Pairing: This is the most random mix possible. From RCs to my own OCs (fully developed ones you can meet in my fics) and new faces I made up on the spot.
Summary: Not my first time making clone group chats, but my first time posting one as a standalone! It’s exactly what it sounds like: millions of clones stuck in one galaxy-wide all-personnel group chat. GFFA data service and tech are apparently so powerful. You leave the chat for one minute and there’s already +6000 messages. Absolutely unmanageable. Mods are barely holding it together.
Mod list: Boss, Cody, Alpha-17, Bacara, Jesse (somehow he made it among officers), Gree, Sinker (somehow he made it too), Ordo, Fi
Warnings: nothing. Crack ahead. EVERYONE LIVES.
Taglist: @orangez3st - also because this crack came up in our chat 💀
GAR ALL PERSONNEL BROADCAST
📌 PINNED MESSAGE (edited 3 hours ago by Jesse):
Welcome to ALL PERSONNEL BROADCAST – this is the official GAR-wide channel.
Rules (because apparently we need them):
1. No thirst trap reviews.
2. Use threads. For the love of Prime.
3. Be kind. No inter-unit war. Mods will smite you.
4. If you see General Kenobi or General Skywalker join, act normal.
5. No one wants to hear your datapad mix at 0300
6. Any dream involving General Mundi is a YOU problem.
7. DO NOT EVER add civvies, Jedi, or your Mandalorian buire (looking at you, Skirata’s sons).
8. Please remember: Alpha-17 is reading AND modding.
9. Emotional breakdowns permitted on Primeday only.
10. The “clones tier list” thread is banned. Forever.
(This week’s special rule: If you see Marshal Commander Cody typing, stop what you’re doing and reflect on your sins.)
Current mod on duty: Ordo Skirata
Most recent muted user: Dickies from the 41st Elite Corps (for sending an unsolicited Niamos karaoke as a bit).
Server uptime: 99.7% (dropped after Marshal Commander Fox rage-quit and rebooted the network)
——
CT-339821: i texted her “what if we kissed in the AT-TE maintenance hangar 🥺👉👈”
CT-898421: real ones know there’s no better first date than taking apart a blaster
Ridge: y’all got dates??? 😐
Hardcase: i got RIZZ
Echo: please stop using that word.
Jesse (mod): no he’s right tho. hardcase got this weird situational rizz. 3 seconds max and then he self-destructs
Kix: idk what’s worse, the medbay smell or watching y’all exchange your pickup lines in this chat like it’s 79’s fresher line at midnight
Sinker (mod): just woke up to 6,902 unread messages what the actual kriff is going on here
Scorch: *sends tooka memes*
Cody (mod): STOP SPAMMING. THIS IS NOT FOR MEMES.
Boil: but sir we had an important discussion about if clones could beat a rancor with bare hands (probably buried. scroll up for context!)
Boss (mod): No. You could not.
Fi (mod): I could
Niner: Omega fucking wins again
Ordo (mod): No you couldn’t, Fi. You whined when you stubbed your toe on Dar’s gear bag.
Alpha-17 (mod): If i see one more picture of some shiny’s helmet next to a mug of caf and a datapad with the caption “just Centaxday tings” I’m purging this entire network
Parts: sir u just don’t understand ✨aesthetic✨
Gree (mod): boys, boys. please. some of us are trying to maintain a reputation here.
Bly: Reputation as what gree. The funky lil trooper figurines collector???
Wolffe: YOU PROMISED YOU’D STOP MENTIONING THE FIGURINES
CT-8364: With all due respect, sir. That’s such an L
Wolffe: Trip, right? Latrine duty. Now.
Bacara (mod): What’s an L?
Jesse (mod): ok ok back to business. shinies been saying some wild shit. translation thread starting now. drop your questions sirs
Boss (mod): What does “ate” mean? What did Rex eat on Umbara?
Rex: rations and sterile milk
Fives: shut the fuck up rex you can’t be that dense
Dogma: Wow, ARC title allows you to talk osik to your superior?
Jesse (mod): shut up dog
Echo: shut up dogma
Fives: SHUT UP, DOGMA!
Nax: Thanks, guys, he’s sulking again and stole the console. It was supposed to be my turn to play Battle Star.
Hardcase: i WILL beat him and he will SULK even more
Sinker (mod): “ate” -> Translation: He did well. Usage: “Captain Rex really ate during that campaign on Umbara 🔥”
Boss (mod): What’s the significance of eating and performing?
Fixer: @Scorch get him
Scorch: On my way! 🫵🏾🤣💥
Fi (mod): Okay i’m starting a new thread called “Fever Dreams” for funsies! Drop your weirdest dreams. go!
Comet: I dreamt I was a loaf of bread being sliced by General Plo. He was gentle.
CC-IMMUNE: dreamt i had to re-certify my shooting skills and the blaster was a frog. General Yoda had to tame it
Nate: Dreamt that Kit Fisto told me he was proud of me. I woke up sobbing
Jangotat: CT-92-1786, oh you’re the one who adopted my former name.
Bacara (mod): Not gonna happen, kid. @Nate
Advisor: Dear all, please avoid going to Mess Hall B98 at the Republic Military Base from 1300 to 1800 tomorrow. There will be a demolition experts meet up.
Cody (mod): Thank you, Addy.
Bacara (mod): Well noted.
Fox: Thanks. Please contact Thire for all base announcements.
Sev: what did i miss i was asleep
Jesse (mod): dreams. drop yours and be weird about it.
Sev: i dreamt i was in a hot spring on hoth with the Delta Squad. but the water was beer. Fixer had eggs for eyes. Scorch was a sentient kettle. Boss was Boss.
Fi (mod): EXACTLY the kind of sick shit I wanted
Ordo (mod): I always pick the wrong time modding
CT-78927: one time i dreamt we were all assigned emotions like that animated holofilm. i got “mild disappointment”, CT-78928 got “suppressed anger”
Bacara (mod): @Keeli aren’t those your kids?
Keeli: Yeah. The weird ones are mine, sir.
Hound: I had a dream where I adopted at least 60 massiffs
Wrecker: I DREAMT I WAS DATING A THERMAL DETONATOR and SHE WAS SHY BUT SWEET 🫵🏾 WHEN SHE BLEW UP, SHE SAID “I’M SORRY IT HAD TO BE THIS WAY” AND KISSED ME. BOOM! DREAM!
Crosshair: I’m banning you from sleeping in the armoury
Parts: dreamt i was in 79’s, but the band was made of Jedi. Obi-Wan on drums. Anakin on bass. Kit on guitar. Plo on keys. Mace crowd surfed. i got kicked in the face and thanked him 🫡
Thorn: i dreamt i was chasing paperwork and every time i got close it changed into a new form. i woke up and it was real
Fox: We shared the same dream, vod.
Gree (mod): last night i dreamt i was a lamp in the Jedi Council chamber.
Boss (mod): All of you need psychological help
Jesse (mod): Boss pls drop ur weird dream or we’re revoking ur mod card
Boss (mod): I dreamt I got demoted and had to lead base tours for civilians in @Part’s drag sash. Walon Vau hugged me, and I woke up sweating.
Ordo (mod): weirdest part is Vau showing affection
Fi (mod): ok that concludes Fever Dreams. you lot are unwell. i’m proud of us.
Alpha-17 (mod): Everyone logging into this thread is being scheduled for mandatory psych eval. Even me. Especially me.
Tup: okay but hear me out, what does it mean if i dreamt the clones were all in a musical called Buirmia! and Captain Rex had a solo called “Order 69” whilst Commander Fox tap danced in a turbolift in 1313 and Commander Cody did a duet with General Kenobi
Echo: it means we all need to go to sleep and never wake up
Omega: This looks fun! What are you guys talking about? 🤭
Echo: CLOSE YOUR EYES
Echo: WHO GAVE THE KID ACCESS?!
Hunter, Tech, Crosshair, and Wrecker left
Sister: This is why I told you it was a bad idea to join this broadcast @Emerie
🫧Chapter Summary: Tensions are high and secrets are being shared among the Guard. Meanwhile Fox's lies dig him in deeper trouble with one of his brothers.
🫧Warnings: Safe for work, implied argument between Hound and Fox, flirty messages, more lying, mentions of an escape prisoner, over protective fox kinda.
You spent far too long staring at your comm when you got back to your apartment, typing and deleting message after message, unable to settle on what to say to Whisky as your date had been cut short…
You could just ask him outright about what he wanted to say but something held you back. Every time your fingers hovered over the keys, doubt crept in, and you erased the words before they could be sent
So instead, you paced your apartment, overthinking.
What had he been about to say?
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.
Maybe he didn’t want to date you. You would be upset, yes, but you hadn’t known him very long. Although, a part of you felt like you had known him for longer. Your stomach twists at the thought. Huh, maybe you would be more upset than you thought.
You set your comm down with a sigh, deciding to leave it for now. If he wanted to talk, he’d reach out. In the meantime, you distracted yourself the best way you knew how—watching terrible holomovies with your face buried in a bag of something sweet and delicious.
But even that wasn’t enough to settle your restless thoughts.
When the night cycle finally rolled in, you tucked yourself into bed, tossing and turning as your mind refused to quiet. Just as you were about to give up on sleep entirely and get up for a walk, the familiar chime of your comm made your breath hitch.
Whisky.
Your fingers fumbled slightly as you grabbed the device, opening the message.
Hello, please know I am very sorry that I had to cut our date short. I hope you got back to your apartment okay. We can arrange another date sometime soon.
A relieved smile tugged at your lips as you quickly typed back.
No worries, I hope everything is okay? It sounded urgent.
His response came almost immediately.
I am sure you will hear about it tomorrow. I have to go now. I hope you sleep well.
Your brows furrowed. “ Tomorrow?” You whisper to yourself.
A ripple of unease passed through you. Had something happened at work? Was it serious? Ugh, another thing to add to the list of worries.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers flew across the screen.
Before you go, what was it you wanted to tell me? Can you tell me now?
You waited.
And waited.
No reply came.
A frustrated sigh left your lips as you flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts spinning uselessly. Eventually, exhaustion won out, pulling you into sleep.
And when you dreamed, it wasn’t of uncertainty or unanswered questions.
It was of the meadow.
⋅───⊱༺ 🦊 ༻⊰───⋅
The moment you stepped into work, you knew something was wrong. The air was thick with hushed whispers and tension was rolling through the hall with every clone and officers exchanging anxious glances.
Curiosity gnawed at you with every step until you finally reached your station, where you spot Thire and Stone stood by the unloved caf machine, their usual smiley expressions replaced with something far more serious.
“Hey,” you greeted, setting your things down before walking over. “What’s going on?”
“You didn’t hear?” Stone asked, his brow creasing.
“Hear what?”
“The prisoner that came in the other day, Rik Waldar?” Thire said. “Thorn gave you the file to pass to Fox, remember?”
Your mind rifled through memories of endless reports and case files. You were so used to sorting out reports of prisoners coming and going, it was really hard to keep track of. So naturally, it was foggy at first, but then it clicked. It was the paperwork you handed over after coming back from the caf run. “I think so... why?”
Stone exhaled sharply. “He escaped.”
Your stomach dropped. “ Escaped? How? Is anyone hurt?”
“Everyone’s fine,” Thire reassured you quickly. “But Fox is—”
“Losing his mind,” Stone finished with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his tired face.
You followed their gaze toward Fox’s empty desk, unease creeping down your spine. If there was ever a reason for him to be more irritable than usual, this was it.
Stone shook his head. “The worst part? We have no idea where the guy went. He vanished without a trace.”
“That’s… not possible,” you said, frowning. “Surely you can track him down?”
Thire and Stone exchanged a look, one that didn’t exactly inspire confidence.
“Apparently, he was a nightmare to find in the first place,” Thire admitted. “But we’re doing everything we can.”
Your fingers tapped anxiously against your arm as your thoughts spun. Was this what Whisky had meant? He had said you’d hear about it today. Infiltrating a ship would be a perfect way to slip away unnoticed… If you had any free time today, maybe you will go see Whisky and see if anything happened there.
You tried your best to go about your day, focusing on the usual rigmarole of tasks, but everything felt off. The tension among the clones was suffocating, stretching the hours unbearably thin. Normally, you’d be laughing at Thire and Stone bickering over something ridiculous to pass the time—but for once, they were actually working.
Like, really working.
You sat at your desk, fingers skimming over a datapad, scrolling through intergalactic news and any updates on the escaped prisoner. Re-reading his report didn’t make you feel any better—fraud, murder, theft, kidnapping. Stars, he was practically a one-man crime syndicate. What a great day to be a citizen of Coruscant.
“Find anything useful?”
You looked up to see Hound approaching, setting his helmet down on the desk beside you.
“Nah, not really,” you sighed. “Might go check out the hangar later.”
Hound stiffened, just barely, before clearing his throat. “Uh… why’s that?”
You paused. Kriff. That was a good question. It wasn’t your job to hunt down escaped criminals, and you definitely weren’t trained for it. But truthfully? You weren’t thinking about the prisoner at all.
You just wanted to see Whisky.
Biting the inside of your cheek, you hesitated. Should you tell him? What’s the worst that could happen?
“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
Hound raised a brow. “Sure.”
A grin tugged at your lips. “Well… I’m kinda seeing someone.”
His expression shifted into a smirk, amused by how utterly smitten you sounded. “That’s great! Who’s the lucky guy?”
You glanced around, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “His name’s Whisky.”
There was a flicker of something in Hound’s expression—something that didn’t sit right. His lips pulled into a smile, but it looked tight. Forced.
“Whisky, huh?” His voice was casual, but there was tension in his shoulders.
You straightened slightly, setting the datapad down. “Do you know him?”
For a second, he didn’t answer. Then he shrugged. “Only heard of him in passing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“What? No.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow. “My head’s just preoccupied with everything going on, that’s all.”
Sure.
You didn’t quite believe him, but you didn’t feel like pressing it either. Between the prisoner, whatever secret Whisky was keeping, and now this , you were getting a headache.
“Alright,” you said, deciding to let it go. “Hey, I finally watched that holomovie you recommended.”
That seemed to do the trick. Hound perked up immediately, his tension melting away as he leaned on the desk, a smug grin overtaking his features. “Told you it was a masterpiece. Which part was your favourite?”
“Oh, definitely the part where the droid turned out to be the senator’s actual father.”
Hound barked out a laugh. “Right? That twist got me so bad the first time I watched it.”
You smirked, shaking your head as the conversation took a lighter turn. It was nice to momentarily push everything else aside, even if the questions still lurked in the back of your mind.
For the next while, you busied yourself with work, ordering supplies and tidying up, half-listening as Hound debated movie rankings with one of the other troopers. The hours stretched on, but eventually, you finally got a break.
Time to visit the hangar.
⋅───⊱༺ 🦊 ༻⊰───⋅
You walk along the strip of the hangar where you last saw Whisky, scanning the area as casually as possible. There were several sections he could be in, but this was your best bet. Yet, as you search, there’s no sign of him.
Maybe he was wearing one of those mechanic helmets, blending in with the dozens of clones bustling about. You lean against the wall, eyes flicking over the sea of troopers and workers as you pull out your datapad. He still hadn’t replied to your last message, but you figured he was busy. Still, you hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen before—
“Hey, miss, everything alright?”
You glance up to see an officer approaching. He looked to be around your age, neatly dressed—almost too neat for someone stationed here. Probably new.
“Yeah, sorry, just looking for someone,” you say, keeping your voice light.
The officer doesn’t take the hint. “Anyone in particular? Maybe I could help you find her?”
You smile politely. “Him, actually. His name’s Whisky. Know him?”
Something in the officer’s expression shifts, barely perceptible, but enough for you to notice. His eyes flick around the hangar before settling back on you.
“Oh… is he a clone?”
You blink. The way he asked that felt off—like the word “clone” left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Yes,” you answer flatly, crossing your arms.
He exhales sharply through his nose, almost like a scoff, before shaking his head. “Sorry, can’t say I know a Whisky. But I could look up his CC number for you, if you’ve got it.”
Your lips press together. Of course, you didn’t know that.
Huh. He really was a hard man to track down.
The officer shrugs, clearly unbothered. “There’s a lot of clones working in this hangar. Hard to tell them apart.” His eyes linger on you, lips quirking into a grin. “But hey, if you don’t find him… you could always come looking for me instead.”
You let out a surprised laugh, unable to help yourself. At least he had confidence. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you tease, though your tone makes it clear you’re politely declining.
The officer chuckles and nods. “Well, I should get back to work. Good luck finding your guy.”
Before he turns to leave, something nags at you. A sudden thought.
“Wait,” you say quickly, making him pause. “Has anything bad happened in the hangar recently? Like… a security breach? An escaped prisoner?”
The officer furrows his brows. “No, nothing like that. No sign of any prisoner at all. From what I heard, he never even came through this section.”
Your stomach twists. Then why had Whisky run off so suddenly?
You mumble a quick thanks as the officer finally walks away, but your mind is already elsewhere, racing through possibilities.
And then—
A prickle runs down your spine. A feeling, deep and instinctual, like you’re being watched.
You glance up and not far away, standing rigid amidst the bustle of troopers, is a familiar figure clad in deep red armour. Commander Fox.
His visor is locked onto you, unreadable, unwavering.
And for reasons you can’t quite explain—your breath catches.
Before you could dwell on Fox’s prolonged stare, you quickly looked away, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—else. Maybe he was just irritated that you weren’t in the office. You didn’t exactly have a solid reason to be down here, and if anyone would call you out on it, it’d be him.
Still, something about the way he had been watching you sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.
From the corner of your eye, you caught his attention shifting elsewhere—to Hound, who stood a few yards away, Grizzer trailing faithfully at his feet.
Hound didn’t look happy.
His brows were drawn, his jaw tight, and the way he stood—shoulders squared, fists curled at his sides—told you that whatever conversation he and Fox were about to have, it wasn’t a pleasant one.
You were too far away to hear a word of it, but the tension between Fox and Hound was unmistakable. The way Hound’s posture had stiffened, the sharpness in his gestures—it was clear whatever they were discussing wasn’t pleasant.
For a brief moment, you considered walking over. Maybe you could ease whatever was happening, smooth out whatever had both men looking so wound up. But then you thought better of it. You didn’t need to get caught up in unnecessary drama, not when you had your own tangled thoughts to deal with.
Pushing the scene aside, you turned, pulling out your datapad and tapping out a quick message to Whisky.
Hey, I’m at the hangar. Are you around?
You waited, both patiently and impatiently, fingers drumming along the edge of your device. You checked the time, realizing you’d need to head back soon—especially if Fox had already noticed you were absent.
A minute passed. No reply.
With a soft sigh, you tucked the datapad away and turned to leave.
Only to stop short.
"What are you doing here?"
You spun on your heel, a flicker of hope sparking before fizzling out when you saw not Whisky, but Fox standing before you.
"Commander," you greeted, a touch sheepish. "I was just heading back."
"That doesn’t answer my question." His voice carried that familiar sharp edge, making it clear he wasn’t in the mood for excuses.
You hesitated. You couldn’t exactly tell Fox what you were really doing here. One, your private life was none of his business. Two, the last thing you wanted was for him to go off about the escaped prisoner and accuse you of being careless.
So you lied.
"I was looking for you, actually."
His helmet tilted slightly, the only indication of mild curiosity. "What for?"
Think. Say anything.
"Do you want me to go on a caf run?"
Fox straightened, arms folding over his chest, his stance only adding to the scrutiny of the moment. "You came all the way to the hangar just to ask me that?"
You bit the inside of your cheek. "Yes," you answered smoothly.
A sigh blew past his modulator, and he slowly shook his head. "That won’t be necessary."
You nodded, shifting on your feet. "Okay then. Just thought everyone could use a pick-me-up. Especially you. "
Fox was silent for a beat before he echoed your words, tone unreadable. " Especially me?"
You hesitated. Was he genuinely asking, or was that irritation laced beneath his words? You could never quite tell.
"Well, it’s just that Stone said—"
"Stone says a lot," Fox cut you off flatly. "I’d like you to head back to your station."
His tone was sharp, but then—almost imperceptibly—it softened. "It’s… not safe, is all."
The unexpected shift made you smile slightly, nodding. "Yes, Commander. I understand."
"Good."
"Good," you repeat.
For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there, looking at eachother, as if something unspoken hung between you.
You cleared your throat, finally breaking the pause. "I should head back."
Fox gave a curt nod. "I’ll walk with you."
Okay... now that was unexpcted. Then again, if a prisoner was on the loose it does make you feel a touch safer.
The walk back was quiet and awkward however.
Fox's comm constantly flashed with unread transmissions, the small red light blinking again and again. You weren’t sure if he was ignoring them or just too caught up in whatever storm was brewing in his head.
You hesitated before speaking. "Do you… have a lead on the prisoner? Rik Waldar?"
His pace didn’t falter, nor did his posture shift. "You shouldn’t worry about that."
You frowned slightly but let it drop.
The hallways were unusually quiet, and for a moment, it felt like you and Fox were the only two people in the entire sector.
Then a subtle, almost imperceptible sound came from above.
A faint thump.
Your eyes flicked up toward the vents, brows creased in wonder. What was that?
Fox didn’t react. He hadn’t noticed it.
It could’ve been nothing—just the walls settling, just an old pipe shifting. You must have looked troubled because Fox suddenly spoke. "What’s wrong?"
The question surprised you. He wasn’t the type to ask things like that.
"Nothing," you said quickly, brushing it off.
He didn’t push. Just walked beside you in silence, unreadable as ever behind his helmet.
The moment you stepped back into the station, Fox said nothing—didn’t so much as glance your way—as he turned and strode off in another direction.
You watched him for a second before shaking your head and heading toward your desk. As you walked past, you caught Thire and Stone exchanging glances, clearly noticing that you’d come back with the Commander.
But, thankfully, they didn’t comment on it.
Sighing, you settled into your seat, ready to finally focus on work. Your fingers had just brushed over a datapad when your comm chimed.
You barely glanced at the screen at first, expecting some mundane notification—until you saw the name.
Whisky.
Your heart leapt, and you quickly unlocked the device, scanning the message.
Sorry for the delay. Got transferred to a different base this morning, only for a few days. Hope you don’t miss me too much.
Your heart sank just a little. A few days? That meant you wouldn’t get to see him for a while. But at least he replied. The subtle teasing in his message was also enoguh to make your heart flip. You quickly glanced around, ensuring no one was peering over your shoulder before you typed back a response.
A few days, huh? That’s a long time to go without my favorite mechanic. Guess I’ll have to find another handsome clone to keep me company…
You barely had a second to breathe before another message came through.
Rude. And here I was thinking about bringing you back a souvenir. Maybe I won’t now.
Biting your lip to contain your smile, you fired back.
A souvenir? Now you have to tell me what it is.
Nope. You’ll have to suffer.
That did it. A small giggle escaped you before you could stop it.
Immediately, Thire and Stone’s heads snapped in your direction. They were on you like a pair of kath hounds, striding over to your desk with knowing smirks.
“What’s so funny?” Thire asked, arms crossed, clearly amused.
“You’ve been awfully secretive today,” Stone added, wiggling his brows.
You quickly locked your datapad, feeling your face heat up. “Nothing, just—nothing important.”
Thire and Stone exchanged a glance, their grins widening before Stone let out an exaggerated hmm. “Maybe Hound was right.”
Your brows knitted together instantly. “Right about what?”
Before Stone could answer, Thire smacked him on the back of the head. “Ow! What was that for?”
“For running your mouth,” Thire grumbled.
“No, no, no, absolutely not,” you said firmly, sitting up straighter. “You have to tell me now.”
Stone rubbed the back of his head but gave you a teasing look. “Hound seems to think you and Fox have… a thing. ”
You blinked. Hard. “What?” You stared between them, utterly baffled, before scoffing. “Me and Fox ? Never in a million years. Where the hell did he get that idea?”
Thire looked like he wanted to stay out of it entirely, but Stone, ever the instigator, only shrugged. “No idea. He just said something seemed different between you two. Like you’re secretly together.”
You gave them both a flat, incredulous look. “Well, he’s dead wrong.”
“Yeah?” Stone smirked. “Then why were you walking back from the hangar with the Commander?”
Your mouth opened, then shut. There was no chance in all that was the Maker you were telling these two about Whisky. “I—That— That was nothing. He just… told me to go back to my station, that’s all.”
Thire sighed, rubbing his temples. “I swear, the gossip in this place is worse than a bunch of cadets.”
You huffed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe Hound actually thought that.”
Stone just grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, I’m just saying—Fox doesn’t usually go anywhere with anyone.”
You groaned, throwing your head back. “Stars, kill me now. ”
You couldn’t get your head round it. Why would Hound think yourself and the Commander had a thing? Why are the two of them arguing in the hangar? Surely that was not about you? Was it?
Then you thought about how you met Fox’s stare, how he had been watching you and the Officer. Was he…? No, no. Surely not. The last thing you can imagine is the intolerable Commander being jealous.
Today was proving too much.
Something was going on but you just couldn’t for the life of you figure out what.
Warnings : THESE OCS DO NOT BELONG TO THE AUTHOR (except for my Mage >:]) !! Multiple POV's, hurt + comfort, graphic depictions of amputation, war-typical violence, and mild gore; Clones are often referred to as commodities in this prose.
Star Wars Masterlist / Masterlist
A/N : These OCs belong to my lovely mutual, Lex !! I've recently joined her discord, and we've all been trading our OCs around. I absolutely ADORE everyone's OCs in our channel, but this little snippet about Rust and Rue's relationship had me itching to write this scene on my mind something fierce !! This one kindaaa ran away from me, but I had SO MUCH FUN writing these characters!! Enjoy ! and as always, reblog and leave a comment ♡♡
The stark white corridors and glossy, polished floors bounced the incandescent overhead lights back into Rust's eyes with a harsh glow -- nothing he wasn't already used to. Going from being a cadet in Tipoca City to regular off-world travel was akin to the gradual relief of a perpetual stun grenade that had fizzled out after bleaching his vision in white. The hundred-ninetieth division's Venator cruiser made him feel a sense of nostalgia for Kamino; Completing field assessments, practicing in the range with Rye, sparring with the juvenile CO batches, knowledge exams... some parts were worth missing.
The air was quite different this time around, however.
Palatinate-painted helms were downcast, the black transparisteel visors of his brothers held engulfing gazes behind them.
There had been a myriad of casualties, once again, but that was to be expected in war; The clones were weaned on graphic simulations to adapt to such daily, circadian horrors.
One lapse in those simulations, would always be their Jedi. No clone could've anticipated the connections they would've donned with those that had commissioned them.
Rust himself had once only seen Rye as his closest of kin, right up until the divisions were selected and assigned.
The hundred-ninetieth clone division were assigned to Jedi Master Amora Ali, and her Padawan, Del-Rue Sata.
Rust could vividly recall that day, down to the scent of the hangar's fresh-laid tarmac, his after-shave, and the oily armor polish on bare-white duraplast. It was bloody nerve-wracking for the clones, despite their rigid exterior at attention. They'd been told about the Jedi for years from the puckered mouths of their Kaminoan overseers, or the mercenaries, bounty hunters, and the Cuy'val Dar whom rightfully spited them.
But seeing General Ali and Commander Sata that day had all but dissolved the hundred-ninetieth's unease like dew on Geonosis -- Rye would surely agree, maker help the fool.
Master Amora Ali in all her grandeur and prowess, her presence alone demanding each pair of eyes behind every visor, and the scruffy little Nabooian teenager at her flank, mirroring her master's mannerisms in each stride. They, like many Jedi, were a daunting sight -- alluring in their own right; Different. They had a certain personhood that was attractive to every clone in formation.
The lot of them were knitted together finer than a Nautolan's hair after a few missions.
It had been a whole campaign since then, an entire circadian cycle as their Captain, and already so much had changed. The lot of them adapted to each obstacle, as always, but as of late, Rust had a troubling sense nagging in his head.
He had the notion that Rue was getting lame in her hypothetical strides -- only recently, anyway. He could pinpoint the moment that she had, but being the man he was, Rust would seldom pry into the girl's personal affairs.
Besides, at the end of the day, Rue was still a Jedi and Rust was just a clone.
Only, as of now, he'd been personally requested to meet Rue in the medical bay by her own Jedi Master. General Ali had pulled him aside in the hall after their most recent briefing after a short campaign on Ryloth, a stitch of concern pulling the Twi'lek master's brows together.
"Captain Rust, I'm afraid I need your help," Amora prompted him tentatively, the tone of uncertainty on her svelte tongue was vastly uncharacteristic. Apprehension, sure, but his general was rarely ever uncertain.
Rust's thick brows rose half an inch as he let a small, inquisitive hum pass his lips, "Me, general?" He emphasized with a playful lilt, attempting to bring his General a modicum of ease - something he felt she needed, recently. "I can comm Rye if you'd --"
Flustered, Amora cocked her head back and shot her Captain a nearly inscrutable look, if not for the deepened furrow in her brows.
"No, Captain, it's for Del-Rue," she replied curtly.
That made far more sense, Rust mused. "Of course, General."
The hundred-ninetieth's last campaign in the Gordian Reach sector before Ryloth had nearly cost them all a paramount loss for the whole of the division. In the din of a battle, Mags and Brass had lost their position beside Rue when one of the mines had collapsed, cutting the young Padawan off from the rest of them in the cacophony.
By the time he and Bullseye had found an alternative egress to reach her, however, no Kaminoan simulation could've prepared him for the sight of her. Their Padawan, their commander, torn up bloody and mangled, her right arm lopped off with a maimed, cauterized cut at the joint of her shoulder. She'd been conscious, stumbling on buckled legs into Rust's arms when he'd skid to his knees to catch her.
Rue had sand, Rust would give her that. Just by a glance, he'd known that she'd held her own against whomever had attacked her.
Truthfully, he hadn't been able to seek her out on the Venator -- not because of the missions, briefings, or his own training, no, Rust always made time for the girl -- the steel-bellied Captain simply couldn't meet the Padawan's gaze.
As horrible as he felt for it all, the look in Rue's eyes held a certain finality that was so daunting to him. It sank into his guts with an ill, uneasy sensation, fanged like thorny vines coiled around his intestines. Not only could he get Rue's near-mortem visage out of his mind's eye -- damp with sweat, hair plastered on her forehead, and drained of color in her face -- but Rust couldn't bare to see that defeated, sunken look in her worn gaze.
Ever since Aamon, Rust had noticed the slight change in her. He'd never mention it aloud. Unlike himself, Jedi weren't conditioned to be dulled to such profound loss -- it took him a while to learn that for himself.
So when General Ali had asked him to, Rust obliged without a beat to hesitate.
His bootsoles clicked on the floor, absentmindedly taking him toward the medical bay as his mind wandered, helmet tucked under his arm. Rue's absence was noteable amongst his brothers, the looks on their own faces would be hard to discern to the external observer, but not to a clone's trained eye.
The Venator had been peppered with a few transfers, clones from the fourth legion, an Umbra Operations fleet, and one of the earliest, led by one of the only organics in the Grand Army that wasn't Force Sensitive. Known for their versatility, their Marshall Commander had ordered two-hundred of her men to be stationed with the hundred-ninetieth legion until they recovered from their losses on Selitan.
One of which was a sharp-tongued CMO by the name of Mage, a task-driven medic whom always seemed to mutter to himself while treating those under his care. Rust had met him during the mandatory physical assessments after Selitan and Ryloth, Mage had been helping to oversee all of the hundred-ninetieth's flimsiwork to minimize the workload for their own over-exerted medics.
Rust crossed paths with the elder clone on his way out of the west-wing medical bay, his nose stuck in a holopad, yet still fully aware of Captain Rust's presence as he approached.
"Evening, Cap'," Mage greeted flatly, only raising his furrowed brows for a beat to show his acknowledgement.
"Chief," Rust replied with a sharp huff, setting his free hand on the edge of his utility belt as he set his shoulders. "How are the men?"
Mage hummed noncommittally, tapping away at the holopad for a few seconds before tucking it into the crook of his arm, shifting his weight with a small sigh as he finally met Rust's gaze. "They're all improving exponentially, I've contracted spare parts from Tipoca City. Your salvagable ranks should be back in commission within the next moon." Mage cleared his throat as he brushed a few pieces of lint from the clean, starched front of his uniform, "I surmise General Ali sent you; I expect you know why, Captain?"
"Uh... yes, sir?" Rust half-inquired, a quizzical look donning his face.
The CMO's brows furrowed, pulling his forehead and the ends of his eyes into creased lines that likely had been charted there during his rather grueling service in the Grand Army. "You either know, or you don't, Captain," Mage sighed with a deadpanned expression, passing his free hand over his buzzed head as he looked up and down the hall, unsure.
"It's Rue?" Rust asked after another beat, feeling his heart crawl into his throat after the uneasy pause.
"Aye, it's your Commander..."
Rue didn't much like the sterile environment of the medical bay -- never did. It was always too harsh on her eyes. The synthetic lighting never failed to give her an occasional migraine, the strong scent of isopropyl seemed to relentlessly cling to the cycling air in the frigid medical bay. Being moved out of the trauma center into the west wing had done little to put her at ease. In the misfortune succeeding the Selitan campaign, all available trauma centers on the Venator had been piled high with the troopers that had made it out until they could off-load the wounded on Kamino; Mangled, but mostly alive, much like herself.
She couldn't recall much of her own experience in the delirium, fading in and out of consciousness, the most Rue could remember was what had rattled her. The sheer amount of carnage after that campaign was staggering, and at the moment, Del-Rue didn't think she'd ever get past it. There were troopers laid out in sheets and cots up and down the halls, 'shinies' smeared in their first blood, frantically carrying out orders barked out by their CO's and medics to aid in tending to the wounded, limbs -- and even clones -- that had been maimed beyond all hope of repair, being swaddled up and carried off to be disposed of, every starch-white cloth in the vicinity was saturated black with blood that gathered and congealed on the floor.
It hadn't been her first loss in battle by any means, but something had rattled her.
Was it the carnage itself? The profound loss of life under their command? Was it the way in which the wounded clones looked for someone to plead to? No mother or home to truly ache for in their latter moments, beside other dying men that shared their faces? Was it the cold, encompassing mass of darkness that had found her in Selitan's labyrinth like a slavering Corellian hound?
With her daily dosages of Bacta and Valium, Rue wouldn't be likely to figure it out just yet. She couldn't recall the fourth division's Chief Medical Officer's name in the moment, -- he notably had a bleached buzzcut with intricately dyed designs and a mustache -- but he'd done well to keep her distracted for the most part.
She was wise enough to know that the CMO's consistent presence around her wasn't out of protocol -- seeing as any of the hundred-ninetieth's medics could oversee her -- but it was likely upon her Master's request that the disgruntled operative was so nigh. Amora would seldom let it show, but she worried for them all, in spite of their code.
Rue's mind always seemed to be elsewhere, but as of late, she'd been on another plane entirely, even if her world didn't currently extend past this sickly-clean smelling medical bay. In her dosed state, she drew variables together, musing to herself how different everything has become. It seemed alike after the mission on Inansis, nothing has been the same.
It was hard to tell the circadian time without a chronometer nearby, but when she assumed it to be the latter hours of the day, when Mage and the other medical staff were vacant from the med-bay, completing flimsiwork, she paced.
Paced, pondered, yearned.
There was a perpetual ache in the hollow of her chest that came with the loss of her right arm. She'd heard of a few 'refurbished' clones in each division speaking about 'phantom pains,' but at the time, she hardly understood it herself. How could anyone feel something that wasn't there? Let alone feel pain?
She was abhorrently familiar with it, now.
Even past the potent dosages of dipyrone and valium, Rue could feel her vacant arm moving. When she struggled to let sleep take her, Rue would often close her eyes and try to wiggle her fingers, sqearing up-and-down that they were still there. As she moved her hand, she could feel the slight click in her wrist from that sprain in her youth as she rotated it, could feel the strain in her muscle as she stretched it. All that distracted her from the sincerity of the sensation was the rotary cuff in her shoulder, stiff and swollen from it staples, stitches, and dressings.
From her understanding, Rue had been unconscious for a few rotations following Selitan, but when she had woken up, nobody was there. Drugged, delirious, she'd first thought she was truly alone -- that the carnage she remembered had been fatal for all. After her initial panic, she'd been informed of Master Ali's absence on the cruiser due to the hundred-ninetieth's presence on Ryloth.
Ever since, Master Ali did her best to see her Padawan as frequently as possible. A few of their men had, as well, but she noted Rust's vacancy overall.
She didn't have the stomach to ask for him until recently, being repeatedly throttled out of sleep by jarring night-terrors that occasionally startled the other recovering clones in the Med-bay, separated only by the murky holo-partitions between each bed. Her guilt chipped away at her resolve, little by little, Rue felt herself fraying.
The Nabooian Padawan couldn't bare to look at the mangled mess beneath the bandages every time Mage changed them out. He'd been kind enough to explain what had been done during the amputation procedure. The medical staff had intricately cut around the charred, dead flesh on the stump of her arm, saving as much as they could, her dead and frayed nerves were removed or soldered shut to prevent further damage from spreading to the rest of the wound, her remaining bone marrow shaved down and smoothed to make 'reapplication' a cleaner process.
Mage ensured she would receive the best care out of anyone on the ship, seeing as she was priority, yet it did little to put her at ease. If anything, her guilt festered.
More often now, Rue wondered what course her life could've taken if she hadn't been plucked off her homeworld to become a Jedi. Her memories of Naboo were vague, Rue remembers fragments rather than genuine memories.
The marble structures and palatial architecture, rolling, phthalo green moors that undulated in a breeze like an ocean's surface. Sometimes a smell alone would catapult her back into that sliver of time, before she was truly conscious of anything that wasn't in front of her chubby hands. Maker, sometimes it made her ache for normalcy, for ignorance.
Her self-loathing links of thought were snapped in two when the doors of the Med-bay opened with a pneumatic hiss, ensnaring her attention away from the cracks in the flooring as she looked up. Warped by the layered holo-partitions, Rust padded past each occupied cot until he reached the crook of the room that Rue had been set up in.
His face wouldn't let anything show, as she blinked to focus on his features. The clean-shaven space above the facial hair along his jaw had grown past stubble, a weathered look on his face and a permanent set in his brows that revealed his dismay more than anything else she'd could dissect.
"Hey, kiddo," Rust spoke first, his voice flat but not devoid of its usual warmth.
It made Rue thaw, just slightly.
"You asked for me, huh?"
She could note the bashful lilt in his voice, a slight dusting of blush on his ears as he ducked his head. He may never fully understand just how much she looked up to him.
"Mhm," Rue hummed nervously, already feeling that clamp tighten around her throat as she hauled herself out of the bed to sit up, bearing her weight onto her left arm to swing her legs over the edge. Rust took notice of the gesture, setting his helmet on the end of the medical cot before propping himself up on the edge beside Rue with a small sigh, keeping a boot on the ground out of habit as the cot bore his weight with a nearly agonized creak.
A pregnant pause engulfed Padawan and Captain, the pair of them staring at nothing in mutually listless silence; Rust decided after a moment that Rue didn't want to be the one to speak, nervously stealing a glance at her profile as he ran his fingers over his beard, stressing for something to say.
She could feel his unease rolling off him in waves through the Force.
"I heard that Mage lad was taking your prosthetic commission to his Marshal Comander, and that she'd bring it to the Council," Rust attempted, chuffing his amusement, "ain't that something?"
A shoddy attempt. Rue didn't appear as tickled by the notion than Rust, and even he didn't find it so humorous.
Bad jest.
"Well, uh..." Rust trailed off, shifting on the edge of the cot to fix his seat. Ka'ra help him... "W-Wuh-- What did you need me for, kid?"
Rue felt her throat lock up, even if she'd done everything in her will to ward off her emotions, they fled faster than she could chase. Before she could even be made aware of it, Rue's vision was swimming, the harsh, sharp lines in the Med-bay warped with her tears as her chin quivered. She couldn't bare to even look at her Captain, let alone muster the words to speak.
What would a clone think? Nigh a boy in a man's body, reared for a specific purpose; To fight and die for a Republic they never knew, for citizens that would never see them as equals. How many of his brothers had died since the first battle of Geonosis? Countless. How many of his brothers had lost more than just a limb? Thousands.
Rust might think of her as pitiful, now.
He must've caught something about her poorly-concealed wavering, as she could feel Rust warily set his hand on her smaller shoulder, could practically hear him gulp his uncertainty aloud. It did very little to soothe her, or perhaps the modicum of affection had done just that, because a broken sob slipped past Rue's chapped lips in a sputter, and just as quickly as she tried to avert her gaze, Rust was gently hooking the backs of his gloved fingers under Rue's chin to bring her back.
Even past the warble in her vision, Rue could see the stunned hurt in Rust's eyes as he watched her crack in two. Something was muttered under his breath in that broken Mando'a the clones had adopted before bringing Rue into his chest, setting her head over the painted arches on his sternum.
It was evident that he didn't know what else to do in that moment, she could hear Rust swallow hard as her body shook with unrelenting sobs, but he was careful to avoid the bandages on her right shoulder as he tucked her curly head under his chin. Maker, it was enough to keep his heart in his throat, feeling like he was being strangled by a tourniqette.
"Hey, kid, c'mon," Rust muttered, staring daggers into a glitching spot on the holo-partition beside the cot, cursing whatever higher power was out there for this. Out of every dubious situation he'd been in, this was by far the scariest, simply because Rust felt unprepared. He had only one example of a nurturing presence from his youth, so the Captain did it utmost to channel that. "Talk to me, Del-Rue, it's alright."
After a few minutes, Rue's muted cries devolved into hiccups and sniffles before she'd peel herself back from Rust's breastplate, a supportive hand on the crook of her neck to provide a somewhat soothing weight on her nape, his head ducked to her level out of human habit.
"I don't know... I don't know what's wrong with me!" Rue whimpered, bringing the hem of her isolation gown to her cheeks to wipe away the damp tears on her cheeks as they cooled. Rust furrowed his brows, confused.
"There's nothing wrong with you, ad'ika," Rust muttered, absentmindedly thumbing a curl off the Padawan's ear as her rosy, teary expression settled on him; Doubtful. "Comman-- " He curtly cut himself off with a hissed curse, "Del-Rue, you can tell me what's going on. This is confidential as long as you want it to be..."
Rue sighed sharply, her shoulders dropping by an inch as she shook her head. "I-I just -- What in Maker's name am I supposed to do with this?" Rue gestured, wriggling the mound of dressings over her shoulder stump.
The Captain 'tsked' with a click of his tongue, the curl on his forehead jostling a bit as he shook his head. "Nothing is hopeless, Rue," Rust murmured, halfway regurgitating Amora's mantra. "It's not all about the arm, is it, cyar'ika?"
Rue swallowed thickly upon Rust's gentle term of endearment, frowning as he retracted his hand to set it in his lap, giving the Padawan ample room to pull over her thoughts that were already discombobulated from other factors.
"No," she finally answered, pursing her lips as she sniffles before balling them together. "It's... everything."
Rust bit his tongue, letting Rue try to navigate what she was feeling in the moment, pressing his lips together as he scrutinized each morsel of emotion in her features. She seemed to be weighing whether or not she could speak on something, and no amount of prying would enable her; Rue needed coaxing.
"Ever since Inansis... I just feel like everything's been slipping past my control like sand between my fingers," Rue began, wiping the back of her wrist under her nose before clasp her hands together -- only, her left hand groped at a vacant space where her right should've been there to meet it. It sent another aching pang in her chest. Rust caught it, taking a few beats to consider himself before awkwardly extending his gloved hand for her.
To his surprise, Rue took it without much thought, her smaller hand clamping around his own in a vice, her fingers absently worrying into the durable black weave as she school her breathing.
"I'm not sure how to explain it, but... I mean -- I know that nothing charted is set-in-stone, but nothing feels linear, anymore. It feels like... now anything could happen at the drop of a pin," Rue mumbled, trying to find the right words for how she felt in that moment. The grief, the paranoia, the confusion. She shouldn't feel this way, she was a Jedi, for Maker's sake! It only sent her further into a spiral. Her body felt foreign like this, and it was something new to loathe.
In a way, Rust understood.
Everything was brief for a clone; Pubescence, maturity, life itself, and the meager connections they'd mold along the way. Anything could change at the flip of a credit, but the difference was, Rust and his brethren had been reared to endure it better than an organic could. Rue knew that well.
"Ad'ika," Rust prompted Rue firmly, rousing her attention with a small squeeze, "I swear to you, everything is going to be alright. You're a strong girl, you're already getting through this..."
The hundred-ninetieth's Captain trailed off, shifting himself of the cot to angle himself toward Rue a bit more, swallowing as he mulled over what honest assurance he could provide the Padawan.
"And... anything can happen, and it will," Rust hummed, keeping his voice low for the sake of the other clones resting in the Med-bay. "But that doesn't mean we'll let it happen to you. I want you to know, kid, the lot of us -- the boys and I -- we care about you, we'd never want for you to suffer for anything, little one."
Rust trailed off for a moment as his gaze passed between Rue's eyes, the bulge in his throat bobbing past the high neckline of his body-glove as he swallowed, "What happened on Selitan... it shouldn't have -- I wish I could -- "
No, now wouldn't be the time for self-pity, in spite of how Rust ached to take Rue's place on that cot. She was just a bloody kid for Maker's sake!
Rue's brows pulled together as she scrutinized Rust's expression, a small frown tugging at her lips as her her head cocked to the side; "You can't blame yourself, Rust -- "
"I absolutely can, and I will," Rust nipped back, squeezing Rue's hand in assurance that his ire was directed to himself more than his Commander. "That's beside the point anyway, kid. The point I guess I'm trying to make is... I'll always be right here for you. Always, from here on out; Whatever change you need to adapt to, you won't have to feel like you're doing it alone."
He only wished he could've dawned on this sooner. Rust didn't need to go into specifics, or weasel into Rue's personal matters to offer her a shred of empathy; It came easily to him regarding their division's Padawan.
Rue looked as if she'd just start crying again, her swollen lip quivering as she bit back her tears, expelling a sigh with a sharp hiss as her shoulders dropped. "You shouldn't feel guilty," she mumbled, giving her Captain's hand an equally reassuring squeeze.
"Hmph, and you shouldn't worry about your arm," Rust countered with a gentle hum, letting Rue idly stroke her thumb over one of his knuckles as he offered the Padawan a small smile. "You'll be right as rain here soon, kiddo. It's just going to take some getting used to," the officer mused, giving Rue's hand a slight shake, "not a lot of Jedi get a wizard prosthetic -- only the coolest ones do, I hear."
Rue snorted at the notion, unable to help her own amusement toward Rust's foolish little statement, "Rust, that's so stupid -- "
"It is not!" Rust guffawed at Rue's reaction, "Wait and see, you'll have a wicked-cool endo-cybernetic hand -- we can even get you a skin for it, maybe even design it, like that time when we all drew on Slips' cast," Rust offered with an amused snicker that shook his shoulders as Rue giggled past her remaining tears, now cool and damp on her cheeks.
"Thank you, Rust..."
"What for?"
"Nothing, nothing... can I ask you one more thing?"
Rust chuffed, nodding along as Rue's bloodshot gaze settled on him again, "Anything for you, kiddo, s'like I said."
Rue pursed her lips for a moment, glancing between Rust and a random spot past his head as her mind occupied itself with another notion, -- she often looked elsewhere while thoughtful -- finding Rust's eyes with that same wariness from before; "May you... Could you stay with me in the Med-bay, tonight? If it's alright with you and Mage, of course..."
The hundred-ninetieth's Captain was already nodding his head, a genuine smile crossing his features as he gave Rue's hand another firm squeeze, "Of course I can, ad'ika, Rye can finish our reports, he owes me for that last time -- "
Which he wasn't about to speak on, for his brother's sake.
" -- As for Mage, I don't see why he'd mind, s'long as I'm out of the man's way."
Rue mirrored his smile with one of her own, and it nearly slapped him back in time, onto that fresh-laid tarmac, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his brothers at attention in vow to their Jedi. He would stand by that vow until his breath vacated his lungs, and he joined his brothers in the stars, and no sooner than Del-Rue Sata.
For that, he swore it on his life.
Footnotes : Thank you if you've made it this far !! If you enjoyed this, shoot an OC prompt into my inbox !! Comments and reblogs are favored ♡♡
A/N: Request for my lovely friend @mrs2224 ! Hope they enjoy! X
You break your gaze from across the room to look at the person standing in front of you. A clone stands there, armour white and fresh and new. A shiny. Complete with the standard regulation haircut and the arrogance of a clone fresh out of the tube and having just landed on Coruscant.
“I have one, thanks though.” You raise the thin glass holding your cocktail as you lean against the bar.
“Looking pretty empty though. Let me order you another.”
You press your lips into a fine line and you try not to roll your eyes as the Shiny rests his elbow on the bar, smirking down at you. You turn away to face the bartender and hold up two fingers. The droid nods and moves away to prepare making the order. You had only planned on waiting for one more drink but this annoying encounter was proving you were going to need a few drinks in your system tonight.
“I am capable of doing that myself.” You state simply, downing the remaining dregs of your cocktail and putting the glass down.
Once the glass hits the counter, the Shiny takes your hand, thumb rubbing the top of it as he holds it in his grasp and you bristle. You glance up at him, irritation obvious with how you grimace.
“C’mon, there’s no need to be like that. Haven’t you ever wanted to be with one of the troopers that are protecting the Republic?” He drawled out, fully laying it on thick and you can only glare at him, patient now having worn thin.
“You’ve barely just left Kamino, tubie.” You sigh and rip your hand away when his grip loosens, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion with how you know that terminology.
“How do you-?” He begins to ask and your drinks arrive and are placed on the counter.
One is a repeat of the cocktail you had just finished and the other was a short glass of Corellian whiskey served neat. The Shiny’s face crumples up more in confusion at the different drink orders and you roll your eyes then.
“Look over there.” You nod your head into the direction you had been originally staring at.
The Shiny turns to look at a booth in the corner of the bar, in the low lighting but you watch as his eyes widen slightly. His face pales as he takes in the armour the colour of a sun, his bucket resting on the table so you can see the dark eyes staring at you and the Shiny; brows furrowed, long scar on his temple creasing slightly with his dark but still composed expression. He drums his fingers on the table as he watches. You smile at him before turning back to the Shiny, face full of annoyance yet again.
“Even though my boyfriend is the Marshal Commander of the 212th and I know you’re terrified of what he’s going to do.” You start off with, paying the droid and picking up the drinks. “But do know that I am quite easily capable of taking care of myself. He’s made sure I know how to do that.”
The Shiny stutters, trying to find his words to try and explain himself, apologise to you, apologise to the Commander focusing in on this interaction, to the droid behind the bar. You smile sweetly at him, forcing the expression.
“But remember this, if someone says no, respect it.”
You state simply before turning and walking away from the bar and back to the booth, the music drowning out the stuttering Shiny’s words. Commander Cody’s eyes follow you the whole way and as you get closer you notice the dark look in them, the brewing storm that's there even though he keeps his expression neutral. But you know he wasn't impressed with that Shiny’s brazen manner as his fingers continue to drum against the table in a slow methodical fashion.
You slide into the booth and his arm immediately comes around your waist, pulling you close to him. You let out a low startled squeak at how you're pulled around the curved leather of the booth so you're snug against his side.
“You took longer than I thought to get those drinks.” His voice is low as he murmurs into your ear.
You sigh, a smile playing on your lips and you cuddle closer into his side.
“Sorry, there was a poor little Shiny that seemed to have lost his way.” Your murmur, crossing your leg over the other as you get comfy in the booth with him. Your dress rides up your thighs slightly.
He hums softly at that answer, turning forward again and picking up his glass of Corellian whiskey with his left hand and his right moves to rest on your thigh.
“That’s a pity. Did my girl help him?” He muses softly, sipping his whiskey, this thumb rubbing slow and soft against your exposed flesh.
“I told him to get lost pretty much.” You smile to yourself, thighs clenching slightly with how he grips you. “And to learn some manners.”
He chuckles softly. “That’s my girl.”
Your face flushes red at the praise but then your blush blooms as he moves his hand in between your thighs, forcing them to uncross.
“He was terrified when he spotted you.” You whisper to him, voice low and breathy. “The great Commander Cody.”
His grip on your thigh tightens as you watch him smirk, raising an eyebrow. You feel a rush of heat flow through your abdomen.
“He had every right to be scared.” He moves his hand to force your thighs to spread now and your breath falters. “I’ll look for his CT number and Commanding Officer tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?” You ask but you already know the answer.
You saw the answer in his eyes as you were walking over. You saw the answer with how his fingers move between your thighs and now brush against your panties. Your breath hitches, trying to act normal but you can already feel yourself starting to get wet down there. There would be no time for paperwork and searching through security footage tonight.
“Take these off for me?” He asks so politely, voice so calm and collected as the pads of his fingers brush against the lacy material. “These are your nice new ones, no sense in ruining them tonight is there?”
“No.” You breathe out and the sudden pressure has a whimper escaping your lips. “No, Sir.”
“Good girl.” Oh, thank the stars you were already sitting down. This was the Cody you were entertaining tonight it seems.
You’re nodding, wriggling in your seat as he moves his hand away. You move a hand under your dress to grab the waistband of the black lacy panties and slide them down your smooth bare legs and hook them off over your heels. Cody takes the small piece of fabric and immediately pockets them into a small compartment on his plastoid armour. You shoot him an incredulous look and he simply shrugs.
“For safekeeping.” He replies as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
You go to reply but quickly silence yourself to prevent noise from leaving you as you feel a finger trace between your folds.
“Wet already, hm?” He chuckles low and all you can do is sit there still as he runs his fingers over your wet cunt. “Did you miss me that much?”
“Always.” You whisper, trying to control your heavy breathing at this moment.
Stars, he was doing this right in the middle of the bar. But it wasn’t... Not really. No one would know what was happening unless they focused in on the booth you were both in. The lighting was low and the patrons were either too busy drinking or dancing.
“Don’t want that little Shiny to help you?” He coos, breath hitting your ear and you can't help but let out a tiny whine.
“No! Don’t want him.” You turn to look at him, he’s so close your noses are almost touching. “Want you, Sir.”
His eyes glance down to your lips for a split second before he’s kissing you. His presence is strong and powerful and he kisses you long and sweet and you melt into his embrace. As you lower your guard at this moment, is when his fingers press against your clit, rubbing it slowly.
You gasp out a moan, he silences it as kisses deep, his tongue swiping against yours.
“Now, now.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, moving to your jaw. “Can’t have you making those pretty sounds for everyone to hear.”
He kisses along your jaw and you breath heavily as you try to stay quiet. “We can't have everyone know how desperate you are for me.”
He gathers the wetness from between your folds and drags it up to your clit, his fingers rubbing in slow agonising circles. You can’t help but whine quietly, squirming from where you sit in the leather booth. Your eyes dart around the bar, on edge that you’re being watched. No one pays attention but it’s then you see the Shiny from earlier walking past and he casts a glance over, still looking embarrassed.
As he glances over at you, a finger sinks inside of your wet heat and you gasp, a moan escaping you. Cody continues to kiss along your jaw but you’re aware of how he tilts his head, he’s looking at the Shiny as well. The flustered clone’s eyes widen and he watches for one second, two, and then he's quickly turning and moving through the crowd in a clumsy manner to escape this encounter.
You feel Cody chuckle and you let out a shy giggle. That poor Shiny… Commander Cody wasn’t one to share or take lightly to someone trying to go after his girl. You bite your lip, eyes rolling back and closing as he sinks another finger into your wet cunt. You're becoming even more aware of the slick noises coming from under the table as two of his thick fingers pump in and out of you.
While you’re clenching around his fingers as he pushes them in and out, he sits back and picks up his glass of whiskey, sipping it with a hum of satisfaction. Your face is flushed as you glance at him with wide eyes, hips rocking to meet with his thrusts.
“You look so gorgeous like this, you know?” He comments easily, his eyes glancing back over to you and taking in your desperate movements, your flushed face and with how your dress has ridden up he can just see how his fingers disappear inside you. “My good girl…”
“Yes Sir.” You respond instantly, head feeling hazy and in that moment you don't care where you are, you just need him. You need Cody. You need- “I’m close.. ‘m so close…”
As you breathe these words out, a shudder leaves you as he curls his fingers just right, and oh, it feels so right. A glint in his eyes and an amused smile and you know you’re done for.
“Please… Please, let me cum.” You whisper, your hand now clinging onto his forearm covered in plastoid armour still.
He doesn’t say anything but he sips his whiskey and simply speeds up his movements. He sits there effortlessly, looking as if he is relaxing and enjoying his drink. No one else aware of how he is making you fall apart into a drenched mess as he fucks you deep with his fingers under the table.
You’re quietly gasping, trying to stay quiet, trying to stay good, not wanting to bring attention to your booth. Everything was too much, you thought as you felt your stomach tighten, the knot there too much. You were hot and dizzy and coiled up and everything felt too much, too tight as you clamp around his fingers.
You open your mouth to beg again when he shoves his fingers in deep for a final time, curling his digits in you just how you like and, stars above, his thumb pushes on your clit. Everything snaps and the whimper that leaves your parted lips is louder than you would've liked but he caught you off guard in that moment and he knew it.
He watches you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide as you fall apart and soak his fingers. You clench around them as your body ripples with the orgasm that is pulled from you suddenly. Your eyes close and you slump back against the booth as he gently rocks his fingers, helping you work through it. You feel his fingers leave your sex and you open your eyes to find them in front of your lips and you shyly take two of his fingers into your mouth, licking your juices off and cleaning him up.
“My good girl.” He murmurs, voice hoarse. “My good fucking girl…”
You let go of his fingers and your chest still moves heavy as you try and regain some composure, aware of the wet mess between your thighs. He downs the rest of his drink and cups your cheek and pulls you close to kiss you deeply.
You can taste the spicy, warm whiskey on his tongue. The slight tang of your cum. You taste him. You lose yourself in him at that moment.
“Cody…” You whisper softly, opening your eyes gently and see him.
“You did so good for me.” He presses another kiss to your lips and looks over you. “Are you doing okay? How are you feeling?”
You smile up at him, feeling loose and happy and gooey as you lean into his hand that still rests on your cheek. His thumb slowly strokes your cheekbone and you nod slowly before you can find your words.
“Good… That was so good. Didn’t expect it but it was so good.” You grin up at him, cheeks heating up slightly again as his lips quirk up.
“Yeah? Well…” His hand moves slightly down your cheek and his thumb drags across your bottom lip. “Does my good girl want more?”
You nod embarrassingly fast. You had already cum hard in this booth once but stars was he addictive. You couldn't get enough of him. There were so many out there with his likeness, like that Shiny from before but there was no one who brought you to life like he did. Your Cody.
He smiles at your adorable reactions and he lets go of your face to your dismay. He picks up the thin glass with your cocktail, still sitting untouched and he passes it to you.
“Now, you’re going to take a moment. You’re going to drink this cocktail and once you’re done…” He nods his head towards the fresher in the corner of the bar. “Come find me.”
“Yes Sir.” You can’t help but grin up at him as he rises out of his seat.
“That’s my girl.”
He flashes you a smile one final time before leaving his bucket on the table for you to bring with you before walking through the patrons at the bar. Most move instinctively out of the way for the Marshal Commander. The man adorned in the colour of the sun and carrying so much grace and power on his shoulders.
All you can do is stare at his departing figure before you remember the drink in your hand and you quickly take long sips. The certain cocktail you had was one that was meant to be savoured and ingested slowly. The speed at which you drank it was not preferred but…
in the dreaming comes the warmth / the domino twins
characters: echo & fives (NOT CLONEC*ST)
description: the ache of missing fives leaves a hole in echo's chest that only his brother's warmth can fill.
warnings: angst. loss. grief. mourning.
echo is still grieving despite being part of clone force 99. it's not mentioned, but i imagine this particular moment of pain is triggered by crosshair's chip activation and leaving him behind on kamino.
this was a request from a lovely twitter mutual who wanted a hug between echo and fives <3 i haven't written for echo before so i hope i did him justice.
also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated <3
Echo knew he was dreaming when he recognised the bright white hallways of Tipoca City, which in the waking world sat submerged in the Kaminoan oceans to fade into rust forever. The hallways were as familiar to him as the curves of his face, memorised and so burned into his memory it was no real shock that he could navigate them as he did now in his sleep.
Echo walked through the corridors, passing what he knew were squads of his fellow troopers with faces identical to his, except his dreaming made them blurry, not fully formed. He passed the gangly Kaminoan’s, their large eyes prominent in the haze of their figures, which seemed to blend with the clinical white of the walls. He didn’t exactly know where he was walking until his feet took him to the junior cadet barracks, the ones he and his brothers shared in their brief childhood.
It was surreal seeing it now, as he walked in, the shapes of the beds and the curves of the walls more defined than the hallways, more distinct in his mind. He took it all in, breathing in the scentless air. The last time he was here, he didn’t even have his name yet – none of them did.
The beds were so much smaller than he remembered. He smiled and sat down on one. He ran a hand he shouldn’t have over the cloth blanket, its fibers feeling as familiar as his own skin. An ache formed in his chest for all he had lost.
The door whooshed open, and his head shot in the direction of the noise. It was then he saw himself run in and climb onto the nearest bed, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in his arms.
Echo blinked in surprise.
His child self was curled into a ball, as tight as he could manage, and Echo could only see the curly dark hair of his head. He remembered he used to do that when he got overwhelmed, but he couldn’t remember when he stopped. He watched his child self grip onto the sleeves of his standard issue cadet uniform tightly, the knuckles on his little hands white.
His child self didn’t see him and made no moves to show that he knew Echo was there at all. It was strange to see himself like this. To see a snapshot of the person he was for a short amount of time.
Echo slowly stood up, the urge to know what it was that made his child self cry when the door opened again, and his breath got caught in his throat and his eyes stung when he saw who it was that stepped in the door.
This was not just a dream, but a memory.
Fives’s tiny face was the same as his had been, except his brother’s seemed to be perpetually twisted into a smirk, and if it wasn’t, it itched at the corners of his mouth, ready to bloom at a moment’s notice. But his face now held no impishness, instead, his small brows were furrowed as his gaze landed on his brother’s curled-up body on the bed.
“Hey, 21-0408, why the long face?”
Echo had to sit down and cover his mouth with a hand to stop the sob that dared to escape his throat. His brother’s voice, albeit that of his child self, felt so incredibly comforting. He thought he’d never hear it again, even if it was that little boy’s voice that all clones had as young cadets. To Echo, it just sounded like him; like Fives; like it did in his fuzzy memories.
His childhood had been a fleeting blur of training programs and accelerated growth, so he didn’t remember much of it. But he didn’t forget moments like this, where his brother’s love had engulfed him.
Echo watched his child self slowly peek his eyes out from his arms at his older brother.
“Go away,” Little Echo mumbled.
“Come on, 21-0408,” Little Fives said and climbed up onto the bed next to him, trying to pry open his arms. “What’s wrong?”
Little Echo ripped his arm away and wiped his tear-stained face and nose with his sleeve. Echo grimaced as he saw the dark line that now appeared on the red fabric. He forgot kids could be gross sometimes, even himself.
“I said, go away, 27-5555,” Little Echo grumbled. “I want to be alone.”
Little Echo had no idea just how much time he would spend alone.
“Why?” Of course, Fives never let up about anything, even as a child.
Little Echo scowled at his shoes on the bed. “I…I keep messing up…”
“This module is hard, vod’ika,” Little Fives placed a hand on Little Echo’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Fives was barely older than Echo, but his older brother never let him forget it. With the Mando’a nickname ‘little brother’ sticking to Echo for practically as long as he’d known Fives. He pretended to hate it, and he’d give anything to hear it again. So, hearing it now, Echo’s heart seized. He wanted to grab his younger self by the shoulders and tell him to treasure the nickname; to never roll his eyes and pretend to hate it; to call Fives ori’vod in return because he knew he’d get a kick out of it.
“But everyone’s good at this module except me…” Little Echo voiced quietly, not entirely convinced.
Echo tried to wrack his brain for what module his younger self was talking about, but his dreaming made it too hazy to pinpoint; like if his subconscious ventured too far away from the scene in front of him it would fizzle away, and his dream would move onto something else. And he wanted to stay in this for as long as he could.
“You’ll get it eventually; it just takes practice,” Little Fives reassured.
“I’m going to fail…and never be a soldier…” his younger self sniffled. Echo saw his eyes gloss over again with unshed tears.
“Don’t talk like that,” Little Fives chastised, punching him lightly in the shoulder, a furious look on his face. “You’ll be fine. I’ll help you.”
Little Echo’s face lit up with hope. “You will?”
Little Fives nodded. “That’s what brothers do. We look out for each other; have each other’s backs.”
Echo watched his younger self sniffle as he looked at his older brother, who gave him a reassuring smile.
“Promise?” he said.
“Promise,” Little Fives said with so much conviction, that it made Echo’s heart squeeze again. He was always so sure of everything, never faltering – not even for a second. Once Fives believed in something, he didn’t waver. Ever.
Little Echo smiled, and wrapped his arms around his brother, who hugged him tightly. Echo watched them embrace, anchoring themselves to each other. He didn’t realise he was crying until he felt a tear fall on his hands in his lap. He reached up to wipe them away, scoffing lightly at himself.
“Hey, Echo, why the long face?”
Echo’s heart seemed to expand and stop as he turned around, seeing Fives standing there behind him several metres away. He turned back to where their younger selves sat on the bed and saw they had vanished, that the room had melted away into a long bright endless plane.
“Fives?” Echo wiped his face again and he saw Fives grin at him, before walking over. Echo blinked around the tears to take the sight of him. His figure was much clearer than anything else he’d seen so far in his dreams. Fives was adorned in his ARC trooper armour; helmet tucked under his arm with a proud smile stretched across his face. He willed his subconscious to stay in this moment, that it would be cruel to rip him from it with no warning. He needed time with him.
“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Fives joked when he came closer, his mouth quirked in that smirk that was so incredibly familiar seeing it felt like coming home.
Echo laughed tearfully. “Your ugly face is just so scary, I can’t help but cry.”
Fives threw his head back in a loud guffaw before punching Echo lightly on the arm. “It’s good to see you, vod’ika.”
Echo’s heart filled with so much warmth at the affection. “Good to see you too, Fives.”
Fives smiled at him before Echo asked, “What are you doing here?”
Fives didn’t respond, he just looked at Echo thoughtfully. Echo cleared his throat and shook his head. “When they found me on Skako Minor and you weren’t with them…”
He felt Fives’s heavy hand land on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I know. But I’m here now.”
Echo felt his lip tremble and he willed himself to take a breath. “I missed so much time with you.”
Fives shook his head. “Don’t think about that.”
“How can I not? I missed everything. I missed…”
“I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that anyway.”
He didn’t need to say the words for Echo to know what he was referring to.
“I…I would’ve believed you.”
“Then you would be dead too.”
Clones were conditioned not to linger on the losses of their fellow brothers. It was the nature of what they were bred for. Born knowing they would die. They were taught to take a moment to mourn, then to keep going. There was no time to let the grief linger in war.
But this was much harder than Echo had been conditioned to think.
Echo’s grief for losing Fives was too complicated for that. Echo lost Fives after the fact. He was mourning him outside of the mourning period, outside of the war. And it was something he didn’t know how to handle. The grief could sit for longer, dawdle almost now that there wasn’t another mission to focus on instead. And it was painful. A never-ending agony that oscillated between a dull ache to suffocating sharpness in the hole of his chest.
Fives had been a constant in his life, from cadets to losing their squad on Rishi Moon, to joining Rex in the 501st, all the way until the fateful night of the Citadel rescue. Fives had been there for all of it. Even thereafter, in the brief lucid moments in cryostasis on Skako, his thoughts would drift to his ori’vod. So, to be released into that mourning, to realise he was free, but without his beloved brother by his side was lonelier than stasis had been.
And hearing how exactly Fives met his end had not made it any easier. It was the unfairest of deaths, and that knowledge almost hurt more. That he wasn’t there. How if he had been, it may have gone differently.
There were so many moments where Echo would think of something he wanted to tell Fives, only to realise a moment later that he couldn’t. It was a cycle of remembering he was gone. Those milliseconds of bliss, before he remembered, were bookended by the searing hurt. And there was no one to share that hurt with.
Rex was elusive in his hiding and had gone through his mourning period. And though Clone Force 99 had provided him with a home, a comradery, that he was grateful for, they had not lost anyone the way Echo had lost Fives. They didn’t fully understand.
Echo just wanted the one person who understood him, who knew him inside and out.
In other, much less complicated words, Echo missed Fives so, so much.
And at those lowest moments when he missed him; when the aching felt never-ending and moving forward felt futile, Echo imagined what it would’ve been like had they both found their ends together. How much easier it would’ve been on his heart, to know that his brother was with him even in death. That if there was an afterlife, it would be spent together. That their hearts had stopped at the same time, one not forced to go on without the other helping keep it in rhythm.
The galaxy had not been so kind to grant him that.
“I…I know,” Echo replied quietly, his throat thick.
He watched Fives’ face study him for a moment before his brow settled into a crease, and his hand tightened on Echo’s shoulder. “Echo…don’t be sad.”
Echo looked at him with disbelief. He could see all the texture in his face and feel the puff of breath against his nose. It was as if he wasn’t dreaming at all. “How…how can I not be sad? You’re not here.”
“No, but you are. You have a second chance, Echo. A second chance to live.”
Echo shook his head. “You should be here too.”
“Maybe. But my path was different to yours. You finally get a chance to choose what you do with your life. Nobody else; you, vod’ika. That freedom I was fighting for? You have it now. You have for both of us. Do something good with it. Something we’d both be proud of.”
Echo looked at his brother searching his face for something he couldn’t name. Maybe he wasn’t searching at all, but memorising. Memorising the look Fives was giving him now; the pride, the unwavering belief he had in him. He hadn’t seen it in such a long time. No one had expected anything of him in just as long.
“Promise me you will, Echo.”
He didn’t even need to think about it. “I promise.”
Echo could feel the waking world calling him, so before Fives faded away, he wrapped his arms around his brother. Fives dropped his helmet and didn’t hesitate to embrace Echo back. Arms tightly holding each other, hearts pressed together and beating in time. Echo could feel Fives’s solid chest and his warmth as if he were awake. Everything felt right in the brief, brief moment. That anchor had returned. That pain in his heart had dulled in his dreaming and been replaced with the warmth of his brother he’d been wishing for. He gripped the edges of his brother’s armour, afraid to let go, to leave this moment. But knew he had to. He’d made a promise.
“I love you, Fives,” he choked out.
He felt Fives’s palm run over his hair as he spoke against his ear. “I know. I love you too. Remember, I’m looking out for you.”
Echo jolted awake. His chest heaved as he tried to remember where he was, and his body ached like it just run a marathon. Across the small corridor, Wrecker slept, soft snores sounding. The nightlight in Omega’s space glowed softly through the curtains, and Hunter had fallen asleep on the floor, his back leaning on the wall next to the ladder, no doubt guarding their sister’s bad dreams. He could hear Tech tinkering away in the cockpit, on watch as they flew through hyperspace. Where was Crosshair?
Oh. Right.
Echo ran a hand over his face and turned towards the wall, his eyes stinging with tears. He curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his middle, ignoring the bulk of his scomp. He tried to preserve the warmth he felt from his dreams which threatened to evaporate in the chill of hyperspace. He pressed his eyes shut, willing himself to go back into that dream, to return to Fives and get one last look at him, but it was no use. He was here. And Fives was there, or somewhere.
It could’ve been a few minutes or an hour when he heard a voice. “Echo?”
He turned to see Tech looking down at him in his bunk, adjusting his goggles. “What is it, Tech?”
“I’m afraid it’s your turn on watch.”
“Great. Thanks,” Echo grumbled.
He tried to inconspicuously wipe his eyes as he swung his metal legs out of the bunk and stood up, stretching his neck. He watched Tech remove his goggles and rub his eyes and sat down on the edge of Echo’s bunk. They had limited space, and Echo didn’t mind sharing.
“Sweet dreams,” Echo told him as Tech lay down, falling asleep almost immediately, as he tended to do.
Echo walked to the cockpit and shut the door so the light from their travels wouldn’t disturb the others. He sat in the pilot’s seat and sighed, putting his head in his hand, no hair on his head to clasp as he tried to recentre himself. He took in some steady breaths, focusing on a screw in the floor panelling. He did everything he could to quell the turning of his stomach and the throbbing in his chest. Just as quickly as it had filled in his dream, the waking world had returned that giant hole in his chest, seemingly aware that something had filled it again briefly, and now it felt the absence more.
When would this feeling of emptiness end?
The Marauder shifted in its hyperspace travels, tilting off course slightly, triggering some alarms. Echo immediately sprang into action, and his hand and scomp grabbed the controls to steady the ship. With a frown, he checked the stabilisers and saw they needed recalibrating. Didn’t Tech just deal with this after they’d left Ordo Moon mere hours ago? He tried and failed not to get annoyed – he just needed to fix this, and quickly so they didn’t veer off course and fall into a star. He sighed, knowing they’d have to come out of hyperspace for these repairs. Maybe the ship had been more damaged than he thought.
Echo slowly pulled back the hyperdrive lever and the ship came to a halt in open space. He hoped no one woke up with the disturbance and that this wouldn’t take long. They didn’t have time to waste. He placed the Marauder in idle whilst he scomped in and started recalibrating. It was a lot easier now that Tech had upgraded his cerebral interface, so there was less strain on him. He was able to scomp in and load up the commands without much effort. As the commands processed through the system, he watched the stabilisers respond and recalibrate in his mind’s eye.
It was then he felt a shiver run up his spine.
A monitor beeped, interrupting his realignment, and Echo looked at a screen searching for the alert among the pop-ups when he noticed the time.
05:55. Echo’s breath hitched.
He heard the door behind him slide open but didn’t look away from the monitor. He couldn’t.
“Everything okay in here? I felt something,” Hunter’s voice thick with sleep asked.
Echo kept his gaze on the numerals, and he allowed himself to smile, that warmth he’d been longing for slowly filling the hole in his chest.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
REMEMBER THE FALLEN
Summary:
After a harrowing battle, Captain Mark and the other clone leaders of Chimera Company celebrate and mourn their fallen brothers.
Originally written for the unpublished fanzine, We Were Here - @cloneoczine celebrating Clone Trooper OCs
Word Count: 4,229
Mark stood on the landing platform for several minutes after the Jedi speeder disappeared into the distant Coruscanti traffic.
The airspace around the clone trooper barracks was quiet. With civilian traffic restricted and the next closest clone regiment a good distance away, the noise and light pollution was severely diluted, leaving Mark feeling strangely isolated.
His arms hung heavy at his sides, as they’d been when Commander Tiatkin had hugged him tightly. He hadn’t embraced her back; not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t find the energy to raise his arms. It felt nice, though.
The Jedi had cried. Two years ago, Mark would have been appalled at the very idea of the all-powerful Jedi showing such emotion. But he understood now that Jedi were only mortal, and General Teyla Marin and Commander Gida Tiatkin were held very dearly by the clones of Chimera Company. It meant more to Mark than he could say that the two women had spent the entire day in the barracks, mourning with the troopers.
Their last battle had devolved into a nightmare.
Mark felt no ill-will towards the Jedi; they had done everything they could to counter the Separatist army, but Chimera Company had been outnumbered and outmaneuvered. The mission had been straightforward: Chimera Company was sent to wipe out a Separatist outpost on the jungle world of Akiva, and bring the planet under Republic protection.
He passed a hand over his face, scratching at his beard. The intel had been wrong. So very, very wrong.
They’d gone in prepared to assault a base. What they found instead was a battle droid factory, deep in the catacombs beneath the planet’s surface, churning out droid after droid after droid. It wasn’t the first time their intel had been bad, but never this bad.
The entirety of Tazer Squad sacrificed themselves to sabotage the factory. Though Mark hadn’t been able to get confirmation, and wanted to believe that they’d survived, the fact remained that he had last seen them swarmed by droids, falling beneath skeletons of steel. And somehow… he just knew they were gone.
General Marin said it was his Force-sensitivity. She’d carefully broached the subject a few months ago, and she and Commander Tiatkin had been… not necessarily training him, but teaching him about this bizarre connection he had. He hadn’t believed them at first; only Jedi could use the Force. But once he stopped resisting the idea, and opened himself to the possibility…
While he was still uneasy about the whole thing, Mark was learning that he could use the Force. He felt the ebb and flow of energy when the Jedi meditated with him, and could move small objects across the table. It came through most clearly during combat, when he wasn’t trying to use it at all. He noticed it first in the uncanny accuracy of his shooting, then in his reaction time. And it finally explained the connection he felt with the other clones, on a level he couldn’t describe. He could sense their feelings, could tell when they were lying, could know their intentions. Mark had always known those things, but now he understood why.
And it was that why that forced him to face that every member of Tazer Squad was dead. He just knew.
He said their names out loud. The dark night of Coruscant might not care, but he did.
General Marin called for the evacuation, but Separatist ships had lurked unseen in the shadow of nearby world Malrev IV and delayed the assistance of the Zenith of the Republic, leaving Chimera Company stranded planet-side with droids pouring from the catacombs, surrounding the Republic forces in a valley.
It was only thanks to a Republic-aligned local militia that Chimera Company wasn’t completely wiped out. Ground forces came in from behind the droids and cut a path for Mark and the others to escape through, and provided cover while they fought to get to an elevation that the transport ships could access. Meanwhile, the militia sent their limited fighters and gunships to aid the Zenith in keeping the Separatist ships at bay.
Nearly everyone was injured. Blaster burns, broken bones, cuts, concussions, contusions. Mark himself suffered a blaster bolt to his chest, reaggravating an old wound. Commander Tiatkin got caught at the edge of an explosion and had been flung across the valley, landing unconscious. General Marin collapsed from exhaustion as soon as the Zenith jumped to hyperspace.
A week later, most of the clones had recovered, though a handful remained in critical care. Marin and Taitkin arrived at the barracks as soon as they were released from the Jedi Temple’s med center. And together, they all mourned. And laughed, which Mark hadn’t been expecting. But the Jedi had begun reminiscing about those who had been lost, and before long there was laughter and smiles. Sorrow still tinged it all, but it was easier to bear.
Mark drew a deep breath, trying to center himself. To feel himself here and now, boots on the landing pad, rooted to the world, to the galaxy. Constant and present like the cities of Kamino, stalwart and unyielding to the tempests around it. That had been an argument between General Marin and Mark, in the beginning of his not-training. She had described her mediations as floating in a void, tethers to all other beings keeping her in place. But Mark didn’t feel that. He couldn’t let himself feel weightless, drifting; he needed to be grounded, sure of himself before he reached out to others.
It was several minutes before Mark finally made his way back indoors. He lost track of how many times he clasped a trooper’s shoulder or hand, how many more he nodded to.
By the time he got to the officer’s quarters, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bunk. But as the door slid open, he realized that wasn’t going to be the case.
The four lieutenants of Chimera Company were gathered in the center of the room, having hauled over chairs around a supply crate; a jug full of liquid sat on the crate, surrounded by five cups. Mark made his way to the empty chair, shucking his armor as he went. He let the purple-painted armor clatter to the ground, for once not caring about packing it away properly.
He accepted a cup proffered by Bookie before collapsing into the chair. “Hal, how’s your leg?”
Hal – fresh out of the med bay– grunted and extended his right leg gingerly out in front of him. “Stiff, but the bone’s mended. I can walk on it.” He waved a hand. “And Cleese’s got his hearing back.”
“What?” Cleese asked loudly, the scar across the bridge of his nose crinkling as he failed to keep from smirking.
Tech rolled his eyes and shoved Cleese’s shoulder. “What about you, Captain?”
“Stings a bit,” Mark admitted, a hand going absently to his chest, “but that’s the last time you’ll hear me say it.” The faintly caustic smell emanating from the purple liquid in his cup signified Christophsis tals – potent, crystal-cured alcohol. There had been toasts and honorifics all day, but one more could do no harm. He raised his glass. “To those who rest, and those who live. Vode An – brothers all.”
“Brothers all,” the other for echoed. They drank deeply; Mark’s eyes watered.
After a while of listening to the shuffle of footsteps out in the hall and the hum of power through the barracks, Bookie leaned forward, a loc of purple-dyed hair falling into his apprehensive eyes. “Captain? When are we due back to the front?”
Mark drained his cup and refilled it, keeping his eyes fixed on the sloshing liquid. His tongue tingled from it, but it would be another cup or two before he really started to feel its effects. It had been a while since he’d been properly drunk.
“Mark?”
“The Republic wants us mission-ready in two days.”
Cleese uttered a low curse, but Tech talked over him. “And the Jedi?”
“Marin said the Jedi Council agreed to not assign anything for seven days. She’s going to push for longer, but I think that’s all we’re going to get.”
A muscle jumped in Hal’s neck, right under the black ink of the Republic tattoo there. “A week is fine. Any longer, we’d all go stir-crazy. Don’t know about the rest of you, but I need action – I can’t just hang out at Seventy-Nine’s indefinitely.”
“How –” Bookie faltered, then pressed on. “How long did it take you to move on before? With… with your original company?”
Hal turned a baleful look on him. “It’s not a matter of ‘moving on’. It’s about not being stuck.” He drummed his fingers on the crate. “I was in the med bay for a week after the attack. Shattered my collar bone and a few ribs. It was all volunteer medics – no clones – and they wouldn’t tell me anything. That should’ve been my first clue something was wrong. They dunked me in some bacta, then kept me cooped up til I thought I was gonna short-circuit. By the time they let me out, I was ready to kill something.”
He paused, his focus drifting. “Went to join up with the boys – but found out I was reassigned cuz everyone else was dead. I was on the field the next day. It helped, being able to focus on the missions. But if I’d just… if I’d waited just a moment during the attack, I might’ve been able to grab a few others.”
Cleese frowned. “What d’you mean?”
“The clankers hit our outpost with an orbital bombardment. I only survived because I was able to make it to a reinforced bunker. There were three clones right behind me when we started running. But when I reached the bunker and turned around to pull them in, they were two dozen feet behind me. And a blast came down right on top of them. I couldn’t have outrun them that quick; maybe they got tripped up by something. But if I’d slowed up, realized I got ahead of them – ” he broke off and glowered at his cup.
The guilt rolled off Hal in waves. It was a pain shared by all the clones of Chimera Company; they were all survivors from other companies and squads that no longer existed.
“This is a day for remembering our brothers.” Mark raised his glass. “To Zeta Company.”
Hal’s harsh expression faltered and he ducked his head to hide his tears as the others repeated the salute.
Bookie spoke up; Mark felt his embarrassment at having prodded Hal. “We were fractured at Ryloth. We weren’t expecting the Separatist interest in the planet, and they hit us with more forces than we ever expected. It was a slaughter. Two of our squads survived the initial battle, and we hid in the canyons while we waited for reinforcements. But the droids chased us down.” Bookie averted his gaze, unable to make eye contact. “I was able to duck down quick enough after taking potshots – I dodged the bolts that came my way. But most of the others couldn’t. Only six of us walked away. They reassigned us to another force on Ryloth three days later. I think I would have liked to have some more time to process everything; I feel like I had to move on too fast.” He took a swig of the tal. “The Fifty-Eighth Battalion.”
They toasted; Mark took a smaller sip, a pleasantly warm buzz already at the edges of this consciousness. He had wondered when they’d have this conversation. Chimera Company had been formed almost two and a half years ago, and though they had all strengthened their bonds over that time, they’d never discussed where they’d come from, what they had experienced. Mark knew the stories of the rest of the company, but he’d hadn’t pressed the lieutenants; the weight of living while those under your command had died was a harder burden to bear.
After a stretch of silence, Tech turned his head away. “We didn’t even fall to the Separatists.” The bitterness in his voice made Mark’s gut twist. “There was a distress beacon out in the middle of nowhere. The General and the Captain argued about it, but the Jedi finally ordered the ship to go and offer assistance.”
“And there was nothing there?” Hal asked.
“Oh, there was. A civilian cruise ship, dead in the void. We boarded to search for survivors. Once we were all split up, the pirates made their move. They’d been lying in wait onboard, and picked us off as we went through the halls, and their ships dropped out of hyperspace and took out our capital ship.”
“How’d you get out?” Bookie asked, refilling Tech’s cup.
“A small group of us were in the lower levels of the ship. I could tell when they were nearby – I think I could hear them, or whatever – so we were able to sneak around them, for the most part. We managed to steal one of their smaller ships and get away. No one else survived.” He tapped his cup thoughtfully. “I was reassigned the next day, after we were debriefed. Didn’t really have time to process what happened. I just tried to fit in with the new group.”
“To the Two-Oh-Third,” Mark intoned.
After they drank, they looked to Cleese.
He scowled. “What?”
“What about you?”
Cleese’s lip curled. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Mark set his cup down. “You’ll need to eventually,” he murmured softly.
Cleese’s head snapped toward him. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’ve been carrying around the weight of it since you lost your company. I don’t think you’ve ever let yourself mourn.”
“There’s always more brothers to mourn,” Cleese snarled. “More dead, every day – it’s a miracle that Chimera Company hasn’t suffered major losses like this before. There’s always dead brothers that need remembering, but there’s no time for it – we have to keep moving, we have to keep marching on, to win this war, so they didn’t die for nothing.”
For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the barracks’ generators. “I read the official report,” Mark said carefully. “That Haval Company responded to a distress call at Garentti’s Keep and gave the civilians enough time to evacuate the city and escape into hyperspace. You saved over two thousand people.”
“And I lost one-hundred thirty-seven men!” Cleese launched himself onto his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “One-hundred thirty-seven brothers who were depending on me to get them out alive. And they died. I only focused on the tanks and ships attacking from the north, I didn’t think to look out for anything else. A whole squad of commando droids crawled out from the cliffs to the south. Only reason I lived was ‘cause I felt one of the karking things sneak up behind me. They took us out from behind, and the clankers overran us.”
“You had no way of knowing. You did what you could with what you had.”
“And what about you, Mark?” Cleese was suddenly in Mark’s face. Anger radiated from him, washing over Mark in such a tangible way that he almost toppled off his seat. “Have you talked about losing the Eighty-Second? Only twelve of you survived, right? You lost an entire battalion. You gonna act like you’ve gotten over that? That you’re gonna get over this?”
He may have said more, but a high-pitched ringing in Mark’s ear drowned him out. Mark’s blood boiled and heart hammered, aching beneath the blaster burn scar. Brothers could fight, could say things and apologize later. A captain couldn’t.
Mark ground his teeth together as he slowly stood. Cleese filled his vision, shaking and blinking hard. Mark hadn’t gone over managing his emotions with the Jedi yet. Marin said it was because he already had control over it, that she wasn’t worried he would act out of anger. He wasn’t about to start now.
“Of course I never got over it.” Mark kept his voice low and even. “I did what I could, and it wasn’t enough. After that slaughter on Eadu’s moon, I blamed General Thalen, I blamed the Separatists, I blamed myself – I even blamed the ones who died. But the end result was the same. The men under my command were dead, and I wasn’t able to help them. It was out of my control. That doesn’t make the pain go away. Or the guilt. But when I was given command of Chimera Company, I had to pull myself out of my own misery, because others were depending on me.”
He paused and drew a shaky breath. The others were silent, waiting. Drawing on the Force, he grounded himself. And as he did, he felt his connection to them like a heartstring. He softened his voice.
“And this? No, I’m not going to move on very quickly. It’s easier, sure, because more of us survived, and I know that we’ll remain together. But what eases more of the pain for me is this.” He gestured to the assembled lieutenants. “Being together. Remembering together. The twelve of us from the Eighty-Second, we got four days. And all were hazy to me but the last one. Because the night before reassignment, we all met up in the mess and talked about the ones we’d lost. Just like we did today. For me, it doesn’t matter how many days it’s been – or how many years. The pain is still there. But it’s easier to bear when I’m with others who understand it.”
Cleese’s anger had melted into sorrow, and he didn’t say anything; he just sank back to his seat, head in his hands. Mark clapped a hand onto his shoulder, and raised his cup. “To Havel Company. And to the Eighty-Second.”
“I’m sorry, Mark,” Cleese murmured after he drained his glass.
Mark sat down heavily beside him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
The other man smiled ruefully at the rapidly-emptying pitcher. “As far as gatherings go, I much prefer happier ones. One of the Haval Company squads learned from some local children about birthdays. The kids didn’t like that none of us clones exactly have a ‘birth-day’. So they decided that all clones were born on that day, and somehow convinced their parents to throw the entire Company a birthday party.” Though it was undercut by a dry sob, Cleese laughed. “I’ve never had such sweet desserts, before or since. That cake was way too rich, and we ate way too much of it.”
“Oh, cake will get you in trouble!” Bookie jumped in, his eyes suddenly bright. “Charger almost got married because of cake once.”
“Married? But we’re not allowed to marry until retirement.” Tech cocked his head to the side, frowning. “Unless that’s changed?”
“It’s still the same. It was an accident. We were on a backwater world where Basic wasn’t well-spoken. One of the locals offered him a cake – in a real meaningful way – but Charger just thought he was being friendly. The translator saw what was going on and managed to set it straight.”
Tech shook his head with a smile. “The long-necks really should have taught us to speak more than just Basic. I think I’d like to understand Huttese – it seems useful.”
“You had any communication mix-ups?” Cleese asked. Mark was relieved to see he’d relaxed.
“All the time. The boys always had trouble in the Outer-Rim markets.” Seeming to jump from one memory to another, he went on. “I was just thinking of the time a shiny – he didn’t live long enough to get a name…” Tech faltered, then gave a weak smile. “This shiny started trash-talking me to my face. Since I’ve always been pretty regulation, he thought I was a shiny from another unit. Didn’t realize I was the squad leader.”
Mark laughed. “What did he say?”
“He was complaining about the drills I was running them through. Thought I was treating them like cadets. He didn’t expect me to be going through the paces with them.”
“Shinies always have such big heads in the beginning.” Hal settled back, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. “Sometimes those heads never deflate. I had a kid in Zeta Co that crashed everything he ever piloted. Fighters, AT-RTs, speeders – if it had a control yoke, he’d end up walking away from a flaming heap of debris with a smile on his face. We called him Crash after the second time.”
After another drink, Cleese turned his watery gaze toward Mark. “I’d asked you when we first met, Mark, but I don’t think you ever actually answered me. The strike team you led on Brentaal Four. Did you really use a B-One’s faceplate to tunnel under a Separatist compound?”
He hadn’t thought of that mission in ages. “We didn’t just use a droid’s faceplate. But some of our tools had to be left behind when we had a complication with landing, so it was the next best thing available.”
“And that worked?” Bookie said incredulously.
“Droids never considered that we’d try to dig our way through. Besides, they were preoccupied with a diversionary force in orbit. If I hadn’t been so concerned about rules at the time, I would’ve let the men keep it as a trophy. It was probably the most useful thing the droid had ever done.”
Cleese slapped his leg as he laughed, tal sloshing out of his cup as he did. “Ah, damn.” He reached for a rag on a trunk behind him, still focused on the dripping liquid. The rag was about a foot away, but before Mark could get up to grab it for him – it moved.
Mark froze, watching as the rag twitched, then slid right into Cleese’s fumbling hand.
He stared at the other man, but Cleese didn’t seem to notice; he was focused on mopping up the mess, saying that at least he hadn’t hit the pitcher.
The Force. Cleese had just used the Force. Mark knew it. But how?
“You okay, Mark?” Bookie asked. Bookie, who had been able to dodge blaster bolts, moving just before they could hit him. Mark slowly looked around the circle.
Hal, who had found himself moving with unprecedented speed. Tech, who had sensed when pirates were nearby. And Cleese, who had sensed danger behind him, who had just moved a rag without touching it.
But then other instances started coming to the forefront of his memory: a clone who always caught whatever was thrown at him, even when he wasn’t looking; a squad jumping much further than they should have been able to over a crevasse; a clone that every animal seemed to become docile around; and every time someone had muttered that they had a bad feeling just before something went wrong.
They piled up, instance after instance of clones in Chimera Company that were just a bit faster or stronger, a bit more agile or focused, a bit luckier or more aware, a bit more –
Seas. They’re all Force-sensitive.
“Mark?” Bookie repeated, concern creasing his brow. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Mark croaked, blinking rapidly. His heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing. “Yeah, I just – It’s been a day.” He stood, the alcohol rushing to his head and making him teeter for a moment. No, it wasn’t just the tal; it was the adrenaline that suddenly coursed through his veins, the energy that came with suddenly knowing something vital and not knowing what to do with it. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”
The others made to rise, but Mark waved them down. “Don’t let me interrupt this. Stay up as long as you need. And remember – this doesn’t have to be limited to today. We can mourn and remember as long as we need.”
The others called out their good nights as he gathered his armor and made his way to the far end of the officers’ quarters. A door led to his private bunk, and when it slid shut behind him he stood there, arms shaking as he put his armor away.
Force-sensitive. Was that how they’d all survived? The remnants of companies and battalions that made up Chimera Company, had they all lived because of the Force? Because they subconsciously tapped into an energy that they didn’t know about, and enhanced their skills, like he had?
Did it matter?
Before General Marin had started teaching him about the Force, Mark would have said no, it didn’t matter; the troopers had their abilities and advantages, and it didn’t matter where they came from.
But a company of trained, Force-sensitive clones? They would be a force to be reckoned with.
But would the Jedi see it that way? Would the Republic?
Mark sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees as he stared at his armor. He’d need to talk to Marin about it. He trusted her. Hopefully, she’d have an idea of how to proceed.
Pairing: Rex x Peonia Ylandra
Side Pairings: Rex & Ace, Fives & Baron, Fives x Peonia (Unrequited feelings)
Genre of story: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Genre of Chapter: Angst (ish?)
Characters: Captain Rex, Fives, ARC Commander Ace (OC), Captain Baron (OC), Major Damnata (OC), Peonia Ylandra (OC), R5 A1 (OC)
Mentioned Characters: General Aurora Ylandra (OC), Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Terra Ylandra (OC), Lieutenant Achilles (OC), Echo, Kandosii (OC)
Words: 6,521
Parts: 1 / 5 (part 2, part 3, part 4, Part 5)
Warnings: Nothing major I can think of, but um... Fives, Baron, Damnata, Achilles and a bunch of other clones are in, well, a floating room in space with limited air. Also mentions of floating bodies in space. Fives has a head booboo.
Notes: Pre Umbara, Post Citadel. For the fresh sad of no Echo :'( Trying something new by using a cover of sorts for multi-chaptered fics, just to see how it works out!
Songs listened to while writing: The Monster (Clones, Clones' Sacrifice, Burying The Dead (It's Over Now), The Clones (Sad Themes), It's All of Us, Victory and Death, Crash Course Moon, Y Wing, Burying The Dead), plus some songs from my rather long playlist
AO3
Masterlists: x reader, oc x canon & oc x oc, 210th Squad
Pairing: Rex x Peonia Ylandra
Side Pairings: Rex & Ace, Fives & Baron, Fives x Peonia (Unrequited feelings)
Genre of story: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Genre of Chapter: Angst (ish?)
Characters: Captain Rex, Fives, ARC Commander Ace (OC), Captain Baron (OC), Major Damnata (OC), Peonia Ylandra (OC), R5 A1 (OC)
Mentioned Characters: General Aurora Ylandra (OC), Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Terra Ylandra (OC), Lieutenant Achilles (OC), Echo, Kandosii (OC)
Words: 5, 867
Parts: 1 / 5 (part 2, part 3, part 4, Part 5)
Warnings: Nothing major I can think of, but um... Fives, Baron, Damnata, Achilles and a bunch of other clones are in, well, a floating room in space with limited air. Also mentions of floating bodies in space. Fives has a head booboo.
Notes: Pre Umbara, Post Citadel. For the fresh sad of no Echo :'( Trying something new by using a cover of sorts for multi-chaptered fics, just to see how it works out!
Songs listened to while writing: The Monster (Clones, Clones' Sacrifice, Burying The Dead (It's Over Now), The Clones (Sad Themes), It's All of Us, Victory and Death, Crash Course Moon, Y Wing, Burying The Dead), plus some songs from my rather long playlist
AO3
Masterlists: x reader, oc x canon & oc x oc, 210th Squad
Rex breathed.
He'd had fresher air, on the rare occasion the 501st was stationed on Amarantine, but Coruscant was a sight for sore eyes after months of deployment. Even if it was mostly artificial weather and most of what he saw was hundreds of miles of Barracks. Some of the scenery was nice to the eye - or once was. Altitude sickness effected some of the troops this high up, as well as vertigo. Most of the boys didn't think they'd suffer (the innocence and naïvety of shinies fresh off the water) from it, amd they had all been given oxygen and taken to the lower levels for a wider check. The Coruscantii populus who's ancestors remained on tbe planet seemed more confused, but those who had never been to the upper levels before knew ot well.
Being in the air and traveling through altitudes in minutes - in a ship where pressure and oxygen were kept stable - was vastly different. More so for those whose lives remained only metres above rarely settled waters.
Skyscrapers taller than mountains made for good watchtowers. The Square foundation of the present temples, and the heights of the spires, made it a decent enough fort if it was necessary. The senate building wasn't going to be a good defensive position. It was too circular and wide. The spires of the temple could have the lift completely destroyed and the separatists would have to clamber up stairs one by one. In the senate building, the stairs were sometimes twenty people wide.
Apartment buildings - towers with hundreds of flats on lower levels and hundreds of apartments rising up into the light - would be just as decent as hideouts. The darkened lower levels would be helpful enough to hide, but not forever. Not when droids didn't need torches to see. Quick and clean ambushes would still be possible.
It wasn't too dissimilar to Kristophsis in that regard. One only had spires to find respire. At least the crystal city had a road one could see and areas of the natural world.
Rex stretched his neck from side to side, massaging out a crick from sleeping on one of the most uncomfortable bunks in his life. He may as well have slept on sticks and stones from the discomfor. He rolled back his left shoulder, still sore and stiff from yet another run-in with a Sith lord - he wasn't force-choked this occasion (which he was more than glad of), but the force-pushed Jesse flew into him at full speed, and his shoulder sailed into the wall behind before the rest of him followed.
Shore leave would do it some wonders... Kix had implied within an hour of the incident, whilst Rex was sat on a bed being poked and prodded to assess the rest of his (more minor) injuries. But that depended on whether he would have a proper shore leave. He hid piles of reports to finish - the three other captains of the Battalion were more than happy to send him notes to lessen the mind's effort.
Shore leave was as odd a concept as smart battle droids were.
Peonia would have been less about prodding. She was always much softer when it came to balms and poultices for bruises. She preferred to apply them herself the first week: it allowed her to feel for any tenderness the boys were hiding. Rex didn’t know, at first, why he enjoyed her doing that for him. Aside from enjoying her company.
Then it hit him. A dawning realisation on the way to Kamino to defend it from the Seppies. He looked at her as she was doing one of the most mundane things (hammering out a dent in his doubled pauldron from his spare gear). He didn’t know what specifically gave him the realisation, but she smiled and spoke to him like he was so obviously watching her. It was shy and bashful, and she caught her thumbnail bad enough it bruised. He didn’t know why he took her hand the way he did - the last chance to squeeze ber palm; to tell her it was alright.
But he did.
He didn't why he fumbled on his compliments for her as he got onto a LAAT/i to land in the city, or why he grasped her shoulders - biting the wish to hold her (albeit awkwardly) and wipe away the fear on her typically jovial and calm expression.
But he did.
And she simply smiled and did the same in turn most softer than she usually would as she wished him luck.
He recalled maybe a few months later (for time blurred often during deployment), after Force knows how many times he acted similarly toward her, The Citadel happened. The LAAT/i had just landed on General Koon’s ship. She didn’t leave with the rest of the boys. And he didn’t leave without her.
He wanted to stay with her. In some ways, he needed to. To remember it's okay to not be okay. To find it hard. To hurt. To feel.
Numb.
Frozen in time.
That was how Nia looked to him that day. He touched her shoulder. She looked at him, fresh from thought with surprise, and he saw she’d been crying. He didn’t know for how long. He didn’t hear her. Didn’t see. But she fell into him, holding herself firmly to his chest.
He pulled her closer, straightening her against him, and he noticed so much more about her. He knew by then she was special to him, more than he could outwardly admit to anyone, yet right then, at that moment… he never wanted to let her go. He never wanted to know a Galaxy without her in it.
"Captain Rex."
Rex raised a brow in question as he turned in the direction of a brother's voice, actively removing him from his reprieve. The raised hand of ARC Commander Ace gave a small wave as a greeting. Something he recalled the ALPHA Clone doing since before any clone completed their training, amd he as one of the most senior of them all. Ace was smiling in relief. But he wore a haunted look. One Rex knew as heavy losses.
"I heard about your shoulder from Cody. How's it feel?"
"Worse than the wall." His quip was straight-faced, but Ace chuckled at it nonetheless when he grasped the Captain's good shoulder firmly.
"Don't drop your humour, vod'ika" he moved the helmet between his right arm and side now, the pink paintwork scratched and in need of a top-up once more. The Jaig Eyes replaced the previous lines at the front, and on the sides, a similar appearance was given to reconnect the interrupted curved paint. They suited him, Rex thought. "You on shore leave?"
"Yes, Sir. Two weeks, provided there's no trouble. You?"
"Same here since General Ylandra was sent on a classified mission partway during our last deployment. She won’t be back for a few days still. She only left once we were promised this fortnight." His look momentarily became forlorn and worried, but it soon turned mischievous.
"I've got some cadets to train later in this first week, but next week we should hang out for a little while; have a couple drinks in the break room at the barracks." A thought and then a pointed finger. "Speeder racing in the training VR Room. You," a pointed thumb toward himself, "and me. Last day of the week this week. Against the cadets." then he lowered his arm for a small shrug. "What have we to lose?"
"I would lose less than you, Commander."His lips quirked upward in kind jest. "We both know I passed the speeder tests in fewer retries."
"Ah, but with failure comes experience. And with more experience comes more knowledge.” A half smug look. “I'm better at driving than you.”
Rex rolled his eyes and held his helmet to his side as the ALPHA ARC Commander went to his holo to receive a message.
"This is Com-" His eyes turned perplexed. "Peony?"
Rex's eyes went wide. Swiftly, he gestured the commander into the nearest room for the sake of Privacy. He locked the door behind them. Hurriedly. Fingers half shaking with both speed and concern.
Her voice, dulcet with softly spoken words that kept him captivated... It had been weeks since he last heard it. It had been just as long since he last saw her face, oblong and graceful, freckled and acne-scarred, and home to eyes of silvered slate.
Appreciation for hearing her again was swept aside - for Ace's eyes were furrowed into focused slits. A level of focus he only did when he heard blaster fire.
"I haven't much time, Commander." Sounds of the sane fire could be heard behind her within the holo-transmission. She should have been on a mission above Iðunn. A simple supply drop. Nothing risky. Not being attacked... "Separatists are on their way and I cannot stay away from the troops for long."
“I implore you to get the troop and evacuate."
Seeing her in a hologram, her stance sure and confident with a casuality that expressed her upbringing, was enough for his heart to beat with the desire to see her in person. To tell her to not be so stupid. Yet with each shot she fired at, be sumused, battle,droids,, it only fed Concern's fervour.
He couldn't shake it.
The worry.
The simmering fear.
"I cannot do that, Ace, you know this.”
Rex hated the attitude. He respected the tenacity - it was contagious on most accounts - but it wasn't her duty to die.
To sacrifice herself so the others had a chance.
She wasn't a soldier - not in the same way as he and his brothers were. They were created to stop people like her, natural and unmodified to age rapidly, un'programmed' to be soldiers, from dying on those same front lines.
Yet she had managed to make it into the army across two legions.
"I'll get General Ylandra to send us back out to you as backup. Or General Skywalker. Or General Kenobi! I'll have -"
"Commander, listen to me..." The holo showed her crouching below cover now, rifle chucked to one side to be replaced by the pistol in her hand. "My sister needs to put her mission before me, and the others will go to the council, which would make this worse."
"Ma'am-"
"I am giving you an order, trooper. Those clankers are counting on you to send reinforcements." An explosion. Rex took two steps forward, wanting to demand her to be smart and evacuate, but Ace threw him a look and a shake of his head.
Yet the pointed expression twisted, just as Rex's did, and he rose his head slowly. A sigh of defeat left his nose. "Yes... Ma'am.."
It only caused Nia to laugh behind closed lips, breathy from her nose yet the sound from her throat was warm. A sound he would have allowed himself to smile at were it not tainted by the sound of death.
"Tell my sister she's the reason I never lost hope when this war began. And tell Cap-"
A pause. A pause long enough for his heart to flutter in terror.
"Peony?"Ace flittered his eyes at her face and the holopad, but Rex knew that whatever she was going to say was going to sting, and Ace would not let him near.
"Tell Rex that I..."
What? She hissed and clutched her shoulder. Rex stepped further forward, eyes examining the scene as if he could figure out a plan if he looked hard enough, or will her to see him even though there was no way she could.
He cast his look to Ace, who was staring at him in thought, with a quiet plead.
"Tell him what, Pea? What do you want Rex to know?"
"Tell Rex -" She straightened again, good arm outstretched. But her eyes... he could see regret in them. Despair. Sorrow...
And he hated it.
"Tell Rex I love him. In case I don't make it."
Time stopped. His breath hitched.
Nia... Loved... him?
"You can tell him yourself." She loved him? The holo flickered sound turning into fizzling soundbytes, and then…
Then it stopped. “Peonia?"
She loved him and decided to tell Ace? She loved him and said nothing until now? When he couldn't help her? When no one could? When she was sure as hell deciding to take death was a viable option?
Rex balled his hands into fists. His brows sloped and furrowed.
Not if he could help it. Not if Fives could help it. Not if any of the 210th and 501st on that Venator could help it.
But they were a hope no one could rely on if it was truly as serious as it sounded. He needed to do something.
"Commander," Rex was glad his voice didn't betray anything more than his concern, for the emotions bubbling within his chest and gut were anything but, "We must do something. We have to look for her."
"You heard what she said, Rex.” Yet Ace was already typing in a comm frequency to his vambrace. “The Separatists are expecting a fleet. I wish we could do something, but we need to take this to the council to choose the best course of action."
Rex held his helmet closer to his side. His body went rigid in desperation to remain collected despite his growing frustration.
"Sir, excuse me for saying this, but that is time we do not have! It's time Peonia and the troops doesn't have!" He threw out his left arm, unwavering. "We have to go now if we have any chance of rescuing her! Of saving their lives!"
The room went quiet. Ace looked at him, expression narrowed into a warning frown, unmoving, until the Captain relented with a quivered sigh and a turn of his head.
His gaze fell to the floor.
Rex lowered his arm. He knew, somewhere, that the Commander was right, but any second that was wasted was one less they had to find her. One less they had to get her before the Seppies and their Clankers got to her or their brothers.
One less second he had to see her alive.
"You love her."
Rex's back began to sweat at Ace's statement. His eyes shot wide open, spine straightening further if that was ever possible. The expression that looked at him when he lifted his head was a gentle one. An understanding one. Even his tone matched the expression.
"S-Sir?"
"I know how you look at her when you think no one's looking. You love her - don't you, Captain?" Rex averted his gaze, returning it to the floor. "As an Alpha ARC, I would say you are paying too much attention to your emotions and not enough to the situation, and reprimand you for lingering close to breaking one of our codes of conduct, but... as a man in the same situation as you, I understand entirely." Rex returned his gaze to the commander, whose eyes stared solemnly at the holopad with fingers following the edges of it. "I know she's safe for now, but for how long? She’s skilled, I know, but I worry. If anything happened to Aurora... I'd react much the same as you are now. If not worse."
A wry smile of deprecating mirth tightened his face, making him look like if he put another thought into it he'd shatter.
"Commander?"
"I'll bring this to Senator Terra so he can force this to be a Jedi problem, and ensure he sends us to find her. You can fly a ship, right?"
"Of course, Sir."
"Then we'll take an ARC and Dusky with us."
"But, Sir, surely we'll need a bigger ship?"
"For this to work, you need to trust me, Rex." Rex nodded and Ace fibally pressed to call buttom on his vambrace, leaving the room with hurried steps and dragging Rex with him. “Major Damnata, evacuate all troops and ensure Peonia hets in one of those bloody pods. Stun her if you have to… I don't care what her kriffing orders are. Jesse can stun her, Fives can shove her in a karking pod, and as many shinies as possible can fit in there with her.”
Time was of the essence.
"Coming out of hyperspace... Preparing to turn on lights. Dusky, prepare the scanners."
Rex sat patiently in the gunner seat, listening to Ace go through his checklists accordingly. He went through his own, checking the gunning systems to ensure their stability.
The hyper lane's blue, purple and white streaks and swirls became a jolt of black and stars surrounding the temperate planet in front of them, the centre of a line of planets in perfect conjunction: planetary alignment. It was beautiful, seeing the multiple biomes of Iðunn from his window, and in front of two planets that were only rock and metal. Looking to the other side, he would have seen a gas giant of vivid cyan, another of browns, pinks and oranges with rings, and far off in the distance a planet of pure ice. He would have seen the colours of a nearby nebula, home to a constellation he could see from Kamino in his youth, magenta and violet, turquoise and sapphire. If he looked at the northernmost area of Iðunn, he would have seen the northern lights, different to those of Amarantine.
He wished he could see them with her, rather than think of how they may have been the last thing she saw.
The lights came on to see through the encroaching asteroid belt, taking him from his thoughts. R5 beeped and trilled, the scanners and radars came to life, and Rex heard the quiet hum of a radio.
"Commander," Rex questioned with his eyes peering into the space around him and toward Peonia's last known whereabouts, "wouldn't that bring any Seppies to us?"
Ace shrugged, not that Rex could see it. "It's pre-recorded, so the only signal it's giving off blends with our magnetic signature."
He sighed. It had been two hours since they left Coruscant and three since they first received the message. It wasn't Senator Terra Ylandra of Amarantine that had taken his time, but the Jedi Council took much too long thinking. On any other occasion, Rex would have minded little, sooner having the mission be well thought out before anyone was sent out.
But he could not get it out of his head. Her words. Her voice.
Her confession.
How could he not remember it? Words he had half hoped to hear but had no expectation to: Clones weren't allowed to form relationships like that. They couldn't start a family even if they wanted to, or date or marry. Their only attachments were to their comrades and brothers. They were soldiers being created for the sole purpose of war. And they had to be let go.
Not that it stopped him from wanting to. Not that it stopped his mouth from growing dry when she was in his vicinity, or his very soul from swelling with fondness and adoration, nor did it stop him from thinking of her every day, what it would be like to experience life with her as romantic partners, sneaking glances when no one was looking.
How often he wished to call her before he went to sleep, only to realise how late it was.
"Are you okay, Rex?"
"Y-Yes, Sir. Everything's... Everything's fine." Internally, he winced at the lack of his usual confidence, falling into stuttering without too much reason except being caught off guard. He was, as Captain, used to being second-in-command behind Skywalker and asking the questions to his brothers.
Not having them asked of him by a commander.
He saw Ace turn around briefly to look at him, and Rex was thankful that he had his - oh. He had removed his helmet in the hyper lane...
Rex swiftly returned it to its place: covering his head.
"You were like this the day before your ARC training started." Ace looked forward again, tone amused good-naturedly.. "Everything turned out okay back then."
"In training, Sir, they weren't real blasters."
"What I'm saying is, we'll find her. We'll find her trail, find who attacked, find their base, blow it up, and we'll bring her back with us."
"If there isn't a base, what then, Sir? We're two clones."
"We're not just 'two clones', Captain. We're Rex and Ace. You're ARC Trained, I'm an ALPHA. We've survived countless battles. You're a great strategist, always thinking on your feet. In these moments, that stands for something. And I survived Seventeen. Which is always useful.”
"We had Jedi in those battles."
"They may have the force and lightsabers, but they aren't soldiers by training: just peacekeepers made peace reclaimers. This is our job." The ARC tilted downward, then...
A series of trills came from the astromech in the very back, paintwork matching the same dusky rose as the 210th. Rex looked at the radar in front of him. "Sir, we're picking up readings twenty klicks away at our two o'clock."
"Picking it up now... patching the reading through the search systems... We'll have to get closer to get a better visual."
"The asteroid field is our best bet, Sir, but I don't see any easy ways through on the scans."
"When the scans can't see any, we use what evolution gave us: our eyes."
Ace hummed in thought, manoeuvring the starfighter like he'd been piloting his whole life (which wasn't too far from the truth by clone years). It was easy for him. He may not have passed his speeder licensing easily, but he was one of the best pilots in the ARC movement. It was no wonder why, passing through narrow passages with closed wings to gain speed. "I'm going to move towards that big asteroid at our twelve o'clock. and land to get better scan results. Hopefully, we get visual without alerting anyone of our presence."
Rex turned his attention to his instruments, making sure they were steady and stable. He read out asteroids coming in, guiding the Commander through the field with the knowledge the scanners (and R5's increasing beeps that was the closest to screaming 'Get us out of here!' as an astromech could get) were giving him.
The beeps and internal chaos that came from being half flung around in his seat with the skilled flying weren't enough to take his mind entirely away from Nia. He doubted it was supposed to, but it was enough to cause some sense of distraction by forcing his mind to think of other dangers than the ones most likely upon her life.
"Preparing to land now." Switches were flicked and Rex felt the light jostle as the feet of the ARC were lowered. The landing was smoother than any he had experienced in a gunship or, indeed, a shuttle General Skywalker was flying, much to his relief. "And engines are off."
"Don't know about a visual, Sir, but it looks like some kind of ship by our partial scans. Maybe a cruiser? R5, can you try to clear up the quality?" A few seconds later, after adjusting some hidden settings, Rex blinked and shook his head, mouth slowly agape and eyes wide.
It couldn't be...
"Impossible..."
"Captain?"
"It's a Republic Cruiser, Sir. But there's no sign of the Separatist forces."
"We'll get in closer." The engines fired up again, a hurried tone now taking over Ace's demeanour. "Dusky, set the scanners to signs of life." A concerned beep followed. "I know, but we need to know if there are any survivors in pods or otherwise caught in the blast doors. Rex, do the scans say what ship it is?"
He looked back to the scans but shook his head. "No, Sir. But there was only one ship here that we sent out..."
"And Peonia was on board..."
Rex's heart sank. His shoulders lowered, hands loosened on the instruments, and he stared blankly at the scans of the Venator class ship, half broken and half intact.
It seemed impossible that she would have survived. As a Northern Amarantian, a retreat was only if there was no victory to be had and was seen as a regroup. Even so, it was never a choice made lightly and it often took overwhelming forces to cause the decision to be made. It was almost Mandalorian of them.
He looked out the window. He wished he hadn't. Faces of his brothers, armoured and not, that had no chance to escape before damage and explosions forced them out of the ship to suffocate, slowly and painfully, until they were limp in death. Helplessly suspended in an airless space.
Part of him wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He looked at every face, knowing that, at least, one more brother lost so horrendously wasn't her suffering the same fate.
An excited beep forced Rex back to the scanning instruments. "Sir, we have survivors in the ship, and we have signs of escape pod launches."
Ace raised a hand in the air in a small victory. He relaxed. "I'm contacting Aurora to send a ship to pick them up. Try to make contact with the survivors."
"Yes, Sir." Rex flicked switches. "Alright R5, let's get through to them."
Fives' head ached with each step he took. The bacta patch Achilles had placed on his temple did nothing to aid the feeling of being encased in a floating prison, only saved by the six blast doors dotted around them and the airlock behind.
The alarms helped little, only increasing the ongoing tinnitus for a few seconds from the explosion that happened so close to him half an hour ago. Air supply was running low, maybe three hours at most, and with no way to the rest of the escape pods, it seemed like his tenure as an ARC Trooper wasn't long enough.
Maybe Echo wouldn't feel alone on the other side after these hours were up. He'd see Droidbait and Cut Up again. Hell, even Hevy. Whilst he was sure they'd be a sight for sore eyes... Echo haunted him the most. He missed his humour, their cooperative hijinks that even Rex couldn't help but smile at.
"Hey, Fives," the clone whom had the same reg haircut, tattooless, and carried a scar on his right temple from a droid's punch, stood with hands on his hips in dejection that somehow managed to come across as casual and unsurprised, "whilst you were out cold, we managed to get a communicator up and running. But it won't get very far, and we have no scanners to see what's out there."
Fives blinked slowly as his mind processed the words and the brother in front of him. He was a Captain with enough ARC training to be considered for the full deal, which was a good sign that there was hope on board, who had decided to keep his phase one attire except for his helmet, which was to one side. The helmet was decorated with the vintage rose pink of the 210th as were his arm pieces, and his helmet had a coloured sunvisor similar to Cody's.
"Baron, I'm surprised you didn't fly off in a bomber."
"Eh, wouldn't have gotten very far. Seppies blew 'em all to jiggery. But, the alarms sounding did close these doors and save us from the vacuum that, well, ripped the old girl apart." As he spoke, he gestured to the ship, or... what was left of it. "As for Peonia, I have no idea where she is. Last I saw her, I shoved her into an escape pod with um..." he clicked his fingers, thinking, "the shiny, fortnight off Kamino... Kandosii."
"That's... better than Rosella being dead..." Not that her fate mattered so much if they couldn't contact any of their Generals about their location. Or contact them at all.
"Rosella?" Baron tilted his head. "Is that a nickname for Ylandra's sister?"
"Yeah. I was the first to say it to her, but Echo came up with it when we were new to the front." The moment used to be one the two laughed at in the mess, but ever since his passing...
"Oh?" Baron, who was two years older, sat next to Fives and gave his undivided attention. "How did it come about?"
"I asked for her name first meeting, back at the first Siege of Amarantine, before she saved Captain Rex. Then, during our fourteen rotations there, aiding bodyguard duties with him, I thought she should have a nickname. We had a few, but Echo got drunk on Amarantian gin. It slipped out when I helped him to bed."
"And you stole it?"
"Naturally! But he was too shy to say it himself at first." His lips twisted into a tight smile, happy from the memory but heavy from loss. "He was a little like guys in movies, watching their crush walk past them and waving awkwardly back. Before he met another."
Baron chuckled. "Commander's like that to the General when no one's looking. It's nice, seeing Ace like it. Reminds me we're soldiers, but we're also people. We're more than war."
"Do you have any stories?" Baron rose a brow at Fives' question. "We're gonna die if we can't get out communications soon. Surely there's something?"
"Well, nothing too interesting. But I was batch mates with Rex. We didn't see eye to eye on this one test. The orders from the trainer were too strict and too tactically unsound. He questioned them but ultimately tried to follow through. Half of us disagreed and disobeyed. I had inadvertently formed a fracture."
"Sounded like it was worth going against the Captain for."
"I was being an idiot. He was being too strict to orders, I was being too adaptable. But Ace had finished his training, passed it all with flying colours - even Prime seemed proud for once - and got the medal. We knew him as Oh-Four, part of the batch with one man down. Good mates with Ninety-Nine."
"Many were..."
"Yes. But not many could say they were his batchmates. But Ace? He can. He does. Twins they were. He was a broken man for a month after Kamino's siege." Baron smiled warmly. "Ace was Ninety-Nine to our batch, mostly to Rex. He said 'Sixty Seven, You have the makings of a great leader, perhaps the best, but being a great leader means having to adapt orders to not only be victorious but to also limit casualties. Also, find a name. It helps.’" He chuckled. “Of course, Rex didn’t find his until after Geonosis. He came back from ARC Training and I called out to him. The smug look on his face when he proclaimed his name was Rex. Got a picture of it in the barracks.”
"What did he say to you? Commander Ace, I mean."
"'Kid, Barons may be part of the nobility, but they are the lowest levels. They have a duty to protect their people. Sometimes that means disobeying orders, but that is the last thing you do. If you cannot agree, find a compromise. On the battlefield, it's teamwork or die.' We survived Geonosis together. I was Lieutenant, Rex was Captain... We mourned together. First time we cried so heavily. Last time we've done it together, too."
"Then you got split?"
"Part way through our first defence attempt on Christophsis. We had a good run. It's not too bad. When the tangerines can't help you boys in blue? We save your lives. Not all goodbyes are forever."
Fives cracked a laugh at that. "Yeah, we'd be half the size we are without the Duskies." Baron smiled, bowed his head, and partially raised his hands to say 'no problem'. He must have picked it up from Aurora... "How's your General, anyway?"
"Sort of breaking the attachment rule as always, but we're more her family than the Jedi now. Still, she likes to make sure Peony's fine. I update her. Usually..." The usually chipper clone sighed in defeat. "Don't think she'll sleep well tonight... Anyway, how's Rexy? Still alive, I see?"
"He could get blown up and survive with a minor scratch."
"His eyes still on Peony?"
Fives' eyes turned downcast. It wasn't like he could do anything about it, but the small amount of jealousy within his chest had subsided into a small hurt. Not an angry one, and not even an upset one, but one nonetheless. "Yeah." He hid it with a wry smile. "He's gotten worse at hiding it if you could imagine. He stares at her every day, it's almost..."
Words trailed off, the rest of his sentence long forgotten as his eyes returned to his hands.
"You feel guilty, don't you? For liking her?"
A snort of amused embarrassment escaped him. "Of course I don't like her. Not in that way! I mean, she is beautiful, especially when she's holding a gun, but me? Have a crush on her? You're crazy."
There was a moment, then a nod of good-natured agreement. "True, because crushes don't last long. And you're waaaay past that. So, ARC Trooper," Baron sat against the wall, one leg outstretched and the other bent at the knee to drape his arm over, "you feel guilty because... Echo used to look at her like you do for a small spell. Or, because Rexy loves her, or because we're not allowed to be in any relationship but you find yourself wanting one."
"No, that's not-"Fives shook his head in defeat. "I can't be with her. Even if there wasn't this rule, she doesn't have eyes for anyone but Rex."
"Very true. But it doesn't mean you're going to stop loving her just like that, right? It takes time. Rex is a good man, just as you are, Fives. And she still values you just as highly, and loves you just as much, it's just different. No less intense."
"Very helpful..."
Baron rolled his eyes and, for a moment, Fives thought it was his Captain. "Don't be so sarky. I'm being serious. She loves you with the same intensity she loves her sister, you just can't see it because you're too focused on wanting to be kissed by her. You need to be open to it."
"Captain, Sir," Fives and Baron both lifted their heads at Damnata's words, "we have an incoming transmission?"
"Someone must have managed to locate a signature..." Fives looked at Baron. "We should answer it..."
"Go for it, Lieutenant." The hologram that came into fruition was shabby, at best, in the hasty assembly. Even so, he recognised those Jaig Eyes anywhere. Everyone did. In fact, the cheer was loud enough that if there was anyone else on the ship, it would have gone through the vents and travelled around a large portion of the sector.
He liked to think that, beneath the helmet, Rex was smiling in an equal amount of relief.
"Well, Rex, my closest brother," Baron raised a hand, "we're glad to see you."
"It's good to hear from you, Baron. Myself and Commander Ace are in an ARC so we can't rescue you, but the Commander's contacting our closest outpost to pick you up."
"Roger that."
There was another cheer at the words. Even so, there was a curiosity that built within his chest.
"Rex," Fives stood and made himself clearly identifiable, "why has the Commander decided to turn up in an ARC?"
His Captain and dear friend shrugged. "I... asked him and he didn't answer the question."
"Aggressive ReConnaissance 017 Fighter,” Baron interjected. “The only fighter small enough to go somewhat undetected that has double firepower, plus a space for three troopers and an astromech. He's a better fighter pilot than a pilot of anything else. I have the scars to prove it."
"So you keep saying, Sir." That was Sevens- a former Corrie.
"Fives and Rex asked..." Fives nearly laughed, but Baron's expression turned serious. "Rex, old boy, it's not good news for us. We're trapped in one room with maybe three hours of oxygen and rapidly failing power. Unless it's the fastest hyperdrive the republic has coming our way, I don't know if we'll make it..."
"Baron, you'll make it. You all will."
"Focus on finding Peonia. She's our top priority. I know she's in an escape pod with another trooper, CT 8000, aka Kandosii. We're trying to track her pod, but the most we can say is we're sure she reached the planet's surface. Only one of our released shuttles hasn't made it, and that one... well... sort of gave us this one room instead of three..."
"Can it be pinpointed?"
The tone in Rex's voice was full of trepidatious relief and focus, glad to hear that there was a chance she was alive but having to remain clear-headed in order for any chance of her survival to be definite. Fives knew the tone as an ever increasingly common one when it came to her. And one she used when it came to Rex.
"We'll try our best, but we're... just a small room with very hastily rigged up systems from the wreckage of ships that crashed into us during the tearing up of the old girl."
"Captain, Commander, um... Sir," Damnata held up a finger and opened his hand to the side in a gesture to the now floating, empty, room that used to be the mess hall. "She's only eleven. One of the early prototypes Amarantine was working on."
"Older than my years, Lieutenant. Makes her old."
"Remind me not to go to you for advice on relationships, Sir."
Rex's hologram shook its head, fingers on the brow of his phase one visor, and he let out a dismayed sigh. "Fives, send Nia's shuttle coordinates to me once you find them. R5's scans will find the others."
Nia...
That was new. A slip of the tongue, perhaps?
Damnata clicked his fingers and gestured in success at pinpointing her shuttle.
"On it, Sir!" Fives moved over to the scanner and sent the coordinates to Rex. "Find her and keep her alive, Sir. I don't want to know what General Ylandra's like when she's angry."
"And, before you go, do be careful, big brother." Baron gave a fond smile. "You're the only one that had hope for me when the others gave up. I don't want to survive and wake up to find out you died doing something reckless."
"Don't worry, Baron. Won't be any worse than when General Skywalker's with us. We'll keep you posted. Captain Rex out."
The hologram went, the communications with it, and Fives saw Baron fold his arms in despair.
"That's what I'm afraid of. He's said it now..."
"They'll be alright, Baron."
"I hope you're right, Fives. Otherwise, I'll haunt his ghost."
Fives would have laughed at the lack of sense the serious statement made if the air hadn't felt heavier again.
It was a waiting game now as to whether they lived or died.
Summary: The loss of Fives is unbearable and it’s time to say goodbye to him. You need to let him go, but your heart can’t.
Wordcount: 1828
Warnings: reader goes to extreme sadness, depression. Mentions of death and seeing the dead. Violence language.
a/n: Hello there :) This is my first work to be ever published, so I am a little nervous! I know it’s not the best I’ve ever written -and I’m not completely satisfied with how this turned out-, but I just really wanted to make this story. (My native language isn’t English, so that’ll explain grammar mistakes :)) This is for all the very sad sl*ts out there, i feel you 😔
༓☾ M A S T E R L I S T ☽༓
Sometimes it felt like he was speaking to you through music, like he was your guardian angel and looked out for you.
The depressed tones blasted through the speakers of your apartment as your hand -holding an empty whiskey glass- sank to the ground. The bass thundered in rhythm with your heart, the lyrics as sad as a blue moon. But, all the songs about heartbreak and pain that you had on endless replay, had one difference with you. You weren’t just heartbroken, the love of your life hadn’t just left, he died. He couldn’t even come back home to you, even if he wanted to, he’d be stuck somewhere in the afterlife, not even able to find peace he deserved. The hurt Fives went through was the worst part, the guilt you felt.
Your eyes closed as all the moments with Fives flashed by, his smile, his words, his handsome face. Nothing seemed to make up for the fact he wasn’t sitting next to you anymore. The past couple of days you had waited for him to come home, to you. And you still did. The news Rex brought hadn’t sunken in yet and somewhere, your heart still jumped as someone opened your front door. But maybe, that feeling wasn’t going to leave, ever again. Your grip around the glass tightened as all the memories you made together played in your head over and over again.
“Fives! Fives!” You cried out as you saw his damaged, white and blue armour next to Jesse’s. He just returned from Umbara, one of the saddest pages in the clone wars history. Because a betrayal of general Krel, several clones had to give up their life. Words couldn’t describe what you felt, as you saw Five alive, amongst his brothers.
“Cyar’ika!” He yelped back as he saw you in the crowd. His pace quickened and he let you fall into his arms.
“Fives.” Your voice now whispered, your face buried in his neck. His skin melted with yours and it felt like nothing could break this moment. His arms would never let you go, ever again.
You twitched and shivered as your eyes opened, your hand grabbed your shoulder, looking for his. His fingers felt imprinted on your skin, like a mark, and you hoped the stain wasn’t going to fade anytime soon. Your gaze was caught on the evening lights of Coruscant, but this time, you really felt a hand on your shoulder. You wanted to smile, but deep down you knew it wasn’t him.
“Rex,” your voice was burned from alcohol and rasped painful against your throat. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Oh, I am sorry.” His voice seemed uncomfortable and he laid a hand behind his head, “you didn’t respond on my knocking, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
You nodded stiffly, “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” You said as you swung the empty whiskey glass elegant through the air.
“Uhm, are you sure?” Rex’ eye caught the bottle next to you, half empty. He sat down on the ground, besides you, his eyes burned on your skin.
A sarcastic smile hovered around your mouth, “like I said, yes, I’m fine.” The lies were as sweet as sugar, but Rex knew better. The empty bottle of alcohol laying on the floor was just as lost as you. Unfortunately, you wished to be all screwed from the poisonous liquid, but even half a bottle of whiskey didn’t seem to fill the hole Fives left behind.
“It’s time.”
The words Rex said made your world stop for a second. Time seemed to stand still and your head started spinning. Your sweaty palms tried to warm your shivering arms, as your anxiety rose to the ceiling, your heart pounding louder and louder.
From sitting anxious on the floor, under way to Fives’ lifeless body. Rex dragged you all the way with him, knowing you weren’t okay. But he also knew, you weren’t going to forgive yourself if you never said goodbye. Rex lead the way through the medical center as you followed him in safe distance, knewing what you would face seconds from here. Your steps became smaller and the shivers crawling up your spine became colder. Instead of the anxious pounding of your heart in your ears, you barely seemed alive now.
The clone guarding the room nodded to the two of you as you walked in. The room was big and glanced several tints of blue, but all you really noticed was the table in front of you.
“I can’t do this.” You panted as you grabbed Rex’ arm. He turned around, standing in front of you, tall enough to cover the table in the end of the room.
The pain radiating of your face made Rex even more sad, “you have to say goodbye.” He spoke quietly as he offered you a hand.
His voice made you noucious already, you couldn’t hear anything but Fives. You accepted his offer by gently taking his fingers, nervous about what you were going to witness. Even though you knew what you were going to see, you could never prepare yourself. The table Fives laid down on seemed miles away and slowly, step by step, you saw your soulmate coming closer. You felt weird, stressed. It felt weird looking at him without him glancing back, it almost felt.. like he was really gone.
You tried to take big breaths as you reached him and your eyes couldn’t help but stare at his. Your heart wanted them to open, somewhere you expected him to get up and hug you, just like old times. Part of your heart wasn’t ready to let go of the love of your life.
“Fives.” You whispered as your shaky hand grabbed his. He felt ice cold and you shivered by his touch. His face was a sick shade of pale and the bags underneath his eyes were as black as the sky. Few blood drops spotted on his face and his, usually pretty hair, was a mess. Nothing hurted you more than seeing him, like this, so vunarable, so drained of life. Your breathing turned into hyperventilating and your heart shattered as it realised. He was not coming back.
You took his hand and squeezed it softly as you started stuttering, trying to say your goodbyes. “I love you Fives, I- I- I don’t want to let go of you- I...”
Rex laid his hands on your back, trying to give you comfort, but you weren’t able to finish your sentence. Grief hit you like a truck and Fives’ lifeless, emotionalless face drew all your attention away from your words.
“It’s going to be okay.” Rex said, as his hand rubbed down your spine.
“What?” The words felt like poison, the way you spitted them out of your mouth. “It’s going to be okay?” The slightest bit of sarcasm pushed through and your gaze left Fives’ to meet Rex. He seemed surprised by the storm that laid, so suddenly, on your face.
“Well ye- eventually..” now, Rex was the one who had lost his tongue.
“Yes? Eventually it’s going to be okay?” Tears raced down your face. “What’s going to be okay? The fact that we KNEW about the inhibitor chips and did nothing?!” Anger took over and your fingers formed fists. “We should’ve helped him, we should’ve done something!” You yelled at his brother.
Rex seemed just as broken as you, though he tried to stay professional. “Well I have, we tried to..”
You shook your head, the ignorance in Rex’ voice made the rage in your blood rise.
“Just admit it, we failed him! You, and me! He reached out for help and we literally ignored him!” Your shallow scream echoed through the room, “we failed him..”
The little bit of hurt in your heart got replaced by more anger. “Why didn’t you do something?! He came to talk to you, he wanted your help! You should’ve done something! You did, nothing!” You cried, screamed, as your body couldn’t hold the weight of your heart anymore. You sank to the floor, crying over the man you loved. Another cry left your body, your hands caught it as your head buried into them. Endless, non controllable sobbing took over and there was nothing you and Rex could do.
“You killed him Rex! We killed him! Just as much as the one who placed the bullet into his heart!” You managed to look up to Rex, your vision was blurred and you weren’t in control of anything. You lost it, you had lost your world, the person who made you happy. “We abandoned him, when he needed us most.” You managed to whisper. Your heart ached, he died for nothing and you were never going to forgive yourself. Fives his trust in the two of you must’ve died along with him.
“Come here,” Rex said as he lifted you up from the stone cold floor. His voice was shaky, like you had never heard before. Before Rex pulled you into a hug, you caught a glimpse of his watery eyes, a single tear dripping of his face.
You laid your head on his shoulder and couldn’t stop crying. You panted heavily in between, trying to breath as you drowned in your own, bitter tears.
“I know, I miss him too.” Rex said as he continued rubbing your back, trying to calm you down. More tears slowly rolled down his face as he held you close. His heart felt crushed and the worst thing was that everything you said was true. Rex agreed, he failed his brother, there was no need for a bullet through Fives his heart and it happened anyway. It seemed like there was always someone who ended up dead, everyone around him slowly ended up dying.
Fives’ last words had repeated constantly in Rex his head. The anxiousness in his eyes, afraid his own brothers would hurt him, and yet they did. The panic Fives yelled with, getting the gun was the dumbest thing he could’ve done. But for Fives, it felt the best thing to do, like he had only one choice, the only defense he had left.
“Get away from me!” Fives yelled as he held up the gun, pointing it at Fox his head.
Gunshot
An earsplitting silence followed. The only sound echoeing against the walls was Fives’ panting, and how his body shattered against the floor. Rex remembered yelling his brothers name, beating the ray shield that separated them. He was completely defenceless as he watched his brother die.
More tears flowed down Rex’ cheeks as he relived the moment.
“The, the nightmares, they are.. finally.. over.” Fives gaze connected with Rex one last time, but left too soon. Rex felt his brothers body weaken, he was gone, he died, in his arms. Rex held him close, not realising what just happened, what he had done.
Meanwhile, the tension in your core made you cramp together against Rex. It felt like every single nerve in your body was damaged, the kind of damage that couldn’t be fixed. You felt tired, exhausted, like the last bit of happiness had been drained of your soul.
