Falling Through the Snow - Captain Rex x Reader
Life Day Fic Exchange 2025 @cloneficgiftexchange
Written for: @captainpains
────── ⋆❄︎⋆ ──────⋆❄︎⋆ ──────⋆❄︎⋆ ──────
The first time you see snow, you’re coming in for a crash landing.
“It’s not a crash,” Rex says over the com, voice steady in your ear even as the LAAT shudders around you. “It’s a controlled descent.”
“Into a mountain,” you shout back, gripping the safety straps so hard your fingers ache. “That’s the definition of a crash, Captain!”
“Ma’am, if we were crashing, you’d be screaming.”
“I am screaming!”
The gunship punches through a low bank of clouds, and suddenly the viewport is full of white.
You’ve seen it in holos, sure. Pretty documentaries about Alderaan’s winter festivals, weather reports about seasonal storms, all that polite, curated data you catalog for the GAR. But this is different. The snow here isn’t picturesque; it’s driven sideways by savage wind, clawing at the transparisteel like it wants in.
Below, the planet’s surface is all jagged rock and ice, a maze of ridges buried under deceptively fluffy powder. You catch flashes of dark metal in the distance—separatist installations, half-hidden in the storm.
“LZ coming up,” the pilot announces. “Hang on, boys.”
Rex’s hand steadies you by your shoulder, “You’re not supposed to be on the front line,” he says quietly, as if the rest of the troopers could hear him over the roar of the wind. “Soon as we touch down, you head for the relay station and stay behind cover. Understood?”
You tilt your head toward him. His helmet is still on, blue jaig eyes glaring down the length of the gunship, but you can picture the matching furrow in his real brow. You’ve worked with him long enough to know his expressions by the way his shoulders set.
“I am the relay station,” you remind him. “They pulled me out of the heated communications hub because of this planet’s ion interference.”
He huffs, just audible over the comm. “Didn’t say I didn’t want you here. Just don’t want you shot here.”
A beat of warmth flares under your ribs, inconvenient and familiar. You’ve had a quiet crush on Captain Rex since your first deployment with the 501st: he’d handed you a blaster and said so seriously you felt it in your bones, ‘Stay close, and only fire if you have to, ma’am’. He’s all duty and discipline hiding a secret tenderness below, and you’re only human.
You smile anyway, because joking is easier. “Aw, Captain. Careful or I’ll start thinking you care.”
His hand squeezes your shoulder just once before he pulls it back. “Stay behind cover, ma’am.”
The gunship bucks as it hits a cross current, then slams down hard enough your brain rattles in your skull. The doors yawns open to a wall of biting wind and sharp, stinging flakes. The cold punches straight through your thermal gear.
You step into snow for the first time and immediately sink halfway up your calves.
“Oh,” You gasp. “Oh no. Nope. No thank you. I hate this.”
Jesse laughs through the squad channel. “Welcome to Orto Plutonia, civvie.”
“Move!” Rex’s command cuts through the chatter. “Form up! Kix, with the liaison.”
You fall in beside Kix, head ducked against the gale. Your portable relay case bumps against your hip with every step, heavy with encrypted datapads, signal boosters, and enough power to punch a comm line through this cursed atmosphere. The medic half drags you through the snow to get to the connection point.
The squad advances in a staggered formation, the contrast of their blacks peaking beneath their armor the only thing truly distinguishing them from the snow, blue markings half-obscured. Ahead, through veils of windblown flakes, you can just make out the dark outline of the Republic field station—a low cluster of prefabs half-buried in drifts.
“Static’s brutal,” Fives grumbles. “Can’t see for shit”
“Language,” Kix says mildly.
Fives sighed, rolling his eyes. “Can’t see anything.”
Rex lifts a hand, and the line halts. “Eyes up,” he says. “Droids could be using the storm for cover. Scanner?”
Jesse checks his wrist. “Readings are fuzzy, sir. Getting some movement, but the snow’s bouncing back the signal like crazy.”
You tap your comms headset. “External comms are fully jammed,” you report. “Localized squad channel’s stable. Once we get to the station, I can set up a directional beam and punch through to orbit.”
“Copy,” Rex says. “Let’s make it there in one piece.“
Kix hand is in the middle of your back as you trudge the last hundred meters through knee-deep powder, half guiding you along, half ready to push you down into the snow if need be. You're cursing your entire department for not issuing civilians proper snow gear the whole way.
By the time General Skywalker’s voice finally crackles faintly through the static of your datapad, you can’t feel your toes.
“—me in Rex. Report.”
You patch the signal to the squad’s internal channel. “You’re live, Captain.”
Rex straightens, snow sliding off his pauldrons. “We’ve reached the outpost, sir. Setting up the communications relay now. Awaiting orders.”
You sink to your knees beside the prefab’s half-buried antenna, pry open a frozen access panel, and start coaxing the ancient tech to life. Fingers numb, nose dripping, you fall into the familiar rhythm of troubleshooting: reroute power, bypass damaged relays, swear under your breath at budget constraints.
“You’re shivering,” Kix observes, crouching beside you to offer what little shelter he can from the whipping winds.
“I’m fine,” you say through chattering teeth. “How people voluntarily visit winter resorts I do not understand.”
He chuckles. “At least the snow’s pretty.”
You glance up. The storm has eased just enough that you can see the sky—a pale, washed-out gray, flakes tumbling like static on a broken holo. Pretty isn’t the word you’d use right now, but maybe when your extremities aren’t aching from the cold...
The comm array hums to life, a thread of stable power cutting through the chaotic interference. You grin, teeth clicking. “We’re up,” you announce. “Captain, you have a clear channel to the Resolute.”
Anakin’s voice comes through stronger now. “Good work. Captain, your objective stands. Intelligence confirms a Separatist command outpost approximately four clicks east of your location. Minimal organic life, heavy droid presence. You are to infiltrate, secure any data, and sabotage their main relay. We believe they’ve been tracking fleet movements.”
Rex nods. “Understood. We’ll move out immediately.”
You open your mouth to protest—Excuse me, hi, the civilian would like to not walk several kilometers in an arctic warzone—but Anakin beats you to the punch.
“Lieutenant,” he says, using the honorary field rank they slapped on you for paperwork’s sake. “You are to accompany Captain Rex. The Sepritists’ relay is likely using a variant of the same interference we’re struggling with. We’ll need your expertise to reverse it.”
Rex’s helmet swivels toward you. You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the disapproval from here.
You sigh. “Understood, General.”
The connection clicks off.
Rex strides over. “With respect, ma—Lieutenant, I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.” You push to your feet and rub your arms for warmth. “But they’re right. If those relays are the same design, a droid’s not going to have the intuition to compensate for the interference. I will.”
“I can’t guarantee your safety out there.”
You study the emotion in his posture—the tight line of his shoulders, the slight dip of his head. He’s scared. Not for the mission. For you.
“You’ve kept me alive this long, Captain.” you say softly. “ I trust you.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then he gives a sharp nod. “Kix, you’re with us. Fives, Jesse—you’re on outpost defense until we return. If we’re not back in three hours—”
“We come and drag your asses home,” Fives says cheerfully. “Got it, sir.”
The trek to the Separatist station is worse. The wind picks up again, driving fine powder into every gap in your gear. Snow finds its way down the back of your neck, under your collar, into your boots. At one point you slip on a patch of ice hidden beneath the drifts and faceplant into a cold so deep it extinguishes every thought in your skull.
A strong hand hauls you upright by the back of your jacket. “Careful,” Rex says, an edge in his voice. “You okay?”
You spit out a mouthful of snow. “I’ve decided I hate my career choices, Captain.”
“Noted, ma’am.”
Still, he doesn’t let go of your jacket until the ground evens out.
The Separatist outpost rises out of the snow like an ugly metal tooth, dark plating rimed with frost. Turrets rotate lazily along the upper ramparts, sensors sweeping the whiteout.
“Heavy droid presence, they said,” Kix mutters. “That’s a lot of hardware.”
Rex waves you both down behind a ridge. “We need a way in, that keeps the bulk of their firepower pointed the wrong direction.”
You peer over the snowbank, squinting through wind and flurries. “Their external relays are mounted high for line-of-sight transmission,” you say, more to yourself than anyone. “If we can get close enough to hijack the signal routing, I might be able to overload the targeting feeds.”
Kix snorts. “In Basic, please.”
“I can break their eyes,” you translate. “Turrets start seeing everything as friendly or enemy. Either way, they’ll stop tracking us properly.”
Rex considers that. “How close?”
You double check and wince. “Uh. About… twenty meters from the primary array. On the exterior wall…. in the open.”
He groans. “Of course.”
You press on. “But if you can get me ten seconds, I can patch us as friendly and broadcast a false priority target on the other side of the compound. They’ll concentrate their fire where we tell them.”
Kix glances between you and Rex. “Sir, with all due respect, this is insane But it’s our best option.”
Rex lets out a tired sigh, some fog from his breath escaping from under the edge of his helmet. “Fine. We’ll move along the ridge, use the snow for cover as long as we can, then make a run for the base of the tower. Once the turrets shift to fire on the false target, we go in under their blindspot. Kix, you’re taking her in, I’ll provide cover and try to draw their fire. Lieutenant—”
“I poke the circuit boards until they cooperate,” you say, trying for humor, but mostly just sounding pitiful and cold. “Got it.”
The run for the tower is a blur of white and adrenaline. Blasterfire erupts as soon as your boots hit open ground, red bolts slicing through the storm. Snow explodes around you. Rex returns fire in measured bursts, picking off perimeter droids with clinical precision. Kix hand in between your shoulder blades, pushing you forward and yanking you out of the way of stray shots.
You slam into the base of the wall, heart in your throat, and drop to your knees in the snow. Ice bites through your pants instantly. You rip off the external panel, fingers shaking as you jack in your datapad and start ripping your way through the tower’s basic security.
“Ten seconds,” Kix says over your shoulder, blaster barking. “Nine.”
“I’m going as fast as I can!” you snap, breath pluming in front of you. You find the routing subroutine and force your own code into the mix, fingers flying on instinct. Input friendly IFF tags, spoof the turret’s target table, redirect priority lockout—
“Three,” Kix says, voice tight.
“Got it!” You slap the execute key. The tower hums as the turrets pivot in unison, barrels swinging to aim at a section of empty white plain on the far side of the base. Blasterfire erupts there instead, pounding furrows into untouched snow.
“Move!” Rex barks, vaulting over the fallen tree he’d been using for cover running straight towards the both of you.
────── ⋆❄︎⋆ ──────⋆❄︎⋆ ──────⋆❄︎⋆ ──────
The inside of the base was one disaster after the other, but by some miracle the three of you managed to secure the intel and make it out in one piece. If making it out happened to entail the three of you falling out a side door that dropped you down a tall embankment… well, beggars can’t be choosers… You were dizzy and disoriented as you stood up the troopers taking control of the situation at hand.
“We’re too exposed,” Kix says, steadying you.. “If they send units topside—”
“They will,” Rex says. “We need cover. There—those rocks! Let’s move.”
The snow is deeper up here, piling in drifts against jagged stone outcroppings. You drag your legs through it, feeling each step like a weight. Your lungs burn with cold, every breath a knife.
Halfway to the rocks, something punches into your side.
You don’t understand what’s happened at first. There’s just an impact, like someone shoving you hard, and then your legs don’t work right. The ground rushes up.
You hit the snow and roll, powder spraying across your face. The sky spins crazily overhead—gray, white, gray, the dark outline of Rex’s helmet looming into view.
“Sniper!” Kix shouts. “Top of the base!”
Rex drops beside you, blasterfire all around. “Talk to me,” he says, urgently. “Where are you hit?”
You blink up at him. Your side feels… hot, weirdly, beneath the cold. You try to move and a white-hot lance of pain drives through your torso.
You gasp. “Oh. There. I guess.”
Kix slides in on your other side, hands already working, pulling away fabric, checking the wound. “Just a graze,” he says, more to Rex than to you. “Pretty bad burn, but not life threatening. Lucky.”
“Define lucky,” you manage, teeth clenched.
“Lucky is ‘you’re not dead,’” Kix says. “Talk later. Hold still.”
Another bolt kicks up snow a meter away. Rex snarls something wordless and fires back, covering both you and Kix with his body.
“Captain—” you protest, breathless. “You can’t—”
“Quiet,” he snaps. “I’m busy keeping you alive.”
Kix slaps a bacta patch onto your side. The gel floods the wound with a burning-then-numbing heat that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. You hiss, fingers digging into the snow.
“This will hold for now,” Kix says. “But she shouldn’t be running around.”
“I’m right here,” you say weakly. “And I vote we have to do, to not get shot again.”
Rex glances up toward the base, then down at you. You can’t see his eyes, but you can feel them, assessing, calculating.
“I’ll draw their fire,” he says abruptly.
Kix starts to protest, but Rex cuts him off with a wave of his hand
“She’s your patient. You take her, move along the rocks and circle wide. If I keep them looking my way—”
“That is a terrible plan,” you cut in.
“Lieutenant,” he says, and there’s an edge in it you’ve only heard a handful of times. “With respect, this is not your call.”
You glare up at him, gut twisting. “I am not letting you play hero just so I can limp back to the gunship with a singed side and a ghost.”
His hand closes around your shoulder. “You’re a civilian, I’m a soldier. This is my job.”
“I’m a communications expert, not the third in command of a whole kriffing legion, Captain.” You said firmly, “You are not-”
He flinches like you slapped him. “No,” he says, quiet and fierce. “You’re worth it.”
The storm seems to mute around you, just for a moment. Snowflakes hang in the air, suspended. Your breath catches.
“Rex,” you say.
He squeezes your shoulder once, then releases you. “Kix, move her now. That’s an order.”
Before either of you can argue again, he pushes up and charges down the slope, firing deliberately wild, making himself as obvious a target as possible.
“Captain, you kriffing—” Kix swears, then slings your arm over his shoulders. “All right, you heard him. We go.”
You stumble along the base of the rocks, using them as partial cover. Every few seconds, a bolt slams into the snow somewhere near Rex’s path. He returns fire, agile even in the drifts, drawing the shots away from you.
“Stay with me,” Kix urges.
“I’m trying,” you grit out. The pain in your side is a hot, throbbing ache now, dulled by the bacta but still very present. Your legs feel like someone replaced your muscles with lead.
You round a bend in the rocks and lose sight of Rex.
“Kix—”
“I know.” His jaw is tight behind his visor. “He’ll be fine. Man’s stubborn and made of pure durasteel.”
You make it another twenty meters before the world tilts alarmingly. Your vision tunnels, edges going dark.
“Hey,” Kix says sharply. “Stay awake.”
“Working on it,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.
Then the snow under your boots gives way.
You don’t even have time to swear. One moment you’re leaning on Kix, the next the ground simply… disappears, collapsing into a hidden crevasse beneath the drift.
You and Kix plunge into darkness in a flurry of powder and fractured ice.
When you hit, the impact knocks every particle of air out of your lungs. For a few seconds you’re not even sure if you’re alive or not.
“Ugh,” Kix groans nearby. “I hate snow. I hate gravity. You okay Lieutenant?"
You cough, curl around your side, and wince as pain flares. “Yeah,” you croak. “More or less.”
Kix helmet light flickers when he taps it, casting a weak cone of illumination around you. You’re in some kind of ice cave, the collapse having dropped you through a thin crust into a hollow space below. The ceiling glitters with frost, reflecting the light like a constellation.
“Could be worse,” Kix says. “Could’ve fallen onto rocks instead of snow.”
“I’d like to lodge a formal complaint with the universe regardless.”
His helmet HUD ticks as he checks his systems. “Comms are spotty,” he says. “Something in this ice is blocking the signal. We’re not getting through to Rex from down here.”
Panic stabs through you, sharper than your wound. “We have to get back up. He doesn’t know where we are, he’ll—he’ll think—”
“He’ll assume we got clear and prioritize his own survival,” Kix says firmly. “Because he’s a professional soldier and not a suicidal maniac.”
You give him a look. “He just ran into sniper fire for us.”
Kix hesitates. “Okay. Fair point. But he also wants you alive. So let’s focus on making that happen.”
You clench your teeth and nod. “What’s our exit strategy, medic?”
He sweeps his light around. The cave slopes downward in one direction, deeper into the ice, and upward in the other toward a jagged opening where you fell through. Snow continues to trickle down from the collapsed ceiling.
“Up is blocked,” he says. “We try climbing, we risk bringing the rest of it down on our heads. Down might open up further along. Maybe a natural fissure we can use to get back to the surface.”
You eye the downward path. “Into the depths of an unknown ice cave on a hostile world with one of us injured and no idea where our captain is. Sounds fun.”
“You’re picking up the clone sense of humor,” he says dryly. “Come on. Lean on me. Slow and steady.”
“Is this where you tell me to stay awake and talk about my feelings?”
“Only if you start slurring your words,” Kix says. “Then it’s concussion protocol and feelings hour.”
You manage a faint laugh and let him guide you.
The cave narrows in places, forcing you both to squeeze sideways through tight gaps between walls of blue-white ice. His helmet light refracts strangely, making it feel like you’re walking inside a broken crystal. Your breath echoes, harsh and loud.
After what feels like an eternity of shuffling, slipping, and cursing, the tunnel widens into a small chamber. A crack in the ceiling lets in a faint, diffuse glow from the storm above. Snow filters down in lazy spirals, gentler here than in the open air.
Kix stops. “We’ll rest here,” he says. “You’re running on fumes, and I need to check that wound.”
“I’m fine,” you lie.
He turns his helmet toward you. “You said that before, and then you almost passed out and we fell into a planet. Sit.”
You sit. The snow here is shallow, more of a dusting on the stone floor than actual cover. It’s still cold enough to seep through your gear, but the ice walls block the worst of the wind.
Kix fusses over your side, replacing the bacta patch, checking for additional damage. His hands are gentle, practiced.
“You’re lucky,” he says again. “If that bolt had been a centimeter lower—”
“Lucky is ‘I’m on Coruscant with a hot mug of caf and a stack of routine transmission logs,’” you say. “This is… less lucky.”
He snorts. “If you wanted boring, you picked the wrong battalion.”
You bite back the urge to say you didn’t pick your assignment - even giving your current situation, you still wouldn’t trade your time with these boys for anything. You lean your head back against the ice wall and close your eyes for a second. The cave is quiet, the sort of deep, insulated quiet that makes your own heartbeat sound loud.
“Kix?” you ask softly.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think he made it? Rex?”
Kix pauses. When he speaks, his voice is steady. “I’ve been patching that man up since I was assigned to the 501st. Takes more than a storm and a handful of clankers to put him down. He’ll be fine.”
You nod, a little of the tightness in your chest easing. “Okay.”
“You care about him,” Kix adds, casual but not too casual.
You crack an eye open to glower at him. “You’re reading too much into my desire for my commanding officer not to die.”
“Sure,” he says. “And I only carry a medkit for the exercise.”
You huff. “I like him,” you admit grudgingly. “There. You win. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
“It’s stupid. He’s a clone, I’m civilian, there are regs and ethics boards and power dynamics and a lot of reasons why it’s a bad idea.”
“Also the war,” Kix says. “Don’t forget the war.”
“Yes, thank you, I was trying.”
He pats your shoulder. “For what it’s worth? I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”
You blink. “What does that mean?”
“Means if we get out of this, and you two don’t at least talk, I’m reassigning myself to a unit with less romantic tension.”
“You can’t reassign yourself,” you point out.
“Exactly. I deal with enough already, take something off my plate.”
Despite everything, a laugh escapes you. It echoes oddly in the cave, softer than the sound deserves.
Above, the faint glow shifts as the storm outside moves. Snowflakes drift down through the crack like bits of torn paper. One melts on your glove, tiny and intricate.
“Dink.” He shoves a canteen into your hands. You sip gratefully, the water lukewarm but welcome.
A crackle of static pops in your ear. You jerk upright.
“—x… Kix… anyone copy?”
Your heart stutters. “Rex?”
More static. Then, clearer: “Kix, Lieutenant, respond. Where are you?”
“We hear you!” Kix says, thumping his helmet. “We fell into some kind of ice cave. Comms have been a mess. Sir, are you okay?”
“Fine,” Rex says, which you weren’t sure if you believed him or not. “I lost visual on you when you went over that drift. My tracker shows your signals below surface level. Can you see sky?”
“Sort of,” you say, craning your neck. “There’s a crack above us. Light coming through, snow falling in. We’re in a… pocket? Chamber? Not sure how far down.”
“Stay put,” Rex orders. “I’ll find you.”
“That’s not efficient,” you protest. “We can try to climb toward the crack, meet you halfway.”
“Negative,” he says, voice sharpening. “You’re injured, Lieutenant. You already fell through once. I’m not risking you on unstable terrain again.”
“You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can. That’s an order.”
Kix mutters, “Told you. Professional soldier, suicidal tendencies, one package.”
You ignore him. “Fine,” you say to Rex. “But you better be careful. I will be very annoyed if you die on the way here just to prove a point.”
The connection fuzzes for a second, and you think you hear a soft huff of laughter. “Copy that.”
The next fifteen minutes are an exercise in patience and anxiety. You sit there in that cold, glittering cave, watching the crack above, listening for any sign of movement. Kix hums under his breath, some wordless tune.
Then, faintly, over the wind: “Grenade out!”
You startle. “What was—”
There’s a muffled thump, and Kix scrambles to shield you as snow pours in through the crack in a thick white waterfall.
“Sir?” Kix calls.
A gloved hand appears over the edge of the fissure, fingers digging into the ice. A moment later, a helmet follows, blue jaig eyes peering down.
“Found you,” Rex says.
Relief hits you so hard it’s almost painful. “Show-off.”
He disappears from view, then reappears half a minute later, lowered on a hastily rigged line anchored to something above. He drops the last meter into the cave with easy grace and straightens up, scanning you both.
He looks like he’s been through the grinder. His armor is scorched in several places, a long black streak running down one side of his chestplate. There’s a new dent in his helmet. More snow clings to him than to the landscape.
“Are you hurt?” you demand, before he can say anything.
“Nothing serious,” he says. “You?”
Kix answers for you. “She’ll live. Blaster graze, patched and stable. Some bruising from the fall. I want to check her for a concussion, and I’d like to get her into a medbay before the numbing meds wear off.”
Rex nods. “Extraction’s on the way. I signaled Fives and the others once I picked up your signal. They’re setting up a beacon for the gunships.” He looks up at the crack. “Think you can handle a climb?”
You eye the makeshift line. “With help.”
He steps closer and offers his hand. “I’ve got you,” he says quietly.
You take it.
With Rex holding you tightly to him as the small motorized pulling drags the two of you upward, the accent is less terrifying than it could be. Your side protests every movement, but the adrenaline dulls the edge. You emerge into blinding white, the storm having eased into a steady fall of lazy flakes. Rex pushes you out first once you’re at the top, and keeps his hands on your waist for a second longer than strictly necessary after helping you stand up.
“Thanks,” you say, breath puffing in the cold.
He doesn’t let go immediately. “You scared me,” he says, so soft you almost don’t hear it over the wind.
You swallow. “You scared me first.”
Kix grunts as he hauls himself out behind you. “If you two are going to start emotionally processing, can we do it somewhere warmer?”
“Gunship’s two minutes out,” Rex says, glancing toward a distant, blinking beacon where you can just make out the shapes of Fives and Echo in the snow. “We’ll be aboard and en route to the Resolute before your toes fall off, Lieutenant.”
“Too late,” you say. “I left my toes back at the first outpost.”
He huffs. “I’ll requisition you new ones.”
“You can do that?”
“Probably not,” he admits. “But I can try.”
The wind shifts, sending a flurry of snow swirling around you. For a second, the world narrows to just the three of you in a haze of white—your breath, their breath, the faint whine of approaching engines.
“Rex,” you say, before you lose your nerve. “Back there. When you said…”
He stiffens. “I was trying to keep you moving,” he says quickly. “Soldiers say things in the field. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” You blink. “That’s not— no. I just wanted to know if you… meant it.”
He goes very still. If he weren’t so close, if you hadn’t spent months learning the language of his silences, you might miss the subtle shift.
“Yeah,” he says at last. “I did.”
The engines are louder now, a gunship sweeping in low over the ridge. Snow blasts outward in a swirling halo as it hovers, ramp lowering.
You have seconds. Maybe less.
“Well, that’s… good,” you say brilliantly.
He tilts his helmet, just a fraction. “Good?”
You can feel Kix hovering politely just out of earshot, pretending to take an urgent interest in his medkit.
You take a breath. The air is cold enough it stings your lungs.
“Because I…” You trail off, then shake your head. “I like you too, Rex. A lot. Against my better judgment.”
He’s very quiet.
The gunship settles, ramps fully down. Fives waves wildly from the open hatch. “Hey! You done making snow angels? We’ve got places to be!”
You flush. “We are not—”
Rex lifts a hand, cutting you off. Then he reaches up, pops the seals on his helmet, and pulls it off.
You’ve seen his face before, of course, but never quite like this—flushed from the cold, eyes bright and intent. His gaze anchors you in place.
“Regulations say I shouldn’t fraternize,” he says. “Regulations say a lot of things.” Snowflakes cling to his lashes. “But I almost lost you three times today, and I’m starting to think I don’t care what regulations say, not when it comes to you.”
You stare at him. Your heart is doing something very undignified in your chest.
“It’s cold,” you say, because your brain has decided now is a good time to stop functioning. “You shouldn’t— your head will—”
He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through layers of gear. “Permission to do something reckless, Lieutenant?”
You swallow. “Granted.”
He kisses you.
It’s not the desperate, dramatic holodrama clinch you once imagined. It’s cautious at first, testing, his lips surprisingly warm against yours despite the freezing air. He tastes like recycled oxygen, cold, and something undeniably him. Snow dusts his cheek, melts against your skin.
For a second, neither of you move. The world holds its breath.
Then something inside you loosens, and you lean in, fingers curling in the plastoid edge of his collar. He responds immediately, hand sliding to the back of your head, steady but not demanding, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.
You don’t.
Your side twinges, reminding you that you are, in fact, injured and standing upright entirely too long. You break the kiss with a breathless laugh. “Ow. Worth it, but ow.”
He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, eyes closed. “You sure?” he asks quietly. “About this?”
“About kissing a handsome, infuriating clone captain in the middle of a snowstorm after nearly dying twice?” you say. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
A smile ghosts over his mouth. “Good to know.”
“Kriffing finally,” Kix mutters behind you.
You and Rex both turn to glare at him. He just shrugs.
“Get her on the ship, Captain,” Kix says. “If I have to keep doing field surgery on this iceball, I’m putting in for hazard pay.”
Rex sets his helmet back on with a click and slides an arm around your waist, careful of your wound. “You heard the medic,” he says. “Let’s go home.”
You let him guide you toward the gunship, snow swirling around your boots. The ramp is a brief incline of safety, the interior blessedly warm. Troopers crowd around, clapping you both on the shoulders, firing off questions and jokes.
You sink onto a bench as the ship lifts, feeling the ache in your side and the bone-deep exhaustion in your limbs. Rex takes the seat beside you, close enough that your thighs touch.
“Hey,” you murmur, voice soft enough only he can hear through the local channel. “Rex?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you decide to risk your life for me,” you say, “maybe just remember I can’t replace you, okay?”
He looks at you, then down where your legs are pressed against each other.
“I’ll try,” he says. “No promises. But I’ll try.”
You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Guess I’ll just have to stick close and make sure you don’t do anything too heroic.”
“Someone’s got to keep me in line,” he agrees.
Outside, the snowstorm fades into cloud as the gunship climbs, leaving the frozen battlefield behind. Inside, surrounded by the hum of engines and the low murmur of familiar voices, you lean your head on Rex’s shoulder and let your eyes drift shut.
For the first time that day, you feel warm.
