#cfge

Kix is taking a stock count when Rex walks in and when Rex asks to sign him off for a day with the flu, Kix doesn’t ask any questions. He shakes the medic's hand with gratitude and then he makes his way through the city, head down, strides long, until he reaches the Jedi temple.

His footsteps are quiet, muffled on the carpeted floors of the temple. He knows these halls like the back of his hands. They’re cold and dull. They’re sterile and sanitised and if they could talk, Rex knows what they would say. Disgusting, undutiful, traitorous, wrong. The dull grey paint blurs walls into walls and before Rex knows it, he’s at the door that leads to the usual meeting point.

And just like every other secret meeting, Rex meets you in a forgotten meditation room that he knows off by heart too. Many nights have been spent here, sat on the long meditation benches, cuddled into one another or just talking. Watching the temple gardens and the waterfall through the one way viewing window, whispering to one another. The room, despite its hostile location, has become somewhat of a retreat for the both of you.

But as well as he knows these walls and that room, he knows you better. And as soon as the door seals behind him, he doesn’t even need to look at your trembling lip to know you’ve been crying. The air in the room is thick with emotion, so much so Rex can hardly breathe himself.

He sits with you on the bench seat and pulls you into his body, soothing your hair until your tears start to fall again and your shoulders are heaving with the effort of the sobs that are torn from your body.

He sits with you for what could have been hours. There’s no way to tell the passing of time in these rooms unless you have a watch or a time piece on you but Rex doesn’t mind. The outside world melts away when it’s just the two of you and the sounds of the waterfall.

When your sobs quiet and your breathing evens out, he holds you at arms length, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes are bright, the way only tears can make them so. Your skin is raw and blotchy and bright but Rex thinks you look just as lovely as always.

“Ready to talk to me now, lovely?” Rex asks. As much as he wishes he could read your mind, take in your auror, he is no jedi.

Your bottom lip trembles again as Rex’s hand pushes back your hair from your face, coming to rest on your cheek. “We can’t keep doing this.” You say, another tear dripping down your face. “We are hurting everyone we love, Betraying everything we hold dear by being together.”

His heart breaks but this is not the first time these thoughts have entered your relationship. But the last time, you’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks and he thought this would blow over in a few short weeks. He had reassured you, held you the whole hyperspace journey home to Coruscant, despite the risk you could’ve been found. But here they are a year and a half into seeing each other and these worries are still rearing their heads.

Rex wonders for a brief moment in general Skywalker and senator Amidala have to combat these sorts of insecurities too. But then he decides that they probably don’t because even if they were found out, the worst that would happen is they’d both be fired and exiled from their respective positions. Rex on the other hand… well… it probably wouldn’t be as happy an ending for him. He would be labelled a traitor and he'd be killed by firing squad.

He pulls you into his body again, rubbing soothing patterns onto your skin, and playing with your hair the way he knows you like, that puts you at ease. “It’s always been you.” He whispers. “We don’t do this for anyone else.” He says, “Just us. It’s just for us. It is selfish, but it’s war, cyar’ika, we are allowed something for us.”

Your bottom lip remained captured between your teeth as the speeder came to a stop. The building looming over the city streets twinkled in the night. A beacon for personnel to gather while dressed to the nines. A hand curled around yours, smoothing over your knuckles.

“Ready?”

“Rex, are you sure?”

The captain's smile offered slight relief to your nerves, “I'd have the pleasure of escorting no one else.”

The corners of your lips twitched as your cheeks gained some warmth. Your free hand tracing over the fabric of your formal attire. The door slid open with a whispered hiss. The low hum of chatter from the sea of dress uniforms accented with their partners for the evening wrapped in shades that match the colors typically adorning their armor.

He extended his hand to stabilize your ascent. His gentle grip a tether ushering you into the bright lights and décor. Once inside, the air carried an electricity of restless troopers charged up from crowded flights to Coruscant and enough spirits to drown a sarlacc.

“Where t-”

“Rex!”

If they were not out in the open, the captain would have attempted to drag you away from the grinning trooper closing in. The captain sighed and swept a hand over his close kept blonde hair before the other trooper was in ear shot.

“Cyare, this is Arc Tr-”

“Just Fives is fine,” He greeted, extending a hand for you to shake.

His smile growing as his eyes went from your face, to the captain's and back to you.

“So this is the lovely creature that has the captain's eye.” Fives chuckled, “Thanks by the way. Rex would let us go early any time you called.”

A giggle slipped past your lips at taking in Rex's pout, “Glad I could help.”

“He's got good taste. You look better in our colors than we do.”

Rex's arm curled around your waist as he eyed his subordinate, “I couldn't agree more.”

Footsteps skittered against the polished floor. The soft squealing of dress shoes on the surface in an attempt to slow down.

“Fives!” huffed another trooper, “Hardcase...trying to...outdrink...big guy...from 99.”

The arc trooper raised a brow, “This I gotta see,” He shot a parting grin, “You two have fun, alright?”

The pair of troopers took their leave with Fives launching a two fingered salute. The captain shook his head with the hint of a chuckle as soon as the pair of troopers were out of earshot.

“They'll be the death of me.” He murmured, soon offering a smile.

“Shall we?”

With your own smile creeping across your lips, you crossed the threshold entering a space set aside for the main event. The dance floor changing hues as droids adjusted lights to music. A throng of troopers and dates alike crowded the floor. Dances ranging from sweet and chaste to motions that would be provocative even in the confines of clone bars.

Music cut through any dance floor chatter as another song began. The clone captain studied your expression. Your glances to what drew your attention; that sparkle in your eyes he never tired of. When you turned your gaze back to him, his hand swept out to the floor before you.

Your hand slipped into his, surrendering to the undertow of the dance floor. A hand cradling your lower back as you both found place within the rhythm. Your features creasing as he moved. Never once jostling you despite the movements of other dancers. You closed the distance. Your free hand inching higher along his shoulder.

“You think you're hilarious, don't you?”

He chuckled, “Yes, yes I do.”

Your pursed your lips, “You said you couldn't dance.”

“Thought I'd surprise you.”

“So was it Jesse or Commander Tano that was your practice partner?”

“...General Skywalker called in a favor with Senator Amidala.”

The sight before of the calm and composed captain of the 501st Legion avoiding your eyes, warmed your heart. However it was the dusting of along the tips of his ears drew you closer until your lips graced his cheek. A gesture that was chaste, but also a spark which could light an inferno if left unchecked.

“Pulling out all the stops tonight? I'm honored.”

“It's a special night.” He replied, continuing his guidance in your own section of the dance floor, “The galaxy and my brothers are safe.”

The warmth in your chest unfurled like a slumbering loth cat prompting you to reorient your arms to envelop him: A clone who had seen unspeakable horrors on the battle field, yet refused to let the life he never asked for turn him bitter and jaded.

His hand began a soothing circuit along your back. Fingertips barely making their presence known.

“You alright, Cyare?”

You looked to him; his feature twisted in concern. The lights of the venue seemed to cast him in a halo.

Your lips crashed onto his. The embers resting in your chest roaring to life. Much too soon, lips parted for air.

“I'm glad you're here.”

How did it come to this?

You were crouched like a frightened animal in the middle of a dingy alley, waiting for the world to come crashing down on you as you watched a group of teens pass you by. The child that huddled beside you was similarly affected, the quiver in their fingers so pronounced you could feel it in your heart!

Twenty hours ago they’d been chattering to their creche mates, sharing a colorful story about their idol, but now? There was no telling what their future held, the golden light of a prosperous knighthood shattered by the very people you’d trusted with your lives. Stars, you still can’t believe what you’d seen earlier that night! The terror on the crechling’s face potent beyond belief as they raced toward you, chased like prey by a trooper in guard red.

There had been no time for ‘why’ or ‘what’, no time to wonder why an honorable man had turned into a monster, no, all you’d had time for was an instinctual reaction, your finger pulling the trigger before you even realized you had a blaster in hand.

The offending weapon was still held in your hand, the cold metal accusatory as you listened to far off chatter. Most people were talking about the end of the war, their voices chirpy as they discussed what this would mean for their businesses. Others were talking about the attack on the temple, the amber glow still evident on the horizon some five hours later. But the thing you expected to hear was absent, your guilt festering as you ushered the child in the direction of the space port.

“Where will we go?”

To be honest you didn’t know, the path was checked before you crossed the next intersection. As big as Coruscant was there was no hiding from the eyes of the Guard. You should know! You’d spent too many days being surprised by your gruff partner, his eyes alight with mischief as he appeared from around a corner with a caff in hand. A small part of you hoped to see him waiting for you at the port, his serious lips curled in a rare show of concern as he waved you to a waiting transport whilst the other - it feared it. The memory of his rabid brother making your blood run cold as you used your cowl to hide your face from casual onlookers.

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

Dantooine perhaps? It had always been welcoming to offworlders, its senator one of many that had fought for clone rights, and you could easily see it turning a blind eye to ‘refugees’ such as yourselves. What about Pantora? It too was represented by a vocal proponent of clone rights, your heart aching as you thought of the sisterly bond you shared with Riyo. She’d been the one who’d encouraged you to pursue Fox, her lips curled in a beatific smile as she shoved a canteen of caff in your hands. She’d also been the one who’d encouraged you to keep trying when he turned you down, her insistence that he was just playing hard to get making you laugh as you watched him inspect his men.

You’d pay anything to hear that laugh round about now, a quick glance at the space port revealing limited options for your escape.

Whatever was going on had been labeled as a terrorist threat, the luminescent glow of red text filling the waiting area below the departures holo. Sentients moved too and fro across the glimmering plaza, but there was nowhere near as many people as you’d see on a normal day - the PA cycling through yet another announcement that all citizens must shelter in place until further notice. Which was a problem. How were you supposed to get off planet if there were no commercial flights running? You frowned as you considered your next move, your panicked heart beating all the faster as you covered your fearful ward with your coat.

“What now?”

“If you were smart you’d turn yourselves in.”

The world comes to a halt as the familiar voice encircles your mind, the smooth accent as charming as ever despite the edge of malice.

“You and I both know we wouldn’t get a fair trial.”

You’ve caught him in an impasse, the silent tilt of his helmet as much a language as the one you spoke every day. Stars! What had he done with his paintwork? The scarlet red that once adorned his plates now swapped for standard guard livery, and you mused that you wouldn’t have known you were speaking to Fox if you weren't so familiar with his body language. He always held himself with the utmost pride, his back ramrod straight and shoulders pulled back whether or not he was at ease, and you could still see that pride in him despite the tension that hardened his voice.

“This isn’t the republic any more. I will make sure the judge shows you leniency if you cooperate and hand over the traitor.”

You tuck the youngster behind you, keeping one hand on their head whilst the other shook uncontrollably by your side. Where was the Fox who’d slam his hands on the table if a nat-born insisted on the arrest of a minor? Where was the Fox who’d bailed them out if he found one in the cells? He was gone. Swept away by the same madness that’d caused his brother to chase the youngling through the streets.

“Traitor? Kark’s sake Fox, they’re just a kid! Where’s your compassion gone all of a sudden?”

Your outburst had gathered quite the crowd, but you didn’t care! This was, perhaps, your only hope of escaping. The brief hope that you could break through this murderous insanity fluttering like a bird in your chest.

“Where was his when his order turned its back on democracy?”

The feeling shatters as you feel a blaster pressed to your back, the weapon that’d once protected you from escaped ‘pets’ now used to herd you like one. You flash Fox a baleful look as you pass him by, the shine of your eyes reflected by the black abyss of his visor. It used to be something that filled you with warmth, the knowledge that he was looking at you with soft eyes making your spirit soar, but now? There was nothing but cold nothingness, the dark abyss swallowing you whole as you tried to make sense of his words. 

 “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

The way he was acting now? It was the way the public saw him on the daily. Cold. Ruthless. A cop who’d stop at nothing to catch the bad guy. Even you had assumed things about him when you first met him, his gruff persona and matter of fact words making you wonder how his brothers could stand him. But with each day that passed you saw more of the real Fox. The Fox that would stay up late so his younger vode wouldn't have to file flimsi. The Fox that brought a caff machine when the GAR refused funding for a new one. The Fox that would do anything and everything to protect his vode from the wrath of idle politicians.

He was so much more than what people assumed him to be, so much more than the monster that told his men he’d deal with you personally, and you grieved for your loss as they bundled you and the kid into the back of a transport.

You can still hear the sounds of coruscant through the hull of the transport, the white and red of Fox’s armor broken up by the thick mesh that separated you. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d seen him bundle a struggling criminal into one of these things, couldn’t count the number of times you’d heard them beg for leniency, and you hated that you’d become another statistic - your palms laid to the mesh as you flushed yourself to the unforgiving metal.

"Please Fox, this isn’t you! You give pieces of yourself to people but never let them see the whole picture. I've seen it. I know who you are"

“No -- you don’t!”

The pause is brief, a slight inhale of air that causes his modulator to crackle in protest.

“Yes I do! I don’t know what offense his order has committed against the republic, but you wouldn’t arrest a minor for it!”

You tilt your head toward your charge, their small form tucked into the furthest corner of the space. It was almost as if they hoped it would swallow them whole, the curve of their shoulders laden with fearful acceptance.

“I have my orders”

“Orders? Force alive! You might be a Commander, but you’ve never cared for orders - especially if they came from that di’kut’la Chancellor.”

His shoulders stiffened, giving you the answer to where this particular order had come from. Maker! If this had come from the chancellor then there was no hope for you. You’d be dead and buried before the end of the week - a footnote in the grand annals of history whilst the Chancellor continued to feed at the trough.

“This order came from him? Didn’t it --”

You trial off as you tip your head backward, the strain causing the muscles at the back of your neck to twitch in protest. You don’t know what to say, what to do, the world as you’d once known it twisted beyond all recognition.

“Fox. We both know he’s as corrupt as they come! Just look at what he did to Fives --”

“Shut up!”

“No! I won’t! Not until you’ve seen sense!”

You hate yourself for digging up this particular ghost, but it’s the only way to get through to him!

“Where is the chip he supposedly presented to the Chancellor? And what about Tup? What about his autopsy report? Surely you find it a bit suspicious that they found nothing wrong with a man who shot his general in the back of the head? And what evidence does he have that the Jedi turned on the Republic? Think Fox, think! The man clearly has some kind of hidden agenda!”

What that might be was beyond you. You were a civilian, not a detective! You exhaled as you dropped your chin to your chest, the tension that sat in your shoulders mirrored in his spotless plastoid. You could always tell when he was at war with himself, could always tell when his Kaminoan training clashed with his Coruscanti heart. He’d go silent and stiff, his whole body vibrating whilst he tried his best to silence the voices. Sometimes he won, sometimes he didn’t, but he’d always be your Fox regardless - the quiver of his voice rekindling lost hope.

“He -- said ---”

The transport shifted beneath you, the change in gravitational pull lifting your stomach to your throat.

“-- Kriff -- we don’t have much time --”

Whatever madness had assaulted him had loosened its grip on his mind, the spectre of it hanging about his shoulders as he cut ties with the outside world. The transponder, the coms! Everything! He turned them all off one by one, the routine so ingrained he could do it with his eyes closed. Maker! He can feel the weight of your gaze on the back of his head. It was a tangible thing that anchored him to reality, like the steel he held in his hands, the yoke held tight as he bundled the voices into the back of his mind. 

Good soldiers might follow orders, but great ones questioned them!

Maker! He still can’t believe he’d pulled a blaster on you and the kid, still can’t believe how close he’d come to repeating the one mistake he’d never forget. Fives’ face swam in and out of his thoughts as he darted into a busy sky lane - doing his best to put distance between himself and his brothers. It wouldn’t be long until they realized he’d gone rogue. Wouldn’t be long until they were pursuing him like the criminals they’d once fought on the streets, and he needed to be off the capitol before that happened! 

But was this not worth it?

Yes, yes it was! The weight of your arms, and the scent of your body lotion filling his nose the moment he freed you from your confines. He’d go to any lengths to save you from the empire, his conviction growing stronger with every moment that passed. And if he had to save you from himself? Well, he’d do that too - the worry that the madness might return haunting his dreams that night and every night after.

Strands of meat sizzled and spat as she flipped the tangled mass. Her work distracting from the pair of eyes watching you from the doorway. Her culinary tasks from the staccato chops of a knife to peppers to the accented clink of a mortar and pestle offered a calming tune.

The way she moved as natural as breathing to each station. Tending to simmering pots, finely chopping herbs into bits. The aroma already unfurling into the room. His footfalls whispered along the floor as he made his approach. His target currently occupied with bisecting a pepper. He chose his moment to strike as the chef's knife lightly clinked as it was set aside. His arms coiling around her form. His face immediately slotting into place at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

“How's your head?” She asked, lips curling upward as his stubble grazed her skin.

“Better. Surprised you kept everyone quiet.”

She tittered, “Tech and Echo are working on repairs last I checked. Wrecker and Omega are actually on a mission for me.”

He hummed, “and what mission is that?”

“Replenishing my stock of coriander. This batch of birria nearly wiped me out.”

The sergeant picked his head up to survey the simmering cookware. His senses tingling with the extra stimulation of the spices. She reached up. Her fingertips tracing the tattoo along his face.

“Come taste,” she offered softly, “tell me if I need to add anything.”

He approached the crowded stovetop and after sighting an appropriate utensil, she stifled giggles as he sputtered. The sergeant ill prepared for the siege on his delicate senses.

“Yours is here.” She gently corrected, guiding his hand to the smaller pot simmering away.

“and I made sure not to put cilantro in it.”

He huffed a laugh, “Guess it's just my luck that it tastes like armor cleaner to me.”

She shrugged, “It happens. Besides I like a challenge.”

A gentle smiles curled his lips before tasting from the smaller batch. Most of the flavors from the larger batch still layered on top of each other as if they were cornerstones of a structure, but the smoky flavor was now more subdued for his taste. The absence of the herb and odd taste resembling soap only brought his attention to the more pleasing flavor notes.

After the flavors had time to mingle on his tongue, he swallowed, giving the hint of a nod.

“It's good.”

“Not too overpowering? Not too spicy?”

“No, but...you don't have to go making multiples.”

“Hunter,” She shushed with a finger to his lips, "I wanted to."

His gaze met hers. The comfortable intimacy of their shared silence stretched on. The points holding importance being him and her. A hand slipped its way under her jaw. A subtle request. One she accepted by leaning into his form.

Their lips met as practiced as a favorite song. Her hand cradling his cheek. Fingers drawing gentle patterns as an excuse to feel the stubble. His arm had returned to her waist pulling her close. His hand caressing her back as if she would disappear in a puff of smoke.

They came up for air for barely a moment before he returned for another, yet with the yearning for depth he previously kept at bay.

Her contented sigh was the only opening he needed after tracing the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips. Their tongues joined in their usual game. Not a tussle for dominance, but of prodding and teasing. Testing to see who would crumble first.

The sergeant eventually yielded as her hand tangled into his locks giving the slightest tug. His lips curling against hers.

The sound of footfalls brought the pair back to the universe before them. Their kiss breaking to leave the pair exchanging labored breathing, flushed faces, and a shared gaze telling of late night promises to be delivered upon.

The cause of their abrupt separation soon came into view. Her much larger chaperone following along.

“Got it,” the smaller clone called, depositing the paper wrapped packet onto the counter.

“You're a lifesaver.” The older woman gushed, her smile growing upon seeing the two familiar cartons in his grasp.

“and you two already took your cut.”

“It was on the way back.” The larger clone explained around a mouthful of mantell mix.

“Fair enough,” She chuckled, “Food'll be ready in a bit. Think you two could drag those gearheads out of the ship?”

“You got it.” The larger clone replied, lowering one of the cartons to be grabbed up by his smaller cohort before taking their leave.

She broke the budding silence with a contented sigh before she began to feel the presence of a pair of familiar hands.

“Stand down, Sergeant.” She chided, leaning forward to capture his lips, “You'll get your dessert after dinner.”