Debrief: Rex shows up at your room with wildflowers after another close call.
Case Notes: slowly but surely I’m getting through all the 4K requests! Enjoy your flowers, Nonnie!
The flowers are already wilting a little by the time Rex makes it to your door. Not dramatically, not movie-style drooping, by any means. Just slightly tired around the edges. Petals curling like they have seen a bit too much of the world. He relates to that on a deep, spiritual level. He stands in the hallway of Guardians HQ, right outside your door, staring at them like they might bite him.
“Okay,” he mutters to himself, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “You fought a guy made of knives last Tuesday. You got impaled by a forklift in Detroit. You survived a literal gunshot lobotomy. You can knock on a door.”
He doesn’t knock. Instead, he stares harder, his green eyed gaze wandering over the door to your room. He’s been through it so many times. Sometimes it’s in the quiet of the night when his thoughts are too loud. Sometimes after hard missions when he just needed a release.
The hallway hums with that constant mechanical buzz, lights too bright, air smelling faintly of disinfectant. Somewhere down the corridor, someone laughs, Amanda probably. Life keeps moving, loud and careless.
Rex swallows. Because the truth is, knives and explosions are easy. They come at you fast and honest, leaving no room for doubt. Feelings are quieter. They sneak up like a loose wire sparking behind the wall. He hates that.
He shifts the bouquet in his hand. They are not fancy by any means. No roses. No grand romantic nonsense, because he knows you’d hate that. You make fun of them every time you make him watch a stupid romcom with you. They’re just a bunch of stubborn little wildflowers he grabbed from a roadside stand on the way back from a mission. Bright colors, slightly uneven stems, the kind of flowers that look like they grew up fighting for their survival. Very on brand, in Rex’s opinion.
He exhales, squares his shoulders, and finally knocks. Just once. Sharp. Decisive. Then he immediately regrets every life choice that led him to this moment when your voice comes from inside, “Door’s open.”
Great. Fantastic. There’s no time to run now. No time to fake a sudden emergency. No time to pretend he got lost on the way to literally anywhere else.
He pushes the door open, his breath catching the way it does when he sees you anymore. You are sitting on your bed, boots half unlaced, still in uniform, hair a little messy from patrol. You look up, brows lifting in mild surprise when you see him standing there like a man who accidentally wandered into the wrong home.
Then your eyes drop to the flowers. You blink, head tilting a bit and Rex clears his throat, “Hey.”
Brilliant opening. Pulitzer material.
You’re studying him now, slow and curious. Suspicious, even. Because Rex Sloan does not do flowers. Rex Sloan does not show up at your door looking like he swallowed a grenade. This whole situation is nothing short of strange.
“Did you hit your head again?” you ask.
He huffs a small, humorless laugh, “Yeah. Probably. Couple times.”
A beat passes and the air shifts. Something heavier settling between you, like a storm cloud deciding where to let the downpour start.
Rex steps inside and shuts the door behind him. The click sounds louder than it should. He holds the bouquet out to you. He’s not suave about it. Not smooth. Offered almost like a peace treaty, “These are for you.”
You stare at the flowers like they might explode, “who are you and what have you done with Rex?”
“Shut it.” He says with a snort and a shake of his head.
Rex runs a hand over the back of his neck again, pacing across your small room before stopping in front of you. He looks everywhere except your face. The floor. The wall. The stupid motivational poster someone in your family had sent you as a joke after your first week on the job. Your brother, he thinks.
Anywhere but you. Because you matter, your reaction matters. And that is terrifying to Rex.
“I almost died again yesterday,” he says finally.
Your expression tightens immediately. Concern flashes across your face before you can hide it, “What?”
“Yeah. Got pinned under some collapsing concrete. Thought, this is it. This is how I go. Crushed like a soda can. Real glamorous stuff.”
You stand up now, fully alert, tension humming through your body, “Rex.”
He shakes his head quickly, “I’m fine, obviously. Still here. Still incredibly handsome.”
That earns a small, reluctant huff of breath from you. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to keep him going, “Still annoying.”
He huffs as well, looking from you, at the flowers again, then back at you before continuing, his voice a bit rough, “But I was down there, and everything got real quiet. You know that moment? When your brain finally shuts up and all the noise disappears?”
You nod slowly, understanding that brink he’s describing.
“And I realized something.” Rex finally meets your eyes, swallowing and letting the silence linger for a few moments, “I don’t want to keep doing this halfway.”
Your breath catches softly in your chest and Rex pushes forward anyway, words tumbling out all messy and honest and unstoppable, “I don’t want to keep pretending this is just… fun. Just casual. Just two idiots blowing off steam between missions. Because it’s not. Not for me anymore.”
You go very still. The room feels smaller and warmer. Rex takes a step closer, closing the distance until he is standing right in front of you, slowly kneeling In front of you. Close enough to see the tiny scar near your eyebrow. Close enough to notice the way your hands have gone tense at your side on the bed.
“I’ve had too many chances to die,” he says quietly, his voice soft and warm as one of his hands land over yours, “Too many moments where I thought, damn, this is it. Lights out. Game over. And every single time… every single fucking time the last thing I think about is you.”
Your eyes widen just a fraction, and you swallow, your fingers twitching under his palm. Rex lets out a shaky breath, the kind that feels like it rattles in your ribs.
“I’ve screwed up a lot in my life,” he continues, hand shifting to hold yours, “Made dumb choices. Hurt people. Wasted time. Hell, I built a whole personality out of not caring about anything too much.”
He gives a small, crooked smile, green eyes softer than you had ever seen them, “But I care about you. Way too much to keep pretending this is nothing. I fuckin’ love you.”
He gently presses the flowers into your hands. Their stems are rough to the touch despite the fuzz on some of them, “I want to do something right for once.”
Rex searches your face, nervous now in a way no battlefield has ever managed to make him.
“I want you,” he says simply, “Not just the late night, no strings, pretend it doesn’t matter version. I want the real thing. The messy, terrifying, stick around when it’s hard and I don’t like you very much version. I want you, y/n”
A long pause stretches between you, thick as honey as his words settle over you like an electric blanket, warm and secure.
“But if you don’t… if this isn’t what you want, I’ll back off. No pressure. No guilt. I just needed to say it before the universe tries to drop another building on me.”
You look down at the flowers in your hands. Bright, and crooked, and stubborn. Just like him. When you finally lift your gaze back to his, your eyes are shining, a grin on those plush lips he loves to kiss, “that was cheesy as hell.”
And then, unexpectedly to him, your lips are on his. Soft and warm moving in a way that’s achingly familiar as you murmur against them, “I love you too.”
Please god captain Rex + reader MAYHAPS FAKE DATING TROPE? I am grasping for straws 😛😛😛😛 honestly just ANYTHINGG fluffy maybe a little sexy nothing too smutty is all I yearn for 😢😢😢 I am a #realyearner
Let's start another round of requests with this one! I agree Rex is a god and we only have so little to read of him 🥹(remember I've got some other rex oneshots in my profile under the 100celeb list and the omegaverse list).
This request is a classic idea but also fun to write, so here we go! Don't ask me how tf did I get this weird idea, it just popped in my little head. Also, I went for female reader as you didn't specify. I hope you weren't going for male! Remember to always specify that on the requests or I'll probably go for female as default (it's easier for me to write, but I don't mind).
This took me a few days and I've been working on it as an addict. Hope you like it darling. Xx, Blue.
PS. Still taking clone requests.
"MATING SEASON" - CAPTAIN REX/F READER
WARNINGS: DARK BIOLOGY FROM ANOTHER SPECIES THAT THREATHENS WOMAN'S SEXUAL SAFETY (no explicit or implied scene of it itself, but the threat is always layered in the background). This fic is purely fluffly but I thought I should put the warning there in case someone could be triggered by it xx.
NEW MISSION
The harsh winds of the Outer Rim planet howl as you step off the ship, your boots sinking into the soft, damp earth. The air is thick with humidity, and the sky is a bruised shade of purple, lit by two distant suns that seem to burn the horizon in a way that makes your skin feel constantly warm. Around you, a dense jungle grows; trees with twisting, silver branches that curl in strange shapes, leaves that shimmer with an eerie, bioluminescent glow. The ground feels almost sponge-like; as if with every step you’re pushing through a dream.
Though the landscape in Erus is pretty, you’re not here for sightseeing. The GAR has sent you in replacement of Kix -who had been gravely injured in a prior mision and was still under recovery-, following Torrent Company on a mission to the planet. The objective seems simple enough: recover an ancient Jedi artifact -something tied to the history of the Force- believed to be hidden in Erus's deep jungles. The Jedi once had a strong presence here, and with the war raging, it's essential that the Republic secures anything that could tip the balance to their side. You're not quite used to this kind of field trips -you usually stay in the GAR's medical station in Coruscant- but it's not your first either, so you have little problem following the squad deeper into the jungle.
As you advance, the eerie quiet of the world around you grows. The sound of the wind, the soft rustle of the glowing leaves... and the feeling that the very earth is watching. The planet is not just strange—it's alive in a way that feels unnatural. Perhaps that's why the old Jedi stationed here; everything around you feels charged with energy.
Captain Rex leads ahead with his usual commanding presence. His armor gleams slightly in the dull light, and though his helmet hides his face, you know how focused he is. Rex is a warrior; and one of the best. He’s been on countless missions, fought in the thick of battle, and led his men through hell and back. You have only had the chance to share a few misions with Torrent -and personally tended to him back in Coruscant once-; but you don't need to have a close relationship with him to admire him. Everyone does. It's his quiet confidence. The way he makes decisions without hesitation, his calmness even in the face of danger. Loyalty, moral. Courage. There's something magnetic about him, something that makes you feel like everything will be okay as long as you're by his side.
Captain Rex holds a fist up; halting the line of clones following him, everyone growing instantly alert at the signal. The first humanoid aliens has stepped into view. You had studied as much as you had found about them before departure; though there was not much information about Erus's species -too far into the Outer Rim to hold much research- and even that would'nt have prepared you for seeing them in real life.
The aliens are tall—far taller than humans, half towering over you—covered in smooth, shimmering scales that reflect the ambient light in soft blues and greens. Their skin seems to pulse with a life of its own, glowing faintly as though some hidden power is radiating from beneath. Their faces are sharp and angular; their eyes narrow and focused with an unsettlingling look in them. Their clothes, if they can even be called that, are minimal; bands of rough, natural materials crisscrossing their bodies like a form of living armor.
At first, they appear to be watching from a distance. Curious, hidden among the trees and undergrowth. Then one of them steps forward. His movements are slow, deliberate, and every step seems to reverberate with some primal energy. It resonates with how alive the jungle feels. As he gets closer, you can smell him as well; a strange, musky scent, like the earth after a storm, mixed with something more... feral. His eyes scan the group of clones and suddenly lock onto yours. Something in his gaze makes your stomach drop. His stare isn’t just curious... It’s predatory.
The rest of the humanoid group moves in after the first alien; their eyes eventually falling in your figure, scanning you, lingering far too long. You tense, feeling a chill run through your veins as you realize just how much they're studying you. Everything inside you screams for you to run.
A voice breaks through the delicate, fragile silence.
“You... are not marked,” the first of the humanoids to approach says, his words dripping with something you can’t quite place—something that makes your heart speed up at the threath of unkown danger.
Muscles tense, your thoughts race. What does he mean? Marked? Why are Erus's strange habitants particularly focused on you and not the rest? You inevitably think of the obvious difference, and then it hits you: the mating season. You'd read about it, about how this creatures had a different cycle than what ovulation is for humans; theirs lasting a whole three months at a time. From the little information you had managed to find you had thought it to be a simple anatomical difference... But now you fear it’s not just that. It’s something you hadn’t considered at all.
Before you can react, one of the others takes a step closer. They seem taller and lankier now that they're this close to you; and you have to actually tilt your chin slightly up. The alien's eyes flash with a dangerous, hungry gleam.
“You are unmarked,” he echoes the first of them to interact, louder this time. “You belong to no one.”
His words are thick with meaning, and it dawns on you -horrifyingly-that they view you as prey. Not just a foreigner, not just a woman; but something to claim, to take during this time. That somehow, they're allowed to.
His voice doesn't hold the slight surprise of realisation of the first creature; but a grinning, victorious tone to it. The rest of the aliens seem to grow restless at this.
You can feel your heart racing in your chest, terror bubbling up in your throat. Panic seizes you, making it hard to breathe. This wasn’t part of the mission. You weren’t briefed on this. No one warned you about the danger.
Goosebumps rise all over your skin. You want -need- to get out of here.
Just as you're about to take a step back, you feel a powerful presence at your side; Rex. He moves in front of you, his posture rigid, protective. His voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
"Step back" the Captain commands, his voice low and cold.
His hand hover near his blaster, and every clone around you falls into a defensive stance; their weapons ready, but no shots fired yet.
The aliens hesitate. Based on how they're dressed and the lack of modern civilization the planet seems to hold, you'd bet they know nothing about blasters and military weapons. Perhaps they're just momentarily taken aback by Rex’s sheer force of presence and the obvious ready-to-fight position of the others.
“She...” the male alien sneers, sniffing the air in your direction with an almost invasive intensity. “Smell nothing like you. She is unmarked. She is ours to take now.”
The air grows thick with discomfort, but the Captain doesn’t falter. His voice, though calm, is filled with a deadly certainty.
“She’s with me,” he growls. “And no one is going to touch her.”
The alien looks from Rex to you and then laughs; a low, guttural sound that seems to shake the very air around you.
In other circumstances -if you were back in Coruscant-, you'd have faced without hesitation anyone who would have dared talked you that way; but here, in Erus, all the way out of the safety of the Core Worlds, the only thing separating you from these creatures is Torrent. You're forced to swallow your fears down and left watching.
“Now you're trying to claim her?” the creature scoffs. “Mating season will start in a few days. What do you expect, walking around with her like that, unmarked? You’re begging for trouble.”
The fear that grips you makes it hard to focus, hard to think. But Rex stands tall, unshaken, stepping closer to you as though to shield you from them all. You can see the anger and frustration building in his posture. He’s furious, and it’s almost as if he’s taking it personally.
He glances back at you briefly, his expression grim.
“We’re promised,” Rex tells the humanoid, his voice edged with tension. “We’re waiting to get married.”
The aliens break into laughter, mocking him.
“Humans” one of them chuckles, “and their strange customs.”
Thankfully, that does it. They back off, still smirking, still hungry, still watching; but the tension doesn’t fully leave. You feel your pulse still racing, your chest tight with the lingering aftershocks of the confrontation.
Rex stays close, his presence grounding, but there's something dooming in the air. You have the feeling it's not over yet.
2. TEMPORARY SOLUTION
The jungle sinks into a heavy silence as night unfurls above you, thick with stars that shimmer through gaps in the canopy like distant eyes watching from beyond. The air is damp, and somewhere in the darkness, undiscovered insects sing in eerie harmony. The squad sets up camp beneath enormous, vine-draped trees; the blue glow of the portable lamps casting soft halos across the clearing.
You're still rattled. The events of the day cling to your skin like sweat; every word, every stare from those aliens etched into your nerves. You try to focus on setting your medkit in order, organizing supplies, checking gear -anything to quiet the rising panic- but your hands tremble too easily.
Eventually, when the others are distracted -cooking rations, calibrating gear, checking patrol shifts- Captain Rex approaches.
You feel his presence before you see him. There’s something solid about him, like the calm eye in the center of a storm. He nods once, and you follow him without a word. You'd guessed he would want to talk to you at one point or another.
You walk a few meters away, the jungle swallowing up the rest of the world until it’s just the two of you beneath a towering, silver-leafed tree that sways gently in the night breeze. The dim bioluminescence from the leaves reflects faintly off his armor, painting him in ghostly hues of green and violet.
You take notice then that the glow of Erus's plants are similar to the colours of the humanoids skin; which means they would mimetize well in the rich landscape of the jungle. It only unsettles you further.
Rex stands rigid, arms folded across his chest, his jaw tight enough to crack durasteel. The expression on his face is unreadable, but his silence speaks volumes.
“That... was not okay,” he mutters eventually, his voice barely above the whisper of the wind. It’s raw. Honest. Uncomfortable, like he can't even start to talk about it but he knows he have to. “We should’ve been informed about this before we arrived. Someone should’ve warned us.”
You stare at the ground, your throat thick. You’re still trying to piece everything together; what the alien said, how close it came to escalating, how different everything feels now.
“I believe no one knew about this” you finally answer, quietly. “I researched all I could before departure, and though a mating season was mentioned in those articles, there was nothing of the... Nature of it. It has been a surprise for all”.
He looks at you, and you fight to hold his piercing gaze now that his eyes aren't hidden under his helmet.
“We can’t go back to Coruscant now,” he states, low and firm. “We need that artifact. We need to finish this mission. And Erus is too far away from everything to take you somewhere safer. But we can’t risk not taking precautions either. We'll be here for a while until we find the Jedi artifact. I don't want you being hurt because of their... traditions.”
The words land heavy in your chest. No returning home anytime soon. You nod slowly, the reality settling in. You get it. There's a mission at stake. Still, you're warmed at his last words, at how his voice turned worried and gentle.
You don't want to ask, but you have to.
“What can we do, then?” Your voice fills with determination, trying to find your courage.
You had sewed fatal wounds in the middle of oppen battlefields. You're not alone. You can push yourself through this.
Captain Rex drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. For a moment, the mask slips; just enough for you to see the frustration, the worry.
“I think the best option is to keep making them believe we’re together,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with the akwardness and necessity of the idea. “It seemed to work before. If they think you belong to me, they’ll back off.”
You blink at him, trying to push through the shock.
“A couple,” you repeat numbly.
The absurdity rings in your ears, and yet... there’s logic to it. A terrifying, necessary logic.
He nods, slower this time. More serious.
“We hold hands. Stay close. Act like we’re...” He hesitates. “Involved.”
You swallow hard, heat creeping up your neck inevitably.
“Kiss?” you manage to ask, voice breathless.
His eyes flick to yours, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of something behind them—uncertainty? Guilt? Something unspoken. “If we have to.”
The thought makes your pulse trip. Not only because of the danger, or the lies you’ll have to tell, but because you'll have to pull off this theatre with him. Rex. The clone you've watched from a distance with quiet admiration. The galaxy-wide famous Captain. And now you have to pretend to be -with him- something more.
You search his face, trying to find any hint of doubt. It must be hard for him; having to pull this ruse after doing the contrary and hiding any aspect of a personal life through all his years alive. Clones are soldiers. Clones are Republic property. It's terribly injust, but no one allows them to have much of a personal life and it must be weird to fake suddenly having one.
But Rex has already made up his mind.
“Alright” you whisper, nodding. “We can do that.”
Something in his expression softens. Just slightly. A glimpse of warmth beneath the captain's steel exterior.
“Good” he says. His voice lowers. “I know this must be scary for you, Doc, but I promise I'll keep you safe.”
The words settle in your chest like a vow. You nod again, too full of thoughts to speak. As the two of you return to camp, you walk just a little closer than before. And still, your mind spins. The brush of his hand. The weight of his words. You’ve barely shared more than a few missions together, but somehow, his presence already feels... significant.
You only hope it's significant for the aliens too.
3. PLAYING THE PART
Days pass in a haze of uneasy routine. The jungle remains wild and watching, and the tall, scaled creatures still hover at the edge of sight, always near, always aware. Whenever they approach, you and Rex play the part. You feel his hand curl around yours with practiced ease, warm and steady. You smile on cue, lean toward him when they’re looking, laugh softly at nothing just to sell the act.
At night, his tent becomes a fragile sanctuary. The two of you lie close beneath the hum of portable heaters -this jungle is surprisingly cold at night, you're not sure how that works-, wrapped in silence. You can hear the rustle of leaves above and the distant chirps of life, but none of it matters when you’re tucked into safety. Rex's body is warm beside yours, the faint scent of his skin mixing with the earthy smell of the jungle.
He never wavers. He’s protective, careful, utterly convincing. And you're more than gratefull; because the world outside this tent sees you as prey. Inside, though, the world feels smaller. A sliver of soft light filters in from the lamp just outside the entrance. You’re both stretched out on the floor mats, armor and gear stripped away, wrapped in the quiet exhaustion of a long day. You’re lying close, not touching; just near enough to feel his presence.
Your muscles ache from hours of climbing, crouching, and pushing through thick brush and collapsed ruins. The artifact still hasn’t been found, though Rex swears they’re getting close.
You’d believe anything he says in that calm, unshakable tone.
He shifts beside you, just enough that you can hear the faint rustle of fabric.
“Can I ask you something?”
His voice is quiet, low enough that you might’ve missed it if you weren’t already listening for him.
You turn your head slightly, resting your cheek against your arm.
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
A pause.
“Nova” he says. “Why that nickname?”
You blink, a little surprised. You hadn’t expected him to ask something so... personal. No matter how you act in front of those creatures, you haven't really delved into personal conversations with Rex.
You glance over, but he’s still staring up at the tent ceiling, his profile carved softly by the outside light. There’s no teasing in his tone, just curiosity. He just wants to know.
You exhale slowly, thinking back.
“It started during the Ryloth campaign” you begin, voice quiet, almost carried off by the wind outside. “I was assigned to the Wolfpack then; first deployment fresh out of medical training. I was terrified. They were a close-knit unit, hardened, half of them carrying more scars than I’d ever seen.”
A smile flickers at the edge of your mouth, the memory unfolding like old paper.
“One of them, Boost, got shot clean through the side. Shouldn’t have made it, but I swallowed the nerves down, and he did. A few days later, same thing. They started calling me with that nickname, then, saying I was... Light in the worst moment, a second chance of living after a big boom”.
You pause, smiling fondly at the memory.
“I called them cheesy, but Nova stuck. I've grown to quite like it.”
Rex lets out a low chuckle. The kind that stays in his chest, that echoes in the comfort of friendly silence.
“That sounds about right,” he murmurs. "It's a good nickname. You're a great doc, you know. You have saved more than one of us more than once".
The compliment warms you, quiet and unexpected. You let it settle.
You lie like that for a little while, listening to the wind thread its way through the trees. You can almost forget where you are; the danger, the mission, the forced closeness of your arrangement.
But you’re not pretending now. And he isn't either. This isn’t a performance. This is just... him. And you. Bonding friends over personal stories.
“What about you?” you ask softly, your voice barely above the hum of the jungle. “If you could be anyone... do anything... what would you want?”
Another pause. This one longer.
You hear him exhale through his nose, a slow release of air. His voice, when it comes, is quieter than before.
“Being a father sounds good enough.”
You blink. The words land softly, but with surprising weight.
He doesn’t look at you. He just keeps staring upward, his features unreadable in the low light.
You hadn’t expected that. Not from him. Not from any of them. Not from someone bred for battle, raised in the barracks, trained to follow orders until the end.
But there it is. The truth of it. Raw and aching and real.
Your chest tightens. You want to say something, but you don’t know how to answer something so honest. So... human.
Rex shifts slightly, as if realizing how much he’s revealed. “It’s stupid,” he adds after a moment, voice rougher now. “Doesn’t make sense. I wasn’t made for that. Wasn’t made to raise anyone. Just fight. Protect.”
His words fade into the space between you like mist.
You swallow against the lump in your throat, heart twisting with something you can’t quite name.
“It’s not stupid,” you whisper. “It’s... beautiful.”
He doesn’t respond, but the silence that follows feels softer now. Warmer.
“I think you’d be a great dad, Rex,” you say, barely breathing the words.
His hand, resting on the mat beside yours, shifts just slightly. Not touching, but close. You can feel the heat of his skin, the strength in his stillness.
Outside, the jungle keeps singing. Inside, the space between you has never felt so alive.
4. IN NEED OF A HUG
The distant calls of unseen creatures echo through the thick canopy, but even they seem muted compared to the tense silence surrounding your camp. The aliens haven’t spoken to you since the first encounter, but their eyes speak enough. You feel them. Watching. Waiting. The way their gazes linger too long, too focused—predatory and assessing. Hoping they'll catch you alone sometime.
You shift uncomfortably on your feet as you glance around. The humidity clings to your skin, thick and suffocating.
Rex stands just a few feet away, deep in discussion with Jesse, both of them scanning a datapad, pointing toward the glowing topographic map of the jungle.
"If we circle around sector 9 and sweep back through the ridge, we'll cover more ground without backtracking—"
You barely register the rest of his sentence.
You move closer, your steps quiet against the spongey earth, until you’re beside him. He hasn’t noticed you yet. His attention is all strategy and terrain and logistics. But you feel uncomfortable, like you want to scratch their dark hungry stares off of your skin.
Wordlessly, you lean in. The gesture is slow, uncertain. You press your side against his; your arm slipping behind his back in a loose, hesitant hug. Just enough to show a physical sign. A warning. You're with him and no one else.
Rex had told you to look after him and do whatever was necessary to feel comfortable, so here it is.
The Captain's eyes shift toward you, and in that small, shared glance, everything makes sense. The unspoken request in the way you lean against him.
Without hesitation, his arm comes around you, steady and warm. His hand lands gently on your shoulder at first, then slides in a slow, protective motion across your back, drawing you a little closer. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch.
Instead, he picks up the conversation again with Jesse like nothing happened, as if this closeness has always been natural.
“ —If we time the recon right before sundown, we might avoid crossing into those unstable riverbeds. I'd prefer not to get near those at night”
You stay pressed to his side, the heat of his armor warming your skin. His touch doesn’t just ward off the aliens; it grounds you. Anchors you. His thumb makes slow, almost absent circles as he speaks, and though the conversation moves on, your mind is caught in the quiet storm of his touch.
Rex holds you like you belong there. Could you?
5. WORK TIME
Later that day, the sky turns an inky shade of violet, streaked with copper from the setting suns. A few clones are gathered near the campfire, resting after a long day of slicing through jungle brush and dealing with the oppressive humidity.
A murmur cuts through the ambient sound.
“Nova,” Hardcase calls from a few meters away, limping toward the med tent, grimacing. “I think I twisted something.”
You’re already moving before he finishes the sentence, the medic in you slipping into place like muscle memory.
Your voice is calm, practiced.
"Alright. Sit down, let me see".
Hardcase lowers himself onto the crate you drag over, pulling off his boot with a hiss of pain. His ankle is swollen, flushed with heat. Not broken, but it needs care.
You clean, assess, wrap, and brace with efficient hands, murmuring quietly to keep him calm.
“It’s just a sprain. You’ll be limping for a couple of days, but it’ll hold. Try not to put your weight on it. We still have plenty of jungle to explore, so perhaps we can make you some improvised crutches so you don't aggravate the injury while we do that”
Rex watches from a short distance away, leaning against the trunk of a bioluminescent tree. He says nothing, but he sees everything.
The way you kneel before the injured clone, brows furrowed in focus. The careful way you tie off the bandage, checking it twice. The faint frown of concentration, the softness in your voice. How gently your hands move, like this is sacred work. Like they are sacred. Like they matter.
He watches the way Hardcase nods and relaxes under your touch. The way you make pain seem like less of a burden just by being near.
You finish wrapping the ankle, giving Hardcase a pat on the knee and an encouraging smile. “I'll give you some bacta cream for that, use it three times a day until the inflamation goes down. I’ll check how you’re doing tomorrow. You should go get some rest.”
Hardcase grins.
“Thanks, Doc. Good to know you're not just pretty."
You chuckle softly, brushing hair from your face as you stand. You joke with him, finally sending him on his way.
Across the fire, Rex’s eyes haven’t left you. There’s something unreadable in his gaze—soft, but intense. Like he’s seeing something he’s been trying not to let himself feel. Something that scares him a little with how much he wants it. Because this is all pretend, right? He can't even think on wish for this.
You glance over your shoulder and meet his eyes. He doesn’t look away.
You smile inmediately, bright like the sun, and wave a hand at him, ignorant to the mess of contradicting thoughts and feelings swirling in his mind.
6. KISS THE DANGER AWAY
The mission has been advancing steadily despite the rising tension. Each day, Torrent Company pushes deeper into the dense jungle, using old Jedi maps, fragmented temple records, and scanning equipment calibrated to pick up residual Force signatures. The artifact they're searching for is hidden somewhere in the heart of the planet, where the foliage grows so thick it blocks most aerial recon.
The clones mark each cleared area on holomaps with precise efficiency. Now, after nearly a week of searching, only a few sectors remain unexplored; narrow canyons tangled with silver vines and strange energy readings. The sense that they're close is palpable, and so is the pressure. Whatever lies buried here, it’s old, powerful, and almost calling, wanting to be found.
Where the jungle once was eerily silent, it has now grown louder. You see some big colourful felines here and there; adding to the eyes of the creatures who study you. Each day closer to the peak of the mating season feels heavier; like the air around you is brimming with unspoken hunger. The humanoids move differently now. Less guarded. Bolder. Their bodies seem to pulse with a kind of feral energy that makes your skin crawl.
You've seen it; what they do when they think no one's watching. A silhouette against the glow of dusk, a rhythmic movement behind a tree, low moans muffled by the chirping birds and the buzzing of insects. It's not romantic. Somehow, you think the females of their species seem to enjoy it -perhaps the hormones that induce desire peaks at the same time as the males too, you're not sure- but still... It's primal. You haven't got that biological -sort of coping- system. And it's terrifying.
You're walking back from the edge of the temporary camp when a second encounter happens. The squad is gathered loosely, some talking, others packing gear; but Rex is in the middle of a terse discussion with one of the humanoid creatures. The alien male towers over him, his voice low but growing more aggressive with each word. Rex clenches his jaw, tense.
Your steps falter, instinct pushing you toward Rex. You don’t need translation to know this one doesn’t care about diplomatic arrangements or fake bonds. Rex's scent is not enough layered on you, and his gaze on you is dark, invasive. Hungry.
The Captain’s body shifts subtly, placing himself in front of you without even turning his head. His voice is sharp now, warning. But alien sneers, his eyes still locked on yours, and takes a half-step forward.
Rex doesn’t give him the chance to do anything else.
Without warning, without hesitation, he turns, one arm curling around your waist as he pulls you to him. And then...
His mouth is on yours. Not a brush. Not a fake peck for show. A kiss. Full and sure and utterly grounding.
You freeze.
For a heartbeat, your mind goes blank. His lips are warm and firm against yours, the stubble of his jaw brushing your skin. His hand, large and calloused, cradles the back of your head as if he’s done this a hundred times before.
The way he kisses you holds so many emotions, such passion, that you wonder for a sliver of a second if he's possesed by that same need to mark and claim like the rest. Only... Only you'd let him; and it makes goosebumps of nervous pleassure to erupt, not of disgust or fear.
You melt against him. Your fingers grip the front of his armor, clutching instinctively, grounding yourself in him. The heat of his chest seeps through the fabric between you, and you lean in, letting the kiss deepen. His other hand slides lower, resting against the small of your back. He’s solid, real, and for a second, everything else vanishes.
There are no hungry stares. No missions. No fear. Just the press of Rex’s lips, the way he exhales softly through his nose like he’s been holding that breath for too long. The way your heartbeat stumbles, and then races.
He pulls away slowly, almost reluctantly, his lips brushing yours one last time before he looks at you.
His expression is unreadable at first—stoic, intense—but his eyes flicker with something deeper. Something softer. As if even he didn’t expect it to feel like it has.
You blink up at him, lips still parted, still tasting the ghost of him on your mouth.
The humanoid growls low in his throat.
The message is clear. She is not yours.
“That'll save you for now... But if you think just a little kiss will stop our advances in full mating season, you're very wrong.”
Threat thrown, the alien backs off, retreating without another word.
Your fingers are still clutching the Captain's armor. His hand remains on your lower back, thumb tracing small, unconscious comforting circles.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to surprise you like that...”
“It's okay. I'm glad you did” you whisper, before you can stop yourself.
A flicker of surprise crosses his face. Then… something else. Pensive. Warm.
Neither of you move for a long moment. The noise of the jungle fades back in slowly, like the world is returning to motion. But you don’t really care.
7. ONE STEP CLOSER
The squad moves cautiously through the dense undergrowth, scanners in hand, their soft beeps and pulses the only sounds beyond the chirps and distant calls of unseen creatures. You glance down at the holo-map flickering on your wrist; only five more sectors left to cover before the mission might finally be complete.
Two hours later -your leg muscles starting to ache-, the scanner emits a sharper ping, more insistent. Rex signals a halt. Everyone freezes, eyes darting expectantly through the shadows. By now, the trip has been enough and everyone wants to go back to Coruscant.
“Signal’s stronger here” Rex murmurs, his voice low but steady. “Could be the artifact.”
You swallow hard, heart pounding with a mix of hope and aprehension. Torrent fans out, moving carefully toward the source of the signal, leaves crunching softly under their boots.
Then, from the thick brush ahead, a sudden rustle. Several humanoid figures emerge, their eyes wide and wild, faces flushed with agitation. One of them snarls, stepping forward, teeth bared in a threatening grin.
“Unmarked. Ours.”
Your pulse races, but not like before. Tragical, but you've kind of grown used to this. Instinctively, you press closer to the Captain's side; but you tilt your chin up, eyes not wavering under the agresive stare of the creatures.
Blasters hum to life. Rex steps forward, calm and commanding.
“Back off.”
But the creatures don’t yield easily. Mating season starts in three days, and they're more out of control than ever. The jungle erupts in chaos. Blaster fire lights the dim forest, shadows flickering wildly across twisted roots and hanging moss.
At Rex's command, Torrent moves. It's a defensive formation, keeping every attacker away. The objective is clear; you're too exposed here, and probably outnumbered. You might manage to kill some, but it's only a matter of time until they show payback. And Rex won't lose any brother unnecessarily when they can just move forward and change of sector if they run fast enough.
They make it. They cross a river to one of the four last sectors left to explore; and the humanoids that chase them finally give up. There's more females around, and you're not that much of a price.
At night, everyone is exhausted after setting camp. You skirt the makeshift perimeter quietly, slipping through the shadows to find a spot to relieve yourself. The air still warms your lungs; but it starts to feel colder on your skin.
As you move, eyes adjusting to the dim light, something caughts your attention not far ahead; a small figure, crouched low near a silvery tree. The shape is smaller than the other humanoids you’d seen until now; and there is a sort of fragility in its posture, as if wounded, and that makes you pause.
You should be careful. Being alone out here isn't completely safe, no matter how close to the tents you are. This creatures are fast. They'd out-runned you if you tried. Still, you trust your gut. He doesn't feel threatening or agressive. And you're a doctor; you know it will weight on your consciense to walk away. Thankfully, you still keep your blaster strapped to your thigh.
Tentatively, you raised your voice, friendly but clear.
“Hey… Do you need some help?”
The alien gets startled, its large eyes widening with fear. A faint whimper escapes him, as if he wanted to say yes but didn’t know wether to actually accept.
This could be a trap, but you still have your blaster with you, so slowly, cautiously, you step closer. Well, at least the wound is not fake...
“That must hurt,” you whisper, examining it from your standing position just two meters away.
The alien nods, eyes filled with pain. He seems to relax upon seing you, at least at first sight, don't pose much of a threat.
“Yes… I was just trying to find myself some dinner when I got caught in the fight before. The light…" he whispers, confused. "It got me. I’ve never seen a wound like this. I don’t know what to do.”
You nod.
“It’s a blaster wound" you explain, remaining calm. "The good thing is that you don't lose much blood, it cauterizes almost inmediately. I'm a medic. I can help you, but you’ll have to come back to camp with me.”
The creature flinches, fear evident in its gaze. It's so vastly different than the hungry, dark stares from before that you start to wonder... Is this alien really a male?
“If you’re not aggressive, it’ll be okay" you assure softly.
After a long moment, the humanoid nods again and struggles to stand. You still don't trust him enough to walk side by side, but you take your time going back towards the center of the camp, pausing when he needs it.
“You’re a female, right?” you ask her as you're approaching the first tents.
The alien nods slowly. You hum thoughtfully. She doesn't seem emotionally unstable like her counterparts. You wonder if her hormones will peak up in exactly three days instead of being a progressive escalate.
Rex suddenly appears blaster raised and ready. He looks determined, jaw clenched in controlled anger, fear and something else hidden in his eyes.
The female alien lets out a scared whine, shrinking back.
Quickly, you raise a hand.
“She’s hurt." you explain to him, voice calm, face serene. "I’m helping her. Please, trust me.”
Rex’s eyes narrow, studying the scene carefully. After a tense pause, he lowers his blasters slightly, though his gaze remains sharp and cautious. You shoot a reassuring smile at him.
You ask another clone to bring your medkit, knowing Rex wouldn't want to leave your side until the creature was far gone. You then kneel down, opening your medkit and working efficiently to clean and dress the blaster wound. The other clones watch silently, their expressions unreadable but tense.
When you finish, the alien gives you a small, grateful nod and whispers a warm thank you, slipping quietly away into the shadows, disappearing as silently as she had arrived.
Rex watches the alien leave, instructs the clones to keep a longer watch for tonight, and then turns to you with contradiction clear on his face. Mosty, though, he looks relieved.
A few minutes later, when you're both inside your shared tent, Rex rolling out the mat on the floor, he makes a humming comment, eyes reflecting the flickering of the lantern light.
“Not everyone would have helped those trying to hurt us.”
Cleaning as much as possible of the sweat and the dirt of the day away with a wet cloth, you meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words.
“This one wasn't trying to hurt us. Anyhow... I can’t ignore someone in pain. No matter who it belongs to” you reply softly, the compassion of a medic threading through your voice. “If I can, if it's in my hand to help, I'll always step forward. This galaxy has too much hate already. We need people that favor peace.”
Rex nods slowly, a rare vulnerability breaking through his usual stoic posture, now revealed without his armour to hide it. You can't help but think on how homey, how normal, Rex looks in normal clothes.
“It was scary” he says, voice low, focusing on laying out his bed roll on top of the mat. “Seing one of them right next to you after the encounter we had today.”
You study the sliver of emotions you can see in his face. A tiny smile makes it's way on your face; he looks almost like a kid who is confesing something he's not proud to admit.
“I'm sorry. I'll try to give you a heads up next time.”
Rex sits down on his bed roll and tilts his head.
“Should I be worried with you already stating there will be a next one?”
You laugh quietly. Rex smiles. It's a rare thing. You're used to seeing his face morph in all kinds of worries and decissiveness, perhaps even a few smirks; but not like this, not a simple, tiny, real, and beautiful smile.
You throw your now dirty cloth in the bag of your to-wash clothes and put it back in your backpack, abandoning it in the corner of the tent, next to the entrance. Then, facing him, you sit down on your own bedroll too.
“Mating season starts in two days.” he points out, after a few moments of silence. “Are you scared?”
You hesitate, then admit.
“A little. They've been backing off with what we have been doing until now, but they still repeat that I'm not claimed yet and I don't know how much of a rational mind they'll have then. I know you guys will protect me but... Things could go south. I don't like it. And I don't know what else we can do to make them think otherwise.”
Rex’s expression tightens. He knows you are all at risk as well.
“Maybe...” he hesitates, but upon seeing you looking at him, at your encouraging nod, he clears his throat and continues. “Maybe we shoud start sleeping together in the same cot. Same sleeping bag. I'm sure you'll smell more like me that way… It might keep them off.”
A flush warms your cheeks at the suggestion, heart thudding hard. The idea feels intimate, and theater appart, it sends butterflies to your stomach. But he doesn't need to know that.
“I think that’s a good idea,” you whisper, voice barely audible.
Because feelings aside, it is. It's impossible for the creatures not to smell the captain's scent on you if you're sleeping pressed together for hours. If anything, you should have thought of it earlier, no matter how akward.
Rex hums and opens his bedroll, laying down on it and keeping it open for you, gesturing for you to join him with a move of his head. You follow his offer, carefully taking a place beside him and trying to ignore how warm his body feels pressed side by side to yours.
He reaches out, fingers brushing lightly along your arm. The contact sends an electric current through you. Your eyes meet. This close, you can't help but remember the kiss. You want to experience it again; but it might be too dangerous, to delve into this when no one is looking, when there's no act to play.
You conform with shifting closer, laying on your side. His arm slowly curves around your shoulders in the same temptative way, threadding the line; a steady weight, a promise of protection.
Your bodies slowly fit together in the small space of the Captain's bedroll.
You can feel his breathing gently fanning over the top of your head; smell the scent of his skin mingling with the damp earth outside. Every heartbeat feels louder, every touch divided between accidental and intentional. Wrapped in his embrace, the world outside fades away; replaced by the simple, undeniable truth of being held safe.
8. MORNING AFTER
The jungle is still draped in a bluish haze when you stir.
At first, you’re not sure where you are; your head tucked beneath a firm chin, legs tangled, an arm draped around your waist like it’s its natural place. Then you smell him; warm skin, faint metal, and the underlying scent of sweat and the jungle. And you remember. Rex. The bedroll. His arms around you all night, and not letting you go once.
You don’t move right away. Neither does he. His breathing is slow, even. One of your hands rests against his chest, and you can feel the steady thump of his heart beneath it. Calm. Steady. Comforting.
Eventually, you shift slightly, just enough to tilt your head back and glance up at him. His eyes are already open. He’s watching you quietly, sleepy but alert. You wonder how long he’s been awake.
“Morning,” you murmur, kind of groggy.
A small smile touches the edge of his mouth.
“Hey” his voice is still deliciously raspy from sleep.
You both lie there in silence for a moment longer, neither one quite ready to let go of the quiet bubble you’ve found. Outside the tent, the camp is beginning to stir; distant voices, the shuffle of boots, the crackle of someone prepping rations over a heat plate.
You sigh, reluctantly pulling back.
Rex lets you go slowly, his hand brushing down your back before releasing you fully, as if comitting to memory.
As you sit up and begin reaching for a new shirt, he catches your wrist gently.
“Wait.”
You glance back, brows raised.
He leans up on one elbow and then reaches to his own pack, rummaging through it for a second before pulling out one of his undershirts. It’s soft and worn, the fabric thinned in places. He holds it out to you.
“Another idea... For the scent thing.” he akwardly states.
You stare at the shirt in his hand, then at him.
“You want me to wear your clothes” you say, lips twitching with the start of a smile. It's just too fun to tease him, you can't let the oportunity pass.
“It’s for strategy,” he reminds you, too quickly, though the flush in his cheeks gives something else away. It's sweet, to see him flustered like a boy and not the soldier he is.
Your smile deepens, warm and slow. You take the shirt from him, letting your fingers graze his on purpose.
“Okay,” you say softly. “I'll wear it then. For strategy.”
You turn slightly to slip out of your top, carefully avoiding the open tent flap, ignoring the weight of his eyes fixed on your naked back for the few seconds you take to pull the worn fabric of his shirt over your head. It falls to your thighs -hiding the shorts you've got underneath- like a small dress, the sleeves practically swallowing your hands. It does smell like him.
You glance back to find him watching you. His gaze lingers on your legs, your arms, the way the fabric drapes against your skin. He swallows, as if you're an ethereal thing to watch, and you try to ignore the way your stomach flips.
“How do I look?” you ask playfully, but your voice is quieter than intended.
His eyes lift to meet yours.
“You pull it off better than me” he says, changing to a light tone as well, and you chuckle and turn around to search for proper trecking pants and your boots to wear.
“We should eat before the squad thinks we’re off doing something scandalous.” you joke, quickly changing into your new clothes and lacing up your boots as tight as you can without them hurting you.
“We kind of are,” he mutters, sitting up and reaching for a new set of clothes before he slips into his armour as well.
You smile to yourself. You forgot how just this, sleeping with a woman in the same bedroll, in a GAR mission no less, could be considered scandalous for someone like him.
You both step out into the waking camp. You're chirper than usual; but a nagging thought swirls in the back of your brain. This closeness will end in less than a week, when you've found the artifact and return to Coruscant. It dampens your mood a bit for the rest of the morning, though you distract yourself joking around with the boys from Torrent. Everthing will turn out okay.
9. SCARS AND RUINS
The jungle is quieter today, as if holding its breath. The usual clicks and calls of wildlife still echoes through the canopy, but they feel distant; muffled somehow, by the ancient stillness of the place.
You’ve been hiking for hours already, weaving through tangled undergrowth and climbing over slippery stones. Your boots are soaked, your lower back and shoulders aches, and you are absolutely certain that at least three bugs have made a new home in your clothes. And for the record, you absolutely hate bugs. But oh well, life is hard sometimes.
Rex comes to a stop by the half-collapsed remnants of a stone archway, some forgotten monument swallowed by vines and time. He glances back at you and the others, reading the exhaustion in your faces. Somehow, he only looks slightly out of breath, which is highly unfair.
“Ten-minute break,” he calls. “Hydrate. And no wandering.”
You drop your pack with a theatrical groan and flop down onto a dry-ish rock beside him. You set down your backpack between your feet on the floor.
“If I get one more vine wrapped around my leg, I’m going to actually scream.”
Rex chuckles, low and warm. He sits down to rest as well, eyes wandering around Torrent.
“You did sign up for an Outer Rim mission” he points out, as if that doesn't give you an excuse to complain.
“I signed up to keep you lot alive” you correct him, getting rid of the sweat on your forehead and chin. “I didn’t know there’d be so much mud and… weird pollen in my mouth.”
He smirks.
“You did get hit in the face with that gigantic flower.”
You narrow your eyes.
“It exploded into my face, thank you.”
“You looked like a rainbow sneezed on you” he says, laughing now.
You lean back on your hands, grinning.
“Glad I could entertain the troops.”
As the laughter settles, your gaze driftes down to his shoulder, where his armor gaps slightly at the seam of his blacks. There, peeking just above the fabric and crawling up towards his neck, you find the jagged edge of a scar. Pale and deep. You hum quietly.
“That one looks like it hurt” you say gently.
He follows your gaze and rolls his shoulder a little.
“Yeah. Christophis. Shrapnel. I was lucky.”
You raise your eyebrows.
“That's lucky?”
Rex shruggs.
“Still alive, aren't I?”
You lean a little closer, tilting your head.
“You ever count how many scars you’ve got?”
“No... I would have to be pretty bored.” He paused. “Or drunk.”
You roll up your sleeve, revealing the thin white scar along your forearm.
“This one is probably my favorite. Plasma burn. Commander Wolffe got trapped in an engine fire. Sinker and I grabbed him just in time, but my glove lit up like fireworks.”
He whistles low, examining the puckered skin.
“That’s a nasty one.”
“I cried for a solid hour after” you admit, mock-proud. “Kix had to bribe me back in medbay with chocolate.”
Rex gently brushes his fingers along its edge.
“Well, at least it looks like it healed fine.”
Your heart skips with the featherlight touch.
“Not like I like the pain in that moment, obviously, but I like how most scars reminds me I did something right.”
The Captain's expression turns serious, softer than you’ve ever seen it.
“You’ve probably saved more brothers than I’ll ever know. Thank you.”
“Least I can do” you sigh. “Considering you clones are fighting this war for us”.
There is a beat of silence. Just long enough to feel heavy, but not uncomfortable. Then you grin, leaning into the banter again.
“So what you’re saying is… I’m basically a medical legend.”
He rolls his eyes with a tiny, tiny smile that feels like a victory.
“A legend that gets slapped by a plant every ten minutes and snorts pollen like cocaine.”
You shove him lightly, mockinly offended, and he chuckles, catching himself before falling off the rock you're both resting on. When he looks at you again, there's a light in his eyes, something easy and warm.
Eventually, he stands up and offers you a hand.
“Come on” he tugs on his backpack. “Let’s finish up this sector before lunch.”
You let him pull you to your feet, ignoring the electricity you feel when your fingers brush.
By afternoon, the jungle is heavy with mist and buzzing life, every leaf dripping with condensation and the low, rhythmic calls of birds echoing through the canopy. You and the rest of the squad are trudging through the last mapped sector; after this, the mission will be considered complete.
Rex walks beside you, his steps steady but relaxed. His gloved fingers brush yours every now and then as you walk, and you wonder if he does it on purpose. If the others notice. Maybe you’re both too used now to staying close. Maybe neither of you wants to stop.
“Hard to believe we’re almost done” you comment, swiping at the sweat on your brow.
“Yeah” he agrees. “Just this sector and we can stop pretending we like camping.”
You laugh quietly.
“Speak for yourself. I’ve grown very attached to sharing a bedroll with someone who hogs all the warmth.”
Rex glances at you sideways, his expression unreadable under the helmet, but you can tell by the way his shoulders shake that he’s stifling a laugh. At the start of this mission, you'd have never believed you could make Captain Rex laugh. More than once.
“You’re the one who practically body slammed me last night when the temperature dropped” he repplies. “I think I’ve got bruises.”
“Not my fault your chest makes a very good pillow” you shrugg uncomitedly.
He huffs out a chuckle.
“Next time we’re on a jungle mission together I’m requesting individual cots.”
“You’ll miss me.”
“Yeah” he admits, deadpan. “I’ll miss getting elbowed in the ribs every two and a half hours.”
You are half-tempted to stick your tongue out of him. You end up controlling yourself because you're not a kid, but a professional.
“At least I don't talk in my sleep” you reply, shooting him a grin.
Rex raises an eyebrow.
“I did?” he sounds more surprised than anything.
“Oh yeah” you nod emphatically. “Lots of ‘flank left’ and ‘cover me, Jesse.’ Some ‘Drop it, Fives’. Really romantic stuff.”
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“Remind me to never fall asleep first again.”
The banter fades into companionable silence as you both step carefully around a patch of glowing fungus. Up ahead, Echo and Jesse are scanning the terrain with a portable holomap, the flickering blue projection glowing softly in the shade.
“It should be somewhere around here” Jesse calls out. “If the historical topography is accurate, there should be a cave system just beyond that ridge.”
“Let’s get this done with” Rex says, his voice slipping back into command with natural ease. “I can't wait to enjoy a proper shower.”
The climb is short but steep, and by the time you reach the ridge, the sun is peeking through the trees just enough to light the entrance to a half-collapsed cave, hidden behind a thick curtain of vines and moss. It doesn’t look like much, just another forgotten crevice in the alien jungle, but the second you step inside, the air shifts, colder and heavier.
The others fan out, helmets on, blasters ready. Rex stays close to your side.
At the center of the cave lies a stone pedestal, ancient and cracked, but still upright. Nestled on it, surrounded by an eerie pale glow, is a small crystalline object, pulsing faintly like it has a heartbeat of it's own.
“That’s it,” Rex murmurs, staring at it with a mix of awe and caution.
You nod, heart thudding. “The artifact indeed.”
10. END OF ACT
The transport hums steadily beneath you, a low vibration that carries through the floor into your boots and bones. The jungle is long behind, reduced now to memory and the occasional smear of mud still clinging to the soles of armor. Inside the ship, the clone troopers are sprawled in different states of exhaustion and relief; helmets off, banter low and easy, the heavy burden of the mission finally lifted from their shoulders. Another victory for the 501st. For Torrent. For Rex.
The Jedi artifact rests in a sealed crate at the back, guarded but dormant. One more relic saved from slipping into darkness. One more needed help to the war against the Separatists.
You’re strapped into the seat beside the Captain, both of you tucked into the shadows near the viewport. Stars stretch into long, elegant trails outside as the ship speeds toward Coruscant. The journey back home has begun, and you can't help but think on how this closeness to Rex is probably about to end. Well, maybe after this you can manage to at least be friends.
He exhales beside you, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His armor is scuffed and scratched, and his buzzed hair has actually grown quite a bit in this month, creating a tiny gradient from darker roots to bright tips. He glances your way, catching your eye with the smallest curve of his lips.
“So” he starts, voice low enough not to carry beyond your row of seats. “Do I get my bedroll back now, or have we reached joint custody?”
You laugh, quiet but genuine.
“Hmm, that depends. Are you going to miss it?”
Rex smirks, looking forward again. You fall into comfortable silence for a moment. Around you, the others are laughing at something Fives said, but it all feels distant; like you and Rex are in your own little space between the stars.
Then, a little quieter, more serious he calls.
“Nova” he starts, your nickname falling from his lips with unusual care. “Back on Erus... There was some things I did for necessity...”
You look at him, the flickering starlight catching in his bright eyes. There’s a vulnerability there, and your heart speeds up at the possible endings and implications of that phrase.
“But not everything. Not all of it.”
Your breath trembles with expectations and nerves. The truth has been lingering between you for days, maybe somewhere between the first side-hug under alien eyes and the first kiss. In the soft, temptative brushes of each others hands. On the hesitant cuddles at night.
“That's good to know” you whisper, smiling vulnerably too. “I'm not a good actor either.”
Rex shows you a tiny hopefull and relieved smile. He shifts slightly, his arm brushing yours, and when your hands rest on the seat between you, tentative, hesitant, his fingers find yours. He doesn’t grip, not right away, just lets the contact exist. Like a question he wants you to answer.
And you do, lacing your fingers together and accepting it with a soft squeeze.
The hum of the ship continues around you, the laughter of the others blending with the engine’s steady rhythm. But it’s quiet between you and Rex now, a different kind of quiet than before. One filled with unsaid things that don’t need words yet. You’ve both come through something strange, something dangerous and… something unexpectedly human.
Outside the viewport, the stars rush by, drawing you both home. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you're heading towards a beggining, not just an ending. A future unwritten. Glancing up at Rex's face, that knowledge sends an exciting warmth throw your veins.
warnings: one curse word i think, reader and rex shower together but there’s nothing sexual, ahsoka is sad, there’s literally no plot this is just self-indulgent fluff
word count: 0.86k
a/n: i just want it to stop being 104° every day and have a clone trooper to call my own. modern au, i guess, but nothing is specified. i wrote this in, like, an hour, so pls forgive any mistakes
The sleeves of your sweater were pushed up over your elbows as you washed the growing pile of dishes in the sink, watching the rain fall from your kitchen window. Since the window faced your backyard, you didn’t see whoever it was that knocked on your front door. One quick glance through the peephole, though, had you throwing it open.
Ahsoka stood on your front step, completely soaked through. You pulled her into your home, and with the sounds of the storm shut out with the closed door, you could properly hear her choked back sobs.
“‘Soka?”
“Barriss, she—she broke up with me.”
“Oh, baby.” Water be damned, you pulled her into a hug, softly stroking her cold montrals. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
She pulled back and wiped at her eyes, still sniffling. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“I’m glad you came here. Do you want to talk about it?” She shook her head, water falling off of her. “Raid the closet for something dry, I’ll get you some food.”
She pulled you into another hug and mumbled, “Thank you,” into your chest.
You turned back into the kitchen and set the oven to preheat, then sent a quick message.
She’s with me.
After you put the frozen pizza into the oven and started on some cookie dough, your front door opened again. Heavy footsteps turned into soft ones as boots were taken off by the door to dry, then Rex stepped into your kitchen and wrapped his arms around you, tucking his chin on your shoulder.
You leaned back into him as he pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, giggling when sweater fluff got into his mouth and made him sputter. “Hey.”
“Hey. Cookies?”
“And pizza.“ You looked over your shoulder and kissed his jaw before saying quietly, “Barriss broke up with her. She walked here in the rain.”
“Ah, shit. Poor kid.”
“I’d wait for her to come downstairs before you get changed.”
“Probably a good call.” He moved around you and pulled out the brown sugar and flour and passed both of them to you. “And how was your day?”
“Camrac still hasn’t been fired, so, you know, it wasn’t great.” You grin at his muffled chuckle. “It was fine, nothing unexpected. I’m sure I’ll think of something worthwhile to tell you later.”
He smiled. “Looking forward to it.” He took the mixing bowl from your hands and covered the top with a towel, then put it in the fridge to chill. Then he pulled on the oven mitts and carefully removed the pizza from the oven.
Ahsoka appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing one of your softest sweaters and some of Rex’s shorts, rubbing at her eye.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hi Rex.” She walked toward him and tucked herself into his side, his arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders. “Is that pizza?”
“And there’s cookie dough in the fridge.” You sliced the pizza and grabbed some plates. “Movie?”
She nodded. “Movie.”
The three of you arranged yourselves on the couch and got lost in the film. When the pizza and cookie dough were gone, Ahsoka’s head ended up in Rex’s lap, and his head ended up on your shoulder.
His eyes fluttered open as the credits started to roll. “I missed it?”
You snickered and kissed his cheek. “That’s why we picked one we’d all seen before.” You glanced down at the Togruta and smiled softly. “Will you carry her upstairs?”
“Yeah, I’ve got her, you go turn down the bed.”
You crouch down to her level and place a warm hand on her shoulder. “‘Soka?”
“Hmm?”
“We’re gonna take you upstairs.” She started to sit up and open her eyes, but you increased the pressure on her shoulder just barely. “Rex will carry you, baby, just lift your head.”
She did as you instructed and Rex lifted her easily, then they followed you up the stairs. You pulled the covers back on the spare bed, then tucked her in when Rex set her down, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then you plugged in a soft night light before closing the door.
Rex already had the shower running when you entered the en suite bathroom of your room, and you groaned as the eucalyptus scented steam filled the space. “You spoil me.”
“I treat you exactly the way you deserve.”
You both stripped down and stepped into the shower, grateful once again you installed the overhead shower head when you first moved in.
Rex’s hair was easy to wash, and you had him purring for you as you scratched product into his scalp.
He happily returned the favor.
The rain finally stopped as the two of you dried off, changed into pajamas, and slipped into bed. Rex, the living furnace, opened his arms and let you curl into him, your head on his chest. He hummed in contentment as he stroked his fingers up and down your back. Your eyes slowly started to close, and you hummed back.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Your family, all under one roof, safe and dry and warm.
Summary: Rex is asked to escort you back to your room after a long night at 79's.
Warnings: fluff, light smut (touching, kissing, etc), drinking, mutual pining, PROTECTIVE REX :')
Word count: 2.1k
A/N: reader is mentioned to be best friends with Ahsoka but they are of legal age!! Some dialogue is inspired by the Jim/Pam first kiss scene of The Office.
NSFW PART TWO CAN BE READ HERE
"We should probably get going, Y/N" Rex said, leaning down into your ear. Even this close, you could still barely hear him.
The chatter and commotion from inside 79’s was becoming deafening as the night aged. You'd decided not to drink too much tonight, as you wanted to be responsible. Especially considering what happened last time.
Rex was to escort you home tonight, following a terrifying incident the week before, where another clone tried to follow you. Luckily, nothing happened, but you felt unsafe. And your inebriated state left you feeling defenseless.
You didn’t want to ask for assistance, but after your best friend Ahsoka learned what happened, she insisted that Rex protect you this time. You would never object, of course. You’d always had a crush on Rex anyways, so you wanted nothing more than time alone with him. You and him were close ever since Ahsoka introduced you two many months ago, but you had never had one-on-one time with him.
You nodded at him in agreeance, locking your arm around his to ensure you didn't lose him in the crowd. The atmosphere was thick and stuffy, you felt as though it was hard to breathe around this many people.
The chilled air outside crashed against you, and you took a moment to absorb it.
"Ahhh, that's better" you sighed. Rex laughed softly, also enjoying a relief from the cantina’s mugginess.
"I’ll say” He mumbled.
“You know” You began “You don’t have to take me back just yet”
“Ahsoka was very clear that I get you home safely” Rex protested, continuing to stroll along next to you. He was closer than normal, almost in a seemingly protective way.
“Who says I won’t get home safely? Just a quick detour. Please?” You begged. Ahsoka was arguably too worried about you. Of course she trusted Rex, but he did not want to let her, or you, down.
He smirked, pondering your plea. How could he say no to you? There was one place you had in mind, and the skyline would be beautiful tonight.
“Alright, but no longer than 15 minutes” He said sternly. So serious about his duties…
The smile forming on your lips was almost child-like in excitement, but you toned it down before he could notice.
You knew of a rooftop on a nearby building that remained unguarded on certain nights. And tonight happened to be one of those nights. Sometimes you’d sneak away to watch the view, mesmerized by all the lights, but you always went alone. For some reason, your heart was tugging at you, and a gut feeling kicked in with the idea to take Rex with you this time.
—————
“Y/N, I really don’t think we should be in here” Rex whispered nervously, still not leaving more than a few inches between you and him.
“Relax, Rex. It’s fine, I do this all the time!” You admitted quicker than you could think it through. You winced in regret.
“You do this all the time?!” He shouted at a whisper.
“Well, not all the time but y- you know” you stuttered. “Look, I’m always safe about it. I’ve never been caught”.
“You need to be careful.” He commanded firmly.
Who is this and what did he do with Rex?
The unlit, seemingly abandoned building echoed every step as you approached the elevator.
“I really don’t see how I can keep you safe if both get caught”
“We won’t get caught, Rex. I promise” You further ensured him. Your arm locked around his again as you stepped into the elevator. You pressed the button to the top floor, and Rex looked down at you.
“Are we going to the top?” He ignorantly inquired.
You nodded, and he couldn’t help but grin. He had to admit that this was exciting.
The joyous relief you’d just felt of thinning air coming out of the cantina was nothing compared to the breeze that blew the hair away from your cheeks as you pushed the roof-access door open. Rex insisted that he went first, for protection of course. He held out his hand to help you step outside safely.
"Thank you" You blushed.
It was as if he'd never seen the endless city before in all its beauty. His jaw fell, and his pupils wandered the perimeter, admiration flooding his gaze. You watched him carefully, in awe of his reaction and felt pleased with the experience of sharing your favorite spot on Coruscant with someone else.
"Wow..." He whispered lightly. You shyly smirked before realizing you still had a hold of his hand, you snatched it away by instinct.
"Sorry" You blurted, feeling embarrassed for holding on too long.
"You shouldn't be" He consoled you, his eyes never breaking contact with the field of view surrounding you.
You both approached the edge, resting your arms on top of the ledge.
"In all my travels, all my missions, all this time...I've never seen the city like this"
"I hope we can agree that this was worth it" You teased. Rex had forgotten all about how hesitant he was to do this.
You looked up at him, and after a few moments, he broke away from eyeing the skyline to meet your gaze.
"The best part is" You began after a continued silence. "All these surrounding buildings are much shorter, and the distant buildings are too far away to see anyone up here. So it really is probably the most private view in all of Coruscant"
"Its beautiful", Rex reveled in this information.
You both stared across illuminated darkness to the endless lines of skyscrapers and speeders. This city truly never slept.
"Thank you, Rex" You threw into the air, wanting to change the subject.
His brows furrowed as his attention was snapped away from the view.
"For what, exactly?" He asked, audibly confused.
"Making me feel safe tonight" You admitted, opening up to your vulnerability. "What happened last time really shook me up. I know he didn't get a chance to do anything to me but i-....anyways, I appreciate it." You stopped yourself from rambling.
"It's no problem at all. I'm glad I could help" He responded, remaining humble.
"I don't think Ahsoka gave you much of a choice" You chuckled.
"That is...true" He breathed out into a laugh as well.
The distant sounds of city commotion resumed, roaring through the wind.
"I meant to say this earlier but..." Rex piqued your attention, "You look really nice tonight" He spoke quickly, obviously nervous to let those words come out. He scanned you up and down, careful to do it swiftly and remain respectful.
You looked down at your black attire, confident with the way it complemented every curve on your body.
"Thank you, Rex. You look nice too"
"Well,” He tilted his head, viewing his regular trooper armor. “This is just how I look any other day”
“Exactly” you said softly. He blushed, it was subtle, but you could tell by the way his lips curled into a smile that it was a rarity for him to hear this.
“I can't say I've ever been complimented before" His melancholy voice broke you, but you didn't want him to see that. He wouldn't want sympathy from you.
"Well, its true" you reminded him.
Your heartfelt conversation was cut sharp by a sudden clang of metal collapsing near the roof access. Shit. You figured tonight would finally be the night you got caught.
Rex reacted quickly to the ruckus, turning swiftly, unholstering his blaster and pushing your body behind his to shield you from any potential threat. Your breath was knocked from you, but you instantly felt protected. He aimed his blaster at the source of the sound, and the other arm wrapped behind him, to hold you close as best as possible. Your heart pounded, both because you were startled, and because you had never been this intimately close to Rex before.
"Who's the-" He began, before sighing into a laugh when the culprit revealed itself. "A rat" He said, hilariously relieved.
"What?" You questioned in surprise. You looked around Rex's towering figure. He still hadn't moved, even though his guard had lowered. The animal scurried off when it detected the two of you. The seconds passed as your chest remained pressed against his armored back.
"Oh, um, sorry about that" He came to the realization of your position. He turned around, remaining as close to you as he just was, and looked down at you.
"Don't apologize". You stared up at him, admiration twinkling in your eyes. He couldn't help but stare back, longer than he knows he should have.
A piece of your hair fell onto your cheek, blown gently by the wind. He lifted it, placing it behind your ear. His hand never left your face, but instead cupped your cheek. The butterflies fluttered and your heartbeat raced.
You spoke to him without a word leaving your mind. In the same second, you both moved into one another. His lips landed delicately upon yours. You sucked in a sharp breath, so overwhelmed by the contact. A hand travelled to the back of your neck, pulling you gently into him.
Rex's unoccupied palm rested onto your waist. Never had you experienced how it felt to melt into another person, but melting was the only way you could attempt to describe it. Rex felt it too, in his short life he had not yet felt the privilege of this closeness with another person. This intimate, private, beautiful moment swallowed you whole and you lost yourself in it. The tension unraveled, and you welcomed it warmly.
He broke away slowly, careful to make eye contact with you.
"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that" He admitted as he pressed his forehead against yours.
"Me too" You whispered, trembling from the nerves tingling through your body.
"I think maybe we're just drunk" He chuckled nervously, worried that you may not really feel the same way. You had only finished a few drinks. You were tipsy an hour ago, but it had left your system already.
"I'm not drunk, are you drunk?" You pondered, unsure of how many drinks Rex consumed at the cantina.
"No" He stated plainly, and you both smiled when you realized that this was real.
"I want to kiss you again, if that's okay" He asked sweetly.
You nodded, not letting another second pass by without his lips on yours. There was more power behind the second kiss, more hunger in the way you locked yourself together. The grip on your waist was wandering now, wrapping behind your back and pulling your body against his. You felt him groan into your mouth, earning a small whimper from you as well.
There was undeniable desire for one another, but you both felt the moral dilemma involved with being together. It was something you both understood, but chose to ignore it right now. You wanted to let your hands roam but his armor made that impossible.
“You can touch me” You whispered.
He looked at you with concern.
“Are you sure?”
“Please”, You pleaded, telling him that it what you wanted. He removed his gloves and placed them on the ledge. He wanted any contact against your skin to feel real, and not imagine it through the fabric he often wore.
Reconnecting the kiss, he allowed himself to do just that. His trembling hands explored you, settling in between your top and the heated skin beneath it. A warmth washed over as you allowed him to discover you. You let your desire take control, grabbing his hand to guide him lower, where you ached for him.
He eagerly obliged. Lowering his fingers to pull at the hem of your trousers. You unbuttoned them, giving him more room. You gasped as he discovered your arousal. Before he could go any further, he stopped himself.
“What’s wrong?” You asked as he pulled away slowly. A look of painful restrain was plastered on his face.
“I want you more than anything” He started. Balling his fist in frustration for making himself stop. “But I don’t want to do this here.”
“Well…you are still escorting me home, aren’t you?” You purred.
He raised an eyebrow, following your hint with ease.
“I am” He contended.
“And if your orders are to get me home safely”, You brushed your palm against his cheek “Then I don’t think what happens after that is breaking any rules. After all, I couldn’t be any safer if I’m with you.” You whispered.
“I like the way you think, Y/N”, he gushed.
“Lets go then” You insisted, taking him by the hand, leading him to your place.
——————
SHOULD I DO A PART 2 👀
Tagging those who helped me decide to write for Rex this time!!
I would like to request a Rex one shot. Anything you come up with is fine just lots of cute fluffiness with my boy
anything for you, my love.
Caught Me By Surprise - Rex
Summary: It no secret to anyone that you and the captain share something more, something deeper than friendship alone OR the three times you catch the captain off guard with your affection and the one time he does the same to you, in return.
Word Count: 1,984 words
The first time...
Rex held his head in his hands, sighing as he thought about all the reports the needed filing, the faint glow of the holopad off to the side of the desk he was resting on reminding him of the task at hand. One he was more than reluctant to start.
He must have been so caught up in his thoughts, because he didn't hear the tiny little knocks that sounded on the door to his office. Nor did he hear the sound of the door sliding open and the light patter of feet that followed after.
In fact, he was so caught up in the exhaustion of being constantly shipped off to some part of the galaxy to fight battle after battle in a war that took the lives of so many and then having to come back and do kriffing paperwork, that he didn't see you gently setting a mug of warm caff, doctored just to his liking, on the corner of the desk.
You looked at him patiently, waiting for his mind to come back from whatever place it was in, not a good one by the looks of it. You had figured as much, actually, that being the sole reason you were even here, a mug of caff in tow. You had felt it. You whispered his name softly, finally startling him back to the present.
Rex blushed as he noticed you were in the room with him, wondering subconsciously how long you'd been standing there. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, a little smile blooming on his face at just the sight of you.
"Sorry, what can I do for you General?" He questioned, easily slipping into the formality that he's so used to speaking to you with. You tsked lightly at this.
"No need for such formalities at this time, silly. We are technically off duty after all" you chided with a soft smile, one that Rex couldn't help but reciprocate.
"But, I felt like something was off, so I thought I'd bring you some caff, just how you like it, and make sure, y'know...that everything was okay" you shyly admitted to the captain. That's when Rex noticed the mug and practically moaned in relief.
"I don't deserve you. Thank you, really. I'm just tired, but I still have a few reports to finish before I can finally see my bed" he exclaimed dramatically, pulling a light giggle from you.
"I see. Well, I'll leave you to it then, Captain." you said, though you made no move to leave. Instead, you made your way around the desk, to Rex's side.
"Good luck with the reports." you said softly. As he peered deeply into your eyes, you leaned down and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek, smiling gently and then making your way out of the office.
Rex was stunned for a good moment, not even reacting until you were almost out the door. He quickly turned in that direction, reaching out with words that failed him at the last minute. You turned around one last time as the doors to his office slid open,
"By the way, you deserve nothing short of the world Rex. And don't ever think otherwise." You said firmly, but quietly. You meant it with every fiber in your being, little did he know just how much. He searched your face for any signs that you were joking, just saying this to get a rise out of him, but when he found nothing but kindness and, was that- love? - he found himself unable to breath once more.
Before he could even attempt a reply, you had gone. Rex quietly grabbed the mug of Caff and took a sip. Perfect, as if it would be anything less from you.
The second time...
The long debriefing had finally ended, much to Rex's relief, and most of the 501st have now either retired to their bunks or doing other various things. Only a few people remained in the room where the meeting was held, those few people including Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi Wan, Cody, and of course Rex himself.
"We head out again in a few weeks, Captain." Anakin says, addressing Rex as everyone else were busy doing their own thing. The thought made the captains bones feel that much heavier. Little did he know that the cause of the swish of the opening door would be the cure he needs for this problem.
Before Rex could reply to the comment, a new presence made themselves known in the room. First, he felt a warm hand on his back, then an arm resting against him to go with it, then a soft voice on his right side.
Rex was surprised, his reaction wasn't what he would have expected. Instead of getting rigid and tense, all soldier like, at the foreign feeling, he found himself melting into the touch.
"General Skywalker" you greeted "telling Rex about our upcoming mission?" you asked deviously as you began gently running your hand up Rex's back, resting on his neck, gently massaging his neck and the tops of the shoulders you can reach with all his armour on.
Rex's shoulders and neck began untensing, this new sensation of calm the only thing he could focus on. What was this feeling? His skin tingled where it met yours. You had completely numbed every sense except for your touch, the conversation being pushed to the background of his focus.
"I was trying to, but it doesn't look like he's very interested anymore" Anakin teases, this catches Rex's attention.
"I, uh- yeah right the mission, uh- I" Rex fumbles as your hand slides back down his back, your arm wrapping around him from the side and giving him a light squeeze. Rex sighs at this contact.
"It's alright captain, we can talk about it another day" you jest lightly, finally letting go of Rex, though he would prefer if you hadn't.
"I'll talk to you guys later, General, Captain." you bowed lightly, loving to see the smiles on their faces. Rex finally came down from the cloud that your contact had put him on, a blush evident on his cheeks.
"What was that all about?" Ahsoka questions, suddenly at Anakin's side. Rex jumps at this, prompting laughter from Anakin and his padawan.
"I'd like to know myself Ahsoka. It seems like our captain here might have a little crush on a certain General" Anakin teases more. Rex just shakes his head and lowly replies with an "I don't know", excusing himself from the room, much to everyone else's amusement.
The third time...
Rex felt like his head was about to explode. The lights, however dim, stung his eyes as he tried to find a comfortable position in this kriffing bunk, on this kriffing cruiser. He didn't know what brought it on, and he certainly didn't know how to make it better, but Rex had, quite possibly, the worst migraine he'd ever experienced in his life.
He had just gotten as close to comfortable as he had found in the last hour when the sound of his door hissing open and then shut just as quickly. He groaned quietly, hoping it wasn't one of his vod.
"Rex, love?" he heard a gentle voice call from his bedside.
Carefully, he lifted the side of the pillow covering his face, wincing at the light before focusing on the lines of concern etching your face. You reached out gently, placing a gentle hand on the cheek exposed to you.
"Fives said you weren't feeling good. What's going on? Talk to me." You pleaded gently, moving your hand away from his face, only to take up his hand instead, lacing your fingers together.
"M' head hurts" Rex said with as much strength as he could muster. I the room hadn't been as silent as it was, you don't think you would have heard the reply at all.
"Will you let me take care of you?" You asked in the same, delicate tone that you always used with him. Take care of him, he could get used to those words coming from you. He mustered up enough strength to nod, and you set to work instantly.
The first thing you did was make sure he had plenty of water and pain meds. Once that was all taken care of, you moved to make sure he was comfy, taking off the remaining pieces of armour Rex had not had the energy to finish removing from earlier in the day. Once the bed was made up and he was tucked neatly to one side, you turned the light off and carefully crawled into the bed next to him, reaching out for his face once more, thumbing over his closed eyes gently.
"The lights are off now, you can open your eyes if you want. Is this ok?" ever the cautious one with him, never wanting to make him uncomfortable.
"more than ok"he mumbled in conformation. That was enough to give you the confidence to complete the last step of your migraine remedy.
"Come here" You whispered, tugging his towards you. He complies willingly, settling to rest his head against your chest, your arms cradling him as your finger begin gently working at his temples.
"Get some rest, darling" you whisper, a warming sensation against his forehead following your words. The gentle kiss was enough to send him on his way to a peaceful sleep, wrapped in your arms. His new favorite place to be, he decided, before finally drifting off.
The one time he does the same to, in return...
This mission had been grueling, never ending. Many brothers had been lost, right in front of Rex's eyes, and to make matters worse, he had gotten separated from you in the midst of it all.
When the smoke cleared and everyone was gathering back at the transport ships to be taken back to the cruisers and you weren't there yet, Rex went into full panic mode.
He couldn't stop himself pacing back and forth in front of the ship, refusing to even step foot inside of it until you were back and safely in his arms, this much he made clear to anyone who dared to tell him otherwise. Anakin was one of those poor souls, much to Ahsoka's amusement.
Rex was sure he was about to faint when finally, he saw the glow of your green lightsaber. Without thinking in the slightest, Rex was rushing forward to greet you, arms open wide and tears of relief running down his face.
"Cyar'ika, I'm so glad you're ok" He sighs out, not even minding the term he used.
"I was so worried" He went on, holding you to him tightly, as if when he let go, you'd disappear again.
Before you could even reply, he was shuffling backwards slightly, and then crashing his lips into yours. You were stunned. Rex had never been this bold with you, kriff, you always initiated any sort of physical contact, not that you minded, but you were blown away.
He pulled back before you could reciprocate the kiss and looked into your eyes.
"I love you, so much." was all he could get out, too overwhelmed with this new emotion. One he's never truly experienced until you.
Instead of replying with words, you leaned up and kissed him, trying to emulate all that you couldn't say, all the love you had for the man in front of you.
You were interrupted by a smug cough coming from none other than Ani himself.
"Hate to break you two lovebirds up, but we really gotta get going" Anakin says, gesturing to the loaded Transport ship that was just missing the Captain and yourself.
You laughed, pulling a blushing Rex into the ship. He loved you. And you loved him. It couldn't get much better than that.
Pairing: Captain Rex x Artist!Reader. No Y/N.
Word Count: 7.1k lmfaooo
Genre: spicy fluff to angst to fluff (+ mutual hurt/comfort if you squint)
Summary: You’ve dedicated your life to beauty, to color, to the fantasy of life. And then there’s Rex: gentle, steadfast, battle-hardened Rex. You respect it, you think you’ve accepted it. But sometimes it’s just too much to bear—and the differences in the lives you lead come to a head.
Warnings/Tags: TW: depiction of a mild panic attack and some depressive behavior. Implied sex, implied/referenced nudity but absolutely nothing graphic. A dream sequence involving some unsettling imagery (though not overtly nightmarish). Mention of death, mention of blood. Swearing. Arguing and making up again. Gender neutral reader. (If I’ve missed anything, please let me know)
Rating: T
Masterlist + Taglist :)
It's stormy over Coruscant and almost quiet. On days like these air traffic's limited: much less honking, shouting, occasional crashing. But in its place is the thunder, of course, and the wind and the rain and the bristles on canvas, and the snoring from the man behind you.
He got back late. He always does, dead on his feet and covered in bruises. I'm fine, he insisted. Kix patched me up. No matter. Don't worry. But you worried anyway. You always do. He showered and settled into your creaky pull-out couch; you traced the blooms of purple and black and the nicks too small for bandages, and he was gone within seconds. But you lay awake: watching the creases in his forehead fade and the rain clouds roll in over the city. Clouds like this are a rarity here. They bewitch your mind, filling it up with strange images... Lit from below by the ecumenopolis, they gathered themselves into coils and shapes that lent themselves phantasmagoric to your tired eyes. Broad, inhuman faces; wings like claws and wings like teeth; wings of beauty slipping away...
So here you are next morning before your easel, before the window. Beyond you, a masterpiece in its own right: plumes of black and purple and indigo-gray towering over the skyscrapers, lightning flashing gold and silver and violet. You forget, sometimes, what Light can do when the air is right. You forget how it fills the clouds like lanterns, or sprawls like the fingers of ancient, instant, skeletal gods. It floodlights your studio apartment and shakes the whole city with a wall-shattering CRRAAAAACK.
You flinch. Not from fear. It's the gasp. Almost louder than the thunder and infinitely worse to your ears. It's the sound of shifting sheets and newly labored breaths. Your heart aches; your throat constricts. You set your brush on your easel and your pallet on your stool.
"Just the thunder, Rex."
He sits bolt upright on the low mattress, panting harder than if he'd just run a mile. Lightning flashes against his face and highlights the beads of sweat already at his brow. You catch them on your thumb and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes.
"'M sorry," he mumbles.
"Shh. Go back to sleep." You kiss his forehead and pull away.
"What time is it?"
"Late."
"Not too late, I hope. Wouldn't want to sleep through all my leave."
You shake together and mix another shade of blue. He doesn't leave again until Wednesday. You don't mention it.
"You could use the extra rest," you hum. "No, not too late. It's midmorning, I think. Hard to say."
"Mhm."
The bed groans—those springs have been broken for a year and a half—and is silent; you hear heavy footfalls behind you. Warm, strong, bare arms wrap around your waist. Rex buries his face in your neck, kissing along your shoulder, searing your skin, tugging at your oversized black shirt.
"Is this mine?"
"You left it here months ago."
"And you turned it into a painting shirt?"
"You never asked for it back."
His head drops to your shoulder, breathing deep. His arms tighten around your waist; his fingers trace up and down the textured flecks of paint and feel like butterfly wings against your skin.
"'S better on you, anyway. Come back to bed."
"In a minute, Rex."
He grumbles something incoherent; you don't bother asking what he meant. You only laugh and kiss him lightly at the corner of his mouth. "Just a little bit more."
The warmth pulls away. The mattress groans again under his weight.
"What's that?"
"It's a thunderstorm, Rex."
"I know. I meant that yellow. In your background."
It takes you a moment—too long—to notice the burst of white and yellow through the whirlpool of blues. Not lightning in the clouds but long, bold, bright rays breaking through the horizon. You shrug.
"Sunrise, sunset. Doesn't matter."
"No sunrise out there."
"Then feel free to make your own."
"And your window faces North—"
"Oh, go to bed," you grumble as you add still more yellow to the center. A little more light. Just a little—
"Where were you this time?"
"Felucia. Again. I'm getting sick of it."
"That's the one with the flowers, isn't it?"
"Giant, glow-in-the-dark ones, yes." You can hear the smirk in his voice, but you don't engage.
"It sounds beautiful."
"Sure it is, when it's not crawling with Seppies. They've all but destroyed the place."
And Republic gunnery can't be helping things, either, but you don't say that. Your hand stills. "There's nowhere on the whole planet you could go to see the flowers as they are? Somewhere that's not a warzone?"
"Well, I... I guess there is, but that's not where we end up."
"I don't like that for you," you say firmly, resuming your brushwork.
"It's the job, sweetheart."
You don't like that job for him, either. You look at the canvas and sigh; it's time to put away your paints.
"You done? The whole bottom half's missing."
You gather your brushes into a cup of turpentine in the kitchen, trying to ignore the jaig eyes on the table. They're turned right towards you as you clean, beautiful and strange and powerful. "Not yet. The paint needs to dry. Can't... I can't do anything about it."
If there's a wistful note in your voice, Rex doesn't notice it. "I don't know how you have the patience for it."
"Neither do I," you mumble. More to yourself than anything. But when you turn around, you can't deny yourself a small smile. Rex is leaned back in bed, an arm beneath his head, gazing at you with a sleepy but contented smile. He's broad, bare-chested, uncovered by the thin bed sheets, and his dark eyes twinkle with mischief. Your face heats up. You know he's caught you staring.
"Don't look at me like that," you tell him sternly, smile still breaking through.
"How should I, then?"
You sit on your side of the bed, the one closest to the window, and ignore the creaky springs as much as you can as your hand trails lightly down his chest. His skin runs hot beneath you.
"Not at all, really. I'd rather you go to sleep."
He pulls you by the waist, tugging at your shirt until you're half on top of him, until your lips meet. You brace himself on his shoulders. The muscles flex beneath your fingers, solid and steady from years of bearing his armor, while he kisses you with everything he has. His hands dig into your waist hard enough to leave bruises; you squirm in his grasp. The vibrations from his chest to yours are enough to make you shiver as he groans into your mouth.
"Sounds like an awful waste of a weekend off," he pants when you pull away. You rest your head in the crook of his neck. The warmth almost overwhelms you. It takes you to an other-place far away; it grounds you as you nip the column of his throat.
"I want you at your best for when you have to leave... well-rested... just in case."
Rex sighs and lifts you off of him, lying you both on your sides. He could manhandle you easily and you're floored—again and again—at the gentleness with which he cradles you. Directly across from you now he can hold your gaze more steadily, lightning flickering against his cheekbones around the shadow you cast. The thunder rolls still.
"I know you don't like it. But orders are orders. This is what we're made for.”
You bite your tongue. No, no, no! No one's made for this. No one's made for a thousand days of war and clouds of smoke, cannons, gunfire, the decimation of whatever is good. No one's made to bear the wounds and scars of a Republic divided on innocent, unblemished skin. And damned if you know for sure what you are! but—Maker—he's wrong. He's wrong—
"Okay," you whisper. Your fingers dance across his side. "But... damn it, Rex, look up at the sky once in a while. Look at the sun. At the flowers. Once in a while."
"Sure thing, sweetheart."
"I mean it, Captain." You run your nails through his close-cropped hair. "I want you to have at least one good memory to look back on."
"Mhm."
Without warning he pushes you down on your back and kisses you again until you're both breathless. When he pulls away, it's only an inch—enough to let his eyes, darkened and dilated, rake down your face and neck below. A hand works its way beneath his old shirt.
"Oh, believe me, sweetheart. I intend to."
* * *
Sometime in the very early morning the clouds broke; they're still breaking now. Rex is still asleep and almost all on top of you: half settled between your legs, his head nested in the crook of your neck, a heavy arm looped around your waist. You've managed to shift away just enough to breathe, but you're not going any further. So you continue to lie quietly. One hand draws figure eights in his hair and the other stretches out towards the closed window where the clouds whisper their silent hellos.
Strange. Strange that among such large swathes of purple-gray sky, the little wisps that seem to float just feet away still burn like tongues of fire in all manner of summer and autumn. They are far, so far from you, but you imagine even so. Stretching, stretching—as if in a dream—until your fingertips graze the mist... It would be cool to the touch, freezing perhaps, and your fingers stained red and gold. Not water droplets but evaporated paint collecting on your skin, on bristles, too—if you could just open the window and stand on the sill, balanced on your toes, raising your longest brush into the sky.
How vivid would your paintings be, dyed with the clouds themselves? It's worth it though you struggle and strain, though you may fall. So much more tangible. So much more real than water and fire and canvas and flesh—
With the softest sigh, Rex breaks the spell. Hot air fans across your bare chest; his arm curls around you more tightly; his fingers begin to dig into your waist. You feel his lips against your neck and his tongue against the marks he left there yesterday.
"Morning." His voice is coarse and heavy with sleep.
"Mm."
"Time is it?"
"I don't know."
He's content at that, for the moment. Content to lie further, content to trace the blooms across your neck and chest. And you're content to lie still, content to run your fingers through his hair and watch the candle-flames outside give way to a golden morning in the East. The rays shine through to your quiet room and break through the lonely, sleepy shades of purple.
"Kriffin' hells," Rex mutters into your skin.
"What?"
He lies on his elbow a little above you. His other hand strokes up and down your side. "You... are... a vision."
You pull his head down to yours. Or maybe he lowers to kiss you himself; you truly can't tell. His hand encircles your neck like he's cradling a rose in full bloom, pulling it to his nose; it's warm and large and perfectly shaped to hold your head against his.
"Rex," you murmur against his lips.
"Mm?"
"Did you feel it, when the rain stopped?"
"Excuse me?"
"I mean—"
A high-pitched beeping cuts you off. Rex gives you a look—one you can't exactly read—, hauls himself off of you, and wraps one of the top blankets around his waist. The beeping comes from his pile of belongings on the kitchen table.
(You shouldn't call it a pile. It's immaculately organized, much more than the painting shirts and whatever other clothes—you don't even know—you have hanging over the wooden chair. No matter how tired he is when he shows up at your doorstep, Rex always takes the time to arrange his things properly even if you find neither rhyme nor reason in it. It's the military training, you suppose.)
From somewhere near the top of the pile—stack—assembly, he pulls out his comlink. His back straightens.
"Yes, sir."
"Rex, where are you?"
Rex looks at you from the corner of his eye. You probably shouldn't be hearing this, whatever it is, but there aren't exactly a lot of places he can go.
"Off-base, sir."
"Off-base? What the hell are you doing off-base?"
"My apologies, sir. It's our leave."
"I'm sorry about that, Rex, but I need you back here as soon as possible. We're an emergency call to Naboo; the Queen's worried about another invasion attempt."
"Sir, yes sir." Rex's face hardens. You sit up, pulling the sheet around you, and stare at him. The comlink's light dies; immediately he begins to pull on his blacks like a machine.
"Who was that?"
"That was General Skywalker," he replies, his back to you. "501st's being sent to Naboo."
"I heard that," you say quietly. You wait for him to face you again, but he doesn't—he doesn't speak again, either.
"So that's it, then?"
"Hm?"
"You're leaving. Just like that."
"Yep."
You look back out the window, hands flexing in the sheets. "You're supposed to have two more days. This is official leave time, isn't it?"
"Orders are orders." He's putting his armor on now and he still won't look at you. You bite your tongue, almost hard enough to draw blood but not quite, watching the still-shifting clouds.
"It's not right."
"It is what it is. Me and my brothers, it's what we're here to do."
"It's not though, is it?"
You're surprised to hear you've spoken it aloud. Even more surprised that you've raised your voice—just a fraction of a degree, but enough. Rex finally turns around. You still can't read his face. But it's towards you now and you've spoken your mind. There's nothing else for it.
"I'm afraid I don't catch your meaning."
"I mean—" You swing your legs off the bedside and pull yesterday's shirt over your head. "—that it's something you do, not something you're here to do. There's a difference."
"Is there, now?"
"People aren't just made for war and they're not just made for the government's fickle interests. No one's born a lamb to the slaughter."
He chuckles. You'd be hard-pressed to find any humor in it. "Very nat-born of you to say."
"I'm sorry?"
"My apologies. I mean that only nat-borns think that way. Things are different for clones."
"But they shouldn't—"
"Shouldn't what? Can you even hear yourself?" You flinch at the harshness in his voice. "Clones aren't born. We're created. And even if we had been, what are we supposed to do? Rebel? Send the Chancellor a polite letter? There's over a million of us. We've got the group to think about."
You clench your fists until you feel your nails cut into your skin. Your face burns; your blood boils. "That doesn't mean you don't deserve better."
"Well," he laughs again, "when you figure out a way to end the war, and all wars forever, until you feel more comfortable, let us know. We'll take you right to the Senate; I'm sure they'd love to hear."
"It's not just me—"
But your voice betrays you. It's much too thick and your throat tightens with welling tears until you can hardly breathe.
"I just... hate this for you, Rex."
"I know."
In full armor now—though helmetless—his footsteps are heavier than ever on the thin floor. His gloved hand is gentle but cold when he takes you by the chin. There's something in his expression, something soft, that reminds you of the Rex who woke up on top of you this morning. But it's not quite him. This is the Captain. A CO of the GAR who looks at you now with hardened eyes.
"I know, but you've got to try and understand. You're—" He shakes his head with a deflated sigh. "You're soft, sweetheart. Good soft. But maybe too soft."
You pull yourself from his grasp. He's close enough, still, to see the beads that cling to your lashes. You hate crying in front of him. And you flat out refuse to cry before the Captain.
"They don't care," you choke. Your head throbs. "They don't care if you die."
"Some of them would. But they're not meant to. Try to understand."
You look away in silence, back to the clouds. They're almost gone now. Rex clears his throat.
"I'll be back in a few weeks..." He squeezes your arm. "Don't go anywhere while I'm gone."
You don't know how to respond, and you don't. You don't even look back at him, though you feel him let go—hear his heavy footsteps back across the room, the door opening, the door shutting. Footsteps down the hall. And silence.
It's a long time you stand there. Long enough for the morning to yield to full and freshened day. And when you force yourself to sit you gasp, and your heart races. It's the mattress. You need to replace it. You should have replaced it by now. But all you can do at this all but inextant moment is sit still. You don't want the springs to shriek again.
And something inside you spreads like slow poison, changing your blood to lead and your cells and your muscles to mercurial moonlight. You should eat, a distant voice calls to you through the mist. Drink some water. Move, at least. But you'll have to get up and you want to get up but you're afraid, afraid of the bed groaning. So you sit still, so still you fall asleep without intending to. And when you wake up golden light pours through the window into your kitchen and the far corner. This time, though, it's towards the right and now the left. It's sunset, the voice returns. You sit up. The springs creak and there's a crick in your neck; it's autumn outside but inside you're dreadfully hot and almost sticky. This is why you don't take naps in the middle of the day.
But at least your limbs will move again. You pull yourself out of bed, drift aimlessly to the window, unlock it with numbed fingers. The air is cooler but only just—that heavy, humid cool in the days before and after a storm. But with the air the daily pandemonium: engines and horns and shouts in every pitch and timbre that crush your ears and fumigate every nook and corner, the pockets of air in the sheets on your bed, the air between your shirt and your skin.
"Come on, move!"
"Out of the way!"
"Never taking this lane again; like it never ends—"
Out of the way. Out of the way. The words echo in your brain. You can't get them out. Your heart races but your lungs have quit you; a millstone hangs around your neck and resin in your diaphragm. The air, the air—it's not coming. If not for the easel you might have collapsed: you clutch it like a vice, and the wood feels grainy under your hands... Splinters. You'll get splinters. You'll get splinters if you grip too hard, too long, and you can't get them out. So coarse—
And then that canvas! Fuzzy corners, blended colors, dim and muted, swirled and muddy, melting snow on early, strengthless daffodils. Chuck it. Chuck it—somehow, somewhere out the window to the endless, noisome pit below, the brushes, the paint, the easel—the very stolen shirt you wore—stolen! yes, you'd stolen it—out the window. Out the window.
Out.
Out.
Out.
But the easel stays put. The painting, too. Your hands still on the splintering wood, the millstone on your chest, sludge the paint, sludge in your veins, sludge your paralytic.
And when the millstone lifts your lungs balloon with air; your hands release and slip away with just enough time, not a moment to spare, to make to to the bed before tears come in droves.
He shouldn't have gone.
He shouldn't have gone.
He shouldn't have gone.
You should have said goodbye.
And didn't you? Surely you said something. You must have. You had to. And what can you do with yourself? It's not like he'll be back tomorrow. Back next week. Back next year. Not for certain. At war for months, for years with no reprieve. Or maybe not. Maybe awaiting hasty burial, dead in a sunless field, where the remains of grass and flowers smoulder. Or maybe not. Maybe left a hundred years, dead in a sunless field, to feed the next generation of reeds.
No, no—they don't leave brothers behind. Not if they can help it. They bury them with honor. They'd bury him with honor. They'd say goodbye. But you didn't know how.
How can you do it? you asked him long ago. He'd just told you about the search-and-rescue missions that sometimes—too often—turned into body recoveries. And you'd shuddered at the portrait: searching and and recovering and burying a hundred men and a hundred of your own face. I don't know how you do it.
"It's difficult work," he agreed gravely. "But we manage, all of us. Me and my brothers. No matter."
"I can't imagine. Or don't want to, maybe." You lay down on the grass, what felt like grass; it was green and almost blue beneath your head and soft as fleece. Rex sat beside you fully-armored, though helmetless. One of his hands stretches out towards yours, not quite touching. "Not just difficult work, but... soul-destroying, it would seem. Or you don't think so?"
"Well... I wouldn't know about that. We don't have the luxury of thinking like that."
"I wish you would," you hummed. The sky darkened. A star or two was showing. "It's only human."
"And only of a different sort," he countered. There was a smile in his voice, but a serious note, too. You didn't quite understand. So you continued, pointing:
"What are those?"
He looked up. Huge creatures with wings shaped like pterodactyls', vivid red and white and black like butterflies', wheeled above your heads like carrion birds, above the flowers tall as lamp posts. They swayed without a breeze; their broad leaves and broader petals glowed teal and magenta in the twilight and reflected off the bellies of the beasts. Or maybe the beasts glowed themselves. You couldn't... You couldn't tell—
"Those are the ——," Rex answered coolly.
"The what?"
"The ——."
You stared at him. What was he saying? It was like he spoke to you through a pool of deep water, or through very thick glass. Far, far away.
"Rex?"
His mouth was moving, forming words, but it came to you a garbled mess.
"Rex? Rex, where are you?"
He spoke still, pointing to the circling creatures. They seemed so much closer now than they had just a moment ago, like the transports that sometimes brushed by your apartment... Every so often you glimpsed the rest of them through the thick foliage, so thick it fully canopied your grassy little clearing. But suddenly a creature poked its head through a skyscraper of a cerulean lily and much to your horror it was a human face. But still so birdlike!—shiny black, convex eyes twice the size of dinner plates stared back at you over a beak-like nose, thinly stretched over with bloodless skin. Its mouth is large enough to devour you whole.
"Rex—?"
"Not to worry, sweetheart."
You worry anyway. You hated not to understand him but this is somehow worse, and when you turn around you find he's not even there. He's walked straight up to the creature without fear, mumbling something where its ears should be.
"That's a good girl, aren't ya?" He pats its neck. "Don't worry; she's with us. And she'll fly us back home if you'll hop on her back."
And now that you think of it, of course these creatures are part of the GAR. You've all but grown up with them outside your window.
But going home... Home's just around the corner, isn't it? Yes, it is; just behind that wall of daffodils. You walked from home to meet here with Rex; you remember somehow. But Rex is leaving on his carrion bird...
But you can run home! If you run, you can meet him there when he arrives. So you run, run home but the lane never ends. There are no corners to turn off into. Just a little more, just a little further ahead—that's the avenue you need. The enormous stems tower above you like skyscrapers and in the narrow gaps between them you catch snippets of home. Nothing so much as a door or a shingle but the painted blue and white that decorated its walls. And house-side of the foliage, a hawk flies low to the ground. It's paced with you, never ahead and never behind; perfectly silent, dark and indistinct, with a long tail.
You're running still. The lane never ends. You get flashes of home, and a hawk flies beside you. It's quiet and shadowy. You're running and running.
The lane never ends. A hawk flies beside you. It's getting dark out. The sun is setting. You're running. And then everything is still. Still so soon, still so fully that you lurch and your heart skips a beat.
And then everything's so bright. Too bright... you left the curtains wide open, you realize. And the window, too. The morning air blows into your apartment. But it's not cold air. It must be late, very late morning.
Shit—you're probably late for work. And late by a good hour or two.
You roll onto your back; the sheets are cool against your neck. What's the point of rushing? It must be noon, or almost noon. How long were you asleep? It couldn't be as long as that... But you think and you think and you can't remember even waking up in the night, not even to close the window. But you do remember—what a strange and awful dream. You close your eyes, not to sleep but to think.
Had you... really said that to Rex? "Soul-destroying," you'd said. "Soul destroying work"—what on earth had you meant by that? You can't just say that to people. You couldn't have. It was a dream.
But—you had.
You had said that. Just in passing. It must have been months ago now, maybe a year, back when you'd first met him or a little after. But you'd been in a daylit diner with walls and booths and people—people of an ordinary size, people with ordinary features. And you'd said it so off-handedly! That's right, a casual conversation... And what did he say? ... You couldn't remember. Or had he said anything at all? Maybe not. Maybe he'd just continued to wolf down his food like he'd never see it again. Whatever he did, he couldn't have seemed particularly bothered. You would have remembered, surely, as you lie on the old pull-out couch in the late morning.
And when you open your eyes the light remains; off and to the left your painting stands unfinished. And of course it does, unless any creature flew to your window and carried it away in the night. Noonday sunshine forms a pleasant halo while a shadow hangs over its surface. It makes the colors look so dull and faded. Not nearly so abhorrent as they had seemed last night; you're too tired, really, to hate it too much. Abhorrence is born of the fire within, and the fire's long rained out. The ashes smoulder and smoke and your lungs are heavy. There's just enough spark to heave a great sigh, turn back on your side, and fall asleep again. Maybe Rex will have beaten you home after all.
But Rex doesn't come home that day.
You wake up next morning at dawn; your boss chides you for missing a Monday; the days move on and you along with them. You rise tired, you sleep tired. You do it all again. And in the day-to-day it's easier to eat, to move, to drink, and you find yourself firmly tethered again. The fire is gone and with it your fear; the night is over and the morning not begun. Now is the twilight and the working-hours: the colorless and the nameless and the painless. The memory of the carrion birds darkens. And Rex doesn't come home that week, nor the next.
Nor the next.
And the fragile autumn blue gives way to early winter. In the heart of Coruscant winter is mild, with the metal and concrete and exhaust from the pit. It's good, you think, that it's not so bitterly cold, else that might be too much to bear, good that you can still open the window without shivering. You like for the fresh air to blow in. And what's winter on Naboo like? Or is it winter? Might it not be spring, or high summer? ...
And you think of the 501st in the spring and the lengthening days. Everything is waking up. Everything is new.
But here the nights stretch on and on, like a snake from its coil; you leave and return to your studio without the sun. On these days you stand again at the window. Hundreds of thousands of man-made lights in every tint and shade imaginable—but they do little to cheer up the late afternoons. No lamp you light will suffice. And it's on such a day as this (a near-night, rather, and a Saturday) that you watch the sun set at four in the afternoon.
It's the winter solstice, you believe; a coworker mentioned going out for drinks several days ago. No... no, that was only Friday. One day, then. Two thirds of a day. It doesn't matter. You've long lost track of time in the endless, twilit work day, and now the night is upon you again.
In the corner are your paints and brushes. Your easel, your brushes, your abandoned canvas. The paint's been dried for weeks, and now a new layer of fine dust—the sun reaches it only rarely here and it's easier to forget. But the empty bottom half, two thirds, really, seems so expansive—so much more so than when you'd first set it aside. You'd resevered the emptiness for the city before you and its discarnate, artificial light. But you've stared at them so long; all you want now is the kiss of the sun, a warmer summer wind, and the padding of grass and clover you've never felt beneath your feet.
You move the easel back to its spot before the window; in the last real dying rays you mix together your paints. And you pull on the old, oversized blacks. The sleeves are cold against your skin.
In your mind's eye, a field. Not a field, a meadow firmly beneath your grounded feet. Hills beyond or mountains, maybe—indigo beneath the storm above, veiny tracts of gold-lined lilac where the sunlight's broken through. Flowers in the foreground. Poppies red as pomegranites, daisies white, forget-me-nots scattered across the slopes. Would they really grow side by side? Do they bloom at the same time? ... You don't know, nor do you care. You paint them all the same. The storm sends a great wind to prepare its way, or to herald its departure. It blows their petals up and all around: an airborne current of blue and white and red.
It's beautiful. Much more beautiful than here. But the canvas still isn't used up—not even the mountains behind suffice to fill the negative. And the meadow seems so terribly lonely. Stroke by stroke you create a frame, solid and steadfast.
You've heard Naboo is a beautiful place. And you've seen pictures, too, of the lake country and its mountains all around and the palace at Theed with its high turquoise domes. And you imagine them now: they'd look like eyes, wouldn't they? Great blue eyes watching you and the sun and the stars, could you fly as a bird overhead...
And you never looked back at him.
Your hand stills. That's right. You hadn't. And you resume.
Fabric from fabric his hand slipped away. You felt it. You heard the footsteps. You heard the door. And you did not turn.
A shuddering breath. You grip your brush in your fist like a child holds a pen. You squeeze your eyes shut.
When did Rex last look at you? You only remember from across the room, across the sky, across the valleys, the Captain with the hardened eyes.
You wash your new-sketched frame with titanium white and check the time on your datapad. Ten o'clock. You're not going to stop; you're not going to allow it another minute in that sunless corner. And you're not going to stop because it is what it is and you'll manage, all of you, no matter.
And you sleep and eat and work and sleep again, and winter surrenders to spring. Longer days from longer nights; the sun shines and the air warms. Your apartment is made light again and clean. The painting is finished, varnished, and hung by your bedside. Morning is at hand.
* * *
It's early, very early Morning (and a very wet one, too) when you hear footsteps in the hall. The door opens, the door shuts; there are footsteps in the room—heavy yet soft, in a controlled sort of way—and then the silence. You've been washing your face in the bathroom before bed; you press your face against the door as your heart races. From the other side, you catch a broken sigh.
"Hello?"
You throw the door open a little too suddenly. "Rex?"
Rex stands still and at attention. His helmet tucked in the crook of his arm, he's straight and stiff as if he were speaking to his CO. But even in the dim orange light you can see the weary lines around his eyes. He won't quite meet your gaze.
"I'm sorry to wake you."
The five feet between you might as well be a chasm, bridgeless and bottomless and prone to slides. "You didn't. I just... I hadn't been expecting you."
"I know. I'm sorry."
He rubs the back of his head. You feel strongly that he's not angry with you. Just... you don't know.
"Why don't you take all this off," you nod at his armor, speaking slowly, "and take a shower. Have you eaten?"
"Yes, sir."
You stare at him. His face crumbles, and he sighs. Your heart breaks.
"You're dead on your feet, Rex," you murmur. You take a step towards him to take his free hand; to your relief he doesn't back away. And now that you think of it, you don't know why you expected him to. "Let's get you some rest."
Rex nods and begins to take off his armor, mechanically and methodically. You go to pull out the bed and arange the sheets but sneak glances of him as he works. His cuirass first and then his cuisses, the greaves, the vambraces, the spaulders, and a dozen other plates you don't know what to call—stacked neatly atop each other like shells or reams of paper. His comlink fits gently in the curve of his gauntlet. Surrounding them all is his belt and finally his helmet. When he leaves for a five-minute shower, the jaig eyes remain and watch you carefully. They're a comfort to you.
When Rex comes out you're in the kitchen, setting the caf machine for just a few hours. You faintly hear him sit on the bed.
"When did you get back?"
"A few hours ago. What time is it now?"
"1:33."
"Hm. Sounds about right." He pauses. "You fixed the springs?"
"New bed, actually," you hum. "But the sheets are still the same."
He doesn't answer. And you're content to finish your chores, but the silence goes on, much longer than you had expected or hoped for, while you set out two clean mugs for later. The ceramic on laminate grates on your ears. You'd ask how long he's here for, but not this late—this early, rather. He could leave in an hour for all you care: he's here. And that'll be enough for the moment.
But then the silence breaks for real and when you turn around, it's worse than you could have imagined:
"What is this?"
Rex sits, bent over, on the bed with a full canvas in his hands. It's dim but you can't mistake the moody purples, the burst of yellow, the crop of blonde hair. Shit. Shit. You should have put it away. And he's taken it down from the wall! You could have put it away—he was in the shower just a few minutes ago—and you hadn't even thought of it.
No matter. No matter. It's here and so is he. But your voice is quiet.
"It's a painting, Rex."
"I know; I—I..." He shakes his head and seems to deflate. You flip of the kitchen lights and drift towards him slowly, your eyes readjusting to the softer orange of your bedside lamp. Slowly, slowly.
There in his hands is the painting.
That whirl of stormclouds, that sunshine breaking through, kissing the flowers and the hills and the valleys. But in the foreground, tall and broad and grounded, is the Captain himself. In full armor—though helmetless—he faces the mountains beyond. But he looks up: up towards the sun, up towards the rivulet of flower petals blowing softly overhead; one brushes against his gold-lit cheek. A butterfly—huge and bold and red and black—rests on his shoulder while his hand rests at his side, clutching a short bouquet of poppies and forget-me-knots. The colors are vivid, the composition sure: yes, it turned out well. Even if you're mortified that it's now in his hands.
"Is this me?"
"That's you."
"It's... I..." Rex releases a shuddering breath. His hands grip the edges of the canvas as hard as they can without tearing it.
"It's lovely."
"Rex?"
He won't look at you. Decidedly. You reach a slow hand to his shoulder; he's shaking.
"Hey. Hey—"
You tug the painting from his grasp, propping it against the arm of the couch, and go to cover his hand with yours. But at that moment he looks at you and to your horror there are tears in his eyes.
"Is this... Is this how you see me?"
You're quiet for a moment as you hold his gaze steadily. You'll feel tears pricking at your own eyes soon, no doubt. But you'll manage.
"Yes," you say finally. "And this is... how you are, I think. But I can't really say that."
He nods, and nods, until it's not nodding at all but shaking with deep, shaky breaths. You pull him into your arms, tightly against your chest. And Rex weeps.
It's a long time before either of you speak. Doubled-over as you are, stretching your arms as far as they'll go over his bare and bruised and bandaged back, his skin still damp from the shower—the water seeps into your nightshirt and you almost shiver. But he is an anchor to you and you to him—even as he weeps and you with him against the sound of the pouring rain. And when your tears dry and the outpour ebbs, you still hold him. His arms clutch at your waist; his face is buried in your chest. He mutters something you don't catch into the fabric.
"It's what?"
"It's you," he mumbles.
"Hm?"
"Soft. You're... so soft..."
The words trail off. Fresh tears well in your eyes. "Rex—"
Your voice trembles and your head throbs. "Rex, I'm sorry—"
"No." He gathers your shirt in his fists, pulling himself impossibly closer. "Don't."
"But I didn't—didn't even—" Your throat constricts as the beginnings of a sob surge in your chest.
"I didn't even look at you."
He doesn't say anything, though his arms grip you tighter.
"You shouldn't—" You swallow, forcing the words out one by one. "You deserve better, Rex. Better from me."
He's shaking again.
"Sweetheart—" Rex lifts his head and you're startled to see how red and swollen his eyes are, though yours probably look much the same. "You can't."
"But—"
"And you deserve better from me," he says firmly, hoarsely. "And I... I can't give it to you. That's just... how it is. But—" He takes your face in his hands, wiping your tears away even as his own still dry on his face. "—I can keep coming back to you. If you'll still wait for me—"
He doesn't get to finish. You've thrown your arms around his neck, pressed your lips to his. Chapped and warm and salty with tears and he kisses you back like a man starved: all but devouring you, fixed beneath his hands. So much power there and raw strength—it's what he was made for, after all. But he holds you so gently. He could break you in half in the blink of an eye and he won't, not ever. It's not his way.
And not yours, either, to tear him apart.
"I promise you. Forever, forever..." you whisper, "... and I'll be better. Better to you, my love."
Rex mumbles your name against your lips. It's sugar-sweet, flower-fragrant on your tongue. Another kiss, an oath, a brand, and tongues of fire shared between your lungs; a love whispered and a current petal-soft behind your eyes. I love you. I love you. I love you more. I promise.
When you turn off the lamp darkness settles in, though not the silence. You settle in, him on his side, you on yours; the curtains blow like streamers in the gentle, humid air of early spring, wafting through the open window beyond which shapes of blue and silver, red and gold shrink and stretch and die and light again. It's lessened now, you think.
One hand rests again in Rex's hair; the other lies towards the window where you've fixed your gaze. But Rex, using your stomach for a pillow, takes your outstretched hand in his and pulls it to his lips. And he keeps it there, squeezing tightly, while you trace figure eights against his scalp.
"Rough day, hm?"
"Something like that," he chuckles. The sound alone is fresher air to your soul than any that's ever blown in from the window. "Maybe a rough year. But I'll tell you tomorrow. Let's get some sleep."
You hum in response and close your eyes as your breathing harmonizes with his. All is still, yet gently moving. Perfect for a moment.
