#coalescent

Shore leave comes and goes. Days, nights, weeks are spent in the vast expanse of space and unfamiliar terrain. Then shore leave comes again, just as it’ll go again. But for now, Rex takes it and holds it close, knowing that his feet only have a limited time on the Coruscanti ground before he’s once again somewhere in the Outer Rim – flying through the brilliant blues and whites of hyperspace. The only other place Rex truly feels safe other than on Kamino or when protected in the lanes of hyperspace onboard a Jedi cruiser is on Coruscant – and just being planetside within the bustling capital city grants him a breath of relief, even if only for a short while.

As usual, much is needed to be taken care of before Rex can bask in the time off. Having just docked about an hour ago, the captain’s presence was already requested at the Senate Complex for debriefing – Generals Skywalker and Kenobi expecting him.

While en route to the Senate, plans changed, as they often do. Rex’s mantle of Anakin Sykwalker’s second-in-command means that, more often than not, some adaptations are needed to be made, and quickly. Over the years he’s grown accustomed to the lack-of-planning and improvisation, which is really what the entire five-oh-first is known for – notoriously so. 

It could be worse. In Cody’s eyes, though, it can’t get much worse. 

And when General Skywalker had commed his captain with the request to meet him inside the Senate building before the debriefing, Rex had little doubt that he would be standing guard outside of Senator Amidala’s office. 

Better than at my barracks.

“I’ll just be a few minutes. Keep an eye out for me, will you, Rex?”

Yeah, yeah. 

“Of course, sir.”

He doesn’t actually mind it so much; it’s just that it’s never only a few minutes. It’s been several at this point, but that was to be expected. The average is fifteen.

Trying not to lean against the wall, Rex holds his helmet between his arm and side with his other hand on his hip, eyes constantly scanning the corridor from left to right. He feels awkward, as he always does when standing guard for his general’s ‘meetings’ with the senator from Naboo, and is trying not to shuffle back and forth – trying to stand as straight and composed as he can, which is something he never has a problem doing in other, less awkward situations. 

Another minute or so goes by when the sound of approaching footsteps rounds the corner to the left. Rex’s head snaps in that direction, his eyes doing little to hide their widening at the recognition of the person who is walking towards him. 

She’s caught with surprise upon seeing him – that smile – and with her hand that’s enclosed around a cup of caf, she raises it in greeting. The other hand holds a cup of caf as well, keeping it close to her chest.

Caf. 

Two cups.

“Rex, how are you? It’s been a little while.” Her steps quicken as she approaches, stopping mere feet from where he’s not letting himself lean on the wall behind him. He greets her and tries not to glance down at the cups in her hands – tries not to think about who they’re for as the wisps of steam swirl above the dark liquid.

“I’m fine. Just got back.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks, gesturing to their surroundings with her occupied hands but still sporting the same, elated smile.

“I, uh– ” he looks around, rubbing at the back of his head and straightening his shoulders when he feels his slight hunch in stance. “Waiting for the General.”

She nods and peeks around his pauldron, catching a glimpse of the nameplate on the wall just beside the controls. 

“Senator Amidala’s office,” she notes with admiration. “I hear she’s lovely – a true voice of the Republic.”

“That she is,” Rex agrees. “One of the few who care for us clones.”

She frowns – brows pinching in discontent. “I’m sure that can’t be true.”

Changing the subject, Rex decides to finally acknowledge the cups of caf she’s carrying. He nods at them. “Needed double the boost, I take it?”

Even though Rex knows who they’re for – unfortunately had to hear all about it the last time he was out with the boys – he brings it up anyway. Anything to keep him engaged as he waits for the General.

“You could say that,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m actually delivering the boost to someone who needs it far more than I do.”

If anyone were to need an energy boost, it’s Commander Fox. 

“That’s very nice of you,” Rex says genuinely. 

She smiles – tilting her chin down as if suddenly bashful. “Well, I better get the caf to its destination before it gets cold.” Her chin gestures towards the right, where she’d been heading before stopping to chit chat with Rex. 

Rex bows his head respectfully, not taking his eyes off her as she walks away – a crush-ridden di’kut. As she disappears around the corner, he can’t help but think about the caf’s unnamed destination – her destination. There’s no doubt in his mind that she’s heading to a certain Corrie Commander’s office, especially since she turned the corner that leads to the corridor of which it’s located. 

She never did mention Fox’s name, though. In the back of his mind he theorizes that perhaps she’s trying to spare him in a sense – doesn’t want to flaunt her trysts with Fox in front of him. Although it’s unnecessary, Rex feels oddly comforted by it – but perplexed at the same time.

Another several minutes go by when she rounds the corner again, hands now empty and folded behind her back. As she approaches, he notices the slightest swell in her lips, appearing to be flusher than they were just a little bit ago.

The implication not only has him having to swallow down the disappointment and jealousy burning in his throat, but the indecent image that flashes in his mind makes him shift his weight between feet, furtively adjusting the slight discomfort pulsating at his groin.

“Oh! You’re still here,” she observes, deftly and subtly straightening out her top.

He nods, bringing up his arm and checking the time displayed on his communicator. “Indeed I am.” 

“I would have brought you caf too, If I’d known you’d be here.” She gestures to the side with her thumb. “I’d be happy to bring you some now. I’m still on break.”

He hums, grinning and shaking his head in dismissal. “I do appreciate that, but there’s no need.”

A moment of silence falls between them – her shoe dragging across the floor. 

“If you'd like, we could grab some later?” Rex’s heart skips a beat and she then hastily adds: “I mean, only if you’re able to.” 

He doesn’t need to think about it.

“I would like that.”

“Okay,” she says giddily. “You wanna meet out front, after I get off? 1800.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be there.”

When she disappears around the corner Rex finally lets out the breath he’d unknowingly been holding in. His heart still racing, he checks the time and creates a schedule in his head that should fit the remaining things he needs to do today before he’d be returning to meet her. Still stationed outside the senator’s office and with only a few hours until then, he continuously checks the time every thirty seconds or so, until finally the door slides open – Rex straightening his stance just as General Skywalker steps out, the door quickly shutting behind him.

His dark robes only slightly disturbed, Anakin raises a brow – looks around the corridor then back at Rex.

“Who were you talking to out here?”

“Huh?” Rex blinks at him. “Oh, uh, no one, sir.”

“Rex,” Anakin teasingly drawls.

Shouldn't be any harm in sharing. There’s nothing to hide.

“She’s a medical assistant that works several stories below, sir. At the Medcenter.”

“Oh?” Both brows are raised now, folding his arms across his chest and smirking. “And you know her how?”

The memory of Rex’s first sight of her comes just as quickly as it goes, making his heart flutter and groin tingle. He hopes his internal frenzy goes unnoticed by the Jedi. 

“Met her while the boys and I were out one night, about a month ago.” Rex holds back a little quirk threatening to upturn his lips. “I’ve run into her a few times since then.”

Only slightly taller, Anakin leans towards him. “You wanna tell me about her?”

Rex clears his throat, mentally clambering for a change in subject – and probably not too subtly. “With all due respect, General, shouldn’t we get to the debriefing? General Kenobi is already over there.”

Anakin grins. “Okay, Rex.” He brushes by him, waving at a relieved Rex to follow. “C’mon – wouldn’t want to keep Obi-Wan waiting.”

-

Sitting on a bench on the grounds in front of the Senate, Rex pulls out his pocket comm and checks the time. 1730.

He sighs. He’s a little early. 

The sun has started to lower, casting a warm glow on the towering statues and waving flags that line the grand walkway to the entrance of the mushroom shaped building. Before Rex’s eyes the skylanes above begin to become denser – the speed of traffic slowing. He keeps himself busy by watching the speeders above, imagining what it would be like to be able to go wherever he pleased – to just drive – not being bound to duty. He wonders what people truly do, if they’re not fighting for the Republic or working to keep the cogs of democracy moving. Such thoughts have plagued his mind before and he figured that it’s best to push them aside, not granting them room to linger dangerously in his mind for too long. 

Maintaining his posture seated on the bench, Rex fiddles with the buttons of his deep blue shirt – incessantly straightens the material by tugging on the hem. His shoes seem too shiny – his pants a little tight. The entire outfit feels entirely wrong even though he knows he looks presentable. It feels wrong and undeserving – to be donned in something normal. Before leaving the barracks, Rex had looked at himself in the polished slab of durasteel that they use as a mirror, checking to see if the clothing fit him correctly probably more times than needed. It was a strange sight – being dressed in something other than what normally marks him as a clone soldier. 

He had to admit though – then and even now, as he contemplates every decision he’s made today that’s led him to this point – he looks good. 

The outfit is one that General Skywalker was able to get for him. Of course he’s thankful for the pants, button down, and shoes; it was all obviously more casual than wearing his armor or feeling naked and vulnerable in just his undersuit – it's just that it was a bit embarrassing to ask for it all. 

For pretty much the entirety of the debriefing Rex had contemplated what he was going to wear and how he was going to acquire it. He’d then realized that there would be no other way to look presentable unless he reached out to the one person he knew would assist – even knowing that he’d never hear the end of it.

So after stepping out of the wrapped-up debriefing, Rex had pulled his general aside, pitching his voice low.

“Sir. Can I, uh, ask for a favor?”

“Anything, Rex.” Anakin crossed his arms, rubbing at his chin the way General Kenobi so often does. “Let me guess… does it have something to do with that medical assistant you were speaking to earlier?”

“You could say that.” Rex scrubbed a hand down his face, quickly looking around to ensure no one could hear him. Even so, he lowered his voice. “Sir… I need something to wear.”

Anakin was grinning – a hand placed on Rex’s shoulder. “Say no more.”

Still sitting on the bench he can still hear General Skywalker’s “Make good choices, Captain!” that he’d called out to him as he was leaving with the bag containing the loaned outfit – heated face and trying not to peek to see who may have been around.

He checks the time again. 1745. 

He’d be lying if he said he isn’t nervous. He’s intimidated. Intimidated – Captain Rex. It’s a feeling he definitely is not used to and it’s making his foot tap anxiously against the duracrete. She’s involved with someone else – to what extent, he doesn’t quite understand – but signals have been shot off in Rex’s direction for him to either catch or get hit with. It’s clear yet it’s not. She seems interested yet she’s blowing Fox in his office and she has been sidestepping the signs that show involvement with the commander whenever Rex is present. 

What am I doing…

“Rex?”

Her voice pulls him out of his funk and he’s quickly standing and turning to greet her – everything on his mind jettisoned into the vast expanse of space. Her brows raise upon seeing him, mouth falling open and eyes widening as she looks him up and down.

He shuffles awkwardly, suddenly very self-conscious and regretting every single–

“Wow,” she exclaims. “You sure clean up nice.”

“Oh, uh–.” He rubs at the back of his head, curving his pressed lips into a smile. “Thank you.”

She smirks, glancing down at her shoe as she drags the toe of it against the ground. A quirk of hers. “So, where are you taking me, Rex?”

It takes mere seconds for him to scramble. “Oh! I thought you– aren’t we going for caf?”

“I’m just messing with you,” she chuckles, brushing his elbow with her fingers. “C’mon. I know a place.”

They end up at a small, hole-in-the-wall shop, smelling of roasted beans and berries. The walls are painted a darker color, almost black, and are accented with lanterns strung in a zig-zag pattern from one end to the other. Hand paintings cover one of the far walls, of various flora and fauna that Rex can’t place. The chandelier that hangs from the ceiling in the center is made with old bean cans, holes drilled into the dented and bent-up canisters that allow the light to shine through. 

It’s cozy – welcoming. 

Only one other couple is present, two Twi’leks, who are seated by the entrance. Rex noticed them upon walking in, and they shot him a curious glance, more than likely recognizing him as a clone trooper even in his current attire. He pays them no mind, instead following behind his companion as she leads him to the counter, looking over her shoulder and grinning at him.

Approaching the counter to order, he’s totally lost. It seems like a million items are written on the large board, little drawings and symbols detailed beside each one. He half-listens as she orders but decides he’ll have the same. She pays without a second thought – already counting the credits in her hand and passing them to the barista before Rex heard the total. He does happen to have some credits with him – ones he’d saved for a rainy day. 

Too late.

“How’d you come across this place?” Rex asks as they take a small booth in the back, steaming hot mugs in their hands. The top layer is thick and the opposite color of the caf he’s used to and he’s almost hesitant to try it. But it smells delicious and fills his nostrils with a smell that’s fitting to the setting and current company. 

“Found it my first week here,” she starts to explain after taking the first sip from her mug, crinkling her nose from the temperature. “It’s cozy and welcoming – made me feel right at home when things were scary and new.”

“I like it,” Rex says. “It’s quaint.”

“That’s why I like it, too. Not many people know about it.” She takes a sip – foam clinging to her lip. “Now don’t go telling the others about it,” she teases.

Rex chuckles, gesturing to his own lips as she licks along hers. “Don’t worry. The last thing a place like this needs is a Fives coming in and dancing up on the tables.”

She snorts – nearly spits out her sip. 

They drink their caf, Rex surprisingly starting to enjoy the foamy, creamy beverage rather than simply tolerating it. With every sip a light tickle clings to his upper lip and he sneakily licks it away before bringing the mug down.

“I’m overdressed,” Rex points out. 

“Now what makes you say that?” she pokes, gesturing to the beverages in their hands and the surrounding atmosphere. “You’re fine, trust me. Do you wear ‘normal’ clothes often?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, how does it feel?”

“Weird,” he replies, and they both break out in laughter. 

“You do look handsome, though. Never thought I’d see you without your armor.”

Unsure of how to respond other than to offer her a grateful smile, a natural break in conversation then fills some time as they continue to drink their caf. Rex looks around the shop, at every little detail, appreciating the dedication the owner had put into a place like this. He never really had considered that caf could come from somewhere other than ground-up and sealed in ration packaging, let alone served in a plethora of creative ways. 

They finish their drinks at the same time, taking the last sips and pushing the mugs towards the center of the small table.

I could drink another one of those.

“So…” She drums her fingers against the edge of the table. “How long until you ship out again?”

Rex closes his eyes in thought, replaying what details he can remember that had been discussed earlier about the next mission that he may or may not have heard while a teensy bit distracted. “Tomorrow evening, now. 2200 hours.”

Her lips purse together. “For how long?”

“Not sure. We’re heading back out to the Outer Rim, so it could be anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months.” 

She nods and looks off towards the mural on the back wall, swishing her lips side to side – pondering.

“This might be a weird question,” she starts, fingers threading together. “But would it be at all possible to… contact you, while you’re away?”

Rex considers her question, pulling out his pocket communicator and giving it a look. “It would be, I suppose. On a private frequency.” She bites her lip and it hits him. “Oh– you… you want to…?”

She laughs. “Yeah, I mean, if you’d be up for that. I enjoy talking to you, Rex.”

He beams then bites his lip to keep it together – to maintain his eager enthusiasm. “Yes, yeah, I can give you my frequency.” 

-

Several days have gone by since Rex’s little outing with her. In the small breaks between the mission-mindset soldier and the battle strategizing captain, he would remember how nice it felt to have been able to sit across from her like that, conversing casually while in a cozy, relaxed setting. During a few of the more difficult and mentally strenuous moments of this mission, Rex would even go so far as to imagine himself there again – clutching a mug of magical, abnormal caf and gazing into her warm eyes. 

Every of the last several nights, alternating between a bunk and a tent depending on where his battalion had ended up, Rex has patiently waited for her to make contact. He’d given her his private frequency – something that only a handful of people have – something that he’d only trust a handful of people with. She seemed grateful and excited to have a way to contact him while he was away, but even so, Rex finds himself losing hope that she’ll make contact. 

Then while settling down for the evening, unpacking his personal belongings and getting as organized as he can for his own peace of mind, a message comes through and is displayed on the screen of his ‘pad, sent by an unknown, unsaved frequency. 

345-GCJ-90-X-5: Just randomly thought about you wearing that button down in the middle of a battle while holding a mug of caf. It’s quite humorous. 

The unique greeting makes him smile like a damn fool, and before typing out his reply he changes and saves the contact name into something more endearing – inputs the first name that comes to mind. 

Rex: That is nowhere near regulation. 

Cyar’ika: Glad you can take a joke. 

Rex: At least I’d fit in because of its color.

Cyar’ika: Because your armor is painted blue. Funny.

More days then go by – weeks. It's gotten easier to talk to her – not having to feel the inadvertent intimidation of her eyes looking into his. They fall into an almost natural rhythm, messaging one another around the same time every few days, and Rex for the most part is able to reply in the evenings once settled in for the night. Their conversations are mostly brief, a simple back and forth consisting of sharable updates from his mission and small anecdotes from her work. 

It starts to feel like he’s known her forever. 

About three weeks in, Rex can feel that this mission should be wrapping up soon. Separatist forces have fallen back and the civilians have since been successfully relocated to a safe, unthreatened sector of the planet. His duties have lightened now that the threat isn’t severe, rewarding Rex with a little extra downtime between strategizing and working on reports. Knowing he is able to just relax for the night fuels his desire to converse – to keep it going with questions and honest answers.

They’ve been going back and forth for about a half an hour. She tells him what she ate for dinner because he asked. When she asks the same, his answer isn't as exciting. She asks him how his day was. He asks her the same. Mundane questions soon branch into genuine inquisitions. Rex grows bolder with the questions he’s wanted to ask for a while now – the ease of conversation casting a light on his curiosity – leading him to where they are in the exchange now.

Rex: Can I ask you about your husband?

Cyar’ika: Sure.

Rex: How did he die?

Cyar’ika: It was an infection. 

Cyar’ika: A lot of people from our village had suddenly and inexplicably gotten ill and my husband threw everything into trying to treat them.

Rex: He was a medic?

Cyar’ika: Yes. 

Cyar’ika: A caring, dedicated one at that. Inspired me to follow in his footsteps. 

Rex: Sounds like he was a good man.

Cyar’ika: He really was. 

He stares at the screen, contemplating his next message. Several moments go by as his curiosity strengthens. 

Rex: What caused the infection?

Cyar’ika: Contaminated water supply. We didn’t realize what it was until a lot of lives were lost, including his.

Rex: I’m so sorry.

Rex leans back against the pillow and stares up at the peak of the tent. He wishes he could be there for her as she recounts the loss – hold her and offer his sincere expressions in place of the words that he has trouble finding. Bringing the ‘pad up to his face, he sees another message has popped up.

Cyar’ika: I still don’t understand it. He didn’t come home for days and wasn’t even experiencing symptoms as the others were, so when he didn’t wake up on the fourth morning, it was completely unexpected.

This is one of those moments where Rex is worried that what he wants to say will be taken the wrong way, because all that comes to his mind is the connection of what dots she’s given him. For a man bound to his duty – his life tied to every aspect of it – Rex unwittingly puts himself in her late husband’s shoes. 

Rex: Maybe he knew he was sick and hid it from you.

The response is quick.

Cyar’ika: What do you mean?

And Rex knows if he truly had been in the medic’s shoes, with a wife at home who would no doubt worry about him if she would have known that he really was experiencing all the symptoms as the other victims – he too would’ve kept it under wraps so that he could continue doing his duty.

Rex: Sounds to me like he was putting his duty above all else, but mainly, he didn’t want to worry you.

A minute goes by without a reply. A sick feeling swirls in his gut.

Rex: Apologies. I’m overstepping. 

Cyar’ika: No, it’s okay. 

A small wash of relief.

Cyar’ika: I’m getting tired. 

Cyar'ika: Be careful out there, Rex.

Silently scolding himself with his head in his hands, Rex processes what he’d just done. The conversation didn’t have to end like that – but because of him, it did. Respecting her implicit request, he sends her one last message. 

Rex: Always. Good night.

-

A day goes by. Night comes again. After having cleaned off in the nearby river, Rex is back in his tent, now unclasping the pieces of his armor and stacking them in a neat pile. Retrieving his ‘pad from his private things, he sees a message on the screen that came in only fifteen minutes ago.

Cyar’ika: Rex?

Rex: I’m here. Everything okay?

She doesn't respond right away, and Rex takes the opportunity to change into a fresh undersuit. Climbing into the little bed on the floor, he waits only a moment longer until her reply pops up.

Cyar’ika: This is going to sound strange.

Rex: Try me.

Cyar’ika: I’ve been thinking about what happened to my husband.

He goes to type when another message appears.

Cyar’ika: I just need someone to talk to right now. 

Rex: I’m here. Back at camp for the night.

Cyar’ika: I’ve thought a lot about what you said the other day. 

His fingers hover over the characters, dancing in the air as he decides how to respond.

Rex: I’m sorry for overstepping. It was not my place.

Cyar’ika: Don’t apologize, Rex. It gave me a lot to consider. 

Rex: What do you mean?

Cyar’ika: How could I have been so blind? 

Rex: Don’t do that to yourself. You weren’t blind. 

Cyar’ika: He told me not to visit him while he was working and I never fought him about not coming home. I didn’t even notice that he was dying. I should have known something was wrong.

Rex: It’s not your fault. 

Rex: He didn’t want you to know. 

Cyar’ika: He knew he was dying and didn’t want me to know that?

Rex: What he wanted was to protect you, cyar’ika. 

He leaves it at that, and it stays unanswered for a good couple of minutes. It isn’t until Rex gets the next message that he realizes he’d let the name slip through the fumble of his fingers. 

Cyar’ika: ‘Cyar’ika’? What is that?

That's what she is to him now – perhaps since their first genuine interaction. That’s what Rex hears in his head when she comes to mind. The nickname rings and bleeds into him – eclipses the name she was born with.

Rex: It’s a term of endearment. 

Cyar’ika: I see. I’ve never heard that before.

It’s clear to Rex that if she’s never heard it before, then it’s not something that has come from Fox’s mouth when addressing her. It’s foreign and new to her and Rex knowing that he’s the first person to introduce it to her, even though threaded within a voiceless conversation, gives him a boost of what he could only describe as hope.

Cyar’ika: Can I ask you something?

Rex: Shoot.

Cyar’ika: How do you know that my husband was protecting me? He lied to me.

The mood changes back. He has an opportunity to lie to her here – to say something with the sole purpose of either making her feel better or to lead the subject into something else – but he won’t. 

Rex: It’s the same thing I would have done, cyar’ika. 

Cyar’ika: You would lie to me, Rex? 

Rex: If it meant protecting you while I did my duty, then yes. 

Men bound to duty. Men with pieces of their hearts pledged to another. Men who’d do anything to protect those they care about. 

Men like her late husband – and Rex.

Cyar’ika: You would protect me?

Rex: Of course. 

Cyar’ika: So, I’d be safe with you?

Rex: You would. You are.

Cyar’ika: Can I ask you something else? Something personal?

Rex: Go ahead, cyar’ika.

Cyar’ika: When was the last time you’ve been with a woman, Rex?

The question strikes him as odd at first, but after revisiting the previous several messages, he recognizes them as a lead into this very subject. She’s getting a feel for him – dipping her toe into something he so very badly wants to give her without the need to dance around it. 

Rex thinks back to his last encounter with another – the last time he was intimate with a woman. It’s probably been close to a year, and even then, after it had just happened, it was nothing to linger on. He’d just gotten back from a devastating mission and the sex was quick, sloppy, and over too soon. What it was – it was release. A way to expel his frustration with himself because of the how the mission had fucked him. 

After that – after feeling dirty and shameful for the way he’d handled himself so poorly in response to his own self-doubt – Rex learned to deal with his shit in different, less harmful ways. 

Rex: It’s been a while. Haven’t gotten out much. 

Anxiously, he adds:

Rex: Maybe I’m just waiting for the right one to come along.

Cyar’ika: Is that right? What does ‘the right one’ mean for Captain Rex?

Cyar’ika: Someone like me? 

Cyar’ika: I’m just messing with you…

He can practically hear her laugh – the sparkle in her eyes. It makes him grin.

Rex: You’re not too far off.

Cyar’ika: I need to ask you something else. Be honest with me, okay? 

Cyar’ika: Do you think about me?

His heart is pounding.

Rex: Yes.

Less than a minute goes by.

Cyar’ika: Have you thought about me in other ways?

Osik. Of course he has – more times than he’d like to admit but does he flat out say it? His fingers try, delete, and retry a few different responses, finally landing on something simple. Rex has gone this far and there’s no reason to tread lightly around the full, unadulterated truth now. His heart is practically drumming out of his chest as he sends the message and quickly tosses the ‘pad from his hands.

Rex: I have.

Several long seconds later, he picks it back up.

Cyar’ika: I've also thought about you.

Something new sparks in Rex – makes his heart beat heavily but with a different meaning. 

Rex: Tell me what you’ve thought about.

Cyar’ika: I’ve imagined what you look like underneath all that armor. The closest I’ve gotten to knowing was when we went out for caf that one night. 

Cyar’ika: You looked damn good that night, Rex.

He smiles and chuckles to himself. He did look good. The outfit had begun to feel more like him as he became more comfortable in it – with her putting him at ease. 

Rex: I’ve imagined the same thing. Thought about your body a lot, especially after seeing you dance. 

Cyar’ika: Oh, I’d be happy to treat you to a private dance, Captain. Would you like that?

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he chews his lip. The first moment he laid eyes on her was when she was dancing – Rex putting himself into her partner’s place behind her and holding her close. 

Rex: I would. 

Rex starts to type out how he’d like more than just a dance, but quickly deletes the characters to make room for a different reply just as her next messages pop up.

Cyar’ika: What if I said that I’m thinking about you right now? 

Cyar’ika: I’m just laying here. I wish you were next to me.

A new type of tenacity kindles within him. Desire-fueled intrigue pools in his belly – takes the reins. 

Rex: Oh yeah? What would happen if I were next to you right now?

Cyar’ika: Well, you’d see that I’m hardly wearing anything. I just took a shower before I messaged you. 

Rex: I’m sure that’s quite a sight. It’s a shame I’m across the galaxy, mesh’la. 

Cyar’ika: Would you like to see?

Before Rex can send his rapidly typed and eager affirmation, an attachment comes through.

Cyar’ika: -attachment: image-

Rex opens the attachment, and his jaw nearly falls from his skull. From the angle of the image, she took the holo going down her body from where her face is, and she’s laying on her back, surrounded by disturbed sheets but torso not at all covered. Right in the bottom center of the image are her laced-covered breasts, and moving upwards is a matching pair of lace underwear seen before the sheet is draped along her thighs – the hand not holding the device draped over her stomach just below her bra. He’s never seen so much skin on her and it’s taking every ounce of control to not do something about what lies in front of him on the screen.

He then realizes it’s been over a minute of him ogling over her body.

Rex: Wow. Gorgeous, cyar’ika. I wish I were next to you, too. 

Oh, how badly he does.

Cyar’ika: Rex?

Rex: Hm?

Cyar’ika: What would you do to me if you were here with me right now?

With that question in mind, Rex reopens the attachment. His eyes take in every single detail as shown in the image, unsure of where he’d start. It’s all so perfect. He’d want to be everywhere at once. Take his time. Map her out.

Rex: Mesh’la, I wouldn’t even know where to start. 

His message goes unanswered for a while, so long that Rex begins to think she’s fallen asleep. Fifteen minutes go by of him being unable to rip his eyes away from the image as he fights the urge to reach his hand into his briefs when a message finally appears.

Cyar’ika: -attachment: image-

He opens it.

And this one sends a wave of pricking arousal through his entire body, making his cock twitch and chest tighten.

This one includes her face – ties it all together. She’s looking into the device the same way she looked at Rex in his dream – the sultry smile and warm, lustful eyes. The device must have been propped up somewhere because it’s a whole body shot. She’s kneeling on the bed, hands looking to be in the middle of running down her torso, fingers stopped just at the band of her lacy underwear, threatening to tug them down in the slightest. 

Cyar’ika: I'm thinking about you right now, Rex.

He’s playing with fire – stoking it. The hole has been dug to the planet’s core and Rex is looking out of it from the very bottom. He’s stuck thousands upon thousands of feet below with no chance of escape.  

In truth, he doesn’t want to escape.

Rex: Tell me what you’re thinking about. Everything.

He’s lost in it. Completely drowning and not willing to come up for breath. 

Cyar’ika: Your hands all over me. Touching me. Feeling me.

Cyar’ika: Your lips, too. I bet they’re soft and warm and know exactly what to do.

Cyar’ika: And your arms. You’re so strong I bet you could handle me in ways that I can only imagine. 

Rex shuts his eyes, picturing himself doing the very things she has described in rapid succession. His mind takes him right to her – caressing her skin – trailing appreciative kisses down her body – holding her close. Deep, measured breaths have his chest caving and expanding with restraint. He's throbbing in his briefs but he won’t touch himself – not like this with her on the other line. It doesn’t feel right. Not when he can’t give her something in return.

He types and sends a product of amativeness – fingers moving quicker than he can think.

Rex: Next time I’m there, you’ll see. 

He looks over what he just sent – satisfied. With it though, Rex is flooded with ideas on how he’ll make good on his promise. In moments he’s practicing self-restraint – not wanting to send her anything that he’d regret when in a more sober state. 

Right now, the hunger within him is screaming for a way out. It’s practically clawing its way into the way his limbs threaten to act on their own accord. What remains of Rex’s composure is thrown into one last message.

Rex: I need to get some sleep. Good night, mesh’la.

What he needs is relief.

Cyar’ika: I’ll be waiting for you, Rex. Sweet dreams x

Throwing the ‘pad to the side, he chews his lip, shutting his eyes and trying to push the images away. Instead of fading, newer and obscene scenarios begin to blossom behind his shut eyelids. The allure creates an intoxicating pull, dragging Rex’s mind into the darkest depths of desire. Impossible to escape the carnal crevice, he subconsciously burrows deeper, allowing the imagined sensations to wash over him. 

Now that he’s ended the conversation, he’s free. Rex shakes his head against his pillow but doesn’t do anything to stop his hand from sliding down his abdomen – fingers tapping against the waistband of his bottoms. He’s never felt her bare skin on his, but right here and now, he imagines how her hand would feel gliding through the band on his briefs – brushing against the maintained hairs – wrapping around his cock. As he conjures the scenario, his hand acts it out, handling himself the way he’d want her to. 

Don’t tease me, mesh’la. 

Rex frees himself from his briefs, already achingly hard and throbbing in his hand – precum glistening at the tip. Releasing himself, he spits on his palm, then grabs his cock once again and stimulates it with a few, slow, experimental strokes. His entire body shudders at the blend of mental images coinciding with the touch and he bites back a groan of relief – too long since he’s had the opportunity to work one out – too long since these sensations have overtaken him. 

With the fictional image playing out before him, Rex pumps himself with his spit-slicked hand, providing extra attention and friction to the underside where he’s most sensitive. Wearing the same lacing garments as in the images from tonight, he sees her tilting her head at him with mischievous eyes upon taking notice of how he sighs and gasps as she finds that spot.

Just like that, pretty girl… 

Beads of sweat form along his brow – scrunched in focus. Her little hums of praise echo in his ears and he works his hand quicker, fisting himself from base to tip, offering a squeeze to the latter every several strokes. Warmth floods his clenching abdomen – a tingling shooting to his toes. A seductive smile remains on her face as her eyes peer up and lock with his, whispering for him to let go – to let go for her. 

I’m gonna–

He’s outside of his body. A wash of euphoria – the swell and burst. Thighs twitching and heart rate elevated, Rex cums into the hand cupped over the head of his cock. 

It doesn’t end quickly – hips bucking into his hand for a solid minute – breathing held in an attempt to control it. Rex shivers at the overstimulation as he works out every last bit with little squeezes and short, rapid strokes to the head. A brief cloud of shame descends upon him but lifts in a matter of moments when he realizes that she, too, may have just done the same thing. 

“I’m thinking about you right now, Rex”

Without needing to look back on their conversation he’s able to scroll through her messages from memory, sighing heavily at just how intense their chat had become in the matter of minutes. She thinks about him – in those ways. Rex has never been in a situation quite like this before and as he tucks himself back into his briefs, he starts to think about the intentions – the possible future. She wants him – and just as sure the galaxy is immeasurable, he wants her. 

Smiling to himself, a layer of tension lifts from his body, accompanied by any remaining irresolution and hesitance. They want each other. It’s mutual – that much has been revealed.

Scheduled to be back on Coruscant within the next few days, Rex decides he’s going to do something about it.

-

Rex has not been able to get her out of his mind, and as soon as he’d confirmed the docking schedule and debriefing itinerary while en route to Coruscant, he reached out to her.

Rex: I’ll be back tonight. The boys are wanting to go out. I hope you can be there.

Cyar’ika: I’ll be there. See you soon x

This time, Rex didn’t pass up the invite when earlier in the day his men had brought up going out for drinks later.

He’s practically strutting into 79’s, feet lighter with a form of swagger that comes from the promise of seeing her again in this new light. He’d decided earlier that he’d forgo the top half of his armor – the cuirass, vambraces, rerebraces, and everything else in between. A fresh, clean undersuit clings to his abdomen, chest, and arms and yes, it was intentional – a perceptible prelude for what should happen later. 

Rex is going to sit with her – offer her gentle brushes and glances – make it known throughout the entirety of their time here that later he’s going to slowly break her apart piece by piece and study every aspect of her before putting her back together again. She’s waiting for him, more than likely seated with the others in their booth. His heart is pounding. He’s eager and excited but also can’t help the touch of nerves that come with something Rex has never dealt with before. This is all so new to him but he wouldn’t want to learn it any other way with any other person.

Making his way through clusters of officers and shinies, Rex’s sight of the boys in blue becomes set. He can’t help the dorky grin that stretches his lips when he sees her, sitting beside Fives at the end of the booth with a glass of something colorful on the table in front of her. He steps a little quicker, still having to weave through other clones gathered together by similar colors painted in various designs on their armor. She turns and smiles upon noticing him and his heart is racing but then everything stops. A splash of red enters the wave of blue in the same moment. 

Fox comes from out of left field, a hand settling on her shoulder and her eyes leave Rex to instead greet the commander. Rex’s smile fades. 

“Rex!”

Blinking himself back into a good mood, Rex forces his smile to return when seeing Fives waving at him, calling him over to join them.

Fox just happened to get there before me. It’s fine.

Fox has taken the seat beside her. Rex instead slides in beside Jesse across from them. From the inside center of the booth, Kix and Hardcase greet the captain, sliding him a full glass of beer as he settles in. 

Taking a slow, long sip, Rex looks at her. For the first time in a month – after all their wall-crumbling talking and sharing – he’s in front of her. A month of at first braving the situations to falling into the comforting rhythm as the weeks went on. A month of longing to see her – and here she is.

She’s here – squeezed beside Fox.

It’s fine. I’ll get my chance.

Except as the minutes go on, soon bleeding into close to an hour killed sitting there drinking, talking, and laughing – the same thing every time – Rex gets the sense that no, he won’t be getting his chance tonight. Something doesn’t feel right. She and Fox are speaking as if they’re one in the same person. They’re addressing the others like they’re glued at the hip and fuck, the way they’re seated that close to each other, squeezed in after three other members of the Guard have joined, they really do appear to be glued at the hip.

Feeling slightly irritable now, and not wanting to showcase that to her or the others, Rex keeps his mouth shut. Sips his beer. Lets the alcohol lift the bad mood from his bones. Listens to everyone else. Tries not to glance at her. 

He hides his hurt in a way that shows it, if anything. 

The guys start to discuss dancing – the music tracks becoming bouncier and fluid. Jesse then leans in towards the left, acknowledging Fox with a smirk. “You going to be dancing tonight, sir?”

Kix snorts. “That wasn’t dancing,” he sing-songs, elbowing a snickering Hardcase. 

“This one really knows how to move,” Fox says appreciatively, stretching his arm and draping it over her shoulder.

That wounds Rex.

Her eyes flash with something Rex can’t place, and looking away just as quickly as Rex had glanced, Fives speaks his name. Try as he might to push his complete focus to Fives, Rex then catches a glimpse of how Fox has now leaned closer to her, lips almost brushing her ear – saying something to her for only her to hear.

It stings.

“Want another round?” Fives asks with a mild look of concern carried in the weight of his expression. Rex only half hears the ARC, instead inadvertently focusing on the two sitting too fucking close to each other. Her lips press into a line in what Rex reads as an attempt to hide a cheeky grin in response to his words. She looks to be leaned into Fox’s side and when did the music get this fucking loud.

“Maybe later,” she dismisses whatever Fox has said to her, quickly turning her attention back to Rex as she notices that he’s looking. 

All the flashing and thumping is making his head spin and an unpleasant simmer is rising in his throat – muddles the sting of alcohol. The lights, suddenly blinding, puncture straight into his skull. Rex looks to Fives, rubbing the back of his neck to call attention to the signs of a budding headache. 

“I’m gonna get some air.” 

Rex’s head does hurt. His heart aches now, too. Something has lodged itself between his ribs – pierces him with every step. He feels her eyes on him as he’s sliding out and it burns him all over – reaches behind his own eyes.

He doesn’t recall leaving the group until the cool air hits him as he practically pushes a cluster of inebriated officers out of the way of the doors. Making a beeline to the edge of the platform, the hum of music follows him out, dulling as he steps further and further away until it’s only a distant vibration. 

Rex braces himself against the railing. Every single message that they’d exchanged while he was away comes back to him, the words flying across the dark screen of his shut eyelids. It was naive of him to think that she wouldn’t still be hanging out with Fox – fucking him – while spending many evenings talking to Rex and easing his walls down little by little throughout the duration of his deployment. Once they’d collapsed, after the ground had halted its quaking and the dust had settled, he let her in. It was easy and effortless at that point and all Rex wanted to do was let himself be consumed by her. From the emotional, more personal conversations to the mundane ones, hells, even to the sexual one – Rex found himself at the very bottom of the hole. He dug it himself but the labor wasn’t nearly as strenuous with her facilitation. 

The music from inside seeps into the air as the doors open then close again.

“Rex, what’s going on?” her voice calls. He hears her footfalls quicken as she half-jogs to his position. Of course she followed him out. He was almost anticipating it – but still turns his head over his shoulder and towards her unprepared and blanketed by the weight of regret.

“Nothing. Just needed some air.”

She crosses her arms. “You’re a flimsy liar.” 

He shakes his head, dropping it between his extended arms. 

“I guess I was expecting things to be different,” he explains quietly, talking down into the open air below. “After what happened between us while I was away.”

Her lips form into a line and her eyes flicker to the entrance as the door opens for a couple entering, the music filling the vast platform air for brief moments until the door shuts again. 

“Things are different with us now. We both came here with the intention to pick up where we left off.”

“That’s why I came here,” Rex corrects, setting his chin into his open palm, elbows now resting on the railing. “I came here to–” He cuts himself off, but resumes after a breath. “To be the one.”

“Is this about Fox?” She frowns. “Rex, Fox offered to pick me up and bring me. It was my understanding that he was one of the ones you’d mentioned wanting to go out tonight?”

“It’s not about who you came with,” he sighs. “It’s how close the two of you are.” He points in the direction of the club. “And tonight, you two were very close.”

Rex feels the burn of tears building but blinks them away, once again turning his face away from her sight. 

“I can’t be here right now,” he mutters, standing up straight with his back kept to her. “Take care, mesh’la.”

As he starts to walk away, getting no more than a few steps, she softly asks: “Why are you being jealous?”

Her words lack venom but sting him all the same. His heart drops into his stomach – hurt seeping deep into his marrow. When he does turn back to her it’s obvious on his face – the unshed tears – the defeated body language. Seeing this depicted has her instantly knitting her brows and frowning with remorse.

“I’m sorry. That was unfair of me. Listen, Fox and I… I mean we– we’re not– it’s not like that, believe me.” She approaches him, tentatively reaching for his arm. “With you, it’s diff– ”

“You don’t know what you want.” He cuts her off and steps back, shaking his head. “I don’t think you even realize what you’re doing.” 

She opens her mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. Rex continues – words flying out of him before he can think.

“Just because we’re clones doesn’t mean that we don’t have feelings,” he snaps. “We’re people. We have hearts. We get hurt when we’re used and we’re not fucking expendable.” 

“I…” Her voice breaks, hands falling to her sides. “I’m sorry, Rex.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He shakes his head, turning his back to her once again. He continues, voice lowering as he speaks more to himself than to her. “For letting myself get this far.”

Rex has nothing left to say – needing some time to gather his thoughts away from everything and everyone and this place. 

Without another word or spared glance, he leaves her there on the platform. 

-

Rex didn’t sleep well last night. 

That was to be expected though; the first nights back on Coruscant are always odd, especially when transitioning from sleeping on the ground on the same planet as the enemy to being back in his own barracks fortified by the full force of the Republic. With each deployment and subsequent leave, the bunk seems to somehow always feel more uncomfortable than before. In addition to that, the hurt Rex felt last night wounded him far worse than the blaster shot to his chest had. He couldn’t get any of it from his mind – the conversations, the proximity, the laughter shared between them. Every little detail replayed in his head on repeat for hours until finally, thankfully, the exhaustion claimed him.

And he could be plagued with the thoughts of her and everything this morning, but Rex instead channels his focus into carefully disassembling his DC-17s one at a time, separating each piece for inspection and cleaning. He hasn’t yet stepped foot outside his barracks but he knows it’s still pretty early – the sun not yet casting its full light on this sector of the planet. He’s hungry and tired and exhausted from pushing back the hurt – from wrapping thick blankets of blame around himself while condemning every single decision he’s made as of late.

When stressed or feeling defeated, he works with the only two things that are always on his person or in his hands on the field of battle. Rex knows his blasters in and out – knows every bolt, spring, and lever like the back of his hand. The pistols ground him – remind Rex that the difference between life and death can be the thinnest of lines and the teensiest of moments. He brings each piece up to his face – examines them closely. Careful, ungloved, expert fingers twist, unfasten, and pull apart the smallest of bits. Nothing goes without inspection.

“Mornin’, sir.”

So absorbed in the pieces in front of him, Rex doesn’t budge when Fives enters the barracks, carrying his helmet at his side and approaching the captain with a concerned smile he doesn’t look up to see.

“Fives.” Rex addresses him briefly, not stopping what he’s doing to even shoot him a glance. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, went out there, you know,” Fives tells him, successfully grabbing his attention with last night having just been brought up. Rex’s chest tightens all over again – hands pausing and eyes shutting. “Wanted to check on you, but you must’ve just left." Fives sighs. "She was crying.”

Setting the piece he’s holding on the table, Rex runs his fingers across his head – through the prick of buzzed hairs. He feels terrible for leaving her alone like that and for letting it even get to that point – but he has only himself to blame. This could have all been avoided if only he'd left it alone – climbed out of the hole while he still could. It wasn’t possible to, though. Rex realizes that – knew it from the beginning.

Sucked into the memory now, it’s hard for him not to wonder what happened after he left her there – if she went back to the only other person she could.

The answer may gut him but he needs to ask.

Did she go home with Fox?

"Did she stay for much longer?" 

“I walked her home shortly after I found her.”

…Walked her home…

Something heavy falls into Rex's stomach – eyes flashing with a dull flame. His face screws into one of anger and pain and Fives' own eyes widen at the reaction – his comment taken completely the wrong way.

“Osi’kyr, no, not like that!" Nearly dumbfounded and with an amused scoff, he shakes his head and backhands Rex's shoulder. "Rex, I made sure she got home safe.”

The flame is smothered. Rex softens, picking up a blaster piece and running an oiled cloth along it meticulously. 

“Sorry, for–” He cuts himself off. “Thank you for doing that.”

Nodding, Fives circles around the small table and takes a seat across from him, hands folding on the tabletop.

“She, uh, asked me for a favor. To tell you something.” Fives raises his brows, giving Rex a chance to shoot him down before he continues. “Asked me if I could tell you that she'd like a chance to explain everything, before you’re off-world again.”

Rex doesn’t meet his eyes, instead occupying himself with cleaning his blasters – the oil residue a familiar and comforting aroma. He doesn’t respond, only nods subtly with every one of Fives’ words, taking it all in but having nothing to add – unsure of how to feel.

"Rex.” Fives leans forward, extending his arm and laying a hand on Rex’s wrist, making him pause. Glancing up at him, Rex meets his eyes that read pure sincerity. “I think you should hear her out."

-