The Snow globe
This is my story for the Life Day exchange 2024 for @alegendoftomorrow.
Prompts: “The lights are beautiful.”- “Yeah they are.” Neither of them are looking at the lights. || “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?” - “Positive…. maybe….. probably.”
A/N: Thanks again to @cloneficgiftexchange for making this possible. They were some fun prompts to work with. I apologise for the day's delay, I had been going at it, it's pretty long as you'll see and work had been crazy, I wanted it to be perfect. I just hope that you'll love every second it as much as I had fun writing it. It's a bit different, but that's fine in these sorts of things. I'd love to know your thoughts on it.
there are no warnings needed for this story, maybe just for it's length.
On A03
word length: 14 323
The hum of the ship’s engines filled the cabin, steady and rhythmic, as the stars of hyperspace streaked across the viewport. The ship was alive with the sound of voices, playful banter bouncing off the metal walls. It had been a long time since they’d all been together like this—no battles, no orders, no looming war. Just brothers, traveling through space toward a promise of peace and something new.
Jesse stretched out on a crate in the corner, helmet balanced on his knee. “I’m just saying, if this thing falls apart mid-flight, I’m blaming Tech. He’s the one who’s supposed to know every single bolt and wire in this tin can.”
Tech didn’t even glance back from the co-pilot’s chair. “The Havoc Marauder is structurally sound and fully functional. Any mechanical failure would be statistically improbable.”
“Right, and ‘statistically improbable’ means nothing when you’re spiraling toward a planet,” Jesse shot back with a smirk, leaning his head against the wall. “Fives, back me up.”
“Depends,” Fives replied from across the cabin, leaning lazily against the bulkhead. “Do I get to be the one piloting when it happens? Because I bet I could land this thing better than Cody.”
Cody turned his head from the pilot’s chair, arching a brow. “You’d be lucky to hit the planet at all, Fives. Remember the time you drove a speeder into a tree? Or should I say, through a tree?”
That earned a round of laughs. Even Echo, who usually kept his comments to himself during these exchanges, let a smile slip. Fives raised his hands in mock surrender. “That tree came out of nowhere! Besides, we’ve all made mistakes.”
“Not mistakes like that,” Echo said under his breath, his grin widening when Fives pointed an accusing finger at him.
“It’s not my fault that tree had something against me,” Fives huffed, crossing his arms. “Anyway, what’s this planet called again? Idelmor?”
“It’s supposed to be some kind of winter paradise,” Jesse said, tipping his helmet off his knee and spinning it idly. “Snow-covered hills, cozy villages, all that storybook stuff.”
“Storybook?” Crosshair’s voice came from the shadows where he lounged, his toothpick twitching lazily between his fingers. “Sounds boring. Unless there’s a good fight waiting.”
“No fights,” Cody said firmly, turning back to the controls. “That’s the point. We’re supposed to relax for once.”
“Relax?” Wrecker’s booming voice came from the back of the ship as he stood, cracking his neck with an audible pop. “I’ll show you relaxing. You just point me in the direction of this ‘Christmas roast’ they’re supposed to have, and I’ll handle the rest.”
“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Crosshair muttered, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “Food.”
“Damn right,” Wrecker said with a grin. “If this ‘Christmas’ thing involves feasting, count me in.”
“Christmas,” Tech interjected from the front, pushing up his goggles, “is an ancient tradition originating from Core Earth. It involves gift-giving, communal meals, and decorative customs designed to foster goodwill.”
“Yeah, yeah, goodwill,” Jesse cut in, rolling his eyes. “What about snowball fights? I heard they’re big on that here.”
“Snowball fights?” Kix, who had been quietly cleaning his medkit, raised an eyebrow. “You mean pelting each other with frozen water?”
“Exactly,” Jesse said, sitting up straighter, his grin widening. “It’s like a battle simulation, but fun.”
“Only you would think throwing snow at people is a battle simulation,” Kix replied, shaking his head. “You’d probably twist your ankle trying to dodge a snowball.”
“Twist my ankle? I’d be unstoppable!” Jesse said, puffing out his chest. “Mark my words, I’m going to bury you all in snow.”
“You’ll be too busy running from Wrecker,” Echo muttered, earning a chuckle from the others.
“You’ve got that right!” Wrecker bellowed, punching the air. “I’m gonna flatten you all.”
“Not if you trip over your own feet,” Crosshair said, smirking. “Again.”
The cabin filled with laughter, the kind of unguarded sound that only came from moments like these. Rex, leaning against the bulkhead near the cockpit, watched it all with a faint smile. His arms were crossed, his stance relaxed, but there was a quiet weight to his expression. It felt good, being here with them like this. It reminded him of the barracks, back when the galaxy wasn’t such a heavy place to carry.
“You’re quiet,” Cody said, glancing over his shoulder at Rex. “You alright?”
Rex shrugged, his smile lingering as he looked out at the glowing blue of hyperspace. “Yeah. Just… good to see them like this. Feels normal.”
Cody nodded, a rare softness in his tone. “It’s been a long time coming.”
Rex didn’t reply, but his eyes lingered on the group—the way Fives leaned into every word, the way Kix shook his head at their antics, the way Wrecker’s laugh echoed like thunder. They were all still here. That was enough, for now.
The ship shuddered slightly as it began its descent, Tech adjusting the controls with practiced ease. “Approaching Idelmor,” he announced. “Optimal landing conditions. Minimal atmospheric interference.”
“Minimal interference?” Wrecker grinned. “Sounds like a smooth landing for once.”
“Try not to break anything before we even touch down,” Crosshair said.
“Try not to break the planet with your bad attitude,” Wrecker shot back, folding his arms.
As the ship pierced through the atmosphere, the viewport filled with a dazzling view of Idelmor: rolling hills blanketed in snow, evergreen trees that glistened like crystals, and a cluster of warm lights marking the small village below. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the faint glow of lanterns illuminated the streets, casting a golden hue against the soft blue of twilight.
For a moment, the cabin fell silent as the sight sunk in.
“Well,” Fives said, breaking the quiet, “if that doesn’t look like the perfect vacation, I don’t know what does.”
“Let’s hope their food’s as good as their scenery,” Wrecker added, his excitement evident as he grabbed his gear.
Rex remained still, his eyes fixed on the village below. The glow of the lights reflected in his gaze, stirring something faint but steady in his chest—something that felt, just for a moment, like hope.
***
The ramp of the Havoc Marauder hissed open, spilling cold air into the ship’s warm cabin. Rex was the first to step out, his boots crunching against the packed snow at the base of the ramp. His breath misted in the frigid air as he glanced around, his senses keenly aware of the sudden stillness that came with setting foot on a new planet.
The village of Elycara lay a short walk ahead, nestled into the base of a hill that rolled up toward a dense forest of evergreen trees. Lights flickered warmly from the windows of stone and timber cottages, their rooftops heavy with snow. Smoke curled from chimneys, mixing with the faint scent of pine and something sweeter—spiced, comforting. Lanterns hung along the main path leading into the village, casting a soft glow over the white ground.
The galaxy, for all its vastness, had rarely offered Rex a sight like this: untouched, quiet, alive without chaos.
Behind him, the others stepped out into the cold. Jesse whistled low, his breath visible in the sharp air. “Would you look at that,” he murmured, eyes scanning the scene before them. “I didn’t think places like this actually existed.”
“They do,” Cody said, descending the ramp with practiced precision, his boots crunching into the snow. His gaze swept over the village, assessing as he always did, but there was no tension in his expression. “Rare, but they do.”
“It’s picturesque,” Tech said from behind, his tone clinically observant. He adjusted his goggles, the lenses catching the lantern light. “Precisely the sort of settlement one would expect to find associated with a holiday tradition. Communal, centered around warmth and shared experiences—quite fascinating, really.”
“Fascinating is one word for it,” Fives muttered, brushing his gloves together as he stepped off the ramp. “Another is freezing.”
“You’ve survived harsher than this,” Echo replied, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. His voice was soft, but his tone held the familiar, dry humor that always came out when he felt at ease. “Don’t act like a cadet.”
Fives grinned, nudging him with an elbow. “A cadet would’ve taken one look at this snow and gone back inside. I’m still standing, aren’t I?”
The sound of snow crunching behind them was punctuated by Wrecker’s booming laugh. “Standing for now, maybe. You’re gonna fall on your face as soon as you hit that icy patch over there.” He pointed toward the trail leading into the village, where the snow gleamed slick in the lantern light.
“Careful, or I’ll push you into it first,” Fives shot back, though the smile on his face softened the threat.
Crosshair, lagging at the back of the group, clicked his tongue as he adjusted his coat. “You’ll both fall if you keep flapping your mouths instead of watching where you’re walking.”
Rex couldn’t help but smile at the exchange, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. The banter felt… normal. Like the old days. Before everything had been taken from them.
His attention turned toward the village again, and as they began walking down the trail, his thoughts quieted. The snow underfoot was firm but not slippery, and the cold was sharp enough to sting his nose. He glanced around, catching the expressions of his brothers as they took in their surroundings.
Kix was walking with his head slightly tilted, his sharp eyes scanning the buildings for any sign of their local medical center—always assessing, always ready. Jesse walked beside him, hands stuffed into his gloves, his gaze drawn to the glowing windows of the cottages, where faint shadows of movement hinted at the lives inside.
Wrecker, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to stay still as they walked. His grin was broad, and every few paces, he pointed something out—a particularly tall evergreen, a child’s sled abandoned near the edge of the road, a flickering lantern swaying slightly in the breeze. “Look at that!” he said, nudging Crosshair, who merely rolled his eyes but didn’t bother responding.
Rex’s gaze settled on Cody, walking slightly ahead. His old commander’s posture was straight as ever, but there was something different in his expression. His eyes, usually so calculating, lingered on the village’s distant square, where a towering tree glittered with golden lights. Cody didn’t speak, but there was a faint crease in his brow that Rex recognized—thoughtful, maybe even wistful.
“You ever think we’d end up somewhere like this?” Rex asked, his voice low enough for only Cody to hear.
Cody glanced at him, his breath puffing in the cold. “No,” he admitted after a pause. “Not once.”
Rex nodded, his attention shifting back to the village. They were close enough now to hear the sounds of laughter and faint music drifting through the air. A group of villagers passed them on the road, carrying baskets filled with brightly wrapped parcels. One of the villagers—a boy no older than seven—stared at them wide-eyed, his gaze sweeping over their gear and their faces with unabashed curiosity.
“Evening,” Cody said, offering a nod. The boy’s mother smiled at them before gently steering her son onward.
“They’re not afraid of us,” Echo observed, his tone quiet but tinged with something hard to name—relief, maybe. “Not even wary.”
Rex knew what he meant. For years, their presence on a planet had been accompanied by war. They were symbols of conflict, instruments of strategy. But here, walking into a village lit with lanterns and filled with laughter, they weren’t soldiers. They were just… visitors.
The thought stuck with Rex as they entered the square. The towering tree at its center was breathtaking, its branches weighed down with ornaments of every size and shape. Garlands of greenery looped between the buildings, and wooden stalls lined the edges of the square, their shelves stacked with trinkets, steaming mugs, and warm pastries.
“It smells amazing,” Wrecker said, sniffing the air like a man starved. “What is that?”
“Likely cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves… possibly mulled wine,” Tech answered, his tone as clinical as ever. “All traditional holiday spices.”
“Traditional or not, I’m finding out where it’s coming from,” Wrecker declared, already scanning the stalls for the source.
Rex let him go, his attention drawn to a nearby shop at the edge of the square. Its windows were fogged from the warmth inside, and the faint glow of golden light spilled through the cracks of the wooden door. Something about it pulled at him, though he couldn’t say why.
Cody noticed. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Rex said, though his voice was distant. “I’ll catch up with you.”
Cody gave him a long look before nodding. The others moved on, drawn by the liveliness of the market, but Rex stayed behind. He stood there for a moment longer, watching the shop as if waiting for it to reveal something to him. Then, shaking his head, he stepped forward, pushing the door open with a creak, followed by the soft chime of a bell overhead.
Warmth wrapped around him instantly, a stark contrast to the biting chill outside. The air smelled of aged wood, faintly sweet spices, and something softer—vanilla, maybe. It was the kind of scent that invited you to linger, to breathe it in like a memory you didn’t want to let go of.
The door eased shut behind him, cutting off the distant laughter and chatter of the village square. In its place was the quiet murmur of a crackling fireplace tucked somewhere in the back. Rex took a step forward, his boots sinking into a worn but colorful rug, and he paused to take in his surroundings.
The shop was small but overflowing with character, every inch of it thoughtfully curated. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books whose spines ranged from leather-bound tomes to tattered paperbacks. Trinkets and antiques rested on tables and in glass cases, everything from ornate clocks to delicate porcelain figurines. A cozy nook in the corner drew his eye, where a plush couch sat beneath a window frosted with snow, a small stack of books and a steaming mug resting on a low table beside it.
It was the kind of place you could lose yourself in. Not by accident, but because you wanted to. Rex found himself lingering near the threshold, his hand still resting on the door as though afraid to step any further, like his presence might break the spell of the room.
“Welcome,” came a voice from behind the counter, soft but clear.
Rex turned, and for a moment, he forgot to speak. The woman standing there—(Y/n), as he’d learn later—was leaning over a small box of ornaments, brushing her hands free of some glittering powder. She had a warm but easy expression, her lips curled into a natural smile that somehow felt like an invitation rather than politeness. Loose strands of chestnut-brown hair fell from her braid, framing a face lit with curiosity. Her eyes, a bright, striking blue, flicked up to meet his, and she tilted her head ever so slightly.
“Not many visitors come in and stop right there,” she said, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. “You’re either deeply unimpressed or deeply overwhelmed. Which one is it?”
Rex blinked, his hand dropping from the door as he realized he’d been standing there too long. “Neither,” he said quickly, his voice rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, glancing around the shop. “It’s just… not what I expected.”
Her smile softened, and she gestured loosely to the shelves around them. “Most people say that. My father always liked to say this place doesn’t really feel like a shop. He wanted it to feel like… I don’t know, an escape.”
Rex nodded, stepping further inside. “It works.”
(Y/n)’s smile lingered as she watched him. He moved with a quiet presence, his posture straight but not rigid, his gloved hands brushing lightly over the edges of a nearby shelf. He wasn’t just looking at the items on display—he was absorbing the space, taking in every detail as though it might vanish if he didn’t. She recognized something in that—a carefulness that spoke of someone who wasn’t used to letting his guard down.
“Take your time,” she said, her voice gentle, before turning her attention back to the box on the counter. She lifted an ornament from it—a delicate glass star—and began tying a silver ribbon through the loop.
Rex’s eyes followed her hands briefly before he turned his attention back to the shelves. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—or if he was even looking for anything at all. But the atmosphere here, warm and alive in its quiet way, seemed to settle something in his chest he hadn’t realized was restless.
As he moved toward the center of the shop, his gaze caught on a table near the window. At its center was a snow globe, simple but beautifully crafted. Inside, a miniature version of the village square shimmered beneath a swirl of fine, silvery flakes. He hesitated before reaching for it, his fingers brushing the cool glass as he turned it gently in his hands.
“You’re drawn to that one, huh?” (Y/n)’s voice came from just behind him, light and curious. He hadn’t heard her move, and he glanced over his shoulder to find her standing a few steps away, the same easy smile on her face. “It’s a favorite around here.”
Rex looked back at the snow globe, watching the flakes settle. “It’s… detailed,” he said, unsure of what else to say. His voice softened. “It looks just like the square.”
“It should,” (Y/n) said, stepping closer. Her tone was quieter now, almost reverent. “My father made it. He was a woodworker and a craftsman. The base is carved from the trees up near the north ridge. He used to say every snow globe needed to feel like it carried a whole world inside it.”
Rex’s thumb brushed the edge of the wooden base, smooth but etched with subtle patterns. “It does feel like that.”
(Y/n) studied him for a moment, her gaze flicking to the way he held the snow globe—not casually, but carefully, like it was something precious. “There’s a story about that one,” she said. “They say if you hold it and think of someone, it’ll show you their heart’s greatest wish.”
Rex raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a skeptical smile. “Magic?”
“Maybe,” (Y/n) said with a shrug, her expression unreadable. “Or maybe it’s just a good excuse for people to imagine something they want to see.”
He held the snow globe a moment longer, the words hanging in the air between them. Then, setting it gently back on the table, he met her gaze again. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”
Her smile tilted, playful but soft. “I think there’s a little truth in every story. Don’t you?”
Rex didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced around the shop again, letting his gaze sweep over the books, the trinkets, the little pieces of other lives that filled the room. Finally, he said, “Maybe. Depends on the story.”
(Y/n) chuckled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Fair enough.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace in the back. But something about the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like a pause in the middle of a song—natural, even necessary.
Rex cleared his throat and stepped back toward the shelves. “Your father—he must’ve been proud of this place.”
(Y/n)’s smile faltered slightly, though she recovered quickly. “He was,” she said softly. “He built it to be a place where people could find… something they didn’t know they were looking for.”
Rex glanced at her, her words settling over him like the warmth of the shop itself. “Maybe he was onto something.”
Lingering by the shelves as (Y/n) moved back to the counter, where she resumed sorting through the ornaments with slow, deliberate movements. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, but it carried the quiet weight of curiosity. Rex’s eyes drifted again to the snow globe resting on the small table near the window. Something about it stayed with him—maybe it was the delicate craftsmanship or the way (Y/n) had described it, as though it held a world in its fragile casing. Too whimsical for someone like him, he thought, but it tugged at him all the same.
(Y/n) caught herself glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she worked, drawn to the quiet intensity he carried. His movements were measured, his posture always alert, like someone who never fully let down his guard. Yet beneath that, she sensed a weariness that went beyond the physical—a heaviness that had settled into his bones and stayed. She’d seen it before in others, but not quite like this.
“You’re not from here,” she said finally, her voice breaking the stillness with the lightness of an observation.
“No,” Rex replied, turning to face her slightly. “Just passing through.”
“With your friends?” (Y/n) asked, motioning vaguely toward the door with the ornament still in her hand.
Rex nodded. “Yeah. We travel together when we can.”
“Close group, then.”
“You could say that,” Rex said. His voice grew quieter as he hesitated, as though weighing whether to say more. Finally, he added, “We’ve been through a lot together.”
(Y/n) looked up, her gaze locking onto him. She noticed the way his jaw tightened just slightly, the way his hands flexed at his sides, as though memories were threatening to push past the barriers he kept so tightly in place. She recognized that look—it was the same one she’d seen in the eyes of the few villagers who had returned from the galaxy’s war. The ones who had left to help but had come back quieter, changed, heavier.
“We heard about the war,” she said softly, setting the ornament down. She kept her tone gentle, careful. “Even out here.”
Rex’s expression sharpened slightly, but not with hostility. It was reflexive—the instinct to assess and protect kicking in the moment someone mentioned the war. He studied her face, looking for the subtle cues people gave away when they talked about soldiers like him. Judgment, pity, fear… but he didn’t see any of those. Just quiet understanding.
“You didn’t see much of it,” he said after a pause.
(Y/n) shook her head, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms loosely. “No. Idelmor’s quiet. Tucked far enough away that it felt like we were watching the war from the other side of a viewport. We heard the stories, though. And a few of our people felt the call to help.”
Rex tilted his head slightly. “The call?”
“To fight,” (Y/n) explained, her voice dropping just slightly. “Or to heal, to build. To do whatever they could. Most of them didn’t come back.”
The words sat heavily in the space between them, though (Y/n) didn’t avert her gaze. She saw the flicker of emotion in Rex’s eyes—sorrow, perhaps, or something heavier. Guilt. It was brief but unmistakable, and it told her everything she needed to know.
“That happened in a lot of places,” Rex said finally, his voice quieter now.
(Y/n) nodded, her expression softening. She wanted to ask more, to learn the pieces of his story he wasn’t saying, but she knew that prying wouldn’t work. Some stories were only told when someone was ready. So instead, she stepped away from the counter, leaning her hip against the edge and letting the silence settle for a moment.
“I knew you were clones when you walked in,” she said gently, her voice measured, like she was testing the weight of her words.
Rex stiffened, though not entirely with surprise. He had wondered if the people here would recognize them, even in the absence of their armor.
“I see it in the way you move,” (Y/n) continued, watching his reaction carefully. “Not just you—all of you. There’s a purpose to it. A weight. But… that’s not all I see.”
Rex met her eyes, unsure what to say. He’d been stared at before, studied like an oddity or a relic of a war no one wanted to remember. He braced himself for the usual follow-up: the questions, the curiosity, the polite pity.
But (Y/n) smiled faintly and shrugged. “I see people,” she said simply. “That’s what matters to me.”
For a moment, Rex said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t believe her or because he didn’t know how to process the quiet sincerity in her tone. He shifted his weight slightly, glancing back at the snow globe. “Most people don’t see it that way.”
“Maybe most people aren’t looking close enough,” (Y/n) said, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t strike me as just a soldier. Not anymore.”
Her words landed in the quiet, not harsh or heavy, but matter-of-fact. Rex felt them settle in his chest, not entirely comfortable but not unwelcome either.
“You and your friends—are you staying in the village?” she asked after a moment, her tone lightening.
“Not yet,” Rex admitted. “We only just arrived.”
“Well,” (Y/n) said, a small smile curling at her lips, “I might have something for you. There’s a holiday cottage near the market square. It’s small, but it’s warm, and it has enough room for a group. A family used to run it, but they moved away a few years ago. I keep it up for travelers who come through.”
Rex raised a brow. “You keep a whole cottage just in case someone passes by?”
(Y/n) shrugged, her smile growing. “It’s a small village. We don’t get many strangers, but the ones we do usually leave something behind—stories, mostly. The kind worth keeping.”
Rex studied her for a long moment, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds like you’ve made this place more than just a shop.”
“It’s what my father wanted,” (Y/n) replied, her voice softening. “I just try to keep it alive.”
He nodded, glancing toward the door as if he could still hear the voices of his brothers outside. “I’ll talk to them. It might be nice to stay somewhere that isn’t a starship for once.”
“It’s yours if you want it,” (Y/n) said, her tone as warm as the firelight flickering in the corner. “I can show you where it is if you’d like.”
Rex hesitated before nodding. “Thanks.”
As they stepped outside, the cold stung at his face again, but it didn’t feel as biting as before. (Y/n) gestured toward a narrow path leading off the square, explaining the location as they walked. Rex caught glimpses of his brothers in the distance—Fives and Jesse laughing near a food stall, Wrecker towering over a group of villagers, Kix examining a trinket in a shop window.
For the first time in what felt like years, they weren’t soldiers. They were just… people. Rex let the thought settle in his mind as (Y/n)’s voice carried softly beside him. Maybe that was the real gift this place had to offer.
***
The crackling of the fire filled the cozy sitting room of the holiday cottage, the warm glow casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls. The boys had settled in quickly, their laughter and voices filling the space like it had always belonged to them. Jesse was sprawled on one of the couches, gesturing animatedly as he shared some tale from their earlier exploration of the village. Wrecker had already claimed the chair nearest the fire, his massive frame dwarfed by the oversized blanket he’d pulled over his shoulders, grinning as he polished off yet another helping of the pastries they’d brought back.
“Tell me that wasn’t the best pie you’ve ever had,” Wrecker declared, pointing at Echo, who sat at the table, carefully flipping through an old book he’d found on one of the shelves.
Echo didn’t look up. “It was fine.”
“Fine?” Wrecker’s voice boomed. “That wasn’t just pie, Echo. That was a masterpiece.”
Fives, lounging in a chair near the window, smirked. “You call anything with sugar a masterpiece.”
“Because it is!” Wrecker shot back, though his grin was broad. “And if you don’t agree, I’ll eat yours too.”
Cody leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitchen, his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with the faintest tilt of amusement on his lips. “At least we’re not eating rations,” he said dryly, and a chorus of groans filled the room.
“You had to remind us,” Jesse muttered. “Don’t ruin a good thing, Cody.”
Rex sat apart from the others, perched on a chair near the window with his arms resting on his knees, his eyes distant. Outside, the village square was illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns and the towering tree in the center, its golden lights shimmering like a dream against the snow. The sounds of faint laughter and holiday cheer drifted in through the glass, mingling with the warmth of the fire inside.
It was… peaceful. And yet, that peace felt foreign, like a new pair of boots that hadn’t quite been broken in yet.
“You’re quiet,” Cody said, his voice low but not unkind as he stepped closer to Rex. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, studying his brother with careful eyes. “That’s not like you.”
Rex shook his head faintly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “It’s nothing. Just… taking it all in.”
Cody hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. He straightened, nodding toward the table. “You’re the only one who hasn’t picked something out of the basket. Go grab a pastry before Wrecker eats them all.”
Rex huffed a laugh, though his heart wasn’t entirely in it. “I’m good. I think I’ll step out for a bit.”
Cody raised a brow but said nothing, only watching as Rex rose to his feet and grabbed his coat. The cold air greeted him as he stepped outside, biting at his face and ears, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It cleared his head, sharpened his focus. He pulled his gloves tighter and started toward the shop at the edge of the square, the light spilling through its windows as inviting as it had been the first time.
***
The bell chimed softly as Rex stepped inside, and the warmth of the shop wrapped around him like a familiar embrace. (Y/n) looked up from where she stood behind the counter, her hands busy with another box of ornaments. Her face brightened when she saw him.
“Rex,” she greeted, her smile easy and genuine. “Back so soon?”
He stepped forward, glancing around the shop. It was quieter now, the evening hours leaving it almost empty, but the fire in the corner still crackled, and the cozy atmosphere hadn’t waned. “I wanted to thank you again,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “The cottage—it’s perfect. The others are… well, they’re making themselves at home.”
(Y/n) laughed softly, setting down the ornament she’d been tying a ribbon through. “I’m glad. It’s been a while since anyone stayed there. It’s nice to know it’s being used.”
Rex nodded, his gaze drifting again to the snow globe on the table near the window. The swirling flakes inside caught the light just so, almost hypnotic in their simplicity. He hesitated, his hands slipping into his pockets, and (Y/n) noticed.
“Still curious about it?” she asked, her tone light.
Rex looked at her, then back at the globe. “It’s… interesting. The way you talked about it before, like it holds some kind of magic.”
(Y/n) tilted her head, stepping out from behind the counter. “It doesn’t have to be magic to mean something,” she said softly. “Sometimes it’s enough that it makes us think.”
She stopped beside the table, resting her hand lightly on the edge of the globe. “If you want to try it, you should. No pressure,” she added quickly, her blue eyes meeting his. “But if there’s someone you’re thinking about…”
Rex hesitated again, the weight of her gaze steady but not prying. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and reached out for the globe. It was cool in his hands, smooth and solid, and as he tilted it slightly, the flakes inside swirled to life, spinning in slow, mesmerizing patterns.
He thought of Cody.
The vision was instant, clear as though he were standing in it himself. Cody was here, in Idelmor, not as a visitor but as a cornerstone of the community. Rex saw him in the village square, surrounded by a group of clones—brothers Rex recognized and some he didn’t. They were laughing, their expressions open and free, and the villagers mingled among them as if there had never been a war, as if there were no distinction between them.
Cody stood taller than Rex had seen him in years, his posture steady, his face calm but content. He was a leader here, but not of a battlefield—of a home. There was no armor, no orders to give, just a sense of purpose that seemed to radiate from him. It wasn’t just Cody who belonged here, Rex realized. It was all of them.
The vision faded, the flakes settling back into place, and Rex was left staring at the globe, his chest tight.
“Rex?” (Y/n)’s voice broke through gently, pulling him back. He looked up to find her watching him, her brow furrowed with concern. “What did you see?”
He swallowed, setting the globe back on the table carefully. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “A future,” he said simply. “One I didn’t think we’d ever have.”
(Y/n)’s expression softened, and she tilted her head slightly. “And now?”
Rex looked at her, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t know how to explain the ache in his chest—the mix of hope and uncertainty, the weight of what could be and the fear of reaching for it.
“Now,” he said finally, his voice steadier, “I think it’s worth trying to make it real.”
*****
The fire crackled in the hearth of the cottage, casting warm light over the room as Rex leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed and his thoughts distant. The others were spread out in their usual relaxed chaos—Fives and Jesse were playing cards at the dining table, their banter loud enough to drown out most of the quiet outside. Wrecker had sprawled across the couch, snoring softly, a half-empty mug of spiced cider resting precariously on the armrest beside him. Tech and Echo sat together near the window, both pouring over something on a datapad, their low murmurs blending into the background.
Cody stood by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantle as he stared into the flames. His face was as stoic as ever, but Rex knew him well enough to see the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly. It was the posture of a man who had spent too much time thinking about things he hadn’t said.
Rex cleared his throat. “Cody, can I talk to you?”
The subtle shift in Cody’s expression was immediate—curiosity, edged with caution. He nodded once, motioning toward the kitchen. The two of them moved away from the others, their boots scuffing softly against the wooden floor.
“What’s on your mind?” Cody asked, leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed.
Rex hesitated, the words tangling in his mind before they could take shape. He hadn’t told anyone about what he’d seen in the snow globe—Cody, standing tall and sure in a place like this, surrounded by brothers who had once been lost. It wasn’t just an idle vision; it had felt real, like a glimpse of a future they hadn’t dared to believe was possible.
“I’ve been thinking about this place,” Rex said finally, his voice low. “About what it could mean for us.”
“For us?” Cody raised a brow, his tone calm but curious. “You mean just us, or…?”
“I mean all of us,” Rex said, gesturing faintly toward the main room. “The others. The brothers we’ve lost touch with. The ones who never found a place to land after the war. This planet… it’s quiet, Cody. Safe. It could be a home.”
Cody’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “You’re talking about bringing more clones here.”
“Yeah,” Rex said, his voice firm but not pushy. “We’ve spent the last year scattered, trying to find ways to survive in a galaxy that doesn’t know what to do with us anymore. But here… here we could build something. Together.”
Cody let out a slow breath, his shoulders stiffening as he mulled over the words. “You’ve been here for one day, Rex. You think that’s enough to know if this place can handle more of us?”
“It’s not about the time,” Rex said, stepping closer. His voice softened, though it carried a note of urgency. “It’s about what I see here. The villagers—they’re good people. They’ve welcomed us. And this isn’t like Coruscant or some Outer Rim scrap heap. There’s room here, Cody. Room for them and for us.”
Cody met his gaze, his amber eyes sharp but conflicted. “You don’t know how they’ll feel if we bring more. A few clones, sure. But an entire community? You know how people are, Rex. We’re soldiers to them—symbols of a war they’re trying to forget.”
Rex frowned, understanding the weight of Cody’s hesitation but unwilling to let it stop him. “I’ve seen the way they look at us. They don’t see soldiers, Cody. They see people. And maybe, if we give them the chance, they’ll welcome more of us.”
Cody stared at him for a long moment, his thoughts clear in the tension of his brow. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his arms uncrossing as he leaned back against the counter. “It’s not just about them,” he said quietly. “It’s about the brothers, too. What if they don’t want this? What if they’ve given up on the idea of a home?”
“Then we invite the ones who do,” Rex replied, his voice steady. “And we let them decide for themselves.”
Cody was silent, his gaze drifting toward the flickering fire in the other room. Finally, he nodded, though it was reluctant. “Fine. We’ll send out a call. But if this backfires…”
“It won’t,” Rex said firmly, though he could feel the weight of Cody’s doubts. “You’ll see.”
***
It didn’t take long for the call to go out. Fives and Jesse worked with Tech and Echo to send encrypted messages to every channel they could find—old comms networks, secured frequencies they hadn’t touched since the war. The message was simple but powerful: There’s a place for you. Come if you’re looking for a home.
The days that followed were filled with quiet anticipation, each of them trying not to let their hopes rise too high. But then the first ship arrived.
And then another.
And another.
****
The first to step off the landing platform were the brothers they hadn’t seen in months—men who had drifted after the war, some tired, some wary, all of them carrying the weight of survival on their shoulders. Rex and Cody were there to greet them, their presence enough to ease the tension in those first hesitant moments.
Then, unexpectedly, a familiar figure emerged from one of the ships, her orange montrals unmistakable in the winter sun. Ahsoka smiled softly as she approached, her eyes filled with quiet relief. “Rex,” she said, her voice warm as she embraced him. “I thought I’d find you here.”
Rex blinked, surprised but pleased. “What are you doing here?”
“Word travels fast,” she said with a slight smirk, gesturing to the other figures descending from the ship. “I wasn’t the only one who heard. Obi-Wan and Plo Koon thought it might be time to visit, too.”
Rex turned, his chest tightening at the sight of Obi-Wan, his robe wrapped tightly around him as he walked toward them, his expression calm but warm. Plo Koon followed, his steady presence grounding in a way that reminded Rex of the days when the Jedi had been their allies, their commanders, their friends.
****
At first, the villagers were cautious, watching the growing influx of clones and Jedi with quiet curiosity. But as the days passed, that curiosity turned into something warmer. The villagers approached, offering food, supplies, even homes that had been empty for years. They asked questions—not about the war, but about the brothers themselves, their lives, their stories.
(Y/n) played no small part in this. Her shop became a hub of activity, her easy warmth drawing people in, bridging gaps that might have otherwise grown between the clones and the villagers. She met every new arrival with a calm smile and a welcoming word, and Rex found himself watching her often, struck by the quiet strength in her presence.
****
As more brothers arrived, the village began to shift, growing into something new. The clones settled in quickly, taking on roles within the community—builders, farmers, teachers. Cody, though reluctant at first, became a natural leader, his steady hand and calm demeanor earning the trust of both the brothers and the villagers.
Rex stood at the edge of the square one evening, watching the glow of lanterns and the laughter of brothers and villagers mingling together. (Y/n) appeared at his side, her arms crossed loosely as she smiled at the scene.
“You did it,” she said quietly.
“We did it,” Rex corrected, his voice soft.
(Y/n) looked up at him, her smile lingering. “So… what’s next?”
Rex didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the warm, growing light of the village. “We build,” he said finally. “And we make it last.”
****
The first thaw of spring came like a whisper, soft and slow. Snow that had blanketed the hills melted into quiet streams, feeding the rivers that snaked their way through Idelmor. The village square, once muffled and still under layers of white, began to buzz with life. Stalls returned, their counters piled with goods that hinted at the promise of the new season. Children darted through the streets, splashing in puddles with joyful abandon, while villagers emerged from their homes with smiles and hopeful energy.
In the midst of it all, Rex stood with Kix and Fives in the square. (Y/n) was nearby, chatting with a vendor as she purchased a bundle of fresh herbs. Rex’s attention wasn’t on the square or even on (Y/n), though he glanced her way more than he cared to admit. His focus was on Kix and Fives, both of whom had begun speaking at once, their ideas spilling out in a chaotic flurry.
“I’m telling you, Rex,” Kix said, his voice animated, his arms crossed over his chest. “The barn on the north ridge is perfect. It’s big enough for everything I need. We just need a way to get supplies and medical equipment.”
“And don’t forget the stories,” Fives interrupted, waving his hand. “We need a space where people can share them. Somewhere they feel comfortable—like a library, but better.”
“You’ve been here two months,” Rex said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re already trying to redesign the village.”
“Not redesign,” Kix corrected. “Improve.”
Rex sighed, though there was no real frustration in it. He had expected this. His brothers had always been restless, their drive to make things better undiminished even in peace. And though he sometimes envied their clarity of purpose, he couldn’t deny the flicker of pride he felt watching them dream.
Nearby, (Y/n) turned just in time to catch the end of their conversation. She stepped closer, the bundle of herbs tucked neatly under her arm. “It sounds like you’ve got big plans,” she said lightly, her blue eyes bright with curiosity.
“They always do,” Rex muttered, shaking his head.
Fives grinned, gesturing broadly as if he were presenting a grand vision. “It’s not just a plan. It’s a future. A clinic for Kix, a network for stories, and who knows what else.”
“Sounds ambitious,” (Y/n) said, smiling as she looked at Kix. “But if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”
Kix gave her a grateful nod, his expression softening. “It’s not just about me. It’s for everyone.”
(Y/n) tilted her head, thoughtful. “If it’s supplies you’re worried about, I might know a few people who can help. Farmers in the area sometimes trade goods with traveling merchants. Medical equipment isn’t common, but I can ask around.”
Kix’s face lit up, and even Fives stopped mid-gesture to look at her. “You’d do that?” Kix asked.
“Of course,” (Y/n) said, her tone matter-of-fact. “It’s a small village. We help each other.”
Rex watched the exchange in silence, something warm flickering in his chest. (Y/n) had a way of making things seem simple—natural, even. But what struck him most wasn’t her offer of help; it was the way she looked at his brothers, not with curiosity about who they’d been or what they were, but with quiet respect for who they were now.
****
The barn on the north ridge was little more than a skeleton of wood and stone when Rex and (Y/n) first walked through it with Kix. Dust motes floated in the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the walls, and the air smelled faintly of hay and damp earth. Kix stood in the center of the space, his boots scuffing against the floor as he turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.
“This could work,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful.
(Y/n) smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’ll need some work, but it’s got good bones. And the view’s not bad either.”
Rex followed her gaze to the wide doorway at the far end of the barn, where the land sloped gently toward the village below. “It’s more than not bad,” he admitted. “You’re sure about the supplies?”
“I’ve already spoken to a merchant,” (Y/n) said. “He’ll be in town next week with a shipment of surplus supplies from one of the larger cities. And I think the villagers would be willing to pitch in with the repairs.”
Kix looked at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and quiet determination. “This… this is going to make a difference,” he said softly.
“It already is,” (Y/n) replied.
Rex watched the exchange, his gaze lingering on (Y/n) for a moment longer than he intended. There was something about the way she spoke, the way she believed in what Kix was trying to do, that tugged at him in a way he couldn’t quite name.
***
If the barn was Kix’s domain, the square became Fives’. He had a way of drawing people in, his energy infectious as he darted from stall to stall, chatting with villagers and brothers alike. It wasn’t long before he began setting up what he called “story circles”—gatherings where people shared tales of the war, of peace, of loss and hope.
(Y/n) became one of his strongest supporters, offering her shop as a space for the recordings he collected. She and Rex spent hours helping Fives sort through the recordings, labeling and organizing them with the kind of care that made each story feel important.
One evening, as they worked late in the shop, (Y/n) caught Rex staring at her. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “What?”
“Nothing,” Rex said quickly, though his ears burned. “Just… you’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“At making people feel seen,” he said quietly.
Her smile softened, and for a moment, the warmth between them felt like something unspoken but shared.
****
Rex’s visits to (Y/n)’s shop became more frequent as the months passed. He told himself it was practical—there was always something to discuss, some plan to refine. But his brothers began to notice the subtle shifts in his behavior. The way he lingered just a bit longer than necessary when (Y/n) laughed. The way he’d fix small things around the shop—a creaky hinge, a leaky faucet—without being asked.
One afternoon, as they returned from helping Fives set up a recording session, Jesse nudged Fives with a grin. “You see the way he looks at her?”
Fives smirked, leaning back against the wall of the square. “Oh, I see it. The question is, does he see it?”
“He’s Rex,” Jesse said with a shrug. “He’ll be the last to admit it.”
“But he’s happier,” Fives said, his grin fading into something softer. “That’s what matters.
***
The warm embrace of summer blanketed Idelmor, bringing with it longer days, golden light, and the gentle hum of progress. The village square buzzed with the energy of change, laughter and voices mingling with the sounds of hammers and saws, of crates being unloaded and carried into newly restored spaces. The call that had gone out months ago had not only brought more brothers but their ideas, their ambitions, and their willingness to shape this village into something more than a haven.
And through it all, Rex found himself drawn deeper into the rhythm of this growing community. It wasn’t just the work—it was the people. His brothers, the villagers, and (Y/n).
Always (Y/n).
****
The barn on the north ridge had undergone a transformation. The broken beams had been replaced with sturdy wood, the walls sealed with care, and the wide doorway now framed a view of rolling hills and the distant outline of the village below. Inside, the space was alive with purpose. Shelves stocked with medical supplies lined the walls, and clean, white curtains separated small treatment areas. A desk, repaired by Tech and polished to a shine by Jesse, sat near the front, where Kix now worked tirelessly to treat anyone who walked through the doors.
The villagers came first, hesitant at first but warmed by Kix’s steady, reassuring presence. Then more clones arrived, those who had spent years fighting injuries they couldn’t afford to treat, limping into the clinic with quiet hope.
Rex stood just inside the door one afternoon, watching as Kix bandaged the arm of a farmer who had taken a nasty fall. Jesse was in the corner, sorting a pile of donated blankets with his usual flair for humor.
“Hey, Rex,” Jesse called, tossing a bright orange blanket into the air like a cape. “Think this color would suit Kix?”
“Depends,” Kix replied without looking up from his work. “Will it keep the patients warm, or just blind them?”
The farmer chuckled, and even Rex cracked a smile as Jesse mockingly clutched his chest, pretending to stagger from the insult.
Nearby, (Y/n) stood beside Echo and Tech, who were working on installing a small communications terminal near the back of the clinic. She watched their movements with quiet fascination, her hands clutching a crate of fresh linens she’d brought to donate.
“Do they ever stop?” she asked Rex softly, her eyes flicking to Kix, Jesse, and the others.
“Not really,” Rex replied, his voice low but fond. “It’s how they’re wired.”
“And you?” (Y/n) asked, glancing at him with a small smile. “Do you ever stop?”
Rex hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He looked down at her, his brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a pause. “I guess I don’t think about it much.”
“Well,” (Y/n) said, her voice teasing but gentle, “maybe you should.”
****
Meanwhile, Fives’ story circles had become a cornerstone of the village’s culture. What had started as small gatherings around a table in (Y/n)’s shop had grown into a full-fledged network. Fives now hosted weekly events in the square, where clones and villagers alike gathered to share tales of the past, their hopes for the future, and everything in between.
One evening, (Y/n) sat beside Rex on one of the benches near the circle, the glow of lanterns illuminating the faces of those gathered. Fives stood in the center, gesturing animatedly as he recounted a particularly daring mission from the war. The crowd laughed, some shaking their heads, others leaning forward with rapt attention.
“He’s good at this,” (Y/n) said, her voice warm as she watched Fives.
“He’s always been a talker,” Rex replied, though there was no annoyance in his tone. If anything, there was pride. “But he’s doing more than just talking. He’s building something.”
(Y/n) looked at Rex, her expression thoughtful. “You all are.”
Rex glanced at her, his chest tightening at the quiet conviction in her words. He wanted to say something, but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, he looked back at the circle, where Fives was now pulling Jesse into the spotlight to share a story of his own.
***
Further down the village road, an old granary had been repurposed into something entirely new—a school. It was Wolffe’s idea, born from his growing work with the children in the village and the small group of cadets who had arrived with the last wave of brothers. He had roped in Hardcase, Obi-Wan, and Plo Koon to help bring it to life, and together, they had built something remarkable.
Rex visited the school one afternoon, finding Wolffe in the middle of teaching a self-defense lesson to a group of children. Wrecker stood nearby, demonstrating a move with exaggerated flair, drawing peals of laughter from the kids. Plo Koon watched from the doorway, his presence calm and steady, while Obi-Wan helped Hardcase carry in a stack of wooden practice dummies.
“You think they’re ready for this?” Rex asked, leaning against the wall as he watched Wolffe bark instructions.
“They’ve got more patience than you’d expect,” Obi-Wan replied with a faint smile. “Especially Wolffe. He’s good with them.”
Rex nodded, his gaze shifting to the children. Their laughter filled the space, blending with Wolffe’s gruff encouragement and Wrecker’s booming cheer. It was a sound that felt out of place in his memories of the past but perfectly at home here.
****
Through all of it, (Y/n) remained a constant presence. She was there at the clinic, helping Kix organize supplies. She was there at the story circles, quietly encouraging villagers to share their voices. And she was there in the quiet moments, when Rex found himself lingering in her shop longer than he meant to.
One evening, after helping Fives carry a stack of recordings into the shop, Rex noticed (Y/n) struggling with a leaky faucet behind the counter. He stepped forward without thinking. “Let me take a look.”
(Y/n) straightened, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You don’t have to—”
“I’ve got it,” Rex said firmly, crouching down to inspect the pipes.
(Y/n) watched him work, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”
Rex glanced up, raising a brow. “How so?”
“You lead an army, you build a community, and now you’re fixing faucets,” she teased, her tone light but warm. “What can’t you do?”
Rex shrugged, though his ears burned at the compliment. “Faucets are easier than people.”
(Y/n) laughed softly, and the sound settled something in him he hadn’t realized was restless.
****
Jesse and Fives caught the exchange from the doorway, both leaning against the frame with identical smirks.
“You see that?” Jesse whispered, elbowing Fives.
“Oh, I see it,” Fives replied, his grin widening. “He’s got it bad.”
“Think we should say something?” Jesse asked.
“Not a chance,” Fives said, crossing his arms. “This is too much fun to watch.”
As the summer stretched on, the brothers continued to notice the small moments—Rex lingering in the shop to help (Y/n) rearrange a shelf, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, the way her smile seemed to brighten when he walked through the door. And though neither of them said it, it was clear to everyone around them: they were falling for each other, piece by quiet piece.
***
As the leaves began to turn and the air grew crisp, the village prepared for the next season. The clinic was thriving, the story circles had become a beloved tradition, and the school had grown into a cornerstone of the community. Through it all, Rex found himself looking forward to one thing above all else: the moments he shared with (Y/n).
And though he didn’t quite know what to call the feeling yet, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Whatever it was, it had become as much a part of him as the brothers he called family, as the home they were building together.
***
The days grew shorter as autumn deepened, the crisp air carrying the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke through the streets of Idelmor. The village square buzzed with quiet industry as preparations for the season’s harvest festival began. Rex found himself drawn more and more to (Y/n)’s shop—not just because of the warmth it offered or the comfort of the books and trinkets that filled its shelves, but because of (Y/n) herself.
It had become something of a routine. After long days spent helping Kix at the clinic or lending a hand at the school, Rex would find his way to the shop. Some days, it was to talk through plans for the village. Other days, it was simply to sit by the fire while (Y/n) worked, her presence grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.
****
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting a warm light over the shop as Rex sat in his usual spot near the window. (Y/n) stood at the counter, her sleeves rolled up as she carefully polished a carved wooden box. She worked slowly, her focus intent, but her movements lacked their usual ease.
Rex noticed. He always noticed.
“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low but steady.
(Y/n) glanced up, startled out of her thoughts. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just tired, I guess.”
Rex leaned back in his chair, studying her. He didn’t press, but he let the silence stretch between them, waiting.
Finally, (Y/n) sighed, setting the box down and brushing her hands against her apron. “I’ve been thinking about my father,” she admitted, her voice softer now. She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “He built this place, you know. Not just the shop, but… the heart of it. He wanted it to be a gathering place, somewhere people could come and feel at home. He called it ‘a place for stories.’”
Rex tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Sounds like he had a clear vision.”
“He did,” (Y/n) said, her gaze drifting to the shelves. “But sometimes I wonder if I’ve done enough to live up to it. The shop’s still here, but is it what he dreamed it would be? I don’t know. And now with all the changes in the village…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It feels like I’m always one step behind.”
Rex let her words settle in the air before speaking. “I don’t think anyone here would say you’re behind.”
(Y/n) looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, look around,” Rex said, gesturing to the room. “The people who come in here—they don’t just see shelves and trinkets. They see a place where they can talk, share, connect. Fives wouldn’t have gotten his story circles off the ground without you. Kix wouldn’t have half his supplies. And me…” He paused, his voice softening. “I don’t think I would’ve found half the things I’ve been looking for without this place.”
(Y/n)’s breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. The weight she carried, the worry that she wasn’t enough, didn’t vanish, but Rex’s words chipped away at it, leaving her feeling lighter, steadier.
***
(Y/n) stepped around the counter and sat in the chair opposite him, her hands folded in her lap. She studied him for a moment, her gaze steady. “What about you?” she asked gently. “What are you looking for, Rex?”
He hesitated, his jaw tightening. For years, he had carried the burden of being a leader, of keeping his brothers together. Even now, in this quiet village where the weight of war had lifted, he found himself unable to let go of the questions that had haunted him.
“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice low. “I guess… I’ve spent so much of my life being told who I’m supposed to be. A soldier. A leader. I didn’t think about what came next because there was never supposed to be a ‘next.’”
(Y/n) tilted her head, her expression soft. “But now there is.”
“Yeah,” Rex admitted, his hands tightening into fists on his knees. “And it scares me. I see my brothers finding their places—Kix with his clinic, Fives with his stories, Wolffe at the school. But me? I don’t know if I’m built for this. Peace, home, belonging… It feels like something meant for other people.”
(Y/n) leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. “Why not you?”
Rex looked at her, his breath catching. Her question wasn’t just simple—it was powerful. It cut through the layers of doubt and fear he had buried himself in, leaving him exposed but not vulnerable.
“I don’t know,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve lost so many of them. Brothers who didn’t get a chance to figure out who they were beyond the war. I carry that with me, every day. And sometimes, it feels like… like I shouldn’t get to move forward if they can’t.”
(Y/n) reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. Her touch was warm, steady. “You carry their memory, Rex. That’s enough. But you deserve to live, too. Not for them, not because you’re trying to make up for what’s been lost, but because you’re here. You’re alive.”
Rex closed his eyes, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t pull away, either. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to sit with the possibility that maybe—just maybe—she was right.
****
The following morning, Rex found himself at the shop again, his excuse this time being a leaky pipe (Y/n) had mentioned in passing. She wasn’t expecting him, and when he walked in with his toolbox slung over one shoulder, she blinked at him in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, setting down the stack of books she’d been organizing.
“You said something about a shelf that’s wobbly,” Rex replied, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Figured I’d take a look.”
(Y/n) smiled, shaking her head. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Rex interrupted, meeting her eyes briefly before turning toward the back room.
She watched him go, her chest tightening with a mix of warmth and something deeper—something she hadn’t quite named yet. As she went back to her work, she found herself glancing toward the back room more often than necessary, her thoughts drifting.
Meanwhile, Rex look at said shelf, tightening a stubborn screw as his thoughts swirled. Fixing things was easy. Straightforward. But the way (Y/n) had looked at him last night, the way her words had stayed with him, was anything but.
***
Later that evening, Jesse and Fives caught up with Rex at the clinic, their expressions far too knowing for Rex’s liking.
“You’re spending a lot of time at that shop,” Jesse said casually, leaning against a crate.
“(Y/n)’s shop,” Fives added, smirking. “Or should we call it your shop now?”
Rex shot them a warning look. “You two need to mind your own business.”
“Business?” Jesse said innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s nice to see you smiling more. (Y/n)’s good for you.”
“She’s a friend,” Rex said firmly, though the warmth in his chest betrayed him.
Fives exchanged a look with Jesse, his grin widening. “Sure, Captain. Whatever you say.”
As the evening wore on, Rex couldn’t shake their words. But as he made his way back toward the shop, his steps slower than usual, he began to wonder if maybe they weren’t entirely wrong.
****
Through the growing closeness of their bond, Rex and (Y/n) continued to share pieces of themselves—small moments, quiet confessions, and unspoken feelings that deepened with each passing day.
****
The snow began to fall softly, coating Idelmor in a shimmering layer of white, turning the village into the winter wonderland Rex and his brothers had first discovered a year ago. The sight stirred a strange mixture of nostalgia and peace in Rex. He hadn’t realized just how much had changed since their arrival—not just for his brothers, but for himself.
And yet, it wasn’t Rex thinking about the transformation this time. It was his brothers, huddled together in the cottage late one evening as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.
Fives leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as his grin gleamed in the firelight. “Alright, let’s face it. Captain ‘I-Don’t-Do-Personal’ is head over heels for (Y/n), and he doesn’t even know it.”
Jesse laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, he knows it. He’s just too stubborn to admit it.”
“More like too scared,” Kix added, his tone softer but no less pointed. “He’s spent the whole year doing things for everyone else. He doesn’t know how to think about what he wants.”
“That’s where we come in,” Fives said with a gleam in his eye. “We’ve got to give him the push he needs. And lucky for us…” He stood, moving toward the shelf near the fire where the snow globe rested, its glass catching the flickering light. “We’ve got just the thing.”
Cody raised a brow from his place near the window. “You want to use the snow globe?”
“Why not?” Fives said, holding it up. “We’ve all used it. It’s only fair we use it for Rex. He’s done more for us this year than anyone. It’s time we returned the favor.”
“And what exactly do you think it’s going to show?” Wolffe asked dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.
“Only one way to find out,” Fives said, setting the globe down on the table and motioning for everyone to gather around.
***
The brothers leaned in as Fives placed his hands firmly on the snow globe. He closed his eyes, focusing on Rex—not the soldier, not the captain, but the man they all knew and admired, the one who had been quietly building a future for everyone but himself.
The vision came quickly, blooming to life within the swirling flakes of the globe. At first, it was the village square, glowing softly under the light of lanterns and garlands. Rex stood near the fountain, his expression relaxed in a way they rarely saw. (Y/n) was beside him, her hand tucked into his, her laughter filling the space between them.
The scene shifted. The two of them were in a small house on the edge of the village. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was warm and alive, filled with soft light and the quiet joy of family. Two children darted around the room—one with (Y/n)’s bright blue eyes, the other with Rex’s steady gaze. The house itself felt like an extension of the happiness they shared, simple but full of warmth.
The vision faded, leaving the brothers in stunned silence.
“Did you see that?” Jesse finally whispered, breaking the stillness.
“Rex wants a family,” Kix murmured, his tone filled with quiet realization.
“With (Y/n),” Fives said, his grin widening. “I knew it.”
Wrecker, who had been unusually quiet, crossed his arms and nodded firmly. “We’ve got to make it happen.”
Cody let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously brilliant,” Fives corrected. “And you’re in, Cody. Admit it.”
Cody’s silence was answer enough.
****
The next few days were a flurry of activity as the brothers threw themselves into helping decorate the village for Christmas. Strings of lanterns and garlands were hung along the rooftops, while villagers worked together to set up a towering Christmas tree in the center of the square. Jesse and Fives took charge of setting up the lights, their banter echoing through the frosty air as they climbed ladders and secured decorations.
“Think this is bright enough?” Jesse called, holding up a strand of lights that practically sparkled.
“Not until the entire galaxy can see it,” Fives shot back, earning a laugh from the gathered crowd.
Wrecker helped carry massive bundles of evergreen branches to line the walkways, his booming laugh ringing out every time a villager tried to lift something too heavy. Even Wolffe, who usually avoided anything resembling festivities, found himself roped into overseeing the placement of the ornaments on the tree.
Through it all, Rex worked quietly alongside them, his focus split between organizing supplies and watching his brothers with quiet amusement. What he didn’t notice was how often they sent meaningful glances in his direction or how deliberately they worked with (Y/n) to draw him closer to her orbit.
***
The night before Christmas Eve, the brothers struck. (Y/n) had agreed to stay late at the shop to help organize some of the decorations, and Fives made sure Rex was the one tasked with delivering her dinner.
“It’s just a quick drop-off,” Fives said with a grin, handing Rex a small basket of warm food. “She’s been working all day. You should check on her.”
Rex frowned, sensing something suspicious in Fives’ tone, but he didn’t argue. “Fine.”
When Rex arrived at the shop, (Y/n) greeted him with a tired but genuine smile. “Rex. What’s this?”
“Dinner,” he said simply, holding up the basket. “Fives thought you might need it.”
(Y/n) chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. The shop was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the fire in the hearth and the glow of a few candles scattered across the counter. The warmth of the room enveloped Rex as he stepped inside, the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air.
“I didn’t realize it was this late,” (Y/n) admitted, setting the basket on the counter. “Thank you. I could use a break.”
Rex hesitated, glancing around. “Do you need help with anything?”
(Y/n) tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “Actually, I was about to head to the square. They’ve finished decorating, and I thought I’d take a look. Want to join me?”
He paused, caught off guard by the question. “I… sure.”
***
The village square was aglow with light, lanterns and garlands casting a golden hue over the snow-covered ground. The Christmas tree stood tall and radiant, its ornaments sparkling in the soft light. (Y/n) and Rex walked side by side, their breaths visible in the crisp air.
(Y/n) stopped near the tree, her gaze lifting to the lights strung across the rooftops. “The lights are beautiful.”
“Yeah, they are,” Rex said softly, though his eyes weren’t on the lights. He was looking at (Y/n).
She noticed, her cheeks warming as she glanced at him. “You’re not looking at the lights.”
Rex’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Neither are you.”
They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them filled with unspoken words. (Y/n) shifted, her gloved hands curling around the edge of her coat. “Rex, can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he said, his voice steady.
“Do you ever think about what you want?” she asked, her tone gentle but searching. “Not for your brothers, not for the village—for you.”
The question caught him off guard, his brow furrowing. “I… I don’t know. I guess I’ve spent so much time thinking about everyone else, I never really let myself consider it.”
(Y/n) nodded, her gaze dropping to the snow beneath their feet. “I think you should. Because you deserve it.”
Her words settled over him, heavy but not unwelcome. For the first time, he allowed himself to wonder—not just about the future, but about the possibility of a future with her.
“Maybe,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “But sometimes, it’s hard to see it until someone shows you.”
(Y/n)’s breath hitched at the quiet vulnerability in his voice, and she found herself stepping closer, her fingers brushing his arm. “Then let me show you.”
Rex didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, he reached for her hand, his touch tentative but steady, and for the first time, the world around them seemed to fall away.
***
From the shadows of the square, Fives, Jesse, and the others watched the scene unfold, their grins wide despite the cold.
“Finally,” Jesse muttered, shaking his head. “Took him long enough.”
“I told you this would work,” Fives said smugly, crossing his arms. “You all doubted me.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Cody muttered, though even he couldn’t hide his smile. “It’s about time he got something for himself.”
As they watched Rex and (Y/n) walk away together, their figures silhouetted against the glow of the lights, the brothers shared a quiet sense of satisfaction. For once, their captain wasn’t carrying the weight of the world—and that was a gift worth giving.
****
The village square was alive with the magic of Christmas Eve. Lanterns and garlands strung between buildings glowed softly, their light reflecting off the fresh blanket of snow that covered the ground. The towering Christmas tree in the center of the square shimmered with ornaments and strings of lights, and a gentle flurry of snowflakes swirled in the air, adding to the enchantment of the scene.
Villagers and brothers alike filled the square, their laughter and chatter blending with the melodies of a small band playing near the tree. Children darted through the crowd, clutching mugs of warm cider and marveling at the decorations. It was a celebration of joy, community, and hope, and Rex found himself quietly taking it all in from the edge of the square.
(Y/n) was somewhere in the crowd—he’d caught a glimpse of her earlier, laughing with one of the children from the school. The sight had stuck with him, warming something deep inside that he hadn’t yet put a name to.
***
Unbeknownst to Rex, his brothers—and now, Obi-Wan and Plo Koon—were watching him from a discreet distance. Fives was grinning ear to ear, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he pointed toward a carefully hung sprig of mistletoe near the fountain.
“I’m just saying,” Fives whispered, elbowing Jesse. “If they happen to end up there, it’d be… poetic.”
“Poetic?” Cody said dryly, crossing his arms. “This is the most obvious scheme you’ve ever come up with.”
“And yet,” Plo Koon said, his voice calm but amused, “it’s oddly endearing.”
Obi-Wan chuckled, his arms folded as he watched the scene unfold. “You’re lucky Rex isn’t as perceptive about his own emotions as he is about battle tactics.”
Fives waved them off, turning to Plo Koon. “You’re sure you’re good with the timing?”
The Kel Dor nodded serenely. “The Force is subtle, my friend. But in this case… perhaps a little less so.”
****
Rex spotted (Y/n) near the fountain, her arms wrapped around herself to keep warm as she admired the lights strung above. The soft glow reflected in her blue eyes, and Rex felt his feet moving before he’d even decided to approach her.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his voice low but warm.
(Y/n) turned, her smile lighting up her face. “I am. The boys—and the villagers—really outdid themselves.”
“They’ve been busy,” Rex agreed, though his tone carried a hint of something unspoken. His gaze lingered on her face, the way the snowflakes caught in her hair and the glow of the lights softened her features. “It’s… good to see you smiling.”
(Y/n) tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “It’s good to see you here,” she said softly. “Not just physically, but… here. With them. With us.”
Rex felt a warmth rise in his chest, but before he could reply, a light tug seemed to pull him forward. He blinked, glancing down at his boots, which had suddenly come to an unexplainable stop. Beside him, (Y/n) let out a surprised laugh.
“Did you just—?”
“No,” Rex said quickly, frowning as he tried to move his feet again. They didn’t budge. (Y/n) seemed similarly rooted to the spot.
From somewhere nearby, Fives’ voice rang out, overly casual and far too loud. “Hey, Cap! You know what they say about standing under mistletoe?”
Rex’s eyes shot up, following Fives’ pointed gesture. Sure enough, there it was—a sprig of mistletoe hanging just above their heads. He turned back to (Y/n), his brow furrowing. “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?”
(Y/n)’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, though she laughed softly. “Positive… maybe… probably.”
Rex glanced toward the group of brothers—Fives, Jesse, Kix, and even Wolffe—who were grinning like fools. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but before he could question their involvement, (Y/n) cleared her throat.
“It’s a legend,” she explained, her voice quick but light. “On our planet, mistletoe is supposed to bring good luck. If you stand under it with someone, you’re supposed to…” She trailed off, her cheeks warming further. “You’re supposed to kiss.”
Fives took that as his cue. “It’s tradition, Cap! You don’t want to mess with tradition.”
Jesse chimed in, his grin wide. “Yeah, Rex. It’s for good luck.”
Rex sighed, his shoulders stiffening slightly as he turned back to (Y/n). “And you’re sure this is… part of the celebrations?”
(Y/n) smiled, though there was a hint of nervousness in her eyes. “It’s… part of the legend.”
For a moment, they stood there, the snow falling softly around them as the world seemed to hold its breath. (Y/n)’s heart raced, her thoughts spinning. Rex, so steady and sure in battle, seemed almost uncertain now, his gaze searching hers for permission.
And then, slowly, he leaned closer.
Their lips met softly, tentatively, and for that moment, the noise of the square faded into nothing. The warmth of the kiss spread through Rex like the glow of the village lights, chasing away the cold and leaving only the quiet certainty that this—she—was what he had been searching for.
When they pulled apart, (Y/n) let out a soft laugh, her forehead resting briefly against his. “Well,” she said, her voice breathless but teasing, “I think we’re officially free of the mistletoe.”
Rex chuckled, his own voice low and warm. “I’m not complaining.”
****
From their hiding spot, Fives punched the air triumphantly. “That’s how it’s done.”
“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Jesse muttered, though his grin betrayed his pride.
“It’s about time,” Kix said, crossing his arms. “He’s been mooning over her for months.”
Obi-Wan and Plo Koon exchanged amused glances, the former raising a brow. “Well, I suppose the Force has many uses.”
Cody sighed, shaking his head but unable to hide the faint smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s going to kill all of you when he figures this out.”
“Worth it,” Fives said smugly. “Totally worth it.”
***
As the snow continued to fall, Rex and (Y/n) remained under the mistletoe, the glow of the village lights surrounding them. For Rex, the moment felt like something out of a dream—one he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for. And for (Y/n), it was a moment that brought every quiet hope she’d held for the past year to life.
In the square, the lights sparkled, the music played on, and the magic of Christmas wrapped around them all.
****
The snow fell gently over Idelmor, blanketing the village in a pristine white that shimmered beneath the golden glow of lanterns and garlands. The square, once again transformed for Christmas, had never looked more radiant. Strings of lights crisscrossed the streets, evergreen wreaths adorned every door, and the towering Christmas tree at the square’s center sparkled with ornaments and ribbons that swayed gently in the winter breeze.
But tonight, the decorations weren’t the focus of attention. Tonight, it was Rex and (Y/n), standing hand in hand beneath an arch of holly and winter roses, surrounded by their brothers, villagers, and the Jedi who had also found peace on this planet.
The crowd gathered in the square was a mix of familiar faces and new ones. Obi-Wan and Plo Koon stood near the front, their expressions warm and proud. Ahsoka was nearby, her cheeks flushed from the cold but her grin wide as she stood beside Jesse and Fives, who looked far too smug for anyone’s comfort.
****
Rex stood beneath the arch, his green and gold tunic catching the glow of the lights, though his attention was entirely on (Y/n). She walked toward him slowly, her gown flowing around her like a dream, her eyes meeting his with a steadiness that made the rest of the world fall away.
When she reached him, they turned to face one another, their hands clasped tightly. The officiant—a cheerful villager with a deep voice and a ready smile—welcomed everyone before turning the floor over to the couple.
“Your vows,” the officiant prompted gently, stepping back.
Rex took a breath, steadying himself as he looked into (Y/n)’s eyes. “When I first came to this village, I didn’t think I’d ever find peace. I didn’t think it was something I deserved, or something I could even imagine. But then I met you.” His voice softened, his thumb brushing over her hand. “You reminded me that there’s beauty in the quiet moments. That it’s okay to hope, to dream. And standing here now, I know I’ve found my home—with you.”
(Y/n)’s lips trembled with the weight of her smile, tears glistening in her eyes. She paused, collecting herself before she spoke. “A year ago, we stood in this square, and I remember looking at these lights. I remember saying, ‘The lights are beautiful.’” She paused, her voice growing softer as her gaze held his. “But I wasn’t looking at the lights. I was looking at you.”
Rex’s chest tightened, emotion sweeping through him as the crowd around them fell utterly silent. The words hung between them, carrying the memory of their first steps toward each other.
“And now,” (Y/n) continued, her voice steadying, “I get to stand here with you and promise that you’ll always have a home. Not just in this village, but with me. With us.”
The officiant stepped forward again, smiling broadly. “Then, by the power vested in me by the good people of Idelmor, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Rex didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupping (Y/n)’s face gently as he kissed her, the crowd erupting into cheers and applause around them. The kiss was soft but sure, a promise made under the glow of the lights and the soft swirl of snow.
****
As the celebration began, with music and dancing filling the square, Rex and (Y/n) found themselves wandering away from the main crowd. The snow was still falling, dusting their hair and shoulders as they walked hand in hand toward the edge of the square.
“Do you think we can hide from them for a bit?” Rex asked with a faint smile, glancing back toward the crowd, where Fives was already attempting to lead Wrecker in some sort of coordinated dance.
(Y/n) laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
They stopped beneath one of the lantern poles near the edge of the square, the glow from the light casting a warm halo around them. (Y/n) tilted her head back, her gaze catching on something just above their heads.
“Mistletoe,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing faintly.
Rex followed her gaze, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Let me guess. Fives?”
“Probably,” (Y/n) said with a laugh, though her voice softened as she looked back at him. “Are you sure this is part of the celebrations?”
“Positive,” Rex replied, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe… probably.”
(Y/n)’s laughter was quiet but warm, and before she could say anything else, Rex leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. The kiss was slower this time, deeper, carrying with it all the love and quiet understanding that had grown between them over the past year.
***
From their hiding spot near the tree, Fives elbowed Jesse with a grin. “What did I tell you? Best. Plan. Ever.”
“I’ll give you this one,” Jesse muttered, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “But if they figure it out, you’re taking the fall.”
Obi-Wan shook his head, though his smile was genuine. “I believe they’re past the point of caring who orchestrated this.”
Plo Koon, standing beside him, inclined his head. “Indeed. The Force may have nudged them together, but it’s their bond that carried them here.”
Cody watched the couple from a distance, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shook his head with a faint smirk. “He deserves this.”
***
As Rex and (Y/n) returned to the celebration, the music swelled, the brothers raised their glasses, and the villagers cheered. The magic of Christmas wrapped around them all, a fitting continuation of a love story that had started under the same lights, in the same snow, just a year before.
For Rex, the lights truly were beautiful. But like (Y/n), he wasn’t looking at them anymore.
He was looking at his future as he craddled his hand over his wife’s growing bump.