It's all Rex can think about, lounging on the sofa of his boyfriends's apartment in Corusscant; that his brave, loyal brothers should have had the right to enjoy Life Day too. All those little things nats like to do; decorate, bake, ice skate and build snowmans on one of the multiple artificial platforms in the Capital. They deserved to be cherished, loved; and not end like another lost number to this seemingly endless war.

Though Rex would never give up on this fight –his sense of loyalty and his need to protect others too strong for that– he can't help but feel some sort of tired numbness after Umbara. The good thing about having so many brothers is that he'd never feel really alone; the bad, that he's constantly losing people he has grown to love. Some deaths hit deeper than others; but all of them make a little tug at his heart, and Rex doesn't know how much longer he can soldier through them before the cord finally breaks.

The guilt is a problem on it's own. Why is he allowed to relax in a warm, cozy apartment, why can he have a beautiful relationship and enjoy this years Life Day, while other vods don't?

The sound of the door opening interrupts his spiraling thoughts; and Rex glances towards it right in time to see his partner locking the door and shooting him a shivering smile.

"Hey!" You grin at your favorite trooper, taking your scarf and gloves off and blowing some air on your cold fingertips. "Kark, I couldn't wait to get home!"

You abandon your jacket and winter accesories in the rack by the door –next to Rex's armour–; carelessly shrug your boots off, and pad towards the living room. The heating system is on, and the floor is pleasantly warm. It's a welcoming feeling; you had felt yourself freezing, though you know you'll return to normal in just a few minutes.

You drop down next to Rex and press your body against his side; sitting sideways so that you can put your legs over his lap. Your hands inmediately climb up to the neck of his –yours– jumper; fondly playing with it while you smile up at this god of a man.

"Hi" you whisper sweetly, eyes flickering over every inch of his handsome face. "Miss me?"

You have a habit of doing this; asking this silly questions in an unconscious attempt to help Rex express his feelings. He's a fantastic lover; but more often than not it's easier for him to show his love for you with his hands and lips –and cock– than to actually talk.

He doesn't find it annoying though –quite the opposite, it's endearing the way you sound so innocent and hopefull–; and gives in inmediately.

"Yeah" he whispers back, letting out a long sigh and closing his eyes. "You know I did, cyare".

You hum and stay quiet; observing your boyfriends reaction closely. You've been with him long enough to know there's something else going on.

"You' okay?" You ask, gently cupping his face between your hands, softly pushing up so that you can search for an answer in his eyes.

Rex flinches almost imperceptively; and you somehow doubt it's just because of your cold fingers. You give him a gentle look and caress his cheek with your thumbs.

"Want to talk about it?" You carefully ask.

The man sighs. All of his muscles relax like a deflated balloon; perhaps innerly glad you've caught onto his worries without him needing to point them out.

He catches your hands with his and squeezes them softly.

"Just the usual" he answers, voice low and vulnerable in the silence of the room. "Thinking on how lucky I am to be here, to have you, while others..."

Rex's throat bobs, the sentence unfinished, but you can guess his line of thought. You've talked about this before.

"It's not your fault" you tenderly say to him, a recurrent reminder in your relationship. "You can't control everything, love".

Rex sighs and dejectedly nods. He turns a bit around so that he can burry his face on your neck. Seek solace there. You caress his strong back up and down and kiss the crown of his blond head.

"I know" the captain mumbles against your skin, sending a little shiver through your body inevitably. "I just wish they were here too".

You nod, still hugging him, and cuddle his body further into you.

"And that's perfectly understandable, love" you validate, and both of you stay in silence for a few minutes, calming each other down.

When Rex stirs –a subtle sign that he's had enough of this sort of comfort and that he's a bit unsure about keeping showing this vulnerability– you let him pull back and shoot a grin at him.

"You know what you need?" You try to gain back a bit of that cheery holiday feeling, and pat his thigh while springing up to a stand. "A big C for Chocolate Comfort".

You peck his lips –perhaps deepening the kiss and delaying your departure a bit too much to be considered quick and innocent– and give him a last smile before you dissapear towards the kitchen.

Unknown to you, Rex smiles softly and patiently waits for you to come back; the small clattering of potts and mugs familiar and comforting. He has called you "love" before; but he hasn't actually told you he loves you yet. He will, soon. Your presence is like a warm blanket; a beacon of light in a world full of darkness.

You return ten minutes later; two mugs of hot, sweet chocolate in your hands. You carefully place them in the small living room table; signaling the darker one in colour to Rex.

"This one's yours. I used dark chocolate from Kashyyyk" you explain, attentively observing the man's reaction after his first temptative sip.

Rex groans; the sound so similar to what you usually hear in bed that it sends a faint blush all the way from your cheeks to your neck.

"It's great" he hums in aproval, glancing at your own mug still on the small coffee table. A little teasing smile perches on his lips. "And I assume you used the sweetest sugariest chocolate you could find for yours?"

You laugh, nodding in happy deafeat.

"You know me" you joke, taking a sip of your own hot chocolate and humming at how good it tastes.

Rex cups your face and turns it towards his; slowly dipping down to steal a soft, slow kiss.

"And I love every bit" he whispers softly, making you melt against him.

It's the closest Rex has come to admitting you he loves you; and you can't wait until he's finally confident to say it out loud. He's your man. He's it for you.

You smile and kiss him back; then rest your forehead against his.

"I love you, Rex. Happy Life Day".

Your boyfriend answers with a happy sigh and tenderly caress your cheeks with his thumbs.

"Happy Life Day, ner Karta (my heart)".

THE END.

Wasn't it sweet? I love Rex, aww

PS. Reminder of the prompts you can ask a request of (besides one of your own):

Fox feels... Fatigued. It's the best word that describes it –the best he can find, at least–. He's not excruciatingly tired; he's not really depressed either. He's just that; fatigued.

It has been a tough week for the Corries. Tension is all but growing in the low and medium levels of Corusscant; more and more resources being redirectioned to the effort of the –what seems to be– endless war, and therefore pushing the most vulnerable citizens of the capital to suffering. And he suffers, too; his heart breaks everytime he sees a scrawny kid bitting into his own dirty jaket, trying to fool his mind into thinking that the biting equals eating. Fox would wish to do more; but there's only so much a single man –or a few– can do.

The hardest part of everything is probably protecting the Chancellor. There have been a few attempts at his life lately –nothing mayor, nothing properly organised–; and he had been ordered to become his shadow at almost all times. It's draining. Fox doesn't know if it's all of this pent up stress; or the tension from having to stay vigilant all day. The knowledge that if something happens to the Chancellor, he'd be remembered as the foolish clone that hadn't been up to the task. He doesn't want to be remembered as such. Fox wants to be remembered by his duty with the Guard; chasing evil, helping those in need. He might be seen as a tough man; but he's just that, a man.

The bunkroom is the only place he really feels safe in nowadays. There, his body half crushed in the human pile he makes with his brothers, his vod'ika, he doesn't feel in danger. Or fatigued. He feels soothed; warm. He's able to breathe, to just be; nose hid in Thorn's neck and one arm slumped over Thire's chest. Surrounded by his family, the shadow and darkness that always seem to follow him dissipates.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fox is having one of those days again. He feels dizy; a sharp headache pounding against the side of his forehead. The muscles on his neck and shoulders feel like proper stones by now; hours and hours of guarding the Chancellor's office finally catching up onto him. He's not on the best physical condition to do this, right now; but he's somewhat relieved that no-one could possible harm Palpatine in this instant. He's in a reunion with Master Yoda; and no one is as powerfull as him.

Fox has only seen the Grand Master fight on two ocassions; as the Corries don't get to join the rest of the GAR in the galatic battles. Two ocassions had been enough to solidify that idea, though. No one would think the small Jedi would be much of a threat just by looking at him –his body hunched over his cane, deep wrinkles in his face and a tuff of white hair on his head–; but the agility Master Yoda was able to conjure was astounding. His understanding of the Force, more so.

Fox was pulled of his thoughts with said Jedi slowly walking out of the Chancellor's office; a deep frown etched on his face. Fox inmediately straightened, not wanting to leave a bad impresion on the Master; but the small Jedi discovered something in him that went behond his physical form.

"Commander Fox" he greeted him, his cane tapping once against the floor right in front of him. "You should not be here".

Fox freezes. He stutter's; not expecting the comment. He had been ordered to...

"S-sir?"

Yoda makes a small, dissaproving sound with his tongue.

"A mess, your mind is. Rest, you must".

Fox sighs. He should have guessed; Master Yoda can feel about everything.

"I can cope with a few more hours, Sir. It's no problem" he answers, voice firm.

Yoda taps his cane against the floor again.

"Caring for the mind, we should, as much as caring for the body. A weakened mind is a weak oponent" he mussed, looking up at his bucket, and Fox could swear he was looking ar him into the eye. "Call one of your men to take care of the job, you should".

The commander relented. He didn't like the fuss; but he knew Master Yoda would insist, and he didn't like to feel reprimanded by him. He guessed he did need some rest; it would do him good.

"As you wish, Master Yoda" he agreed, and asked Thire to cover him.

The Jedi hummed, pleased, and asked Fox to follow him. He walked by his side, slightly confused as to what else the Master would want of him. Perhaps he wanted to make sure he truly went to rest?

Fox followed the Jedi into an empty room; and watched in confussion as Yoda sat down on the floor as if it were the most normal thing in the world. The Jedi gestured for him to do the same; and Fox obbeyed in silence.

"Meditate, we will" Yoda resolves, final, and the clone frowns.

He doesn't know how to do that kind of thing.

"Take your bucket off and close your eyes, you should" the Jedi guides him. "Empty your mind of all worries you can not control, you try. Breathe in and feel yourself, you shall".

Fox follows if only to please Master Yoda; because he doesn't really think this will be usefull for him. He's therefore surprised when, an unkown time later, his mind is somehow quiet; ebbing out of his physical form to somewhere warm and abstract. It's almost as falling into a peacefull trance.

He feels something brushing against his mind. It's bright, soothing, warm; like a caress that slowly takes the pain away and makes everything lighter, easier to carry. Still holding a part of his consciousness, Fox understands it's Yoda's life force; the Jedi Master interacting with his mind with the understanding fondness of an old friend.

When he opens his eyes again, and Fox locks eyes with the small Jedi, he can't help but flush; feeling that mental contact more intimate than any of his late sexual escapades.

Yoda looks unbothered and peacefull, looking back at him; and he reaches out to pat his hand with a few gentle taps.

"To take care of others, taking care of ourselves first, we must" he tells him, more tenderly than condescendant, and Fox nods in silence.

He can almost hear his heart beat speeding up.