#clone fluff

“I saw you eyeing that woman at Seventy Nines.”

Rex glances up from his datapad and flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. Fives grins down at Rex, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped.

“It was nothing,” mutters Rex, stepping around Fives’ comment.

The corner of Fives’ mouth quirks as he tries to hide a knowing smile. “Nothing? You were practically drooling,” laughs Fives, gently tossing his helmet on the bunk next to Rex’s. “Why didn’t you approach her?”

Rex blinks, confused. “Why would I?”

Fives shakes his head. “She was staring at you too, Captain. We all saw it.”

Rex looks back at the datapad, wanting to be done with this conversation. “And if I talked to her, what then?”

Fives shrugs. “You talk to a beautiful woman. Flirt a bit.” Fives leans in and Rex glances up from the datapad. “Slip into a dark corner for some—”

“That’s enough, Fives,” interjects Rex, his stomach twisting with understanding.

Fives pats Rex’s shoulder and then plops down next to Rex in the bunk. “This war is going to end. What do you plan to do after its over?”

What is he going to do? Rex hasn’t even thought about it. Hasn’t given the idea any life. Rex is a soldier of the Republic. Duty comes first. It always does. Thinking about the future when that future is entirely uncertain will only create heartache in the end.

“Haven’t thought about it,” answers Rex truthfully. Maybe Fives will drop this, and Rex can return to reading the latest war reports.

“Why not?” asks Fives, clearly not interested in moving on.

Rex’s grip on the sides of the datapad tightens.

Why not? Because fantasizing about the future in any capacity leaves Rex vulnerable and open to the realities of his situation. His family are his fellow clones. They are his brothers. All the family he needs is right here. Why would he ever need to consider anything beyond what is already in front of him?

“I don’t see the point,” answers Rex. “We don’t know when this war will end.” He pauses. “And some days we aren’t sure if we’ll even see tomorrow.”

Fives snorts. “That’s the whole reason why you should.”

“Fives—”

“We’re alive, Rex. We are people and we feel. We may serve the Republic, but we deserve to dream like the citizens we protect.” Fives reaches for his helmet and holds it reverently in his lap, the front side facing him. “In peacetime, we deserve a bit of happiness.”

Rex is silent a moment before he speaks. “Are you not happy now, Fives?”

Fives glances up and grins. “I’m happy, Rex. But happiness during peacetime is…different. I want to know what that looks like for us. Dreaming about it isn’t wrong.”

Rex didn’t say that it was wrong, but he’s not going to point that out to Fives.

Fives taps the edge of the helmet against his knee, sighing as he stands. “I’ll leave you to your boring war reports, Rex.” At the door, Fives turns, and grins mischievously. “Next time, if she’s there, you’re talking to her.”

The door to the room whooshes open, and Fives disappears into the hall. When it shuts, Rex is left in the lingering silence, the only sound that of the air filtration system. It hums softly, a dull buzz in the background.

Whenever his mind drifts toward the future—which is almost never—Rex rarely allows himself to linger. Maybe it’s because of his position, and that there are thousands counting on him to lead them. So many of his brothers look to him for guidance, even ones from other sections of GAR. He and Cody are always discussing strategies and offering advice.

Rex tries to live in the moment, to focus on what matters right now. But what Fives said is sinking in, lurking at the back of his mind, and drawing his attention away from the datapad in his hands.

This room is a small barracks area, one for captains and other ranked members of the Clone Army can go to rest. No one else is in here. It’s just him. They’re stationed on Coruscant, waiting to depart for a months long campaign. Rex and the rest of the 501st have some time to relax before returning to the battlefield.

Yes, they did go to 79’s last night. Yes, Rex may have had one too many strong drinks. And yes, Rex couldn’t stop staring at the woman giving him flirtatious glances all night.

Rex might be a clone but he’s still a man.

Locking the datapad, Rex sighs heavily, placing it on the edge of the bed. Tiredness sits in his bones, and Rex gives in to the exhaustion, bringing his legs onto the bunk and laying on his back. He stares at the bunk above him, at the smooth, plain metal, and tries his best to forget everything.

Tries is the key word.

Rex does try, but he cannot stop thinking about Fives and what he said.

He slips unexpectedly, falling into that space, considering the future.

The woman Rex pictures in his mind is faceless. He does not consider her features, or what her hair might be like. He does not consider whether this fictional woman is human or Twi’lek or any other species. Instead, Rex contemplates what he needs in someone else. Would she be soft and kind, someone to smooth out his sharp edges, to help him forget the realities of war, and linger in a calmness that soothes his soul? Or is she sharp witted, adventurous, willing to explore the galaxy and isn’t afraid of danger?

Or is she something else entirely?

Rex floats in the possibilities, of what this woman might be like and what she’d mean to him. Would General Skywalker want to meet her? Would he approve? Is it even allowed to him after the war ends? Will the clones have the right to enjoy the things the citizens of the Republic do?

These questions form in his head quickly but evaporate just as fast. Rex imagines warm arms around him, of knowing that there is always someone waiting for him, to share in all his failures and successes. It is a wonderful sensation, a calming sense of peace that ushers into his head and curls itself around him to take hold.

The physical isn’t entirely important to Rex, but he considers it anyway. He conjures up multiple images, giving the faceless woman hair then lekku then hair again, even picturing the woman he couldn’t stop glancing at while at 79’s. These thoughts bring the woman in his head to life a bit more, as if he’s stoking a fire, protecting the flame from extinguishing.

With his eyes closed, Rex imagines soft hands holding his, moving to his wrists and arms to eventually cradle his cheek. Rex sighs audibly, pretending that there is someone next to him in this bed, curled up against his side with their head on his chest.

But when he reaches across his chest to seek this someone out, his fingers only find empty air.

Rex’s eyelids slowly open, and a heaviness fills his chest. This is why Rex does not entertain thoughts of the future. This is why he lives in the present moment and focuses on the immediate needs of his soldiers and the Republic.

It’s self-indulgent. Unnecessary. That is what Rex tells himself as he turns on his side and tries to find some sleepful peace in the dark.

These streets are a maze, and Rex is utterly lost.

His personal communicator is crushed, and there are slavers on his trail. General Skywalker has no idea that Rex is being pursued. He has no idea that Rex took a blaster shot to the leg or that he’s limping along as he attempts to hide from his assailants.

This is supposed to be an undercover job, a way to figure out where an entire village full of Twi’leks were taken to after disappearing. While General Skywalker pretends to be a slaver interested in buying, Rex’s job is to find another way into where the Twi’leks are being held.

The whole thing fell apart. Crashed. Burnt up like an asteroid entering the atmosphere.

Behind him, his pursuers shout, and people scream. They’re closer than before, and Rex needs to find shelter. He needs to throw them off and return to General Skywalker.

He slips in a puddle, nearly stumbling into a pile of trash.

“Kriffing hell,” mutters Rex, staggering, placing one hand against the side of a building to balance himself.

His chest heaves and his leg is screaming, needing to rest.

Their pounding footsteps grow closer, and Rex takes off, dragging his leg along as he turns the corner. It’s shadowy here, and the street is long and narrow. There is nothing for him to hide in or around. The street is lined with residential buildings. There are entry doors and a few windows on the bottom level, but that won’t give him protection.

Desperation sinks in. Rex tries a few of the nearby doors, receiving no response.

There is a shout from the direction of where Rex just came from. “This way!”

Rex growls with frustration. He turns away from the door of one house, only to freeze when he notices the young woman in an open doorway.

“In here. Quickly.”

Rex glances back once and considers the alternative.

Kriff it, he thinks, entering the dimly lit home, the door whooshing shut behind him. Rex’s leg almost gives out beneath him, a sharp pain shooting up his side. He grunts, starts to double over, and his potential savior comes to him, placing their hands upon him gently.

Realizing that there is another person, Rex glances up quickly, the instinct to survive flaring white and hot and bright.

He finds…you.

And it is not what he expects. Because—no. Rex smothers the thought immediately.

There is a shout right outside the door, and you place a firm hand on Rex’s chest, easing him down toward the floor while holding a single finger up for silence. Rex doesn’t say a word, his gaze flicking between you and the door, and back again.

The voices soften, and then Rex doesn’t hear them at all.

When you sigh with relief, Rex relaxes a bit, knowing that he’s been spared some extra time.

But you? You are a mystery to him. Friend? Or foe?

“You’re hurt.” It’s not a question and Rex immediately likes the sound of your voice. “Heard the shouts,” you continue. “Saw you limping.”

Rex swallows. “Why are you helping me?”

Your smile is soft with a hint of mischievousness. “Do you think I like living amongst slavers?”

Rex shrugs. “Wasn’t really on my mind,” he admits.

“That’s fair,” you laugh. “They rarely treat the people who live here much different from the people they sell. I don’t mind disrupting things for them when I can.”

Friend, then.

Rex can work with that.

You glance down at his leg and frown. Your hand hovers just above the spot where the blaster bolt struck his thigh. Rex grimaces as the pain flares anew, like it knows he’s finally safe and demands immediate treatment.

“Can you stand on it?” you ask gently, placing one hand on Rex’s shoulder. Your palm is warm and a flood of comfort bursts inside him like a dam breaking.

What is it about you that’s different? Why does his body respond to you like he’s safe when his brain can’t seem to make the same connection?

Rex knows but stifles the thought again.

“Was running on it,” jokes Rex, trying to make light of that fact that the pain is a throbbing thing that won’t cease.

The smile you give him is so tooth-rottenly sweet that Rex feels heat warming his cheeks.

“Humor. That’s good.” You lean in a bit and Rex is immediately flustered by your closeness. “Means you’ll live.”

You present your hands, palms upward. They look so soft, so inviting, and Rex accepts. You help him to a fully seated position before sliding an arm around his waist to assist him to his feet. Rex drapes an arm over the back of your shoulders as the two of you hobble along.

You lead Rex into a small bedroom. The bed itself is unmade; the sheets tossed around like you’ve slipped out just to come to his rescue. For some reason, Rex pictures this happening, and then quickly dismisses it.

Easing onto the bed is hell, and Rex winces as you help him to his back. Thankfully, Rex isn’t wearing his armor, which will make tending to the wound much easier.

“May I take a look?”

Rex nods and you seat yourself next to him on the edge of the bed. When your hands touch his thigh, a shiver runs through him like an electrical current. You hum softly as you lightly press around the spot of the burn. Rex tries to stay calm, but in this prone position, Rex is only focused on your face.

He learns the line and curves, all your small tells, and the subtle way you tilt your head as you observe him. On Kamino—on any Republic vessel really—most of the medical care is run by droids, Kaminoans, and clones. It is mainly automated. Impersonal.

This isn’t.

You’re so close and delicate, taking so much care with him that Rex is void of words, only wanting you to keep giving him this attention. That memory, the one where he imagined what he wants creeps up unexpectedly, choking him.

Is this the feeling that Fives talked about? Is this the pull, the tug of what it means to try and find happiness outside of just duty to the Republic? Or is Rex only indulging himself while in the hands of a stranger?

“I have some bacta spray and bandages. I’ll be back in a moment.” When you stand, a momentary wave of panic grips Rex out of nowhere, stunning him.

What the kriffing hell is going on with him?

You’re back within a minute, placing the small box next to you as you return to your previous spot on the bed. Rex is instantly calm, relaxing as you consider where you want to begin.

“Could—” you pause. “It would be easier if the pants weren’t in the way. I can cut them or—”

“It’s fine,” replies Rex. “I can…remove them.”

Your eyes widen. “No. I didn’t mean—”

“Oh—”

“But if you want—”

“It’s—”

“I can cut it.”

“Yes,” nods Rex, relieved. “Yes.” Rex could start a fire with how hot his cheeks are.

With delicate fingers, you slowly cut away a perfect rectangle in his pants where the blaster burn is. Placing the cutters aside, you remove the bacta spray from the box.

“It’ll be cold.”

“I know,” answers Rex quickly.

Your eyebrows rise toward your hairline. “Is it normal for you to be hit by blaster fire?”

Kriff me.

“It’s a hazard of the job,” says Rex slowly.

Your lips part like you’re about to say something and then think better of it. “I won’t ask.” Your smile speaks to quiet amusement, and it feels like this one look is only for him. That this is something the two of you are sharing. That no one else is allowed to see inside.

The hiss of the bottle fills the room, and Rex momentarily flinches as the bacta spray hits his burn. Once done, you withdraw a gauze pad. With the other hand, you gently reach for Rex, lifting his own hand.

“Hold this for me,” you murmur, and the sound of your voice is so soft that Rex cannot resist your command.

Rex does as you ask, keeping the gauze pad pressed to the covered blaster burn. You unspool some bandages, and then begin wrapping his leg. You do not go over the pants. Instead, you slide your hand into the opening you created, guiding the end of the bandages underneath to the other side of his thigh.

It all feels too intimate, and Rex can’t help but linger on how close your hand is to something else.

“You can move your hand now.”

“Right,” mutters Rex, blinking quickly, trying to stare at the ceiling but failing completely.

Your subdued giggle draws his attention back to your face. Tying off the bandages, Rex mourns the loss of your hands when you draw away.

“All done.” You grin, and Rex melts. “I’ll grab you water and something to eat. We can talk after. Figure out a plan.”

We, as if it’s completely natural for you to help him, a stranger.

You bring him water first, and then go back to the small cooking unit, digging around for a pan to cook with while also grabbing ingredients. You shouldn’t do this for him, and yet you are. Rex’s military training tells him to be on guard, to be weary of you even if you’re showing him kindness. But that doesn’t sit right with him. Questioning your motivations taste wrong on his tongue, like he’s the bad person in this situation.

Watching you there next to the cooking unit, tending to him, it draws forth those memories again. Everything about this is too…domestic. Him reclining in bed as someone takes care of him for once is such a foreign thing. Odd. Almost forbidden.

He drifts, allows his mind to daydream of what a life like this could be like. With him, at rest for once, and someone close to him, wanting to do things for him just because they desire to do so.

But Rex doesn’t just think of someone. He thinks of you, and he sinks further and further into the daydream until the Republic, the war, and everything else in his life is a distant point in the galaxy.

But Rex needs to find General Skywalker. And you are a distraction. Healing is important but contacting Skywalker is even more urgent.

The meal you bring him is hot and so kriffing fresh that Rex nearly moans with pleasure. He could get used to this.

“Is it too intrusive to ask why you were running?” you ask, clasped hands resting in your lap. You’re sitting in the same spot on the edge of the bed, not opting to grab a chair or to sit anywhere else.

“I was poking around where I shouldn’t. Got caught.” Rex takes another bite and it’s better than the last.

“Are you alone? Or is there someone I can try to contact for you?” You shrug. “Don’t think it’s a good idea to turn you loose in the streets.”

“No,” laughs Rex. “Bad idea.” Your slightly embarrassed smile pleases him. While Rex ponders that, he also realizes he doesn’t know your name. “Here I am eating your food and sleeping in your bed. And I didn’t ask you your name.”

You give it without question and ask him the same. Rex considers whether or not he should tell you his real name or the fake one General Skywalker gave him for the job.

“It’s Rex,” he finally answers.

“Rex,” you say, as if rolling it around on your tongue, considering it and him, almost testing it out. Rex likes the way you say it. There is a soft sigh in the way you breathe his name. “Rex.”

“Just Rex.”

“Okay, Just Rex.”

He nearly chokes with laugher on the next bite of food. Once he clears his throat, Rex decides to be as honest as he can. “I’m traveling with someone. I need to find them.”

“I’ll go,” you say. “You shouldn’t leave.” Even though you’re staring at him, you still reach out and place a hand on his knee. You don’t break eye contact, and the earnestness is startling.

Rex gives you General Skywalker’s fake name and where you might find him. “It might be dangerous,” he says, trying to iterate the severity of the situation.

You squeeze his knee with a smile and stand, going to the closet to dig around. When you turn around, you hold up a large blaster. “I can handle myself.”

Using the strap, you secure it over your chest, the blaster hanging to the side. “I’ll be back. Don’t open the door for anyone.” You give him a little salute and Rex watches you leave through the front door.

The healing agent in the bacta spray and the need for rest creeps up. When the food is gone, Rex places the bowl to the side, slipping back into the daydream.

“Sleeping, Rex?”

Rex nearly launches himself off the bed. “General Skywalker,” he breathes, relief flooding his chest.

In the small doorway, you stand quietly, hands clasped tightly in front of your chest. You found him and even brought Skywalker with you.

He stops next to the side of the bed. “Glad you’re okay.”

Rex shrugs. “You would have come for me eventually.”

General Skywalker grins and nods his head. “That I would, Rex. I don’t like leaving my men behind. Especially you.” He glances at you standing in the doorway, and then turns back to Rex, one eyebrow arching in question. Rex nods, acknowledging Skywalker’s silent ask.

He exhales and approaches you. “Thank you. For taking care of my friend.” General Skywalker’s inclines his head in your direction.

“Of course. It’s nothing. Really.”

Skywalker holds out his hand and Rex clasps it. He drags Rex up to a seated position. “How’s the leg?”

“It’ll heal,” answers Rex. It’s already feeling better with the bacta spray on it.

“Can you walk?”

Rex stands. Wobbles. Remains upright. “I can manage, General.”

Skywalker glances at Rex’s torn pants. “We need to fix that.” He starts to remove his outer cloak and Rex shakes his head. “Don’t question it, Rex.”

Rex reluctantly grabs the cloak from General Skywalker and wraps it around himself, hiding the blaster burn. You step out of the way of the door to allow them exit. Rex’s glances at you and your lips turn upward.

At the door, Rex pauses, wanting to stay just a few minutes longer. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“Just avoid blaster bolts. If you can. For me.”

The back of Rex’s neck heats up and he exits the small house with a nod of his head. When the door whooshes shut, General Skywalker’s muted grin turns devilish.

“What?” asks Rex, flustered.

“You like her,” says Skywalker.

“I—I don’t.” Rex straightens his shoulders. “Why do you think that?”

General Skywalker taps the side of his head with one finger. “Jedi.”

“Sir. That explains nothing.”

“The feeling is mutual, Rex,” calls Skywalker over his shoulder as he starts walking down the street.

Rex nearly trips. “What’s mutual?” he asks, already knowing what his general means but not wanting to admit it to himself. General Skywalker gestures in the direction of your home. “No,” blurts Rex. “That’s not true.”

General Skywalker’s knowing grin is enough to silence him.

“You’ll see her again, Rex. I have a good feeling about it.”

“You’re doing a good thing, Rex. Even if you can’t always see it.” Your fingers slide over his jaw to gently cup his cheek. Rex leans into the touch, sighing heavily. “Saving one is an accomplishment, and you have rescued so many.”

After the Republic fell, and Rex and Ahsoka parted ways, he came to find you, only to bring you along with him on his journey to save his brothers’. You’re not on the frontlines, standing by his side in Imperial complexes, executing daring rescues. Rex wouldn’t allow that of you even if you insisted. You’re good with a blaster but you’re no soldier and losing you might shatter him.

Instead, you stay on Coruscant, awaiting each of his returns, ready to take care of, and look after, any clones Rex brings back with him. You never complain. Never waiver. You are his rock, a home for him to find a bit of peace from the unending injustices of the galaxy.

With your hand upon his cheek, you lean into him, resting your forehead against the side of his temple. “You’re a good man, Rex. I know that you know that.”

Rex’s fingers intertwine with yours. Bringing your hand up to his face, he gently kisses every knuckle and each finger. Sighing, you press lightly on his cheek, guiding Rex’s face in your direction. There is no brief pause or wanton hesitation. Rex knows where he stands with you, and his lips meet with your own in perfect satisfaction.

The future he dreamed of is here, with you, while rescuing his brothers.

But he'd been particularly insufferable this time, spending a few days with you on some dusty, remote planet with an objective that seemed as elusive as it was futile. He was understandably short-tempered, and while you felt the same simmering frustration inside, you were doing your best to provide a soothing optimism that seemed to have the opposite effect on him.

It came to a head when, for various reasons to further the plot of this story, the two of you found yourselves standing in the doorway of a shabby hotel room that could have been a prison cell in the past. It was disconcertingly chilly and exceedingly bare; a single bed stood in the middle next to a shoddy wood nightstand that boasted the ugliest lamp you'd ever seen, with a solid layer of dust on the velvety, tasseled lampshade. There was a rickety chair in the corner next to the window, a decently basic refresher, and that was it.

"I'm calling Hunter," Crosshair grumbled, refusing to take another step inside while you ventured in, dropping your bag in the corner and looking around with resignation. "This is ridiculous. We'll come back and try again later, with the whole team. And the ship."

"We're so close," you countered, not wanting to lose the progress you'd made. "Come on, I'll be the big spoon." Your attempt at levity did not land, as his eyes narrowed at you in a way that was both chilling and exhilarating.

"I'll sleep in the chair," he muttered, throwing his stuff down with vehemence and disappearing into the refresher. You shrugged, feeling slightly bad for him but knowing that it was useless to argue. The sound of the shower running gave you time to clean up, wiping yourself down as best you could and changing into loose, clean clothes for sleep. There was a cold draft coming from somewhere, perhaps the poorly-insulated window, and you felt grateful for the thick-looking quilt on the bed. You pulled the covers back and flopped onto it, stifling a groan at the deafening creak it made as it received your weight. It wasn't bad, all things considered, but definitely not ideal.

Crosshair emerged, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, with his damp hair tousled across his forehead. You tried not to look, but the groove of his oblique muscles and the curve of his shoulders flowing into his biceps were irresistible to your eyes. He'd been messy in his towel-drying, and little water droplets caught your attention as he sidled toward the chair.

"Come on," you said, and while your tone was light, you were surprised at the genuine invitation you felt within your words, "I won't tell anyone how bad your morning breath is."

All you got was a snort in response as Crosshair turned, flashing a sharp expression your way before dropping into the chair. Or, more accurately, dropping through the chair onto the floor as it disintegrated into pieces around him. He hissed like an angry cat as he scrambled to his feet in disgust, but it was drowned out by your giggling as you watched the normally-composed sniper so thrown off his balance. He scowled at you before pointedly laying on the floor, facing the wall.

"Seriously? You're half naked, it's freezing, and you're gonna lay on a hard wood floor with nothing? Not even a pillow? Get some of your clothes in a pile or something at least..." you went on, feeling too guilty to let him spend the night that way.

"It's fine."

"Or here... you take the bed and I'll make myself a little something over there," you continued, sitting up and climbing toward the edge. "Come on, Crosshair. You deserve to be comfortable," you insisted, staring at his rigid back.

"Why are you so nice to me?" he snapped, sitting up and whirling to face you, propped up by one knee. "Why can't you just let me be?" His face was hard, eyes narrow, but there was an undeniable openness in them that showed his questions weren't rhetorical. The realization cascaded over you, waking you up to him in a way you'd never have expected. He didn't think he deserved kindness. What had led him to that? Your mind was racing but he was staring daggers, and you figured it best to leave the pondering for later. You did wonder, however, how he would respond to gentleness instead of correction or the same sarcastic vitriol he always spewed.

"I'm nice to you because you are alive," you answered, furrowing your brow a bit as he rolled his eyes. "Because you are a sentient being. Because you are a human. Because you are proficient and hardworking and intelligent and complex and--"

"Okay, stop," he interrupted, rubbing his face in a hand. "I just... Never mind. It's late. Let's get some sleep."

"Come over here," you said, more insistently now as you scooted to the far side and pulled the covers back for him. You could feel your late grandmother smiling in pride as you determined to force your kindness on him if it was the last thing you did. "I'm sleeping on this edge. You lay over there. Use a pillow and blanket. You're being ridiculous just to maintain this grumpy-ass image. I won't tell anyone. Just get some karking sleep, alright?"

Now his eyebrows raised, and he assessed you with a keen glance. You could have sworn you could see the hint of a smile flit across his face as he rose to his feet, but when he faced you again, he was hard and stoic. "If it will shut you up, then fine. We'll never sleep otherwise," he grumbled, lowering himself gingerly onto the bed next to you, which creaked dutifully. He arranged himself stiffly across from you, still facing the wall, and pulled the quilt up to his shoulders.

You shuffled down, tucking yourself in as carefully as you could. The two of you couldn't both fit on the bed without touching your backs to each other, and you could feel him try to arch and pull away while you situated yourself. But there was nowhere to go, and eventually he relaxed a bit, perhaps enjoying the warmth as much as you were. You drifted off soon after, feeling oddly smug and comfortable.

* * *

The next morning, you woke up slowly, having slept only sporadically due to the minimal comfort of the dismal bed. It was far too early -- it looked as if it were almost still dark out. You were still on your side, though not quite hanging off the edge of the bed, and as you gazed blearily around the room, coming to your senses, you remembered the circumstances of last night and craned your neck to look behind.

Crosshair was still asleep, and you couldn't help but stare at the uncharacteristically peaceful, vulnerable expression on his face. His eyebrows were relaxed for once, mouth released from its tight scowl, as he lay on his back. His sharp profile mirrored his personality, but in its unguarded state, you found yourself wanting to reach out and touch it, instead settling to observe every detail.

"It's creepy to stare at someone, you know," he said, shocking you out of your reverie. He slowly opened his pale brown eyes, finding your face quickly and making you blush.

"I'm sorry," you laughed, an awkward diffusion of tension. You were utterly at a loss to explain yourself, and had no accessible humor or wit, so you resigned to be vulnerable as well, regardless of the fact that it'd surely be met with scorn or surprise. "I forgot you were in the bed, and then... I don't know. You just looked really calm... and... handsome," you confessed, shrugging as you tried to divert the focus. "I'm just glad you got some sleep," you finished, then rolled back to your side, readying yourself for the undeniable verbal barrage that was going to come your way.

But it was quiet. Crosshair rolled from his back to face away from you again, but this time didn't jerk his back away when it pressed against your own as he shuffled slightly into comfort. You were nearly drifting off again when his silken voice broke the silence one more time.

"Thank you."

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Author's Note: Uh oh... There's a part two... and a part three... and a part four coming. ;)

Actually, you don't work for the Empire. You are an independent contractor, a small business mainly for cargo and logistics. When an Imperial officer contacts you, you are reluctant to take on the job. However, you don't want to upset the Empire either. None of your handful of workers is eager to deliver the cargo for the Empire, especially not to Barton-4, the ice-cold lump of a planet. So you take over the delivery yourself. Food, gasoline, energy packs for flashlights and a new generator for environmental sensors are to be delivered. Even the approach to the imperial station is complicated and dangerous. Fierce crosswinds push your cargo shuttle from all sides and make it difficult to land the ship safely. But you make it anyway. With a sigh, you see the clone troopers coming across the landing platform, who should be unloading the goods. You put on your thermal jacket, zip it up to the top and pull the hood of the jacket over your head, then you open the ramp and see the soldiers already coming towards you. Their equipment doesn't look exactly winterized, some of the men are provisionally wrapped in cloth and skins in addition to their armor. The sight makes you frown. One of them addresses you. "Of course, the Empire is sending civilian transport out here". You blink, then say dryly, "I guess the Empire knows they don't have pilots good enough to land in these weather conditions." You hear a rough laugh from under the clone's helmet, shortly after the soldier removes his helmet and you see an unfamiliar image. You clearly have a clone soldier in front of you, but one with long hair and a full beard, something you haven't seen before. He holds out his hand to you. "I'm Commander Mayday, this is Hexx and Veetch." You shake his hand, the others too, and introduce yourself. "Hi, nice to meet you guys" Maydays laughs again, and you can see a cheeky glint in his eyes. "We'll probably get to know each other a little better, whether you like it or not, the weather has been closing in, changes like this happen practically every minute around here. You're not going to get the shuttle out of here anytime soon." You look down the ramp, over which an icy wind blows into the interior of the shuttle. Outside everything is white, it is snowing, a blizzard, you can barely see two meters. "Fantastic," you say with a dry smile, and begin to help the men unload.

You have your own little area. But at night, the weather still hasn't cleared, and the cold is even more relentless than during the day. A bit unsure, you make your way out of your little cabin and into the main area, where you find the commander. He is sitting at a heat battery, his helmet lying next to him on a dura steel table. When he hears your footsteps, he looks up. You are still wrapped in your thermal jacket, in this outpost nothing works at all, not even the heating system, which is actually essential for survival. A barely noticeable, gentle smile twitches at the corners of his mouth as your eyes meet. "It's not so easy to fall asleep in this cold, especially when you're not used to it. In fact, it's probably better that way, here in this cold they tend to mistake fatigue for hypothermia. Lost some good men that way". You raise your eyebrows in surprise as well as shock and sit with him, close to the heat battery, across from Mayday. "Wait, that's that serious medical condition in which a person's body temperature falls below the usual level as a result of being in severe cold for a long time? Right?" you ask, frowning. Mayday nods. "Mmm, that's right. The body shuts down, you get very tired, but in reality you die instead of falling asleep." "That's terrible! Why don't you get proper care here? They should have given me more heat batteries and a technician to get your heating system back up to speed. Not even your equipment is intact." Mayday sighs softly and shrugs his broad shoulders, his arms folded in front of his chest, a thick wool blanket draped around his shoulder. "Clone soldiers are expendable, we always have been, but since the Republic was replaced by the Empire, it's worse than ever" Your teeth start to chatter even as you try to suppress it, your whole body keeps shivering as it tries to fight the cold that creeps under your skin despite the thermal jacket. Mayday raises his brows and looks at you. "You're not used to the cold, hmm?" "Not even close," you admit, "I've spent most of my life on Tatooine." Mayday laughed softly, "It's an extreme contrast to Barton-4."

He taps the bench he's sitting on next to him and holds out his blanket invitingly. "If we huddle together, we can keep each other warm. I'm happy to share my blanket with you" For a second you consider if the clone has any ulterior motives, but even if he does, it is so cold you don't care, and he is probably just as cold, probably even too cold for ulterior motives. You walk around the table and sit right next to him, close to the heat battery, and let him put the blanket around your shoulders so that the two of you are finally underneath it. You sit so close to each other that no hand's width fits between you. Your pulse is a little faster and you really feel warmer. However, you are not sure if it is the blanket, the heat battery, or the situation. Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly, and you can feel the bass in his voice as you sit so close to each other. "Yeah, it's getting better" He smirks. "Told you so"

You talk for a while. Mayday tells you about his experiences in the war and how he and his men have fared since he was stationed on Barton-4. You sympathize and feel your anger at the Empire flare anew. At a certain point, you are leaning against him, and he has an arm around you. It happened automatically and yet your heart is beating fast. You talk until the sun comes up. As you both look out the window and see that the weather has cleared up considerably, you feel no real relief. You have enjoyed Mayday's company very much, and the fact that this togetherness must inevitably end pleases neither of you. Mayday takes you out to your shuttle on the landing platform. As you say goodbye, you begin to feel a certain longing, which is reflecting in his eyes. On impulse, you kiss his wind-chilled cheek. He blinks in surprise, but he finally smiles at you. "We probably won't see each other again too soon," he says a bit wistfully, with a sad smile. You smile and say, "Maybe we will." As you take off in your shuttle, he watches you for a long time until the shuttle is completely out of his sight, and finally turns back to the outpost with a sigh.

One week later "Commander! An unannounced shuttle is on approach!" Mayday jumps up, puts on his helmet and asks, "Identification?" "It's the cargo shuttle that was here a few days ago, the civilian freighter". Mayday feels his pulse quicken. "Really?" "Yes, sir." Mayday makes his way out onto the landing platform, alone this time. He doesn't want to greet you in the presence of the others, wants a moment to himself. He's as excited as a young Cadet and doesn't really know how to categorize that feeling. All he knows is that he is looking forward to seeing you again. As the ramp to your shuttle opens, he pulls off his helmet and tucks it under his arm. You smile back at him as you walk down the ramp. "Actually, I can't allow you to land here, not without explicit Imperial permission," he says with a wry smile. "And yet you don't seem to want to chase me away," you return, amused. Mayday admits, "I was looking forward to seeing you again." You smile, feeling your face grow warm despite the cold wind. "I take it the Empire still hasn't provided for you properly?" He shakes his head. "We are expendable, still". You cross your arms in front of your chest and say, "Not for me". Behind you comes an astromech and a cargo droid. "I brought you something" Mayday frowns. "This is not an official delivery by the Empire". You shake your head, confirming his statement. "No, a little something from me and my workers. We chipped in and got you a few things. The cargo droid is to help you with transportation and the astromech is an all-rounder, he can fix your heating system. I also brought half a dozen heat batteries, a few more rations, including caf and tea." Mayday strides up the ramp so that you are finally facing each other halfway up. "Thank you." A simple word, but coupled with the soft expression on his face and the warmth in his voice, this word speaks more than a thousand words. You kiss his cheek again, like last time when you parted. "You deserve it, more than that, actually. But I hope this helps you for a while" Suddenly his hands are on your cheeks and his face comes closer. His lips touch yours. It's not urgent, not challenging, it's tender, slow, and intimate as he kisses you. Your heart almost flips over in your chest. As his lips very slowly, languidly break away from yours, you ask softly, "Would you like me to stay maybe a night or two?" Mayday smiles and replies," Please do."

The clinking of glasses fills the room, slowly at first until the cacophony echoes through the hall. The chatter of conversation falls away in much the same way, ending with a deafening silence.

You steady your breathing, actively keeping the tremor in your hands minute enough that you can read off your datapad. Opening your mouth, you realize you forgot your own glass. You hurriedly grab it before looking out at your family and friends, the warmth from their gazes flooding you.

“Welcome,” you say, letting your voice rise from your chest to carry through the room. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate our wedding. I know it was a long time coming.” A gentle laughter rolls from table to table, a few teasing looks are tossed your new husband’s way.

Husband. The word still felt odd, foreign. But so right it fills you with certainty.

“I promise I won’t keep you long. I just have a few words for my husband, and I wanted you all to hear them, too. They would have been vows, but someone didn’t get around to writing his.”

Playful jeering has your spouse rolling his eyes and shouting at his brothers. “We were literally running from the Empire!” His reasonable defense garners no sympathy. You are clearly their favorite.

When the roar calms to a whisper, you continue.

“My love, I know the road you’ve walked has not been an easy one. Some parts were quite lonely. My own has had some rough bumps, too. And while I wish I could take away your pain, I can’t regret the circumstances that brought you to me.

“Now, our paths have merged into one. I cannot promise the road ahead of us will be smooth. In fact, we both know it likely won’t be. But what I can promise is that you will never again walk it alone.”

You hear and feel your voice shaking, but it still rings clear and loud. You take a quick, shallow breath, knowing you are going to lose your composure as soon as you lift your eyes to meet your husband’s. A smile overtakes your lips without conscious thought as you vision blurs.

“No matter what we face, I pray that my heart will be the softest place you fall, and this love be the wildest place you run. I love you, Echo.”

You blink at your tears, forcing them over your lids to slide down your cheeks. With clearer vision, you can finally see how Echo is looking at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen. All the love that fills your heart to bursting is reflected back at you in his eyes.

He stands and in one quick step, his arm is around you and his lips are on you, kissing you deeply. Claiming you in front of everyone who means something to you for the second time that day.

“I love you so much, cyar’ika.”

Ahsoka stood on your front step, completely soaked through. You pulled her into your home, and with the sounds of the storm shut out with the closed door, you could properly hear her choked back sobs.

“‘Soka?”

“Barriss, she—she broke up with me.”

“Oh, baby.” Water be damned, you pulled her into a hug, softly stroking her cold montrals. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

She pulled back and wiped at her eyes, still sniffling. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m glad you came here. Do you want to talk about it?” She shook her head, water falling off of her. “Raid the closet for something dry, I’ll get you some food.”

She pulled you into another hug and mumbled, “Thank you,” into your chest.

You turned back into the kitchen and set the oven to preheat, then sent a quick message.

She’s with me.

After you put the frozen pizza into the oven and started on some cookie dough, your front door opened again. Heavy footsteps turned into soft ones as boots were taken off by the door to dry, then Rex stepped into your kitchen and wrapped his arms around you, tucking his chin on your shoulder.

You leaned back into him as he pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, giggling when sweater fluff got into his mouth and made him sputter. “Hey.”

“Hey. Cookies?”

“And pizza.“ You looked over your shoulder and kissed his jaw before saying quietly, “Barriss broke up with her. She walked here in the rain.”

“Ah, shit. Poor kid.”

“I’d wait for her to come downstairs before you get changed.”

“Probably a good call.” He moved around you and pulled out the brown sugar and flour and passed both of them to you. “And how was your day?”

“Camrac still hasn’t been fired, so, you know, it wasn’t great.” You grin at his muffled chuckle. “It was fine, nothing unexpected. I’m sure I’ll think of something worthwhile to tell you later.”

He smiled. “Looking forward to it.” He took the mixing bowl from your hands and covered the top with a towel, then put it in the fridge to chill. Then he pulled on the oven mitts and carefully removed the pizza from the oven.

Ahsoka appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, wearing one of your softest sweaters and some of Rex’s shorts, rubbing at her eye.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hi Rex.” She walked toward him and tucked herself into his side, his arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders. “Is that pizza?”

“And there’s cookie dough in the fridge.” You sliced the pizza and grabbed some plates. “Movie?”

She nodded. “Movie.”

The three of you arranged yourselves on the couch and got lost in the film. When the pizza and cookie dough were gone, Ahsoka’s head ended up in Rex’s lap, and his head ended up on your shoulder.

His eyes fluttered open as the credits started to roll. “I missed it?”

You snickered and kissed his cheek. “That’s why we picked one we’d all seen before.” You glanced down at the Togruta and smiled softly. “Will you carry her upstairs?”

“Yeah, I’ve got her, you go turn down the bed.”

You crouch down to her level and place a warm hand on her shoulder. “‘Soka?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re gonna take you upstairs.” She started to sit up and open her eyes, but you increased the pressure on her shoulder just barely. “Rex will carry you, baby, just lift your head.”

She did as you instructed and Rex lifted her easily, then they followed you up the stairs. You pulled the covers back on the spare bed, then tucked her in when Rex set her down, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then you plugged in a soft night light before closing the door.

Rex already had the shower running when you entered the en suite bathroom of your room, and you groaned as the eucalyptus scented steam filled the space. “You spoil me.”

“I treat you exactly the way you deserve.”

You both stripped down and stepped into the shower, grateful once again you installed the overhead shower head when you first moved in.

Rex’s hair was easy to wash, and you had him purring for you as you scratched product into his scalp.

He happily returned the favor.

The rain finally stopped as the two of you dried off, changed into pajamas, and slipped into bed. Rex, the living furnace, opened his arms and let you curl into him, your head on his chest. He hummed in contentment as he stroked his fingers up and down your back. Your eyes slowly started to close, and you hummed back.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Your family, all under one roof, safe and dry and warm.

Fives

Receiving/giving gifts

it's very important to Fives to be recognized as a citizen, not just a soldier

and since the clones aren't paid, he finds ways to gather credits when he can

you'd think he'd spend them on gambling or at 79's for a good time

but he's actually spending it in the ports on planets during down time or in the markets on Coruscant when he's on leave

nearly every member of the 501st, shiny or not, has a token from Fives

it's important to him to show his gratitude and love through an act that all citizens get to do

he'd appreciate the gesture back ten fold

it doesn't have to be anything fancy

and anything he can wear under his armor like a trinket he'll adore the most

Hardcase

Physical touch

he's hyperactive and can barely sit still for more than 10 minutes

like he told Fives, there was a leak in his growth acceleration chamber

part of his constant energy is gently touching those he trusts

he doesn't even realize he's doing it

but soft taps on his brothers shoulders, gentle pats on their backs as he approaches, a quick fist bump with Ahsoka after a mission

and ooooooooo does he melt when it's reciprocated

congratulatory pats on his back, a brotherly arm slung around his shoulders at 79's, or even when Echo gets him in a headlock knuckling his head

he's all for it

with you, it's guaranteed he'll have a hand on you at all times

if you're enjoying down time, be prepared to be locked in his arms, cuddled on his lap for the entirety of the activity

Kix

Quality time

Since Kix is a medic, he doesn't get the rest time after a mission like most of his brothers

he has to be in the healing tents, tending to his brothers, making sure those that can live will

so he's used to busy time

but he uses it as time to be with his brothers

sure, would he rather them not be shot to get there? of course. but the time spent with them while they heal is something Kix relishes in

he never gets one-on-one time with them otherwise

he also appreciates the small signs of healing as his brothers gain their sense of humor back or engage in more conversation with him

to him, this time with them means they're alive

this translates when in a relationship as well

even if its sitting in the common areas, quietly filling out reports together, he relishes in having time with you

the soft tap of your finger or your gentle hums in thought are his favorite soundtrack

Jesse

Words of affirmation

'the only time clones heard any form of praise on Kamino was when it came from their brothers

the Kaminoans were distant, and the bounty hunters weren't doling out compliments

Jesse made it a point to acknowledge his brothers' accomplishments no matter how small

he'd compliment every squad member walking off the training simulator as they walked by him and his squad waiting their turn

if he saw a brother improve on their melee skills he knew they were working on, he's the first one to acknowledge their hard work

After Umbara this is DOUBLED

it seems like he doesn't let a brother go a day without them knowing how much he appreciates them

is you want to see Jesse melt, tell him you're proud of him

Rex has seen this a plethora of time being a Captain who makes sure his troops' hard work is recognized

want to see his knees buckle? look him in the eye and tell him you love him