Identity
This took six months.
Word Count: 12k+
Tags/Warnings: Captain Rex x F!Reader, 18+ but no smut, no use of Y/N, graphic depictions of violence, kidnapping/ransom, torture, grave bodily injury (stab wounds, cuts, splinters, burns, +more), blood and gore, whump, prolonged exposure to extreme cold, minor character death(s), copious amounts of angst, fluff sprinkled in like shaking keys in front of a baby, domestic fluff, non-sexual intimacy, first kiss, forbidden/secret relationship, rescue, medical intervention, mentions of nausea, profanity (both Star Wars and real world), mentions of frostbite and neuropathy, depictions of PTSD
Seriously. If you get uncomfortable with violence, torture, blood, etc., read with caution or do not proceed at all. When I say graphic depictions of violence, I mean graphic. While vivid descriptions are brief, this contains The Walking Dead levels of gore.
Summary: What was supposed to be a rare and celebratory evening with Rex turned into a case of mistaken identity and something out of your worst nightmares.
AI Notice: Any and all use of my work in training AI is expressly prohibited. Do not use my work in training artificial intelligence. Do not feed sections of my work to artificial intelligence or chat bots.
Please Note: I reference measurement a time or two in this. In my mental picture while writing, one unit = one yard/approximate meter.
Yet another note: I used a lot of em-dashes and semicolons in this. Like, a lot. That being said, I can assure you there was ZERO use of AI in writing this. I recently learned how to correctly use em-dashes and semicolons and I guess my brain went buck wild with this fic lol. I’m still not 100% sure if some of them were better off left as commas and plain colons, but if I keep editing this until I think it’s perfect, it’s never going to get posted.
A massive thank you to the Bestest Most Bestest of Best Beta Readers @myclones-hashtagmyclones and @lonewolflupe ! I don't think I would've finished this if it weren't for you guys <3
A note for Lupe: I gotta tell ya, a while back I was really debating whether or not I would continue writing this at all. I lost all motivation to even get to the halfway mark. I went back to the Life Day fic I wrote and your comments and encouragement gave me so much fire to get this one written. That gave me the thought to reach out to you and ask you to beta read. To say that your feedback and input got me through to finishing this project would be putting it lightly. I hope you never stop being a light in the clone community! Kudos! <3
Plip.
Plip.
Plip.
A string of blood hung from your lip; thick, slow, and heavy. Drops spattered to dirty floorboards, one after the other.
Plip.
Plip.
Plip.
One after the other.
You tried sucking it back in, pinching your lips together only to jerk them apart again, stinging hot as fire. Through blurred vision you could just make out that a small puddle had formed where your knees met the floor.
“Take this, please, he’ll love it on you.”
You blinked rapidly, confused. Padme?
You tried lifting your head, wincing at the pang in your neck. You turned your head as best you could to look behind you—where her voice had come from—but found no one.
You slackened your neck again, letting your head hang.
Her dress draped over your legs. Ruined. Bloodied and torn at the hem.
You tugged your wrists weakly, testing the knots yet again. They held firm to the end of a single-wide metal bed frame, holding your arms apart on either side of you. Your joints ached—knees, shoulders, and elbows—stiff after hours of stillness. Adrenaline had long worn off, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
Her laugh rang again, somewhere far away.
You blinked hard, trying to clear the haze in your mind. You’d heard this before.
“Get going! You’ll be late!”
Yes. That’s right.
These were echoes of a conversation uttered days before.
A shaky exhale rolled from your lungs, the memory deepening a pit in your heart. So much for a nice anniversary.
Wind howled against the side of the shack, billowing cold air through a crack in one of two windows. Occasionally a flake or two of snow would make it through, reminding you of the bitterly empty fireplace. Not a single ember remained of the fire your captors stoked hours before they left.
Bleary with a headache pounding through your skull, you looked around your makeshift prison, trying to figure out anything you could do. You needed to warm up—with absolute certainty—but you longed for a way to fight back; maybe even escape. It was a miracle they’d left you alone long enough to think straight.
The room was impossibly small. You found it hard to imagine anyone making a suitable home of it. At least not one substantial enough to sustain long-term living.
The bed behind you had its headboard in a corner, the length of it directly opposite the shack’s only door. It had no mattress; only a thin, ratty fabric one might call a blanket. Above the length of the bed was a wooden shelf, hanging by a single nail and rotting—much like the wood in the wall itself.
In the same wall—further on toward the fireplace—was the first window; cracked. Below the window sat a tired oak cabinet. If you stood, it’d perhaps stand to the height of your waist. One drawer sat ajar, but both doors were completely detached. One had been shoved underneath the cabinet, while the other was leaned inside as if there had once been an intention to repair it.
The wall opposite you—half as long as the wall to your right—hosted the fireplace. A skinny, brick thing, with wide cracks spanning the whole height of it. Its mantle was laden with a thick layer of dust. Its hearth wore ash that had floated down from the fire within hours before, and a few tools lay scattered nearby.
About 3 units to your left sat a feeble four-legged table and three chairs. Well, two and a half. The third lay on its back, missing one leg and a good bit of its back was broken and splintered apart. Above the table was the second and final window, just to the right of the door.
The chair leg.
You turned to look around as best you could, searching for it. You hunched your back, trying to get lower to see beneath the cupboard in front of you. Nothing but its broken door. Lifting your arm, you craned your head to look under the bed behind you.
There.
Wedged against the wall was the missing leg, splintered on one end. It was less than a unit away—reachable, if you stretched. While you weren’t sure exactly how you would use it—a weapon, maybe—it was the only thing you had within reach.
Shifting your weight, you adjusted yourself to sit on your left thigh. Your knees immediately throbbed, aching profusely with your movement. Through clenched teeth you sucked in a breath, willing yourself to continue. You pushed your weight up onto your left knee, stretching your right leg out behind you. Cursing the bindings holding your arms back, you twisted at an awkward angle, stretching your leg under the bed as far as you could. Your left shoulder and several broken ribs screamed in protest, every alarm in you urging you to stop.
Sharp wood scraped the bottom of your toes. After a quick gasp and pause for breath, you curled your toes around the end of the leg. Splinters dug into the soft flesh of your feet with the added pressure, drawing pinpricks of fresh blood. Gritting your teeth and scrunching your brow, you slowly bent your knee, dragging the chair leg along the wall towards you.
It clunked to a halt as it struck the bed frame leg, digging further into your foot. You sucked in another breath, shakily pushing your foot away from the end of the chair leg. It shifted slightly, then fell away from your foot.
You pulled your right arm up and craned your head to take a look. Relieved that it hadn’t shifted far, that it was well within reach, you relaxed your leg and let out a laugh-like huff. How did I get myself into this mess?
You longed to go back and change it; to put the datapads down and deliver them another day. Flashes of Padme’s office flew through your mind; decorated carpet and windows overlooking evening traffic. You’d stopped to admire the view, then glass rained over your head. You remembered flickers of running for cover behind her desk, the guard from the hall being shot down, making a break for the door but being tripped by a boot. The terrified look of a teenaged boy’s face before obeying the order to stun you.
You winced at the memory, vividly recalling the sting of the bolt. You shook those thoughts away, looking to the chair leg.
This was a victory. A small one, but you had to count them where you could. You would cling to any shred of hope of getting out, back home to Coruscant—back home to Rex.
Crunching snow snapped you to sobriety.
You scrambled to pull your leg back from underneath the bed, stomach in your throat.
Clambering sounded at the door.
You flung your weight to sit on your right thigh, rushing to hide your bleeding foot beneath your skirt.
The door flung open, striking the wall behind it. A tall, burly shadow plodded into the room.
He was new.
He carried himself differently. He held an armful of logs, taking four strides to cross the room to the fireplace. You flinched at the sudden and loud thunks of wood dropping to the floor. Despite the startle and hair hanging in your face, you kept your eyes glued to him.
It was clear he dropped them with intention. Although he hadn’t seen you flinch, he chuckled lowly to himself. The bulk of his shoulders became apparent as he stooped down, his shirt stretching as he moved logs one by one into the firebox.
A pocket of dread opened in your gut. You leaned closer to the wall, willing yourself to disappear.
He glanced over his shoulder at you, eyes dull as if utterly unimpressed. “You know, for a senator I thought you’d at least have the manners to sit up when you have company.”
You glared at the back of his head, watching him haphazardly arrange the logs. His hair was short, like it had been buzzed weeks ago. A jagged scar ran from the nape of his neck, over his ear, and disappeared around the curve of his face.
“Are you ready to talk today?” He asked, striking a match and lighting one of the logs. This time, he didn’t turn to look at you when he spoke. He reached down, picked up a nearby ash shovel and laid it over small, growing flames. “I hope you are. I won’t be as merciful as my associates have been.”
You remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your fear. Merciful? Everything they’ve done to me these past few days—that’s what he calls mercy? His “associates” plagued you for days on end with questions you didn’t know the answers to. You paid for it with beating after beating from one of his “associates” in particular. You bore bruise after bruise, a bloody nose and a split lip.
You wondered if you should lie, just to answer their questions and put an end to the beatings, but how could you? You wouldn’t claim things you weren’t sure Padme believed or agreed with. You wouldn’t claim what you couldn’t back up. You knew she’d forgive you given the circumstances, but it wasn’t just that. You just couldn’t bring yourself to affirm your captors’ mistake. It would only reinforce their use of torture.
Even so, it seemed they’d finally grown impatient.
The man stood from where he crouched, taking a fire poker in his hand. “Well,” he said plainly, turning to face you, “let’s get to it, then.”
He reached you in three heavy steps, a knot growing larger and tighter in your stomach with each step. He stood over you for a moment, seemingly satisfied with your vulnerability, and crouched down. Hot breath wafted your face. He raised the metal rod and pressed its sharp point firmly against your cheek.
“Tell me, Senator,” he practically spat, fire in his eyes and venom on his tongue. “Why did you propose that bill?”
You knew he saw your fear. Your eyes had to be wide as saucers. As much as you wanted to deny him the pleasure of his advantage over you, as much as you wanted to spit in his eyes and break the hand that held a weapon to you, you were helpless. Horrendously vulnerable and unarmed.
You were used to carrying a weapon at all times. It was part of your job description—part of your duty as a Senator’s Aide—to protect Padme. You’d taken the classes, gotten the licenses and certifications. None of it prepared you for being on the receiving end of interrogation and torture.
“Really now, there’s no need to be so tight-lipped.” He pressed it further into your cheek, sharp edges breaking skin now. “Why?” He hissed.
“I don’t know,” you whispered, hating the tremble in your voice.
With one quick motion, he sliced from the center of your cheek to your ear. A quiet, rasped yelp slipped past your lips.
“Don’t lie.” He growled. He lightly touched the tip of the poker to your lip, grazing over the break in it from days prior.
You began physically trembling, vividly recalling the beatings from his buddies. “I don’t know,” you insisted. Tears pricked at the edges of your eyes.
“Oh,” he tisked, mocking sweetness as he swiped his thumb over the corner of your eye.
Your lips quivered, an almost begging tone in your voice as you quietly insisted again, “I don’t— I don’t know what you’re asking me.”
In a flash, he took the metal rod away from your lip and jammed it into the outside of your thigh, just above your knee.
A jagged, involuntary sound fell past your lips, somewhere between a cry and groan. Pain radiated from the wound, blood pouring in thin streams. It quickly soaked through your dress, forming new small pools beneath you. Your whole body trembled.
You gasped for breath, blinking harshly in shock at the metal sticking out of your leg. The world around you smeared into grey, brown, and red blobs, the hazy mess multiplying the ache behind your eyes. You scrunched them shut, willing yourself anywhere else but here. When you opened them again, you were back on Coruscant; back in the Senate halls you knew so well.
A conversation fell hushed as the door slid open. You took a hesitant step back, your eyes flickering between the three men who turned to see who entered. You rushed an apology for interrupting, but were quickly cut off.
A pair of the clones stepped away from the third, one of the two insisting she hadn’t interrupted; they were just leaving.
You passed by the two as you crossed to the kitchenette, and could have sworn one gave the third—who stayed where he stood—a thumbs up.
You waited until the door hissed shut, finally letting out a giggle as a smile broke across your face.
A rumbled chuckle sounded from Rex, sending a swarm of butterflies through your stomach. You turned back to the kitchenette, pouring and fixing two cups of caf. A new ray of fresh morning light struck the wall ahead of you, pulling your attention to the window.
Rex had turned to look out the window, his arms crossed squarely across his chest. His shoulders were tense, neck stiff as he stared absently at growing traffic.
You sighed faintly, knowing all too well what his mannerisms meant. This would be your last morning caf together for a while. The war was separating you again.
You grasped both cups and crossed the room to stand next to him, offering out his cup.
Rex snapped out of his trance, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he accepted the caf. His eyes met yours, and before you knew it, the soft, forlorn weight in his face carried over into yours too.
The pair of you held each others gaze for several moments, neither needing to verbally confirm what had happened dozens of times before. Instead, you fell into routine, seeking comfort from its familiarity. Rex lifted his arm and wrapped it around you, his hand finding rest on your waist. You leaned into his side and took a sip from your cup, then laid your head against his shoulder.
You let out a content breath, sinking into his warmth. Feeling him relax a little, you brought your hand to drag up his back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.
Time marched on, yet was kind enough to slow, if only enough to enjoy a cup of caf together. A moment alone, tucked away in a forgotten lounge. No politics. No battles. Just the two of you, caf, and a view of the Coruscant cityscape.
You paused briefly, looking from the view to Rex, willing yourself to remember this kind of—
In a harsh snap you were thrust back to reality. Hot, sharp pain burrowed deep in your leg. It dug in like a claw, dragging you from your wishful thinking.
The poker shifted slightly. Blood still flowed from the wound, but had stagnated.
As you struggled not to writhe and make it worse, your captor stood and turned back to the fireplace. He crouched in front of it again, taking the shovel and rolling the handle between his fingers. The fire, now sizable, licked the shovel as it turned like a rotisserie spit.
You eyed his grip on the tool warily, a fresh wave of adrenaline—and fear—jogging your tongue. “You’re holding me for ransom money, right?”
He didn’t acknowledge you for a moment, instead maintaining his focus on the shovel as it began turning colors. Finally he grumbled, “I’m holding you for what we’re owed.”
“They won’t pay a single credit for me,” you rasped, clutching the ropes holding you to the bed frame. “They won’t.”
He rolled his shoulder, flexing it. “And why is that?” He asked, sounding disinterested and nonchalant. The shovel in his hand now glowed over the fire, beaming red.
“I’m a Senator’s Aide,” your breath came out ragged, shaking. The poker in your thigh began shifting further, leaning to one side as it gave under gravity’s pull. You tugged on the rope, desperate for any kind of support or way to slow its movement. “Not a Senator.”
You could have sworn you saw his form go rigid for a split second. A flicker of hope lightened your heart just barely, but just as quickly as it came, it was extinguished. He stood swiftly, shovel in hand, and crossed the room to kneel in front of you.
“Quit trying to cover your ass,” he growled, his face turning eerily placid. You bit back a gasp, pushing yourself back into the bedframe as he wrapped his free hand around the poker in your thigh and yanked it free. It clambered to the floor, blood gushing from the wound. “It’s unbecoming—” he threw back your skirt, pressing the shovel head to your wound, “—Senator.”
A scream ripped from your throat. A new kind of pain wreaked havoc on your body. Your arms instinctively pulled on your restraints, trying to pull you away. Flesh sizzled beneath hot metal, and as he pulled it away, several strings of melted skin tore away with it. Your leg shook violently; the wound that once bled sat completely cauterized. A rectangular burn, puckered and blistering red, now took up a good portion of your thigh.
Spots began speckling at the corners of your vision, fizzling inward. With what minuscule energy you had left, you looked up at your captor and were immediately sickened by his grin.
You couldn’t take this anymore. You would surely die if this treatment endured much longer, and you’d rather die trying to escape than letting them kill you where you sat.
“Why don’t you ask–” you wheezed for breath, “—your idiot friends—” a cough, “—if they’ve ever seen a picture of Amidala.”
Your whole body shivered weakly, from your toes to your fingertips.
He remained crouched in front of you for several beats, seemingly debating between taking your suggestion or perhaps torturing you further. Much to your relief, he rose to his feet. Kicking your foot aside, he dropped the shovel by the table and marched to the door, flinging it open.
“Noka!” He bellowed, marching out into the snow.
You strained to hear their conversation, laying your head against your arm. The door had swung shut, but not completely. It sat ajar, just enough for cold wind and muddled voices to pass through.
Where did you find her? Was it Amidala’s office?
Yes! She was the only one there!
Did you make sure it was the Senator?
Yes!
Noka.
We made sure.
A garbled noise of surprise.
I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to grab the wrong girl.
A third voice chimes in. It wasn’t his fault! I stunned her, I should’ve checked!
That makes no difference!
A thud in the snow. Gasps for breath.
How are we supposed to– You convinced me to let you take the lead here, and yet you—
Silence. Then, a deep breath.
I’m getting those credits, one way or another.
You shriveled inwardly, crunches in the snow growing louder again. The door flew open with a shriek and slammed against the wall, one board now splintering away from the rest. You let your arm take the weight of your head, increasing the pressure of the ropes binding your wrist. Your eyes fluttered closed as his footsteps shook the floor beneath you.
Coarse fingers snatched your jaw up from its resting place, yanking your face toward his.
“You look at me and you listen well,” he growled, beads of sweat forming above his brow. Your heart plummeted, new fear hollowing a pit in your bones. “I don’t care who you are. Senator or not, they’re looking for you, and that means you have some value to them.” Spit flew from his teeth as he spoke, drops flinging to your face. “Let me make this clear.” He stood suddenly, pushing your head away from himself as if disgusted. You remained frozen in place, swollen eyes as wide as they could go. “If your friends don’t pay up—” a flash of light, then he leaned in close to your face, “—I will kill you.”
While you didn’t doubt him, you had every reason to suspect he would kill you anyway. He had made it painfully clear that he did not care what happened to you, and you had no reason to believe that would change when he got paid. If he got paid.
You watched, fear-stricken, as he glowered at you. Beneath the fear, you found it sickening that there were creatures in the galaxy who derived pleasure in feeling this kind of power over another being; and one of them had complete control over you.
He turned to his brother, eyes still glued to you. “Noka, with me.” He snapped his face to the other, taking a large stride toward the door. “Xin, stay with the girl. And do not fuck this up!”
The wooden door snapped shut, shaking dust from the walls. Their footsteps faded into silence.
Your head throbbed under the pressure of your racing thoughts, the struggle to process everything compounding exponentially. Hunger rolled in your stomach, sending cramps through your belly worse than the day before. Your vision blurred again, exhaustion pulling at your bones to tremble, though they did not physically shake anymore. Buzzing beneath the skin, more like.
The bed frame behind you shifted, jolting your hands where they were bound. Slowly, you turned your head and let your head slump on your shoulder again.
Xin sat on the empty bedframe, hunched over his knees with his head in his hands. He looked over at you, tears in reddened eyes, but you didn’t see it.
Your eyes had already closed.
Rex stood at the edge of the Coruscant Guard debriefing room. His hands flexed from fists to open palms at his side, his eyes locked on a holoprojection of three primary targets. A holophoto of you was fixed off to the side, but your face felt out of place. It didn’t belong there, next to the scum of the galaxy. It didn’t belong in Coruscant Guard crime reports.
The voices of his men chatting muddled together in the background. Even now, after three days and only ten hours of sleep combined, Rex was repeatedly going over the data. He combed through traffic cam footage, cross-referenced hangar logs, dug through every piece of evidence he had access to. They’d managed to ID each suspect, but still had no lead on exactly where they’d taken you.
Rex could not afford to lose it.
He’d already damn near panicked once. He worried when you were late to dinner, of course, but then he couldn’t get ahold of you. Then when alarms rang at the Senate building and he comm'd Fox to find out what happened, Rex came closer than he ever had to losing his composure. Blasterfire and bombs he could deal with. He was born and bred for that. Losing you? Not something he ever thought he’d be faced with.
There’d been a glimmer of hope on the second morning. A blocked comm frequency called the Senate building, demanding ransom payment for “Senator Amidala”. The poor receptionist who answered immediately transferred it to investigations, but they had no way of cracking that encrypted line in time.
A throat cleared beside him, jolting his attention from the projector. Rex turned, meeting Fox’s solemn expression.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the command center?” Rex asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Fox huffed and nodded. “Yeah, needed a break though. Thought I’d swing by and see if you or General Skywalker have had any epiphanies.”
Rex flattened his mouth into a thin line and shook his head, looking back to the projector. “The General’s with the Senator; they’re conducting interviews with other staff.”
Another trooper walked over to the projector, switching it from the suspects to an estimated timeline of events. Rex’s jaw clenched at the sight, grinding his teeth. It had been three days. Most people weren’t expected to be found alive after one.
“You okay?” Fox asked with a raised brow. He’d leaned back, giving Rex a quick look up and down.
“Yeah,” he replied quickly, forcing his jaw and shoulders to relax. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Fox gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know. You seem pretty wound up about this Aide.”
Rex shrugged one shoulder, trying to make himself appear a little more at ease. “I just know she means a lot to Senator Amidala. General Skywalker seems pretty adamant to get her back, so that’s our mission.” He glanced at Fox through the corner of his eye, stomach knotting at the doubt etched in his face. “I want to make sure she gets back alive. That’s all.”
Fox crossed his arms, giving him a quizzical look. “Uh-huh… and—”
The ping of his comm interrupted his thought. Fox grabbed it from his belt, looking it over briefly. His eyebrow furrowed as he stepped back. “I gotta take this,” he muttered, lowering his head to his comm as he stepped toward the door.
Rex furrowed his brow in return, heartbeat picking up slightly with the hope—or fear—that it had something to do with you.
“Ey, Captain Rex!”
He turned over his shoulder to see Fives waving him down across the room. He was sat with Echo at a small table, cards laid out in front of them. Rex dropped his arms to his sides and crossed the room, debating whether or not to give them an earful for playing games on duty.
“Care for a round?” Fives offered, gesturing to the table.
Echo leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t do it. He’s cheating.”
“Am not!” His brother snorted, picking up the cards to shuffle. “You’re just mad you haven’t won against me.”
“Look, boys,” Rex grunted, bringing a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Now’s not the best time…”
“Yeah,” Fives lowered his voice, letting his wrists fall slack against the tabletop. “We know you’re trying to save your girlfriend.”
Echo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We just figured you could do with taking your mind off things, even for a couple minutes.”
Rex’s jaw went slack before clenching tightly, his eyes flashing between them while he fought for words. He threw a glance over his shoulder and sat down, leaning in. “Who told you that?” He hissed, eyes still darting around to check if anyone heard.
“Relax, Cap,” Fives muttered. “We wouldn’t tell a soul without your say-so.”
Rex looked to Echo, who nodded. “We could tell,” he shrugged. “You were here even when Amidala wasn’t.”
“I think you have us to thank for that, by the way,” Fives grinned smugly. “If we didn’t leave you two alone that morning, you’d be hopeless.”
Rex scrunched his eyes closed, resting his elbow on the armrest as he brought two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. These two thought they brought you together? Well, at least Fives thought so. He could try to deny it altogether, but by the looks of it, they’d already confirmed it for themselves. Karking ARC training.
He sighed and sunk deeper into the seat, flopping his arm down to the armrest. “Actually,” Rex breathed, “we’d been seeing each other for about eight months by then.”
Both brothers jolted in their seats.
“Eight months?!” Fives blurted, a little too loudly. Echo’s hand shot forward and yanked on his chestplate, bringing him back to the sense of a hushed conversation.
“Eight months?” Echo repeated, almost whispering. “That means by now you’d be…” His eyes drifted to the side as he calculated, then they widened. “You’ve been dating her for a year?”
Rex nodded, picking at the corner of his armrest. “We were supposed to be going out for a nice dinner a few nights ago.”
A heavy weight fell over the twins as they absorbed what happened. Silence hung thick between the three of them. Echo fidgeted with his hands. Fives absently shuffled sets of cards from one hand to the other. Rex settled into a tired thousand-yard stare.
“Do you love her?”
Rex blinked harshly, jarred by the question. He looked at Echo, who looked back at him like it was the simplest question in the galaxy.
After several moments of silence, Echo asked it again. “Do you love her?”
Rex didn’t mean to hesitate. He’d said it to you dozens of times before, that he did love you. Why was it different to say so to his brothers? Why did it make his heart race?
He met his brother’s gaze and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Fives leaned back, pushing a forceful breath past his lips. “Man, you’ve got it bad.”
“When did you know?” Echo asked, resting his elbows on his knees again.
If Rex was honest, he wasn’t sure if he had a solid moment when he knew he loved you. It sort of happened slowly, over months of running into each other here or there. Over months of quiet, getaway caf dates when he was planet-side. Or walking with you to this office or that lounge when you weren’t needed by Senator Amidala. Even if he felt it before he knew it, eventually he just… knew. But one memory in particular stood out, as hesitant as he was to share it.
Before he could open his mouth, the door slid open and Fox came bursting through, datapad in hand.
Rex shot to his feet, taking long strides to meet him by the projector. “You have something.”
“Yup,” Fox answered quickly. He didn’t look at Rex, only focused on syncing his datapad with the projector. “She’s alive, but we need to move fast.”
“We know where she is?” Rex watched his every movement, every tap on this screen and that. “Coordinates?”
“Being traced now,” he confirmed.
In a bright blip the screen above them changed. A myriad of new information appeared; comm frequency, comm device model, system, sector, planet. Rex raced to absorb it all, more information updating by the second as it was entered by clones in the command center.
“They tried getting payment again,” Fox huffed.
Rex scoffed, running his eyes over more new data. “Do they seriously not know who they don’t have?”
A dark look suddenly fell across Fox’s face. “No. They figured out she’s not Amidala. They still demanded payment.” He swiped on the datapad a time or two more. “They sent this, too.”
Rex’s stomach dropped.
Your once smiling holoprojection had been replaced by what he could only assume was a photo your captors took. You were strung up by rope, tied to the end of a rusting bedframe. Red and bloody blisters outlined the rope on your wrists. Your face was beaten, swollen, cut up, and bruised almost beyond recognition.
“Reckless,” Fox muttered, shaking his head. “Now that they know who she’s not, they’re desperate.”
Putrid, hot anger curled at the edges of his vision. His ears rang, droning out Fox’s next words into muddled vibrations somewhere far away.
A hand lightly jostled his shoulder, jarring him back to the present moment. Movement bustled about the room, over a dozen more troopers and command officers alike added to the mix. His men rushed to put on scattered pieces of armor, gearing up.
“C’mon, Rex,” Echo urged, turning him by the shoulder away from the holoprojections. “You heard ‘im.”
Rex looked back to Fox, who nodded once. “Boots off the ground in 10. Skywalker will meet you on the Resolute.”
He gave a stiff nod in return, turning back to Echo.
Fives stepped up to join them. His eyes drifted to the projector behind Rex, his face hardening. The three of them exchanged looks briefly, then turned and headed for the hangar.
Rex remained silent as the three of them hurried through headquarters. He couldn’t get that picture of you out of his head. It sat in the forefront of his mind like a hunk of shrapnel had just torn a piece out of himself. His gaze remained fixed in a foggy, far-off stare.
As they boarded a gunship to shuttle them up to the venator, a glance passed between the two ARC troopers. After a subtle nod from Echo, Fives broke the silence.
“So,” he murmured, “You gonna tell us about ‘er?”
Rex finally looked up at them. Though his blood still boiled, the memory he’d been about to share resurfaced, pushing the photo away—if just for a time. He took a deep breath. And actually, it didn’t take much effort to calm down when it was you he finally got to talk about.
Dishes clattered behind Rex, pulling him from a post-meal haze. He looked over his shoulder, watching you pass a clean plate to the counter. You swayed as you washed the next dish, humming along to a jazzy song floating from the next room.
Refusing to sit idle anymore, Rex turned and grabbed a small towel from the counter. He ignored your protests and picked up the plate you had just finished, turning it over in his hand as he dried it. A smirk rose on his face as you scoffed, but relented, returning to the dish in your hand. Your humming had ceased, but Rex knew from your grin and occasional glances that he hadn’t overstepped.
When the final piece of silverware had been washed and dried, you began putting everything away. Rex leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He watched you carefully stack plates, reaching to store them on their designated shelf.
He found it odd—if he was being honest—that he didn’t feel out of place. He was a soldier, born and bred for the battlefield. He fully expected to feel awkward and clunky having dinner in your apartment, and while he did feel that way at first, it surprised him how quickly that feeling faded into a comfortable sense of normalcy. Bare feet, quiet music, soft clothes; all things he wasn’t used to, but wanted to get used to.
You stepped back from the cupboard, satisfied that everything was tidy and away, and turned to face him. He smiled softly, pushing himself off the counter. Rex took the two strides it took to reach you and reached for your hand. He grasped it in his own and took a step back, pulling you along with him toward the living room.
You chuckled, slightly confused at how forward he was being and what he was getting at, but went along with it. You trusted him.
Rex flipped off the kitchen light as you both crossed the threshold, throwing the living room further into darkness. The only light remaining was a standing lamp by the couch, casting dim, warm light across the room. Even the dark Coruscant skyline was only decorated by speckles of light from residential buildings and dwindling traffic. The song changed, a slow waltz of sorts faintly reminding you of older times.
Rex still held your hand, bringing it up to his shoulder as he placed his other hand on your waist. Butterflies swathed at your heart as you realized what he wanted. You fell right into rhythm with his sway, an endearing smile cresting your lips.
The shadow of your figures shifted to and fro on the floor. Your skin was soft in his hands, and he suddenly found himself keenly aware of the callouses covering his palms and fingers. He lifted the hand clasped in yours, guiding you through the only turn he knew. Your smile grew wider as you followed through, your chuckle bringing his heart to leap.
You leaned into his chest, the hand that once rested against his shoulder now splayed on his side. Rex’s free hand moved from your waist to your back, holding you close. You hummed contentedly against him, melting with the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he sighed.
You swayed like that for almost an entire other song, until you shifted to look up at him. Feeling your head lift from his chest, he opened his eyes to look at you. Your free hand slid up his back as you released your grasp on his, clasping your fingers together behind his neck. He moved to rest his hands on your hips, your sway slowing to a standstill.
His eyes wandered of their own volition, drifting to your lips before he tore them back up to your eyes. A blush rose to his cheeks. Rex prayed you couldn’t feel his heart racing in his chest.
You stifled a giggle, moving a hand to cup his face. You ran your thumb over his cheek, enamored by the darkening shade of pink. Your eyes fell to his lips and you eased yourself closer, grazing in a feather-light touch.
Rex’s breath caught in his throat.
In a slow, careful move, you tilted your head up and gently pressed a kiss into him. He froze, his body going stiff in your arms. His lips were soft—albeit a little chapped—but he didn’t add any pressure to the kiss. You withdrew only a moment later, flicking your eyes up to his.
They had fluttered closed, his cheeks a full red now. He opened them again and immediately met your gaze. Rex’s lips parted as he faintly exhaled a held breath. His eyes drifted back down to your lips and you couldn’t help but smile. He leaned his head down, and though he was still careful, he was more confident in capturing your mouth with his.
Rex’s hands rose from your hips to the middle of your back, pulling you flush against himself to deepen the kiss. You happily tugged him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck so your elbows rested on his shoulders, your wrists going slack. You moved in tandem with each other, finding an ebb and flow with this newness.
Rex released the kiss only to catch his breath and allow you yours. His face slid against yours, pressing his nose into your cheek as his forehead lightly bumped yours. He brought his hands to your shoulders, dragging his fingers up towards your wrists behind his head. He pressed another kiss to your lips as he took your hands in his, moving them—
“Wake up! Time to smell the thorns!”
You heard the crunch before you felt it. Pain crackled through your nose and cheek, warmth trickling down over numb lips. Thunder boomed behind your eyes, worsening as you cracked them open.
Fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your chin up to look him in the face. Noka glowered at you and met your squinted eyes. “Where’s Xin?” He growled.
You blinked weakly, your brain struggling to catch up with reality. “Whad?” You whispered, tongue feeling fat in your mouth.
Noka’s frown somehow deepened. He crouched down next to you, jolting your head around as he did so. Hair in hand, he twisted your head to look around the room, his face right next to yours. When your head felt like it could turn no more, Noka pushed further. Tight pain screamed in your neck, coming out in a garbled cry as you tried twisting your shoulders to help. He pushed until you were twisted so far you could see the corner behind the bedframe, your right shoulder burning under the stretch.
He held you there, bringing his mouth within an inch of your face, his breath hot on your cheek as he spoke. “Do you see him here? I sure don’t. So you’re going to tell me where he went.”
You were shaking now, unable to buy any relief to the position he’d stretched you into. You could hardly think straight, let alone answer even more questions you didn’t know the answer to. You were confused beyond measure.
“I dunno,” you rasped.
He sucked in a deep breath, releasing your hair only to grip your skull and give it a strong squeeze. “I don’t believe you.”
You whimpered under the pressure, your arm and neck begging for release.
In a flash, he tossed your head aside and stood, moving to the door. Relief flooded your neck and shoulder, tingling with a rush of bloodflow.
Noka stood in the open doorway, cold air filling the room. He mounted his hands on his hips, eyes scanning the treeline briefly before he turned on a dime, returning his attention to you. His gaze locked with yours, a shadow passing behind his eyes. A cold shot of fear pulsed in your chest.
He crossed the room to you in the blink of an eye, snatching a dagger from his belt. His movement was so quick you couldn’t help but flinch as he reached you.
Noka squeezed his hand around your wrist, bringing his dagger to meet it. After a few seconds sawing at the rope, it snapped away. Your hand fell gracelessly to the floor beside you as he switched to your other hand, working at its respective restraint.
Your eyes widened.
He flung your left hand down just as ungraciously as your right and stepped back. “Stand up,” Noka commanded, chest heaving. “We’re moving.”
A surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was your window.
“I said, stand up,” He commanded again, an edge in his tone. He scowled at you, waiting.
Your thoughts flickered down to the chair leg you found earlier. You only needed a moment.
Seeing your hesitation to move, Noka took it as disobedience and turned around. Your eyes found the shovel at his feet—the one used to burn you. With his back turned, you quickly reached for the chair leg as quietly as you could, wrapping your fingers around it. You squeezed it once—twice, testing your grip on it.
In a rush, you clambered to your feet and launched yourself towards Noka. He, bent over to pick up the shovel, hardly had time to react. You swung the wooden peg down on his head as hard as you could possibly muster, a deep thwunk ricocheting from the hit.
Noka collapsed in a heap on the floor. Just as quickly, you crumpled against the table as blood rushed to your head. It wobbled under your weight, dragging against the wall as you slid to the floor. Your vision speckled inward as you laid yourself down. Pins and needles ran the length of your arms and legs, tingling violently.
How long had it been since you moved from that spot? Two days?
No… It was three now. This was the morning of the fourth.
After several moments your vision began returning to normal. Or at least as normal as it could be. You pulled yourself up to sitting, being mindful of how quickly you moved. You leaned forward and attempted to hoist yourself to your feet using one of the chairs that remained intact.
A groan next to you sent your heart to your throat.
“You—” Noka grunted, hand finding the side of his head, “—You kriffing bitch—”
Another course of adrenaline shot through your veins as he sat up.
Throwing caution to the wind, you hurled yourself toward the door. Your feet caught against each other and you stumbled, breaking your fall with palms pressed into rough floorboards. You regained your balance, pushing back up to run.
Behind you Noka’s feet shuffled himself upright, his footfall clumsy as he teetered to one side.
Nausea bubbled up in your throat. You staggered outside into the snow, frantically trying to figure out a way to escape or defend yourself. You couldn’t let this chance go to waste. At this point you knew you’d die if he caught up to you.
Bitterly cold air met your skin, snow burning your feet. All that surrounded you was treeline. You turned left, right, around, behind the house; everywhere was forest, and you had no sense in the slightest of where you were. You couldn’t survive this cold if you got lost. So you looked for the next best option: another weapon.
“Get back here!” Noka’s voice howled from just inside the shack. A moment later he stumbled into the doorway, bracing himself against it. He raised an arm toward you, a trail of blood creeping past his ear and down his neck.
The hairs on your arms stood on end. Whether from the cold or adrenaline, you couldn’t be sure. You pushed yourself to move further away from the house, scanning everything around you for a weapon.
About 10 units away sat an axe, right next to a pile of split wood.
You lunged toward it, taking as big of strides as you could manage. Your feet screamed against the cold, head pounding.
Heavy footsteps thumped against the earth behind you. You pushed your legs to move faster, praying you would not slip.
Pure fear and survival instinct dug their claws into your stomach.
Your feet landed on a stretch of frozen mud, leading you to the base of the log pile.
Hands grabbed your hips. They locked you in place, eliciting a scream from you before you knew you made a sound. The earth tilted, weight on your hips pulling you down. He slipped. Air slammed out of your lungs. You pushed your arms into the ground, pulling yourself forward as hard as you could muster.
You didn’t think, just jerked, twisted, kicked, anything to get away. You clawed at the icy mud in front of you. Digging, scraping, reaching. Your fingers brushed against wood. His nails dug into your thighs, grip tight on your dress as you inched closer to the axe. He tugged back, you dug in.
Your fingers grasped the handle. Despite being unaware of what direction its head faced, you twisted and blindly swung.
Red splattered against snow, his grip immediately loose and weight heavy on your feet.
Relief flooded your nerves as you gasped for breath. Your body began shaking uncontrollably. This, you were sure, was not from the cold.
You pried your legs out from under Noka and pushed yourself to your feet, staggering slightly. You gritted your teeth and scrunched your eyes at the scene before you.
Noka was laid out on his belly, arms stretched above him and the axe still wedged in the side of his head. You gave it a tug, but it didn’t budge.
Your sigh quivered. It’d have to stay there.
Pain bloomed in your ankles, pulling your attention to just how cold they were. Your eyes shifted to Noka’s boots. You almost wrinkled your face in disgust at the idea of wearing a dead-man’s shoes—literally—but with how cold your feet were, you weren’t sure you cared anymore.
You knelt down by his feet, tucking your toes into the torn hem of your skirt as best you could. Your fingers worked clumsily at the laces, pulling the first boot off after several firm tugs. You shifted your weight to sit on your thigh, nose scrunching at the smell drifting from his still-warm boot.
As you reached to put it on, movement at the treeline caught your eye. You froze in place, watching the man from earlier—the burly one—step over a fallen log on the other side of the shack.
Your heart plummeted. You dropped yourself to lay flat next to Noka’s body. Boots forgotten, you waited in abject terror, praying he would not see you—or Noka. His steps crunched against snow, heavy as he plodded towards the shack.
The moment his footsteps struck wood, you pulled yourself up and hurled yourself toward the side of the shack. You hugged the wall, bare skin scraping against the brick of the fireplace. Explicatives flew from inside, his steps now clambering back outside. You crouched low, rounding a corner to the back.
Moments later he roared Noka’s name. Peeking around the corner, you watched him march over to Noka’s body, kicking it over so he was belly-up. Even from where you hid, you could see his chest heaving. He whipped his head around, brows deep-set over wide, pinpoint eyes. You ducked your head back behind the shack as he turned his head toward it.
All at once your breath caught in your throat, the realization striking.
You left footprints in the snow.
His steps restarted, gradually growing louder.
You scrambled away from the corner, moving along the wall to the opposite end of the shack. As you crossed in front of the window, something sharp dug into your foot and you dropped to your knees. Looking where you stepped, you spotted a shard of glass, now bloodied.
“You!”
Your eyes flew to the corner where you just were. His nostrils flared, axe in hand. His steps seemed to shake the earth as he started toward you again.
You didn’t even think. You wrapped a hand around the glass shard, pulling it with you as you stumbled to your feet, pitching forward into a run. Every instinct in you to survive reared up, clawing over a mountain of fear. A primal scream tore from your throat, feet slipping against snow and ice as you turned to run. You rounded the corner just in time to see the axe fly past you into the treeline. He shouted in frustration, growling as he chased after you.
You barreled around the other corner of the shack, back in front of it. You whipped around to face him, still backing up, glass brandished in a shaking hand.
He skidded to a halt ahead of you, taking a wide stance. Your own chest heaved, sending puffs of steam into the air. Your hands clenched into fists, glass cutting into your palms. Thin trickles of blood slid down the side of your hand.
Faint, familiar thrumming of a LAAT engine echoed through the trees, sending a surge of adrenaline and hope through your blood. Two gunships crossed high overhead—no doubt trying to nail down your location.
Burly lunged toward you in a flash. You darted to the side, flinging your glass-wielding hand in an attempt to slash him. It only grazed his arm, sending a few flecks of blood to the snow. He swore and lunged again. You jumped back, barely dodging his fist.
A gasp flew past your lips as your bare heel struck a patch of ice. You stumbled, trying to regain your balance.
Burly instantly launched himself at your hips, tackling you into a snowdrift.
The glass shard flew from your hand. Snow piled down on top of you, packing against your exposed skin. The cold should have shocked you, but you felt nothing but panic.
Rescue was so close. Rex was so close. You just had to buy yourself some time.
You rammed a palm against his cheek as you leaned back, kicking your feet beneath him to push yourself away. He clawed into your clothes, dragging himself past mounds of snow further on top of you.
You gasped again as your leg caught on something sharp, buried under heaps of snow. Your burn wound ripped open, fresh blood flooding your leg with warmth.
He scrambled up and grabbed your arms, holding them away from himself with a near bone-breaking grip as he plopped down on your hips, straddling you.
You managed to wrench one wrist away, slamming your open palm against the side of his face. He fought your every move, every writhe of your body and flail of your arms landing on rage-fueled immovable muscle.
After several moments of struggling against him, he growled and gritted his teeth. He threw your arm out of his grip, elbowed your free hand out of the way, and leaned forward to wrap his hands around your throat, clamping down.
Your lungs tried to inhale and your instincts shrieked. You writhed beneath him, twisting as much as you could. Still he remained.
You clawed at his face, dragging your nails down his cheek. Your other hand flew out to the side, desperately searching for whatever sharp thing cut your leg, instead grabbing a fistfull of snow and throwing it in his face.
Darkness curled at the edges of your vision. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his, bloodshot and wild with rage. Blood gathered beneath your skin, your face growing hotter by the second as your lungs burned for air. Your mind flew to Rex, how close his men were—maybe himself. You wanted so badly just to see him one more time; just to say three little words one more time.
They’d never make it in time.
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The sight seemed only to fuel Burly.
“That’s right, cry little girl,” he growled, saliva bubbling from teeth dug into his lips. Sweat hung over his brow, his face red with the effort as his hands squeezed ever tighter around your throat. “Cry me a fucking river.”
All at once crimson burst from the side of his head, painting the snow beside you and spattering to your face. His grip around your throat released slightly, allowing minute amounts of air back to your lungs. You inhaled instantly, only to be crushed by his dead weight collapsing on top of you. Gasping for breath, your hands pressed faintly on his chest, smacking and beating in a futile effort to get him off.
“He’s down! He’s down!”
White and blue armor flashed above your captor, heaving him off of you. Your lungs drank freely, cold air stinging your throat. Pain slammed your head and sent your ears ringing. Darkness swamped your vision, bringing it to a near-pinpoint.
Gloved hands pulled at your shoulders, lifting your upper half from the snowdrift. Your head lolled back, unable to support it yourself. A hand found the back of your head. A voice, loud and desperate, called your name. You knew who it belonged to.
Just as the words crested your tongue, darkness consumed you, dragging you into a dreamless pit.
“KIX!”
Rhythmic beats of the engine filled the cabin, voices filtering through like they were spoken through a sputtering comm.
Hot pain buried in your leg. Two hands clamped and bore down on top of it.
“Keep that pressure…”
Scissors snipped against cloth.
Plastic rubbed on your cheeks and nose, the cold hiss of oxygen tickling your face.
“Talk to her….hear you.”
Tight pressure squeezed around your thigh, high up towards your hip.
“...needs fluids…wide open…”
A sting at the crook of your elbow.
“—eetheart, we’ve got you….”
Warmth wrapped around your toes and feet, one at a time.
“...on the bird… –oing home…”
Warmth wrapped around your fingers and hands, one at a time.
“...–auma team on standby, ETA three minutes.”
“BP’s 80 ove—she’s crashing!”
“Kriff! Stay awa…… Hey! —ay with us! Don’t you dare…..”
Dull pain crackled behind your eyes.
Brightness peeked beneath your eyelashes, urging them open.
Plain white ceiling tiles stared back at you. You blinked harshly, trying to adjust your eyes to the fluorescent lights beaming down. Air hissed in your nose, a breathing tube resting between your nose and lip.
Every bone in your body ached, every joint stiff. You could feel the odd tug of stretched skin on your leg, and on your chest beneath your gown. Bacta patches, you assumed.
Soft, warm skin brushed against your hand. You shifted your gaze downward, straining to see.
Rex sat in a four-legged chair pulled up close to your bed. The top half of his armor was missing, only his blacks covering his chest and arms. He’d clasped your hand between both of his, pressed against his forehead. His elbows rested on the mattress, head bowed.
You inhaled deeply and turned your head to get a better view of him, but the second your movement shuffled the pillowcase beneath your head, his face snapped up. A red mark sat on his forehead where his hands had been.
Your name slipped past his lips in a hushed breath as he sat up, relief flooding his body and settling his nerves. He moved one of his hands to cradle the side of your head, cringing internally at the bruises still littering your face and neck.
They didn’t belong there. Not the bruises disappearing under the neckline of your gown. Not the stitches holding the cut on your cheek together. Not the IVs. Not the bacta patches. None of this should’ve ever happened to you, and it tore him apart to think of how it happened.
Rex brushed his thumb along your hair, bringing your knuckles to his lips to plant a soft kiss there. Dark bags hung under his eyes, deeper than they’d ever been, even after long campaigns.
“Hey,” he whispered, your knuckles grazing the corner of his mouth.
You cracked your lips to respond, but no sound came out. You shut it again and cleared your throat, wincing as you did so.
“Hey,” you finally got out, your voice a quiet croak.
Rex released your hand and moved to the side, quickly returning with a small plastic cup in hand. “Here,” he said quietly, bringing the cup to your lips, “take a drink.”
With the help of his hand at the nape of your neck, you tilted your head just enough to sip from the water he offered. The relief to your dry mouth and scratchy throat was immediate. You closed your eyes and hummed your gratitude.
As he withdrew with the cup, you could suddenly smell the unmistakable aroma of flowers past the hiss of oxygen in your nose. You would know—you’d accepted many bouquets on Padme’s behalf.
You opened your eyes again and turned your head to the side, watching Rex set down the cup beside at least three different vases of flowers; maybe four or five.
You must have looked confused. Rex turned back toward you, then glanced between you and the flowers.
“Oh, uh,” he stammered, “some of these are from Senator Amidala. She brought them in herself but you were still under…”
Rex stepped closer to the flowers, moving to shuffle the vases around and show you each bundle as he named their senders. “These are from General Skywalker, I think. I brought these ones, but they’re technically from the Five-Oh-First. The Chancellor sent these…”
The hiss of a door sounded, making the heartrate monitor behind you pick up its pace. You turned your head the other way in time to see another two clones walk past the partition. You hadn’t met them before.
The first’s head was clean shaven, with lightning-like tattoos following the curve of his head. He wore the same white and blue armor you’d become so familiar with, but this clone wore the red medic symbol on both shoulders. The second wore white and red armor and had the standard cut. While he had no visible tattoos or scars, his brow sat deeply furrowed over his eyes.
The first stopped at the foot of your bed, eyes going wide for a moment.
“She’s awake!” He blinked in surprise, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He approached your bedside, opposite to Rex, and began tapping at the holoscreen there.
“Kix– yeah, just woke up,” Rex nodded, moving his chair away from the bed.
“Well,” Kix started, his grin faltering slightly, “her vitals look good, but there’s going to be lasting damage.”
This got your attention. Despite the headache, you sharpened up. “What does that mean?” You rasped, your voice still raw.
He shifted his gaze to you, and for a moment, his eyes flickered between you and Rex. “By the time we got to you, your hands and feet were in the early stages of frostbite. We didn’t need to amputate, but you’ll likely have some neuropathy in your toes for the rest of your life.”
You looked back to the ceiling. Your heart picked up its pace for a moment as you struggled to wrap your head around what he said. Neuropathy.
Rex’s focus hadn’t shifted from Kix. “Anything else?”
Kix shook his head. “Nothing worse than that. The burn on your leg will scar. With steady bacta treatments, all broken bones should be healed in a couple weeks.” He turned back to the holoscreen at your bedside, tapping a few more times before looking to you. “How about we try sitting up?”
As you nodded, the second clone you didn’t know cleared his throat, gesturing Rex off to the side.
Rex followed him to the edge of the partition and stopped at an angle. Through the corner of his eye, he watched Kix help you learn the bedside controls.
“Look,” Fox started, eyeballing Rex as he tore his eyes from you to fix his attention on him. “I’ve gone ahead and requested leave on your behalf.”
Rex’s eyes widened, jaw falling agape for a split second before he clamped his mouth shut again. “Fox, you know I can’t–”
He froze mid-sentence. Fox’s knowing look struck him with the same feeling he got when General Skywalker was set on a plan. He wasn’t getting out of this.
Rex relented, giving him a side-eyed yet well-meaning glare that he hoped said we’ll be talking about this later.
Fox gave him a sly smirk, shaking his head as he sent a firm hand to the back of his shoulder.
Rex’s face morphed into a glower, his mood shifting noticeably. “I want to know who the hell those guys were. Why would they do this? I have a hard time believing they were so stupid and amateurish, and they were still able to kidnap someone from the Senator’s office.”
Fox crossed his arms over his chest, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Kenobi and Skywalker are investigating now. I’ll let you know when I know more.”
They exchanged a dim look and a handshake at the forearm.
Though Rex was still infuriated by the lack of concrete answers, he was beyond relieved and grateful you were back safe. Alive.
The door hissed again as Fox left, passing by a medical droid on his way. It floated in toward Kix, carrying a small tray with a single bowl.
Rex stepped back past the partition. Kix was hanging a new bag of fluids, reconnecting it to your dripline. The droid lowered itself to your level, where you and your bed were now angled so you could sit up slightly. You furrowed your brow, pulled back your lip, and leaned away from it as it dipped a spoon into the bowl, hovering closer to you while it held out the spoon.
Rex crossed the space in a few swift strides, carefully yet firmly taking the spoon from the droid’s mechanical three-pronged hand. It blared an irritated buzz at him, but he ignored it, shooting a glare at its lens as he took the bowl from its tray, too. It blared again, raising its tray as if ready to smack Rex with it.
Kix chuckled faintly at his brother’s treatment of the droid. “Come on, Trudy, let him have it.”
The droid—Trudy—whirled around to face Kix. It turned back to Rex, then Kix again, and seemingly decided Rex wasn’t worth the trouble. You watched it turn around and float back to the end of your bed, where it stopped and turned to face you again. It remained hovering there.
Rex flashed a concerned look at Kix, who only scoffed a short laugh. “This is T-R-D 316-J, otherwise known as Trudy. She tends to get territorial over her patients.”
Kix typed in a final few notes and put the holoscreen to sleep before approaching the end of the bed. “I’m heading out to take care of some reports. Give me a call if anything changes.” He raised a hand in front of the droid and gestured to the door. It hesitated, then complied.
Before he followed it, Kix shot a glance over his shoulder, watching Rex pull his chair back to the side of your bed.
Rex glanced over his shoulder, meeting his brother’s gaze as he sat down. Kix gave him a curt nod, a soft grin returning to his face, before turning to exit the room.
For a few moments, silence passed between you and Rex.
You glanced down at the bowl in his hands, scrunching your nose at the smell.
He glanced at it in turn, mixing it with the spoon. “Broth, I’m guessing.”
You scrunched your face further, shaking your head. Your stomach cramped, only serving to further distance you from an appetite.
Rex brought a spoonful up to his face, giving it a sniff before bringing it to his lips, tasting it. He raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Not bad, actually.”
You shook your head again and brought your hand to itch at the breathing tube under your nose.
He sighed and lowered the bowl to rest on the mattress. “You need to eat.”
“Not hungry,” you mumbled, avoiding looking at the broth.
“Maybe,” he reasoned, “but you still need to eat something. You haven’t eaten anything in almost a week.”
You hesitated, your gaze resting on the contents of the bowl warily.
“Just try a little bit,” Rex prodded. “Please?”
Now you couldn’t say no. His pleading eyes, the quirk in his brow; a recipe for disaster.
Despite the cramping in your stomach and feeling queasy at the thought of food, you reluctantly nodded.
Rex picked the bowl up off the bed and stirred it once more. He lifted the spoon to his mouth, blew on the contents until it wasn’t steaming, and brought it to your lips.
You slowly accepted the broth, its warmth spreading through your mouth and throat as you swallowed. Although you were far from the snow here, it chased every ounce of reminiscent cold from your bones and stiffness from your joints. And it didn’t make you feel sick.
Rex raised his eyebrows, as if to ask if you wanted more.
You gave a small nod, watching how his face relaxed a little, a victorious glint taking to his eyes.
After the next couple of bites, your stomach’s cramping shifted into growling, and you suddenly found yourself ravenous.
Rex fed you spoonful after spoonful, slowly and patiently, until it was empty. He set it off to the side, satisfied that you had eaten more than he hoped you would.
It was your yawn, next, that led him to the lightswitch by the door. The room darkened, only lit now by a lamp in the corner.
You called his name, suddenly overwhelmed by a knot in your chest.
When he came back, you’d balled your fists in the blanket, eyes wide.
“You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
If it were possible, Rex was sure his heart shattering would’ve been audible.
He walked back over to his chair, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead as he sat down. “No,” he said softly, taking your hand in his again. “I’m not going anywhere for quite a while.”
You nodded, trying not to let your lip quiver as you tried to calm your racing heart. Your fingers flexed and clenched in the blanket, hands shaking.
His eyes softened upon meeting yours, his eyebrow settling into a slight furrow. Rex flipped your hand over in his and massaged your palm with his thumb. “Why don’t you get some sleep now, yeah?”
You shook your head, tears bubbling up in your eyes. You wanted to say something. You wanted to ask him if he’d be there when you woke up, if this was all just a dream. What if it was all a sick joke and you were really still back in that shack?
A tear slid free, stinging as it crossed over the stitches in your cheek.
Rex’s chest clenched. He knew that look.
He’d seen it a hundred times, but he’d never forget a single one. This was different, though. He never thought he’d see it in you.
There were things the Kaminoans taught clones. How to dress a wound, how to drag a brother out of the line of fire, how to send an emergency signal or even scale a mountain. But there was no manual for this. They didn’t teach him how to win a battle that was in your mind; the woman he loved.
So he opted for the only thing he could really think of.
Rex’s chair squeaked against the floor as he pushed it back to stand. He leaned over you, pulling you into as best an embrace as he could manage.
Your voice cracked when a sob finally broke out. You raised both hands to wrap around his neck, IVs dangling in the way.
He said nothing for a while. You trembled as you cried, and he knew all too well what that meant. You survived more than most soldiers he’d served with, yet you were still fighting back tears so he wouldn’t have to see you this way.
If you were one of his men, Rex would have given you some kind of talk, something to motivate you to keep fighting the good fight. But you were no soldier, you weren’t literally bred for the battlefield. Sure, you were trained for lighter combat—that was part of being an Aide. But you required gentleness, and he hoped he had enough of it in him.
Eventually your shaking stilled and cries softened. Rex moved to pull back, but your fist in his shirt stopped him halfway. He looked at you to find tearstreaks running down your face, a droplet or two still clinging to your chin. Your eyes were red and puffy, and you looked up at him so pleadingly.
“Stay?” You whispered.
Rex leaned back a little further, assessing the size of the bed. “I don’t think there’s room, sweetheart, but I won’t leave–”
Rex hadn’t finished his sentence before you were throwing the blanket back, scooting over to make room. Your scooting hadn’t done much, it would still be a tight squeeze, but who was Rex to say no? If he was being honest, he didn’t want to say no, regardless.
He sat on the mattress and toed off his boots. Being careful—so careful—of the various tubes and leads attached to your body, he shifted slowly to lay back next to you.
His arm curled around you and you shuffled to lay more on your side, leaning into him. His chest rose and fell beneath your head, his heartbeat steady under your ear. Tension slowly eased from your muscles and you exhaled a long, shaky sigh.
Rex pressed a kiss to the top of your head, rubbing your back slowly. The smell of woodsmoke still clung to your hair. You melted further into him and he gave you the lightest squeeze, just enough to remind you that he wasn’t going anywhere. Your fingers gently curled into his shirt as if you were anchoring yourself in his presence.
Within minutes, your breathing evened out and your heart-rate slowed and steadied. Your monitor’s steady beeping, along with the constant ticking of a clock, were all that dulled the silence.
With you lying next to him, his own exhaustion started to catch up to him. His eyelids grew heavier as the minutes ticked by, but all he could think about was the upcoming days. The Guard’s ongoing investigation, your continued treatment and the challenges you would face, your safety and eventual return to work. He knew he couldn’t be by your side for all of it. The war was bound to call him back, and Fox couldn’t delay that forever.
Rex looked down at your sleeping form. His eyes grazed over the steady rise and fall of your chest, the fingermarks around your neck, the welts around your wrists, the bruises he knew hid beneath your gown, and the burn hiding under the blanket.
He adjusted slightly, nestling you closer to remind himself that you were here. You were alive. He fought to stay awake, to keep himself alert should you need him or should someone walk in. But as his exhaustion pressed in and his eyelids betrayed him, he swore an oath to himself.
For as long as he lived, Maker help him, he would never let such a thing happen to you again. For as long as he lived, Maker help him, he would never let you fight this battle alone.
And there it is. Six months of brutal indecision, periodic writer's block, and grappling with self-doubt, and this is finally up! Kinda feels surreal, not gonna lie.
Please tell me what you think!! I spent so long on this, I will quite literally jump for joy at the simplest comment!
@cloneficgiftexchange For the winter kidnapping prompt
