cleaning the hall before dinner!â
A chorus of groans rises up, but no one leaves the field. You settle yourself on a dry patch of fence and watch them, elbows resting on your knees. They move like brothers, all pushes and shoves. Every shout, every slide, every burst of laughter feels alive.
In the short time theyâve been here youâve learned one thing about these soldiers, these clones. Theyâre just as human as you. They love, they feel, they play.Â
They live.
Aby elbows you gently. âYouâre smiling.â
You donât even try to hide it. âTheyâre ridiculous.â
She grins. âYou mean heâs ridiculous.â
You nudge her back. âShut up.â
You do look at him though. Fives. Your quick friendship makes your heart flutter when you see him. Youâve told Aby, multiple times, that itâs not like that. Youâre just friends. But something inside you wishes you could be even closer⊠friends.Â
The game ends with a spectacular finish: Hardcase flings the ball wildly toward the goal, it ricochets off Kixâs helmet, and somehow Fives dives through the air, full stretch, to catch it before it hits the ground. The clones explode in cheers and jeers alike, and Fives sits up, utterly caked in red clay, grinning like a fool.
âThatâs my boy!â Hardcase shouts, hauling him up by the arm.
Fives immediately scans the sideline, eyes landing on you. âTold you when I first met you, we make a good team!â he shouts, pointing your way.
You raise your hands in mock surrender. âI didnât do anything!â
âDidnât need to,â he says, still grinning. âYouâre good luck.â
That shouldnât make your stomach flip the way it does, but it does anyway.
The game dissolves into laughter and roughhousing, soldiers chasing each other across the mud, splattering anyone within range, including Aby, who yelps and ducks behind you. When Fives jogs over, dripping and streaked in clay, youâre already shaking your head.
âDonât you dare,â you warn, backing up.
He stops a few feet away, feigning innocence. âWhat? I was just coming to say hello.â
âYouâre filthy.â
He takes a deliberate step forward, the grin on his face full of mischief.
âFivesâŠâ
He lunges.
You shriek and take off running, boots slipping in the mud, laughter tearing through your chest as he gives chase. The clones cheer him on like itâs a mission. âGet her, Fives!â someone calls.
He catches you easily, of course he does, and you squeal as he spins you once, leaving a perfect handprint of mud across your shoulder before setting you down.
âThere,â he says, grinning ear to ear. âNow you match.â
You glare at him through your laughter, swiping a smear of clay from your sleeve and flicking it at his face.Â
He laughs, wiping it away with his wrist. âAlright, truce. For now.â
Abyâs still howling with laughter behind you as Rex calls the end of the game, ordering everyone to rinse off before tracking more mud into the hall. Fives lingers a second longer, his eyes catching yours, bright and alive even beneath all the grime.
âCome cheer for us again sometime,â he says, softer now.
âOnly if you promise not to tackle me again,â you tease.
He chuckles, backing away toward the others. âNo promises.â
As he disappears into the crowd of laughing soldiers, you find yourself still smiling, muddy and breathless.
Rex walks over to you, seemingly the only clone not bathed in red clay, and keeps a short distance away from the mess that is you.Â
âHey. I have a favor to ask. Myra says you know these mountains really well. Weâre gathering a team of four to go do a recon mission in the morning in the hills. Would you lead a soldier on a hike? I have three other volunteers and just need one more.â
You smile and nod. âLead a hike? Sure. I love hiking.âÂ
He nods at you and turns, immediately pulling out his datapad. You notice his face shift, the fun from moments ago slipping as he looks at the numbers on the screen. Something darker, more serious shadows him. You try not to let yourself worry.Â
Hours later at dinner you cant help but notice that Fives doesât show up for cooking duty. You busy yourself with the work, more now that itâs just you alone, and work to make fried tipyip for the men, no doubt hungry from the game earlier and helping out around the village after.Â
Youâre just finishing up and getting ready to start plating for the men lining up when he skids into the kitchen, sliding directly into the cabinets, rattling them.Â
âIâm here! Iâm here.â He gasps, breathless, as if he ran the whole way. You notice he isnât in his blacks, but rather a full kit sans helmet. You screw your face up at him. âWhy are you so dressed up?âÂ
He looks down and away, his eyes turning slightly stony. âWe got some reports of movement in the mountains. Rex wants us ready for an attack at any moment.âÂ
You drop the ladle in your hand, heart stuttering.
Suddenly his hand is on your arm, the other on your shoulder.Â
âI shouldnât have said anything. Itâs nothing, I promise. There could be attack away from the village, Rex is just cautious. Youâre safe, I swear it.âÂ
The warmth of his hands seeps into you and warms your heart frozen in fear. You swallow hard. âSorry. I just⊠I guess I forgot why you guys were actually here.â
He smiles gently at you. âHere. Let me help plate up.â He takes the ladle from the floor and tosses it in the sink, then grabs a fresh one to help dish out the meal.Â
You move robotically, mind racing. An attack. A real attack on the village. Youâve never even seen a battle droid. Surely if they were that close to attacking, youâd know. Then again, you are leading that recon mission hike tomorrow. Maybe they need to map the terrain for an imminent threat.Â
âHey.â Fives says softly. You startle again and look up at him.Â
âI got you a plate. Letâs go eat, yeah?âÂ
You follow him out and sit amongst his brothers. Youâre silent as you eat, the cacophony of the hall bleeding into a dull hum. You look at all these men, the men who over the course of a little over a week have become friends with you, with the whole village. If an attack happens, some of them might not walk away. Some of the villagers might not.Â
You might not.Â
Thereâs a heaviness on your knee then, and you turn to see Fives, looking at you as he smiles at his brothers. His hand rests on your leg, warm and weighty and it calms you.Â
Fives wouldnât let anything happen to you, to Aby, to your friends and the families living here.
 Rex wouldnât, his steadiness a comfort as he sits across the table.
 Even Echo and Kix and Hardcase, their presence reminds you that this is what they trained for. They know what theyâre doing. Youâll be safe. This will be fine.Â
You take a deep breath, trying to calm the restless energy buzzing in your chest, and work to focus on the conversation at the table. Immediately, youâre intrigued.Â
ââŠand I kissed her anyway!â Hardcase crows, finishing his story with a triumphant slap of his palm against the table. The other clones groan in unison.
Jesse groans the loudest. âHardcase, youâve kissed every bartender in Coruscant. We get it.â
Fives chuckles. âYeah, leave a few standing for the rest of us, huh?â
The table bursts into laughter again, and Fives shoots you a grin like youâre in on the joke. You shake your head, amused, until Hardcase fires back with a grin that says heâs not letting it go.
âPlease, Fives. Youâve broken more hearts than Iâve broken rules.â
The laughter doubles, but you blink in surprise, glancing at Fives. He just rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly, and doesnât deny it.
Something about it catches you off guard, you hadnât pictured him like that. But then again, youâve only known him a week. A few days of jokes, late-night mess hall conversations, donât exactly give you the full picture of a man.
Still, the idea of him charming his way across entire sectors makes you laugh softly to yourself. It fits him, somehow.
âWow,â you say, light and teasing. âI had no idea I was sitting next to a galactic celebrity.â
Fives chuckles, tilting his head toward you. âCelebrity, huh? I donât know about that.â
âOh, come on,â you tease back, nudging him with your elbow. âSounds like I should be asking for an autograph before the fans show up.â
That earns another round of laughter from the table. Even Fives laughs, shaking his head.
Hardcase grins. âIf Fives ever settles down, the whole galaxyâll throw a parade. Even the droids wonât believe it.â
âNow thatâs probably true,â you say, smirking. âHe doesnât exactly seem like the type.â
Fives raises an eyebrow, mock-offended. âThe type?â
You shrug. âYou know. Youâre⊠Charming. Talks fast. Probably forgets half the things he promises. Settling down is the opposite of that.â
âHarsh,â he says, but heâs laughing. âAnd here I thought we were friends.â
âWe are,â you say easily, smiling over the rim of your drink. âThatâs why I can say it.â
He laughs, genuine this time, and the tension, if there ever was any, melts right back into warmth.
You tell yourself itâs silly to think too much about it. Youâve only known Fives a week, but it already feels like longer. You click with him in a way that surprises you: the kind of person whoâs easy to talk to, easy to trust. Someone who makes long days feel a little shorter.
The group starts another round of stories, laughter rising again. Fives leans closer to make a joke, and you bump your shoulder against his, grinning.
Whatever he used to be or whoever heâs been with before doesnât matter.Â
Youâre just friends.
And honestly, youâre glad for that. You have the feeling itâs going to be a good friendship.
One worth keeping.
â
You lace up your boots at the base of the mountain trail, the soles already muddied and slightly slick from the trek up to this point. The morning mist shrouds you and the three other villagers as you wait for Captain Rex and his small troop of men to join you for the hike.Â
You spot them coming over the ridgeline, fully dressed in armor and helmeted.Â
They also carry blasters, which is new to you. Worry presses in on you like a landslide. What intel had they gotten that they felt the need to arm themselves now?
âGood morning, all.â Rex says as the troop stops. You recognize all three of the other soldiers: Kix, Echo and Fives. Youâd learned over the past few days that Echo and Fives are something called an âARC trooperâ meaning they have a higher ranking than others, and are selected for more specialized missions often.
âEveryone find a partner. Each trooper has a set route to take, but those who live here, please be sure to take whichever route gets us to the destinations quickest. You know this planet far better than we do.â
Fives starts to make his way over to you when Rex stops him and redirects him to be with Myra. You canât see his face from his helmet, but he gestures at Rex, seemingly frustrated.Â
Kix walks over and bumps your shoulder with his own.The morning air is cool and sharp, carrying the faint scent of wet earth after last nightâs storm. Around you, the squad is checking gear and finalizing coordinates before splitting into teams.
âReady for a little uphill torture?â Kix asks.
You grin. âIâm assuming thatâs medic-speak for âlight cardio.ââ
He chuckles. âSomething like that.â
Youâve grown comfortable with him over the past few weeks. Kix had taken the time to teach you a few basic medical skills, nothing major, just enough to be useful in the field. His patient, steady nature makes him one of the easier clones to talk to. If you had to hike a few klicks through thick forest and mud, you were glad it was with him.
Still, as you tighten the straps on your pack, a small part of you canât help but glance toward where Fives is standing with Myra, gesturing animatedly as he talks. You donât even realize youâre smiling until Kix catches it.
âDonât worry,â he says dryly, following your gaze. âHeâs gonna talk her ear off the whole way up there.â
You laugh, shaking your head. âYeah at this point Iâm used to him filling the silence, I guess. He makes even the dull jobs entertaining.â
âThatâs one word for it,â Kix says, smirking. âEntertaining. Loud. Occasionally insubordinate.â
âCharming,â you add with a mock sigh.
He snorts. âThat too.â
The two of you start up the narrow trail that winds into the hills, your boots crunching over damp leaves. Itâs not exactly a stroll, branches litter the ground, and a few fallen trees force you to climb or detour. The air is heavy, thick with humidity, and your pack digs into your shoulders, but itâs a steady rhythm you can keep.
You find yourself talking easily with Kix as you hike, the conversation meandering the way it does when thereâs no rush.
âSoâŠâ you say, stepping over a slick root. âHardcase mentioned the other night that Fives has⊠a bit of a reputation.â
Kix groans softly, rubbing a gloved hand over his face. âOh, that story.â
âI mean, I wasnât shocked,â you admit quickly. âHeâs got that⊠thing about him. But heâs been nothing but decent with me.â
âHe is,â Kix says, glancing over at you. âDonât let the stories fool you. Fives talks big, flirts big, and yeah, heâs had his share of bad decisions. But when it counts? Heâs solid. Loyal to the core. Heâd give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.â
You nod, thinking of how he always seems to check in on everyone. âYeah,â you murmur. âIâve noticed that.â
Kix smiles faintly. âHeâs a good guy. One of the best. Just⊠doesnât always make it easy to see.â
You grin. âSo what youâre saying is heâs a good soldier with terrible PR.â
Kix chuckles. âExactly. Donât tell him I said that, though. His ego would double in size. Heâs just unlucky with women I guess.â
The path steepens, and conversation slows for a while. The forest grows denser, sunlight filtering through thick branches overhead. The air hums faintly with insects and the distant rumble of thunder, though the storm seems to be moving away.
After a few minutes, Kix checks his comm and frowns. âLost signal,â he mutters. âFigures.â
You shrug. âNot surprised. Applaâs basically allergic to technology. Iâve never even owned a comm.â
âReally?â
âNot much use for one where Iâm from,â you say, stepping carefully over a fallen log. âIf you canât yell loud enough for someone to hear you, they probably donât want to talk to you anyway.â
Kix laughs at that, and the sound echoes lightly through the trees.
You glance back down the trail, where the rest of the squad has already disappeared behind the ridge. âSo⊠what about you? Youâve known Fives the longest, right?â
Kix nods. âSince Kamino. Weâve been through a lot together.â He pauses, choosing his words carefully. âHeâs a pain in my ass sometimes, but he means well. Always has. And if youâre friends with him?â He glances at you with that calm, steady look of his. âYouâre in good company.â
You smile, genuinely this time. âGood. I think Iâll keep him around, then.â
Kix smirks. âGood luck getting rid of him now.â
You both laugh, and the forest swallows the sound, the trail stretching out ahead. The air is thick, the climb steady, but the company makes it bearable.
You finally make your way to the Point and from here you can see the whole valley. You admire the view as Kix takes in information on his datapad. You stay there for a few moments until Kix snaps the datapad off and tucks it away.Â
âAlright, letâs head bacâŠâ Kix starts, but the words are swallowed by a low, guttural groan from the earth beneath your boots.
The ground trembles. First a shiver, then a full-body lurch that nearly knocks you off your feet. Pebbles tumble down the ridge, and the trees around you creak and sway.
Kix throws an arm out instinctively, steadying you. âDo you have earthquakes here?â he shouts over the deep rumble.
You blink, your pulse spiking. âNo.â
The sound fades as suddenly as it began. For a moment, the world goes still. Too still. Then, carried on the mountain wind, a distant roar, not thunder, not shifting stone. Smoke curls upward beyond the ridge, thick and black, and your stomach drops.
âItâs the village!â you breathe, voice breaking. âMaybe a mine collapsed!â Youâre already taking off down the trail when Kixâs hand closes around your arm, stopping you.
âThe mines,â he says, eyes darting toward the horizon. âWe didnât think about it. Are the mines connected to any other villages? Maybe ones that were attacked?â
Your heart lurches. âYes, most of them. The caves run all over Appla. The miners say you could walk from one side of the planet to the other underground.â
Kix curses under his breath. âThatâs how theyâre getting around. The droids. Come on, we have to move.â
You nod once, forcing your legs to keep up with him as you both sprint down the twisting trail. The descent feels endless, the air thick with smoke, the sound of distant blasterfire carrying faintly through the trees.
When you finally break through the last of the brush and the village comes into view, your breath catches in your throat.
Fire. Everywhere. Roofs collapsed inward, market stalls ablaze, the sky painted orange and gray. Bodies lie scattered among the wreckage: some civilian, some clone.
Kix skids to a halt beside you, his expression hardening. âStay with me,â he orders, tossing a medpack your way. âHere, take this. Do what you can, help who you can.â
Your hands tremble as you catch it, the weight of the moment crashing over you. For a heartbeat, youâre frozen, staring at the devastation, at the flicker of firelight against the familiar shapes of your home. Then you grit your teeth and move.
Smoke fills your lungs as you follow Kix into the wreckage. You drop to your knees beside the first wounded villager you see and tear open the medpack. You donât think. You just act.
From person to person you move, patching up who you can, and closing the eyes of those lost.Â
You stand from behind a crate, only to come face to face with a massive droid, raising its blaster arm to aim directly at your heart. You close your eyes. The droid falls with a loud clang to your feet and you fall back on your heels, shocked.Â
âTold you I wouldnât let anything happen to you.â
Itâs Fives, and he helps you up. You canât help it, for just a moment, heart pounding you cling to him.Â
âAby and the others are in the community hall. Itâs a makeshift medbay, well guarded. Try to get there if you caâŠâÂ
A sudden explosion knocks you both off your feet. The crates that had blocked you from most of the battle are nothing but splinters now. As you clear your head you call for him. âFives?â No response.Â
You crawl towards his prone form and thatâs when you see it. A large piece of jagged wood pierces his side, blood seeping into the ground.Â
âFives, hold on!â You shout, as you pull him with all your strength to cover. âMedic!â You shout, but no one can hear you over the fighting.Â
You pull out the medpack Kix gave you and get to work. You remove the wood, possibly not the best idea but youâre panicking, and you sanitize and pack the wound. You find a bacta syringe and inject it into him, hoping it will wake him from unconsciousness.Â
Nothing.Â
Suddenly, in front of you lands one of those large droids, and it spots you immediately. It begins to charge towards you, and you have no choice, no moment to think. You grab Fivesâ blaster and fire blindly, eyes closed as you await death.Â
The droid falls. The blaster smokes. You cry.Â
âGood⊠shot.â You hear and the tears come more readily now. âFives!â you exclaim and you pull him into your lap, tears falling onto his face.Â
He groans slightly in pain and you search the pack for anything pain relieving. The pack is nearly empty.
âJust hold on, Fives.â You say.Â
You cradle him there in your lap for what feels like hours, but in reality only minutes pass. The battle dies down and an eerie quiet falls over the village. You have no idea who won, if youâre going to be rounded up and killed by droids, or if Rex and his men will come find you.Â
You hear footsteps and brace yourself, holding the blaster up and curling yourself over Fives to protect him.Â
âEasy there.â You hear a familiar voice, and you relax, tears coming back anew. Itâs Kix, who comes and kneels by Fives and you, taking the blaster from your hand.Â
âYou did good. Here help me get him to the hall.â
Fives mutters something, âShoulda seen her⊠a true soldier.â and then loses consciousness again.Â
You and Kix half carry, half drag Fives to the community hall, and get him settled on a cot. You brief Kix on the injury, and on what youâd done for him so far.Â
âWell done. Thereâs some more medpacks along the wall. Can you help me tend to the rest of them? You focus on villagers, I focus on the men.â
You nod and get to work. Hours pass in a blur of smoke, blood, and bandages.Â
You move from one patient to the next, hands steady even as your mind spins. Aby is among the lucky ones; sheâs sitting up now, her leg wrapped where the fire grazed her, eyes red from tears rather than pain.
The two of you collapse into each other for a few moments, clinging to something familiar amid the wreckage. You cry quietly together, grieving the smoke-filled homes, the people you couldnât save, the peace that wonât come back. But there isnât time to fall apart. You swallow it down and force yourself to stand again, to help the next person calling your name.
Then you hear another, someone shouting your name.
You spin toward the sound and see Kix struggling to hold Fives down on a cot. Heâs thrashing wildly, still half out of it, eyes glassy but full of panic.
âWhere is she?â he gasps, fighting against Kixâs grip.
You sprint across the room and drop to your knees beside him, grabbing his hand. âIâm here. Iâm right here.â
His eyes flicker toward you, focus clearing for just a second. âYou⊠you saved me,â he breathes, the tension draining from his body. âYouâre okay. Weâre okay.â
Kix quickly administers a sedative, and Fivesâs words start to slur, his eyes fluttering shut as he sinks into sleep.
âHe needs rest,â Kix says quietly, checking his pulse. âAgitation like that isnât uncommon after a serious injury. The transports will be here in the morning, heâll be safer once we get him back to the cruiser.â
You freeze. âThe morning?â you echo, looking up sharply. âYouâre leaving?â
Kix nods, wiping his hands on a towel. âWe neutralized the threat. Command wants us redeployed immediately. Another systemâs already in crisis.â He doesnât sound happy about it⊠just tired. He gives you a small, sympathetic look before moving on to the next wounded trooper.
You stay where you are, sitting beside Fivesâs cot. The room hums with quiet conversation and the occasional groan of a patient in pain. Outside, the fires have died down, but the air still smells like burnt soil and ash. You pull the blanket a little higher over Fivesâs chest, watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Itâs strange how quickly they became part of your world. The clones. Him. Itâs been such a short time, but theyâve brought something back to this place you thought was lost: hope and life. You donât want to imagine the village after theyâre gone.
Time blurs again, and before you know it, the sky outside the window has lightened from black to gray. Youâre dozing in a chair beside his bed when you feel movement.
You jolt awake and turn to find him looking at you, eyes heavy-lidded, a faint smile ghosting his lips.
âHey, you,â he murmurs, the warmth in his tone disarming you instantly.
Tears prick your eyes before you can stop them. âHey,â you whisper back, smiling even as your throat tightens.
He reaches up and wipes your tears with the sleeve of his blacks. âNone of that,â he says softly. âYouâll make me think Iâm dying or something.â
You let out a shaky laugh, catching his hand in yours. âYou scared me. I thoughtâŠâ You canât finish the sentence.
He squeezes your fingers weakly. âSorry for the scare. Guess Iâm harder to kill than I look.â
âYouâre leaving in a few hours,â you say after a moment, voice quiet. âIs there anything I can do? Something to make it easier?â
He shakes his head, that same lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. âNah. Youâve done more than enough.â His eyes linger on you: soft, unguarded. âHate to leave so soon, though. Just when I made a great friend.â
Your heart stutters at the word friend. You smile. âA great friend, huh?â
âYeah,â he says, his voice barely above a murmur, âthe kind you donât forget.â
He shifts, wincing, and you instinctively reach out to steady him as he struggles to sit up. His hand catches yours and he holds it tight.
âPromise me something,â he says, eyes finding yours with surprising clarity despite the haze of painkillers.
You nod, heart thudding. âAnything.â
He takes a shallow breath, like the words cost him effort. âGet off this rock. Go see the galaxy.â His thumb traces absentminded circles against your palm. âGirl like you, youâve gotta get out of here. Thereâs so much more than clay and cooking. Youâve proved it, saving all these people⊠saving me.â
You canât help but smile through the ache in your chest. His conviction feels too big for the small, broken room youâre sitting in. The way he says it like he truly believes in you makes something inside you shift.
âYou can do so much more,â he finishes softly, his head starting to dip as fatigue pulls at him again.
You brush the damp curls from his forehead, and for a moment he looks peaceful, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his breathing evens out.
âSure, Fives,â you whisper, your voice trembling with affection. âWhatever you say.â
But even as you say it, you know it isnât just a promise to him.
Something inside you stirs. The seed of an idea, of change, takes root.
Heâs still asleep in the morning as the men cart him and the other injured soldiers onto the transport.Â
You donât get to say goodbye.Â
â
âI canât believe it,â Aby breathes, stars glittering in her eyes as you both step off the transport and onto Coruscantâs duracrete platform.
The city hits you all at once, all light and blurred motion. Towering spires stretch endlessly into the smog-streaked sky, their mirrored faces catching the glare of speeders that streak by in colored blurs. Holo-ads flicker and pulse from every corner, and the steady hum of engines fills the air like a heartbeat. Itâs overwhelming. Dazzling.
Your stomach twists, not just from the long hyperspace flight but from the sheer enormity of it all. This place feels alive, vast in a way Appla never could be.
Coruscant.
Itâs brighter, louder, and more beautiful than youâd ever imagined from the stories Fives told you.
Fives.
The thought of him lands like a jolt.
What if he doesnât remember you?
Or worse, what if heâs not even alive anymore?
Heâs a soldier. The odds arenât kind to men like him.
You swallow down the unease, clutching the strap of your bag tighter as you and Aby make your way through the crowded street toward the looming structure ahead. GAR Headquarters towers above the district, its polished surface gleaming under the cityâs perpetual daylight.
âThis is it,â Aby says, awestruck.
Your first day on the job starts in just a few hours. You try to steady your breathing as you step through the massive entry doors, carrying everything you own in one small pack and a head full of nerves.
You tell yourself youâre here to work. To start over.
But beneath that steady voice, one thought hums quietly, stubbornly.
What if you never see him again?
âWelcome. How can I help you?â A clone trooper adorned in red asks as you step through the automatic doors. The two of you introduce yourself and show him the datapad with your orders. Youâd enlisted as a hospitalist for the headquarters, putting your medic skills post battle of Appla to the test.
 Aby had chosen⊠cafeteria worker. Cooking duty, for all time. You tried to convince her to pick something else, or moreso that she didnât have to follow you.Â
âI go where you go. Always.â Sheâd said. You made sure that the small sanctioned apartment the GAR had allotted for you was shared with her.Â
âRight this way,â the clone says with crisp efficiency, his voice echoing against the marble walls.
He gestures for Aby to follow another officer, a tall Togruta draped in a blue administrative gown who leads her toward the mess hall. You catch her eye one last time as she disappears down the corridor, both of you smiling nervously. The two of you leave your bags piled neatly behind the front desk, to be delivered once your housing is sorted.
The clone leading you sets a steady pace through the GARâs winding halls. The air hums faintly with the sound of passing speeders outside and distant orders being called. Everything smells faintly of antiseptic and metal polish.
Youâre not sure what you expected when you signed up but walking these halls feels heavier, more real.
He stops at a sliding door labeled âMedbayâ, and hands you a neatly folded set of navy scrubs.
âGet changed, maâam. Commander wants you ready to assist in triage once youâre cleared.â
You nod, slipping into the fresher. The lights are bright, sterile. You pull on the scrubs, pin your hair back, and stare at your reflection for a heartbeat.
You look⊠official.
Like someone with purpose.
You let yourself breathe it in as you step into the open room of the medbay.
Then you hear your name.
You turn, startled.
A familiar voice.
Kix is jogging toward you from across the medbay, his white armor unfastened at the collar, medpack still slung over one shoulder. His expression breaks into something youâve never seen on him before, pure surprise, quickly followed by a grin.
âWhat are you doing here?â he says, before pulling you into a quick, rough hug. Itâs brief, but it knocks the breath from your chest. Heâs not the hugging type.
He steps back, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile.
âI enlisted,â you explain, words tumbling out in a rush. âI wanted to do something that mattered. See more than Appla. Try to help where I can.â
Kix chuckles, warmth softening his usually sharp tone. âMaker, Fives is going to lose it when he hears this.â
The name hits you like sunlight through cloud.
Fives.
That means heâs alive.
Kix pulls out his comm and starts typing, thumbs moving quickly. âHere, whatâs your comm number? Iâll save it. Weâll probably work together a lot when Iâm stationed here.â
âI uh⊠donât have a comm. I just got here a few minutes ago.â
Kix rolls his eyes. âI forgot how behind the times you were on Appla. Ill get a comm sent to your new residence. Anyways, want to shadow me?â You nod and get to work.Â
The day passes in what feels like a blink. You clean and bandage several men, sanitize tools and by the time the sunsets youâre famished.Â
âYou should come out to eat with us tonight, to celebrate. My treat.â Kix asks as you pack up the last of a medkit.Â
âCan Aby come? Sheâs on planet now too.â You say, and you see his face redden.Â
âSheâs here? Yeah, Iâd love to see her. I mean Iâd love for her to come, too.â He chokes out. You laugh.Â
âMeet you back here in an hour? Iâll get lost if you try to give me directions, best to just follow you.â You say and he nods. You set out into the night to meet Aby back at your new place.Â
â
Coruscant feels different at night.
You and Aby wait outside GAR headquarters, still in borrowed coats and half-lost in the swirl of movement around you, when Kix waves from the footpath.
âYou two ready?â he calls, helmet clipped to his belt, hair still damp from a quick rinse after his shift.
âStarving,â Aby says. âLead the way.â
He grins. âA couple of the boys are already there. Figured itâd be good to catch up.â
You trade a look with Aby. Thereâs only one âcouple of boysâ he could mean.
The diner sits tucked beneath one of the lower towers, a civilian spot glowing in warm amber light. Inside, the air smells of spice and caf, the chatter easy and loud.
âLook who Kix dragged in!â Hardcase booms when he spots you, standing just enough to wave. âDidnât think weâd ever see you two again!â
âGuess youâre stuck with us,â Aby says with a laugh as you slide into the booth beside her.
Echo nods politely, that small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. âThis is a pleasant surprise.â
You smile, âHad to make it out to Coruscant. You all told us so much about it, and you all left before we ever got to say goodbye.â
âDidnât have much choice,â Hardcase says, half-sheepish, half-grinning. âOrders came down fast. One day weâre patching up miners, next day weâre knee-deep in mud on Ryloth.â
Kix rolls his eyes as he slides into the seat beside you. âDonât let him fool you. He was mostly knee-deep in his own mess.â
Aby laughs, and just like that, the tension softens.
The food comes and the conversation flows easier with each bite. They tell stories from the front lines, though the darker parts are carefully left out; you and Aby talk about your travels, the first time flying amongst the stars.Â
Echo listens more than he speaks, but when he does, you hang on every word, his tone steady, thoughtful, a quiet counter to Hardcaseâs constant energy. Kix acts as the anchor between them all, occasionally teasing but never cruel, his laughter softer than you remember.
It feels good. Comfortable. Like picking up threads from an old, unfinished story.
But even with the warmth around you, thereâs a hollow note at the edge of it, an absence you canât quite ignore.
Fives.
His name lingers unspoken between sentences, in the empty chair beside Echo. You can almost hear his voice, see his grin, feel the way the whole room used to bend toward his energy.
Thatâs when Aby notices you staring.
âSo⊠whereâs Fives?â
You give her a look, and she smirks.
Hardcase laughs. âHeâs tied up. Mess he got himself into.â
âWhat kind of mess?â you ask, curious.
Echo snorts, a grin tugging at his lips. âHe was breaking up with a girl. Letâs just say⊠he needed a minute before facing the world.â
Your cheeks heat slightly.
Kix shakes his head, chuckling. âTypical Fives. He canât pin down a woman to save his life. And I think he likes it that way.â
Hardcase laughs again. âYep. Classic Fives. Priorities in order, I guess.â
You grin, shaking your head. The casual way they talk about it makes your heart flutter, but itâs easy to laugh too. Heâs still⊠Fives.Â
Dinner winds down, conversation flowing easily. When you all step out into the city night, the hum of Coruscant surrounding you, the empty chair still tugs at your attention.
And then,Â
âHey!â
A familiar voice cuts through the noise.
You look up just in time to see Fives sprinting toward you, grin wide, arms already reaching out. Before you can react, he scoops you into a hug, lifting you slightly off the ground.
âYouâre here!â he says, laughing breathlessly.
âIâm here,â you reply, laughing too. He sets you down gently, still holding your hands.
âI didnât think Iâd ever see you again,â he says, eyes wide and sparkling.
âI know. I didnât think Iâd be here. Doing this. Seeing you,â you say, letting the words tumble out.
âWell,â he says, grinning and sticking his tongue out at his brothers behind him, âitâs gonna be great having you on planet. I could use a good friend around here.â
You laugh, the sound light and easy.
âBut seriously.â He says. âI couldnât stop thinking about you, out there on that muddy planet. I wondered if youâd ever get off it. I worried about it, to be honest. To know youâre here now⊠itâs⊠wow.â
âFives, you thought about me? Thatâs⊠actually romantic.â You joke and bump him with an elbow. You swear his face reddens and he bumps you back.Â
âDonât friends always think about each other?â He jokes and you smile.Â
âI thought about you too.â You say, and the two of you hug once again.Â
It feels so real. Borderline magical.
Friends.Â
Reunited.Â
---------------
Thank you for reading! Please reply if you want to be added to the taglist!
New fic titled âRuin the Friendshipâ coming soon, with part one coming this weekend!
-Fives x f!reader
-Friends to⊠lovers?
-Based on Taylor Swiftâs The Life of a Showgirl album, with references to every song!
The smallest Sneak Peek:
âYou can call me honey if you want, Fives. Promise, I donât mind.â You joke, nudging him with your elbow.
His face deepens into a scalding red. He laughs, arm rubbing the back of his neck. âJust kind of slipped out there. But really, that was very impressive⊠honey.â He says with a wink.
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